Herman Melville – The Complete Collection

Chapter 17

The Hospital Steward--even he

(Sacred in person as a priest),

And on his coat-sleeve broidered nice

Wore the caduceus, black and green.

No wonder he sat so light on his beast;

This cheery man in suit of price

Not even Mosby dared to slice.

They pass the picket by the pine

And hollow log--a lonesome place;

His horse adroop, and pistol clean;

'Tis c****d--kept leveled toward the wood;

Strained vigilance ages his childish face.

Since midnight has that stripling been

Peering for Mosby through the green.

Splashing they cross the freshet-flood,

And up the muddy bank they strain;

A horse at the spectral white-ash shies--

One of the span of the ambulance,

Black as a hearse. They give the rein:

Silent speed on a scout were wise,

Could cunning baffle Mosby's spies.

Rumor had come that a band was lodged

In green retreats of hills that peer

By Aldie (famed for the swordless charge[22]).

Much store they'd heaped of captured arms

And, peradventure, pilfered cheer;

For Mosby's lads oft hearts enlarge

In revelry by some gorge's marge.

"Don't let your sabres rattle and ring;

To his oat-bag let each man give heed--

There now, that fellow's bag's untied,

Sowing the road with the precious grain.

Your carbines swing at hand--you need!

Look to yourselves, and your nags beside,

Men who after Mosby ride."

Picked lads and keen went sharp before--

A guard, though scarce against surprise;

And rearmost rode an answering troop,

But flankers none to right or left.

No bugle peals, no pennon flies:

Silent they sweep, and fail would swoop

On Mosby with an Indian whoop.

On, right on through the forest land,

Nor man, nor maid, nor child was seen--

Not even a dog. The air was still;

The blackened hut they turned to see,

And spied charred benches on the green;

A squirrel sprang from the rotting mill

Whence Mosby sallied late, brave blood to spill.

By worn-out fields they cantered on--

Drear fields amid the woodlands wide;

By cross-roads of some olden time,

In which grew groves; by gate-stones down--

Grassed ruins of secluded pride:

A strange lone land, long past the prime,

Fit land for Mosby or for crime.

The brook in the dell they pass. One peers

Between the leaves: "Ay, there's the place--

There, on the oozy ledge--'twas there

We found the body (Blake's you know);

Such whirlings, gurglings round the face--

Shot drinking! Well, in war all's fair--

So Mosby says. The bough--take care!"

Hard by, a chapel. Flower-pot mould

Danked and decayed the shaded roof;

The porch was punk; the clapboards spanned

With ruffled lichens gray or green;

Red coral-moss was not aloof;

And mid dry leaves green dead-man's-hand

Groped toward that chapel in Mosby-land.

They leave the road and take the wood,

And mark the trace of ridges there--

A wood where once had slept the farm--

A wood where once tobacco grew

Drowsily in the hazy air,

And wrought in all kind things a calm--

Such influence, Mosby! bids disarm.

To ease even yet the place did woo--

To ease which pines unstirring share,

For ease the weary horses sighed:

Halting, and slackening girths, they feed,

Their pipes they light, they loiter there;

Then up, and urging still the Guide,

On, and after Mosby ride.

This Guide in frowzy coat of brown,

And beard of ancient growth and mould,

Bestrode a bony steed and strong,

As suited well with bulk he bore--

A wheezy man with depth of hold

Who jouncing went. A staff he swung--

A wight whom Mosby's wasp had stung.

Burnt out and homeless--hunted long!

That wheeze he caught in autumn-wood

Crouching (a fat man) for his life,

And spied his lean son 'mong the crew

That probed the covert. Ah! black blood

Was his 'gainst even child and wife--

Fast friends to Mosby. Such the strife.

A lad, unhorsed by sliding girths,

Strains hard to readjust his seat

Ere the main body show the gap

'Twixt them and the read-guard; scrub-oaks near

He sidelong eyes, while hands move fleet;

Then mounts and spurs. One drop his cap--

"Let Mosby fine!" nor heeds mishap.

A gable time-stained peeps through trees:

"You mind the fight in the haunted house?

That's it; we clenched them in the room--

An ambuscade of ghosts, we thought,

But proved sly rebels on a house!

Luke lies in the yard." The chimneys loom:

Some muse on Mosby--some on doom.

Less nimbly now through brakes they wind,

And ford wild creeks where men have drowned;

They skirt the pool, a void the fen,

And so till night, when down they lie,

They steeds still saddled, in wooded ground:

Rein in hand they slumber then,

Dreaming of Mosby's cedarn den.

But Colonel and Major friendly sat

Where boughs deformed low made a seat.

The Young Man talked (all sworded and spurred)

Of the partisan's blade he longed to win,

And frays in which he meant to beat.

The grizzled Major smoked, and heard:

"But what's that--Mosby?" "No, a bird."

A contrast here like sire and son,

Hope and Experience sage did meet;

The Youth was brave, the Senior too;

But through the Seven Days one had served,

And gasped with the rear-guard in retreat:

So he smoked and smoked, and the wreath he blew--

"Any _sure_ news of Mosby's crew?"

He smoked and smoked, eying the while

A huge tree hydra-like in growth--

Moon-tinged--with crook'd boughs rent or lopped--

Itself a haggard forest. "Come"

The Colonel cried, "to talk you're loath;

D've hear? I say he must be stopped,

This Mosby--caged, and hair close cropped."

"Of course; but what's that dangling there"

"Where?" "From the tree--that gallows-bough;

A bit of frayed bark, is it not"

"Ay--or a rope; did _we_ hang last?--

Don't like my neckerchief any how"

He loosened it: "O ay, we'll stop

This Mosby--but that vile jerk and drop!"[23]

By peep of light they feed and ride,

Gaining a grove's green edge at morn,

And mark the Aldie hills upread

And five gigantic horsemen carved

Clear-cut against the sky withdrawn;

Are more behind? an open snare?

Or Mosby's men but watchmen there?

The ravaged land was miles behind,

And Loudon spread her landscape rare;

Orchards in pleasant lowlands stood,

Cows were feeding, a c**k loud crew,

But not a friend at need was there;

The valley-folk were only good

To Mosby and his wandering brood.

What best to do? what mean yon men?

Colonel and Guide their minds compare;

Be sure some looked their Leader through;

Dismsounted, on his sword he leaned

As one who feigns an easy air;

And yet perplexed he was they knew--

Perplexed by Mosby's mountain-crew.

The Major hemmed as he would speak,

But checked himself, and left the ring

Of cavalrymen about their Chief--

Young courtiers mute who paid their court

By looking with confidence on their king;

They knew him brave, foresaw no grief--

But Mosby--the time to think is brief.

The Surgeon (sashed in sacred green)

Was glad 'twas not for _him_ to say

What next should be; if a trooper bleeds,

Why he will do his best, as wont,

And his partner in black will aid and pray;

But judgment bides with him who leads,

And Mosby many a problem breeds.

The Surgeon was the kindliest man

That ever a callous trace professed;

He felt for him, that Leader young,

And offered medicine from his flask:

The Colonel took it with marvelous zest.

For such fine medicine good and strong,

Oft Mosby and his foresters long.

A charm of proof. "Ho, Major, come--

Pounce on yon men! Take half your troop,

Through the thickets wind--pray speedy be--

And gain their read. And, Captain Morn,

Picket these roads--all travelers stop;

The rest to the edge of this crest with me,

That Mosby and his scouts may see."

Commanded and done. Ere the sun stood steep,

Back came the Blues, with a troop of Grays,

Ten riding double--luckless ten!--

Five horses gone, and looped hats lost,

And love-locks dancing in a maze--

Certes, but sophomores from the glen

Of Mosby--not his veteran men.

"Colonel," said the Major, touching his cap,

"We've had our ride, and here they are"

"Well done! how many found you there"

"As many as I bring you here"

"And no one hurt?" "There'll be no scar--

One fool was battered." "Find their lair"

"Why, Mosby's brood camp every where."

He sighed, and slid down from his horse,

And limping went to a spring-head nigh.

"Why, bless me, Major, not hurt, I hope"

"Battered my knee against a bar

When the rush was made; all right by-and-by.--

Halloa! they gave you too much rope--

Go back to Mosby, eh? elope?"

Just by the low-hanging skirt of wood

The guard, remiss, had given a chance

For a sudden sally into the cover--

But foiled the intent, nor fired a shot,

Though the issue was a deadly trance;

For, hurled 'gainst an oak that humped low over,

Mosby's man fell, pale as a lover.

They pulled some grass his head to ease

(Lined with blue shreds a ground-nest stirred).

The Surgeon came--"Here's a to-do"

"Ah!" cried the Major, darting a glance,

"This fellow's the one that fired and spurred

Down hill, but met reserves below--

My boys, not Mosby's--so we go!"

The Surgeon--bluff, red, goodly man--

Kneeled by the hurt one; like a bee

He toiled. The pale young Chaplain too--

(Who went to the wars for cure of souls,

And his own student-ailments)--he

Bent over likewise; spite the two,

Mosby's poor man more pallid grew.

Meanwhile the mounted captives near

Jested; and yet they anxious showed;

Virginians; some of family-pride,

And young, and full of fire, and fine

In open feature and cheek that glowed;

And here thralled vagabonds now they ride--

But list! one speaks for Mosby's side.

"Why, three to one--your horses strong--

Revolvers, rifles, and a surprise--

Surrender we account no shame!

We live, are gay, and life is hope;

We'll fight again when fight is wise.

There are plenty more from where we came;

But go find Mosby--start the game!"

Yet one there was who looked but glum;

In middle-age, a father he,

And this his first experience too:

"They shot at my heart when my hands were up--

This fighting's crazy work, I see"

But noon is high; what next do?

The woods are mute, and Mosby is the foe.

"Save what we've got," the Major said;

"Bad plan to make a scout too long;

The tide may turn, and drag them back,

And more beside. These rides I've been,

And every time a mine was sprung.

To rescue, mind, they won't be slack--

Look out for Mosby's rifle-crack."

"We'll welcome it! give crack for crack!

Peril, old lad, is what I seek"

"O then, there's plenty to be had--

By all means on, and have our fill"

With that, grotesque, he writhed his neck,

Showing a scar by buck-shot made--

Kind Mosby's Christmas gift, he said.

"But, Colonel, my prisoners--let a guard

Make sure of them, and lead to camp.

That done, we're free for a dark-room fight

If so you say." The other laughed;

"Trust me, Major, nor throw a damp.

But first to try a little sleight--

Sure news of Mosby would suit me quite."

Herewith he turned--"Reb, have a dram"

Holding the Surgeon's flask with a smile

To a young scapegrace from the glen.

"O yes!" he eagerly replied,

"And thank you, Colonel, but--any guile?

For if you think we'll blab--why, then

You don't know Mosby or his men."

The Leader's genial air relaxed.

"Best give it up," a whisperer said.

"By heaven, I'll range their rebel den"

"They'll treat you well," the captive cried;

"They're all like us--handsome--well bred:

In wood or town, with sword or pen,

Polite is Mosby, bland his men."

"Where were you, lads, last night?--come, tell"

"We?--at a wedding in the Vale--

The bridegroom our comrade; by his side

Belisent, my cousin--O, so proud

Of her young love with old wounds pale--

A Virginian girl! God bless her pride--

Of a crippled Mosby-man the bride!"