post-commander's desk, an order from Department Head-quarters directing
that provision be made for furnishing quarters to a company of infantry.
Camp Andrew Jackson was to be made a three-company post, on account of
the growing depredations of the hostile tribes of Indians. It was not
until weeks afterward that any speculations were indulged as to what
company, of what regiment, had been assigned to the post; but at the
hospitable board of the major's one evening, after a late tea, it was
the irrepressible Grumpet who proclaimed that he knew to a certainty all
about the matter in question. Company "H" of the Forty-third Infantry
was coming, and had already reached Fort Yuma, _en route_ to Camp Lowell
(Tucson).
"Then Crabtree is in command of the company; or has Captain Howell been
relieved? He was on detached service in Washington, the last I heard
from him," remarked Major Stanford. But Mr. Grumpet interrupted:
"There you are wrong, again; Crabtree is not with them at all."
"Why, how's that?" was asked from all sides; even Mrs. Stanford had
looked up.
Whenever Grumpet had a good thing he always made the most of it; and it
was irresistibly charming to let Mrs. Stanford see that he knew more
than all the rest put together.
"Ahem! Mr. Crabtree, senior lieutenant of Company 'H,' Forty-third
Infantry, has exchanged, with the sanction of the War Department, with
Mr. Addison--Charlie Addison, you know--of Company 'D,' Sixty-fifth
Infantry."
In an "aside" to himself, he continued: "Well, I declare! I've
astonished Mrs. Stanford by my superior knowledge. Why, she's actually
staring at me."
So she was; or, at least, her eyes were wide open, and her face was pale
as death.
"Are you sick, Eva, my child?" asked the major; "or do you see anything
that frightens you?"
"Neither," she answered, passing her hand over her face; "only tired a
little."
"There," put in the doctor, "I _thought_ Mrs. Stanford had baked those
tarts and prepared the salad, with her own hands, to-day, and now I am
certain of it; and I prescribe that the gentlemen immediately depart
from here, and leave Mrs. Stanford to rest, and her own reflections."
Her own reflections! They crowded on her fast and unbidden, when left
alone by her husband and the rest of the officers. Marcelita, after
having repeatedly assured her mistress that the house was free from
invading vermin, had settled down on the floor, with her back against
the wall, when she found that Eva paid no heed to what she said. After
awhile she grew bolder, and lighted and smoked _cigarritos_, enjoying
them to her heart's content, while Eva was enjoying "her own
reflections."
"My dear child, did I stay out late? We all went into the sutler's a
little while, after taps. Did you sit up to wait for me?" asked the
major, kindly, breaking in on Eva's reflections.
Marcelita had started up out of a sound sleep when the major had first
entered the room, and she rolled into her own little tent now, into her
bed, and back into the arms of the drowsy god, without once thinking of
scorpion or tarantula.
Weeks passed before any more tidings of the Forty-third were heard; then
they entered Camp Andrew Jackson one day--not with fife and drum, and
colors flying, but silently, quietly; with shoulders stooping under the
load of knapsack and musket--packed all day long through scorching sun
and ankle-deep sand. It was not till Eva saw the line of tents newly
pitched, on the following day, that she knew of the arrival.
"Yes," said the major, "they have come; but both Captain Howland and
Lieutenant Addison appear very reserved. I don't think either of them
will call till a formal invitation has been extended them. Perhaps we
had better invite them all to dinner some day--that will place them at
their ease to visit here, later."
Invitations, accordingly, were issued for a certain day; but the Fates
so willed it that the horses of Company "F" were stampeded from the
picket-line by a band of Apaches, during the night preceding; and
Arroyos, the guide, expressed his conviction that he could lead the
troops to the _rancheria_ of these Indians, and recover the horses
taken. Although Major Stanford's position as post-commander would have
justified him in sending some subaltern officer, he preferred to take
charge of the expedition in person, leaving the post in Captain Manson's
hands.
"You look pale, child," said Major Stanford, bidding Eva farewell, while
the orderly was holding his horse outside. "I am almost glad, on your
account, that the dinner-party could be put off. Your color has been
fading for weeks, and if you do not brighten up soon, I shall have to
send you back home, to your aunt." And tenderly smoothing the glossy
hair back from her face, he kissed it again and again, before vaulting
into the saddle.
Accompanied by Marcelita alone, Eva, toward evening, set out on her
usual ramble, following the road from which the path branched off,
leading into the valley. At the point where the road falls off toward
Tucson, she stopped before taking the path that led to the spring, and
cast a long, shivering look around her. Wearily her eyes roamed over the
desolate land; wearily they followed the road, with its countless
windings, far into the level country; wearily they watched the flight of
a solitary crow, flapping its wings as it hovered, with a doleful cry,
over the one, single tree on the plain, that held its ragged branches up
to the sky, as though pleading for the dews of heaven to nurture and
expand its stunted growth. An endless, dreary waste--an infinitude of
hopeless, changeless desert--a hard, yellow crust, where the wind had
left it bare from sand, above which the air was still vibrating from the
heat of the day, though the breeze that came with the sunset had
already sprung up; the only verdure an occasional bush of grease-wood,
or mesquite, with never a blade of grass, nor a bunch of weeds, in the
wide spaces between.
Farther on to her right, she could see the rough, frowning rocks in the
mountain yonder, looking as though evil spirits had piled them there, in
well-arranged confusion, to prevent the children of earth from taking
possession of its steep heights, and its jealously-hidden treasures.
Grand, and lonely, and desolate looked the mountain, and lonely and
desolate looked the plain, as Eva stood there, her hands folded and
drooping, the light wind tossing her hair, and fluttering and playing in
the folds of her dress. It was the picture of her own life unfolding
before her: lone, and drear, and barren; without change or relief,
without verdure, or blossom, or goodly springs of crystal water; the
arid desert--her life, dragging its slow length along; the frowning
mountain--her duties, and the unavoidable tasks that life imposed on
her.
With a sigh she turned from both. Before her lay the cool valley,
sheltered from careless eyes, and from the sand and dust of the road and
the country beyond. Very small was the valley of the spring, with its
laughing flowers and shady trees--like the one leaf from the volume of
her memory that was tinted with the color of the rose and the sunbeam.
"And up the valley came the swell of music on the wind"--bringing back
scenes on which the sun had thrown its glorious parting rays in times
past, when life had seemed bright, and full of promise and inexhaustible
joy. But she brought her face resolutely back to the desert and the
mountain.
She walked on rapidly toward the spring where Marcelita had spread her
_rebozo_ on the trunk of a fallen tree, before starting out to gather
the flowers that grew in the valley.
Almost exhausted, Eva had seated herself on the improvised couch, but
was startled by a step beside her. Was it a spirit conjured up by the
flood of memories surging through her breast that stood before her?
"Eva!"
"Charlie, oh, Charlie! have you come at last?" But already the spell was
broken.
"I cannot think why Lieutenant Addison should wish to surprise me here.
Would it not be more fitting to visit our quarters, if he felt
constrained to comply with the etiquette of the garrison?"
"For God's sake, Eva," he cried, passionately, "listen to me one moment;
grant that I may speak to you once more as Eva--not as the wife of Major
Stanford. Let me hear the truth from your own lips. Eva, I have come
here, to this horrible, horrible country, because I knew you were here.
I came here to see you--to learn from you why you were false to me; why
you spurned my love--the deepest and truest man ever felt for woman--and
then to die."
He had thrown his cap, marked with the insignia of his rank and calling,
into the grass at his feet; and the last rays of the sun, falling aslant
on his rich, brown hair, made it bright and golden again, as Eva so well
remembered it.
"False!" she repeated, slowly, as though her tongue refused to frame the
accusation against him; "_you_ were false--not I. Or was it not
deceiving me--to tell me of your love; to promise faith and constancy to
me while carrying on a flirtation--a correspondence with another woman?"
"You cannot believe that, Eva, any more than I could believe what Abby
Hamilton told me--that you had left your aunt's house without telling me
of it, purposely to avoid me and break every tie between us--till a
package, containing all my letters to you, was handed me the day we
marched from Fort Leavenworth."
"Those letters had been taken from my desk in my absence. But I had
intrusted Abby with a note for you, when I was called to my sister's
bedside. And, was it not Abby with whom you were seen riding?"
"Yes--to meet you at Mr. Redpath's farm; and I afterward sent you a
note, through her, to which there came no answer save that package of my
own letters."
"Why, then, did you go from me? Had you so little faith in me, so little
love for me, that you could make no effort to see me? Was it so great a
task to write me a few, short lines!"
"Then none of my letters have ever reached you? Oh, Eva, my darling--my
lost one--can you not feel how my heart was wrung, how every drop of
blood was turned into a scorching tear, searing my brain and eating my
life away, when day after day passed, and no tidings came from you? I
was on the point of deserting the command, of bringing ruin and disgrace
on myself, when a brain fever put an end to my misery for the time, and
I was carried to Fort Lyons, as they thought, only to be buried there.
When I returned to Leavenworth on sick-leave, I was told you were gone,
and your aunt took good care not to let me know where to find you. She
had never liked me; but I could forgive her cruelty to me, did not your
wan face and weary eyes tell me that my darling girl has not found the
happiness I should have sacrificed my own to have purchased for her."
Eva bowed her face in her hands, and deep sobs seemed to rend her very
soul, but no word passed her lips.
"Then your life has been made a wreck, as well as my own, Eva?" he
continued, wildly, almost fiercely. "Is it right that it should be so:
that we should be robbed of all that makes life sweet and desirable, by
the wicked acts of others? Must we submit? Is it too late--"
"Too late," echoed Eva; "you forget that I am the wife of another. We
must submit. Do not make the task harder for me than it is, Charlie;
promise never, never to come to me again."
"I promise," he said, kneeling beside her, and bending over her hand.
"Here at your feet ends my wasted life; for I swear to you that I will
never go back into the world that lies beyond this camp. But if you
believe now that I have been true to you and to my faith, then lay your
hand on my head once again, as you did years ago, before we part
forever."
"Forever." For an instant the hand he had reverently kissed was laid
lovingly on his soft, wavy hair; then Eva arose, leaving him with his
face buried in the damp grass, and the shades of night fast gathering
around him.
An orderly with a letter for Mrs. Stanford had been waiting for some
time at the quarters. It was from Major Stanford.
"You went out with the major this morning, did you not, Tarleton?" she
asked of the man.
"Yes, madame; and the major sent me back with dispatches for Captain
Manson, and this letter for you."
The major wrote: "Arroyos' opinion, after closely examining the tracks
of the absconding Indians, is, that we had better wait for
reinforcements before attacking their _rancheria_. Keep Marcelita in
your room. I know how timid you are. If you prefer to have a guard
nearer to your quarters, send your compliments to Captain Manson--he has
my instructions. We shall probably return to-morrow, by sundown. Till
then, 'be of good cheer.'"
"There are more men to be sent out to-night?" asked Eva of the
gray-headed soldier. She had always shown particular regard for this
man; so he answered more at length than he would have ventured to do
under other circumstances.
"Yes, madame; and I heard the men say down at the quarters, that the new
lieutenant who came with the infantry was to take charge of the scout."
"Very well; tell Holly to give you a cup of tea and something to eat.
Say to the major that I shall not be afraid to-night."
"Thank you, madame." And with a military salute, he retired.
Her husband's letter lay unheeded on the table, and Eva was still in the
dark when Captain Manson entered the room, some time later. Marcelita
brought candles; and the captain, pointing to the letter, said:
"The major is very anxious that you should not feel the slightest fear
to-night. I hope you have worded your answer so that he will not have
any uneasiness on your account."
"I sent word that I should not be afraid."
"Nevertheless, I shall place a sentinel near your quarters, if I
possibly can. To tell the truth, Major Stanford has ordered out more men
than _I_ should ever have sent away from the post. If Arroyos was not so
confident that _all_ the red devils are engaged in that one direction, I
should have advised the major to leave more men here. But you need have
no fears."
The sound of the bugle and the tramp of horses interrupted him.
"The command is going out; they will reach the major some
time during the night. Can't think what on earth brought that
youngster--Addison--out here. Been anxious to go on an Indian scout,
too, ever since he came: he'll cry 'enough' before he gets back, this
time, I'll warrant you. The clang of those cavalry trumpets is horrible,
isn't it; cuts right through your head, don't it?"
Eva had dropped her hands almost as quickly as she had raised them to
her temples; and with her face shaded from the light, she silently
looked on the cavalcade that passed along under the mellow light of the
new moon.
She sat there long after the captain had left her; she sat there still
when the early moon had gone down, and Marcelita had closed the door
before resorting to her favorite seat on the floor, with her back
against the wall, from where she watched her mistress with eyes growing
smaller and smaller, till they closed at last. The wind had risen again,
and was blowing fitfully around the corners of the _adobe_ buildings,
causing the sentinel on his lonely beat to draw his cap firmer down on
his head. It was just such a gusty, blustering wind as would make the
cry of the watchful guard appear to come from all sorts of impossible
directions, when "ten o'clock and all is well" was sung out. A dismal
howl, as though hundreds of _coyotes_ were taking up the refrain,
answered the cry; and then the clamoring and yelping always following
the first howl was carried farther and farther away till it died in the
distance.
Marcelita shook herself in her sleep. "Holy Virgin protect us, they are
the Indians," she muttered, with her eyes closed.
Eva had drawn her shawl closer around her; but neither the wild night
nor the doleful music had any terror for her; she only felt "her life
was dreary," while listening to "the shrill winds that were up and
away."
Silence and darkness had once more settled on the camp; but the silence
was suddenly rent by fierce, unearthly sounds: yells and shrieks, such
as only hell, or its legitimate child, the savage Indian, could give
utterance to; shouts of triumph and exultation that made Eva's blood run
cold with horror. Marcelita had started to her feet at the first sound,
and was tearing her hair wildly, as she repeated, in a paroxysm of
terror, "The Indians, the Indians! Oh, saints of heaven, protect us?"
The darkness was broken by little flashes of light, where the sentinels,
some of them already in the death-struggle, were firing their muskets in
warning or in self-defence. A sharp knocking on the door, and voices
outside, brought Eva there.
"Open, madame, quick: there is no time to be lost"--it was Holly's
voice--"they have attacked the men's quarters first, and we can reach
head-quarters and the adjutant's office from this side. It is the only
safe place; but quick, quick." And between them--the man who had been on
guard near the house and the faithful Holly--they almost dragged Eva
from the room, and hurried her into the darkness outside.
The elevation to which exalted rank of any kind raises us, is always
more or less isolation from our fellow-beings. Major Stanford's, as
commanding officer's quarters, were some distance from those of the
other officers, and the space that lay between them proved fatal to
Eva's safety.
Every single verde-bush seemed suddenly alive with yelling demons, when
the little party had fairly left the shelter of the house behind them.
Holly had no arms, and the other soldier had been lanced through the
body; still Eva pursued her way, and could already distinguish Mr.
Grumpet's voice cheering the small number of men on to resistance, when
a whizzing sound passed close by her ear, and the next moment she found
her arms pinioned to her body by the lariat thrown over her head, and
felt herself dragged rapidly over the ground, till dexter hands caught
and lifted her on the back of a horse. Here she was held as in a vice,
and carried away so swiftly that Marcelita's screams and Holly's
curses--heard for a moment above all the din and confusion of the
impromptu battle-field--soon died away in the distance, as her captor
urged his animal to its utmost speed.
On dashed the horse; the angry winds tore her hair, and the spiteful
thorns of the mesquite caught her flowing robes, and rudely tore her
flesh till she bled from a thousand little wounds, but not a moan or
murmur escaped her lips. A merciful fit of unconsciousness at last
overtook her; and, when she awoke, she found herself on the ground, her
wrists fettered by sharp thongs, that were cutting deep into the
tender, white flesh. The first faint glimmer of light was breaking in
the East; and Eva could see that quite a number of Indians had met here,
and were evidently in deep consultation on some subject of vast
importance; for even the savage who was cowering close beside her, as
though to watch her, was leaning forward to catch the conversation, with
an intent and absorbed air.
They had made their way into the mountains, as the Apaches always do
after a successful raid; for the less agile horses of our cavalry cannot
follow their goat-like ponies on paths and trails known only to the
Indians.
Perhaps Eva was even now lying among the rocks and bowlders that had
looked down on her so frowningly yesterday at sunset; perhaps, even then
had the foe into whose hands she had fallen marked her for his prey, as
he watched and counted--unobserved by the less keen eyes of his "white
brethren"--all the chances for and against the success of a sudden
onslaught.
From the little flat where they were halting, Eva could catch just one
glimpse of the country at the foot of the mountain; and from it she
could see--though the mist had not yet cleared away--that they must have
ascended to a considerable height. Broken, jagged rocks inclosed them on
all sides; a stunted tree or overgrown cactus, here and there, springing
into sight as the light grew in the east. A heavy dew had fallen, and
Eva was so chilled that she could not have made use of her hands, had
they been unfettered. The watchful Indian had noticed the shiver that
ran through her frame, and his eyes were fixed on her face, to discover
if consciousness had returned. But his eyes wandered from Eva's face
directly, and travelled in the direction of the narrow trail by which
they had come, winding around the wall of rock, behind which the
deliberating savages were seated in a circle, Indian fashion, their
legs crossed. At a little distance could be seen their horses, nibbling
the scant grass the mountain afforded--and one of these, perhaps, had
loosened the little stone that rolled down the side of the mountain.
So the Indian mounting guard over Eva appeared to think at least, for he
again turned his attention to the proceedings of the council, when
suddenly there came the warning of their sentinel on the rock above
them, and simultaneously the shout of "On them, my men! down with them!
She is here! she is safe!"
Eva's guard uttered one yell before Lieutenant Addison's ball laid him
in the dust; but a dozen arrows were already aimed at Charlie's heart.
"Eva!" he cried, "Eva, have courage; I am coming, I am near you!"
So near that she could see where the arrow had struck his side, and the
blue coat was fast growing purple from the blood that followed where the
arrow in its flight had made that ugly gash. So near that she could
realize how desperate was the struggle between him and the half-naked,
light-footed horde that disputed every step to Eva's side, literally at
the point of the lance.
But the soldiers were not far behind; and with the strength that comes
only of love or despair, the young man reached Eva's side at last. She
had not fainted--much as my lady readers may upbraid her for this
omission of the proprieties--but held up her poor, fettered hands to him
with a look for which he would have laid down his life a thousand times
over.
"You are free!" he cried, loosening her fetters with trembling hands;
"you are free! And if I have broken my promise--if I have come to you
again--I have come only to die at your feet."
_THE GOLDEN LAMB._
"Oh, dear! this is one of her tantrums again!"
"Well, she _is_ the funniest girl I ever _did_ see."
"And it is only because I laughed at the way the forlorn old maid, whom
she calls her dressmaker, had hunched that lovely lavender till it looks
like a fright."
"See how she's jerking it, to make it fit."
"Hush, girls," broke in the mother; "that is not the way to improve her
disposition. Don't be watching her; look out here at the window; see the
number of sails coming in through the Golden Gate this morning."
The view from the bay-window in the second story front, which was used
as a sitting-room for the ladies of the family, was certainly very grand
this bright December morning, when the sun, shining from an unclouded
sky, kissed the waters of the bay till they looked as clear as the
heavens above, with millions of little golden stars rippling and
flashing on the blue surface. But far more attractive to the two young
ladies, who pretended to be counting the vessels in sight, was the view
in the back-ground of the room, where a slender, _petite_ figure, with
head half-defiantly thrown back, was noting in the tall pier-glass the
effects of the changes her quick fingers made in the lavender robe,
whose silken folds were sweeping the carpet. The head was crowned with a
glory of the brightest, lightest golden hair, while the eyes, flashing
proudly from under the long silken lashes, were darker than midnight.
Yet the sparkle and the laughter of the noonday sun were in them, when
the cloud, just now resting on the child-like brow, was dispelled by a
kind word or a sympathetic touch.
"There, Lola--it is perfect now," said Mrs. Wheaton, turning to her
youngest daughter, and thus breaking the seal laid on the lips of her
two older ones.
Matilda, good-hearted, and really loving her sister, in spite of her
greater beauty and her "strange ways," meant to improve the opportunity.
"Yes, indeed, Lola; and I've a good mind to let Miss Myrick make up my
olive-green after New-Year's. I really think that if I take as much
pains as you do, and go there twice a day to show her, she will be able
to fit me splendidly. Don't you think so?"