It was just after sunset when, for the second time, the hot boxes of the
recruit car had been treated to liberal libations from the water-tank,
and the belated train again moved on.
Dinner had been ready in the dining-car a full hour, but so long as the
sickening smell of burning waste arose from the trucks immediately in
front very few of the passengers seemed capable of eating. The car, as a
consequence, was crowded towards eight o'clock, and the steward and
waiters were busy men.
The evening air, drifting in through open windows, was cooler than it
had been during the day, but still held enough of the noontide caloric
to make fans a comfort, and Mr. Stuyvesant, dining at a "four-in-hand"
table well to the front, and attempting to hold his own in a somewhat
desultory talk with his fellow-men, found himself paying far more
attention to the lovely face of the girl across the aisle than to the
viands set before him.
She was seated facing the front, and opposite the austere maiden
previously mentioned. Conversation had already begun, and now Stuyvesant
was able to see that, beautiful in feature as was her face in repose,
its beauty was far enhanced when animated and smiling.
When to well-nigh perfect external features there is added the charm of
faultlessly even and snowy teeth and a smile that illumines the entire
face, shining in the eyes as it plays about the pretty, sensitive mouth,
a young woman is fully equipped for conquest.
Stuyvesant gazed in fascination uncontrollable. He envied the prim,
precise creature who sat unbending, severe, and, even while keeping up a
semblance of interest in the conversation, seemed to feel it a duty to
display disapprobation of such youthful charms.
No woman is so assured that beauty is only skin deep as she who has none
of it. Her manner, therefore, had been decidedly stiff, and from that
had imperceptibly advanced to condescension, but when the steward
presently appeared with a siphon of iced seltzer, and, bowing
deferentially, said he hoped everything was to Miss Ray's liking, and
added that it seemed a long time since they had seen the captain and
supposed he must be a colonel now, the thin eyebrows of the tall maiden
were uplifted into little arches that paralleled the furrows of her brow
as she inquired:
"Miss Ray?--from Fort Leavenworth?"
The answer was a smiling nod of assent as the younger lady buried her
lovely, dark face in the flowers set before her by the assiduous waiter,
and Stuyvesant felt sure she was trying to control an inclination to
laugh.
"Well, you must excuse me if I have been a little--slow," said the elder
in evident perturbation. "You see--we meet such queer people
travelling--sometimes. Don't you find it so?"
The dark face was dimpling now with suppressed merriment.
"Yes--occasionally," was the smiling answer.
"But then, being the daughter of an army officer," pursued the other
hurriedly, "you have to travel a great deal. I suppose you really--have
no home?" she essayed in the half-hopeful tone to be expected of one who
considered that a being so endowed by nature must suffer some
compensatory discomforts.
"Yes and--no," answered Miss Ray urbanely. "In one sense we army girls
have no home. In another, we have homes everywhere."
It is a reproach in the eyes of certain severe moralists that a
fellow-being should be so obviously content with his or her lot. The
elder woman seemed to feel it a duty to acquaint this beaming creature
with the manifest deficiency in her moral make-up.
"Yes, but I should think most any one would rather have a real home, a
place where they weren't bounden to anybody, no matter if it was homely."
(She called it "humbly," and associated it in mind with the words of
Payne's immortal song.) "Now, when I went to see Colonel Ray about our
society, he told me he had to break up everything, going to Cuba, but he
didn't mention about your going West."
"Father was a little low in his mind that day," said Miss Ray, a shade
of sadness passing over her face. "Both my brothers are in the service,
and one is barely seventeen."
"Out at service!" interrupted the other. "You don't mean----"
"No," was the laughing answer, and in Miss Ray's enjoyment of the
situation her eyes came perilously near seeking those of Mr. Stuyvesant,
which she well knew were fixed upon her. "I mean that both are in the
army."
"Well--I thought not--still--I didn't know. It's all rather new to me,
this dealin' with soldiers, but I suppose I'll get to know all about it
after a spell. Our society's getting much encouraged."
"Red Cross?" queried Miss Ray, with uplifted brows and evident interest,
yet a suspicion of incredulity.
"Well, same thing, only _we_ don't propose to levy contributions right
and left like they do. I am vice-president of the Society of Patriotic
Daughters of America, you know. I thought perhaps your father might
have told you. And our association is self-sustaining, at least it
will be as soon as we are formally recognized by the government. You
know the Red Cross hasn't any real standing, whereas our folks expect
the President to issue the order right away, making us part of the
regular hospital brigade. Now, your father was very encouraging, though
some officers we talked to were too stuck up to be decent. When I
called on General Drayton he just as much as up and told me we'd only
be in the way."
Just here, it must be owned, Miss Ray found it necessary to dive under
the table for a handkerchief which she had not dropped.
Mr. Stuyvesant, ignoring the teachings of his childhood and gazing over
the rim of his coffee-cup, observed that she was with difficulty
concealing her merriment. Then, all of a sudden, her face, that had been
so full of radiance, became suddenly clouded by concern and distress.
The door at the head of the car had swung suddenly open and remained so,
despite the roar and racket of the wheels and the sweep of dust and
cinders down the aisle. The steward glanced up from his cupboard
opposite the kitchen window at the rear, and quickly motioned to some
one to shut that door. A waiter sprang forward, and then came the
steward himself. The look in the girl's face was enough for Stuyvesant.
He whirled about to see what had caused it, and became instantly aware
of a stout-built soldier swaying uneasily at the entrance and in thick
tones arguing with the waiter. He saw at a glance the man had been
drinking, and divined he was there to get more liquor. He was on the
point of warning the steward to sell him none, but was saved the
trouble. The steward bent down and whispered:
"This makes the second time he's come in since six o'clock. I refused to
let him have a drop. Can't something be done to keep him out? We can't
lock the door, you know, sir."
Stuyvesant quickly arose and stepped up the aisle. By this time
everybody was gazing towards the front entrance in concern and
curiosity. The colored waiter was still confronting the soldier as
though to prevent his coming farther into the car. The soldier, with
flushed and sodden face and angry eyes, had placed a hand on the broad
shoulder of the servant and was clumsily striving to put him aside.
Stuyvesant's tall, athletic figure suddenly shut both from view. Never
hesitating, he quickly elbowed the negro out of the way, seized the
doorknob with his left hand, throwing the door wide open, then, looking
the soldier full in the face, pointed to the tourist car with the other.
"Go back at once," was all he said.
The man had been hardly six days in service, and had learned little of
army life or ways. He was a whole American citizen, however, if he was
half drunk, and the average American thinks twice before he obeys a
mandate of any kind. This one coming from a tall young swell was
especially obnoxious.
The uniform as yet had little effect on Recruit Murray. Where he hailed
from the sight of it had for years provoked only demonstrations of
derision and dislike. He didn't know who the officer was--didn't want to
know--didn't care. What he wanted was whiskey, and so long as the money
was burning in his pocket he knew no reason why he shouldn't have it.
Therefore, instead of obeying, he stood there, sullen and swaying,
scowling up as though in hate and defiance into the grave, set young
face. Another second and the thing was settled. Stuyvesant's right hand
grasped the blue collar at the throat, the long, slender fingers
gripping tight, and half shot, half lifted the amazed recruit across the
swaying platform and into the reeling car ahead. There he plumped his
captive down into a seat and sent for the corporal. Connelly came,
rubbing his eyes, and took in the situation at a glance.
"I ordered him not to leave the car three hours ago, sir," he quickly
spoke. "But after supper I got drowsy and fell asleep in my section.
Then he skinned out. I'd iron him, sir, if I had anything of the kind."
"No," said Stuyvesant, "don't think of that. Just keep a watch over him
and forbid his leaving the section. No, sir, none of that," he added, as
in drunken dignity Murray was searching for a match to light his pipe
and hide his humiliation. "There must be no smoking in this flimsy car,
corporal. A spark would set fire to it in a second."
"Them was my orders, sir. This fellow knows it as well as I do. But he's
given trouble one way or other ever since we started. You hear that
again, now, Murray: no drink; no smoke. I'll see to it that he doesn't
quit the car again, sir," he concluded, turning appealingly to the young
officer, and Stuyvesant, taking a quiet look up and down the dimly
lighted, dusty aisle, was about to return to the "diner," when Murray
struggled to his feet. Balked in his hope of getting more drink, and
defrauded, as in his muddled condition it seemed to him, of the solace
of tobacco, the devil in him roused to evil effort by the vile liquor
procured surreptitiously somewhere along the line, the time had come for
him, as he judged, to assert himself before his fellows and prove
himself a man.
"You think you're a better man than I am," he began thickly, glaring
savagely at the young officer. "But I'll be even with you, young fellow.
I'll----" And here ended the harangue, for, one broad hand clapped over
the leering mouth and the other grasping the back of his collar,
Corporal Connelly jammed him down on the seat with a shock that shook
the car.
"Shut up, you drunken fool!" he cried. "Don't mind him, lieutenant.
He's only a day at the depot, sir. Sit still, you blackguard, or I'll
smash you!"--this to Murray, who, half suffocated, was writhing in his
effort to escape. "A--ch!" he cried, with sudden wrenching away of the
brawny hand, "the beast has bitten me," and the broad palm, dripping
with blood, was held up to the light.
Deeply indented, there were the jagged marks of Murray's teeth.
"Here, Foster, Hunt, grab this man and don't let him stir, hand or foot.
See what you get for giving a drunkard money. Grab him, I say!" shouted
Connelly, grinning with mingled pain and wrath as the lieutenant led him
to the wash-stand.
Another recruit, a stalwart fellow, who had apparently seen previous
service, sprang to the aid of the first two named, and between them,
though he stormed and struggled a moment, the wretch was jammed and held
in his corner.
Stanching the blood as best he could and bandaging the hand with his own
kerchief, Stuyvesant bade the corporal sit at an open window a moment,
for he looked a trifle faint and sick,--it was a brutal bite. But
Connelly was game.
"That blackguard's got to be taught there's a God in Israel," he
exclaimed, as he turned back to the rear of the car. "I beg the
lieutenant's pardon, but--he is not in the regular army, I see," with a
glance at the collar of the young officer's blouse. "We sometimes get
hard cases to deal with, and this is one of them. This kind of a cur
wouldn't hesitate to shoot an officer in the back or stab him in the
dark if he didn't like him. I hope the lieutenant may never be bothered
with him again. No, damn you!" he added between his set teeth, as he
looked down at the sullen, scowling prisoner, "what you ought to have is
a good hiding, and what you'll get, if you give any more trouble, is a
roping, hand and foot. We ought to have irons on a trip like this,
lieutenant," he continued, glancing up into the calm, refined face of
the young soldier. "But I can get a rope, if you say so, and tie him in
his berth."
"I have no authority in the matter," said Stuyvesant reflectively. "No
one has but you, that I know of. Perhaps he'll be quiet when he cools
down," and the lieutenant looked doubtfully at the semi-savage in the
section nearest the door.
"He'll give no more trouble this night, anyhow," said Connelly, as the
officer turned to go. "And thank you, sir, for this," and he held up the
bandaged hand. "But I'll keep my eyes peeled whenever he's about
hereafter, and you'll be wise to do the same, sir."
For one instant, as the lieutenant paused at the door-way and looked
back, the eyes of the two men met, his so brave and blue and clear; the
other's--Murray's--furtive, blood-shot, and full of hate. Then the door
slammed and Stuyvesant was gone.
Twice again that night he visited the recruit car. At ten o'clock, after
enjoying for an hour or more the sight of Miss Ray in animated chat with
two of the six women passengers of the sleeper, and the sound of her
pleasant voice, Stuyvesant wandered into the diner for a glass of cool
Budweiser.
"That's an ugly brute of a fellow that bit your corporal, sir," said the
steward. "I was in there just now, and he's as surly as a cur dog yet."
Stuyvesant nodded without a word. He was in a petulant frame of mind. He
wanted "worst kind," as he would have expressed it, to know that girl,
but not a glance would she give him. She owed him one, thought he, for
letting that rabbit go. Moreover, being an army girl, as he had learned,
she should not be so offish with an officer.
Then the readiness with which the corporal had "spotted" him as a
volunteer, as not a regular, occurred to him, and added to his faintly
irritable mood. True, his coat-collar bore the tell-tale letters U. S.
V., but he had served some years with one of the swellest of swell
Eastern regiments, whose set-up and style were not excelled by the
regulars, whose officers prided themselves upon their dress and bearing.
If it was because he was not of the regular service that Miss Ray would
not vouchsafe him a glance, Mr. Stuyvesant was quite ready to bid her
understand he held himself as high as any soldier in her father's famous
corps. If it was not that, then what in blazes was it?
He knew that in travelling cross continent in this way it was considered
the proper thing for an officer of the regular army to send his card by
the porter to the wife or daughter of any brother officer who might be
aboard, and to tender such civilities as he would be glad to have paid
his own were he so provided. He wondered whether it would do to send his
pasteboard with a little note to the effect that he had once met Colonel
Ray at the United Service Club, and would be glad to pay his respects to
the colonel's daughter.
It was an unusual thing for Mr. Stuyvesant to quaff beer at any time,
except after heavy exercise at polo or tennis, but to-night he was
ruffled, and when the porter began making up the berths and dames and
damsels disappeared, he had wandered disconsolately into the diner and
ordered beer as his excuse. Then he crossed the platform and entered the
tourist.
The night was hot and close. The men were lying two in a berth, as a
rule, the upper berths not being used.
One or two, Murray among them, had not removed their trousers, but most
of them were stretched out in their undergarments, while others,
chatting in low tones, were watching the brakeman turning down the
lights. They made way respectfully as the lieutenant entered. Connelly
came to meet him and nodded significantly at Murray, who lay in a berth
near the middle of the car, still carefully watched by Hunt. Foster,
wearied, had turned in, and, with his face to the window, seemed to have
fallen asleep. The conductor came through, lantern in hand.
"It's the quietest and best behaved lot, barring that chap, I ever
carried," said he to Stuyvesant. "But he's wicked enough for a dozen.
Wonder he don't go to sleep."
"Humph! says he wants a bottle of beer," grunted Connelly. "Can't get to
sleep without it. I wouldn't give it to him if I had a kag."
"He doesn't deserve it, of course," said the conductor. "What he ought
to have is an all-around licking. But I've known beer to have a soothing
effect on men who'd been drinking, and it might put him to sleep and
save bother."
"Let him have it," said Stuyvesant briefly. "I'll send it in by the
steward. And, corporal, if you or any of your men would like it, I'll be
glad----"
Some two or three looked quickly and expectantly up, as though they
might like it very much, but Corporal Connelly said he "dassent," he
"never took a drink of anything on duty since three years ago come
Fourth of July." So the others were abashed and would not ask. Older
hands would not have held their tongues.
To Murray's surprise, a brimming glass of cool beer was presently
offered him. He gulped it thirstily down, and without a word held out
the glass for more. A grinning waiter obliged him with what remained in
the bottle. Murray asked if that was all, then, with something like a
grunt of dissatisfaction, rolled heavily over and turned his face to the
wall.
"Well, of all the ungrateful cads I ever seen," said Hunt, "you're the
worst! D'ye know who sent that beer, Murray? It was the young officer
you insulted." But Murray's only answer at the moment was a demand that
Hunt shut up and let him go to sleep.
The last thing Stuyvesant remembered before dozing off was that the
smell of those journal-boxes was getting worse. At two in the morning,
in the heart of the desert, the conductor had made his way through the
train and remarked that, despite that unpleasant odor, every man of the
recruit detachment was sound asleep. In a berth next the door the
steward of the dining-car had found room, and the entire car seemed
wrapped in repose.
Five minutes later by the watch, it was wrapped in flames.
Speaking of the matter later in the morning, the brakeman said it didn't
seem ten seconds after he had pulled the bell-rope and given the alarm
before Lieutenant Stuyvesant, a tall, slim figure in pajamas and
slippers, came bounding to his aid.
The flames even then were bursting from under the steps and platform,
the dense smoke pouring from the rear door of the recruit car, and
coughing, choking, blinded, staggering, some of them scorched and
blistered, most of them clad only in undershirt and drawers, the
luckless young troopers came groping forth and were bundled on into the
interior of the diner. Some in their excitement strove to leap from the
train before it came to its bumping, grinding halt. Some were screaming
in pain and panic. Only one, Hunt, was dressed throughout in uniform.
The steward of the diner, nearly suffocated before being dragged out of
his berth, was making vain effort to shove a way back into the blazing
car, crying that all his money was under that pillow. But it was
impossible to stem the torrent of human forms.
The instant the train stopped, the flames shot upward through the
skylight and ventilator, and then the voice of Connelly was heard
yelling for aid. Seizing a blanket that had been dragged after him by
some bewildered recruit, and throwing it over his head and shoulders,
Stuyvesant, bending low, dove headlong into the dense wall of smoke.
The flames came leaping and lapping out from the door-way the instant he
disappeared, and a groan of dismay arose from the little group already
gathered at the side of the track. Five, ten seconds of awful suspense,
and then, bending lower still, his loose clothing afire, his hair and
eyebrows singed, his face black with soot and smoke and seared by flame,
the young officer came plunging forth, dragging by the legs a prostrate,
howling man, and after them, blind and staggering, came Connelly.
Eager hands received and guided the rescuers, leading them into the
diner, while the trainmen worked the stiff levers, broke loose the
coupling, and swung their lanterns in frantic signals to the engineer,
far ahead.
Another moment and the blazing car was drawn away, run up the track a
hundred yards, and left to illumine the night and burn to ashes, while
male passengers swarmed about the dining-car, proffering stimulant and
consolation.
Besides Stuyvesant and Corporal Connelly, two soldiers were seriously
burned. Every stitch of clothing not actually on their persons at the
moment of their escape was already consumed, and with it every ounce of
their soldier rations and supplies.
The men least injured were those who, being nearest the rear door, were
first to escape. The men worst burned were those longest held within the
blazing car, barring one, Murray, whom Hunt had thoughtfully bound hand
and foot as he slept, reasoning that in that way only might his
guardians enjoy a like blessing.
Connelly had tripped over the roaring bully as he lay on his back in the
aisle. Stuyvesant had rushed in, and between them they dragged him to a
place of safety. There, his limbs unbound, his tongue unloosed, Murray
indulged in a blast of malediction on the road, the company, the
government, his comrades, even his benefactors, and then thoughtfully
demanded drink. There was no longer a stern corporal to forbid, for
Connelly, suffering and almost sightless, had been led into a rear
coach. But there was no longer money with which to buy, for Foster's
last visible cent had gone up in smoke and flame, and, scorched and
smarting in a dozen places, wrapped in a blanket in lieu of clothes, the
dark-eyed young soldier sat, still trembling from excitement, by the
roadside.
It was three hours before the wreck could be cleared, another car
procured, and the recruits bundled into it. Then, as dawn was spreading
over the firmament, the train pushed on, and the last thing Gerard
Stuyvesant was conscious of before, exhausted, he dropped off to
troubled sleep, was that a soft, slender hand was renewing the cool
bandage over his burning eyes, and that he heard a passenger say "That
little brunette--that little Miss Ray--was worth the hull carload of
women put together. She just went in and nursed and bandaged the burned
men like as though they'd been her own brothers."
Certainly the young lady had been of particular service in the case of
Connelly and one of the seriously injured recruits. She had done
something for every man whose burns deserved attention, with a single
exception.
Recruit Foster had declared himself in need of no aid, and with his face
to the wall lay well out of sight.