MONCK.
The fellow was a sordid soul
Such as does murder for a meed;
Who, but of fear, knows no control,
Because his conscience, seared and foul,
Feels not the import of his deed;
One whose brute feeling ne’er aspires
Beyond his own more brute desires.
Such tools the Tempter ever needs
To do the savagest of deeds,
For them no vision’d terrors daunt,
Their nights no fancied spectres haunt.—SCOTT.
At this moment Captain Bannister came out of Monck’s room, and
addressing his prisoner, said:
“Major Monck is not prepared to see you this evening. You will be in my
charge for the night, and I will try to make your captivity as agreeable
as may be consistent with my duty and your safety.”
Justin bowed in acknowledgment of this courtesy, but made no other
answer.
The captain then dismissed the guard from his own three prisoners, and
requested the latter to follow him.
He opened a door on the right hand of the hall, and immediately opposite
Monck’s door, and led them into a large, square room, with a low ceiling
and bare walls, windows and floor.
It was poorly furnished with a camp bedstead, a pine table, and half a
dozen three-legged stools, all of which seemed to be the workmanship of
an amateur carpenter, and with an old mahogany beaufet, a worm-eaten
walnut wash-stand and a dilapidated arm-chair that appeared to be a part
of the original furniture of the farm-house, left behind by the owners
as too worthless to carry away.
The huge fireplace contained nothing but charcoal and ashes; the fire
had gone out hours before.
“Bring some kindling wood here quickly, Ellis, and if there is none
handy, take one of the back shutters off the hinges, and split it up. We
must have a fire here directly. This place is as damp and musty as a
vault. And here! Tell Thomas we want supper immediately,” were the
orders issued by Captain Bannister to his orderly, as they all entered
the dreary room.
“Sit down, Colonel Rosenthal,” he continued, pushing a dilapidated
arm-chair towards his prisoner guest. “And boys, you needn’t stand on my
account. Find stools and seat yourselves,” he added, addressing Wing and
Hay.
He himself stood with his back leaning against the fireless chimney.
Very soon the man called Ellis entered with his arms full of kindling
wood, that seemed to be the fragments of a broken up green door or
shutter.
A fire was soon lighted, and its cheerful blaze illumined the whole
room.
“Now supper as soon as possible, Ellis,” said the captain, as he stood
and spread his hands before the flame.
“Thomas is getting it ready as fast as he can, sir,” answered the man.
“What have you got to give us?”
“Chickens and ducks, sir; brought away from a Union hen-house by Atkins
and some of our boys to-day, and ham, and tea, and coffee, and sugar,
got along with the sutler’s stores,” said the man, with a low, half
uttered chuckle.
“Come, we shall fare sumptuously!” laughed Bannister. “But here, Ellis,
this light wood will soon burn out. Bring in one or two heavy green
logs, and throw them on to keep the fire,” he added.
The man left the room to obey, and presently returned with the logs,
which he threw upon the fire.
He was soon followed by another man with a dish of fried chickens in one
hand, and a plate of broiled ham in the other, both of which he set upon
the table.
“We have to dispense with table-cloths in camp, Colonel,” said
Bannister, laughing, as he stood and arranged the two dishes to his
liking.
Meantime the cook made several journeys to and from the room, during
which he placed upon the table bread, biscuits, butter, tea, coffee,
sugar, condensed milk, cheese, and, last and best of all—SALT.
“Heaven! how thankful to fate I am for that sutler’s wagon, even if it
had furnished us with nothing but salt! Do you know, Colonel, that one
of the greatest privations of our lives is the lack of that once cheap
and common necessary of life, table salt! The river supplies us with
fish, the forests with game, the farms with meat, poultry, eggs,
vegetables, and breadstuffs; but where—oh! where are we to obtain a
continuous supply of salt? One of our boys, a prisoner in the old
Capitol at Washington, was permitted to write home to his friends. He
wrote: ‘Everything is d—d here except in one respect: we have salt in
our soup!’ That letter was suppressed when it reached our camp. That one
line would have formed much too great a temptation for our men to permit
themselves to be taken prisoners, so that they might get salt to their
soup! But come, Colonel, while I talk the coffee is cooling. Sit up, sit
up, and try to make the best of matters by making a good meal,” said
Captain Bannister; and with this “grace before meat,” he seated himself
at the table and began to help his prisoner guest.
Justin, notwithstanding his misfortunes, really did make a good meal,
though not a very merry one; for he was hungry, he was also tired, and
likewise a little sulky, as indeed what prisoner would not be?
When the two officers had supped and were satisfied, the two boys, Wing
and Hay, were supplied with supper. After which the camp service was
cleared away by Ellis and Thomas.
“I can offer you half my hard bed, Colonel; but the boys will have to
take each a blanket and content themselves with the bare floor,” said
Captain Bannister.
Again Justin bowed in silence. He could feed, because feeding is one of
the absolute necessities of life; but he could not converse complacently
with his captor.
The programme pointed out by Bannister was followed.
Justin Rosenthal laid down to take his night’s rest beside his guerrilla
captor.
Hay wrapped himself in the blanket that was given him and stretched his
chilled and tired frame upon the hearth before the fire.
But Wing went prowling about the room until he found a large closet; and
then he asked permission to sleep within it. And as the closet
communicated only with the room, and had no outlet by which the prisoner
could escape, this permission was readily granted.
Only Hay was dissatisfied.
“It’s just like that sulky, unsocial fellow, Wing—always poking himself
off by himself; and yes, by ganny! always finding a place to poke
himself into besides,” growled the boy, as he settled himself to rest.
Fatigue is such a solicitor of sleep, that with a clear conscience and a
sound constitution a tired man must sleep under the most inauspicious
circumstances.
So Justin Rosenthal, despite his captivity, fell into a deep and
dreamless slumber that lasted until morning, when the beating of the
reveillé in the guerrilla camp aroused him. But even then, on first
waking, he thought it was the reveillé of his own camp. And it was not
until he saw his bedfellow rising that he recollected his circumstances.
“I hope you have slept well, Colonel,” exclaimed his captor, who was
then standing by the bed, drawing on his trowsers.
“Thank you, yes,” rather surlily answered Justin.
And there the brief conversation ended.
As for young Hay, he slept so soundly that it required several sharp
salutes from the boots of Bannister before he could be brought to
consciousness.
“Come, you little Yankee whelp! up with you there! Is that the way you
Union fellows sleep in camp when the reveillé is rolling in your ears?
Because if it is, I don’t wonder we whip you wherever we meet you. Up I
say!” exclaimed Bannister, with a vigorous blow from his boots.
“Aw-w-w! Yes,” yawned poor Hay, but half awake, and dreaming that he was
surprised by the enemy in his own camp. “Aw-w-w! yes. Any of the Rebs
round?”
“‘Any of the Rebs round,’ you little reptile? Well, yes, I reckon the
Rebs are round—slightuously!” laughed the captain.
Hay got up, stretched himself, stared about, saw his colonel, and then
recollected everything.
But it was not until the two officers were quite dressed that Wing came
out of the closet where he had passed the night.
Soon afterwards Captain Bannister’s two men came in and arranged the
room, kindled the fire, and set the table for breakfast, and placed upon
it strong coffee, sugar, milk and cream; and good bread, butter, ham and
fish.
After breakfast Captain Bannister went to Monck for instructions, and
after an absence of half an hour returned to his prisoners, and
addressing Colonel Rosenthal, said:
“Major Monck is not well this morning, and will not be able to see you
for some hours. But he has authorized me to take your parole, and give
you the freedom of the camp.”
Since there was no good alternative Justin gave his parole.
“Now go where you please within the limits of this camp, Colonel, and
return when you like to this room, which will be your quarters. But
report to me, if you please, at sharp noon,” said Captain Bannister.
Justin bowed acquiescence; but his heart was too full of chagrin and
mortification to permit him to speak.
The privilege granted to Colonel Rosenthal was also extended to his
orderlies, who gladly availed themselves of it by getting permission of
their colonel to leave the room, and leaving it immediately.
Colonel Rosenthal also strolled out into the air.
The morning was clear and frosty; and the scenery around the old
farm-house was very fine. Nearest the house there was an old garden, in
which a few late roses still bloomed, and a few fall vegetables grew.
Farther on there were apple and peach orchards, but the trees were
stripped of their fruit. Beyond these were old fields, studded here and
there with monstrous forest trees. Around the whole was a circle of
thick woods. And behind them arose the wall of mountains.
When Justin Rosenthal went out upon the camp ground, in front of the
house, he found the drums beating and the men mustering for the company
drill.
He saw Hay standing gazing upon the scene. His other orderly was nowhere
to be seen.
“Where is Wing?” inquired Justin.
“I don’t know, sir; he walked away by himself. He never stops with me,
or any of the boys, when he can help it,” answered Hay, touching his
cap.
Colonel Rosenthal nodded, and strolled on, followed by Hay.
“So it appears that the great Major Monck cannot receive us this
morning,” said Colonel Rosenthal, speaking more to himself than to his
orderly.
“No, sir! May I tell you why, sir?” briskly asked Hay.
“Why, they say that he is indisposed.”
“He is getting over a glorious old drunk, sir!”
“Hay!”
“Yes, he is, sir! The men are all saying it! I heard them muttering
about it. They whisper that the ‘intoxified brute’—that’s what they
called him—fuddled himself last night with the sutler’s brandy, and
couldn’t lift his head from his pillow this morning, if it had been to
save the camp.”
“The men speak so of their leader, Hay?”
“Yes, sir! in whisperings and mutterings! But you know how sharp my ears
are, sir! and I used them and heard enough to feel sure that the great
Monck’s band are what they call disinfected.”
“Dis_af_fected, you mean, my boy.”
“Well, sir, dis_af_fected, if that means that they have taken a
misliking to their commander.”
“It means something of the sort, if it is true, Hay,” said his colonel.
They strolled on, and passed through a broken gate into the old garden,
where they came upon Wing, standing among the bushes, and gazing in a
meditative manner upon a bunch of pale, autumn roses he had just
gathered.
“A penny for your thoughts, my boy,” said Colonel Rosenthal, kindly.
“They are not worth the penny, sir. I was only thinking of these pale
roses trying to bloom in the frosty air; how like they are to human
hopes trying still to keep alive in the midst of cold and killing
disappointment and despair.”
“The roses will bloom again in spring, and hope revive again in heaven,
Wing,” said Colonel Rosenthal, laying his hand kindly on the boy’s head.
After that the three strolled on together for a while and then
separated, each going his own way.
At noon Colonel Rosenthal, according to his promise, returned to the
house, to report himself. He went straight to his quarters, where he
found Wing and Hay also waiting; and where they were soon after joined
by Captain Bannister.
“All right,” answered the latter, when his prisoners had formally
reported.
“And now, Colonel Rosenthal,” he added, “Major Monck is prepared to
receive you, and I am ready to escort you to his presence.”
Justin bowed and followed Bannister, who led the way out of the room,
across the hall, and through the opposite door, that admitted them into
the apartment occupied by Monck.
It was a chamber exactly similar in size and appearance to the one they
had just left. But it was furnished rudely as an office or sitting-room,
with rough-hewn tables, chairs, stands and shelves. The floor, walls and
windows were bare, but there was a fine fire of pine wood blazing in the
chimney, and diffusing an air of cheerfulness even over this dreary
scene.
Four or five soldiers lounged about the room, standing before the fire
or gazing out of the windows.
A large, square deal table stood in the middle of the floor. Seated at
it, and gazing at a map spread out before him, was the guerrilla Monck.
This notorious leader, hated even by his own men, needs here a
particular description. In the first place, he did not look the least
like the popular idea of a guerrilla, or even of a soldier. He looked
far more like a rogue and a hypocrite.
He was a very large, fat, fair man, with a round head, covered with
short cropped flaxen hair, a big white face, pale grey eyes, and full,
sensual lips. He was dressed in a loose fitting suit of Confederate
gray. And his broad-brimmed, soft felt hat lay on the table before him.
If he had been really intoxicated the night before, there was little in
his lymphatic appearance to betray the fact now.
All these circumstances Colonel Rosenthal had time to observe while
waiting for the great leader to look up from his map, and deign to
notice his visitors.