"Now, Cap," said Lincoln, as we seated ourselves at the table of a cafe,
"I'll answer t'other question yur put last night. I wur up on the head
of Arkansaw, an' hearin' they wur raisin' volunteers down hyur, I kim
down ter jine. It ain't often I trouble the settlements; but I've a
mighty _puncheon_, as the Frenchmen says, to hev a crack at them
yeller-bellies. I hain't forgot a mean trick they sarved me two yeern
ago, up thar by Santer Fe."
"And so you have joined the volunteers?"
"That's sartin. But why ain't you a-gwine to Mexico? That 'ere's a
wonder to me, cap, why you ain't. Thur's a mighty grist o' venturin', I
heern; beats Injun fightin' all holler, an' yur jest the beaver I'd
'spect to find in that 'ar dam. Why don't you go?"
"So I purposed long since, and wrote on to Washington for a commission;
but the government seems to have forgotten me."
"Dod rot the government! git a commission for yourself."
"How?" I asked.
"Jine us, an' be illected--thet's how."
This had crossed my mind before; but, believing myself a stranger among
these volunteers, I had given up the idea. Once joined, he who failed
in being elected an officer was fated to shoulder a firelock. It was
neck or nothing then. Lincoln set things in a new light. They were
strangers to each other, he affirmed, and my chances of being elected
would therefore be as good as any man's.
"I'll tell yur what it is," said he; "yur kin turn with me ter the
rendevooz, an' see for yurself; but if ye'll only jine, an' licker
freely, I'll lay a pack o' beaver agin the skin of a mink that they'll
illect ye captain of the company."
"Even a lieutenancy," I interposed.
"Ne'er a bit of it, cap. Go the big figger. 'Tain't more nor yur
entitled to. I kin git yur a good heist among some hunters thet's thur;
but thar's a buffalo drove o' them parleyvoos, an' a feller among 'em,
one of these hyur creeholes, that's been a-showin' off and fencin' with
a pair of skewers from mornin' till night. I'd be dog-gone glad to see
the starch taken out o' that feller."
I took my resolution. In half an hour after I was standing in a large
hall or armoury. It was the rendezvous of the volunteers, nearly all of
whom were present; and perhaps a more variegated assemblage was never
grouped together. Every nationality seemed to have its representative;
and for variety of language the company might have rivalled the masons
of Babel.
Near the head of the room was a table, upon which lay a large parchment,
covered with signatures. I added mine to the list. In the act I had
staked my liberty. It was an oath.
"These are my rivals--the candidates for office," thought I, looking at
a group who stood near the table. They were men of better appearance
than the _hoi polloi_. Some of them already affected a half-undress
uniform, and most wore forage-caps with glazed covers, and army buttons
over the ears.
"Ha! Clayley!" said I, recognising an old acquaintance. This was a
young cotton-planter--a free, dashing spirit,--who had sacrificed a
fortune at the shrines of Momus and Bacchus.
"Why, Haller, old fellow! glad to see you. How have you been? Think of
going with us?"
"Yes, I have signed. Who is that man?"
"He's a Creole; his name is Dubrosc."
It was a face purely Norman, and one that would halt the wandering eye
in any collection. Of oval outline, framed by a profusion of black
hair, wavy and perfumed. A round black eye, spanned by brows arching
and glossy. Whiskers that belonged rather to the chin, leaving bare the
jawbone, expressive of firmness and resolve. Firm thin lips, handsomely
moustached; when parted, displaying teeth well set and of dazzling
whiteness. A face that might be called beautiful; and yet its beauty
was of that negative order which we admire in the serpent and the pard.
The smile was cynical; the eye cold, yet bright; but the brightness was
altogether _animal_--more the light of instinct than intellect. A face
that presented in its expression a strange admixture of the lovely and
the hideous--physically fair, morally dark--beautiful, yet brutal!
From some undefinable cause, I at once conceived for this man a strange
feeling of dislike. It was he of whom Lincoln had spoken, and who was
likely to be my rival for the captaincy. Was it this that rendered him
repulsive? No. There was a cause beyond. In him I recognised one of
those abandoned natures who shrink from all honest labour, and live upon
the sacrificial fondness of some weak being who has been enslaved by
their personal attractions. There are many such. I have met them in
the _jardins_ of Paris; in the _casinos_ of London; in the cafes of
Havanna, and the "quadroon" balls of New Orleans--everywhere in the
crowded haunts of the world. I have met them with an instinct of
loathing--an instinct of antagonism.
"The fellow is likely to be our captain," whispered Clayley, noticing
that I observed the man with more than ordinary attention. "By the
way," continued he, "I don't half like it. I believe he's an infernal
scoundrel."
"Such are my impressions. But if that be his character, how can he be
elected?"
"Oh! no one here knows another; and this fellow is a splendid swordsman,
like all the Creoles, you know. He has used the trick to advantage, and
has created an impression. By the by, now I recollect, you are no
slouch at that yourself. What are you up for?"
"Captain," I replied.
"Good! Then we must go the `whole hog' in your favour. I have put in
for the first lieutenancy, so we won't run foul of each other. Let us
`hitch teams'."
"With all my heart," said I.
"You came in with that long-bearded hunter. Is he your friend?"
"He is."
"Then I can tell you that among these fellows he's a `whole team, and a
cross dog under the waggon' to boot. See him! he's at it already."
I had noticed Lincoln in conversation with several leather-legging
gentry like himself, whom I knew from their costume and appearance to be
backwoodsmen. All at once these saturnine characters commenced moving
about the room, and entering into conversation with men whom they had
not hitherto deigned to notice.
"They are canvassing," said Clayley.
Lincoln, brushing past, whispered in my ear, "Cap'n, I understan' these
hyur critters better'n you kin. Yer must mix among 'em--mix and
licker--thet's the idee."
"Good advice," said Clayley; "but if you could only take the shine out
of that fellow at fencing, the thing's done at once. By Jove! I think
you might do it, Haller!"
"I have made up my mind to try, at all events."
"Not until the last day--a few hours before the election."
"You are right. It would be better to wait; I shall take your advice.
In the meantime let us follow that of Lincoln--`mix and licker'."
"Ha! ha!" laughed Clayley; "let us come, boys," he added, turning to a
very thirsty-looking group, "let's all take a `smile'. Here, _Captain_
Haller! allow me to introduce you;" and the next moment I was introduced
to a crowd of very seedy-looking gentlemen, and the moment after we were
clinking glasses, and chatting as familiarly as if we had been friends
of forty years' standing.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
During the next three days the enrolment continued, and the canvass was
kept up with energy. The election was to take place on the evening of
the fourth.
Meanwhile my dislike for my rival had been strengthened by closer
observation; and, as is general in such cases, the feeling was
reciprocal.
On the afternoon of the day in question we stood before each other, foil
in hand, both of us nerved by an intense, though as yet _unspoken_,
enmity. This had been observed by most of the spectators, who
approached and formed a circle around us; all of them highly interested
in the result--which, they knew, would be an index to the election.
The room was an armoury, and all kinds of weapons for military practice
were kept in it. Each had helped himself to his foil. One of the
weapons was without a button, and sharp enough to be dangerous in the
hands of an angry man. I noticed that my antagonist had chosen this
one.
"Your foil is not in order; it has lost the button, has it not?" I
observed.
"Ah! monsieur, pardon. I did not perceive that."
"A strange oversight," muttered Clayley, with a significant glance.
The Frenchman returned the imperfect foil, and took another.
"Have you a choice, monsieur?" I inquired.
"No, thank you; I am satisfied."
By this time every person in the rendezvous had come up, and waited with
breathless anxiety. We stood face to face, more like two men about to
engage in deadly duel than a pair of amateurs with blunt foils. My
antagonist was evidently a practised swordsman. I could see that as he
came to guard. As for myself, the small-sword exercise had been a
foible of my college days, and for years I had not met my match at it;
but just then I was out of practice.
We commenced unsteadily. Both were excited by unusual emotions, and our
first thrusts were neither skilfully aimed nor parried. We fenced with
the energy of anger, and the sparks crackled from the friction of the
grazing steel. For several minutes it was a doubtful contest; but I
grew cooler every instant, while a slight advantage I had gained
irritated my adversary. At length, by a lucky hit, I succeeded in
planting the button of my foil upon his cheek. A cheer greeted this,
and I could hear the voice of Lincoln shouting out:
"Wal done, cap'n! Whooray for the mountain-men!" This added to the
exasperation of the Frenchman, causing him to strike wilder than before;
and I found no difficulty in repeating my former thrust. It was now a
sure hit; and after a few passes I thrust my adversary for the third
time, drawing blood. The cheer rang out louder than before. The
Frenchman could no longer conceal his mortification; and, grasping his
foil in both hands, he snapped it over his knee, with an oath. Then,
muttering some word about "better weapons" and "another opportunity", he
strode off among the spectators. Two hours after the combat I was his
captain. Clayley was elected first lieutenant, and in a week from that
time the company was "mustered" into the service of the United States
government, and armed and equipped as an independent corps of "Rifle
Rangers". On the 20th of January, 1847, a noble ship was bearing us
over the blue water, toward the shores of a hostile land.