The "star-spangled banner" suspended above Fort Inge, as it flouts forth
from its tall staff, flings its fitful shadow over a scene of strange
and original interest.
It is a picture of pure frontier life--which perhaps only the pencil of
the younger Vernet could truthfully portray--half military, half
civilian--half savage, half civilised--mottled with figures of men whose
complexions, costumes, and callings, proclaim them appertaining to the
extremes of both, and every possible gradation between.
Even the _mise-en-scene_--the Fort itself--is of this _miscegenous_
character. That star-spangled banner waves not over bastions and
battlements; it flings no shadow over casemate or covered way, fosse,
scarpment, or glacis--scarce anything that appertains to a fortress. A
rude stockade, constructed out of trunks of _algarobia_, enclosing
shed-stabling for two hundred horses; outside this a half-score of
buildings of the plainest architectural style--some of them mere huts of
"wattle and daub"--_jacales_--the biggest a barrack; behind it the
hospital, the stores of the commissary, and quartermaster; on one side
the guardhouse; and on the other, more pretentiously placed, the
messroom and officers' quarters; all plain in their appearance--
plastered and whitewashed with the lime plentifully found on the Leona--
all neat and clean, as becomes a cantonment of troops wearing the
uniform of a great civilised nation. Such is Fort Inge.
At a short distance off another group of houses meets the eye--nearly,
if not quite, as imposing as the cluster above described bearing the
name of "The Fort." They are just outside the shadow of the flag,
though under its protection--for to it are they indebted for their
origin and existence. They are the germ of the village that universally
springs up in the proximity of an American military post--in all
probability, and at no very remote period, to become a town--perhaps a
great city.
At present their occupants are a sutler, whose store contains
"knick-knacks" not classed among commissariat rations; an hotel-keeper
whose bar-room, with white sanded floor and shelves sparkling with
prismatic glass, tempts the idler to step in; a brace of gamblers whose
rival tables of _faro_ and _monte_ extract from the pockets of the
soldiers most part of their pay; a score of dark-eyed senoritas of
questionable reputation; a like number of hunters, teamsters,
_mustangers_, and nondescripts--such as constitute in all countries the
hangers-on of a military cantonment, or the followers of a camp.
The houses in the occupancy of this motley corporation have been "sited"
with some design. Perhaps they are the property of a single speculator.
They stand around a "square," where, instead of lamp-posts or statues,
may be seen the decaying trunk of a cypress, or the bushy form of a
hackberry rising out of a _tapis_ of trodden grass.
The Leona--at this point a mere rivulet--glides past in the rear both of
fort and village. To the front extends a level plain, green as verdure
can make it--in the distance darkened by a bordering of woods, in which
post-oaks and pecans, live oaks and elms, struggle for existence with
spinous plants of cactus and anona; with scores of creepers, climbers,
and parasites almost unknown to the botanist. To the south and east
along the banks of the stream, you see scattered houses: the homesteads
of plantations; some of them rude and of recent construction, with a few
of more pretentious style, and evidently of older origin. One of these
last particularly attracts the attention: a structure of superior size--
with flat roof, surmounted by a crenelled parapet--whose white walls
show conspicuously against the green background of forest with which it
is half encircled. It is the hacienda of _Casa del Corvo_.
Turning your eye northward, you behold a curious isolated eminence--a
gigantic cone of rocks--rising several hundred feet above the level of
the plain; and beyond, in dim distance, a waving horizontal line
indicating the outlines of the Guadalupe mountains--the outstanding
spurs of that elevated and almost untrodden plateau, the _Llano
Estacado_.
Look aloft! You behold a sky, half sapphire, half turquoise; by day,
showing no other spot than the orb of its golden god; by night, studded
with stars that appear clipped from clear steel, and a moon whose
well-defined disc outshines the effulgence of silver.
Look below--at that hour when moon and stars have disappeared, and the
land-wind arrives from Matagorda Bay, laden with the fragrance of
flowers; when it strikes the starry flag, unfolding it to the eye of the
morn--then look below, and behold the picture that should have been
painted by the pencil of Vernet--too varied and vivid, too plentiful in
shapes, costumes, and colouring, to be sketched by the pen.
In the tableau you distinguish soldiers in uniform--the light blue of
the United States infantry, the darker cloth of the dragoons, and the
almost invisible green of the mounted riflemen.
You will see but few in full uniform--only the officer of the day, the
captain of the guard, and the guard itself.
Their comrades off duty lounge about the barracks, or within the
stockade enclosure, in red flannel shirts, slouch hats, and boots
innocent of blacking.
They mingle with men whose costumes make no pretence to a military
character: tall hunters in tunics of dressed deerskin, with leggings to
correspond--herdsmen and mustangers, habited _a la Mexicaine_--Mexicans
themselves, in wide _calzoneros_, _serapes_ on their shoulders, _botas_
on their legs, huge spurs upon their heels, and glazed _sombreros_ set
jauntily on their crowns. They palaver with Indians on a friendly visit
to the Fort, for trade or treaty; whose tents stand at some distance,
and from whose shoulders hang blankets of red, and green, and blue--
giving them a picturesque, even classical, appearance, in spite of the
hideous paint with which they have bedaubed their skins, and the dirt
that renders sticky their long black hair, lengthened by tresses taken
from the tails of their horses.
Picture to the eye of your imagination this jumble of mixed
nationalities--in their varied costumes of race, condition, and calling;
jot in here and there a black-skinned scion of Ethiopia, the body
servant of some officer, or the emissary of a planter from the adjacent
settlements; imagine them standing in gossiping groups, or stalking over
the level plain, amidst some half-dozen halted waggons; a couple of
six-pounders upon their carriages, with caissons close by; a square tent
or two, with its surmounting fly--occupied by some eccentric officer who
prefers sleeping under canvas; a stack of bayoneted rifles belonging to
the soldiers on guard,--imagine all these component parts, and you will
have before your mind's eye a truthful picture of a military fort upon
the frontier of Texas, and the extreme selvedge of civilisation.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
About a week after the arrival of the Louisiana planter at his new home,
three officers were seen standing upon the parade ground in front of
Fort Inge, with their eyes turned towards the hacienda of Casa del
Corvo.
They were all young men: the oldest not over thirty years of age. His
shoulder-straps with the double bar proclaimed him a captain; the
second, with a single cross bar, was a first lieutenant; while the
youngest of the two, with an empty chevron, was either a second
lieutenant or "brevet."
They were off duty; engaged in conversation--their theme, the "new
people" in Casa del Corvo--by which was meant the Louisiana planter and
his family.
"A sort of housewarming it's to be," said the infantry captain, alluding
to an invitation that had reached the Fort, extending to all the
commissioned officers of the garrison. "Dinner first, and dancing
afterwards--a regular field day, where I suppose we shall see paraded
the aristocracy and beauty of the settlement."
"Aristocracy?" laughingly rejoined the lieutenant of dragoons. "Not
much of that here, I fancy; and of beauty still less."
"You mistake, Hancock. There are both upon the banks of the Leona.
Some good States families have strayed out this way. We'll meet them at
Poindexter's party, no doubt. On the question of aristocracy, the host
himself, if you'll pardon a poor joke, is himself a host. He has enough
of it to inoculate all the company that may be present; and as for
beauty, I'll back his daughter against anything this side the Sabine.
The commissary's niece will be no longer belle about here."
"Oh, indeed!" drawled the lieutenant of rifles, in a tone that told of
his being chafed by this representation. "Miss Poindexter must be
deuced good-looking, then."
"She's all that, I tell you, if she be anything like what she was when I
last saw her, which was at a Bayou Lafourche ball. There were half a
dozen young Creoles there, who came nigh crossing swords about her."
"A coquette, I suppose?" insinuated the rifleman.
"Nothing of the kind, Crossman. Quite the contrary, I assure you.
She's a girl of spirit, though--likely enough to snub any fellow who
might try to be too familiar. She's not without some of the father's
pride. It's a family trait of the Poindexters."
"Just the girl I should cotton to," jocosely remarked the young dragoon.
"And if she's as good-looking as you say, Captain Sloman, I shall
certainly go in for her. Unlike Crossman here, I'm clear of all
entanglements of the heart. Thank the Lord for it!"
"Well, Mr Hancock," rejoined the infantry officer, a gentleman of sober
inclinings, "I'm not given to betting; but I'd lay a big wager you won't
say that, after you have seen Louise Poindexter--that is, if you speak
your mind."
"Pshaw, Sloman! don't you be alarmed about me. I've been too often
under the fire of bright eyes to have any fear of them."
"None so bright as hers."
"Deuce take it! you make a fellow fall in love with this lady without
having set eyes upon her. She must be something extraordinary--
incomparable."
"She was both, when I last saw her."
"How long ago was that?"
"The Lafourche ball? Let me see--about eighteen months. Just after we
got back from Mexico. She was then `coming out' as society styles it:--
"A new star in the firmament, to light and glory born!"
"Eighteen months is a long time," sagely remarked Crossman--"a long time
for an unmarried maiden--especially among Creoles, where they often get
spliced at twelve, instead of `sweet sixteen.' Her beauty may have lost
some of its bloom?"
"I believe not a bit. I should have called to see; only I knew they
were in the middle of their `plenishing,' and mightn't desire to be
visited. But the major has been to Casa del Corvo, and brought back
such a report about Miss Poindexter's beauty as almost got him into a
scrape with the lady commanding the post."
"Upon my soul, Captain Sloman!" asseverated the lieutenant of dragoons,
"you've excited my curiosity to such a degree, I feel already half in
love with Louise Poindexter!"
"Before you get altogether into it," rejoined the officer of infantry,
in a serious tone, "let me recommend a little caution. There's a _bete
noir_ in the background."
"A brother, I suppose? That is the individual usually so regarded."
"There is a brother, but it's not he. A free noble young fellow he is--
the only Poindexter I ever knew not eaten up with pride, he's quite the
reverse."
"The aristocratic father, then? Surely he wouldn't object to a
quartering with the Hancocks?"
"I'm not so sure of that; seeing that the Hancocks are Yankees, and he's
a _chivalric Southerner_! But it's not old Poindexter I mean."
"Who, then, is the black beast, or what is it--if not a human?"
"It is human, after a fashion. A male cousin--a queer card he is--by
name Cassius Calhoun."
"I think I've heard the name."
"So have I," said the lieutenant of rifles.
"So has almost everybody who had anything to do with the Mexican war--
that is, who took part in Scott's campaign. He figured there
extensively, and not very creditably either. He was captain in a
volunteer regiment of Mississippians--for he hails from that State; but
he was oftener met with at the _monte-table_ than in the quarters of his
regiment. He had one or two affairs, that gave him the reputation of a
bully. But that notoriety was not of Mexican-war origin. He had earned
it before going there; and was well known among the desperadoes of New
Orleans as a _dangerous man_."
"What of all that?" asked the young dragoon, in a tone slightly
savouring of defiance. "Who cares whether Mr Cassius Calhoun be a
dangerous man, or a harmless one? Not I. He's only the girl's cousin,
you say?"
"Something more, perhaps. I have reason to think he's her lover."
"Accepted, do you suppose?"
"That I can't tell. I only know, or suspect, that he's the favourite of
the father. I have heard reasons why; given only in whispers, it is
true, but too probable to be scouted. The old story--influence
springing from mortgage money. Poindexter's not so rich as he has
been--else we'd never have seen him out here."
"If the lady be as attractive as you say, I suppose we'll have Captain
Cassius out here also, before long?"
"Before long! Is that all you know about it? He _is_ here; came along
with the family, and is now residing with them. Some say he's a partner
in the planting speculation. I saw him this very morning--down in the
hotel bar-room--`liquoring up,' and swaggering in his old way."
"A swarthy-complexioned man, of about thirty, with dark hair and
moustaches; wearing a blue cloth frock, half military cut, and a Colt's
revolver strapped over his thigh?"
"Ay, and a bowie knife, if you had looked for it, under the breast of
his coat. That's the man."
"He's rather a formidable-looking fellow," remarked the young rifleman.
"If a bully, his looks don't belie him."
"Damn his looks!" half angrily exclaimed the dragoon. "We don't hold
commissions in Uncle Sam's army to be scared by looks, nor bullies
either. If he comes any of his bullying over me, he'll find I'm as
quick with a trigger as he."
At that moment the bugle brayed out the call for morning parade--a
ceremony observed at the little frontier fort as regularly as if a whole
_corps-d'armee_ had been present--and the three officers separating,
betook themselves to their quarters to prepare their several companies
for the inspection of the major in command of the cantonment.