The week that followed was one not soon to be forgotten by two at least
of Pop's old boys. To begin with, after all the wear and tear and
exposure of the month, it was several days before Major Stark, with his
gallant companions, was able to go into Washington. He lay in a big tent
close to brigade head-quarters, the guest of the general and the object
of assiduous attentions from high officials, accomplished surgeons, and
enthusiastic soldiers, Snipe and Keating coming in for many a word of
praise and promise of advancement and reward. Even the great President,
accompanied by Secretary Seward, drove out in his carriage and visited
the invalid New-Englander and listened to his story, and sent for
Sergeant Keating and the "two boys." He wanted to see that queerly
assorted team, said he, and whimsically remarked, after looking them
over, with a smile for both and a hearty shake of the hand, "Well, the
long and short of it is, you're both bound to be soldiers, I see.
Perhaps we can help."
Keating, promptly commissioned a lieutenant in the Second Fire Zouaves,
was ordered to join that command. Stark, as soon as he was able to move
with comfort, was to go home and accept the colonelcy of a new regiment
awaiting him in its camp, Snipe with him. But meantime Mr. and Mrs. Park
had reached the capital, and had been driven out to Chain Bridge, where
the fond mother had a very warm reception from all who by this time had
heard Snipe's school story (and who that got within hail of Shorty any
day that week had failed to hear it?) and the grim step-father a
correspondingly cool one. Park had borne more than his share of worry
and woe for long months past, and as means to the end, had come with the
cool determination of making George an offer, either to put him through
college with a fair allowance, or start him in business at Rhinebeck,
for Park had been in correspondence with the Doctor and with Halsey, and
had reluctantly come to the conclusion that the boy couldn't have been
the thief he thought, though of course he was an ingrate and lacking in
appreciation. But Park found that step-parental authority was not
recognized in the army. The boy himself was bent on following the
fortunes of his soldier friends. Major Stark had told the mother of his
own plans and the President's promises with regard to her son, and the
fond mother, proud, yet full of fears, yielded to the wishes of her boy
and the advice of his comrades, and decided against those of her lord
and master. Park found the atmosphere of the camp uncongenial. It
chilled him like a channel fog, and he left for home, and pressing
business, within another day, while Mrs. Park remained. There were other
sympathetic women there, wives of officers visiting in camp, and she did
not lack for friends.
But for Snipe and Shorty there came a day of thrilling interest when
Captain Beach, of the "First Long Island," together with Keating and
Desmond, of the Zouaves, met at the provost-marshal's in Washington, and
what a meeting it was! The story of the school-boy days had been told
the general, who listened with vivid interest. It was he who planned
further movements and arranged the necessary preliminaries at the War
Department. Among the few Confederate prisoners in the city at the time
were young Grayson, captured as a lieutenant just before Bull Run, and
Spottswood, captured as sergeant the night of the rescue in front of
Chain Bridge, both of the Virginia cavalry. The latter had wrathfully
declined to surrender the watch claimed by Shorty to be stolen property
(those were the earliest--the callow--days of the war, when the wishes
of prisoners as to their personal property were occasionally respected),
and a tremendous scene had ensued. But within three days there appeared
at Washington two young gentlemen, Pop's boys, sent thither in response
to telegraphic inquiries,--Messrs. Paul Grayson and Clinton Joy,--and
they had been taken to the Capitol prison by Captain Winthrop, a former
Pop boy, and there had been an interview between the cousins, Northern
and Southern; then, a conference between Grayson the Confederate and his
bumptious statesman, and then Mr. Spottswood very gracefully surrendered
the watch, which Mr. Joy positively and conclusively identified as his
own, notwithstanding the obliteration of the name, and Spottswood told
how it came into his possession. He had spent some time the previous
winter and spring in Mobile, Savannah, and Charleston, had seen a good
deal of two young--gentlemen--and he used the word with hesitation--from
New York, two brothers by the name of Hulker. There had grown up
something of an intimacy. They had money in abundance at first, but
finally seemed to run out, and they had to "baw-wo," said Mr.
Spottswood, with a blush, from their friends. In fact, they had
"baw-woed" so much from friends to whom he had presented them that he
felt in honor bound to make it good, and as the young men had to get out
of the South in a hurry in May, and he had become suspicious as to their
solvency, he had felt compelled, he said it regretfully, to demand some
security, and they had left with him diamonds and this watch. The
diamonds were at his home in Richmond. The watch he unhesitatingly
turned over, as became a gentleman, to its proper owner. When Lieutenant
Grayson was told that all this was necessary to clear the good name of
the young scholar soldier who had captured him, you can imagine his
interest in the case was by no means diminished.
This matter settled, and a joyous meeting having taken place between the
four schoolmates, Captains Beach and Winthrop, brother officers now and
ex-Columbiads, affably supervising, the next thing was to follow up the
trail of Desmond's statements to Shorty, and this duty was intrusted to
Keating. An odd feature with the old fire department was the alliance,
offensive and defensive, which existed among certain companies, in
contradistinction to the bitter rivalries which were inevitable. In the
long-continued feud between Big Six and Manhattan Eight whole
communities were involved. Political societies and clubs took sides with
one or the other, and rows innumerable went on for years. Downtown
companies, generally at odds with their neighbors, swore eternal
friendship with some up-town organization which "ran" in lower
districts. Marion 9 and Lady Washington 40 "lay" within three blocks of
each other in the lower Fifth Fire District, but did duty, the former in
the Fourth and Fifth, the latter in the Sixth and Seventh; turning out,
of course, for all fires within a few blocks of their respective
stations; and these two companies were on terms of very distant and
dignified reserve. Away up-town, in like manner, were Lexington 7 and
Pacific 28, both of which answered alarms from the Fifth District, both
of which ran down Third Avenue to the Bowery in so doing, and as a
consequence, time and again met and raced every inch of the way. The
long run from Twenty-seventh Street to the Cooper Institute or beyond
would almost exhaust their own men, but by the time they got far
down-town there were swarms of allies to man the drag-ropes, 9's men
with No. 7, 40's lively lads with 28, and, counting on this old
alliance, Keating called on Desmond to redeem his promise to Shorty and
tell what he knew about the school or its scholars, and Desmond's story
was what boys of a later generation would have called "a corker."
He used to be hard up himself, he said, and more than once had had to
"spout" his watch, and several times in other ways to raise money at a
pawnbroker's, and there were some young fellows, whom he had twice
encountered there, regular young Fifth Avenue swells, and one night
while he was in a stall at the counter, he heard two of them come into
an adjoining box, and they had a beautiful gold watch on which they
wished to make a raise. He could not see it even by leaning away
forward, for the partition prevented, but he could hear distinctly all
the talk. The pawnbroker didn't want to take it. He said he was afraid.
He knew both the "young fellers;" they'd often been there before, and he
knew that watch didn't belong to either of the two. They swore, however,
that it belonged to a friend in their set who didn't wish to be known,
but had to have money that very night, and, "why, that watch must have
been worth over three hundred dollars!" It was a beautiful thing, they
said, and all they wanted was fifty; their friend would redeem it the
very next week and pay high. They were so earnest about it that Desmond
forgot his own troubles in listening to theirs. At last they got some
thirty or forty dollars and left in a hurry. Desmond looked after them.
Both wore fur caps pulled down over their ears, and coat-collars up
almost hiding their heads, although it was quite early in the fall, and,
though a raw east wind was blowing and a rain pouring, it was not cold
enough for such attire. Outside the shop they were joined by others who
were in waiting, three of them, and they scooted back toward the west in
a hurry. Not two months afterwards Desmond was there again, and a big,
smooth-faced, smug-looking fellow came in, with his head all bundled up,
and he had the pawn ticket for that very watch, Desmond knew by the
talk; and the pawnbroker had some words with the fellow because he tried
to get it back for less by a good deal than the young men agreed to pay,
and both got mad and abused each other, and each said he could send the
other to jail. It was fun to hear them, said Desmond, and he wondered
who the big man could be, and followed him out and saw him meet the same
two "young fellers" that were there before. The big man took off his hat
and wiped his face, he was "so blown with jawing," and Desmond said he
had a good long look at him, and would know him again anywhere.
Now he was sure he had seen some of those young fellers with the school
crowd that used to be up at Duncan's every day for luncheon, and in the
"Shanghai" set that ran with Metamora Hose. But from that time they quit
going to that pawnshop. The owner told him the police came round there
looking for that very watch, and he was glad he was rid of them, and of
that "big, smug-faced feller," too. He felt sure he was a thief. As for
the boys, the broker said two of them had been there time and again
before, and they were a hard lot. "Would you know the two if you were to
see them again?" Keating asked the Zouave.
"I didn't see them, plainly. I couldn't, they were wrapped up so, but I
could hear them plain, and I'd know their voices among a million."
All this having been duly reported, and Beach, Winthrop, and one or two
senior officers having been in consultation, this strange meeting was
decided upon, and, not knowing why they were bidden, Snipe and Shorty
found themselves one bright September morning in the anteroom of the
provost-marshal's office. Beach and Winthrop were already there. It was
just one week after the arrest of the general's orderly by the patrol
and his incarceration by order of the lieutenant of the guard. There was
a moment of greeting and quiet chat. Then the boys were shown into a
side room, and there sat Keating and Desmond. Beach called to the
latter. "I wish you to sit here with me close to the door and listen to
every word spoken in the office during the next five minutes." Then he,
too, seated himself. There was silence a moment or two, then a low-toned
conference between the provost-marshal and Winthrop, and presently a
door opened, a somewhat unsteady, clinking step was heard, and then a
voice, at sound of which Snipe and Shorty started and looked into each
other's faces, while Beach sat watching Desmond.
"Did you wish to see me, sir?"
The speaker was invisible, but there was no mistaking the voice, with
its odd, jerky, nervous accent.
"Yes, sir. I have been called upon to explain why the guard held a
bearer of despatches and an important message last week. You were
officer of the guard at the time. What have you to say?"
"Why--major--I don't know much about it. The men said they ordered him
to stop all the way for half a mile, and he defied 'em. He--was all
covered with dirt and looked like some common volunteer drummer-boy out
on a drunk. I didn't suppose any general would trust despatches
to--anybody like that. I thought he was lyin'."
"In point of fact, sir," interposed the provost-marshal, "did you not
recognize the messenger and have reason to know that his story was true?
Did you not order him to the cells, refusing to listen?"
"P'r'aps I did, and just because I _did_ know him to be a no-account
little ragamuffin that used to be runnin' round with the firemen and
such like----"
Sir Toby Belch listening from ambush to Malvolio's soliloquy at his
expense could not have looked more amazed and wrathful than did Shorty
at this. Beach, unable to repress a grin, suppressed him with a gesture.
"You may retire, Mr. Hoover. Remain at the guard-room. I may want you in
a moment."
And then the party was summoned from its concealment, and then all eyes
were on Desmond, and Winthrop propounded this question:
"Well, did you recognize any voice?"
"That young feller's--that was in here just now? I couldn't see him
through the screen, but I never heard his voice before in all me life."
And this ended the first lesson. But there were others to come, for the
Doctor and Beach had been in rapid correspondence, and when three days
later still Major Stark, a celebrity now whom Gotham was eager to honor,
arrived at the Cortlandt Street ferry, faithful Snipe still at his side,
and Lieutenant Keating, furloughed that he, too, might be lionized,
there accompanied them the little corporal of Zouaves, Desmond, late of
"28's Engine."
Aunt Lawrence, with her carriage, was at the ferry, effusive in her
regrets that Colonel Stark had to go on at once, but grateful that he
could permit George to remain, for nothing would answer but that dear,
brave George must spend a few days under her roof before reporting at
the camp of his new regiment. And with Aunt Lawrence, obsequious, smug,
assiduous in his attentions to Mahster George, loading up with Mahster
George's light luggage, and bowing low in homage to Mahster George's
distinguished commander, as that gallant officer was driven away, was
Aunt Lawrence's most expensive household luxury, the English butler, and
as that dignitary closed the door of the Lawrence carriage and lifted
his hat and wiped his glowing face, and then waddled pompously off in
quest of a horse-car, Desmond grabbed his officer by the arm. "There's
the Shanghai that got the watch and jawed the pawnbroker and ran with
that gang of young fellers," said he. And only another day and Aunt
Lawrence's butler marched away in the grip of the law, and Aunt
Lawrence's house-maid lay screaming in simulated hysterics.
A precious pair were these, as events and detectives speedily disclosed,
and words can hardly describe the shame and horror with which Aunt
Lawrence presently realized that, to divert suspicion from themselves,
her own domestics had found means of attaching it to George. Their
stealings had as yet been confined to old-fashioned trinkets and
jewelry, which she seldom looked at and the loss of which would not soon
be discovered. It was not the jewels, but the good name the servitor had
stolen, that now arrayed all the household against him and his unhappy
victim, the damsel who so neglected George's room and linen. Binny, the
butler, went to the police station without a chance to caution her, so
she went to the priest, and one confession led to another. The girl was
Irish and had a conscience or compunctions, and returning to her
mistress, threw herself at her feet, and sobbed out her story. Binny had
her completely in his power, or made her think he had. It was he who
compelled her to take the cameo and other jewelry from time to time, and
who planned more extensive raids to follow. It was he to whom she
surrendered Seymour's gold pencil-case, which she found on the floor of
Mahster George's room, but stoutly she declared, when questioned by Mrs.
Lawrence, that of Joy's beautiful watch she had never even heard.
And this was more than Binny could say when confronted by Desmond, the
pawnbroker, and certain members of the police force who had had an eye
on him, especially when within twenty-four hours of his incarceration
there was landed in the neighboring cell the person of Mr. Briggs, late
of the First Latin, but no longer on the rolls of Columbia. Others, long
since fathomed as to character by Pop, were under the watchful eye of
"the force," and Messrs. Brodrick and the Hulkers, both, betook
themselves to summer resorts, despite the fact that the tide of fashion
was turning back from the sea-shore and the mountains. Then Briggs the
elder, a broken-down politician and former office-holder, was sent for
and closeted with the Doctor, Halsey, Hoover senior, Martigny, and the
detective, with the result that within an hour Briggs junior was
summoned into the presence of the same tribunal, and then his last
remaining trace of nerve gave way.
Even then he lied, shifted, dodged, accused, but one after another his
lies were met and overthrown, and at last the miserable story came out
in driblets, but the chain was complete. To raise small sums he had
begun selling books, sometimes from his father's scant stock, then from
other boys' fathers. Binny, on some similar errand bent, had twice
encountered him and recognized him as the young "fellar" that used to
come to see Mahster George, and bolt up to his room even when the lad
was out. Binny found that discovery worth working. He gave Briggs a
bracelet, once worn by "me sainted wife, now in 'eaven," but Binny said
he was in need of funds and must dispose of it, and wouldn't mind giving
Mahster Briggs something "'ansom'" out of what he could get for it. Then
Binny had Briggs "by the hair," so to speak, and held him for future
service. Hoover, too, and the Hulkers, had used him as a cat's-paw. They
loaned him money, and then when he could not repay, demanded service in
kind. Then the Hulkers themselves were emboldened to try their luck at
the pawnbroker's, and by going only at night--and generally stormy
nights--they managed to keep their identity concealed. Briggs was
dreadfully in debt to both Hoover and the Hulkers when one day in the
early fall the First Latin indulged in one of its famous charges.
Briggs, crushed against the bookcase, and making as much noise as
anybody, was one of the last to quit the spot. Joy's beautiful watch
caught his eye, dangling at the end of its chain, as the class was
disentangling, and a quick jerk transferred it to his capacious pocket.
He swore he never meant to keep it. He only wanted to "have some fun
with Joy," and to prove it, he said, he ran round to Brodrick's stable
and told him and the Hulkers all about it, and left it with the Hulkers
for safe-keeping, and that night they pawned it. He didn't dare report
it, for they could tell far worse things about him than he could about
them, but all were scared when they heard of the Doctor's vigorous
measures, and not daring to return for it themselves, Briggs bethought
him of Binny, and between them they raised the money necessary to redeem
it and sent him, Binny, as their emissary. Then the Hulkers hid it
somewhere, and the next thing Briggs knew Binny, and the Hulkers, too,
were demanding tribute of him. Briggs vowed he was horrified when he
found that Snipe was suspected and accused; he always liked Snipe,
Hoover wouldn't lend him another cent, and he was at his wit's end where
to raise the money to meet their demands and forestall the threatened
exposure, when quarter day and the fire came. He saw his opportunity
when Halsey left the desk unguarded, and ran and scooped some gold out
of the drawer, poked some of the pieces in his trousers, some in his
waistcoat, and some in his overcoat-pocket when at the rack. If he poked
any in Shorty's, which hung next to his, it was all a mistake. He
wouldn't have done that for the world, he said, and then, as he daren't
be found with the money, he gave most of it to the Hulkers, as before,
"for safe-keeping" and to square accounts, and that was about all poor
Briggs's inquisitors cared to know. A warrant went out for Brodrick, who
managed to precede it to Montreal, but the Hulkers were quietly
apprehended and escorted back to Gotham. And here ended the last of the
cabal against Snipe. Now came the reaction.
One glorious day in late September the old First Latin reassembled in
strong force at the old school, the occasion being a flag-raising. There
they were, the same glad-hearted lot of boys that had made merry in the
old school-room many and many a day, Hoover and Briggs being conspicuous
by their absence. "Regimental duties," wrote the father of the former,
would prevent his son's attendance on the auspicious occasion, whereat
the Doctor winked over his spectacles at the grinning array of
listeners, and "other engagements," it was casually mentioned, would
account for the non-appearance of Briggs. At the usual hour of recess
the whole school, Classical and English departments both, had clustered
about two young fellows in martial uniform, Snipe Lawton, brown-eyed,
blushing and shy, towering over most of them in stature, arrayed in the
trim-fitting frock-coat and complete uniform of a first lieutenant of
infantry, and Shorty, full to the brim of mingled pride and delight,
wearing the garb of the famous Zouave regiment to which he had been
attached, even while being, by order, as he not infrequently remarked,
on detached duty at brigade head-quarters. This was emphatically Snipe's
benefit, however, and no one begrudged it to him less than did his old
chum. A little after noon a burst of martial music was heard far up the
avenue, and the majestic Doctor waved his thronging boys to their posts,
and down the stairs they tumbled, tumultuous, and "lined up," six deep,
on the opposite curb. And then, led by a capital band, a great regiment
in full marching order, with knapsacks packed and overcoats rolled, came
striding down the west side of the broad thoroughfare in column of
fours, and a soldierly-looking colonel reined out as they reached the
school, and let the right wing, five strong companies, go swinging by
until the beautiful silken colors, national and State, were directly
opposite the window, where in immaculate broadcloth and immense dignity
stood the Doctor, a brand-new bunting flag on his arm, Snipe, with the
"down haul" halliard on his right, Shorty, with the slack, on his left.
Then the colonel's powerful voice rang out along the thronging street,
"Battalio-o-n-n-n halt! Front!" and the whole regiment, at least a
thousand strong, stood motionless facing the east. Then the band was
drawn up in front of the right centre company, and at a signal, struck
up the grand strains of the "Star-Spangled Banner." "Present arms!"
shouted Colonel Stark, then reined his horse about and lowered his
glistening sword in salute. The school and the great crowd set up a
stupendous cheer. The Doctor beamed and waved his white cambric
handkerchief. Halsey and Meeker and other masters smiled from the
windows. Snipe hauled away with might and main, Shorty paid out, and the
beautiful folds of blue and scarlet and dazzling white went sailing
slowly aloft until they touched the peak of the tall white staff at the
top of the building. Then the Doctor shook hands with Snipe again and
again and put his hand on his shoulder and waved to the crowd as though
he would say "Cheer for Lawton," and cheer they did, and presently that
cheer swelled into a lusty-lunged roar, for the colonel gave the command
shoulder and order arms, magnificently executed, followed by "Rest!"
which gave the regiment leave to make itself heard, and never before had
Fourth Avenue rung to such acclaim.
Then Snipe shook hands with his old teachers again, poor, pallid
Meeker's eyes filling with tears, and with John, the janitor, who
grinned and writhed in ecstasy. Then he and Shorty came bounding down
the stairs, and another shout went up from the school, and something
like a sob rose in Shorty's throat as Lawton drew for the first time his
beautiful sword, the gift of all the classes, and, throwing his left
arm about the "little 'un's" neck, held him in close hug one second,
then bounded away to the post of the adjutant, his eyes too full to look
back, his heart too full to speak. Once more the great regiment sprang
into column of fours, the arms snapped up to the right shoulder, the
band broke into a magnificent swinging quickstep, and the Fourth New
England strode sturdily away to make its mark on many a field, its boy
adjutant marching at the head of column. Many a long block it went
before the last of Pop's boys dropped off and turned back, only to find
that half-holiday had been declared in honor of the event of the day.
Snipe and Shorty, big Damon and little Pythias, Mr. Lincoln's "long and
short of it," had seen the last of the old school and school-days, with
all their fun and frolic and their sad and solemn memories. The old
First Latin went on to collegiate days minus its soldier boys and the
little lamented Briggs. After all, there was aroused a bit of sympathy
for him when the Hulkers were bought off in some mysterious way and
never appeared for trial, when Brodrick was heard of as "living high" in
Canada, and only the detestable butler was left to share the punishment
with the rapscallion of the class. Some boys thought Hoover was so low
that "even if he didn't steal he put Briggs up to it," and the school
was furious at the thought of his being an officer in the regular army.
It did poor Hoover little good, however. His regiment was soon taken
from the comforts of Washington and sent campaigning, and three days'
marching through Virginia dust proved more than the poor fellow could
stand. He broke down on the eve of battle, had to be sent to the rear in
an ambulance, and the regiment said he would be wise to resign: so for
once wisdom and Hoover worked together. John, the janitor, lived to tell
many a wonderful tale of the times they had when the First Latin had
such "fellers" in it as Lawton and Joy, Bertram and Beekman, Julian and
Prime. Meeker got a new lease of life with the going out of the old
class and the coming in of the new, for the Doctor did not spoil these
latter as he had their predecessors, and the Doctor treated him with a
consideration that had been lacking a long time, for there were days in
the past when Meeker's poverty and troubles, coupled with other
circumstantial evidence, had made him the object of the Doctor's
suspicions, and Meeker knew it, and thanked heaven for the load that was
lifted when Briggs broke down and bore it all with him. As for the
Doctor himself, he came at the same hour every day, poked his cane and
the old jokes at the occupants on the mourners' bench, and never seemed
more tickled in his life than when, from the distant front, there came a
joint letter from Damon and Pythias, who happened to meet for one
blissful evening. The watch episode was a thing he would never speak of,
but shrewd school-boy observers found a topic that would sometimes start
him even to the extent of proclaiming subsequent half-holiday, and that
was "our polemical young friends" who had abandoned the classic shades
of Columbia for the sword.
"'_Et tunc pugnabant pugnis_,'" he began one day----
"Ha, young gentlemen of the First Latin, behold the line immortalized by
your predecessors of the year agone. Half-holiday to him who completes
it with a new reading.
"'_Et tunc--pugna--bant pug--nis_'----
"Who supplies the ellipsis? What! a volunteer already? Let us see: '_Et
nunc gladiis pugnan_.' Neither brilliant nor metrical, but pregnant with
patriotic truth. Half-holiday to Douglas, and---- How have the rest
done, Mr. Halsey?"
"H'm," says Halsey, "rather worse if anything."
"Ha! Ominous report. Take your seats, young gentlemen, and we resume the
consideration of Xenophon. What's that suggestion? 'Fresh air to clear
your brains?' Loquax redivivus! However, Mr. Halsey,--there may be
something in it. We'll try it."
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's From School to Battle-field, by Charles King