HOW WE HEARD THE NEWS.
Some strange things had been happening at Russell. Among others the
midnight serenade at Mrs. Truscott's had been repeated. Miss Sanford and
Mrs. Truscott both heard it this time, and when Mrs. Truscott would have
gone to the window to peep and see who it was who sang so delightfully,
Miss Sanford restrained her, quietly saying that this was his second
visit, and she knew it to be Sergeant Wolf. Mrs. Turner and other
ladies, eagerly and naturally curious to find out who it was that
serenaded one house in the garrison twice, and similarly honored no
others, had plied Mrs. Truscott with questions. It was agreed that they
should tell Mrs. Stannard and seek her advice, but avoid all talk with
others. Such resolutions are all very well, but rather impracticable in
view of the indomitable energy with which the sex will pursue a train of
inquiry. It was delightfully romantic, said the ladies, delightfully
sensational some of them thought, and their theory was that some one
must be paying his devotions in this way to Miss Sanford, which would
account for his total obliviousness to the charms of others--married and
single. Mr. Gleason, when first questioned, had assumed that air of
conscious negation, of confirmatory disclaimer, which is calculated to
impress the hearer with the belief that, despite denial, he was
deserving the soft impeachment. Gleason would gladly have assumed the
responsibility. For a whole day he was the hero, to many feminine minds,
of the serenades, and the recipient of a dozen warm invitations to come
and sing for them that evening; but before nightfall one theory received
a shock which was followed in an hour by another. The first was when
Mrs. Whaling placidly asserted that she knew all about the serenades.
That while the supposed unknown had honored Miss Sanford's window twice,
it was getting to be an old story at the colonel's, as the troubadour
had appeared under her Cecilia's window almost every night for--oh, she
didn't know how long. Cecilia had blushingly confessed that morning, and
she, Mrs. Whaling, had frequently heard his tinkling guitar and sweet
tenor at odd times. Now, among the infantry ladies it was an older story
that fair Cecilia had a way of arrogating to herself attentions never
intended for her, and of having a fertility of invention which enabled
her at a moment's notice to discount any story of devotions to another
girl with exuberant descriptions of others more intense of which she was
the prior object. Any statement of her sainted child was promptly backed
by her adoring mother, and, well, there was disbelief, not loud but
deep, of this statement among the infantry ladies. As for "ours,"--Mrs.
Stannard listened in silence but with glistening eyes; Mrs. Truscott and
Miss Sanford with evident relief; Mrs. Turner and Mrs. Wilkins with
exclamatory interest.
The second shock came when a party of ladies, Miss Cecilia Whaling being
of the number, alluded to Mr. Gleason as the probable Manrico, and this
for the purpose of "drawing out" Mrs. Turner. "Nonsense!" said Mrs.
Turner. "Mr. Gleason has no more voice than a frog. He thinks he can
sing, but--you just ought to hear him."
"Why, but, Mrs. _Turner_," said one of the fair advocates, eager to
sustain the theory she advanced, "Mr. Gleason as much as admitted that
he was the man."
"He? of course he would! Mr. Gleason imagines there is no accomplishment
he does not possess. If you need conviction ask him to sing."
Ah, me! And this was the same lady who so vehemently stood up for
Gleason in the days when he was her devotee--before she discovered that
poker had attractions for him before which her own could but "pale their
ineffectual fires. _Tantæne animis coelestibus iræ?_"
If it wasn't Gleason, then, who was it? That was what the ladies
demanded to know,--Mrs. Turner and Mrs. Wilkins being as determined as
their sisters of the infantry. It was evident all too soon that the
subject annoyed and embarrassed Mrs. Truscott. She colored painfully
when it was mentioned in her presence. This only whetted the zeal and
inquisitiveness of the inquisitors. In one form or other it was
constantly being brought up in her presence, and her every look and
gesture was narrowly scanned. Mrs. Turner grew wild with curiosity. Here
was a mystery indeed! From Mrs. Stannard she could extract nothing. From
Miss Sanford she received smiling, gracious treatment at all times, but
nothing tangible in the way of information. She almost made up her mind
to be gracious to Mr. Gleason, to be enticing, in fact; but before her
wiles could take effect other developments had rendered that course
impracticable.
Gleason himself, as we have seen, had taken prompt measures to satisfy
himself as to the identity of the serenader. His next step was to
institute inquiries as to just what was meant by these demonstrations on
part of the sergeant. Insidious questions were propounded to Mrs.
Stannard, Mrs. Truscott, and Miss Sanford, only to mystify him the more.
They would say nothing to enlighten him; but he plainly saw that each
one of the three was conscious that Wolf was the midnight visitor, and
that two of the three were in possession of knowledge with regard to the
mysterious soldier which he could not fathom. He took to studying Wolf;
sent for him frequently; had long talks with him ostensibly as to his
duties with recruits, but began to "draw him out" as to his past. All he
could learn was that he had come to this country determined to enlist,
had served a few months with Truscott at the Point, and had secured a
transfer because he wanted active service. He declined to tell what had
been his connections or his life before coming to our shores, but he was
evidently a man of education and refinement; he was an admirable
horseman, swordsman, and drill-master; he had evidently been trained for
the military profession. Now, how was it that he had so readily acceded
to the detail which kept him on duty at Russell, when, if he so wanted
active service, he could have been sent with the regiment? Gleason's one
interpretation of that was that the sergeant "loved, alas, above his
station." It behooved him now to find out which of the ladies at
Truscott's had inspired this romantic passion. It occurred to him that
the discovery might be made very useful. He was plainly losing ground
there. Invitations to tea and dinner had not been forthcoming since
Truscott's squadron marched away, and his efforts to see Miss Sanford
alone had been frustrated. Having secured the detail which kept him at
the post while the regiment was out roughing it, he relaxed the
assiduity of his attentions to Mrs. Whaling, but kept up his hand with
the old colonel through the medium of pool and billiards, though he lost
less frequently. He was always having confidential chats with the
colonel, and when Captain Buxton came through on his way to catch the
regiment, three days after Ray's departure, Gleason took him to see the
colonel, and the three were closeted for some time together. It worried
Mrs. Stannard, who felt sure there was mischief brewing, and she so
wrote to the major, who tackled Buxton the moment he joined with
questions about Ray, and Buxton was dumb as Sam Weller's drum with a
hole in it. Ray was there and "chipper" as a cricket. Everybody noted
how blithe, buoyant, and energetic he was, but this very trait prevented
Stannard's having more than one talk with him before the separation of
Wayne's command from the regiment. Ray was off on scouts from morning
till night. Stannard frankly told him how worried he had been, and Ray
looked amazed, declaring he had never been more temperate, and that his
accounts were straight as a string. He had played billiards but had not
touched a card.
When told of the allegation that he had been incessantly with Rallston,
and had cut loose from Buxton and Gleason, Ray replied that it was
incomprehensible to him how any man who knew Buxton and Gleason could
blame him for that. He never spoke to Gleason, and as the two were
always together, he had no wish to embarrass their good times. He was
with Rallston, his brother-in-law, who had been most kind, hospitable,
and jolly; but Ray went on to say he found that Rallston tried to be
sharp in palming off some inferior horses upon them, and he had blocked
it. This had caused a "split," so to speak, but nothing of consequence,
as he had immediately started to rejoin. More than this there was no
time to talk of. Ray went with Wayne, Stannard with the --th, and they
saw nothing more of each other for many a long day. Meantime, Gleason
was getting in his work. Stannard had written briefly to his wife to
tell her what Ray had said, but she was a keen judge of character, and
she could not but note the reticence and evident embarrassment of the
young adjutant at Russell--a courteous and high-minded fellow--whenever
she mentioned Ray's name.
Failing in his effort to extract information from Sergeant Wolf, Gleason
changed his methods. He began worrying him, restricting his movements in
various ways, and hampering him with corrections and suggestions. One
day a bandsman, who was excellent as a clarionet- and violin-player,
took his discharge-papers on expiration of term of service, and the
bandmaster appeared at the adjutant's office with Sergeant Wolf to
announce that the sergeant was even a better musician than the
discharged man, and was desirous of giving up his "lance" rank and
entering the band. Colonel Whaling and his adjutant were delighted to
make a temporary transfer to meet the case and to write to Mr. Billings
for regimental sanction. All too late, Gleason heard of and tried to
stop it. It took Wolf out of his control and compelled him to resort to
watching him. He had so palpably given it to be understood that _he_ was
the sweet singer who had entranced the garrison in his midnight
serenades that Gleason now felt he could not go to the adjutant and tell
him that Wolf was the man, and that he must pen him up at night. Indeed,
he rather wanted to have more of the serenading. He sniffed a scandal,
and in his resentment at Mrs. Truscott's evident avoidance of him and
Miss Sanford's serene indifference, he was beginning to feel that he
could welcome anything that would besmirch their names or cloud their
domestic peace. From his soldier servant he learned that Wolf spent
hours in writing letters, most of which he burned or tore up; that he
held himself aloof from the bandsmen, and was trying to get a little
room to himself. Every night when he was officer of the day, and
occasionally when he was not, Gleason patrolled that back fence in
search of Wolf, and one night he was rewarded. He sprang suddenly from
his hiding-place, and the soldier turned and ran like a deer, distancing
Gleason in no time; but in his flight he had dropped a letter. Gleason
could hardly believe his eyes when he saw it lying there upon the
ground. It bore no superscription, but in three minutes the lieutenant
had rushed to his quarters, locked the doors, and shut himself up with
his prize. The family next door was startled by the shout of triumph and
delight with which he read the last lines. He almost kissed the letter
in his ecstasy. He hardly slept that night from excitement, and it was
the very next morning that Russell was electrified by the telegraphic
news that the --th had had sharp fighting; that the main body of the
regiment, early in the morning three days previous, had met and driven
back to the reservation a large force of Cheyennes seeking to join
Sitting Bull; that Captain Wayne's squadron had been surrounded and cut
off by others of the same tribe, and rescued by Truscott's squadron at
the same instant that the fight was going on at the War Bonnet; that
Wayne's people would undoubtedly have been massacred to a man--as their
ammunition was spent--but for the heroism of Ray, who had run the
gauntlet through the Cheyennes all alone in the darkness, found
Truscott's squadron going rapidly away in another direction, turned him
to the rescue just in the nick of time, and now, weak and wounded, was
being sent in to Russell; that there had been several men killed, quite
a number wounded, and that among these latter were Blake, Wayne, and
Dana; and that Blake, too, would be sent to Russell. Further
particulars came every hour or two. Every report had something
additional to say of Ray's valor, and though he ground his teeth in rage
at the thought of Ray's temporary exaltation, Gleason was philosopher
enough to know that no man was long a hero in garrison life, and so took
advantage of the excitement to go and besiege the ladies with
congratulations. How could they exclude him at such a time? Grace was in
an ecstasy of pride and joy over her Jack's splendid charge, and Marion
Sanford, who gloried in deeds of valor, sat wondering if it were really
true that she knew the man whose name was on every lip, gallant, daring
Ray,--that--that even then, as Truscott wired them, he never forgot he
was riding for her colors.
But it was delicious to hear Gleason: "I cannot rejoice too much,
ladies, that it was the troop _I_ so long commanded that made the
decisive charge. They have fulfilled my highest expectations," was an
oft repeated remark. And when Mrs. Whaling came the second time to
dispense tearful felicitations, she found him ready to say amen to her
pious suggestions that they should unite in praise and prayer to the
Throne of Mercy.
The man was indeed
"A rogue in grain,
Veneered with sanctimonious theory."
They--Grace and Marion--had early fled to their rooms and knelt in
overwhelming gratitude to thank the God they worshipped for the mercy
vouchsafed to those so near to them. He--the two-faced villain--held in
his pocket at that moment the letter with which he meant to crush the
woman who had dared to hold him aloof.
As yet, however, he had no intention of immediately using it. For the
time being, the general rejoicing among the ladies made it possible for
even a shirk like Gleason to be among them a good deal. They could talk
of nothing but how splendid it was to be with the regiment, and how
admirably this or that officer had behaved, and one would suppose that
such conversation would have been galling to an able-bodied listener;
but that pachydermatous quality, to which allusion has been made, stood
Gleason in good stead. He smiled serenely at all their shafts, and spoke
of the deeds of the regiment quite as though he had been an active
participant. He hung around Truscott's quarters a good deal, bringing
all manner of trivial items of news from time to time, and even
manufacturing them that he might have an excuse to see the ladies. He
was so constantly there on pretext after pretext that he overdid the
matter,--annoyed both the ladies by his persistency and his covert
allusions to Wolf and occasional flings at Ray. They begged Mrs.
Stannard to devise means to rid them of him at last; and one afternoon
when he appeared at the door and walked past the servant into the hall,
as was his custom, the maid had twice to repeat,--
"The ladies beg to be excused," before he would hear it.
"Say to Mrs. Truscott, with my compliments, that I have some further
news of the regiment," he said, in a voice he knew would penetrate the
rooms on the second floor, and it did; but Mrs. Stannard was there. He
had already called and spent an hour that very morning, and the ladies
had determined to check it.
"Mrs. Truscott's compliments," said the maid, smilingly, as she came
tripping down the stairs. "The ladies are lying down, and would he
please leave word. If it was anything important, of course Mrs. Truscott
would come."
"Oh, no," said Gleason, loudly; "say I'll call this evening after
retreat."
But when he came they were all on the piazza, Mrs. Stannard, too, and he
knew that he could not be too careful what tidings or rumors he
manufactured in her presence. Again, on the following morning, he
presented himself with similar plea. This time the ladies begged to be
excused.
"Will you say to Miss Sanford that I would greatly like to see her a few
minutes?" he persisted. And then Miss Sanford came to head of the
stairs,--no further.
"What is it, Mr. Gleason? I cannot come down," she said, very civilly,
but uncompromising for all that.
"Er--I hoped you felt like--er--taking a walk or something."
"Thanks, Mr. Gleason. I am too busy to-day."
"Well, shall we say to-morrow, then?" he persevered.
"To-morrow I go riding with Mrs. Stannard."
"Do you? What time? Perhaps I can arrange to take a gallop at the same
hour. You've never ridden with me yet." (Reproachfully.)
"You will have to ask Mrs. Stannard. Now, Mr. Gleason, I must go back to
my desk. Good-morning." And she vanished, sweet and smiling, and he
"went off mad," swearing mad.
That very afternoon an ambulance arrived from Laramie with Ray. Oh, what
a jubilee they had! and how those women fluttered around him as he sat
in a low reclining-chair on the piazza of the quarters made ready for
him! A young assistant surgeon was with him, whom Ray cajoled and
bullied alternately; called him such military pet names as "Pills,"
"Squills," and "Sawbones" whenever he had occasion to address him;
laughed him out of all his feeble protests against "exciting himself,"
and bade him reserve his ministrations for Blake, who would be in on the
morrow. The evening he came, after he had been shaved and bathed and
rebandaged, and had his hair trimmed, and had donned a very swell
brand-new fatigue uniform, in which he looked remarkably natty and well
despite a slight pallor, Ray had insisted on being trundled up the row
in a wheeled chair, and there at Mrs. Stannard's they had a little
rejoicing of their own,--Ray and the young surgeon being surrounded by
the ladies of the --th for an hour, when Mrs. Wilkins had to go off to
her brood, Mrs. Turner to visit some infantry friends, and then, awhile
longer, Miss Sanford sat and listened to the eager talk of Mrs. Stannard
and Grace with the dark-eyed cavalryman, and those dark eyes of his
sought hers every other minute. They tried to get him to talk of his
ride. Even Grace, declaring that he must, and turning laughingly to her
friend, exclaimed,--"Come, Maidie, add your plea. You have a right to
know how your colors went;" and Miss Sanford's face flamed with its
sudden blush, but she spoke no word. Mrs. Stannard, smiling and happy,
but seeing everything as usual, noted that Ray, too, had flushed
underneath the deep tan of his frontier complexion, but he came to the
rescue blithely as ever.
"Ah, Miss Sanford, it would have been easy enough if I had only had
Monarchist; though Dandy did nobly, bless him!"
It was a blissful evening, and all too short, for the doctor simply
ended it by wheeling Ray home at nine o'clock and putting him to bed.
For two days more he was incessantly up the row in his wheeled chair.
Twice Gleason saw him _tête-à-tête_ with Miss Sanford on the piazza, and
the garrison ladies were slyly twitting him with his prospects of being
cut out. The whole garrison by this time saw that he and Ray were not on
speaking terms. Blake, too, had arrived, a little cross and crabbed for
him, as his wounds were painful, consisting mainly of bruises where his
wounded horse had fallen and rolled with him. But he could limp about
and swear, and distort the poetry of the old masters and be savage and
cynical. He hated Gleason, ridiculed him in public, and hailed him as a
military Malvolio.
"See how he jets 'neath his (anything but) advancèd plumes!" he spouted,
as Gleason came gallanting some of the garrison ladies down the line,
desperately hoping to make Miss Sanford jealous. Gleason couldn't for
the life of him explain what Blake meant, but he knew there was sarcasm
in it, and hated him all the same. It would be but a few days before
both the wounded officers would be able to perform light duty. There
came a telegraphic inquiry as to that from way up at Fort Fetterman. The
colonel wanted to know, and old Whaling was pleased to send the
response. But it was a blow to Gleason. Within forty-eight hours it
brought other telegraphic orders from division headquarters to send
Lieutenant Gleason at once to Fort Fetterman, to join his regiment at
the earliest possible moment.
There was visible rejoicing in the garrison. Gleason had a vehement
interview with the post commander and galloped off to town, where he
spent much time telegraphing and awaiting replies. Then, to wear off the
tedium of the intervening hours, he resorted to several haunts well
known to the inhabitants of those days, and did more or less betting on
uncertain games, and much more wrestling with an insidious enemy. He was
crazy drunk when lifted from the hack at his quarters late that night;
and his orders were to take stage for Fetterman at three P.M. the
following day. Captain Webb, returning from his Kansas court, would
reach Cheyenne at noon and go by same conveyance. It was arranged that
the two officers should be in readiness at the fort, and the coach would
drive through and pick them up.