IN CLOSE ARREST.
To use his own language, life had suddenly become vested with new charms
for Mr. Blake. He had found his conversational affinity. "For years,"
said he, "I have been like Pyramus, peeking and scratching at a wall for
Thisbe,--only my Thisbe was never there." But Pyramus Blake had found
his mate, he swore, and with huge delight he began devoting hours to
chat with Mrs. Whaling.
She was old enough to be his mother, though she thought the fact was
known to but few. She was as prosaic as he was fanciful, though it was
her aim to appear at ease in all literary topics. She knew little or
nothing of music or the languages, but it was her implicit conviction
that those by whom she was surrounded knew less; and she chiefly erred
in assuming to know that of which they frankly confessed their
ignorance. Aside from a consummate facility for blundering in French,
Mrs. Whaling possessed illimitable powers of distortion of her
mother-tongue, and this it was that so fascinated and enraptured Blake
on short acquaintance. He rushed in one morning to tell Mrs. Stannard
that nothing but jealousy could have prompted her and the other ladies
in concealing from him Mrs. Whaling's phenomenal gifts in this line, and
proclaiming her the sweetest sensation of his maturer years. If we have
failed thus far in pointing out some of the lingual peculiarities which
had won for this estimable lady the title of Mrs. Malaprop, it was
through the confidence we felt that so soon as she began to talk for
herself our efforts would be rendered unnecessary. Overweening interest
in other ladies has kept her somewhat in the background, a fact that
detracts at once from all hope of ever establishing the record of being
faithfully historic, since all who knew Mrs. Whaling are aware that
nobody could ever keep her in the background in any assemblage wherein
she was permitted to speak for herself. Perhaps it was therein that lay
one of her direst misfortunes, but she knew it not, poor lady, and like
too many of the rest of us, could never realize what was and what was
not best for her at the time. Will the day ever come when the author of
this will not realize in mournful retrospect what an ass he made of
himself the twelvemonth previous? Mrs. Whaling had never studied French,
but French was the language of courts and courtesy, and it sounded well,
she was convinced, to introduce an occasional phrase or quotation in her
daily conversation, and what she meant when she used a big word in her
own language was (as in the case of honest Mr. Ballou) a secret between
herself and her Maker.
Mr. Blake had hobbled over to pay his respects soon after his arrival,
and was noticed shaking his head and muttering to himself in perplexity
at odd hours of the day thereafter. The next morning he was seen to
explode, as Mrs. Whaling gravely announced among a circle of her friends
that she considered Miss Sanford to be the most _soi-disant_ creature
she had ever met, and went on to explain for the benefit of those to
whom her French was an impenetrable mystery,--"fascinating, or, as _they
say_, seductive." But when she soon thereafter referred to the general's
magnanimity in not remanding to the guard-house an inebriated soldier,
who had dropped and broken a valuable lamp, because "he knew it was only
a _lapsus linguæ_," Blake became her slave, and hovered about her from
morn till night in hopes of further revelations. He was getting lots of
fun out of life just now despite his aches and pains, and was being
chaffed extensively for replacing so readily the absent and lamented
Gleason,--the one thing that seemed to mar his happiness.
Mrs. Truscott had been ailing for two or three days, and the ladies were
wont to stop at her door each morning to make inquiries and suggestions.
Mrs. Stannard had virtually moved in next door, and was with her at all
times. Mr. Ray was a frequent visitor, despite the fact that Mrs.
Truscott was unable to see him (though he always asked for her), and the
garrison was arriving at the not unjustifiable inference that other
attractions might draw him thither. He was still too lame to walk or
ride, had no duties to perform, and much time to devote to calling; but
beyond leaving his card at the commanding officer's and paying a
courteous visit to Mrs. Turner and Mrs. Wilkins, he made no garrison
calls at all, for the hours he spent with Mrs. Stannard and Miss Sanford
could hardly be so termed. He had been at the post a week, and the
adjutant and quartermaster of the little command had as yet failed to
drop in and welcome him as is customary. They had called on Blake when
Ray was "up the row," but had not left their cards or inquired for his
comrade. Blake thought it simply a piece of forgetfulness. Perhaps they
had asked and he had forgotten; but Ray thought otherwise, and still,
oddly enough, did not seem to care. He was happy in his day, and life
had a new, strange, sweet interest for him that, despite his past
ephemeral flames for one belle after another, was seriously influencing
his life and character.
Blake wrote to his chums in the regiment that Billy Ray wasn't half the
fun he used to be. "Never knew a fellow lose all his old self so quick.
He has gone back on potations and poker, and it hasn't improved him a
whit." There was another thing Blake growled at: Ray was mixed up in
some garrison mystery, and wouldn't tell him anything about it. He had
"pumped him," so to speak, because Mrs. Turner kept nagging him for
information, and Ray had only colored and stumbled painfully, and
finally burst forth with, "See here, Blake; something _has_ happened
that I accidentally got mixed up in, but it's a thing a man can't tell
of, so don't ask me;" and Blake could only surmise. Then, too, there was
that desertion of Wolf's,--Ray knew something about it,--and then the
colonel had asked him--Blake--a point-blank question about Ray's habits
which amazed him and set him to thinking. Then no mail was received from
the regiment for four days, and they were all anxious; and so this
bright August morning quite a party had gathered in front of Truscott's,
for a little batch of letters had just arrived, and they were discussing
contents and comparing notes. When Mrs. Stannard came down-stairs,
blithe and breezy as ever, the ladies began their natural inquiries for
Mrs. Truscott. She had enjoyed a good night's rest, at times at least,
but had a severe nervous headache this morning. This had prompted Mrs.
Turner to remark that nervous headaches were such trying things; she
could never control them except by liberal use of bromides. Mrs. Wilkins
was of opinion that if ever she had one she'd cut her head off before
she'd use the likes--such stuff as that; lapsing very nearly into the
vernacular of her early days; and Mrs. Whaling calmly announced that
nothing ever did her so much good as a warm embryocation, whereat there
was suppressed sensation on part of the ladies and convulsive throes by
Mr. Blake. Ray and Miss Sanford, absorbed in converse on the weather,
were standing apart at the door-way and heard nothing of it.
Guard-mounting was over; the band had just finished its morning
programme of music and was going away, when a sudden exclamation from
Mrs. Turner called all eyes to the form of the young post adjutant
coming up the row.
"Why! What's Mr. Warner in full uniform for,--what can it mean?"
Full uniform had not been worn at the post for any duty since the
command left for the front; guard-mounting was in "undress," as only
half a dozen men were put on duty each day, and the military reader can
readily understand the sensation in the group as the white plumes of the
young adjutant were seen. There is only one duty which, in the absence
of courts-martial and dress-parades or the like, will account for an
adjutant's appearing in full uniform at such an hour, and he was coming
straight toward them.
Conversation ceased at once in the group at the gate. Ray and Miss
Sanford, standing at the door-way, were still absorbed in their chat,
and saw and heard nothing of what was coming. Mrs. Stannard turned pale
and trembled so that all could see it. Blake looked, as he afterwards
said, "six ways for Sunday;" then, as the officer neared him, with
attempted jocularity sang out,--
"'The king has come to marshal us in all his armor drest,
And he has donned his snow-white plume to put us in arrest.'
Who's your victim, Warner?" and then stopped short as Warner brushed by,
saying, in savage whisper,--
"Shut up! man, and get Ray away from this crowd quick. I want _him_."
Blake simply stared. Mrs. Stannard turned quickly and almost ran into
the house. Mrs. Whaling lifted her eyes heavenward, as though imploring
Divine mercy on the doomed one; Mrs. Turner flushed, and looked
wonderingly from one to the other; Mrs. Wilkins dropped her parasol and
picked it up pretty much as though it were a shillelah and she meant to
use it as such, and then the group began to break up. Ray, glancing over
his shoulder to inquire the cause of the sudden cessation of talk,
caught sight of the snowy plume dancing on up the walk, of Blake
standing in petrified and indignant silence, and then of Mrs. Stannard's
face,--her eyes filling with tears. He recalled instantly her recent
questions and half-uttered warnings, and something told him the blow had
come. He gave one quick look at Miss Sanford; their eyes met, and hers,
too, were full of trouble and something she could not express.
"Excuse me, but I want to inquire what this means," he said, and,
bowing quietly, he turned to the gate where Blake still stood looking
after Warner, who had halted farther up the row.
"It's you, Billy boy; and damn me if I don't believe the world is mad!"
Ray stalked up the line fast as his halting gait would admit.
Wonderment, indignation, bitterness, were in his heart, but he choked it
all down, and his eyes were fixed full upon the staff-officer, who,
seeing him alone, came rapidly back to meet him. Something of the old
reckless, dauntless manner reasserted itself as they reached speaking
distance. The adjutant was toying nervously with his sword-knot. Despite
all Gleason's insinuations, despite official papers that had been going
to and fro, he felt it impossible to believe the allegations against Mr.
Ray, and his unbelief was never so pronounced as at this moment when
they came together. He had never seen it done before, but
instinctively--by an impulse he could not restrain--he raised his hand
in salute as he spoke the brief official words,--
"Mr. Ray, you are hereby placed in close arrest, by order of Colonel
Whaling."
And Ray, with courteous return of the salute, replied with almost
smiling grace,--
"Very well, Mr. Warner. I presume you will give me prompt information as
to the charges;" and, facing about, went slowly and deliberately to his
quarters.
Mrs. Stannard stood at the door-way until she saw him turn, then, taking
Miss Sanford's hand, drew her within the hall, saying simply, "Come."
"What can it mean, Mrs. Stannard? Surely he will stop and tell us."
"He cannot, Miss Marion. He must go direct to his quarters. I will send
Mr. Blake at once to him. They are going now together. I shall go and
find out all I can. Do not tell Mrs. Truscott."
And without a word Marion Sanford went slowly up the stairs and to her
room. Mrs. Stannard listened until she heard her close the door, then
hastened down the row in pursuit of Mr. Blake. Ray waved his hand to her
as he stepped inside the threshold, and Blake, fuming with fury, came
back to meet her.
"Was there ever such an outrage? It is something of Gleason's doing, of
course, but Ray says he can stand it if G. can, and is disposed to laugh
it off; but there's something else, I'm afraid; have you heard
anything?"
"Nothing but vague rumors, Mr. Blake, but enough to worry me. There is
some deep-laid plot or I'm fearfully mistaken. Gleason would never dare
do it alone. Can't you telegraph to the regiment and have things
stopped?"
"They are far above Fetterman, and can only be reached by courier. Webb
and Gleason went out with small escort last night, so the despatches
say. By Jove! I'll try it. Surely the colonel and Stannard and Wayne
ought to be told. Wayne is still at Laramie, but he would come.
Something must be done to block these lies whatever they are."
"Oh, if Luce were only where we could make him hear! Mr. Blake, _can't_
you find out from Mr. Warner what the trouble is,--what the charges
are?"
"Of course I can. It is some mere local mischief that fellow Gleason has
kicked up. I'll go just as soon as I've seen Billy."
And go he did: and would have gone straight into the old colonel's
office even had that veteran not called him in. And when next Mr. Blake
appeared upon the walk, the light had gone out of his face. He went
slowly, reluctantly, wretchedly, back down the row. He could not bear to
carry the news to Ray, yet he had promised, and in his hand was a copy
of the charges and specifications preferred against his friend. So far
from being a mere local matter the arrest was ordered from division
headquarters, the court was already selected, and the time fixed for its
meeting. Long before sunset the whole garrison knew--and with what
additions and exaggerations who can say?--that Lieutenant Ray was to be
tried by court-martial for offences that reflected on the honor of the
whole regiment, and that accepting bribes and large sums of money from
prominent contractors while on the horse board, gambling with them and
misappropriating public funds, were the main allegations. The charges
were signed by a prominent staff-officer, and Gleason's name only
appeared incidentally as a witness; so did that of Rallston, Ray's
brother-in-law; but there were several others. Blake laid the bulky
paper before his friend with this word,--
"Before you say aye or nay to any one of the charges in this batch of
infamy, I want to say to you, Ray, that I'll stake my commission on
their utter falsity."
And he had said practically the same thing to the post commander.
That afternoon Mr. Blake, after a long talk with Ray, knocked at Mrs.
Stannard's door and asked to see her a moment. She came to him in dire
anxiety. Long before this had Mrs. Whaling been in to lament over the
downfall of this unhappy young man, and to expatiate on the gravity of
the charges. On Mrs. Stannard's making prompt and spirited expression of
her utter disbelief in them, the good lady had lifted her eyes in
pathetic appeal to heaven that so mercifully enables us to bear the
tribulations that befall our friends, and groaned, a veritable Stiggins
in skirts. Ah, no; she hoped, she prayed, of course, it might prove
false; but the general--the general said the array of witnesses was
overwhelming, and then his temptations! and his past career! She had
been told he was addicted to the vices of drink and cards in their worst
form. Ah, no; it was futile to hope. She feared the worst. And Mrs.
Stannard was wellnigh ready to bid her begone,--the old croaking raven!
as down in her inmost heart she termed her. She was full of faith and
loyalty, but she was fearfully worried, and Blake's coming was a
godsend.
"How is he?" she asked.
"Astonished, of course; mad, not a little; but as full of pluck as ever.
What I want to see you about is this. He forbids my telegraphing to have
things stopped. He wants a court, wants to be tried; the quicker the
better; says I can write to Stannard or anybody, but not to think of
stopping proceedings. All he seems to care for is this: he fully
expected to be well enough to travel in two weeks, and then he wanted to
join the regiment as fast as horse could take him. All that is now
impossible. He has not said a word about Gleason, but I have sent a
couple of telegrams from him that will make his brother-in-law smart."
"And have you telegraphed to Fort Fetterman? I'm sure they would have a
chance to send the news."
"Yes, of course I did. What I can't get over is this: that much of this
matter must have been reported through old Whaling here by Gleason, and
it has all been done in the dark. The old rip never gave us a chance to
refute any story that Gleason would tell. Did you hear about Ray's
message to him?"
"No. When--what was it?"
"Instead of asking to see the commanding officer, as the average officer
does when put in arrest for a thing he is innocent of, Ray never
mentioned him. About an hour ago I met the colonel, and he asked me how
Ray was behaving, and was beginning something about not letting him
drink, when I could hold in no longer, and told him flatly that Ray
hadn't taken as many drinks in a month as he had in a day. You ought to
have seen him; he was struck all aback, and stammered something about
his having been led to suppose Ray was doing a good deal of that sort of
thing. I replied that that wasn't the only thing he had been misinformed
about by a jugful, and he looked as though he'd like to put me in arrest
too--the old slab; he would, too, if he had the grit of his wife; but he
didn't. He sent Warner down just a moment ago to say that if Mr. Ray
desired to speak to him about the matter he would see him this evening,
as 'he desired to go to town on the morrow.' Ray begged Warner to sit
down, offered him a toddy or a glass of wine, and, finally, as though it
had suddenly occurred to him, exclaimed, 'Oh! Do _I_ want to see the
colonel? Why, really, Mr. Warner, I know of nothing that--well, _you_
might say this, you know: it isn't at all necessary that _I_ should see
him, and I do not send this as a message; but, as the colonel appears to
have furnished much of the information on these charges without
reference to me, I shall probably answer them in the same way,--without
reference to him.' Gad! I never saw Ray more placidly polite, and he's
always most full of fight at such times."
But even with such "an old slab" as Whaling anything more impolitic than
the conduct of these two cavalry subalterns could hardly have been
imagined. Warner never told the colonel what Ray said; but, of course,
had to say that Ray expressed no desire to see him. By the following
morning the colonel was chafing over it a great deal, and over the
indignation expressed around the post at Ray's arrest. He concluded that
he wanted to see the young man himself, and an opportunity unexpectedly
occurred. Sergeant Wolf's recent desertion was still a source of much
subdued excitement, and efforts had been made to capture him. It had
begun to leak around the garrison that he had been sent for the night of
his departure by Lieutenant Ray, and did not return to the band barracks
until eleven o'clock, "when he acted queer." The post quartermaster was
much exercised about the theft of one of the best horses from the band
stable, as he had become responsible for them in the absence of Mr.
Billings. Possibly Ray could throw some light on the matter, and, to
that officer's surprise, he was sent for at guard-mounting. His first
idea was that his remarks to Warner had been carried to the colonel, and
that he was to be overhauled for them. His head was perhaps a trifle
higher than usual, therefore, when he entered the office. The first
question sent the blood surging to his forehead, and he almost staggered
with surprise.
"Mr. Ray," said the colonel, abruptly, "do you know anything of the
causes of Wolf's desertion?"
It was a moment before he could reply. Know? Of course he knew; but it
was a thing to be sacredly guarded. He _could_ not tell of that
interview without betraying _her_, without bringing Grace Truscott's
name into the very snare that Gleason had laid for it. The colonel saw
his hesitation, and wheeled around in his chair; Mr. Warner looked up in
surprise.
"I say, do you know anything of Wolf's desertion,--of its causes, of
where he has probably gone?" repeated the colonel, sharply.
"I do not know where he has gone, sir; I have formed an opinion as to
the cause of his desertion."
"And what is it, Mr. Ray?"
"If it concerned me, I would answer unhesitatingly, Colonel Whaling. As
it is, I cannot."
"What possible reason can there be for silence, sir? I do not
understand."
"I cannot explain it now, sir. Let me simply assure you that I never saw
him until within the last few days, that I had an interview with him the
night of his desertion, and that he has had some trouble of a personal
and private nature. Other than that I can give no account of him."
"This is most extraordinary, Mr. Ray. How came you to know anything of
his private history, sir?"
"I decline to say, sir."
"By heavens, Mr. Ray! Do you realize that in addition to the other
charges against you, you are laying yourself open to those of abetting
desertion?"
"Possibly, sir. If so, I can meet them before the proper tribunal."
"You may go, sir. Stop! one moment: I have telegraphed to Sidney, to
Denver, and to Laramie City to be on the lookout for him. I demand to
know whether you have an idea where he has gone; _that_ you can answer!"
"I have not, colonel."
"Do you think of any place I have not mentioned where he would be apt to
go?"
Ray turned whiter now, but his eyes were unflinching.
"I do; but it is only conjecture."
"What place, sir?"
"Fort Fetterman."
"Fort Fetterman? That's simply absurd! He would be recognized there with
his horse and surely arrested."
"Very well, sir; then I know of no other."
"And you still refuse to tell what your interview was about?"
"I shall always refuse that, sir." And therewith Mr. Ray was remanded to
his quarters. Verily there was some reason for Blake's outburst when he
came in after hearing Warner's brief description of the official
interview which Mrs. Whaling had given in lurid exaggeration to the
garrison.
"Why, hell is empty, and all the devils are here."