I didn't think you would go back on the sentiments you so warmly
espoused a few moments ago. Let us avoid so agitating a topic.
Personally," continued he, slowly and dreamily, as if going into a
trance, "I have no objection to the game. I have played it myself,
though I do not pose as an expert. Coming over on the steamer last
summer--'twas the night before we landed--the game was steep, painfully
steep, and nothing friendly about it, with the lid off finally. I was
about two thousand to the bad,--it was the consolation round, ending
with and up to me,--my deal, and the fellows counting and stacking their
chips preparatory to cashing in. I doled the papes with deliberation,
and a saddened soul, and skinned my hand carefully. They were
hearts--all but one. A seven, four, six, five and a trey of clubs.
That's the way they came to me. A nice little straight, but apparently
not nice enough. All the fellows stayed, and there was considerable
hoisting before the draw. Then the man next to me took one card; the
Englishman with the monocle, two; General Thomas, one; the fat man from
Cincinnati, three (to his aces), and Doctor McNab stood pat; and then
discarding the trey of clubs--foolhardy, very foolhardy, but I did it--I
dealt myself one--the eight of hearts! My, how good I felt! The battle
was on! Backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, until one by one
the players dropped out, leaving the Doctor and myself to settle it.
Doctor McNab saw my three thousand and raised me five.
"Five better," said I.
"Back at you," said he; the others in the meanwhile keeping tab in their
notebooks.
"Once again," said I.
"And again," said he.
"That was about all I could stand, and I called him. With a leer of
triumph he threw his hand on the table, face-up, displaying----"
"Stop him, stop him!" shouted Mr. Ridley, rising excitedly. "Don't let
him take the money! If I'd a knowed you at the time, brother, it never
would a happened! I'd a put you wise to that McNab. He ain't no more
doctor than I am, and his name ain't McNab either! The scar-faced son of
a gun! I've been up against him, and so has Bull; ain't you, Nathan?"
"Poker stories are barred, I believe," said the Senator coldly.
Mr. Ridley's face was a study.
"Well, I'll be damned!" he muttered, with his mouth full of potatoes.
"Let's change the subject; there are lots of other things to talk about.
I like war stories, myself. Senator," said he, turning to Senator
Hammond, "the first time I ever saw you--and then it was some distance
off--you were in the biggest kind of a hurry; I never saw a man so
anxious to get from here, say, to over there."
"When was it? I do not recollect," said the old veteran pleasantly.
"Why, at Bull Run; don't you remember Bull Run?"
"Do I? Well, I should say I did. You fellows certainly had us going that
day, and if you had been smart you would have pushed matters, captured
Washington, and thus ended the war, or at least have been in a position
to dictate your own terms. As to our retreat, I remember so well the
disgusted tones of a staunch Union lady living in Washington, speaking
to one of the boys on the night of our return.
"'You coward!' she said bitterly, 'to run away at the first fire! Don't
you know that the finger of scorn will be pointed at you all the rest of
your life?'
"'That may be so, lady,' said the soldier doggedly, 'but I'd ruther hev
the finger o' scorn pinted at me any time than one o' them damned Rebel
cannon!'
"And another of the boys limping by, foot-sore and weary, was accosted
by this same angry dame, 'You ran, did you? You ran! Shame! Shame! A big
fellow like you! Why did you run?'
"'I run, mum, 'cause I couldn't _fly_, that's why I run!'"
"Yes, quite true; and yet, after all, how like the moon we are,"
muttered one of the newspaper men disconnectedly.
"How so?" inquired Senator Hammond acidly.
"Why, here we are, full--gloriously full--on the twentieth of the month,
and eight days later, down to our last quarter."
"That's bad, very bad, O'Brien," said another scribe mournfully.
"Forgive him, Senator. I will have something to say to him later."
Withering glances were cast at the unlucky one, who seemed about to sink
under the table, and the wind outside howled dismally, and rattled the
windows in its rage.
[Illustration: Senator Pennypacker.]
The situation was steadied somewhat by Senator Pennypacker. The Senator,
who entered public life five years ago a poor man, and who, by living
economically, saving his pay, and borrowing his chewing tobacco, is at
present worth considerably over a million dollars, now favored the
company with some sage remarks as to the tendency of the times toward
extravagance, the high cost of living in Washington, the iniquity of the
boarding-house keepers, and the difficulty he had to make both ends
meet. The Senator is a tall, lank, ungainly looking man; thin lipped,
with mean, cunning eyes, strained ever for the main chance. A few tufts
of reddish hair are flattened on either side of his cranium, and his
nose and chin were sharpened on the grindstone of necessity and early
hardship into twin beaks. Verily a vulture, battening now on the Trusts,
and feared and hated by other birds of smaller body and weaker wing.
With him, Selfishness is indeed the main-spring of Ambition! His
features are well-known to the public through the medium of those
extensive advertisements in the papers heralding the great vegetable
remedy "Gee-Soo-Na."
His remarks were received in silence, though a careful observer might
have noticed an exchange of solemn winks between Colonel Manysnifters
and Sammy Ridley.
"Oh, he is the stingy one, all right," Colonel Manysnifters confided
later to Mr. Ridley. "He is the kind of fellow who would send his best
girl a box of candy Saturday morning, and call around Sunday night and
eat it all up."
When the Senator had fully delivered himself, some one brought up the
negro question.
"They certainly are the limit in Washington," said Colonel Manysnifters.
"The sassy black rascals seem to think they own the town. And nigger
policemen, too! Think of a white man being arrested by a nigger
policeman!"
"I do not see why lawbreakers should object to the color of the man who
gathers them in," said Van Rensselaer sarcastically.
"We Southerners do, anyway," retorted the Colonel hotly.
"You Southerners should behave yourselves, then there would be no
trouble," observed Senator Hammond dryly.
"Well, that's all right, now," said Colonel Manysnifters, flaring up,
"we don't expect you Northerners to feel as we do about it! We----"
"Come, come, Manysnifters," said Senator Bull pacifically, "don't get
excited. Don't let the 'nigger in the wood-pile' spoil this occasion.
Calm yourself."
"Oh, I'm not excited. It takes a lot to excite me," said the Colonel;
"but just to give you an idea of how things are going in Washington, a
cousin of mine from Atlanta, a kindly disposed chap as ever lived,
meeting an old negress on the street there the other day, said to her,
'Well, Auntie, how are you this bright morning?'
"'Huh!' exclaimed the old woman angrily, 'Auntie! Don't you call me no
Auntie! I ain't yoh aunt, and I ain't yoh uncle; I'se yoh ekal!' Now
wouldn't that jar you? That's the way the niggers feel about it in
Washington."
"Forget it, Manysnifters," urged Senator Bull, "forget it. Give the
colored brother a show. He will work out his own salvation."
"At the end of a rope," growled the Colonel.
"Be charitable, sir, be charitable," said Senator Pennypacker
ponderously. "The negro problem lies with the white people of the South.
They will solve it. Give them time. Perhaps they may find
"'With keen, discriminating sight,
Black's not so black,
Nor white's so very white!'"
"Oh, we will solve it all right," said Colonel Manysnifters knowingly,
"trust us for that. Only--you Northern folks keep your hands off. That's
all we ask!"
Mr. Ridley, to soothe the fiery Southerner, poured out a generous
libation, and the dark cloud rolled over.
V
SENATOR BULL'S STORY
When we returned to the observation car Senator Bull was unanimously
called to the chair.
"I shall hark back to my boyhood days," said he, "and relate an incident
in my early life, and its sequel when I attained man's estate. I suppose
all of us have had experiences which have more than once brought home
the weight of that bewhiskered old maxim--'Truth is stranger than
fiction.'
"There were twelve of us--Bert Martin, Joey Scott, Tom Hyland, Georgie
Morris, Jake Milburn, Bob Hardee, Lannie Sudduth, Owen Prouty, Alf Rush,
Ed Ross, Dolph Levy, and myself. The Forestburg Rifles we called
ourselves. Ed Ross was captain, and Lannie Sudduth and Bob Hardee,
lieutenants. There were no other officers, for that would have left too
few privates; but, as it was, our nine men marching single file and wide
apart made a fine showing. Owen Prouty limping bravely along, brought up
the rear. 'That lame Prouty boy' was the gamest fellow in the command
and it nearly broke his heart when we marched away in earnest in
sixty-one, and left him behind--the leader of the home-guard.
"The Rifles were armed with wooden guns, and drilled twice a week in
Bert Martin's barn--drilled with almost the same precision and attention
to the manual as we _had_ to do in later years. Ed Ross was a strict
disciplinarian even then, and awfully in earnest. Indeed, we all were
for that matter. When the notion is strong upon them, young folks beat
their elders all hollow at that sort of thing. Every Saturday afternoon
at three o'clock, weather permitting, we met at our armory, and after
some preliminary maneuvers marched down High Street. Old Cush Woodberry
and the other loafers at Horton's would come out on the platform in
front of the store and review the troops. The interest those lazy
fellows took in us was astonishing. Old Cush even volunteered one day to
give us some instructions in tactics, but our gallant captain
courteously declined. There were others, though, who did not admire us
so much. The green-eyed monster reigned supreme over on Liberty Street,
and around by the court-house lot. There the country lads in town for
Saturday market were entrenched, and they jeered at us enviously from
the line of wagons drawn up in battle array. Occasionally a rotten apple
or potato would sail through the air in our direction, but we marched
past our tormentors stiffly erect, and apparently unconscious. Had our
numbers been stronger we would have joyfully stormed the enemy's works,
but the country boys were bigger than we, and vastly more numerous; so
with us discretion was indeed the better part of valor.
"The Rifles were organized just after school broke up, and flourished
all that summer; a remarkable thing for Forestburg boys, for we were a
squabbling lot, prone to quarrel and fight upon the slightest
provocation. But in some way our captain held us together--just as he
did afterward at Antietam and Gettysburg. Dear old chap, he holds us
still!
"In early September we received our colors. Up to that time Owen Prouty
had carried a small flag on his musket, but it had never been dignified
as the company's colors. Our real flag was given to us by the little
McDermott girl, and the giving was done so prettily and sweetly that our
boyish hearts were touched--and this is saying a good deal. Not, indeed,
that the Forestburg boys were rougher than other boys, for I guess they
are all pretty much alike; but we had been taught to hate and shun the
McDermotts. They were newcomers, and Danny McDermott had been a Young
Irelander, or something else equally as dreadful. Then, too, Forestburg
was a Knownothing stronghold, and we fell naturally into our daddies'
way of thinking. So we roundly snubbed the pleasant-faced Danny and his
family whenever we had a chance, and the fellows at school used to bully
Terence, the son, most atrociously. Yet as we marched by the McDermotts'
on Saturday afternoons little Katie would always run out to the gate
delightedly and wave a large flag, and after a while we came to look
upon the little golden-haired child and her flag as quite a feature of
our parade. Finally, one day she stepped into the street, and with a
quaint curtsy presented the flag, garlanded with roses and buttercups,
to our captain. The command was at once ordered to halt, and all eyes
were fixed upon Ed and the blushing child.
"'Attention!' shouted Captain Ross. We obeyed and looked straight ahead
as good soldiers should, with a sly glance out of the corners of our
eyes at our leader. But Ed knew just what to do. He faced about sharply,
and made a low bow to the lady, took the flag held out to him, and then
made a speech. Ed Ross was always a fine talker, and had won the
elocution prize at school the year before. On this occasion he fairly
surpassed himself. I have often thought of it since. At our next meeting
we unanimously elected Miss Katherine Burke McDermott an honorary member
of the Rifles. Tom Ryland's sister drew up the resolutions, and they
were very beautiful.
* * * * *
"It was a sultry afternoon, and the little jury-room was suffocating.
The fight for a life which had raged out in the gloomy court-room for
two weeks or more was now transferred to the ten by twelve cubby-hole
where we had been cooped up since noon. The evidence against the
prisoner was overwhelming, but some of the jurors still wavered as to
their clear duty. Eight of us were for murder in the first degree; the
others were in the same frame of mind, I am sure, but tantalizingly slow
about saying so. It looked like an all-night struggle.
"Thrice since midday had Sheriff Watkins popped in his red head and
asked if we had agreed upon a verdict, and as often had he angrily
withdrawn. Watkins had a profound contempt for juries in general, and
our jury in particular. According to the sheriff, the case of
Commonwealth against Hardy was decided, and decided fully, when
Dillingham finished his speech. Dillingham was the prosecuting attorney,
and Watkins worshipped him down to the ground. Watkins was therefore
clearly prejudiced, but in this instance his views were undeniably
sound.
"The court, despairing and thirsty, had adjourned to meet at seven
o'clock. In the jury-room all arguments for and against the stand taken
by the unshaken eight seemed exhausted. The hours dragged wearily by. At
half-past five o'clock, to our great surprise, three of the obstinate
crowd came over to our way of thinking. Whether stern duty, our mutual
discomfort, or the prospect of another night away from their families
wrought this, I know not. So then, with the single exception of Colonel
Ross, we were all for stringing up the prisoner.
"Colonel Ross still stuck out doggedly for a milder punishment--anything
to save the poor devil's life, he said. For the first time in my career
I rebelled against the judgment of my old friend, and for the first time
found myself arrayed against him, and the novelty of the situation was
far from agreeable. The clock in the town hall struck six, and the
whistles down at Thayer's mill blew furiously. The Colonel was biting
the ends of his mustache and gazing moodily into the crowded street
below. I went up to him and put my hand on his shoulder.
"'Now, Colonel,' said I, in my most persuasive tones, 'can't you make up
your mind to join us in this thing? We are all agreed except yourself.
God knows we have no personal feeling against Hardy. We are simply doing
what we think is our duty, and a mighty nasty one it is, too! You know
that. But we owe something to society--society, whose structure was
shaken to its very foundation by the perpetration of this crime!
(Dillingham's own words.) The prisoner is clearly guilty. Why, the
fellow practically confesses it. We ought to put some stop to the
killing and general rascality up there in the settlement. Our section is
fast becoming a monstrous blot on the fair name of the Commonwealth!
(Dillingham again.) What is there left for us to do but carry out the
law? What is there left for----' My voice died away weakly. Something in
the Colonel's face effectually blasted my budding eloquence. At that
moment I felt myself a greater criminal than Hardy or any of his gang.
"Colonel Ross tapped the floor impatiently with his crutch. He was a
testy man, but much was borne from him.
[Illustration: Colonel Ross addressing the jury.]
"'Gentlemen,' said he, his eyes flashing, 'I verily think that the good
God above in His great wisdom and mercy picked out this jury Himself. I
am sure He did. Now, listen to me. It will not take long.
"'We have all had a tedious two weeks of it, haven't we? The weather has
been warm; our business neglected; some of us have sick ones at home we
are anxious to see; and we are all losing our health and temper in this
close confinement. And I by no means omit the dreadful meals at the
Darby House. But, gentlemen, rather than come over to you and hang Eph
Hardy, I would stay here forever! Not, indeed, that there is any danger
of that, for the Judge will discharge us pretty soon if we do not come
to terms. But I can at least go to my home with nothing to haunt me the
rest of my life. I can at least close my eyes at night without fear of
troubled dreams or hours of unrest. And I thank God for it.
"'Now, my friends, while all that we've gone through has been wearing on
a fellow, it has not been without interest. You have doubtless heard and
gazed in wonder at "the cloud of witnesses" the defense and prosecution
have summoned for this case. You have listened open-mouthed to the fine
eloquence of the lawyers. You have seen, day after day, the fashionable
city folk, who have come down to our little town, troop in and take
their seats--and the reporters, and the men with the cameras, and the
hungry-looking "poor whites." Now, gentlemen, of course you have seen
and heard all this, and of course you have been duly impressed. _I_ have
been, I grant you; but of late there has been but one thing in that
court-room I could see; but one thing that interested me, and held my
attention to the exclusion of all else. I don't suppose you know what I
mean. It is this--back, 'way back by the door a little woman has been in
torture, such torture as I hope you will never know. I cannot keep my
eyes from that shabbily dressed figure; from that white, tear-stained
face. Again and again I have seen her veil drawn down, and the poor
creature shaking with grief. At first I did not know her, though I
guessed. Watkins told me about her. She is the prisoner's mother.
"'When Dillingham was putting in his finishing touches this morning I
thought of _my_ mother. _She_ was like that when they brought my brother
Archie home. You remember Archie--and the day he was drowned? We were
all in swimming that Sunday, you know, and Parson Moore said it was a
judgment, but my poor mother could not bring herself to think so.
"'Well, the Hardy woman called to mind mother when they told her about
Archie. That same awful, awful look of despair.
"'As I said before, I see the hand of God in the choosing of this jury.'
The Colonel eyed us almost exultingly.
"'Boys! Attention!' Mechanically we old soldiers arose and faced about,
obeying our Colonel as of yore. The order was electrical, and set us
tingling with expectation. Something else was surely coming.
"The Colonel bowed profoundly to an imaginary person at his side.
"'Boys, listen! I accept this flag from your fair hands in behalf of my
men and myself. Mere words fail to express our thanks, but in deeds most
glorious will we attest our love for you, and the Stars and
Stripes!'--or something like that--all very childish and grandiloquent,
but we kept our word, didn't we? And again--picture it to yourselves,
now--Bob Hardee's barn; your captain in the chair; Private Ryland rises,
and offers the following: "Be it Resolved, that Miss Katherine Burke
McDermott be, and hereby is, elected an honorary member for life in the
Forestburg Rifles, and that we swear to cherish and protect her
forever." That was the gist of it, I believe, and there were other
resolutions regarding the same young lady, which have unfortunately
escaped my memory. But, boys, need I remind you that these resolutions
were adopted unanimously? O, let them bind us still! That broken-hearted
woman in there was once the little golden-haired lass to whom we were so
loyal in the long ago. Shall we not be loyal to-day? It isn't justice,
and it isn't law; but, boys, we've got to save that fellow's life--now,
haven't we?'
"An hour later we entered the court-room. The woman over by the door
looked up with a faint flush on her face. Hope had made it radiant. She
knew that 'The Rifles' would never vote to take her boy's life!
"And she was right.
"We acquitted him.
"The verdict was heard in absolute silence. Then there was a slight stir
in the rear of the room. Nothing, after all; only--a woman had fainted.
It was hot in the court-room that night, and no place for women, anyhow,
as Colonel Ross gruffly remarked at the time.
"But there were tears in his eyes."
VI
REPRESENTATIVE HOLLOWAY HAS THE FLOOR
At the conclusion of Senator Bull's story President Madison was again
requisitioned, and a crap game which was in lively progress in the
dining-car was thus rudely disturbed.
"Tell us, Holloway, about your nomination and election to Congress. Was
it not somewhat in the nature of a surprise?" asked Congressman Van
Rensselaer.
"Very much so. It will hardly make a story, but if you would like to
hear how it happens that the --th District of Illinois is represented in
Congress by a Democrat for the first time in its history, here goes--but
mind you, now, I don't pretend to be in Senator Bull's class as a story
teller.
"It was a piping hot day in August, and Harrisville at its worst.
Whenever a vehicle passed, clouds of dust floated in at the windows and
settled upon my books, my papers, and covered my green baize table with
an infinitesimal section of H---- County real estate. Even the slumberer
on the sofa was not exempt. His usually ruddy face had become ashen, and
his snoring was developing into a series of choking gasps. It was
fearful, this dust,--alkaline, penetrating, stifling,--and from such
soil the raw-boned, hard-featured men of H---- wrung a living. And I,
sharing their narrow lives, began to understand the true significance of
the word 'onery' as applied to us by our more prosperous and ofttimes
just exasperated neighbors.
"It was court day, and I had just come in after a stiff tussle with a
pig-headed judge, an irritating opposing counsel, and a H---- County
jury. I thought of old Uncle Peter Whitehead, 'The onriest critters in
the whole State of Illinoy come out o' H----! Thar ain't no tellin'
which way an H---- County jury's a goin' to jump. The law and the facts
ain't nothin' ter them, it's jest the way they are feelin' that
particler day and minnit. If so happen they got outer bed the wrong foot
furrard that mornin', then it's good-by ter the pris'ner, and hell fer
the lawyer that's defendin' him!'
"Court had adjourned until two o'clock, leaving the fate of my client
undecided, and I came into my office, tired-out, warm, and exceedingly
anxious. Clearing Thad Hawley meant a great deal to me just then. It was
my first important case, and I felt that my future would be decided in a
great measure by its outcome. If the twelve stolid farmers upon whom I
had showered my eloquence went Fraley-ward in their verdict, I knew that
my professional goose would be cooked, and visions of a move to some
distant bailiwick rose up before me. Fraley and Hicks would then
monopolize the Harrisville practice, and perhaps in a year or so some
other fledgling would rise up in his ignorance and be as ruthlessly cut
down as I had been.