’cause the men that rose up to be col’n’ls was men that run’d to pritty
large sizes. Ol’ Leatherbee was a man o’ consid’able breadth an’ heft.
But he was some lackin’ in sperrit. O-ho! he cert’nly _was_ lackin’ o’
gimp. An’ the time when Otis Prouty tipped him over was only one o’ two
times that he was downed with all four p’ints a-touchin’. For ther’ was
another time ’sides that ’un.” And here the old gunner again laughed
softly over some remembrance.
“I guess I’ll have to tell ye. ’Twas like this: the ol’ Col’n’l,
a’ter runnin’ in single harness for nigh onto fifty year, had to go
an’ git himself married. Not that ’twa’n’t right for him to do’t; the
Scriptures has established the principle that ’taint well for man to
be alone. Only, mistakes sometimes happens. An’ Col’n’l Leatherbee
added one more mistake to the list when he went an’ had himself
mattermonially yoked with Tildy Pettus. By doin’ which he shown the
beauty o’ the tex’ which states that fools goes a-rushin’ in where
angels is ’fraid o’ bein’ entertained unawares.
“I said, didn’t I, that ol’ Leatherbee was a giant? Wal, Tildy, _she_
was a giant-killer! ’Fore she was promoted to the command o’ the
Col’n’l’s establishment she used to be a school-ma’am. An’ if she
didn’t rule her little, red-painted institution o’ learnin’ with a
rod of iron ’twas only ’cause birch-rods come cheaper an’ handier,
besides bein’, when sci’ntifically applied to youthful students, more
blisterin’ than iron in a highly-het condition. Oh, she made a great
name for herself as a discipliner, an’ when she quit teachin’, the boys
an’ girls o’ that time felt that life still had some sweetness left
for the down-trodden an’ oppressed. They likewise made existence a
burnin’ torment for the nex’ teacher, which happened to be a dyspepsic
striplin’ from somewheres down-country.
“Now, Tildy Pettus--I mean Mis’ Col’n’l Leatherbee--were ’thout doubt
a good looker. She wa’n’t tall; the ol’ Col’n’l useter say, ‘She aint
long for this world’--meanin’ that she stood ’bout five-foot-three in
her high-heeled slippers. Her cheeks was quite red an’ attractive,
an’ she was plump an’ wholesome to the eye. But ther’ useter be a
kind o’ furrow that’d crease itself down ’twixt her eyebrows when
things didn’t go just to suit her, an’ when that occurred, which
wa’n’t unfrequent, them that knew her took it for a sign that ’twas
’bout time to display the better part o’ valor--which, so we’re told,
is discretion. For Tildy had a tongue--a _sharp_ ’un--an’ a copious
dictionary to draw words from when the sperrit moved her to the usin’
on ’em.
“Not that, in speakin’ o’ the sharpness o’ the female tongue, I’m
castin’ any reflections on wimmin-kind _as_ such,” explained Sam.
“Lor’ knows I’ve been admirin’ wimmin more or less for better’n half
a century. But some on ’em, havin’ tongues o’ great keenness, makes
remarks which cuts most distressful. An’ yet, if female tongues be
keen, the male tongue often is blunt; an’ I haint yet quite made up my
mind whether it hurts the worst to be cut by a sharp tongue or bruised
black-an’-blue by a blunt ’un. It’s some’at a’ter the fashion o’
politics--‘Both the Old Parties has grave defec’s in their make-up.’
“Wal, Mis’ Leatherbee settled down as commandin’ officer o’ the big,
white house wherein the Col’n’l hitherto had reigned alone, in fancy
meditatin’ free. An’ lackin’ her former exercise o’ disciplinin’
scholars, an’ havin’ no childern of her own to put through a course
o’ sprouts, she fell into the way o’ providin’ herself with amusement
by a-teachin’ her husband of his P’s an’ Q’s. An’ this was very
entertainin’ for the both on ’em. For she’d bin used to seein’ her
dear little pupils set up an’ take notice when she spoke to ’em; while
the Col’n’l--wal, he’d bin accustomed to doin’ pritty much whatever he
darn’ pleased, an’ furthermore had got well sot in the habit. However,
like most men that gits married late in life, he was fond of his wife,
an’ when she didn’t go for to nag him too hard they managed to jolt
along together well’s most married folks.
“Now, one o’ the Col’n’l’s pet habits, I must tell ye, was to employ
a consid’able share of his evenin’s, durin’ the winter, in settin’
into a congenial cotery which was in the way o’ gatherin’ themselves
together ’round the fire-place at the ta-avern. He were a man o’ some
prom’nence in them parts, an’ what he said carried great weight, he
havin’ bin to the legislatur’ for a couple o’ terms, an’ havin’ bin
selec’man time out o’ mind, ’sides havin’ held ’most every title in
the milishy ’ceptin’ jigadier-brindle--which is what the boys useter
call the brigadier gen’ral. So his remarks nat’rally was received with
great respec’, an’ when he explained the strategematical mistakes that
was made by both sides durin’ the Revolution an’ the War of 1812, ther’
wa’n’t no one that felt called upon to set up a very vehemient opinion
to the contrariwise. ’Specially while he was a-settin’ up o’ the
rum, which, for to give him his dues, he done as a rule, an’ freely;
sometimes so freely that when it come breakin’-up time, both him an’
his constituents would be a-showin’ sympt’ms o’ coagulation o’ the
speech.
“From all o’ which it follers that in some ways ol’ Leatherbee was the
darn’est man ye ever seen. Which bein’ so, his wife must o’ necess’ty
bin the nex’ to the darn’est. In the first place, ’twa’n’t proper nor
’cordin’ to the rules o’ polite behavior for him, havin’ saturated
his system with ol’ Santy Crooze extracts, to go home an’ try to
convince Mis’ Leatherbee that, if he’d bin in command o’ the American
forces, the maraudin’ British wouldn’t never’ve had occasion to make
a hollowcost o’ the city o’ Washin’ton; because she, not bein’ a
soldier, couldn’t be expected to take no int’rest in topics o’ them
kind, ’specially at the untimely hour o’ night at which they usually
was brought up for her consid’ration. _And_ which bein’ all granted,
’twa’n’t, in the second place, hardly good taste on her part to address
such remarks to her errin’ spouse as she sometimes allowed herself
for to do; ’cause, if he wa’n’t her superior, he cert’nly was her
senior. An’ no man o’ proper respec’ for himself enjoys bein’ called,
earnest-like, a ’sozzlin’ soak.’ This ye may set down for a fac’,
sure’s ye’re a foot high.
“P’raps I’m goin’ too heavy into details, an’ not figgerin’ my account
down to a p’int fine enough to match the lateness o’ the hour. But I’ve
told ye enough, anyways, to make it evident that the affairs o’ the
Leatherbee household was runnin’ along in a fashion that was bound to
wind up in a climax sometime. An’ finally the climax come, the arrival
of it bein’ somewhat in thiswise:
“’Twas on a terruble stormy night, ’long towards the end o’ Jan’ary.
The ol’ Col’n’l had went down to the ta-avern uncommon early, an’
had evened things up by stayin’ more’n respectable late. So when he
fin’lly got himself boosted out’n his chair by the fire, an’ started
off to go home, clean to t’other end o’ the town, the clock in the
steeple o’ the Orthodox church had got through with the business o’
knockin’ out midnight an’ was a-puttin’ up its hands to strike the next
hour which might happen to come along that way, feelin’ confident, as
ye might say, that it could send it to sleep in one round.
“‘Col’n’l,’ says the ol’ man to himself, as he went ploughin’ along
through the snow, ‘Col’n’l, ye have tarried too long with the serpint
which do lurk in the wine-cup.’ This, however, wa’n’t stric’ly
true, ’cause ther’ hadn’t bin no wine at all connected with the
evenin’s entertainment, he havin’ confined his attention exclusive to
rum-an’-molasses.
“‘Col’n’l Leatherbee,’ says he again, a little further on, ‘I’ve sore
misgivin’s in regards to the reception that’s a-waitin’ ye yonder.’ It
was a great trick o’ the ol’ man’s to talk to himself when a-laborin’
under stimulous excitement. But he always done it respectful, never
allowin’ himself to forgit the position in the community which he
held. At the proper time an’ place he was able an’ willin’ to swear the
legs off’n an iron pot; but he never swore at himself, nor at his wife,
neither.
“‘I must be firm in the hour of adversity,’ says he, when he had
steered himself far’s his own gate. ‘“Budge not, lest ye be budged”
shall be my motter. I will be silent under the wrath to come. It is
written that strong waters run deep; _I_ will run deep also.’ This is
what he actu’lly said. I know it, because the ol’ man had bin talkin’
in a very deep tone, so’s to give himself all the courage possible,
an’ the lan’lord o’ the ta-avern heard every blessed word, he havin’
follered the Col’n’l far’s his door, to make sure that he didn’t lay
himself down to slumber in no snow-drift, arguin’ that he were too
valuable a customer to be careless of.
“Wal, Col’n’l Leatherbee navigated careful acrost the door-yard,
leavin’ a trail as crooked as if’t had bin made by the serpint which
he’d mentioned, but the beautiful snow come down an’ covered the
tracks, so’s they shouldn’t set the neighbors to talkin’ next mornin’.
An’ that was the last seen o’ the Col’n’l, that night, by any mortal
eye ’ceptin’ his wife’s. However, the rest o’ what I’m goin’ to tell
ye sets on a pritty good foundation, for it comes direc’ from Mis’
Leatherbee herself, she havin’ bin so tickled by the subsequence of
events that she just couldn’t keep her mouth shet, an’ had to go
trottin’ over to tell the whole story to her nex’ best friend. By which
channels the report was duly an’ officially promulgated.
“After wrastlin’ successful with the latch o’ the door, the ol’ man
ushered himself into the house. An’ then, havin’ pulled off his boots
an’ dumped his big coat, snow an’ all, down onto the floor, he slipped
into the sleepin’-room an’ begun to diverge himself from the rest of
his clothin’. Everythin’ went fust-rate for a while, not a whisper
comin’ from the big four-posted bedstid to disturb his nerves. But Mis’
Leatherbee was just layin’ low, like a masked batt’ry. An’ all of a
sudden she opened onto him.
“My gor-_ri_! She begun with solid shot, an’ then changed off onto
percussion shell, an’ fin’lly started a-servin’ out canister. The
tempest outside had bin doin’ tol’able lively work up to this p’int;
but when Mis’ Leatherbee got fairly het up to the occasion the wind
give a last despairin’ howl, an’ went switchin’ down the valley an’
into the nex’ township, like it owned up that it wa’n’t runnin’ no
opposition to the rumpus she was a-raisin.’
“The ol’ Col’n’l, he were took completely by su’prise, bein’, as
it were, off’n his guard. He’d bin expectin’ a to-do o’ some sort,
but the rakin’ he was a-gettin’ went clean beyond his most cheerful
calculations. For a minute he stood stock an’ still in his tracks,
plumb dumb-foundered. An’ then his knees got wobbly, an’ he sot down
suddin on the floor, for to collec’ his idees.
“So far it had bin a jug-handled discussion--meanin’ that all the
talkin’ had bin on one side. An’ as the ol’ man sot ther’ a-rummagin’
for thoughts, he come acrost his original plan, layin’ tucked away safe
an’ sound under the roof of his head, an’ recollected that he wa’n’t
a-goin’ to say nothin’, no matter what happened.
“But, ’stid of abatin’, the roarin’ whirlwind of abuse kep’ growin’
stronger, an’ the Col’n’l kind o’ lost sight”--
“_S-st!_” broke in the adjutant, raising his hand, and leaning forward.
“Hear anything?”
“Yes; sabres a-clinkin’,” answered Sam promptly, cocking his head to
one side and peering out into the gloom. “Ye can’t fool me on that
sound; I’ve heard it too often, farther south than we be now. Guess
likely it’s the provo’s.”
The lieutenant-colonel stepped out from beneath the tent-fly, and went
to meet a little squad which was making its way up from the left of the
line. After a moment’s parley he returned to the tent, and the shadowy
group moved on, the clank of the sabres sounding more faintly as the
troopers vanished into the darkness. “Two of the provost-guard, running
in a tramp found asleep back of the cavalry stables,” he explained, as
he seated himself. “Proceed with your fiction, Sam.”
“Queer, how them tramps always hang ’round volunteer camps, aint it?”
said Sam. “Ther’ aint nothin’ in it for ’em, ’ceptin’ the guard-house
if they happens to git collared. An’ yit they turn up reg’lar, year in
an’ year out. Must be they’re sent providentially for to give practice
to the provo’s. Le’ me see; where was I? O, yes; ye left we two
a-settin’ here, an’ ol’ Col’n’l Leatherbee a-settin’ on the floor of
his bedroom, waitin’ for the clouds to roll by. Wal, I’ll proceed, but
not with no fiction; what I’m given’ ye is solemn an’ sacred fac’s.
“The clouds in the Leatherbee mansion, ’stid o’ rollin’ by, kep’
growin’ heavier an’ blacker, an’ Mis’ Leatherbee’s stock of ammunition
didn’t show no signs o’ runnin’ low. So fin’lly the ol’ Col’n’l’s
dander begun to come up, an’ ’fore he knew it, he’d forgot that he were
goin’ to suffer all things in uncomplainin’ silence.
“‘Mis’ Leatherbee,’ says he, ‘my dear mad’m, like the wintry snow, we
are driftin’--_hic!_--driftin’ apart. At the present moment we’re as
far apart’s the two ends of a stick. Which means bein’ sep’rated as
widely’s the feeble human intellec’ can conceive.’ Now, anybody with
eleven idees to the inch might have seen that the ol’ man wa’n’t in no
condition to pass remarks with his good lady; but, oncet havin’ got
fair started, he progressed right along, regardless o’ the fac’ that he
were violatin’ the agreement he’d made with himself previous.
“‘’Tis best that we should end this painful interview,’ he says,
a-climbin’ up onto his mutinous legs. ‘Alas! ther’ aint but one way,
an’ that a awful--_hic!_--awful gashly one! But ye’ve drove me to’t. I
ther’fore bid ye farewell, Mis’ Leatherbee. I also trust that your few
remainin’ years may be cheered by no remorse. Your very respectful an’
obedient servant, Nathan Leatherbee, Col’n’l commandin’ Tenth Reg’ment
Milishy.’ This may sound ridic’lous, but it’s word for word what the
ol’ man said. Honest! His brain was so shooken-up by the razzlin’ he’d
bin gittin’ that he truly couldn’t tell whether he were makin’ of a
speech or writin’ of an official letter.
“Wal, bein’ more or less firm established on his feet, he zig-zagged
himself out into the kitchen, his house follerin’ the plan o’ most
country houses o’ that time, an’ havin’ a thunderin’ big kitchen,
with a lot o’ rooms openin’ out of it. Here he sashayed over to the
cupb’d, an’ took out a slashin’ big carvin’ knife, an’ begun to whet
it up on the steel which went with it, makin’ more noise than a
hay-maker puttin’ an edge onto his scythe. Mis’ Leatherbee had stopped
talkin’, an’ ’twas plain to be seen that she were a-listenin’ to the
proceedin’s.
“The ol’ Col’n’l fixed the knife to suit him, an’ then slipped into the
closet an’ fetched out a ham which happened to be there, settin’ it
down careful-like onto the table. ‘Mis’ Leatherbee, do ye relent?’ says
he in a solemn tone. If she did, she didn’t say so. ‘Ther’s yet time,
ma’am,’ says he, pausin’ for a reply. Not a word come from the bedroom;
the silence was truly appallin’. ‘Once more, then,’ says he, in a
chokin’ voice, ‘an’ for the last time, farewell!’ An’, with that, he
plunked the carvin’ knife into the ham, with a sick’nin’ _chug_, give a
fearful groan, an’ flopped down heavy onto the floor.
“Now, ’twas gol-_dum_ cold out ther’ in the kitchin, an’, as I told ye,
the Col’n’l had dispensed with most of his clothin’ before bein’ drove
to the committin’ of his rash deed. Consequently, after layin’ ther’ in
the dark for a minute, he begun to have chills, an’, to keep his teeth
from chatterin’, he had to groan some more, which he done this time in
good earnest. But Mis’ Leatherbee staid comfortable in bed.
“Wal, fin’lly Col’n’l Leatherbee give a combination o’ groan an’ gasp
an’ guggle that fair rattled the dishes on the closet shelves. An’ then
his wife speaks up, an’ says, says she, ‘Aint ye dead yet, _Mister_
Leatherbee?’ To which he answered, truthful, ‘No; but I’m tormented
nigh to bein’!’--‘Hurry up an’ die, then,’ says she, ‘I want to be
gittin’ to sleep.’ An’ he heard her turnin’ over in bed, an’ smoothin’
down her piller.
“That was the last straw that done the giant-killin’ business. The ol’
man riz up slow, leavin’ the murdered ham layin’ in its gore on the
table, an’ sneaked back into the bedroom, an’ crawled in under the
quilts, feelin’ smaller’n a cent’s worth o’ soap a’ter a week’s hard
washin’. An’, for oncet in her life, Mis’ Leatherbee had sense enough
to hold her raspin’ tongue, an’ let her husband go to sleep in peace.”
“Here comes the relief,” said the lieutenant-colonel, as the sentinel
at headquarters advanced to meet an approaching knot of men, and
sharply challenged, “_Halt! Who’s there?_”
“Whew! then it’s two o’clock,” said Sam, hastily rising. “Who’d have
thought it? This aint no sort o’ way for a man o’ my age to be
a-keepin’ his roses fresh.”
“Any moral in all that?” asked the adjutant, rising in his turn.
“No; nor nothin’ un-moral, neither,” chuckled the veteran, raising
his hand to his cap in parting salute. “Which, in these days, is good
guarantee that ’twont never be printed. Wal, good-night to ye.”
WOODLEIGH, Q.M.
Most of us have cause for remembering the hospitalities of The Fourth.
The same being an up-country regiment, a visit to it involves a rail
journey of three hours and thirty times as many miles; but, in view
of what lies at the end of them, the ninety miles and the three hours
count as nothing. For in The Fourth they know how to do things properly.
The second battalion of The Fourth sent out cards for a ball,
last winter, and a round dozen of them turned up in our mail at
headquarters. As a rule, we never allow an invitation from that part
of the world to go unheeded; but this time we had to return our really
regretful regrets, because a meeting of the council of officers had
been ordered for that particular night. It was too bad.
But The Third, if for nothing more than old acquaintance’ sake,
had to be represented. And so the colonel, after thoughtfully
considering the varied attractions of the staff, sent for the
quartermaster--“Woodleigh, Q.M.,” he signs himself, when the paper
is an official one--and, after loading him down with his blessing
and our compliments to the fellows of the other corps, regretfully
saw him start off alone towards the scene of impending festivities.
“Woodleigh’s a fine shape of man,” the colonel argued to himself, “and
he’ll do for a sample of the rest of us. Besides, what earthly sort of
use _are_ quartermasters, except for ornament?” So off went Woodleigh
to the ball.
In course of time he came back again, telling strange things about what
had happened to him during his absence.
“About that ball?” said he, on a night in the following week, when
a half-dozen of us had bunched ourselves before one of old Sam’s
master-pieces of fire-building, up in The Battery. “Oh, well, it
was a big ball, a broad-and-wide ball, a very large ball indeed.
You missed it by not going. The armory was decorated right up to
the vanishing-point--out of sight, in fact. There were brass
twelve-pounders on each side of the Governor’s box, like signs to
call attention to the big guns inside of it; and there were oceans of
bunting; and all the regimental colors that The Fourth has had issued
to it in the last thirty years; and jungles of palms and other green
things; and girls--yes, there were girls, of course.
“There was _one_ girl-- Never mind: that wouldn’t interest you fellows.
But perhaps you’d like to hear about the supper. There was a very
nourishing supper, so they tell me. I didn’t stay for it, though.”
With our knowledge of the quartermaster’s customary prowess at
the banquet table, this last statement seemed to call for farther
explanation. We ventured to ask him about it.
“Why did I cut that supper? Well, because I wanted to. Why did I want
to? H’m! you’re hot for information, aren’t you? But perhaps I may as
well tell you. If I don’t, somebody else will; and if it has to be
told, I’d prefer to have it told truthfully.
“It was all on account of that girl--that _one_ girl. I’m not ashamed
to admit that it was a case of utter annihilation at first sight. I
had hardly stepped out upon the armory floor, when my eye fell on
her; and from that instant I knew that, for _me_, there wasn’t another
girl in that whole hall--no, nor in the whole wide world. ‘See anybody
you’d like to meet?’ says Major Brayton, who had me under his wing.
‘Yes, present me to that stunning girl in yellow,’ says I, like a
flash; ‘that girl sitting over there beside the stout woman in black.’
Confound Brayton! he might have warned me. But he didn’t: he only
grinned and said ‘Perhaps you’d better get Erwin to take you up. But
come along with me, I’ll risk it.’
“Whew! she _was_ a tearing beauty. Big, soft, brown eyes, and a regular
cloud of wavy, brown hair to match, and a general effect of having just
stepped out of one of Gibson’s drawings. When the major presented me,
my heart was thumping like a bass-drum. Fact! Her name? I didn’t quite
catch it. But I captured her card, and signed contracts for a waltz,
and some sort of country-dance just after it, and another waltz well
along towards the end of the list. How did I score her down on _my_
card? Why, I just scratched down ‘D’--which might have stood for most
anything.
“Well, we floated through the waltz. It was a treat, for she was a
divine dancer, as I’d thought she’d be. When the country-dance came
along, I suggested that we’d do well to hunt up some place in the
gallery from which we could look down upon it, explaining that I was a
little weak in my minor tactics, and really didn’t feel up to getting
tangled in any such complicated manœuvres unless I had a book of
directions with me. So up to the gallery we went, and I found an ideal
corner, all hidden by bunting draperies, and palms and things.
“And there we sat--just we two--in a ready-made paradise of our own,
utterly forgetful of the crush of prancing idiots who were toiling
away on the floor below us. H’m! I think I must have lost my head
completely. I said all sorts of things. As a matter of fact, I can’t
begin to remember half what I _did_ say. I only know that finally the
music stopped, and she rose with a sigh. ‘Can’t I steal this next
dance?’ says I, taking her card from her to see who the lucky man
was that had it. ‘No,’ says she softly, ‘I’m afraid that it wouldn’t
be possible.’ I glanced at the card, and for the first time noticed
that the next dance and fully two-thirds of the others were labelled
‘_J. E._’, in a painfully distinct and careful hand.
“And while I was assimilating this interesting fact, who should come
blundering into our little, private paradise but Jack Erwin, first
lieutenant of ‘C’, Fourth. You don’t know him? Wish _I_ didn’t! ‘Hello!
Woodleigh, old man,’ says he, grabbing my paw. ‘Found you at last.
They told me you were doing guard duty for me. Well, I’m waiting to be
congratulated.’
“‘I beg pardon, Jack,’ says I; ‘promotion?’ And then he laughed--one of
those silly, cheerful, lover’s laughs--and tucked _my_ girl’s slender
little hand under his arm. ‘No,’ says he; ‘or, rather, yes. Hadn’t you
heard of my engagement?’ And he smiled down on the girl in a way that
made me wild to toss him over the balcony railing.
“But I didn’t. I simply pulled myself together as best I could, and
shook hands with him, and mumbled something or other to her, and then
watched them go strolling off together. And just as they went out of
sight behind the palms, I saw her press closer to him, and heard her
say, ‘Oh, Jack, dear, I thought you never _would_ come!’
“That’s all I know about the ball. If you’re still thirsting for points
on it, I’ll refer you to Whateley, of ‘H’ troop. He was there. Danced
all night, I believe, and generally did his duty. Queer boy, Whateley!
It made me sorrowful to see him wasting his time in that way, when
he might have been putting it in to better advantage. But then, the
‘Yellow-Legs’ are always great on dismounted duty; nothing short of
‘Boots-and-Saddles’ ever rattles a really and truly volunteer trooper.”