THE POINT OF HONOR
While it was yet dark on Christmas morning, the silvery notes of a
bugle, like the horns of elfland, floated out upon the wintry fields,
the black flowing river, and lost itself in the echoing woods and
far-off uplands. It was the signal for the awakening of life upon the
estate. The bugle was played by Hector from his bachelor quarters
over the carriage house. Hector scorned matrimony and, like Benedick,
thought he should not live until he were married. It was Hector’s
duty by this call to rouse the sleeping black people--a duty which he
cheerfully and punctually performed and then went back to his own bed
to snooze comfortably until he felt like getting up to perform his
sole, regular duty in life--the shaving of Colonel Tremaine.
On Christmas morning, however, all were awake before the sounding of
the bugle call; candles and fires were lighted in the old house and
crowds of negro children with shining eyes and gleaming teeth came
trooping in the early dawn toward the old mansion. Shouts of laughter
resounded, the older negroes appearing and joining in the merry hubbub
and laughing excitement. Santa Claus for them was in the hall of
Harrowby, where were piled up gifts for everyone on the estate. Each
negro child was given a coarse woolen stocking filled to the top with
sweets, and in each stocking was a switch which was understood as an
admonishment to good behavior. The dogs about the place waked; long,
lean, red deerhounds and short-legged beagles, all yelping and barking
in unison. Within the house, as each servant entered the sleeping
rooms to make the fires, the occupant was greeted with “Chris’mus
gif’,” “Chris’mus gif’,” the theory being that the first who claimed a
Christmas gift should get it. There was no more sleeping in the house
after daylight. By seven o’clock all were up and dressed and the hall
doors were opened for the negroes to come in and get their Christmas
gifts. These were distributed by Angela and Archie, the children of the
house.
It was a happy, noisy, primitive occasion and had about it the true
Christmas spirit, the making of a holiday for each dependent. After the
younger negroes had departed, half a dozen old negro men, the veterans
of the place, long since retired from work, remained to have a glass
of apple toddy with Colonel Tremaine. The great family punch bowl was
filled with this concoction of apple brandy, sugar, and roasted apples.
And Colonel Tremaine, filling the glass of each of the old men, wished
him health and long life, to which each responded with the politeness
characteristic of his race, “Sarvint, suh, the same to you, suh, an’
ole Missis an’ young Marse an’ de little Missis.” Hector departed from
this form as not being elegant enough for a person who had been to
Richmond, Baltimore, had seen a panorama of the city of New York, and
who had accompanied his master during the Mexican War, and always
answered as follows: “Colonel Tremaine’s felicitations. I beg, suh, you
will accept, suh, the assurances of my distinguished consideration,”
a phrase which he had mastered with great effort and which invariably
revealed how much liquor Hector had imbibed. He was able to say it
without hesitation at taking his first swig of apple toddy in the
morning, but was likely to become a little mixed in his phrasing as the
day wore on.
Breakfast was late, and as there was to be a large dinner at five
o’clock, the fashionable hour of the day, and a dance in the evening,
there was much to be done by the house servants. But the negroes,
like all their race, reckoned it a holiday when they were preparing
for a festival. As the case was under the old _régime_, the burden of
preparation fell upon Mrs. Tremaine and Angela. Colonel Tremaine, his
three sons, and Lyddon went for a long ride in the morning for the
express purpose of being out of the way while the making ready for
the dinner and the dance created turmoil in the house. Mrs. Tremaine,
with a masterly hand and with Angela to assist her, carried through
the infinite details of the work of preparation for a hundred persons,
where everything had to be done with only the forces and implements
of one household. Hector, as usual, in his determination to save
Tasso and Jim Henry from the danger of strong drink, had consumed the
remainder of the apple toddy himself and, in consequence, soon took no
note of time or anything else, mislaid his keys, misplaced everything
he touched, and, although barely able to keep his feet, harangued
eloquently upon the sin of drunkenness. Mrs. Tremaine had struggled
with this complication for thirty-five years and encountered it as
usual with patience and authority. In spite of Hector everything was in
readiness by four o’clock, for, as the guests came from considerable
distances, they were liable to arrive half an hour before the time or
half an hour afterward.
At four o’clock Angela, dressed for the festivity, took the last look
in her mirror with the happy satisfaction of a nineteen-year-old
girl. She wore a gown of pale blue of trailing length; wide sleeves
with frills of filmy lace fell back from her slender arms. Her gown
was cut away squarely back and front like one she had seen in an old
print of a Romney portrait. Her delicate throat and neck were thin but
exquisitely white. She had longed for a headdress of lace and flowers,
such as Mrs. Tremaine wore, but that had been forbidden as being too
old, and she had only been permitted to twine a long strand of gold
beads in and out among the masses of her chestnut hair. She passed out
of her room and as she reached the top of the staircase the hall door
opened and Neville entered in his riding dress. He walked slowly toward
the staircase, keeping his eyes fixed upon Angela as she came down
the stairs. She was smiling and blushing with the self-consciousness
of first youth and fixed her laughing eyes on Neville as the nearest
masculine object in view from whom to exact tribute. The tribute,
however, was readily paid and in a coin upon which Angela had not
counted. As they met upon the broad landing of the stairs there was a
look in Neville’s eyes which Angela had never seen there before; love
had taken the place of kindness, Neville did what he had never done
before in his life to her--took her little hand in his and raised it
to his lips. Like all women, she recognized the master passion at the
first glance and under all disguises. Neville in an instant of time
had changed from the indulgent elder brother, the friend, the grown-up
companion of her childhood, and had become her lover, a being to be
reckoned with and different in many ways. The feeling was not one of
rapture to Angela any more than an electric shock is rapture.
“How pretty you are, Angela!” said Neville, still holding her hand.
Angela, with a scarlet face, tried to hark back to their old relations.
“It is the first time you ever called me pretty in my life,” she said.
“I remember how furious I was once a long time ago when I heard you
telling Aunt Sophia that you didn’t believe I should ever have any good
looks, I was so--skinny.”
“It must, indeed, have been a long time ago,” answered Neville in the
tone of a lover. “The truth is, Angela, you are to-day grown up for the
first time. Until now you have been a child, but after this you will be
a child no longer, for you are loved by a man--by me.” The words had
come involuntarily and the next moment Neville called himself a fool
a thousand times over for taking such a place and such a time to make
such an acknowledgment. Richard Tremaine had suddenly entered the hall
by a small door close to the stairs and coming rapidly up the steps
caught Neville and Angela standing hand in hand with every evidence
of guilt. Neville dropped Angela’s hand and scowled at Richard, who
gave one comprehensive glance at Angela’s crimson, downcast face, and
then, turning to Neville, winked portentously. Angela, turning from
them both, ran lightly down the stairs while Richard followed Neville
back down the stairs into his own room. The brothers had adjoining
rooms, small and low, on the ground floor in the old part of the house
and next the study. There was a door of communication between the two
rooms which always stood open. When the brothers were alone, Neville
condescended to smile a little as Richard said laughing, “By Jove, I
didn’t mean to do such an ungentlemanlike thing as interrupt a love
scene.”
“And I didn’t mean to make it a love scene,” responded Neville grimly.
“Oh, never mind, old fellow, those things will happen, you know! I knew
a man once who made an offer to a girl at twelve o’clock on the Fourth
of July in front of the custom house in New Orleans and they were
married and lived happy ever after. I hope this affair may turn out
likewise.”
“But it is no merry jest, as you know, Richard. This may be the last
Christmas I shall ever be permitted to spend under my father’s roof.
When I see and feel my mother’s tenderness, my father’s kindness, and
know how it may change in the twinkling of an eye, it staggers me.”
“I shall not change,” replied Richard briefly. And the two brothers
clasped hands for a moment. Whatever else might be torn apart, the tie
of brotherly love could never be severed. When Neville spoke next it
was only to tell Richard what he had known before.
“If Virginia goes out of the Union,” he said, “I shall not resign from
the army. Of course, I want to and would if my conscience permitted,
but I can’t. I have gone all over it a thousand times; everything draws
me to the South, even my own interests. My position in the United
States Army will be a frightful one. I shall be hated by my own people
and distrusted by those with whom I must remain. I shan’t have the
approval of anyone except”--he struck himself on the breast--“here.”
“Have you reasoned it out, Neville? Do you think it can be possible
that you alone should be right and nine-tenths of the men in your
position, nay, ninety-nine out of a hundred, should be wrong?”
“I am a soldier, Richard. I haven’t your subtlety. I can only ask
myself this question, ‘Does the oath I took on entering the army still
bind me?’ I feel that it does. Incidentally, this course wrecks me, but
if I do otherwise, my honor is wrecked.”
There was a pause as the two brothers stood facing each other in the
little room with its small windows filled with the dull glow of the
dying December sun. They loved each other well and it seemed as if the
hour of separation and doom were coming fast. Their intimacy was such
that although their first parting had come when Neville was seventeen
and Richard but sixteen, it had made not the smallest change in either.
Each had many friends, but his intimates, except Philip Isabey, were
found only under the roof tree of Harrowby. Both men grew pale as they
stood silent and reflective. Then Richard said: “It is just as well to
keep it from our father----”
“And from our mother.”
“Yes, by all means from our mother.”
“Think how strange it is when I leave Harrowby this time, I don’t know
whether I shall ever be permitted to come here again.”
“At least, while you are here you are the favored son. Yes, Neville,
mother loves you better than anything on earth and father is more in
sympathy with you than with me because he loves military life. I am not
thinking so much of you as I am of them. Great God, what a deathblow
they must receive!” Richard turned and went into the next room.
Neville walked to the window and looked out upon the sweet, familiar
landscape now all red and gold in the declining afternoon. He peopled
it with all the events of his boyhood and youth and through all was
a vision of Angela in her little white frock--the spoiled darling
of the family. Mrs. Tremaine was a good disciplinarian and her own
three sons were brought up under wholesome restraint, but Angela,
being fatherless, motherless, and penniless, had been treated with
an indulgence which would have ruined an ordinary nature. Neville
remembered with a smile that on the few occasions when Mrs. Tremaine
had undertaken to administer some mild punishment to the child, Colonel
Tremaine had always frowned and called Mrs. Tremaine “Sophia” during
the rest of the day. And when Archie and Angela had got into mischief
together, justice was sternly meted out to Archie while Angela was
always let off with a promise to be good in the future. But under this
excess of kindness Angela had developed as a peach ripens on the sunny
side of a wall. Neville glanced through the open door and saw Richard,
still in his riding clothes, sitting before the fire with his feet
stretched out to the blaze. He was reflecting upon the blow which was
to fall at Harrowby. Neville went into his brother’s room and, leaning
against the mantelpiece, said: “When I go away, take care of Angela for
me.”
“I had forgotten all about Angela,” answered Richard frankly. “I was
thinking of our father and mother.”
“You must think also of Angela; she will have her share of pain--that
is, if she stands by me.”
Neither had noticed how the time had passed or that the early twilight
of winter had fallen upon them until Peter, Richard’s boy, suddenly
burst into the room and cried out, “Good Gord A’might’, Marse Richard,
de company is comin’ an’ Unc’ Hector he done knocked ober an’ broke one
o’ ole Marse’ bes’ decanters, an’ Missis say fur de Lord’s sake to come
in ’long to her right ’way.”
The company had come indeed, and by the time Richard and Neville had
scrambled through their dressing, the whole party was assembled in the
drawing-room--a fine large apartment with many mirrors and a grand
piano as large as a small house. The guests were the usual types of
country gentry; the men, full-blooded, hard-riding, and sometimes
hard-drinking, but full of an Old World courtesy and grace; the women,
gentle, soft-voiced, with a certain provincial grace. Mrs. Tremaine,
in a brown brocade with fine old lace and a lace headdress which was
admired and envied by Angela, wore an air of serene triumph as the
mothers of sons always wear. As the young men came in and greeted their
guests, Neville was overwhelmed with kindly welcome. He came from
the great outside world which was strange to most of these people,
whose travels rarely extended beyond Baltimore in one direction and
the White Sulphur Springs in another. Standing close to Mrs. Tremaine
was Mrs. Charteris, her friend and schoolmate, the richest widow in
five counties, with one only son, a boy not yet eighteen years of
age. Neville greeted her with fine courtesy and Richard with charming
impudence, and kissing her on the cheek, inquired when her wedding
would come off with Mr. Brand, the rector of Petworth Church. As this
affair had been going on for at least twenty years and Mr. Brand had
made no perceptible headway, it had become a county joke.
“I declare the impudence of the young men of the present day is
perfectly intolerable,” cried Mrs. Charteris, delighted with Richard’s
presumption. “There’s Mr. Brand now, just coming in. Go and ask him.”
The rector, who was at that time shaking hands with Colonel and Mrs.
Tremaine, was the tallest and by all odds the handsomest man in the
room, with a voice of melodious thunder, and it may be added that Mr.
Brand was commonly considered the most chicken-hearted of his species.
He escaped from Colonel Tremaine’s bowing and scraping and elaborate
welcome to march over to his inamorata, Mrs. Charteris, who, like the
rest of her sex, enjoyed tormenting a lover and promptly hit upon the
subject most painful to the rector’s feelings.
“Well, Mr. Brand,” she cried, “I sympathize with you more than I can
express. We all know your warlike spirit and that you would be in the
forefront of the hottest battle if you could, but Colonel Tremaine has
just been telling us that when the war breaks out only the services of
men under forty-five years will be required. Of course, however, you
can volunteer, and with your splendid physique, you are certain to be
accepted.”
Mr. Brand winced. He was oratorically patriotic and took the ground
that when the conflict came, every able-bodied man should shoulder his
musket and go to the front, that is to say, except himself. Moreover,
his age, which was well beyond the fifty mark, was a tender point
with him, and it was exactly like Mrs. Charteris, who was a notorious
meddler, to be raking up these unpleasant subjects and laughing
irreverently.
“My calling, my dear Mrs. Charteris,” began Mr. Brand lamely. “My
cloth----”
“Oh, chaplains will be needed in our armies; you don’t suppose that the
Southern soldiers will be a set of heathens, do you? And you can have a
chance to march----”
“And sleep in the mud and catch rheumatism and starve----”
“And be a target for Yankee bullets like the rest of us,” added Richard
Tremaine maliciously, who was a secret partisan of Mrs. Charteris.
The conversation then grew general all about the coming war. The news
of South Carolina’s secession was still fresh and vivid, and it was
realized that the parting of the ways had come. The ladies professed
their willingness to wear their old hats and bonnets indefinitely, to
scrape up all the linen sheets for lint and to outdo the women of the
French Revolution in patriotism. The gentlemen encouraged the ladies
by their laughter and applause except Neville Tremaine, but as he was
usually a reticent man, no one was surprised at his silence. Mrs.
Tremaine, as the mother of two gallant sons to give the Cause, assumed
unconsciously the arrogance of proud motherhood and exchanged strange
glances with Mrs. Charteris, who with one seventeen-year-old boy knew
herself to be envious of the other woman.
It was after five o’clock before the last belated carriage load had
arrived and the guests were marshaled into the dining room. A great
table, bright with candles, was laid the full length of the room with
side tables at intervals where the younger and merrier members of the
party sat. It was a feast which would have delighted a Crusader. A huge
turkey was set before Colonel Tremaine, who with elaborate apologies
to the whole table, was forced to rise in order to carve the gigantic
bird. Everything eatable that grew in the earth or walked upon it or
could be found in the depths of the sea or winged its way through the
air was found upon that Virginia dinner table. Hector was still able
to keep his feet in spite of halcyon incursions upon the bowl of apple
toddy in the hall, and was in great form and imitated with more than
usual success all of Colonel Tremaine’s affectations. He spilled the
wine upon the cloth, liberally distributed gravy over some of the
ladies’ dresses, and in a fit of absent-mindedness served the custard
with the ham. But these trifles were borne suavely by all present
except Lyddon, who reckoned Hector to be about as much use in the world
as the fifth wheel to a coach or a second tail to a dog. There was
much laughter, as became a Christmas feast, and Mrs. Tremaine, with a
pride which she called humility, recognized that of all the young men
present, her two sons easily bore away the palm. They had seats at the
main table, but Angela with Archie and half a dozen youngsters were
seated at the side tables.
Angela was glad of this until she found that she was in full view of
Neville across the room, and instantly she became conscious of his
observation. As the dinner progressed the war talk increased, and as
the wine circulated freely and the decanters spun around the table
upon the old-fashioned coasters, the conversation grew louder and
graver. The war spirit in this people was strong. They loved fighting
for fighting’s sake, and were eager to begin the conflict. The last
stupendous course, a huge plum pudding, having been served, according
to the old custom, the cloth was removed and the shining mahogany table
bore only the nuts and wine. Then the drinking of toasts began. Colonel
Tremaine’s usually pale and high-bred face was flushed, as it might
well be after such a Christmas dinner and Christmas wine, and it grew
still more so when he proposed a toast.
“My friends,” said he, “let us drink to the gallant State of South
Carolina. She has shown us the way, and Virginia will soon follow. Let
us drink this toast with all honors.” He rose and there was the noise
of thirty persons pushing back their chairs and coming to their feet.
All glasses were filled and raised except one, and that was Neville
Tremaine’s. Colonel Tremaine looked at him inquiringly, and Neville,
smiling, said pleasantly to his father, “You, sir, as a soldier
understand that as long as Virginia stays in the Union, I, as an
officer of the United States Army, cannot drink the toast you propose.”
“Certainly,” answered Colonel Tremaine quickly. “You are excused, my
son. We understand perfectly how you are situated at present, but the
day will come when you will be able to drink to this sentiment with
us.” The toast was drunk standing and then Mrs. Tremaine in a soft,
clear voice at the head of the table added:
“And let us now drink to secession.” At this there was a burst of
applause, and Mrs. Tremaine, sipping the last of her wine, did what
only a woman bursting with patriotism could do, struck the slender stem
of the wine glass on the edge of the table and smashed it to bits. Mrs.
Charteris raised her hand.
“Spare the wine glasses,” she cried. “They’re cut glass, every one
of them, and the breaking of one is enough to show Sophie Tremaine’s
patriotism.”
The wine glasses were spared, but the fighting spirit was mightily
increased by this simple action on Mrs. Tremaine’s part. By the time
thirty persons had been served the fiddles were heard tuning up in
the hall. There Uncle Josh, the plantation fiddler, with a couple of
hirelings were running the bows across the strings. Other guests were
arriving for the evening party. And to them coming from long distances
in the December evening, another kind of a meal had to be immediately
served; hot biscuits, sandwiches, and coffee were reckoned to be a
mere appetizer for the substantial supper which was due at midnight.
Ladies muffled up in wraps and gentlemen in riding cloaks were pouring
in a steady stream up the broad stairs and in a little while the large
drawing-room was full, while in the library the card tables were set
out for the elderly persons who liked a quiet rubber. The hall into
which the piano had been wheeled was given up to the dancers, and half
a dozen sets of quadrilles were formed. In those days gentlemen of all
ages danced and usually made havoc in the lancers, which were just
then coming into fashion, and of which the figures were only perfectly
done by the young and modish. General round dancing was considered
improper, and when Uncle Josh and his postulants played the few waltzes
and polkas and schottisches in their repertory, girls danced with each
other or with their brothers.
The apple toddy was going steadily the whole evening. In that day
and time it was thought a mark of spirit in a man to become what
was euphemistically called “a little mellow.” Colonel Tremaine was
decidedly mellow and Mr. Brand mellower still. Dr. Yelverton, the
great medical luminary of the county, had already requested Hector’s
assistance up the stairs to the gentlemen’s dressing room, where he
proposed to take a short nap. Hector, who was the mellowest man at
Harrowby, attempted to assist the doctor up the steps, and but for
Lyddon, who sustained them both, the pair would have come to grief on
the first landing. Other elderly gentlemen did the double shuffle and
cut pigeon wings after the manner of 1830, and several, following Dr.
Yelverton’s example, sought refuge at various times in the haven of
the dressing room. About three o’clock in the morning, after seven
hours of continuous dancing, the move was made to break up so that the
driving home along the country roads could be made by the light of a
late moon. Colonel and Mrs. Tremaine pressed each guest who hinted at
departure to remain longer, but at last the order was given to play
the reel with which all Virginia parties break up. This was the great
dance of the evening, and the fiddlers put renewed energy into their
sawing and scraping. Every gentleman asking a lady’s hand for the reel
paid her a special compliment. Neville had danced with every lady in
the room except Angela, but early in the evening he had whispered to
her, “You’ll save the reel for me, won’t you?” And Angela had replied
out loud, “Yes.” No one was excused from this last dance; even Lyddon,
the most awkward man alive, was pressed into service and forced to
walk through it. Colonel Tremaine led with Mrs. Charteris and executed
the most beautiful and difficult steps ever seen, meanwhile blowing
kisses to the ladies. When the march figure was executed, the rhythmic
hand-clapping accentuated the music and put new life into the fiddlers.
As the partners of the dance were in full view every moment, there was
no opportunity for Neville to exchange a word with Angela, but as they
passed fleetly down the middle she felt the warm pressure of his hand.
It was an hour before the reel was over, and then when the last strain
was played and the formation broken up, Angela, running up to Colonel
Tremaine, whispered something in his ear. Then she went to the piano,
and Archie, following a signal, appeared with his violin and bow in
his hand. Colonel Tremaine in a voice as mellow as himself called out:
“My friends, one thing more remains for this Christmas night. The
daughter of our family and my youngest son have made themselves
proficient in the new patriotic air called ‘Dixie,’ which is destined
to become the national air of the South, and they will now have
pleasure in performing it for you.” The voices and bustle of a crowd
of persons stopped instantly, and Angela, playing the opening chord of
‘Dixie,’ Archie struck into the first inspiring strain of the air. The
two played it through with immense fire and spirit and then a storm of
applause burst forth. Gentlemen shook hands, ladies clasped each other
and fell into a rapture of hand-clapping and cries of applause. The air
had to be repeated a half dozen times, and each time the tempest of
enthusiasm rose and swept with magic force the souls and hearts of all
present. Two persons alone were excepted, Neville Tremaine and Lyddon.
They stood together near the fireplace while the music and cheering
echoed around them and exchanged significant glances. “It is the _ça
ira_ of to-day,” said Lyddon in Neville’s ear.
At last, after an hour of excitement, enthusiasm, laughter, cheering,
and glorious anticipation of victory, the last guest had driven off,
and the ghostly light of a pallid moon and the dawn was creeping in at
the windows. The candles had burnt down in their sockets and the hall
fire was low when the Harrowby family said good night, or rather good
morning. Lyddon noticed that Angela, although in appearance so fragile,
seemed as fresh as when the dancing had begun eight hours before, and
in fact she and Archie, after the fiddlers had gone, danced a final
polka without music and had to be sent ignominiously to their rooms by
Mrs. Tremaine’s authority. When Lyddon with Richard and Neville went
into the study for a smoke before a three hours’ morning nap, they
found Hector snoring comfortably on the hearth rug.
“I wonder if any people in the world except you easy-going Virginians
would stand this sort of thing?” said Lyddon, who had never been able
to accustom himself to the spectacle of a butler who had got tipsy on
every possible occasion for forty years.
“Oh, that’s nothing!” replied Richard easily. “You never have
understood our peculiar institution, Mr. Lyddon; it is strictly feudal,
you know!”
“It is a little too infernally feudal for me,” replied Lyddon. “It is
worse than the feudalism in the Highlands of Scotland.”