THE PROVOST CATCHES A TARTAR, AND CAPTAIN MIDDLETON SEEKS THE
CONSOLATIONS OF RELIGION
Steve Allen on his removal to the county seat after his sudden
abandonment of farming, had taken up his quarters in an old building,
fronting on the court-green near the Clerk’s office, and with its rear
opening on a little lane which led to two of the principal roads in
the county. From the evening of his arrival Steve took possession of
the entire village. He wore his old cavalry uniform, the only suit he
possessed, and, with his slouched hat set on one side of his handsome
head, carried himself so independently that he was regarded with some
disfavor by the two young officers, whom he on his side treated with
just that manner which appeared to him most exasperating to each of
them. He was immediately the most popular man in the place. He played
cards with the men, and marbles with the boys; made love to the girls,
and teased the old women; joked with the soldiers, especially with the
big Irish Sergeant, Dennis O’Meara, and fought the war over with the
officers. He boldly asserted that the Confederates had been victorious
in every battle they had ever fought, and had, as someone said, simply
“worn themselves out whipping the Yankees,” a line of tactics which
exasperated even little Thurston, until he one day surprised a gleam of
such amused satisfaction in Steve’s gray eyes that he afterward avoided
the ambuscade and enjoyed the diversion of seeing Leech, and even
Middleton, caught.
Leech had been warned in advance by Mr. Still of Steve Allen’s
intention to settle at the county seat, and immediately on Steve’s
arrival had notified him to appear before him as Provost and exhibit
his parole. From that time Steve had taken Leech as his prey. Knowing
that the Provost was not the proper officer, he did not obey the order,
and repaid Leech’s insolence with burning contempt, never failing, on
occasion, to fire some shafts at him which penetrated and stung.
General Legaie and Dr. Cary, after their experience with Leech,
determined to lose no more time than was necessary in adopting the
suggestion of Captain Middleton and going to see the Commandant of the
Freedmen’s Bureau in the city. The General, however, stipulated that he
should not be expected to do more than state his views to the officer
in command. This he was willing to do, as he was going with Dr. Cary
to the city, where the Doctor was to see Mr. Ledger and conclude the
negotiation for a loan to re-stock his plantation.
It happened, however, that when General Legaie and Dr. Cary called on
Colonel Krafton, two other visitors from their county had been to see
that officer: Hiram Still and Leech.
The two gentlemen were kept waiting for some time after their names had
been taken in by the sentinel before they were admitted to the Chief
Provost’s presence, and every minute of that period the General grew
hotter and hotter, and walked up and down the little ante-room with
more and more dignity.
“Dr. Johnson before Lord Chesterfield,” said the Doctor, laughing at
his friend’s impatience and indignation.
“Dr. Johnson before a dog!” was the little General’s retort. “Why, sir,
I never treated a negro in my life as he has treated us.”
At last, however, they were admitted.
The officer, a stout man with closely cropped iron-gray hair, a
lowering brow and a heavy jaw, was seated at his desk writing. He did
not look up when they entered, but said, “Sit down,” and wrote on.
When he was through, he called out, and a sentinel entered.
“Send that off at once—or—wait where you are. I may have another to
send.” He turned to the two visitors who were still standing.
“Well?”
“I am Major Cary,” that gentleman said, advancing, “And this is General
Legaie.” He bowed gravely.
“Oh! I know you,” said the officer. He turned to his desk and searched
for something.
“Oh!—I was not aware that I had had the pleasure of meeting you
before,” said the Doctor, brightening. “Where was it, sir? I regret
that my memory has not served me better.” He seated himself.
“I did not say I had met you—I said I knew you, and I do. I know you
both.”
“Oh! I thought I should not have forgotten,” said the Doctor.
“No, nor you won’t. I have a report of you, and know why you’ve come.”
He shook his head as he turned to them. “I’m Colonel Krafton, Provost
of this district, and I mean to be the Provost, and you might as well
understand it now as hereafter.”
“Oh!” said the Doctor, rising slowly from the seat he had taken.
“I know about your conferences, and your meetings, and the terms you
propose to dictate to me; but I will show you that I am in authority
here and I don’t propose to be dictated to, either; do you understand?
I don’t want any of your advice. When I want you I’ll send for you; do
you understand? “
The Doctor, who had waited in a sort of maze for the Provost to pause,
turned to his friend, whose face was perfectly white and whose usually
pleasant eyes had a red rim around the irises.
“I beg your pardon, General Legaie, I thought we should find a
gentleman, but——”
“I never did, Major,” said the little General. “But I had no idea we
should find such a dog as this.” He turned to the Provost, and, with a
bow, fixed his eyes on him. But that officer looked at the sentry and
said:
“Open the door.”
The General looked out of it, expecting a file of soldiers to arrest
them, and straightened himself for the ordeal. There was none there,
however. The General’s countenance fell.
“I said ‘dog,’ but I apologize to that animal, and say—_worm_!” He
turned his eyes once more on the Provost.
“I shall be at the Brandon tavern until the evening. Do you understand
that?” he said, addressing the Provost. He stalked out, his nose high
in the air, his heels ringing on the floor.
As soon as they were outside, the Doctor began to apologize to the
General again; but the latter, having blown off his steam, and fully
appreciating his friend’s mortification, was very handsome about it.
He had at heart a sly hope that the Provost officer might consult some
friend who would insist on his taking up the insult, and so give him a
satisfaction which he was at that moment very eager for. None came that
evening, however, and as the next day none had come, the General was
forced to return home unsatisfied.
The effect of Dr. Cary’s and General Legaie’s interview with Colonel
Krafton was shortly felt in the county.
A few days later an order came for an inquisition to be made from house
to house for arms. The labor this required was so great that it was
divided up. In the part of the county where General Legaie lived, the
investigation was made by Middleton, who conducted himself throughout
with due propriety, even declaring it, as General Legaie reported,
“an unpleasant duty,” and “taking in every case a gentleman’s word,”
never touching a thing except, perhaps, where there would be an army
musket or pistol. General Legaie’s old duelling-pistols, which his
butler, Julius, had hidden and taken care of all during the war, were
left unmolested, and the young officer went so far as to express, the
General stated, a “somewhat critical admiration for them,” observing
that they were the first genuine duelling-pistols he had ever seen.
On this the General—though, as he declared, it required all his
politeness to do so—could not but make the offer that in case Captain
Middleton should ever have occasion to use a pair they were entirely at
his service.
In the Red Rock and Birdwood neighborhood, the people were not so
fortunate. There the inquisition was conducted by Leech—partly,
perhaps, because the two young officers did not wish to pay their
first visit to Dr. Cary’s on such an errand, and partly because Leech
requested to be allowed to assist in the work.
Though the other officers knew nothing of it, Leech had two reasons
for wishing to conduct the search for arms at Dr. Cary’s. He had not
forgotten Dr. Cary’s action and look the day of the trial. The other
reason was hatred of Steve Allen. “I’ll show him what I can smell,” he
said to Still, who smiled contentedly.
“It won’t do to fool with him too much, personally,” Still warned him.
“He’s a dangerous man. They’re all of ’em dangerous, you hear me.”
“I’ll show ’em who I am, before I’m through with ’em,” said Leech.
Thus the inquisition for arms was peculiarly grateful to Leech.
Leech had a squad of men under his command, which made him feel as if
he were really an officer, and he gave them orders as though he were
leading them to a battle. He intimated that they might be met with
force, and asserted that, if so, he should act promptly. On riding up
to the Doctor’s a Sabbatic stillness reigned over everything.
The Doctor was not at home that day, having gone to the city to see the
General in command there about the appointment of magistrates and other
civil officers for the county, and, as Mrs. Cary had a sick headache,
the blinds were closed, and Blair and old Mammy Krenda were keeping
every sound hushed. It was a soft, balmy afternoon, when all nature
seemed to doze. The sunlight lay on the fields and grass, and the trees
and shrubbery rustled softly in the summer breeze.
Flinging himself from his horse, the Provost banged on the door loudly
and, without waiting for anyone to answer his summons, stalked noisily
into the house with his men behind him. Both Blair and Mammy Krenda
protested against his invading one particular apartment. Blair planted
herself in front of the door. She was dressed in a simple white dress,
and her face was almost as white as the dress.
“What’s in there?” asked Leech.
“Nothing. My mother is in there with a sick headache.”
“Ah-h-h!” said Leech, derisively. He caught Blair by the arm roughly.
Blair drew back, the color flaming in her cheeks, and the old negro
woman stepped up in her place, bristling with anger.
The flash in the young girl’s eyes as she drew herself up abashed the
Provost. But he recovered himself and, pushing old Krenda roughly
aside, opened the door. There he flung open the blinds and rummaged in
the drawers, turning everything out on the floor, and carried off in
triumph a pair of old, horseman’s pistols which had belonged to the
Doctor’s grandfather in the Revolutionary War, and had been changed
from flintlock to percussion at the outbreak of the recent hostilities.
Leech had just come out of this room when Jacquelin Gray drove up. He
stopped outside for a moment to ask what the presence of the soldiers
meant, and then came hobbling on his crutches into the house.
As he entered, Blair turned to him with a gesture, partly of relief and
partly of apprehension.
“Oh, Jacquelin!” The rest was only a sob. The blood flushed Jacquelin’s
pale face, and he passed by her.
“By what authority do you commit this outrage?” he asked Leech.
“By authority enough for you. By what authority do you dare to
interfere with an officer in the discharge of his duty, you limping,
rebel dog? If you know what is good for you, you’ll take yourself off
pretty quick.” Leech took in his squad with a wave of his hand, and
encountering Jacquelin’s blazing eyes and a certain motion of his
crutch, moved a little nearer to his men, laying his hand on his pistol
as he did so.
Blair made a gesture to stop Jacquelin; but he took no heed of it. He
moved on his crutches nearer to the Provost.
“I demand to know your authority, dog,” he said, ignoring both Leech’s
threat and Blair’s imploring look.
“I’ll show you. Seize him and search him,” said Leech, falling behind
his squad and adding an epithet not necessary to be repeated.
“I am not armed; if I were—” said Jacquelin. At Blair’s gesture he
stopped.
“Well, what would you do?” Leech asked after waiting a moment for
Jacquelin to proceed.” You hear what he says, Sergeant?” He addressed
the bluff, red-haired Irishman who wore a sergeant’s chevrons.
“Sames to me he says nothin’ at all,” said the Sergeant, who was the
same man that had had charge of the ambulance in which Jacquelin had
been brought home the day he arrived, and who had been a little grumpy
ever since he had been put under Leech’s command.
“Arrest him and if he offers any resistance, tie him securely to a tree
outside,” ordered Leech.
“Does Captain Middleton know of this?” Jacquelin asked the Sergeant.
“Well, you see, it’s arders from headquarrters, an’ I guess the Cap’n
thaught bayin’ a ferrut was a little more in _his_ line.” The Sergeant
nodded his head in the direction of Leech, who had called the other men
and gone on ostentatiously with his search.
[Illustration: HE CARRIED OFF IN TRIUMPH A PAIR OF OLD HORSE-PISTOLS.]
Just then, however, the Provost encountered a fresh enemy. If Mrs.
Cary and Miss Blair deemed it more dignified and ladylike to preserve
absolute silence during this invasion, Mammy Krenda had no such
inconvenient views. The old woman had nursed both Mrs. Cary and her
daughter. She was, indeed, what her title implied, and had all her
life held the position of a member of the family. In her master’s
absence she considered herself responsible, and she had followed Leech
from room to room, dogging his every step, and now, emboldened by
Jacquelin’s presence, she burst forth, pouring out on the Provost the
vials of her wrath which, instead of being exhausted by use, gathered
volume and virulence with every minute.
“Yaas, I know jest what sort you is,” she said, mockingly: “you is the
sort o’ houn’-dog that ain’t got sperit enough to fight even a ole
hyah, let alone a coon; but comes sneakin’ into folks’ kitchen, tryin’
to steal a scrap from chillerns’ mouths when folks’ backs air turned! I
ain’t talkin’ to you all,” she explained, with ready tact, to the squad
of privates who showed in their countenances some appreciation of her
homely, but apt illustration; “I know you all’s got to do it if you’
marsters tell’s you to. Nor, I’m talkin’ to him. I declare I’m right
glad my marster ain’t at home; I’m feared he’d sile his shoe kickin’
yer dutty body out de do’.” She stood with her arms akimbo, and her
eyes half-closed in derision.
This touch, with an ill-suppressed snicker from one of the men behind,
proved too much for the leader’s self-control, and he turned in a rage:
“Shut up, you black hag,” he snarled, angrily, “or I’ll—I’ll—” He
paused, hunting for a threat which would appall her. “I’ll tie you to a
tree outside and wear out a hickory on you.”
If he thought to quell the old woman by this, however, he was mistaken.
He only infuriated her the more.
“You will, will you!” she hissed, straightening herself up and walking
up close to him. “Do you know what would happen if you did? My marster
would cut your heart out o’ you; but I wouldn’t lef’ you for him to do
it! You ain’t fitten for him to tetch. De ain’ nobody uver tetched me
since my mammy whipped me last; and she died when I was twelve years
ole’; an’ ef you lay your hand ’pon me I’ll wear you out tell you ain’t
got a piece o’ skin on you as big as dat!—see?” She walked up close to
him and indicating the long, pink nail on her clawlike little-finger,
poked a black and sinewy little fist close up under the Provost’s very
nose.
“Now—” she panted: “Heah me; tetch me!”
But Leech had recovered himself. He quailed before the two blazing
coals of fire that appeared ready to dart at him, and recognizing the
fact that even his men were against him and, like Jacquelin, were
secretly enjoying his discomfiture, he angrily ordered them out of the
house and concealed as best he could his consuming inward rage.
Incensed by Jacquelin’s look of satisfaction at the old mammy’s attack,
Leech took him along with him, threatening him with dire punishment
for interfering with a Union officer in the discharge of his duty;
but learning from the Sergeant that Jacquelin was “a friend of the
Captain’s,” he released him, assuring him of the fortunate escape he
had, and promising him very different treatment “next time.” Jacquelin
returned no answer whatever until at the end, when he said, looking him
deep in the eyes, “It may not be next time, you dog; but some time will
be my time.”
When Dr. Cary reached home that evening, both Mrs. Cary and Blair
congratulated themselves afresh that he had been absent during the
Provost’s visit. The first mention of the man’s conduct had such an
effect on him that Mrs. Cary, who had already interviewed both her
daughter and the mammy on the propriety of giving a somewhat modified
account of the visitation, felt it necessary to make even yet lighter
of it than she had intended. The Doctor grew very quiet, and his
usually pleasant mouth shut close, bringing his chin out strongly and
giving him an uncommonly stern appearance. Mrs. Cary whipped around
suddenly and gave the matter a humorous turn. But the Doctor was not
to be diverted; the insolence of Leech’s action to Blair, and of
penetrating into his wife’s chamber, had sunk in deeply, and a little
later, having left his wife’s sick-room, he called up the mammy. If
Mrs. Cary possessed instincts and powers of self-control which enabled
her to efface her sense of injury in presence of a greater danger, the
old servant had no such cultivated faculty. At the first mention of
the matter by the Doctor, her sense of injury rose again, her outraged
pride came to the surface once more, and in the presence of him to whom
she had always looked for protection her self-control gave out.
She started to tell the story lightly, as she knew her mistress wished
done, but, at the first word, broke down and suddenly began to whimper
and rock.
When it had all come out between sobs of rage and mortification, her
master sent her away soothed with a sense of his sympathy and of the
coming retribution which he would exact.
When the Doctor saw Mrs. Cary again, he was as placid as a May-morning,
perhaps more placid than usual. He thought himself very clever indeed.
But no man is clever enough to deceive his wife if she suspects him,
and Mrs. Cary read him as though he had been an open book. As a result,
before he left her room she had exacted a promise from him not under
any circumstances to seek a personal interview with Leech, or even to
go to the court-house for some time.
The story of the old negro woman’s terrible tongue-lashing of the
Provost got abroad. He had attempted to use both command and persuasion
to prevent his men from telling it, but even the bribery of a free
treat at a store on the roadside, which was a liberality he had never
been known to display before, failed to secure the desired secrecy, and
the story reached the court-house almost as quickly as he. Sergeant
O’Meara related it to the camp with great gusto.
“Bedad!” said he, “the ould woman looked like wan of theyse little
black game-burruds whan a dog comes around her chicks, with her fithers
all oop on her back and her wings spraid, and the Liftenant—if he
is a Liftenant, which I don’t say he is, moind—he looked as red
as a turkey-cock and didn’t show much moor courege. She was a very
discriminatin’ person, bedad! She picked me out for a gintleman and
the sutler for a dog, and bedad! she wasn’t far wrong in ayether. Only
you’re not to say I towld you, for whan a gintleman drinks a man’s
whiskey it doesn’t become him to tell tales on him.”
Perhaps it was well for Mr. Jonadab Leech that the matter got abroad,
for it gave the incident a lighter turn than it otherwise would have
had. As it was, there was a storm of indignation in the county, and
next day there were more of the old Confederate soldiers in the village
than had been there since the war closed. In their gray uniforms,
faded as they were, they looked imposing. Leech spent the day in the
precincts of the camp. A deputation, with Steve Allen at their head,
waited on Middleton and had a short interview with him, in which they
told him that they proposed to obey the laws, but they did not propose
to permit ladies to be insulted.
“For I tell you now, Captain Middleton,” said Steve, “before we will
allow our women to be insulted, we will kill every man of you. We are
not afraid to do it.” He spoke as quietly as though he were saying the
most ordinary thing in the world. Middleton faced him calmly. The two
men looked in each other’s eyes, and recognized each other’s courage.
“Your threat has no effect on me,” said Middleton; “but I wish to say
that before I will allow any woman to be insulted, I will kill every
man in my command. Lieutenant Leech is not in my command, though in a
measure subject to my authority; but the matter shall be investigated
immediately.”
What occurred in the interview which took place between Middleton and
Leech was not known at the time, but that night Leech sent for Still to
advise him. Even the negroes were looking on him more coldly.
“I knows if he lays his han’ ’pon me, I’m gwine to cut his heart out
’n him,” said a tall, black young negro in the crowd as Leech passed,
on his way to his office. It was evidently intended for Leech to hear.
Leech had not then learned to distinguish black countenances and he did
not yet know Jerry.
Still was equal to the emergency. “These quality-niggers ain’t used to
bein’ talked to so,” he explained to Leech; “and they won’t stand it
from nobody but quality. They’re just as stuck up as their masters, and
you can’t talk to ’em that way. You got to humor ’em. The way to manage
’em is through their preachers. Git Sherrod and give him a place in
the commissary. He’s that old hag’s son-in-law, and he’s a preacher. I
always manage ’em through their preachers.”
The result of taking Still’s advice, in one way, so far surpassed
Leech’s highest expectation, that he could not but admit that Still
was a genius. One other appointment Still suggested, and that was of
a negro who had belonged to the Grays and who was believed to have as
much influence with the devil as Sherwood had in the other direction.
“And,” as Still said, “with Jim Sherrod to attend to Heaven and Doctor
Moses to manage t’other place, I think me and you can sorter manage to
git along on earth.
“You’ve got to do with them,” he added, sinking his voice almost to
a whisper. “For, as I told you, you’ve got to work your triggers up
that a-way.” He waved his hand toward the North. “If you can git the
money you say you can, I can make it over and over fer you faster
than nigger-tradin’. You jest git Krafton to stand by you and that old
feller Bolter to stake us, and we’re all right.
“You’ve got to git rid of this young Captain. One of you’s got to go
some time, and the one as holds out longest will win. ’Twon’t do to let
him git too strong a hold down here.—Now this party they’re gittin’
up? If they invite your young men—you might work that string. But
you can’t quarrel with him now. You say he’s in with your Mrs. Welch.
Better work the nigger racket. That’s the strong card now. Git some
more boxes from Mrs. Welch and let me put ’em where they’ll do most
good. Niggers loves clo’es mo’ than money. Don’t fall out with your
young man yet—keep in with a man till you have got under-holt, then
you can fling him.”
Meantime, while this conference was going on, Middleton was in a far
less complacent frame of mind. He had just left the camp that afternoon
and was on his way to his quarters, when, at a turn in the street, he
came on a group of young gentlemen surrounding a young lady who was
dressed in a riding-habit, and was giving an animated account of some
occurrence. As soon as he turned the corner, he was too close on them
to turn back; so he had to pass. He instantly recognized Miss Cary,
though her back was toward him: the trim figure, abundant hair, and
musical voice were not to be forgotten.
“I don’t think you need any guard, so long as you have Mammy Krenda,”
laughed one of the young men.
“No, with her for the rank and file, I am just waiting for Captain M—
I mean to meet him some day, and—”
“Hush-here he is now.”
“I don’t care.” She tossed her head.
Middleton could not help hearing what she said, or seeing the gesture
that stopped her.
He passed on, touching his cap to one or two of the young men, who
returned the salute. But Miss Cary took no more notice of him than if
he had been a dog.
Thurston had reached their room a little before Middleton arrived. He
was in unusually good spirits, having just relieved his mind by cursing
Leech heartily to Miss Dockett, and thus re-establishing himself with
that young lady, who had been turning her back on him ever since she
had heard of the incident at Birdwood. In reward for this act of
reparation, the young lady had condescended to tell Lieutenant Thurston
of the entertainment which the young people proposed to get up; and the
little officer had made up his mind that, if possible, he and Middleton
should be invited. He had just lit his pipe and was, as he said, laying
out his campaign, when Middleton entered and, tossing his sword in a
corner, without a word, lit a cigar, flung himself in an arm-chair
and gazed moodily out of the window. The Lieutenant watched his
friend in silence, with a more serious look on his face than usually
found lodgement on that cheerful countenance. The cloud remained on
Middleton’s brow, but the Lieutenant’s face cleared up, and presently,
between the puffs of his pipe, he said:
“Larry, you need the consolations of religion.” Middleton, without
taking his eyes from the distance, turned his cigar in his mouth and
remained silent.
“And I’m going to make you sit under the ministrations of the pious Mr.
Langstuff—”
“Foolstuff!” growled Middleton, turning his eye on him.
“—For your soul’s good and your eyes’ comfort,” continued the
Lieutenant placidly. “For they do say, Larry, that he preaches to the
prettiest lot of unrepentant, stony-hearted, fair rebels that ever
combined the love of Heaven with the hatred of their fellow-mortals.
You are running to waste, Larry, and I must utilize you.”
“Jackass!” muttered Middleton, but he looked at Thurston, who smoked
solemnly.
“For they say, Larry, there’s going to be a dancing-party, and we must
be there, you know.”
Middleton’s face, which had begun to clear up, clouded again.
“What’s the good of it? Not one of ’em would speak to us. I met one
just now—and she looked at me—they all look at me, or _by_ me—as if
I were a snake!”
“As you are, Larry—a snake in the grass,” interjected the little
Lieutenant. “Pretty?”
“As a peach—Can’t you be serious a minute?”—for Thurston’s eyes were
twinkling. “Every one looks as if she hated me.”
“As they ought to, Larry; for you’re their enemy.” Thurston settled
back with his pipe between his lips, and chuckled to himself. “You
ought to see the way they look at me, Larry. I know you, Alexander.
You’re not satisfied with your success with Miss Ruth, and Miss
Rockfield, and every other girl in the North, but you must conquer
other worlds; and you sigh because they don’t capitulate as soon as
they see your advance-guard.”
“Don’t be an ass, Thurs!” Middleton interrupted. “You know as well as
I, that I never said a word to Ruth Welch in my life—or thought of
doing so. When her father was wounded so badly, it happened that I had
a scratch too, and I saw something more of her than I otherwise should
have done, and that is all there is about it. Besides, we are cousins,
and you know how that is. Her mother would have seen me in perdition
before she would have consented to anything between us; and as to Edith
Rockfield——”
But the little Lieutenant did not care about Miss Rockfield. It was
Miss Welch he was interested in. So he cut in, breaking into a snatch
of a song:
“Sure, Kate Riley she’s me cousin.
Harry, I have cousins too;
If ye like such close relations,
I have cousins close as you.”
He slipped down farther in his chair, his heels up on the table, and
his hands clasped above his curly head.
“If you don’t stop that howling, old Mrs. Dockett will come and turn
you out again,” growled Middleton.
“Not me, Larry, my dear. I can warble all I like now. I’m promoted.”
“Promoted! How?”
“Don’t you see I sit next to the butter, now?”
“Fool!—But I’m used to being treated with a reasonable degree of
civility;” Middleton went on, as if he had not been interrupted, “and
I’ve put myself out more to be polite here than I ever did in my life,
and yet, by Jove! these little vixens turn up their noses at me as
if—as if—Why, they look as if they felt about me precisely as I feel
about Leech!”
He looked out of the window gloomily, and his friend watched him for a
moment with an amused expression in his blue eyes.
“Larry, they don’t know what great men we are, do they? You know that’s
one of the things that has always struck me? I wonder how girls can
have such a good time when they don’t know me. I suppose it’s the
ignorance of the poor young things! But they shall know me and you,
too. We’ll give the girls a treat next Sunday; we’ll go to church, and
later to the ball.”
“Church! You go to church!”
The Captain turned his head and looked at his friend with such blank
amazement that the Lieutenant actually colored.
“Yes,” he nodded. “You d——d Pharisee!—you think you are the only one
that knows anything about church, because that little gir— cousin of
yours—converted you; you’re nothing but a Dissenter anyhow. But I’m a
churchman, I am. I’ve got a prayer-book—somewhere—and I’ve found out
all about the church here. There’s an old preacher in the county, named
Longstuff or Langstuff or something, and he preaches once a month at
the old church eight or ten miles above here, where they say all the
pretty girls in the country congregate to pray for the salvation of
Jeff Davis and the d—— nation of the Yankees—poor misguided, lovely
creatures that they are!—as if we weren’t certain enough of it anyhow,
without their making it a subject of their special petition. I’m going
to have a look at ’em. We’ll have our trappings rubbed up, and I’ll
coach your dissenting, condemned soul on the proper church tactics, and
we’ll have the handsomest pair of horses in the county and show ’em as
fine a pair of true-riding, pious young Yanks as ever charged into a
pretty girl’s heart. We’ll dodge Leech and go in as churchmen. That’s
one place he’s not likely to follow us. What do you say? Oh, I’ve got a
great head on me! I’ll be a general some day!”
“If you don’t get it knocked off for your impudence,” suggested
Middleton.
So the equipments were burnished up; the horses were carefully groomed;
the uniforms were brushed and pressed afresh, and when Sunday morning
came, the two young officers, having dodged Leech, who had been trying
all the week to find out what was on foot, rode off, in full and
dazzling panoply, like conquering young heroes, to impress, at least,
the fairer portion of their “subjects,” as Thurston called them. They
were, in fact, a showy pair as they rode along, for both men were
capital horsemen, little Thurston looking at least a foot higher on
his tall bay than when lifted only by his own short, plump legs; and
on their arrival at church, which they purposely timed to occur after
the services should have begun, they felt that they could not have been
more effective.
The contrast between them and the rest of the assemblage was striking.
The grove about the church was well filled with animals and vehicles;
but all having a worn and shabby appearance: thin horses and mules, and
rickety wagons, with here and there an old carriage standing out among
them, like old gentlemen at a county gathering. A group of men under
one of the trees turned and gazed curiously at the pair as they rode
up and tied their showy horses to “swinging limbs,” and then strode
silently toward the church, where the sound of a chant, not badly
rendered, told that the services were already begun.
The entrance of the blue-coats created quite as much of a sensation
as they could have expected, even if the signs of it were, perhaps,
not quite as apparent as they had anticipated, and they marched to a
vacant seat, feeling very hot and by no means as effective as they had
proposed to do. Little Thurston dropped down on his knees and bowed his
head, and Middleton, with a new feeling of Thurston’s superior genius,
followed his “tactics.”
This was good generalship, for no one could know that the two young
reprobates were mopping their perspiring faces and setting every button
straight, instead of being bowed in reverential devotion. No one
entered their pew, and they were left alone. Several who came in the
church after them, and might have turned to their pew, on seeing the
blue uniforms, passed by with what looked very like a toss of the head.
But what Thurston called his “straight flush” was when he drew out his
prayer-book—which he had found “somewhere”—and began to follow the
service, in a distinctly reverential voice.
As many eyes were bent on them at this as had been directed to them
when they first appeared, and Miss Thomasia, adjusting her spectacles
to satisfy herself beyond doubt if her eyes were not deceiving her,
dropped them on the floor and cracked one of the glasses. For the idea
of a Yankee soldier using a prayer-book had never occurred to any
female member of that congregation any more than it had that a certain
distinguished being used it, popularly supposed to be also clad in blue
uniform, of sulphurous flame. The favorable impression made by this
move was apparent to the young men, and Middleton stepped on Thurston’s
toe, so heavily as almost to make him swear with pain, trying at once
to convey his admiration and to call Thurston’s attention to a very
pretty young girl in the choir, whose eyes happened to fall that way,
and whom he indicated as Miss Cary. Steve Allen was with her now,
singing out of the same book with her, as if he had never thrown a card
or taken a drink in his life.
The self-gratulation of the two officers was, however, of brief
duration. The next moment there was a heavy tread and a sabre-clatter
behind them, and turning with the rest of the congregation to look,
there was Leech stalking up the aisle. He made directly toward the
officers, and had Middleton been at the entrance of the pew he might,
perhaps, in the frame of mind into which the sight threw him, have
openly refused the new-comer admittance. Thurston, however, was nearer
the entrance, and nothing of the kind occurred. He simply moved down
to the door of the pew, and was so deeply immersed in his devotions
at that particular instant, that even the actual pressure of Leech’s
hand on his arm failed to arouse him, and the Provost, after standing a
moment waiting for him to move, stepped into a pew behind, and sat down
in the corner by himself.
The change in sentiment created by the Provost’s appearance was strong
enough actually to be felt by the young men, and Middleton looked in
Thurston’s eyes with such helpless rage in his own that the little
Lieutenant almost burst out laughing, and had to drop his prayer-book
and stoop for it to compose himself.
Still the congregation was mystified. It was pretty generally supposed
that it was not mere piety which brought the young officers there. Some
thought it was to insult them; some to show off their fine horses—some
suggested that it was to watch and report on their old rector, the Rev.
Mr. Langstaff, one of the best and Godliest of men, whose ardor as a
Confederate was only equalled by his zeal as a Christian. But Steve
Allen—speaking with the oracular wisdom of a seer, who, in addition
to his prophetic power, has also been behind the scenes—declared that
they had come to look at the pretty girls, and further avowed that
he didn’t blame them, because there were the prettiest girls in the
world, right in that church, and, as for him, he was ready to walk
right up, on the spot, with any one of them, from Miss Thomasia to
Miss Blair, and Mr. Langstaff could settle the whole matter for them,
in five minutes. Though, of course, he added, if General Legaie had
any preference, he himself would waive his privilege (as having spoken
first) and let the General lead the way, as he had often done before
on occasion. To which proposal, made in the aisle after church, when
the weekly levee was held, the General responded that he was “quite
ready to lead so gallant a subaltern, if Miss—” his eye sought Miss
Thomasia’s placid face—“ah! if—any lady could be found,” etc.
Steve was right—he very often was, though frequently he concealed his
wisdom in an envelope of nonsense.
It was conceded after the young officers had ridden away, that they
had “acted decently enough, but for those odious blue uniforms,” and
had showed no sign beyond nudging each other when Mr. Langstaff prayed
for the President of the Confederate States, with an unction only
equalled by the fervor with which the entire congregation had responded
“Amen”—at least, that the first two of them had showed no sign. The
third, however, had proved what they were. To be sure, he had come
after the others, and they had evidently tried to make it appear as
if they wished to avoid recognizing him, and had gone away alone. But
what did that prove? Were they not all alike? And even if the Provost
_had_ sat in a pew by himself, and did not have a uniform exactly like
the others, he had never even bowed during the prayers, but had sat
bolt upright throughout the whole service, staring around. And when the
President was prayed for, had he not scowled and endeavored to touch
his companions? What if they had appeared to ignore him? Might not
this be all a part of their scheme? And, as someone said, “when the
hounds were all in a huddle, you could not tell a good dog from a bad
one.” This simile was considered good by most of the male members of
the congregation; but there were dissenters. Mrs. Gray remembered that
those two young men sent Jacquelin home the day he arrived; and the
General remembered the civility of one of them in the performance of
a most disagreeable duty; Miss Thomasia recalled the closely followed
prayer-book, and some of the other ladies objected to hunting similes
at church.
However, when, after service, the two young officers left the church
and marched straight to their horses, even without the presence of
Leech to offend them—for they had clearly told him they did not wish
his company—they were far less composed than their martial mien and
jingling spurs might have appeared to indicate.