MIDDLETON REVISITS RED ROCK, AND AN OLD SOLDIER LAYS DOWN HIS ARMS
The account of affairs in the South that Middleton had got from
Senator Rockfield had decided him to go down there. It awakened old
recollections, and recalled a time in his life which, though there
were many things in it that he would have had otherwise, was on the
whole very pleasant to him. He had tried to do his duty under very
adverse circumstances, and, though he had not been sustained, events
had justified him. He happened to be present in the gallery during the
debate in which one Senator asked, “Who is this man Leech?” and another
replied, “He is a man who will soon be your compeer on this floor.” The
statement had astounded Middleton. Could it be possible that Dr. Cary,
Jacquelin Gray, and General Legaie were in jail, and that Leech was
about to become a Senator of the United States? It seemed incredible
to the young man. He had in a way kept himself informed as to the old
County, and he knew that there had been trouble there; but he had
had no idea that things had reached this pass. That night he had the
conversation with Senator Rockfield about Dr. Cary, and soon afterward
he got a letter from Thurston which finally decided him to go South and
see for himself.
His arrival at Brutusville was regarded very differently by different
people. The Welches were delighted to see him, and so was Reely
Thurston. Leech met him with a show of much cordiality—extended his
hand, and greeted him with warmth which somehow cooled Middleton.
Middleton could not for his life help having that old feeling of
repulsion. He was conscious of a change in Leech. Instead of his former
half-apologetic manner that was almost obsequious, Leech now was lively
and assertive. His air was that of an equal—indeed, almost of a
superior.
The strangest greeting, however, Middleton met with was from “Dr.
Moses.” Moses had returned to the County after the arrival of the
troops, and had been much in evidence about the court-house, where he
appeared to be in Leech’s employ. The day after Middleton arrived,
Moses came out of a yard just ahead of him, and advanced to meet him,
hat in hand, grinning and showing his repulsive teeth and gums. It was
almost a shock to Middleton to see him.
“How’s Mass’ Middleton? My young master? Glad to see you back, suh.
Does you ’member Moses—ole Moses?”
“Yes, I remember you,” said Middleton, almost grimly. The negro burst
out into a loud guffaw.
“Yas, suh. I knows you ’members Moses. Yaw-yaw-yaw-ee. Done lay de whup
on Mose’ back too good not to ’member him, yaw-yaw-yaw-ee. Dat wuz
right. Now you gwine gi’ me a quarter for dat.” He held out his hand,
his eyes oscillating, in their peculiar way.
Middleton pitched a dollar into his hand and walked on hastily,
followed by the thanks and protestations of gratitude of the negro. He
did not see the look that Moses shot after him as he followed him at a
distance till Middleton went into Mrs. Dockett’s.
As the trick-doctor turned back, he muttered, “Yas, done lay de whup
’pon Moses’ back. Dollar don’ pay for dat. Ain’ _Cap’n_ Middleton now,
jes Marse Middleton. Ump!” He disappeared with his uneven gait around
the rear of Leech’s law-office.
When Middleton mentioned to Mrs. Welch his meeting with Moses, to his
surprise she spoke of him with unmitigated detestation, and, equally to
his surprise, she spoke of Captain Allen with much less reprobation
than from his knowledge of her views he had anticipated.
Most of the other friends of Middleton received him with even greater
cordiality than he had expected. Mrs. Dockett invited him to come and
occupy his old quarters, and made him understand distinctly that it was
to be as her guest. She did not board any Yankees now—except Captain
Thurston, of course. The Captain was an old friend, and she had to
take him in for old times’ sake; she could not let him be starved or
poisoned at that miserable hole of a hotel.
Middleton laughed as he thanked her. He knew which way the wind was
setting with Thurston. He was staying with his cousins, he said. But
he hoped Mrs. Dockett would be good enough to let him come to dinner
some time and eat some of her fried chicken, which was the very best
in all the world, as he knew by experience. Mrs. Dockett declared that
he was flattering her; but this Middleton stoutly repudiated. He had
said so in every country he had visited, and there was no reason why he
should not say so now. In fact, he so flattered Mrs. Dockett that the
good lady declared at the table that evening—gazing hard at Captain
Thurston—that Captain Middleton was quite a model now that he no
longer wore that horrid blue coat, but dressed like a _gentleman_. “By
Jove! Larry,” said Thurston, “you’ve been acting on the lessons I gave
you. You’ve captured the brigadier first charge. Keep on, and you may
capture the whole army, my boy.”
“You blackguard!” said Middleton. “You yourself flatter and humbug
every woman you meet, so that you think everyone else must be playing
the same game.”
“Have you told the Senator’s daughter about the chickens in this
country?” drawled Thurston.
For reply, Middleton shied a pillow across at his friend. “Of course I
have, and how about you?”
“Oh! I like Mrs. Dockett’s chicken too.”
To Middleton’s surprise Thurston actually flushed a little.
“Reely!”
Thurston’s eyes twinkled, and he grew red.
“Well! And she?”
Thurston met his gaze this time.
“Larry, how could any sensible woman resist my charms?” he laughed.
“Are you engaged?”
“Only in a military sense—as yet.”
“But she likes you?”
“Larry, she’s the most unaccountable creature.”
“Of course.”
“You don’t know how clever she is.”
“To discover your good qualities?”
“And sweet and kind-hearted.”
“To like you?”
“Yes, such a vagabond as I am. And how charming she can be! She’s about
six girls in one—one minute one thing, the next another.”
“That just suits you. You need just about that many to be in love with.”
“She’s the only girl in the world I ever was in love with,” asserted
Thurston, boldly.
Middleton whistled.
“Here, you are not talking to her now, but to me. Have you told Ruth
Welch that?”
“She’s my confidante.”
“She is? That accounts for it,” said Middleton.
“She likes Allen,” said Thurston, explanatorily.
“Oh!”
“And Miss Cary likes Gray.” This with a keen look at Middleton.
“Ah?” After a pause: “Who told you so?”
“I have it from the best authority.”
“Miss Cary, or Gray?”
“No, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Oh!” laughed Middleton. “Reely, what a humbug you are.”
“No, only a diplomatist, my dear boy. It’s necessary, to accomplish
anything with the dear creatures.”
The morning after Middleton’s arrival he was driving to the county
seat, when at a turn in the road he met Dr. Cary walking. It had rained
the night before, and the road was muddy and heavy; but the Doctor was
trudging along with his old black saddle-pockets over his shoulder.
Middleton pulled up, and sprang out and greeted him.
The Doctor returned his greeting cordially, and invited him to come and
see them.
“What are you doing walking?” asked Middleton. “Has your horse got
away?”
The Doctor smiled half-grimly. “Yes, some time ago.” The smile died
slowly out. “I have no horse now,” he said, gravely. “I lost my horse
some time ago, and have not been able to procure one since.” Middleton
looked so shocked that the Doctor added, “Usually my patients, who are
able, send a horse for me; but sometimes I have those who are no better
off than myself.” Once more the smile flitted across his worn face.
“Steve sent me his horse when he gave himself up, but Leech has taken
him. He has a brand on him, and Leech claims, I believe, that he
belongs to the Government, and Leech now is the Government.”
“I will see if he is,” said Middleton, with a sudden flush of anger.
“I’ll put a brand on him.”
Middleton asked to be allowed to take the Doctor to his destination.
The old fellow at first demurred; but on Middleton’s insisting,
yielded. It was a little warm walking, he admitted.
“Why don’t you borrow the money to buy a horse?” asked Middleton,
presently. “I wish you would let——” He was going to ask the Doctor to
let him lend him the money; but the Doctor interrupted him.
“Ah! sir, I have borrowed too much money already. I thought then I
could pay, I know now I could never pay.”
When they reached the place to which the Doctor was going, it was a
negro cabin.
“I have to look after them, sir,” explained the old fellow. “I don’t
know what they will do when I am gone.”
The deep sincerity in his face took away any suggestion of egotism.
Middleton drove on in deep meditation, trying to unravel the tangle of
his thoughts. As he drove into the village, he was passed by a carriage
and pair. In the carriage sat Leech and a negro. They were both dressed
in long black broad-cloth coats, and the negro wore a shiny new beaver.
That very afternoon Middleton began to negotiate for a horse that he
thought would suit an old man. His intention was to buy the horse, and
when he went away ask Dr. Cary to keep it for him and use it.
As he was looking at a horse, Leech came by. He stopped and looked on,
a smile on his sallow face.
“If you want a good horse, don’t buy that one. I’ve got a lot on my
place, and I’ll lend you one,” he said.
“Thank you, I prefer to buy,” said Middleton, coldly, examining the
horse.
“All right, I’ll sell you one—cheap. I’ve got the finest lot you ever
saw. Some of the old Cary stock,” he added.
“I’ve no doubt you have,” said Middleton, dryly, a frown gathering on
his brow.
“You used to be a better judge of a horse than that,” laughed Leech.
Middleton straightened up and turned on him so angrily that Leech
stepped back involuntarily. The next instant, however, he recovered
himself.
“Find a good many changes since you went away, I guess?” His voice was
full of insolence, and his face wore a provoking smile. Middleton was
trying to control himself. Leech misinterpreted his silence.
“Some of your friends sort of gone down the hill?” He nodded his head
in the direction of the jail beyond the court-green. His insolence was
intolerable.
“Are you trying to be insolent to me?” demanded Middleton. He stepped
up close in front of Leech. “If you are, you are making a mistake.” His
manner and his face, as he looked Leech in the eyes, abashed even him,
and he changed his tone. He did not mean to offend him, he said; he was
only “jesting when he called them his friends.”
“I don’t wish to be jested with,” said Middleton, coldly, turning away.
As Leech went on he smiled to himself. “Ah, my young man, times are
changed,” he muttered to himself, softly; “and if you stay here long
you’ll find it out!”
Middleton concluded his purchase, and the following evening rode his
new horse up to Dr. Cary’s.
That day Leech called Moses into his office. “I see your friend Captain
Middleton is back?” he said. Moses uttered a sound that was half a
laugh, half a snarl.
“Yas—all dat comes don’ go, and all dat goes don’ come”; he snickered.
“You better not fool with him,” said Leech. “He knows how to manage
you.” He made a gesture, as if he were cutting, with a whip, and
laughed, tauntingly.
Moses’s eyes moved swiftly. “Nor I ain’ forgit; I’se done learnt
some’n’ sense den. He better look out.”
“You think the Ku Klux would trouble him?” asked Leech.
Moses stole a swift look at him. “He better look out,” he repeated.
“Have some whiskey,” said Leech.
There was one man in the County besides Leech who was not overjoyed
to see Middleton. When Jacquelin Gray heard of his arrival, his
countenance fell. Perfect love may cast out fear, but it does not cast
out jealousy; and Jacquelin was conscious of a pain in his heart. He
did not know whether Blair Cary liked Middleton now very much or not,
but he feared she did; and Middleton had been the cause of his rupture
with her. When, therefore, he met Middleton he could not pretend that
he was glad to see him. So he greeted him distantly, though with marked
civility. Middleton was unusually cordial to him; but this only grated
on Jacquelin. There was a smile in his eyes which Jacquelin, torturing
himself as every fool under like circumstances does, interpreted as a
glance of triumph, if not of positive compassion. This was the more
biting to Jacquelin because it was at Dr. Cary’s that they met, and
Blair was unusually gay that evening. Her cheeks, which were sometimes
pale, were now flushed, Jacquelin felt, with pleasure at Middleton’s
presence. She talked mainly to Middleton, to Jacquelin scarcely at all.
At length Jacquelin rose and said he must go.
“Why, aren’t you going to stay to tea? I thought you were?” Blair
asked, in genuine surprise. Her color had suddenly vanished, and she
looked at him with a vague trouble in her eyes.
“Thank you, no,” said Jacquelin, shortly. “Good-evening, Captain
Middleton.” He bowed ceremoniously.
“I had hoped to have the pleasure of riding back with you,” said
Middleton.
“I am walking,” said Jacquelin, grimly. He went out. Blair excused
herself hurriedly to Middleton. “Oh! Jacquelin,” she called, “will you
take this letter for me, and mail it to-morrow morning?”
“Can’t I take it?” asked Middleton. “I am going by the office.”
“Oh! Jack will take it, thank you.”
As she gave Jacquelin the letter she glanced up in his face
inquiringly. But Jacquelin’s eyes avoided hers. He took the letter and
stalked out. How he hated Middleton! And how he hated himself for doing
it!
He strode down the road full of bitterness, weaving himself a
nettle-web that stung him at every step. The moon was just rising above
the tree-tops, and its silvery beams were struggling with the last
light from the slowly fading west; but Jacquelin was all in darkness.
All his plans had come to naught, overthrown by this smiling outsider.
He groaned in his helpless anguish. Had he not waited; tried to keep
his ideals ever before him; served faithfully; never for a moment
faltered or turned aside for anyone else! And what had it availed him!
Here was a lifetime of devotion flung away for the facile addresses of
this interloper.
At a point in the road, he caught, for a second, just on top of a hill
some distance before him, the outline of a man’s figure clear against
the sky in the cleft between the trees. It moved with a curious dip
or limp that reminded him for a moment of Moses the trick-doctor. The
next second the figure disappeared. When Jacquelin reached the spot,
he stopped and listened; but there was only silence and a momentary
crackle of a piece of bark as some night-animal moved up a tree deep
within the shadows. Jacquelin walked on once more, in the dusk of the
road and the deeper gloom of his own thoughts. He could not go home,
because he had told his aunt he would stay at Dr. Cary’s to tea, and
she would wish to know why he had not done so, and when she heard of
Middleton would want to hear all about him, and he could not talk of
Middleton then. So he wandered on.
When he reached home Miss Thomasia had retired, and he went silently to
his room, cursing his fate and Middleton.
Early next morning, Jacquelin was awakened by voices in the yard.
Someone was talking to Miss Thomasia. All Jacquelin heard was that
Captain Middleton had been shot the night before at the fork of the
road that led to Dr. Cary’s. Jacquelin lay still for a second—quite
still—and listened. Could it be a dream! The body had been found right
at the fork by Dr. Cary as he was going home from seeing Sherrod’s
wife, and he had sent for Mr. Jacquelin.
Jacquelin’s heart stopped beating. He sprang from bed and threw open a
window. Old Gideon was the speaker.
“What’s that?” asked Jacquelin.
Gideon repeated the story, with further details.
“Is he dead?”
“Nor, suh, he ain’ dead yet; but de Doctor say he ain’ got much show.
Ef he hadn’t happened to git dyah pretty soon after he was shot, he’d
been dead pretty soon.”
“Thank God!”
Jacquelin had felt like a murderer. The thought of Blair, stricken in
the moment of her joy, came to him like a stab in his heart. His heart
gave a bound that he was able to rejoice that Middleton was not dead.
Old Gideon was giving particulars.
“Some thinks ’twas dem Ku Kluxes—some dat dee wuz after somebody else,
whoever ’twuz. I don’ know who ’twuz,” he asserted, with manifest
veracity. “But I sholy don’ ’prove of folkes’ shootin’ ’roun’ at folks
dataway, dat I don’t! Dee done sen’ for Mr. Welch and de Capt’n at the
cote-house.”
When Jacquelin reached Dr. Cary’s he was met by Blair, white-faced and
tearful.
He walked straight up to her and held out his hand.
“Blair.” His voice had all the old tenderness. The lover had
disappeared. It was only the old, old friend—the brother.
“Oh! Jacquelin!” And she burst into tears.
Dr. Cary’s providential appearance on the spot where Middleton lay had
undoubtedly saved Middleton’s life; and although at first the wound
appeared very desperate, his splendid constitution stood him in good
stead, and in a very short time he began to rally. “It is in such
instances as this,” said Dr. Cary, “that a man’s habits tell. Nature
conducts her campaign with less than half her forces in action; it is
when an accident comes that the reserves tell.”
One of the first things done, after it was known whether Middleton
would survive the immediate shock, was to telegraph to Miss Rockfield.
The sudden shock appeared to have driven away all the cloud of
misunderstanding that had so long settled between Jacquelin and
Blair; and although Jacquelin felt that all was over between them,
his self-abnegation brought him a content to which he had long been a
stranger. Every moment that he could spare he was at Blair’s service;
but she was most of the time at Middleton’s bedside, with Ruth, and all
Jacquelin could do was to show by his silent sympathy how deeply he
felt for her.
One afternoon she came and asked him to go to the station for Miss
Rockfield.
“Who is Miss Rockfield?” asked Jacquelin. “I know she is related to
Middleton; but who is she?”
“She is Captain Middleton’s _fiancée_,” said Blair, quietly.
“What!” Jacquelin turned hot and cold by turns. “Blair!”
Blair’s eyes were dancing, and her mouth was trembling with the effort
to suppress the sign of her triumph.
Jacquelin positively staggered. He hitched up Middleton’s horse and
went for Miss Rockfield; but how he reached the station and what
happened that evening he always vowed he could never remember. When
Miss Rockfield arrived, Middleton was already out of danger. The
strain, however, had told heavily on Dr. Cary. Still he refused to rest.
A night or two later, the Doctor had just come home from a round of
visits. He had come by the court-house, and had paid Steve a visit.
Every effort had failed to put off Steve’s trial. Leech had brought
the judge, and they were together at Still’s. The Doctor was much
depressed. He would write to Senator Rockfield, and see if he could
not make one more attempt. He looked so fagged and worn that Mrs. Cary
and Blair urged him to put off the letter. But he said it must be done
at once. The day for the trial was approaching, and every hour was
precious now. So he wrote the letter. Then he lay down on a lounge.
The next moment there was the clatter of horses’ feet outside, and a
man riding one horse and leading another dashed up in the yard at a
gallop and gave a shout:
“Aw—Dr. Cary.”
Mrs. Cary’s countenance fell. The Doctor’s face, which had just before
been expressive of extreme fatigue, suddenly took on a new expression.
“You cannot go; it is impossible,” declared Mrs. Cary. The Doctor did
not answer. He was listening to the conversation going on outside
between the messenger and Mammy Krenda.
“Leech!” exclaimed Mrs. Cary, and sprang to the door. “He says that
Leech is dying.” A light almost of joy had come into her face. The
Doctor rose and passed out of the door by her.
“What’s that? What is the matter?” he asked. His face was as calm as a
statue’s!
Mrs. Cary reported what she had heard: “Leech was ill—had been taken
with violent cramp, and was having fit after fit. He was supposed to be
dying. He was at Birdwood.”
“You cannot go; you are worn out,” urged Mrs. Cary, imploringly as the
Doctor straightened himself.
“I must go,” said the Doctor. He turned back to get his saddle-bags.
“It is the visitation of God,” murmured Mrs. Cary to herself.
“Not until all medical means have failed,” said Dr. Cary, gravely. The
man on the horse, thinking that the delay meant that the Doctor was not
coming, said:
“They told me to tell you he’d pay you anything in the world you asked.”
The Doctor turned and faced him.
“He has not money enough—the Government has not money enough—to
induce me to go, if he were not ill,” said he, slowly. “I am going
because he is sick and I am a physician.”
He leant down and kissed his wife, and walked down the path toward the
horses. Mrs. Cary went out with him, and saw him mount the horse the
messenger had brought and ride away in the darkness. Then she went into
the house with a white face. She did not retire that night. Blair and
she sat up waiting for him.
The sun was almost rising when they saw him come riding up through the
orchard. As they went out to meet him, he sat up very straight. The sky
was all pearl, and he seemed to be riding in the sunrise.
As he dismounted he almost fell, but recovered himself and tied the
horse. A messenger would come for him, he said.
“How is he?” asked Mrs. Cary.
“Out of danger,” he said. “I am glad I went. He would have died if he
had not been relieved.”
Mrs. Cary said nothing. Her eyes were searching his face, which seemed
to have grown thinner in one night. She threw her arm around him to
support him. They walked up to the door, and he sat down on the step
and passed his hand over his brow. “I am very tired. I have fought—”
he began; but did not finish the sentence. The next second he sank
forward on the steps.
With a cry to Blair, Mrs. Cary caught him. She raised him up; his eyes
opened once and rested on Mrs. Cary’s face, and a faint smile came into
them. His lips murmured his wife’s name, and then Blair’s; and then his
eyes slowly closed, and, with a sigh, his head sank on Mrs. Cary’s arm,
and the long fight was done. John Cary, of Birdwood, had laid down his
arms.
Jacquelin was absent from the County when the news of Dr. Cary’s death
reached him. At first he could hardly grasp it. It seemed as if it
could not be true. He had never thought of Dr. Cary’s dying, or of
the County existing without him. All of Jacquelin’s own family except
Rupert and Miss Thomasia had passed away, and he was accustomed to
death. Many friends had gone. Dr. Cary had sat at their bedsides and
closed their eyes; but, somehow, it had never occurred to Jacquelin to
think of Death striking him. He seemed to be a part of the old life—in
all the County, its best and most enduring type; and, now that he had
gone, Jacquelin felt as though the foundation were falling out—as
though the old life had passed away with him.
The next thought was of Blair. The two had been so absolutely
associated ever since he could remember. He could hardly think of her
as surviving. He hurried home. As he neared the neighborhood, every
man he met was talking of the Doctor. They all felt like Jacquelin.
They wondered what would happen, now that the Doctor had gone. At
one place, where Jacquelin had to wait a little while, a group were
discussing him. They were talking of him as they remembered him in the
war. They were all poor men; but they had all been soldiers, and they
spoke of him as of a comrade. He was always at the front, they said;
he could hardly have been there more if he had been the Colonel. If a
man was shot, before they knew it there was Dr. Cary. He said he could
save at any time those not badly wounded; those who were badly shot he
could only save on the firing-line. And he was as quick to look after
a wounded Yankee as after a Confederate, they asserted. “A wounded man
wasn’t an enemy,” he had said; “he was a patient.” They all had stories
of his courage, his endurance, his kindness. One told how he had sent a
fresh cow over to the speaker’s wife on a time when the children were
sick; another mentioned how he had come around once to collect some
money, but, finding that they did not have a cent, had lent them some
he had just collected from Andy Stamper. A third related how he had
kissed and prayed with a wounded Yankee boy, who was dying and wanted
to see his mother. “He leant down by him,” said the man, “and put his
arm around him, and said ‘Now I lay me,’ just for all the world like a
woman. And, next minute, after the boy got quiet, he was leaning over
getting a ball out of a man right by him.”
There was a long pause after this simple recital, which had been
delivered in a quiet, monotonous tone.
“They say Leech was as good as dead when he got to him.”
“I’d ’a’ let him die a thousand times,” swore one, with deep sincerity.
“Yes. Well, so would I. But, somehow, the Doctor, he always was
different. Seemed like, big as he was, he couldn’t bear any ill
feelin’s.”
There was a silence after this.
It was broken presently by one of the auditors.
“And that was the man they put in jail,” he said, bitterly.
“Yes, and murdered,” responded the others.
Jacquelin rode on. He, too, felt that Dr. Cary had been murdered.
When he reached Dr. Cary’s, the first person he met was Mammy Krenda.
The old woman was the picture of grief. She did not utter a word, nor
did the young man. She simply opened the door and stood aside while
he softly entered the little room where rested the silent form of her
old master. The quiet figure, the calm, upturned face, had suddenly
ennobled the little apartment. The hours that had passed had smoothed
out the traces of care and pain, and the Doctor lay in perfect rest.
There was, perhaps, a trace of scorn of the ills he had so long faced,
but Jacquelin did not note it. What he saw was only perfect peace, and
a face of undisturbed nobility. Gazing down on it, his heart softened;
his bitter thoughts passed away, and he sank on his knees, and thanked
God for such a life.
He became conscious presently that someone was standing by him, and he
rose and faced Blair. Neither spoke a word; but he took her hand and
held it, and the next second she sank on her knees, and after a moment
he knelt beside her.