BEGINNING ADVENTURES IN NEW LANDS
In those days travel was not so easy as it is now. I went by carriage to
Washington, and thence by stage to the village of York in Pennsylvania,
and again by stage thence to Carlisle Barracks, a good road offering
thence into the western countries. In spite of all my grief I was a
young man, and I was conscious of a keen exhilaration in these my
earliest travels. I was to go toward that great West, which then was on
the tongue of all the South, and indeed all the East. I found
Pennsylvania old for a hundred years. The men of Western Pennsylvania,
Ohio and New York were passing westward in swarms like feeding pigeons.
Illinois and Iowa were filling up, and men from Kentucky were passing
north across the Ohio. The great rivers of the West were then leading
out their thousands of settlers. Presently I was to see those great
trains of white-topped west-bound wagons which at that time made a
distinguishing feature of American life.
At this Army post, which then was used as a drilling ground for the
cavalry arm, one caught the full flavor of the Western lands, heard the
talk of officers who had been beyond the frontier, and saw troops
passing out for the Western service. Here I heard also, and to my
consternation, quiet conversation among some of the officers, regarding
affairs at our National capital. Buchanan, it seems, was shipping arms
and ordnance and supplies to all the posts in the South. Disaffection,
fomented by some secret, unknown cause, was spreading among the officers
of the Army. I was young; this was my first journey; yet none the less
these matters left my mind uneasy. I was eager to be back in Virginia,
for by every sign and token there certainly was trouble ahead for all
who dwelt near the Potomac.
Next I went on to Harrisburg, and thence took rail up the beautiful
Susquehanna valley, deep into and over the mountains. At Pittsburg I,
poor provincial, learned that all this country too was very old, and
that adventures must be sought more than a thousand miles to the
westward, yet a continual stir and bustle existed at this river point. A
great military party was embarking here for the West--two companies of
dragoons, their officers and mounts. I managed to get passage on this
boat to Louisville, and thence to the city of St. Louis. Thus, finally,
we pushed in at the vast busy levee of this western military capital.
At that time Jefferson Barracks made the central depot of Army
operations in the West. Here recruits and supplies were received and
readjusted to the needs of the scattered outposts in the Indian lands.
Still I was not in the West, for St. Louis also was old, almost as old
as our pleasant valley back in Virginia. I heard of lands still more
remote, a thousand miles still to the West, heard of great rivers
leading to the mountains, and of the vast, mysterious plains, of which
even yet men spoke in awe. Shall I admit it--in spite of grief and
trouble, my heart leaped at these thoughts. I wished nothing so much as
that I might properly and fitly join this eager, hurrying, keen-faced
throng of the west-bound Americans. It seemed to me I heard the voice of
youth and life beyond, and that youth was blotted out behind me in the
blue Virginia hills.
I inquired for Colonel Meriwether about my hotel in the city, but was
unable to get definite word regarding his whereabouts, although the
impression was that he was somewhere in the farther West. This made it
necessary for me to ride at once to Jefferson Barracks. I had at least
one acquaintance there, Captain Martin Stevenson of the Sixth Cavalry, a
Maryland man whom we formerly met frequently when he was paying suit to
Kitty Dillingham, of the Shenandoah country. After their marriage they
had been stationed practically all of the time in Western posts.
I made my compliments at Number 16 of Officers' Row, their present
quarters at Jefferson. I found Kitty quite as she had been in her youth
at home, as careless and wild, as disorderly and as full of
good-heartedness. Even my story, sad as it was, failed to trouble her
long, and as was her fashion, she set about comforting me, upon her
usual principle that, whatever threatened, it were best be blithe
to-day.
"Come," she said, "we'll put you up with us, right here. Johnson, take
Mr. Cowles' things; and go down to the city at once for his bags."
"But, my dear Mrs. Kitty," I protested, "I can't. I really must be
getting on. I'm here on business with Colonel Meriwether."
"Never mind about Colonel Meriwether," rejoined my hostess, "we'll find
him later--he's up the river somewhere. Always take care of the
important things first. The most important thing in the whole world just
now is the officers' ball to-night. Don't you see them fixing up the
dancing platform on Parade? It's just as well the K.O.'s away, because
to-night the mice certainly are going to play."
It seemed good to hear the voice of friends again, and I was nothing
loath to put aside business matters for the time and listen to Kitty
Stevenson's chatter. So, while I hesitated, Johnson had my hat and
stick.
The city of St. Louis, I repeat, was then the richest and gayest capital
of the West, the center of the commercial and social life of West and
South alike. Some of the most beautiful women of the world dwelt there,
and never, I imagine, had belles bolder suitors than these who passed
through or tarried with the Army. What wonder the saying that no Army
man ever passed St. Louis without leaving a heart, or taking one with
him? What wonder that these gay young beauties emptied many an Army
pocket for flowers and gems, and only filled many an Army heart with
despondency in return? Sackcloth lay beyond, on the frontier. Ball
followed ball, one packed reception another. Dinings and sendings of
flowers, and evening love-makings--these for the time seemed the main
business of Jefferson Barracks. Social exemptions are always made for
Army men, ever more gallant than affluent, and St. Louis entertained
these gentlemen mightily with no expectation of equivalent; yet
occasionally the sons of Mars gave return entertainments to the limits,
or more than the limits, of their purses. The officers' balls at these
barracks were the envy of all the Army; and I doubt if any regimental
bands in the service had reason for more proficiency in waltz time.
Of some of these things my hostess advised me as we sat, for the sake of
the shade, on the gallery of Number 16, where Stevenson's man of all
work had brought a glass-topped table and some glasses. Here Captain
Stevenson presently joined us, and after that escape was impossible.
"Do you suppose Mr. Cowles is engaged?" asked Kitty of her husband
impersonally, and apropos of nothing that I could see.
"I don't think so. He looks too deuced comfortable," drawled Stevenson.
I smiled.
"If he isn't engaged he will be before morning," remarked Kitty, smiling
at me.
"Indeed, and to whom, pray?" I inquired.
"How should I know? Indeed, how should you know? Any one of a
dozen--first one you see--first one who sees you; because you are tall,
and can dance."
"I hardly think I should dance."
"Of course you will dance. If you refuse you will be put in irons and
taken out to-morrow and shot. It will do you no good to sit and think,
poor boy."
"I have no clothes," I protested.
"Johnson will have your boxes out in time. But you don't want your own
clothes. This is _bal masque_, of course, and you want some sort of
disguise, I think you'd look well in one of Matt's uniforms."
"That's so," said Stevenson, "we're about of a size. Good disguise, too,
especially since you've never been here. They'll wonder who the new
officer is, and where he comes from. I say, Kitty, what an awfully good
joke it would be to put him up against two or three of those heartless
flirts you call your friends--Ellen, for instance."
"There won't be a button left on the uniform by morning," said Kitty
contemplatively. "To-night the Army entertains."
"And conquers," I suggested.
"Sometimes. But at the officers' ball it mostly surrenders. The casualty
list, after one of these balls, is something awful. After all, Jack, all
these modern improvements in arms have not superceded the old bow and
arrow." She smiled at me with white teeth and lazy eyes. A handsome
woman, Kitty.
"And who is that dangerous flirt you were talking about a moment ago?" I
asked her, interested in spite of myself.
"I lose my mess number if I dare to tell. Oh, they'll all be here
to-night, both Army and civilians. There's Sadie Galloway of the Eighth,
and Toodie Devlin of Kentucky, and the Evans girl from up North, and
Mrs. Willie Weiland--"
"And Mrs. Matthew Stevenson."
"Yes, myself, of course; and then besides, Ellen."
"Ellen who?"
"Never mind. She is the most dangerous creature now at large in the
Western country. Avoid her! Pass not by her! She stalketh by night.
She'll get you sure, my son. She has a string of hearts at her will as
long as from here to the red barn."
"I shall dance to-night," I said. "If you please, I will dance with her,
the first waltz."
"Yes?" She raised her eyebrows. "You've a nice conceit, at least. But,
then, I don't like modest men."
"Listen to that," chuckled Stevenson, "and yet she married me! But what
she says is true, Cowles. It will be worse than Chapultepec in the crowd
anywhere around Ellen to-night. You might lose a leg or an arm in the
crush, and if you got through, you'd only lose your heart. Better leave
her alone."
"Lord, what a night it'll be for the ball," said Kitty, sweeping an idle
arm toward Parade, which was now filling up with strings of carriages
from the city. We could see men now putting down the dancing floor. The
sun was sinking. From somewhere came the faint sound of band music,
muffled behind the buildings.
"Evening gun!" said Stevenson presently, and we arose and saluted as the
jet of smoke burst from a field piece and the roar of the report brought
the flag fluttering down. Then came strains of a regimental band,
breaking out into the national air; after which the music slid into a
hurrying medley, and presently closed in the sweet refrain of "Robin
Adair," crooning in brass and reeds as though miles away. Twilight began
to fall, and the lamps winked out here and there. The sound of wheels
and hoofs upon the gravel came more often. Here and there a bird
twittered gently in the trees along the walks; and after a time music
came again and again, for four bands now were stationed at the four
corners of the Parade. (And always the music began of war and deeds, and
always it ended in some soft love strain.) Groups gathered now upon the
balconies near the marquees which rose upon the Parade. Couples strolled
arm in arm. The scene spoke little enough of war's alarms or of life's
battles and its sadness.
A carriage passed with two gentlemen, and drew up at the Officers' Club.
"Billy Williams, adjutant," commented Captain Stevenson lazily. "Who's
the other?"
"Yes, who's the tall one?" asked Kitty, as the gentlemen descended from
the carriage. "Good figure, anyhow; wonder if he dances."
"Coming over, I believe," said Stevenson, for now the two turned our
way. Stevenson rose to greet his fellow officer, and as the latter
approached our stoop, I caught a glance at his companion.
It was Gordon Orme!
Orme was as much surprised on his own part. After the presentations all
around he turned to me with Kitty Stevenson. "My dear Madam," he said,
"you have given me the great pleasure of meeting again my shadow, Mr.
Cowles, of Virginia. There is where I supposed him now, back home in
Virginia."
"I should expect to meet Mr. Orme if I landed on the moon," I replied.
"Er--Captain Orme," murmured Adjutant Williams to me gently.
So then my preacher had turned captain since I saw him last!
"You see, Stevenson," went on Williams easily, "Captain Orme was
formerly with the British Army. He is traveling in this country for a
little sport, but the old ways hang to him. He brings letters to our
Colonel, who's off up river, and meantime. I'm trying to show him what I
can of our service."
"So good of you to bring Captain Orme here, Major. I'm sure he will join
us to-night?" Kitty motioned toward the dancing pavilion, now well under
way. Orme smiled and bowed, and declared himself most happy. Thus in a
few moments he was of our party. I could not avoid the feeling that it
was some strange fate which continually brought us two together.
"The Army's rotten for want of service," grumbled Williams, following
out his own pet hobby. "Nothing in the world to do for our fellows here.
Sport? Why, Captain Orme, we couldn't show you a horse race where I'd
advise you to bet a dollar. The fishing doesn't carry, and the shooting
is pretty much gone, even if it were the season. Outside of a pigeon
match or so, this Post is stagnant. We dance, and that's all. Bah!"
"Why, Major, you old ingrate," reproved Kitty Stevenson. "If you talk
that way we'll not let you on the floor to-night."
"You spoke of pigeon shooting," said Orme lazily, "Blue rocks, I
imagine?"
"No," said Williams, "Natives--we use the wild birds. Thousands of them
around here, you know. Ever do anything at it?"
"Not in this country," replied Orme. "Sometimes I have taken on a match
at Hurlingham; and we found the Egyptian pigeons around Cairo not bad."
"Would you like to have a little match at our birds?"
"I shouldn't mind."
"Oh, you'll be welcome! We'll take your money away from you. There is
Bardine--or say, Major Westover. Haskins of the Sixth got eighty-five
out of his last hundred. Once he made it ninety-two, but that's above
average, of course."
"You interest me," said Orme, still lazily. "For the honor of my country
I shouldn't mind a go with one of your gentlemen. Make it at a hundred,
for what wagers you like."
"And when?"
"To-morrow afternoon, if you say; I'm not stopping long, I am afraid.
I'm off up river soon."
"Let's see," mused Williams. "Haskins is away, and I doubt if Westover
could come, for he's Officer of the Day, also bottle-washer. And--"
"How about my friend Mr. Cowles?" asked Orme. "My acquaintance with him
makes me think he'd take on any sort of sporting proposition. Do you
shoot, sir?"
"All Virginians do," I answered. And so I did in the field, although I
had never shot or seen a pigeon match in all my life.
"Precisely. Mrs. Stevenson, will you allow this sort of talk?"
"Go on, go on," said Kitty. "I'll have something up myself on Mr.
Cowles." ("Don't let him scare you, Jack," she whispered to me aside.)
That was a foolish speech of hers, and a foolish act of mine. But for my
part, I continually found myself doing things I should not do.
Orme passed his cigarette case. "In view of my possibly greater
experience," he said, "I'd allow Mr. Cowles six in the hundred."
"I am not looking for matches," said I, my blood kindling at his
accustomed insolence; "but if I shot it would be both men at scratch."
"Oh, very well," smiled Orme. "And should we make a little wager about
it--I ask your consent, Mrs. Stevenson?"
"America forever!" said Kitty.
What could I do after that? But all at once I thought of my scanty purse
and of the many troubles that beset me, and the strange unfitness in one
of my present situation engaging in any such talk. In spite of that, my
stubborn blood had its way as usual.
"My war chest is light," I answered, "as I am farther away from home
than I had planned. But you know my black horse, Mr. Orme, that you
fancied?"
"Oh, by Jove! I'll stake you anything you like against him--a thousand
pounds, if you like."
"The odds must be even," I said, "and the only question is as to the
worth of the horse. That you may not think I overvalue him, however,
make it half that sum, or less, if these gentlemen think the horse has
not that value."
"A son of old Klingwalla is worth three times that," insisted Orme. "If
you don't mind, and care to close it, we'll shoot to-morrow, if Major
Williams will arrange it."
"Certainly," said that gentleman.
"Very well," I said.
"And we will be so discourteous to the stranger within our gates," said
the vivacious Kitty, "as to give you a jolly good beating, Captain Orme.
We'll turn out the Post to see the match. But now we must be making
ready for the serious matters of the evening. Mr. Orme, you dance, of
course. Are you a married man--but what a question for me to ask--of
course you're not!"
Orme smiled, showing his long, narrow teeth. "I've been a bit busy for
that," he said; "but perhaps my time has come."
"It surely has," said Kitty Stevenson. "I've offered to wager Mr. Cowles
anything he liked that he'd be engaged before twelve o'clock. Look,
isn't it nicely done?"
We now turned toward the big square of the Parade, which had by this
time wholly been taken over for the purposes of military occupation. A
vast canopy covered the dancing floor. Innumerable tents for
refreshments and wide flapped marquees with chairs were springing up,
men were placing the decorations of flags, and roping about the dancing
floor with braided ribbons and post rosettes. Throngs now filled the
open spaces, and more carriages continually came. The quarters of every
officer by this time were packed, and a babel of chatter came from every
balcony party. Now and again breathed the soft music from the distant
military bands. It was a gay scene, one for youth and life, and not for
melancholy.
"Now, I wonder who is this Ellen?" mused I to myself.
[Illustration: GORDON ORME LAUGHS AT ELLEN'S ACCUSATION OF HIS
TREACHERY]