Books: His Sombre Rivals
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E. P. Roe >> His Sombre Rivals
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"Well!" ejaculated Graham. "From this day I'm an abolitionist, a
Republican of the blackest dye." A little later he added, "Any race
that can produce a woman capable of such cookery as this has a future
before it."
Indeed, the whole affair was taking such an agreeable turn that he was
inclined to be jocular.
After another long sleep in the afternoon, he was much refreshed, and
eager to rejoin his command. But Issachar, or Iss, as his associates
called him, the negro who had befriended him in the first instance,
came and explained that the whole country was full of Confederates;
and that it might be several days before it would be safe to seek the
Union lines.
"We'se all lookin' out fer yer, mas'r," he continued; "you won't want
for nothin'. An' we won't kep yer in dis woodchuck hole arter nine ob
de ev'nin'. Don't try ter come out. I'm lookin' t'oder way while I'se
a-talkin. Mean niggers an' 'Federates may be spyin' aroun'. But I
reckon not; I'se laid in de woods all day, a-watchin'.
"Now I tell yer what 'tis, mas'r, I'se made up my mine to put out ob
heah. I'se gwine ter jine de Linkum men fust chance I gits. An' if
yer'll wait an' trus' me, I'll take yer slick and clean; fer I know
dis yer country and ebery hole whar ter hide well as a fox. If I gits
safe ter de Linkum folks, yer'll say a good word fer Iss, I reckon."
"Indeed, I will. If you wish, I'll take you into my own service, and
pay you good wages."
"Done, by golly; and when dey cotch us, dey'll cotch a weasel asleep."
"But haven't you a wife and children?"
"Oh, yah. I'se got a wife, an' I'se got a lot ob chillen somewhar in
de 'Fed'racy; but I'll come wid you uns bime by, an' gedder up all I
can fine. I'se 'll come 'long in de shank ob de ev'nin', mas'r, and
guv yer a shakedown in my cabin, an' I'll watch while yer sleeps. Den
I'll bring yer back heah befo' light in de mawnin'."
The presence of Confederate forces required these precautions for
several days, and Iss won Graham's whole heart by his unwearied
patience and vigilance. But the young man soon prevailed on the
faithful fellow to sleep nights while he watched; for after the long
inaction of the day he was almost wild for exercise. Cautious Iss
would have been nearly crazed with anxiety had he known of the
_reconnaissances_ in which his charge indulged while he slept.
Graham succeeded in making himself fully master of the disposition of
the Rebel forces in the vicinity, and eventually learned that the
greater part of them had been withdrawn. When he had communicated this
intelligence to Iss, they prepared to start for the Union lines on the
following night, which proved dark and stormy.
Iss, prudent man, kept the secret of his flight from even his wife,
and satisfied his marital compunctions by chucking her under the chin
and calling her "honey" once or twice while she got supper for him. At
eight in the evening he summoned Graham from his hiding-place, and led
him, with almost the unerring instinct of some wild creature of the
night, due northeast, the direction in which the Union forces were
said to be at that time. It was a long, desolate tramp, and the dawn
found them drenched and weary. But the glorious sun rose warm and
bright, and in a hidden glade of the forest they dried their clothes,
rested, and refreshed themselves. After a long sleep in a dense
thicket they were ready to resume their journey at nightfall. Iss
proved an invaluable guide, for, concealing Graham, he would steal
away, communicate with the negroes, and bring fresh provisions.
On the second night he learned that there was a Union force not very
far distant to the north of their line of march. Graham had good cause
to wonder at the sort of freemasonry that existed among the negroes,
and the facility with which they obtained and transmitted secret
intelligence. Still more had he reason to bless their almost universal
fidelity to the Union cause.
Another negro joined them as guide, and in the gray of the morning
they approached the Union pickets. Graham deemed it wise to wait till
they could advance openly and boldly; and by nine o'clock he was
received with acclamations by his own regiment as one risen from the
dead.
After congratulations and brief explanations were over, his first task
was to despatch the two brief letters mentioned, to his aunt and
Hilland, in time to catch the daily mail that left their advanced
position. Then he saw his brigade commander, and made it clear to him
that with a force of about two regiments he could strike a heavy blow
against the Confederates whom he had been reconnoitring; and he
offered to act as guide. His proposition was accepted, and the
attacking force started that very night. By forced marches they
succeeded in surprising the Confederate encampment and in capturing a
large number of prisoners. Iss also surprised his wife and Aunt Sheba
even more profoundly, and before their exclamations ceased he had
bundled them and their meagre belongings into a mule cart, with such
of the "chillen" as had been left to him, and was following
triumphantly in the wake of the victorious Union column; and not a few
of their sable companions kept them company.
The whole affair was regarded as one of the most brilliant episodes of
the campaign and Graham received much credit, not only in the official
reports, but in the press. Indeed, the latter, although with no aid
from the chief actor, obtained an outline of the whole story, from the
rescue of his friend to his guidance of the successful expedition, and
it was repeated with many variations and exaggerations. He cared
little for these brief echoes of fame; but the letters of his aunt,
Hilland, and even the old major, were valued indeed, while a note from
the grateful wife became his treasure of treasures.
They had returned some time before to the St. John cottage, and she
had at last written him a letter "straight from her heart," on the
quaint secretary in the library, as he had dreamed possible on the
first evening of their acquaintance.
CHAPTER XXIV
UNCHRONICLED CONFLICTS
Graham's friends were eager that he should obtain leave of absence,
but he said, "No, not until some time in the winter."
His aunt understood him sufficiently well not to urge the matter, and
it may be added that Grace did also.
Hilland's arm healed rapidly, and happy as he was in his home life at
the cottage he soon began to chafe under inaction. Before very long it
became evident that the major had not wholly outlived his influence at
Washington, for there came an order assigning Major Hilland to duty in
that city; and thither, accompanied by Grace and her father, he soon
repaired. The arrangement proved very agreeable to Hilland during the
period when his regiment could engage in little service beyond that of
dreary picket duty. He could make his labors far more useful to the
government in the city, and could also enjoy domestic life with his
idolized wife. Mrs. Mayburn promised to join them after the holidays,
and the reason for her delay was soon made evident.
One chilly, stormy evening, when nature was in a most uncomfortable
mood, a card was brought to the door of Hilland's rooms at their inn
just as he, with his wife and the major, was sitting down to one of
those exquisite little dinners which only Grace knew how to order.
Hilland glanced at the card, and gave such a shout that the waiter
nearly fell over backward.
"Where is the gentleman? Take me to him on the double-quick. It's
Graham. Hurrah! I'll order another dinner!" and he vanished, chasing
the man downstairs and into the waiting-room, as if he were a
detachment of Confederate cavalry. The decorous people in the hotel
parlor were astounded as Hilland nearly ran over the breathless waiter
at the door, dashed in like a whirlwind, and carried off his friend,
laughing, chaffing, and embracing him all the way up the stairs. It
was the old, wild exuberancy of his college days, only intensified by
the deepest and most grateful emotion.
Grace stood within her door blushing, smiling, and with tears of
feeling in her lovely eyes.
"Here he is," cried Hilland--"the very god of war. Give him his
reward, Grace--a kiss that he will feel to the soles of his boots."
But she needed no prompting, for instead of taking Graham's proffered
hand, she put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him again and
again, exclaiming, "You saved Warren's life; you virtually gave yours
for his; and in saving him you saved me. May God bless you every hour
you live!"
"Grace," he said, gravely and gently, looking down into her swimming
eyes and retaining her hands in a strong, warm clasp, "I am repaid a
thousand-fold. I think this is the happiest moment of my life;" and
then he turned to the major, who was scarcely less demonstrative in
his way than Hilland had been.
"By Jove!" cried the veteran, "the war is going to be the making of
you young fellows. Why, Graham, you no more look like the young man
that played whist with me years since than I do. You have grown broad-
shouldered and _distingue_, and you have the true military air in
spite of that quiet civilian's dress."
"Oh, I shall always be comparatively insignificant," replied Graham,
laughing. "Wait till Hilland wears the stars, as he surely will, and
then you'll see a soldier."
"We see far more than a soldier in you, Alford," said Grace,
earnestly. "Your men told Warren of your almost miraculous leap across
the ditch; and Warren has again and again described your appearance as
you rushed by him on his pursuers. Oh, I've seen the whole thing in my
dreams so often!"
"Yes, Graham; you looked like one possessed. You reminded me of the
few occasions when, in old college days, you got into a fury."
A frown as black as night lowered on Graham's brow, for they were
recalling the most hateful memory of his life--a thought for which he
felt he ought to die; but it passed almost instantly, and in the most
prosaic tones he said, "Good friends, I'm hungry. I've splashed
through Virginia mud twelve mortal hours to-day. Grace, be prepared
for such havoc as only a cavalryman can make. We don't get such fare
as this at the front."
She, with the pretty housewifely bustle which he had admired years
ago, rang the bell and made preparations for a feast.
"Every fatted calf in Washington should be killed for you," she cried--
"prodigal that you are, but only in brave deeds. Where's Iss? I want
to see and feast him also."
"I left him well provided for in the lower regions, and astounding the
'cullud bredren' with stories which only the African can swallow. He
shall come up by and by, for I have my final orders to give. He leads
my horse back to the regiment in the morning, and takes care of him in
my absence. I hope to spend a month with aunt."
"And how much time with us?" asked Hilland, eagerly.
"This evening."
"Now, Graham, I protest--"
"Now, Hilland, I'm ravenous, and here's a dinner fit for the Great
Mogul."
"Oh, I know you of old. When you employ a certain tone you intend to
have your own way; but it isn't fair."
"Don't take it to heart. I'll make another raid on you when I return,
and then we shall soon be at the front together again. Aunty's lonely,
you know."
"Grace and I don't count, I suppose," said the major.
"I had a thousand questions to ask you;" and he looked so aggrieved
that Graham compromised and promised to spend the next day with him.
Then he gave an almost hilarious turn to the rest of the evening, and
one would have thought that he was in the high spirits natural to any
young officer with a month's leave of absence. He described the
"woodchuck hole" which had been his hiding-place, sketched humorously
the portraits of Iss, Aunt Sheba, who was now his aunt's cook, and
gave funny episodes of his midnight prowlings while waiting for a
chance to reach the Union lines. Grace noted how skilfully he kept his
own personality in the background unless he appeared in some absurd or
comical light; and she also noted that his eyes rested upon her less
and less often, until at last, after Iss had had his most flattering
reception, he said good-night rather abruptly.
The next day he entertained the major in a way that was exceedingly
gratifying and flattering to the veteran. He brought some excellent
maps, pointed out the various lines of march, the positions of the
opposing armies, and showed clearly what had been done and what might
have been. He next became the most patient and absorbed listener, as
the old gentleman, by the aid of the same maps, planned a campaign
which during the coming year would have annihilated the Confederacy.
Grace, sitting near the window, might have imagined herself almost
ignored. But she interpreted him differently. She now had the key
which explained his conduct, and more than once tears came into her
eyes.
Hilland returned early, having hastened through his duties, and was in
superb spirits. They spent an afternoon together which stood out in
memory like a broad gleam of sunshine in after years; and then Graham
took his leave with messages from all to Mrs. Mayburn, who was to
return with him.
As they were parting, Grace hesitated a moment, and then stepping
forward impulsively she took Graham's hand in both of hers, and said
impetuously: "You have seen how very, very happy we all are. Do you
think that I forget for a moment that I owe it to you?"
Graham's iron nerves gave way. His hand trembled. "Don't speak to me
in that way," he murmured. "Come, Hilland, or I shall miss the train;"
and in a moment he was gone.
Mrs. Mayburn never forgot the weeks he spent with her. Sometimes she
would look at him wonderingly, and once she said: "Alford, it is hard
for me to believe that you have passed through all that you have. Day
after day passes, and you seem perfectly content with my quiet,
monotonous life. You read to me my old favorite authors. You chaff me
and Aunt Sheba about our little domestic economies. Beyond a hasty run
through the morning paper you scarcely look at the daily journals. You
are content with one vigorous walk each day. Indeed you seem to have
settled down and adapted yourself to my old woman's life for the rest
of time. I thought you would be restless, urging my earlier return to
Washington, or seeking to abridge your leave, so that you might return
to the excitement of the camp."
"No, aunty dear, I am not restless. I have outlived and outgrown that
phase of my life. You will find that my pulse is as even as yours.
Indeed I have a deep enjoyment of this profound quiet of our house. I
have fully accepted my lot, and now expect only those changes that
come from without and not from within. To be perfectly sincere with
you, the feeling is growing that this profound quietude that has
fallen upon me may be the prelude to final rest. It's right that I
should accustom your mind to the possibilities of every day in our
coming campaign, which I well foresee will be terribly severe. At
first our generals did not know how to use cavalry, and beyond escort
and picket duty little was asked of it. Now all this is changed.
Cavalry has its part in every pitched battle, and in the intervals it
has many severe conflicts of its own. Daring, ambitious leaders are
coming to the front, and the year will be one of great and hazardous
activity. My chief regret is that Hilland's wound did not disable him
wholly from further service in the field. Still he will come out all
right. He always has and ever will. There are hidden laws that control
and shape our lives. It seems to me that you were predestined to be
just what you are. Your life is rounded out and symmetrical according
to its own law. The same is true of Hilland and of myself thus far.
The rudiments of what we are to-day were clearly apparent when we were
boys. He is the same ardent, jolly, whole-souled fellow that clapped
me on the back after leaving the class-room. Everybody liked him then,
everything favored him. Often when he had not looked at a lesson he
would make a superb recitation. I was moody and introspective; so I am
to-day. Even the unforeseen events of life league together to develop
one's characteristics. The conditions of his life today are in harmony
with all that has been; the same is true of mine, with the strange
exception that I have found a home and a dear staunch friend in one
who I supposed would ever be a stranger. See how true my theory is of
Grace and her father. Her blithesome girlhood has developed into the
happiest wifehood. Her brow is as smooth as ever, and her eyes as
bright. They have only gained in depth and tenderness as the woman has
taken the place of the girl. Her form has only developed into lovelier
proportions, and her character into a more exquisite symmetry. She has
been one continuous growth according to the laws of her being; and so
it will be to the end. She will be just as beautiful and lovable in
old age as now; for nature, in a genial mood, infused into her no
discordant, disfiguring elements. The major also is completing his
life in consonance with all that has gone before."
"Alford, you are more of a fatalist than a materialist. In my heart I
feel, I know, you are wrong. What you say seems so plausible as to be
true; but my very soul revolts at it all. There is a deep undertone of
sadness in your words, and they point to a possibility that would
imbitter every moment of the remnant of my life. Suppose you should
fall, what remedy would there be for me? Oh, in anguish I have learned
what life would become then. I am a materialist like yourself,
although all the clergymen in town would say I was orthodox. From
earliest recollection mere things and certain people have been
everything to me; and now you are everything, and yet at this hour the
bullet may be molded which will strike you down. Grace, with her rich,
beautiful life, is in equal danger. Hilland will go into the field and
will expose himself as recklessly as yourself. I have no faith in your
obscure laws. Thousands were killed in the last campaign, thousands
are dying in hospitals this moment, and all this means thousands of
broken hearts, unless they are sustained by something I have not. This
world is all very well when all is well, but it can so easily become
an accursed world!" The old lady spoke with a strange bitterness,
revealing the profound disquietude that existed under the serene
amenities of her age and her methodical life.
Graham sought to give a lighter tone to their talk and said: "Oh,
well, aunty, perhaps we are darkening the sun with our own shadows. We
must take life as we find it. There is no help for that. You have done
so practically. With your strong good sense you could not do
otherwise. The trouble is that you are haunted by old-time New England
beliefs that, from your ancestry, have become infused into your very
blood. You can't help them any more than other inherited infirmities
which may have afflicted your grandfather. Let us speak of something
else. Ah, here is a welcome diversion--the daily paper--and I'll read
it through to you, and we'll gain another hint as to the drift of this
great tide of events."
The old lady shook her head sadly; and the fact that she watched the
young man with hungry, wistful eyes, often blinded with tears, proved
that neither state nor military policy was uppermost in her mind.
CHAPTER XXV
A PRESENTIMENT
On Christmas morning Graham found his breakfast-plate pushed back, and
in its place lay a superb sword and belt, fashioned much like the one
he had lost in the rescue of his friend. With it was a genial letter
from Hilland, and a little note from Grace, which only said:
"You will find my name engraved upon the sword with Warren's. We have
added nothing else, for the good reason that our names mean
everything--more than could be expressed, were the whole blade covered
with symbols, each meaning a volume. You have taught us how you will
use the weapon, my truest and best of friends. GRACE HILLAND."
His eyes lingered on the name so long that his aunt asked: "Why don't
you look at your gift?"
He slowly drew the long, keen, shining blade, and saw again the name
"Grace Hilland," and for a time he saw nothing else. Suddenly he
turned the sword and on the opposite side was "Warren Hilland," and he
shook his head sadly.
"Alford, what _is_ the matter?" his aunt asked impatiently.
"Why didn't they have their names engraved together?" he muttered
slowly, "It's a bad omen. See, a sword is between their names. I wish
they had been together. Oh, I wish Hilland could be kept out of the
field!"
"There it is, Alford," began his aunt, irritably; "you men who don't
believe anything are always the victims of superstition. Bad omen,
indeed!"
"Well, I suppose I am a fool; but a strange chill at heart struck me
for which I can't account;" and he sprang up and paced the floor
uneasily. "Well," he continued, "I would bury it in my own heart
rather than cause her one hour's sorrow, but I wish their names had
been together." Then he took it up again and said: "Beautiful as it
is, it may have to do some stern work, Grace--work far remote from
your nature. All I ask is that it may come between Hilland and danger
again. I wish I had not had that strange, cursed presentiment"
"Oh, Alford! I never saw you in such a mood, and on Christmas morning,
too!"
"That is just what I don't like about it--it's not my habit to indulge
such fancies, to say the least. Come what may, however, I dedicate the
sword to her service without counting any cost;" and he kissed her
name, and laid the weapon reverently aside.
"You are morbid this morning. Go to the door and see my present to
you. You will find no bad omens on his shining coat."
Graham felt that it was weak to entertain such impressions as had
mastered him, and hastened out. There, pawing the frozen ground, was a
horse that satisfied even his fastidious eye. There was not a white
hair in the coal-black coat. In his enthusiasm he forgot his hat, and
led the beautiful creature up and down, observing with exultation his
perfect action, clean-cut limbs, and deep, broad chest.
"Bring me a bridle," he said to the man in attendance, "and my hat."
A moment later he had mounted.
"Breakfast is getting cold," cried his aunt from the window,
delighted, nevertheless, at the appreciation of her gift.
"This horse is breakfast and dinner both," he shouted, as he galloped
down the path.
Then, to the old lady's horror, he dashed through the trees and
shrubbery, took a picket-fence in a flying leap, and circled round the
house till Mrs. Mayburn's head was dizzy. Then she saw him coming
toward the door as if he would ride through the house; but the horse
stopped almost instantly, and Graham was on his feet, handing the
bridle to the gaping groom.
"Take good care of him," he said to the man, "for he is a jewel."
"Alford," exclaimed his aunt, "could you make no better return for my
gift than to frighten me out of my wits?"
"Dear aunty, you are too well supplied ever to lose them for so slight
a cause. I wanted to show the perfection of your gift, and how well it
may serve me. You don't imagine that our cavalry evolutions are all
performed on straight turnpike roads, do you? Now you know that you
have given me an animal that can carry me wherever a horse can go, and
so have added much to my chances of safety. I can skim out of a melee
like a bird with Mayburn--for that shall be his name--where a
blundering, stupid horse would break my neck, if I wasn't shot. I saw
at once from his action what he could do. Where on earth did you get
such a creature?"
"Well," said the old lady, beaming with triumphant happiness, "I have
had agents on the lookout a long time. The man of whom you had your
first horse, then called Firebrand, found him; and he knew well that
he could not impose any inferior animal upon you. Are you really
sincere in saying that such a horse as this adds to your chances of
safety?"
"Certainly. That's what I was trying to show you. Did you not see how
he would wind in and out among the trees and shrubbery--how he would
take a fence lightly without any floundering? There is just as much
difference among horses as among men. Some are simply awkward, heavy,
and stupid; others are vicious; more are good at times and under
ordinary circumstances, but fail you at a pinch. This horse is
thoroughbred and well broken. You must have paid a small fortune for
him."
"I never invested money that satisfied me better."
"It's like you to say so. Well, take the full comfort of thinking how
much you have added to my comfort and prospective well-being. That
gallop has already done me a world of good, and given me an appetite.
I'll have another turn across the country after breakfast, and throw
all evil presentiments to the winds."
"Why, now you talk sense. When you are in any more such moods as this
morning I shall prescribe horse."
Before New Year's day Graham had installed his aunt comfortably in
rooms adjoining the Hillands', and had thanked his friends for their
gift in a way that proved it to be appreciated. Mrs. Mayburn had been
cautioned never to speak of what he now regarded as a foolish and
unaccountable presentiment, arising, perhaps, from a certain degree of
morbidness of mind in all that related to Grace. Iss was on hand to
act as groom, and Graham rode out with Hilland and Grace several times
before his leave expired. Even at that day, when the city was full of
gallant men and fair women, many turned to look as the three passed
down the avenue.
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