Mark Gildersleeve Part 10

Now the doctor, although hating slavery, had a lurking sympathy for the South. To his mind, they were abstractly in the right; it was sheer inconsistency for a union of states the outgrowth of secession to prevent those among themselves who desired it from taking a similar action. Mark, it is true, while he had lately become to a certain extent a proselyte to the teachings of the abolitionists, and admitted the wrong of slavery, and the necessity of wiping out that blot from the national escutcheon, made it subordinate to his great desire to preserve the Union and save from destruction "the greatest and freest country on earth, to which he had the honor to belong."

"Is it the greatest and freest because you belong to it?" inquired the doctor with a sly smile. "I notice that our great men are the greater for being our countrymen, and that our country is also the greater because it is our country. We love the person or thing that sheds glory or honor in any way upon us, more because it does so, than because it is glorious or honorable in itself. For instance the walls of Shakespeare's home are written over with the names of visitors. Now, why is this? What leads Snooks and Noakes to scribble their names on the door-jambs of the shrine at Stratford-upon-Avon? Is it to honor Shakespeare or themselves?

Perhaps they cannot quote two lines of his works, perhaps have never even read them. It arises purely from that ign.o.ble desire to gratify in some way the measureless vanity of man. Snooks and Noakes care nothing for Shakespeare, but the world recognizes him as a celebrity, and they by connecting themselves, in however remote a degree, with celebrity, fancy they thereby acquire an atom of it."

"I don't see how any of this applies to me," said Mark, seemingly a little hurt at the doctor's remarks. "I'm sure I am not actuated by any such small and contemptible motives. Don't misunderstand me," he continued with rising enthusiasm; "I intend devoting myself to the cause of the Union, solely because I believe it to be the right one, and to carry justice with it."

"Ah! well--I like that way of putting it better," said the doctor. "You know, Mark, how I have always endeavored to imbue you with the belief, that to be just is the only rule of life, and that I should be sorry to see you swerve from that in any way."

"But I do believe that the cause of the Union is the just one, and that of the Secessionists the unjust one. I also believe that ours involves the cause of freedom throughout the universe. Our country, doctor, is the beacon of light and hope to the oppressed of all nations."

"So I've heard," said the doctor dryly, "and that millions yet unborn--and so forth. Well--well, my zealous young friend, bent on it, I see--G.o.d be with you. I hope it will all turn out right. But Mark, how--how are you going? Will not your--your--" He hesitated, fearing he had trenched on delicate ground, for he reflected that the young man's lameness might interfere with his project.

"Of course," said Mark, guessing the remainder of the question, "I prefer joining the cavalry."

"Well, a wilful lad must have his way, I presume, as well as a wilful woman. So boot and saddle, my boy, and may Southern steel and lead spare you to return to us, is the earnest wish of your old friend, Basil Wattletop. But whom shall I have to play chess with? Have you thought of that?"

"Ah! doctor, it's a grander game I shall engage in this time, but only as a p.a.w.n."

"Why a p.a.w.n?"

"Perhaps I shouldn't say that, for I'm striving for something better.

You know I'm not altogether astray on horseback, and can ride, I believe, better than I can walk, which perhaps is not saying much; and old Copp, our night-watchman, who was sergeant-major during the Mexican war, and considered one of the best swordsmen in his corps, is teaching me sabre exercise, and if I only pa.s.s a fair examination at Trenton, I shall get a commission as lieutenant, I hope."

"No fear but you'll make the effort. So it goes: spondee, dactyl and anapest avaunt, and our nose now is continually in Jomini, or Cavalry Tactics, I'll warrant. That's our game now, my unappreciated genius, is it?"

Mark smiled at his old friend's banter, for the inconstant had indeed given the Muses the cold shoulder, to pay his devoirs to fierce Bellona.

He even left uncompleted a stirring ode suited to the hour, ent.i.tled THE FASCES, destined to illuminate the columns of the _Belton Sentinel_, and which might have established his reputation as a second Korner. And wonderful was the zeal with which he set about qualifying himself for his new vocation. At break of day he was off scouring the roads on some mettlesome steed to acquire a perfect seat, and the evenings he spent practising sword-cuts and "moulinets" with old Copp, or poring over some volume on the art of war (which, to say the truth, proved of but little practical value to him), till long past midnight. Thanks to his perseverance, he soon had a smattering of the rudiments of the profession of arms sufficient to enable him to pa.s.s an examination. This and a little of his brother's political influence, secured him a lieutenantcy in the volunteer cavalry.

George Gildersleeve, however, was not at all pleased at the prospect of parting with Mark, or rather with Mark's services, for he foresaw a vast increase of business for him growing out of the requirements of the War Department, and needed a valuable coadjutor now more than ever. He even went so far as to offer Mark a partnership in the Works if he would give up his intention of joining the army and remain at work, which the young man, however, peremptorily refused. George, knowing the bent of his brother's character, saw the uselessness of further efforts to dissuade him from his purpose, and complained to Dr. Wattletop about the matter in strong terms, laying the chief blame upon his old enemies, the anathematized abolitionists, or "woolley-heads," as he ordinarily designated them. "He always has some dam whim or other in his head,"

said George, alluding to Mark. "Now it's n.i.g.g.e.r on the brain, and I believe he thinks more of freeing the darks than of saving the Union. So I'd rather he'd stay at home. It's all very well to go if he was wanted.

I'm ready to go myself at a moment's notice if I'm needed--when the country calls I'm there, you can bet your life; and I'll shoulder a fire-iron as quick as any to help give the seceshers a warming, and for the matter o' that, the pusillanimous woolley-heads as well. They both deserve it. But this boy's no call to go. He's a deuced sight more useful here, but you might as well talk to a post. My wife's done all she could and so have I, but it's no use. Now, major, I wish you would see what you can do. You've about as much influence over him as any one.

Dammit, I'd furnish a dozen subst.i.tutes rather than have him leave. He's the best draughtsman I know of, and worth any three men in my shops.

Work's crowding on us, and I can't spare him--that's the fact. If it hadn't been for the black republicans we wouldn't have had this here parra--parracidal war, and everything would have gone along lovely."

Dr. Wattletop had been to the "Shades" that afternoon, and made the following dignified reply, as he settled his chin in his swaddling cravat and shouldered his walking-stick like a drill-master: "In days gone by, Mr. Gildersleeve, in days gone by, Sir, had you Yankees remained loyal and steadfast (with a tighter grasp of his stick), I say, loyal and steadfast, as it was your bounden duty, to your sovereign King George of glorious memory, you would now have formed part of the mightiest and grandest empire on which the sun ever shone, and enjoying and sharing in true, sound, conservative, and const.i.tutional freedom.

There would have been no strife or fratricidal war in regard to slavery, for slavery cannot exist on British soil; but you chose to rebel against righteous authority, and now, the monster you have conjured threatens to devour you. Sorry for you, very sorry; but permit me to say frankly that you deserve it all. You certainly deserve it all, and have brought it on yourselves;" and the doctor shook his head very decidedly, as if, while he could not entirely forgive the American nation, he might be willing to temper his judgment with mercy.

The master of the Archimedes Works was at a loss, for a moment, how to reply to this unexpected philippic; but finally drove his adversary off by a.s.serting, rather vehemently, that the American people intended settling their family difficulties in their own way, and if John Bull attempted to interfere he would get a repet.i.tion of the warming Old Hickory gave him at New Orleans.

"Or at Bladensburg, mayhap," added the doctor, as he walked away, convinced that his parting shot was an extinguisher, and chuckling as he muttered "_Hoc habet! hoc habet!_"

XIII.

The regiment to which Mark had been a.s.signed recruited chiefly in Belton from among the artisans, and sons of the neighboring farmers, and it was not long before the complement was made up. As time was precious at this juncture the regiment was directed to proceed without delay to Washington, to join the corps forming under Kearney.

A parting surprise had been prepared for Mark by the men at the Works, who had contributed to purchase a handsome sword, which was presented to the young lieutenant a few days previous to his departure. Work was suspended two hours before the usual time, and Knatchbull, foreman of the machine-shop, and the oldest man at the Works, was deputed to make the presentation speech. He was an Englishman, but heart and soul with the country of his adoption. Unfortunately, to American ears, his eloquence was marred somewhat by a strong Northumbrian burr.

Nevertheless, it was not ineffective, and Mark, who was totally unprepared for such a manifestation, had his feelings so touched by this exhibition of friendship for him by his late a.s.sociates, that he was unable to make a coherent reply. He thanked them with a full heart, and one and all, big and little, shook hands with him; then shouted themselves hoa.r.s.e, until George Gildersleeve, who had become reconciled to Mark's leaving, and even promised him the finest charger money could buy, delivered his sentiments in the following pithy address:

"Mark Gildersleeve! remember the man whose horse wore that old shoe over there (pointing to the fire-place in the counting-room), and remember your grandfather who shod him just afore the great battle of Trenton, and stand by the old flag, now and forever! That's all. Now boys we've had enough chin-music; step upstairs and wet your whistles."

And up they all went into the loft, where the consumption of punch, champagne, and sandwiches was wreathed about with the flowers of patriotic song, and till long towards midnight the vale of Belton resounded with the choric melodies of the "Star-Spangled Banner," and "Rally round the Flag," whose stentorious strains were borne across the Pa.s.saic to reverberate and die amid the distant Preakness hills.

The eve of departure was at hand. Mark had not had any interview or communication with Miss Heath since her brother's death. He had seen her several times, either at church or while she was riding, and exchanged salutations, but had not attempted to visit her. But now, he could forego it no longer. Clad in a bran-new uniform, that displayed his square shoulders and sinewy waist to advantage, he went with palpitating heart to the Cliff to take leave of Edna. He hoped to be fortunate enough to see her alone. He had not long to wait in the vast drawing-room, when light footsteps announced the young lady. She looked slender in her black dress, and rather pale, but a light blush mantled her features as she received him with a cordial smile. He colored in response, and their looks spoke volumes to each other.

"I--I trust," said Mark, "the audacity of my avowal at our last meeting, Edna, has already been forgiven, but I hope the avowal itself is not forgotten?"

"You seem determined to remind me of it at all events," replied Edna, parrying the question, and withdrawing her hand from his, as she motioned him to a chair. She took a seat opposite to him on a sofa, composing the folds of her dress in a nonchalant way, as if she feared having betrayed too much gratification in her greeting. There was an awkward pause for a moment. Then Mark, exchanging his seat for one beside Edna, and arming himself with persuasive audacity, took up her words. "Remind you, Edna? Oh! could I but impress you with a faint idea of how intensely I adore you--how completely you control my wishes, ambition, aspirations--my heart! Did you know how entirely the remembrance of you is interwoven with every thought of my life, you would not wonder at my cherishing jealously every kind glance and every smile as a priceless boon."

Edna attempted to frame some coy reply, but the artless girl was unable to carry on the coquettish play of a sued maiden against the resistless ardor of such an impetuous wooer. She could only remain silent, with lowered glance and burning cheek, while her daring suitor continued, "I may be exceedingly presumptuous in aspiring to you, Edna. I have nothing to offer, and I know you deserve all that earth can give, but all I ask now, is to be permitted to hope, and meanwhile to worship, for no divinity is too exalted to spurn the humblest devotee; but I need your consent and encouragement; without that, the task I have undertaken will be purposeless, and all honor I might win prove barren. I have come to bid you farewell."

"Farewell," echoed Edna, raising her eyes to his.

"Yes," said Mark, "to-morrow morning I leave for Virginia, and I've come to bid you farewell, and beg some token--some favor, Edna, which I know you will not refuse me; and if it should be my fate never to return--"

"Oh, don't say that," exclaimed Edna in tones that betrayed her anxiety.

"I trust I shall return, Edna, and in a position to make me more worthy of the interest you manifest in me. Dearest, the sweet confession I read in your eyes--in your tell-tale blushes, nerves me for every danger,"

etc., etc.

Mark was getting along famously in the time-honored way, when, at this tender stage of affairs, who should make her unwelcome appearance but Aunt Applegate, fortunately a myopic matron, who underwent an introduction to Mark, without seemingly noticing the confused looks of the sentimental pair. A voluble dame luckily was Mrs. Applegate, who had known Mark's mother and several of his dead and gone relatives, and instantly resurrected many incidents and reminiscences connected with the existence of those personages, thereby giving Edna time to a.s.sume a properly demure countenance. Our budding warrior and lover, while feigning an hypocritical interest in the conversation of the intruding lady, would, we fear, have seen her led off to the rack or stake with glee and grat.i.tude. In happy unconsciousness of the kind feelings towards her, Mrs. Applegate continued, touching upon the prevailing topic: "So you are going to the war, Mr. Gildersleeve? Isn't it dreadful? Dear me, I don't know how it will all end. Edna told me you had joined the cavalry, and I think you are very sensible in doing so, for you have a great advantage over the foot-soldiers, and if worst comes to the worst, and matters become serious, you can, in case of danger, always get away from it much faster. Edna said--I believe you read it in the paper, didn't you, dear? Yes. So I thought--that you were a lieutenant. Now I should think that was doing very well for so short a time. Mrs. Mumbie is so worried about Decatur. He is at the Naval School, you know, and she is afraid he may have to go and fight. She's a Southerner, and all her sympathies are with the South," etc., etc.

Mrs. Applegate continued in this strain for some time, duly impressing on Mark the necessity of keeping his feet dry upon all occasions, and avoiding damp ground as a couch. She offered furthermore to present him with a quart bottle of picra, a remedial agent of great virtue and nastiness. "I prepared it myself, and am never without it, and wouldn't be for anything. Mr. Applegate used to say, 'Now, Susan, if you'd only advertise it, you'd make your fortune.' It's the very best thing in the world to ward off chills and fever; and now I think of it, Mr.

Gildersleeve, if you could introduce it in the army, and induce the soldiers to take it occasionally instead of their vile whiskey and brandy, what a blessing it would be! I'm sure for my part nothing would give me greater pleasure than to furnish the recipe. Now, if you'll bear this in mind, and write me, I'll send it to you at any time."

Mark promised to do so; he would have promised anything, even to taking a daily dose of picra for a month, if Mrs. Applegate would only have allowed him a few minutes' longer _tete-a-tete_ with his sweetheart, but it was not to be, and he was about to take his leave when Mrs. Applegate requested him to stay to tea, an invitation which he gladly accepted.

The meal was rather a stiff and ceremonious affair, but Mark was supremely happy as he sat next to Edna. Mr. Heath, who had returned from his journey apparently not much improved in health, was rather mystified at the young officer's presence, and stared somewhat at his shoulder-straps. Mark noticed that the patrician had lost much of his old rigid pride, and looked fatigued and care-worn. He appeared to take but little interest in the momentous events of the day, and his one or two listless questions betrayed a remarkable ignorance of what was going on around him in relation to the war.

After tea they withdrew to the parlors, with the exception of Mr. Heath, who retired to his room. Mrs. Applegate, complimenting Mark on his voice, requested him to favor her with "Angels ever bright and fair;"

which the young fellow did, you may rest a.s.sured, to the very best of his ability, as he sang to Edna's accompaniment. Then other visitors came. First, the Rev. Spencer Abbott, somewhat amazed, and perhaps a little displeased at Mark's presence, but too well bred to show it; next, Bob Mumbie and his sister Ada, to whom Mark underwent an introduction--an embarra.s.sing ceremony where all the parties have known each other from childhood, but tacitly agreed as they grew up to be as strangers. However, the ice was soon broken. The young rector was pleasant enough and had a batch of entirely new conundrums to offer. Bob Mumbie, though rather doltish, was a good-natured, amusing fellow, while Miss Ada chose to make herself unusually agreeable, succ.u.mbing, perhaps, to the potent fascination of the lieutenant's blue coat and gilt b.u.t.tons. She was a rather pretty girl, with a clear brunette complexion; but strongly marked brows knit over brilliant black eyes, and disdainful lips, gave her an imperious expression. She attacked a sonata of Beethoven, but it was evidently beyond the capacity of her unpractised fingers, and it was a relief when her brother offered to treat the company to "The Old Folks at Home." Bob Mumbie's forte was Ethiopian minstrelsy, and he sang the simple lays of the plantation with all the pathos of a professional. Led on by the general applause, Bob followed it up with "Old Uncle Snow," then "Sally Come up," and concluded with a "Walk round," after the manner of the celebrated Mr.

Bryant, to the intense amus.e.m.e.nt of Mrs. Applegate, whose capacious form shook with laughter, and of Edna, who enjoyed it scarcely less. All this was horridly unaesthetic, and Mark, the prig, only rewarded the performance with a condescending smile. Perhaps, was he jealous that his efforts had not met with equal success, or that Edna had requested a repet.i.tion of "Uncle Snow"? For all that, and in spite of it, he enjoyed himself, and pa.s.sed a delightful evening; one that he often recalled as he smoked his corn-cob pipe and ruminated before the lonely bivouac-fires during the tedious Peninsular campaign.

Mark was grievously disappointed though, when about taking his leave that evening, to find Mrs. Applegate accompanying her niece to the door to press on his acceptance a large bottle of picra. He was fain to content himself with exchanging a lingering pressure of the hands and an eloquent look with Edna. She found means, however, to give him a small folded paper which of course contained, to his supreme delight, a tress of her bonny blond hair. Any one witnessing his behavior as he went home that night, stopping every moment to cover the precious keepsake with kisses, and then as he crossed the bridge to the town, to fling a bottle rather impatiently into the river, might reasonably have entertained doubts as to his sanity.

And the sweet enchantress who had cast this spell? She was rather startled when stopping at her father's room to bid him good-night, he abruptly asked her what that young man had called for? Fortunately he did not notice her deep color as she answered that he had merely come to bid them good-by, and Aunt Susan had asked him to stay to tea.

"Ah! yes--going to the war, I see. Well, good-night, darling," was all Mr. Heath remarked, and Edna was much relieved when she discovered her father's curiosity extended no farther. But what a long serious meditation she had after retiring to her room! How often she stopped and reflected as she braided her hair for the night! She was now fairly in love. This last step of Mark's had achieved her conquest. What young lady with any kind of a heart could resist the fascination of a gallant who was both a poet and soldier? And not only that, but who had the finest black eyes and chiselled features conceivable? Even Ada Mumbie, who had never condescended to notice him before, was now forced to admit that he looked "splendid" in his uniform. Edna had read of Sidney, and fancied Mark must be just such another individual as that model knight.

As for Fred Spooner, who wrote her such school-boy scrawls from Harvard, what was there chivalrous about him? But Mark could only be compared to one of those delightful mailed beaux of old who went ambling about the world smiting every one who didn't instantly acknowledge that their own particular lady-love was vastly superior to all other ladyloves in existence; and she hadn't any doubt but that Mark was ready to enter the lists at a moment's notice for such a purpose; and we may add that we do not think she was much mistaken in her belief either. So she decided in her mind that as soon as she was nineteen, and Mark became a general, which would doubtless be contemporaneous events, they would be married.

Then a sad expression shadowed her face, as the thought crossed her mind that perhaps he might fall in battle. When she knelt at her bedside in her vestal robe, an appeal for the protection and safe return of the young lieutenant was not omitted, we will venture to say.

The sun came out bright and encouragingly the next morning, when a clear bugle-call roused the recruiting camp on the outskirts of Belton. The men were under order to leave for Washington by an early train. It was a memorable day for the town, and the citizens a.s.sembled to see the gallant lads off. The cavalry-men were dismounted, lightly equipped with blankets and haversacks, while their officers carried their sabres with all the pride of veterans. They defiled through the princ.i.p.al streets on their way to the railway-station, accompanied by the "Home Guard,"