The Sword of Antietam: A Story of the Nation's Crisis Part 19

d.i.c.k found his comrade on a small cot among dozens of others in a great room. But George's cot was near a window and the pleasant sunshine poured in. It was now the opening of September, and the hot days were pa.s.sing. There was a new sparkle and crispness in the air, and Warner, wounded as he was, felt it.

"We're back in the capital to enjoy ourselves a while," he said lightly to d.i.c.k, "and I'm glad to see that the weather will be fine for sight-seeing."

"Yes, here we are," said d.i.c.k. "The Johnnies beat us this time. They didn't outfight us, but they had the best generals. As soon as you're well, George, we'll start out again and lick 'em."

"I'm glad you told 'em to wait for me, d.i.c.k. That's what you ought to do. I hear that McClellan is at the head of things again."

"Yes, the Army of the Potomac is to the front once more, and it's taken over the Army of Virginia. We hear that Pope is going out to the northwest to fight Indians."

"McClellan is not likely to be trapped as Pope was, but he's so tremendously cautious that he'll never trap anything himself. Now, which kind of a general would you choose, d.i.c.k?"

"As between those two I'll take McClellan. The soldiers at least like him and believe in him. And George, our man in the east hasn't come yet.

The generals we've had don't hammer. They don't concentrate, rush right in and rain blows on the enemy."

"Do you think you know the right man, d.i.c.k?"

"I'm making a guess. It's Grant. We saw him at Donelson and Shiloh.

Surprised at both places, he won anyhow. He wouldn't be beat. That's the kind of man we want here in the east."

"You may be right, d.i.c.k, but the politicians in this part of the country all run him down. Halleck has been transferred to Washington as a sort of general commander and adviser to the President, and they say he doesn't like Grant."

Further talk was cut short by a young army surgeon, and d.i.c.k left George, saying that he would come back the next day. The streets of Washington were full of sunshine, but not of hope and cheerfulness.

The most terrible suspense reigned there. Never before or since was Washington in such alarm. A hostile and victorious army was within a day's march. Pope almost to the last had talked of victory. Then came a telegram, asking if the capital could be defended in case his army was destroyed. Next came the army preceded by thousands of stragglers and heralds of disaster.

The people were dropped from the golden clouds of hope to the hard earth of despair. They strained their eyes toward Mana.s.sas, where the flag of the Union had twice gone down in disaster. It was said, and there was ample cause for the saying of it, that Lee and Jackson with their victorious veterans would appear any moment before the capital.

There were rumors that the government was packing up in order to flee northward to Philadelphia or even New York.

But d.i.c.k believed none of these rumors. In fact, he was not greatly alarmed by any of them. He was sure that McClellan, although without genius, would restore the stamina of the troops, if indeed it were ever lost, which he doubted very much. He had seen how splendidly they fought at the Second Mana.s.sas, and he knew that there was no panic among them.

Moreover, the North was an inexhaustible storehouse of men and material, and whenever one soldier fell two grew in his place.

So he strode through the crowded streets, calm of face and manner, and took his way once more to the hotel, where he had sat and listened to the talk before the Second Mana.s.sas. The lobby was packed with men, and there was but one topic, the military situation. Would Lee and Jackson advance, hot upon the heels of their victory? Would Washington fall?

Would McClellan be able to save them? Why weren't the generals of the North as good as those of the South?

d.i.c.k listened to the talk which was for all who might choose to hear. He did not a.s.sume any superior frame of mind, merely because he had fought in many battles and these men had fought in none. He retained the natural modesty of youth, and knowing that one who looked on might sometimes be a better judge of what was happening than the one who took part, he weighed carefully what they said.

He was in a comfortable chair by the wall, and while he sat there a heavy man of middle age, whom he remembered well, approached and stood before him, regarding him with a keen and measuring eye.

"Good morning, Mr. Watson," said d.i.c.k politely.

"Ah, it is you, Lieutenant Mason!" said the contractor. "I thought so, but I was not sure, as you are thinner than you were when I last saw you. I'll just take this seat beside you."

A man in the next chair had moved and the contractor dropped into it.

Then he crossed his legs, and smoothed the upper knee with a strong, fat hand.

"You've had quite a trip since I last saw you, Mr. Mason," he said.

"We didn't go so terribly far."

"It's not length that makes a trip. It's what you see and what happens."

"I saw a lot, and a hundred times more than what I saw happened."

The contractor took two fine cigars from his vest pocket and handed one to d.i.c.k.

"No, thank you," said the boy, "I've never learned to smoke."

"I suppose that's because you come from Kentucky, where they raise so much tobacco. When you see a thing so thick around you, you don't care for it. Well, we'll talk while I light mine and puff it. And so, young man, you ran against Lee and Jackson!"

"We did, or they ran against us, which comes to the same thing."

"And got well thrashed. There's no denying it."

"I'm not trying to do so."

"That's right. I thought from the first that you were a young man of sense. I'm glad to see that you didn't get yourself killed."

"A great many good men did."

"That's so, and a great many more will go the same way. You just listen to me. I don't wear any uniform, but I've got eyes to see and ears to hear. I suppose that more monumental foolishness has been hidden under c.o.c.ked hats and gold lace than under anything else, since the world began. Easy now, I don't say that fools are not more numerous outside armies than in them--there are more people outside--but the mistakes of generals are more costly."

"I suppose our generals are doing the best they can. You will let me speak plainly, will you, Mr. Watson?"

"Of course, young man. Go ahead."

"Perhaps you feel badly over a disaster of your own. I saw the smoking fires at Bristoe Station. The rebels burned there several million dollars worth of stores belonging to us. Maybe a large part of them were your own goods."

The contractor rubbed his huge knee with one hand, took his cigar out of his mouth with the other hand, blew several rings of fine blue smoke from his nose, and watched them break against the ceiling.

"Young man," he said, "you're a good guesser, but you don't guess all.

More than a million dollars worth of material that I supplied was burned or looted at Bristoe Station. But it had all been paid for by a perfectly solvent Union government. So, if I were to consider it from the purely material standpoint, which you imagine to be the only one I have, I should rejoice over the raids of the rebels because they make trade for contractors. I'm a patriot, even if I do not fight at the front. Besides my feelings have been hurt."

"In what way?"

The contractor drew from his pocket a coa.r.s.e brown envelope, and he took from the envelope a letter, written on paper equally coa.r.s.e and brown.

"I received this letter last night," he said. "It was addressed simply 'John Watson, Washington, D. C.,' and the post office people gave it to me at once. It came from somebody within the Confederate lines. You know how the Northern and Southern pickets exchange tobacco, newspapers and such things, when they're not fighting. I suppose the letter was pa.s.sed on to me in that way. Listen."

"John Watson, Washington, D. C.

"My dear sir: I have never met you, but certain circ.u.mstances have made me acquainted with your name. Believing therefore that you are a man of judgment and fairness I feel justified in making to you a complaint which I am sure you will agree with me is well-founded. At a little place called Bristoe Station I recently obtained a fine, blue uniform, the tint of which wind and rain will soon turn to our own excellent Confederate gray. I found your own name as maker stamped upon the neck band of both coat and vest.

"I ought to say however that after I had worn the coat only twice the seams ripped across both shoulders, I admit that the fit was a little tight, but work well done would not yield so quickly. I also picked out a pair of beautiful shoes, bearing your name stamped upon them. The leather cracked after the first day's use, and good leather will never crack so soon.

"Now, my dear Mr. Watson, I feel that you have treated me unfairly. I will not use any harsher word. We do not expect you to supply us with goods of this quality, and we certainly look for something better from you next time.

"Your obedient servant, ARTHUR ST. CLAIR, Lieutenant 'The Invincibles,'

C. S. A."