Vassall Morton Part 39

"You would, ey?--then go with me to Mexico."

"It's a temptation," said Morton, his eyes lighted with a sudden gleam,--"I am in a mood for any thing, I do not care what."

"I knew there was something ailing you," said Rosny; "why, you have had no appet.i.te. You've lost all your spirits. Has any thing happened?

Are you ill?"

"Nothing to speak of. I am well enough in health."

"Well, come with me to Mexico. When a man is under a cloud, he always makes the better soldier for it. If you have had bad luck, why, you can fight like a Trojan."

"I could storm h.e.l.l Gates to-day," exclaimed Morton, giving a momentary vent to his long pent up emotion.

"Good! I always knew that there was stuff in you, though you _are_ worth half a million. It isn't that, though--is it? You haven't lost property--have you?"

"Not that I know. Never mind, d.i.c.k; every man has his little vexations, sometimes, and is ent.i.tled to the privilege of swearing at them."

"Well, I am not the man to pry into your private affairs. Come with me to Mexico. I can promise you a captain's commission,--perhaps I can get you a major's. I am not a cipher in the democratic party, I'd have you know, though I am not yet what I shall be soon. I helped Polk to his election, and my word will go for something. But, pshaw!--what am I talking about? With your money, and a little management, you can get any thing you want."

"I have more than half a mind," said Morton, hesitating; "but, no,--I won't go."

"Pshaw, man! You don't know what you are saying. You don't know what chances you are throwing away. Look at it. It isn't the military fame,--the glorification in the newspapers,--seeing pictures of yourself in the shop windows, charging full tilt among the Mexicans, and all that. You can take that for what it's worth. Tastes differ in such matters. But, I tell you, the men who distinguish themselves in Mexico are going to carry all before them in the political world. The people will go for them, neck or nothing. I know what our enlightened democracy is made of."--Here a slight grin flickered for an instant about the corners of his mouth; but he grew serious again at once.--"Yes, sir, a new world is going to begin. The old inc.u.mbents--Webster, Clay, Calhoun, and the rest--will pa.s.s off the stage, before long, and make room for younger men--men who will keep up with the times. Then will be our chance! Put bra.s.s in your forehead,--you have money enough in your purse already,--get a halo of Mexican glory round your head,--and you will shoot up like a rocket.

First go to the war, then dive into politics, and you and I will be the biggest frogs in the puddle."

"There's a fallacy in your conclusions," said Morton; "the officers of rank, the generals and colonels, will carry off the glory; and we shall have nothing but the blows."

"The Mexican bullets will make that all right. I tell you, they are going to fly like hail. They will dock off the heads above us, and make a clear path for us to mount by."

"Suppose that they should hit the wrong man," suggested Morton.

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Rosny, "we won't look at the matter in that light."

There was a momentary pause.

"Now's your time," urged Rosny. "Come, say the word."

Morton paced the room with knit brows and lips pressed together.

"Glory,"--exclaimed his military friend, summing up the advantages of a Mexican campaign,--"glory,--preferment,--life, of the fastest kind,--what more would you have?"

Morton had a strong native thirst for adventure, and a _penchant_ for military exploit. In his present frame of mind, he felt violently impelled to cut loose from all his old ideas and scruples, and launch at once upon a new life, fresh, unshackled, and reckless,--to plunge headlong into the tumult of the active world; fight its battles, run its races, give and take its blows, strain after its prizes,--forget the past and all its a.s.sociations in the fever of the present. Mexico rose before his thoughts--snowy volcanoes, and tropical forests; the cocoa, the palm, and the cactus; bastioned cities and intrenched heights; the rush and din of battle; war with its fierce excitements and unbounded license. To his disordered mood, the scene had fascinations almost resistless, and he burned to play his part in the fiery drama.

"And why not?"--so his thoughts ran,--"why not obey what fate and nature dictate? Calm, and peace, and happiness,--farewell to them!

That stake is played and lost. I am no more fit now for domestic life than a prairie wolf. I should answer better for an Ishmaelite or a p.a.w.nee. _Deus vult._ Why should I fly in the face of Providence?"

Rosny, his uniform coat half unb.u.t.toned for the sake of ease, sat lolling back in his chair, puffing wreaths of cigar smoke from his lips, eying Morton as he paced the room, and throwing out, from time to time, a word of encouragement to stimulate his resolution. He was about to lose all patience at his companion's pertinacious silence, when the latter stopped, and turned towards him with the air of one whose mind is made up.

"d.i.c.k," said Morton, "when I was in college, I laid down my plan of life, and adopted one maxim--to which I mean to hold fast."

"Well, what was that?" demanded the impatient Rosny.

"Never to abandon an enterprise once begun; to push on till the point is gained, in spite of pain, delay, danger, disappointment,--any thing."

"Good, so far. What next?"

"Some years ago, I entered upon certain plans, which have not yet been accomplished. I have been interrupted, balked, kicked and cuffed by fortune, till I am more than half disgusted with the world. But I mean still to take up the broken thread where I left it, and carry it forward as before."

"The moral of that is, I suppose, that you won't go to Mexico."

"Precisely."

"Well, I shan't try to debate the matter with you. I know you of old.

When your foot is once down, it's useless for me to try to make you lift it up again. But remember what I say,--you will repent not taking my advice."

Rosny finished his cigar, and they left the restaurant together. On their way up the street, they stopped at a recruiting office. "Captain Rumbold, my friend Mr. Morton," said Rosny, who soon after, however, entered into an earnest conversation with the officer upon some affair of business, leaving Morton at leisure to observe six or eight volunteers, who were about to be sent to Governor's Island, in charge of a sergeant.

"What do you think of our boys?" asked Rosny, casting a comical look at Morton, as they went down stairs.

"I never saw such a gang of tobacco-chewing, soap-locked rascals."

"Food for powder," said Rosny, "they'll fill a ditch as well as better. The country needs a little blood-letting. These fellows are not like Falstaff's, though. They will fight. Not a man of them but will whip his weight in wildcats."

CHAPTER LI.

A raconter ses maux, souvent on les soulage.--_Polyeucte_.

"Do you remember Buckland?" asked Rosny, as they walked up Broadway.

"The Virginian? Yes, perfectly."

"There he is."

Morton, following the direction of his companion's eye, saw, a little in advance, a tall man, slenderly but gracefully formed, walking slowly, with a listless air, as if but half conscious of what was going on around him. They checked their pace, to avoid overtaking him.

"Poor fellow!" said Rosny; "he's in a bad way."

"I am sorry to hear it. He was a lively, pleasant fellow when I knew him,--very fond of the society of ladies."

"That's all over now. He has been very dissipated for the last two or three years, and is broken down completely, body and mind. It's a great pity. I am very sorry for him," said Rosny, in whom, notwithstanding his restless ambition, there was a vein of warm and kindly feeling.

"Is he living in New York?"

"Yes, he has been here ever since leaving college. He began to practise as a lawyer. It's much he ever did or ever will do at the law! There was never any go-ahead in him--no energy, no decision--and he does nothing now, but read a little, and lounge about, in a moody, abstracted way, with his wits in the clouds. Get him into good company, and wind him up with a gla.s.s of brandy, and he is himself again for a while,--tells a story and sings a song as he used to do,--but it is soon over. Do you want to speak to him?"

"Yes."