Westways: A Village Chronicle Part 75

"No-and he had better not."

"I agree with you. Let us bury his name with him. So he shot our dear Colonel-how strange, how horrible!"

"He believed that he did shoot him, and as the ball came from the lines of the 71st when the fight was practically at an end, it may be true. He certainly meant to kill him."

"What an entirely, hopelessly complete scoundrel!" said McGregor.

"Except," said Rivers, "that he did not want his mother to know how he died."

"Human wickedness is very incomplete," said the surgeon. "I wonder whether the devil is as perfectly wicked as we are taught to believe. You think this fellow, my dear old schoolmaster, was not utterly bad. Now about wanting his mother not to know-I for my part-"

"Don't, Tom. Leave him this rag of charity to cover a mult.i.tude of sins. Now, I must leave you. See John soon-he is wasted by unending and dangerous work-with malaria too, and what not; see him soon. He is a splendid replica of the Colonel with a far better mind. I wish he were at home."

"And I that another fellow were at home. Good-bye."

McGregor called at John's tent, but learned that at six he had gone on duty to the trenches.

CHAPTER XXVIII

Late on Christmas morning of this year 1864, Penhallow with no duty on his hands saw with satisfaction the peacemaking efforts of the winter weather. A thin drizzle of cold rain froze as it fell on the snow; the engineers' lines were quiet. There was no infantry drill and the raw recruits had rest from the never satisfied sergeants, while unmanageable acc.u.mulations of gifts from distant homes were being distributed to well-pleased men. Penhallow, lazily at ease, planned to spend Christmas day with Tom McGregor or Roland Blake. The orders of a too energetic Colonel of his own Corps summarily disposed of his antic.i.p.ated leisure. The tired and disgusted Captain dismounted at evening, and limping gave his horse to Josiah.

"What you done to Hoodoo, Master John? He's lame-and you too."

Without answering John Penhallow turned to greet Tom McGregor. "Happy Christmas, Tom."

"You don't look very happy, John, nor that poor beast of yours. But I am glad to have caught you at last." The faraway thunder of the siege mortars was heard as he spoke. "Nice Christmas carol that! Have you been to-day in the graveyards you call trenches?"

"No, I was not on duty. I meant to ride over to your hospital to have a home-talk and exchange grumbles, but just as I mounted Colonel Swift stopped with a smartly dressed aide-de-camp. I saluted. He said, 'I was looking for an engineer off duty. Have the kindness to ride with me.'"

"By George! Tom, he was so polite that I felt sure we were on some unpleasant errand. I was as civil, and said, 'With pleasure.' A nice Christmas celebration! Well, I have been in the saddle all day. It rained and froze to sleet on the snow, and the horses slipped and slid most unpleasantly. About noon we pa.s.sed our pickets. I was half frozen. When we got a bit further, the old colonel pulled up on a hillside and began to ask me questions, how far was that bridge, and could I see their pickets, and where did that cross-road go to. The aide was apparently ornamental and did not do anything but guess. I answered with sublime confidence, as my mind got thawed a little and the colonel made notes."

"I know," laughed Tom. "Must never admit in the army that you don't know. You can always write 'respectfully referred' on a doc.u.ment. When General Grant visits our hospital and asks questions ten to the minute, I fire back replies after quick consultation with my imagination. It works. He a.s.sured the surgeon-in-charge that I was a remarkably well-informed officer. So was he!"

"Come in," said Penhallow. "I am cold and cross. I expect a brevet at least-nothing less; but if Comstock or Duane reads the colonel's notes, I may get something else."

"Have you had a fall, John? You are pretty dirty, and that horse with the queer name is dead lame. How did you come to grief?"

"I had an adventure."

"Really! What was it?"

"Tell you another time-it was a queer one. Here's Mr. Rivers." He was followed by a contraband black with a basket.

"Happy Christmas, boys. I bring you a Christmas turkey and a plum-pudding from your aunt, John."

He was made heartily welcome and was in unusually good spirits, as Josiah took possession of these unexpected rations and John got into dry clothes.

They fell to familiar talk of Westways. "I fear," said Rivers, "that the colonel is worse. I am always sure of that when Mrs. Penhallow writes of him as cheerful."

"My father," said Tom, "tells me he has days of excessive unnatural gaiety, and then is irritable and cannot remember even the events of yesterday."

"Can you account for it, Tom?" asked John.

"No, but he ought to take dad's advice and see Professor Askew. It makes him furious. Oh! if we were all at home again, Mr. Rivers-and out of this row. You are limping, John-what's wrong? Let me see that leg."

"No, you don't," cried John merrily. "You promised to get even with me after our famous battle-I don't trust you. I bruised my knee-that's all."

"Well, I can wait."

They talked of home, of the village and its people, and at their meal of the way they proposed to conduct the spring campaign. Many bloodless battles were thus fought over mess-tables and around camp-fires.

"For my part," said John, "I want to get done with this mole business and do anything in the open-Oh, here comes Blake! You know our clergyman from home, the Rev. Mr. Rivers? No! Well, then I make you the Christmas gift of a pleasant acquaintance. Sit down, there is some turkey left and plum-pudding."

"Glad to see you, McGregor," said Blake. "I know Mr. Rivers by sight-oh, and well, too-he was back of the line in that horrid mix-up at the b.l.o.o.d.y Angle-he was with the stretcher-bearers."

"Where," said McGregor, "he had no business to be."

Rivers laughed as he rarely did. "It may seem strange to you all, but I am never so happy"-he came near to saying so little unhappy-"as when I am among the dying and the wounded, even if the firing is heavy."

Blake looked at the large-featured face and the eyes that, as old McGregor said, were so kindly and so like mysterious jewels as they seemed to radiate the light that came from within. His moment of critical doubt pa.s.sed, and he felt the strange attractiveness which Rivers had for men and the influential trust he surely won.

"I prefer," remarked McGregor, "to operate when bullets are not flying."

"But you do not think of them then," returned Rivers, "I am sure you do not."

"No, I do not, but they seem to be too attentive at times. I lost a little finger-tip back of Round Top. We had thirteen surgeons killed or wounded that day. The Rebs left eighty surgeons with their wounded. We sent them home after we got up enough help from the cities."

"It was not done always," said Penhallow. "More's the pity."

"We had Grant at the hospital yesterday," said the doctor. "He comes often."

"Did you notice his face?" queried Rivers.

"The face? Not particularly-why?"

"He has two deep lines between the eyes, and crossing them two lateral furrows on the forehead. In Sicily they call it the 'cross of misfortune.'"

"Then it has yet to come," said Blake.

"Late or early," said Rivers, "they a.s.sure you it will come. Some men find their calamities when young, some when they are old, which is better."

"Let us be thankful that we have no choice," said Blake.

"May G.o.d spare you now and always," said Rivers. The habitual melancholy he dreaded took possession of his face as he rose, adding, "Come, Tom, we must go."

"And I," said Blake.

"Happy Christmas to you all-and a happier New Year than 1864." They left John to the letters Josiah placed on the table.

The night was now clear and the stars brilliant, as Penhallow saw Blake mount his horse and Rivers and McGregor walk away to find the hospital ambulance. "There at least is peace," said John, as he watched the Pleiades and the North Star, symbol of unfailing duty. "Well, it is as good as a sermon, and as it belongs there on eternal guard so do I belong here for my little day; but I trust the spring will bring us peace, for-oh, my G.o.d!-I want it-and Westways." He went in to his hut and stirred the fire into roaring companionship.