Westways: A Village Chronicle Part 64

"Yours sincerely,

"G."

"Confound him! What I suffered don't count. He's just the man he always was-brave, of course, quixotically chivalrous, a light weight. Ann used to say he was a grown-up boy and small for his age. Well, he has had his spanking. Confound him!" He went on thinking of this gay, clever, inconsiderate, not unlovable man. "If by mishap he were captured while trying to escape, what then? He would be fool enough to make the venture in our uniform. There would be swift justice; and only the final appeal to Caesar. He was with good reason ill at ease. I might indeed have to ask the President for something."

He reconsidered his own relation to the adventure as he sat at breakfast, and saw in it some remainder of danger. At ten o'clock he was with the Secretary.

"I want," he said, "to talk to you as my old friend. You are my official superior and may order me to the North Pole, but now may I re-a.s.sume the other position for a minute and make a confidential statement?"

"Certainly, Penhallow. I am always free to advise you."

"I want to say something and to be asked no questions. Am I clear?"

"Certainly."

"Thank you. I had an extraordinary adventure yesterday. I am not at liberty to do more than say that it put me in possession of these plans."

He spread on the table well-drawn sketches of the forts around Was.h.i.+ngton.

Stanton's grim, bearded face grew stern. "You have my word, Penhallow. If I had not too easily given it we would have been placed in a disagreeable position. I am debarred from asking you how you came into possession of these papers. The spies who made them would have been in my power early this morning-and not even the President's weakness would have saved their necks."

Penhallow was silent, but was anxiously watching the angry Secretary, who swept the papers aside with an impatient gesture, feeling that he had been so dealt with as to be left without even the relief he too often found in outbursts of violent language. Penhallow's quiet att.i.tude reminded him that he could not now take advantage of his official position to say what was on his mind.

"Colonel," he said, "I want a report on some better method of getting remounts for the cavalry."

"I will consider it, sir."

"What about that contract for ambulances?"

"I shall have my report ready to-morrow."

"That is all." It is to be feared that the next visitor suffered what Penhallow escaped.

With no other orders the Colonel left, rewarded the punctual policeman and went home to write to his wife, infinitely disgusted with the life before him and behind him, and desiring no more adventures.

CHAPTER XXIII

The winter of 1862-63 went by with Sherman's defeat at Vicksburg and Rosecrans's inconclusive battle of Stone River. The unpopular Conscription Act in February, 1863, and last of all the discreditable defeat of Hooker in May at Chancellorsville, disheartened the most hopeful.

Meanwhile, Penhallow wrote to his wife with no word of the war, and poured out his annoyance to Leila with less restraint.

"DEAR LEILA: I get brief notes from John, who is with the one General (Grant) who has any luck. The list of discredited commanders good and bad increases. I am weary beyond measure of the kind of life I lead. I learn to-day, May 18th, of the progress of the investment of Vicksburg, and of John as busy at last with his proper work of bridges, corduroy roads and the siege approaches.

"The drift homeward of our crippled men, you tell of, is indeed sad. I am glad that Grace's boy is well; and so Rivers has gone to the army again. Pole's lad, with the lost arm, must have some work at the mills. Say I ask it. Good-bye.

"Yours, JAMES PENHALLOW."

On the 16th of June the Secretary said to Penhallow, "You know that Lee has crossed the Potomac. General Hunt has asked to have you put in charge of the reserve artillery of the Potomac army. I shall relieve you here and give the order, but I want you for a week longer to clear up matters."

Penhallow worked hard up to the time set by Stanton, and meanwhile made his arrangements to leave for the field. "Now that you are going away," said Stanton, "I wish to express my warm thanks for admirable service. I may say to you that Hooker has been removed and Meade put in command."

"That is good news, indeed, sir. Now the Potomac army will be handled by a soldier."

The Secretary had risen to say his parting words, and Penhallow as he held his hand saw how reluctant he was to let him go. They had long been friends, and now the Colonel observing his worn face felt for him the utmost anxiety. A stern, grave man, pa.s.sionately devoted to his country, he was the impatient slave of duty. Sometimes hasty, unjust, or even ungenerous, he was indifferent to the enemies he too needlessly created, and was hated by many and not loved even by those who respected his devotion and competence. He spared neither his subordinates nor, least of all, Edwin Stanton, and spendthrift of vital force and energy went his way, one of the great war ministers like Carnot and Pitt. Now, as they stood about to part, he showed feeling with which few would have given him credit, and for which Penhallow was unprepared.

"Well," he said, "you are going. I shall miss your help in a life sometimes lonely, and overcrowded with work. You have been far more useful here than you could have been in the field. Living and working as you have done, you have made enemies. The more enemies an honest gentleman collects the richer he is. You are glad to go-well, don't think this town a mere great gambling place. It is a focal point-all that is bad in war seems to be represented here-spies, cheating contractors, political generals, generals as meek as missionaries. You have seen the worst of it-the worst. But my dear Penhallow, there is one comfort, Richmond is just as foul with thieving contractors, extravagance, intrigue, and spies who report to us with almost the regularity of the post; and, as with us, there is also honour, honesty, religion, belief in their cause." The Secretary had spoken at unusual length and in an unusual mood. When once, before the war, he had spent a few happy days at Grey Pine, Mrs. Crocker characterized him as "a yes-and-no kind of man." Now as he walked with his friend to the door, he said, "Does Mrs. Penhallow know of your change of duty? I am aware of her feeling about this unhappy strife."

"No. There will be a battle-time enough-soon enough to write afterwards, if there should be any earthly afterwards."

"You are quite right," said the Secretary. "Good-bye. I envy you your active share in this game."

Penhallow, as for the last time he went down the outer steps, looked back at the old brick war-office on Seventeenth Street. He felt the satisfaction of disagreeable duty well done. Then he recalled with some sense of it as being rather ridiculous his adventure with Henry Grey. In a far distant day he would tell Ann. As he halted at the foot of the steps, he thought of his only interview with Lincoln. The tall figure with the sombre face left in his memory that haunting sense of the unusual of which others had spoken and which was apt to disappear upon more familiar acquaintance.

On the morning of June 28 in this year 1863, Leila riding from the mills paused a minute to take note of the hillside burial-ground, dotted here and there with pitiful little linen flags, sole memorials of son or father-the victims of war. "One never can get away from it," she murmured, and rode on into Westways. Sitting in the saddle she waited patiently at the door of the post-office. Mrs. Crocker was distributing letters and newspapers. An old Quaker farmer was reading aloud on the pavement the latest news.

"There ain't no list of killed and wounded," he said. Forgetful of the creed of his sect, his son was with the army. He read, "The Rebels have got York-that's sure-and Carlisle too. They are near Harrisburg."

"Oh, but we have burned the bridge over the Susquehanna," said some one.

Another and younger man with his arm in a sling asked, "Are they only cavalry?"

"No, General Ewell is in command. There are infantry."

"Where is Lee?"

"I don't make that out." They went away one by one, sharing the uneasiness felt in the great cities.

Leila called out, "Any letters, Mrs. Crocker? This is bad news."

"Here's one for you-it came in a letter to me. I was to give it to you alone."

Leila tore it open and read it. "Any bad news, Leila?"

"Yes, Uncle James is with the army. I should not have told you. General Meade is in command. Aunt Ann is not to know. There will be a battle-after that he will write-after it. Please not to mention where Uncle Jim is. When is your nephew to be buried-at the mills?"

"At eleven to-morrow."

"I shall be there. Aunt Ann will send flowers. Poor boy! he has lingered long."

"And he did so want to go back to the army. You see, he was that weak he cried. He was in the colour-guard and asked to have the flag hung on the wall. Any news of our John? I dreamed about him last night, only he had long curly locks-like he used to have."

"No, not a word."

"Has Mr. Rivers got back?"

"No, he is still with the army. You know, aunt sends him with money for the Sanitary."

"Yes, the Sanitary Commission-we all know."

Leila turned homeward seeing the curly locks. "Oh, to be a man now!" she murmured. She was bearing the woman's burden.