Miss Ravenel's conversion from secession to loyalty

by John William De Forest

  CHAPTER XXXIV.

  LILLIE'S ATTENTION IS RECALLED TO THE RISING GENERATION.

  On or about the first of January, 1865, Lillie chanced to go out on ashopping excursion, and descended the stairway of the hotel just in timeto catch sight of a newly arrived guest, who was about entering his roomon the first story. One servant directed the unsteady step and supportedthe wavering form of the stranger, while another carried a paintedwooden box eighteen or twenty inches square, which seemed to be his solebaggage. As Lillie was in the broad light and the invalid was walkingfrom her down a dark passage, she could not see how thin and yellow hisface was, nor how weather-stained, threadbare, and even ragged was hisfatigue uniform. But she could distinguish the dark blue cloth, and giltbuttons which her eye never encountered now without a sparkle ofinterest.

  She had reached the street before the question occurred to her. Could itbe Captain Colburne? She reasoned that it could not be, for he hadwritten to them only a fortnight ago without mentioning either sicknessor wounds, and the time of his regiment would not be up for ten daysyet. Nevertheless she made her shopping tour a short one for thinking ofthat sick officer, and on returning to the hotel she looked at thearrival-book, regardless of the half-dozen students who lounged againstthe office counter. There, written in the clerk's hand, was "Capt.Colburne, No. 18." As she went up stairs she could not resist thetemptation of passing No. 18, and was nearly overcome by a suddenimpulse to knock at the door. She wanted to see her best friend, and toknow if he were really sick, and how sick, and whether she could doanything for him. She determined to send a servant to make instantinquiries; but on reaching her room she found her father playing withRavvie.

  "Papa, Captain Colburne is here," were her first words.

  "Is it possible!" exclaimed the Doctor, leaping up with delight. "Haveyou seen him?"

  "Not to speak with him. I am afraid he is sick. He was leaning on theporter's arm. He is in number eighteen. Do go and ask how he is."

  "I will. You are certain that it is our Captain Colburne?"

  "It must be," answered Lillie as he went out; and then thought with ablush, "Will papa laugh at me if I am mistaken?"

  When Ravenel rapped at the door of No. 18, a deep but rather hoarsevoice answered, "Come in."

  "My dear friend!" exclaimed the Doctor, rushing into the room; but themoment that he saw the Captain he stopped in surprise and dismay.

  "Don't get up," he said. "Don't stir. Bless me! how long have you beenin this way?"

  "Only a little while--a month or two," answered Colburne with hiscustomary cheerful smile. "Soon be all right again. Sit down."

  He was stretched at full length on his bed, evidently quite feeble, hiseyes underscored with lines of blueish yellow, his face sallow andfeatures sharpened. The eyes themselves were heavy and dull with theeffects of the opium which he had taken to enable him to undergo theday's journey. Besides his long brown mustache, which had become raggedwith want of care, he had on a beard of three weeks' growth; and hisface and hands were stained with the dust and smirch of two days'continuous railroad travel, which he had not yet had time to washaway--in fact, as soon as he had reached his room he had thrown himselfon the bed and fallen asleep. His only clothing was a summer blouse ofdark blue flannel, a common soldier's shirt of knit woolen, Governmenttrousers of coarse light-blue cloth without a welt, and brown Governmentstockings worn through at toe and heel. On the floor lay his shoes,rough kip-skin brogans, likewise of Government issue. All of hisclothing was ineradically stained with the famous mud of Virginia; hisblouse was threadbare where the sword-belt went, and had a raggedbullet-hole through the collar. Altogether he presented the spectacle ofa man pretty thoroughly worn out in field service.

  "Is that all you wear in this season?" demanded, or rather exclaimed theDoctor. "You will kill yourself."

  Colburne's answering laugh was so feeble that its cheerfulness soundedlike mockery.

  "There isn't a chance of killing me," he said. "I am not cold. On thecontrary, I am suffering with the heat of these fires and close rooms.It's rather odd, considering how run down I am. But actually I have beenquarreling all the way home to keep my window in the car open, I was sostifled for want of air. Three years spent out of doors makes a houseseem like a Black Hole of Calcutta."

  "But no vest!" urged the Doctor. "It's enough to guarantee you aninflammation of the lungs."

  "I hav'n't seen my vest nor any part of my full uniform for sixmonths," said Colburne, much amused. "You don't know till you try it howhardy a soldier can be, even when he is sick. My only bed-clothing untilabout the first of November was a rubber blanket. I will tell you. Whenwe left Louisiana in July we thought we were going to besiege Mobile,and consequently I only took my flannel suit and rubber blanket. It wasenough for a southern summer campaign. Henry had all he could do to totehis own affairs, and my rations and frying-pan. You ought to have seenthe disgust with which he looked at his bundle. He began to think thathe would rather be respectable, and industrious, and learn to read, thancarry such a load as that. His only consolation was that he would soonsteal a horse. Well, I hav'n't seen my trunk since I left it on store inNew Orleans, and I don't know where it is, though I suppose it may be inWashington with the rest of the baggage of our division. I tell you thishas been a glorious campaign, this one in the Shenandoah; but it hasbeen a teaser for privations, marching, and guard-duty, as well asfighting. It is the first time that I ever knocked under to hardships.Half-starved by day, and half-frozen by night. I don't think that eventhis would have laid me out, however, if I hadn't been poisoned by theLouisiana swamps. Malarious fever is what bothers me."

  "You will have to be very careful of yourself," said the Doctor. Henoticed a febrile agitation in the look and even in the conversation ofthe wasted young hero which alarmed him.

  "Oh no," smiled Colburne. "I will be all right in a week or two. All Iwant is rest. I will be about in less than a week. I can travel now. Youdon't realize how a soldier can pick himself up from an ordinaryillness. Isn't it curious how the poor fellows will be around on theirpins, and in their clothes till they die? I think I am rather effeminatein taking off my shoes. I only did it out of compliment to the whitecoverlet. Doesn't it look reproachfully clean compared with me? I ampositively ashamed of my filthiness, although I didn't suspect it untilI got into the confines of peaceful civilization. I assure you I am atolerably tidy man for our corps in its present condition. I am a veryrespectable average."

  "We are all ready here to worship your very rags."

  "Well. After I get rid of them. I must have a citizen's suit as soon aspossible."

  "Can't you telegraph for your trunk?"

  "I have. But that's of no consequence. No more uniform for me. I am hometo be mustered out of service. I can't stay any longer, you understand.I am one of the original officers, and have never been promoted, and sogo out with the original organization. If we could have re-enlistedeighteen men more, we should have been a full veteran regiment, and Icould have staid. I came home before the organization. I was on detachedduty as staff-officer, and so got a leave of absence. You see I wantedto be here as early as possible in order to make out my men's account,and muster-out rolls. I have a horrible amount of work to do this week."

  "Work!" exclaimed Ravenel. "You are no more fit to work than you are tofly. You can't work, and you sha'n't."

  "But I must. I am responsible. If I don't do this job I may be dismissedthe service, instead of being mustered out honorably. Do you think I angoing to let myself be disgraced? Sooner die in harness!"

  "But, my dear friend, you can't do it. Your very talk is feverish; youare on the edge of delirium."

  "Oh no! I can't help laughing at you. You don't know how much a sick mancan do, if he must. He can march and fight a battle. I have done it,weaker than this. Thank God, I have my company papers. They are in thatbox--all my baggage--all I want. I can make my first muster-out rollto-morrow, and hire somebody to do the four copies. You see it must bedone,
for my men's sake as well as mine. By Jove! we get horrible hardmeasure in field service. I have gone almost mad about that box duringthe past six months; wanted it every day and couldn't have it for lackof transportation; the War Department demanding returns, and hospitalsdemanding descriptive lists of wounded men; one threatening to stop mypay, and another to report me to the Adjutant-General; and I couldn'tmake out a paper for lack of that box. If I had only known that we werecoming to Virginia, I could have prepared myself, you see; I could havemade out a memorandum-book of my company accounts to carry in my pocket;but how did I know?"

  He spoke as rapidly and eagerly as if he were pleading his case beforethe Adjutant-General, and showing cause why he should not bedishonorably dismissed the service. After a moment of gloomy reflectionhe spoke again, still harping on this worrying subject.

  "I have six months' unfinished business to write up, or I am a disgracedman. The Commissary of Musters will report me to the Adjutant-General,and the Adjutant-General will dismiss me from the service. It's prettyjustice, isn't it?"

  "But if you are a staff-officer and on detached service?"

  "That doesn't matter. The moment the muster-out day comes, I amcommandant of company, and responsible for company papers. I ought to goto work to-day. But I can't. I am horribly tired. I may try thisevening."

  "No no, my dear friend," implored the Doctor. "You mustn't talk in thisway. You will make yourself sick. You _are_ sick. Don't you know thatyou are almost delirious on this subject?"

  "Am I? Well, let's drop it. By the way, how are you? And how is Mrs.Carter? Upon my honor I have been shamefully selfish in talking so muchabout my affairs. How is Mrs. Carter, and the little boy?"

  "Very well, both of them. My daughter will be glad to see you. But youmustn't go out to-day."

  "No no. I want some clothes. I can't go out in these filthy rags. I amloaded and disreputable with the sacred southern soil. If you will havethe kindness to ring the bell, I will send for a tailor. I must bemeasured for a citizen's suit immediately."

  "My dear fellow, why won't you undress and go to bed? I will order astrait-jacket for you if you don't."

  "Oh, you don't know the strength of my constitution," said Colburne,with his haggard, feverish, confident smile.

  "Upon my soul, you look like it!" exclaimed the Doctor, out of patience."Well, what will you have for dinner? Of course you are not going down."

  "Not in these tatters--no. Why, I think I should like--let me see--somegood--oysters and mince pie."

  The Doctor laughed aloud, and then threw up his hands desperately.

  "I thought so. Stark mad. I'll order your dinner myself, sir. You shallhave some farina."

  "Just as you say. I don't care much. I don't want anything. But it's along while since I have had a piece of mince pie, and it can't be as bada diet as raw pork and green apples."

  "I don't know," answered the Doctor. "Now then, will you promise to takea bath and go regularly to bed as soon as I leave you?"

  "I will. How you bully a fellow! I tell you I'm not sick, to speak of.I'm only a little worried."

  When Ravenel returned to his own apartment he found Lillie waiting to godown to dinner.

  "How is he?" she asked the moment he opened the door.

  "Very badly. Very feverish. Hardly in his right mind."

  "Oh no, papa," remonstrated Lillie. "You always exaggerate such things.Now he isn't very bad; is he? Is he as sick as he was at Donnelsonville?You know how fast he got well then. I don't believe he is in anydanger. Is he?"

  She took a strong interest in him; it was her way to take an interestand to show it. She had much of what the French call expansion, and verylittle of self-repression whether in feeling or speech.

  "I tell you, my dear, that I am exceedingly anxious. He is almostprostrated by weakness, and there is a febrile excitement which isweakening him still more. No immediate danger, you understand; but thecase is certainly a very delicate and uncertain one. So many of thesenoble fellows die after they get home! I wouldn't be so anxious, onlythat he thinks he has a vast quantity of company business on hand whichmust be attended to at once."

  "Can't we do it, or some of it, for him?"

  "Perhaps so. I dare say. Yes, I think it likely. But now let us hurrydown. I want to order something suitable for his dinner. I must buy adose of morphine, too, that will make him sleep till to-morrow morning.He _must_ sleep, or he won't live."

  "Oh, papa! I hope you didn't talk that way to _him_. You are enough tofrighten patients into the other world, you are always so anxious aboutthem."

  "Not much danger of frightening him," groaned the Doctor. "I wish hecould be scared--just a little--just enough to keep him quiet."

  After dinner the Doctor saw Colburne again. He had bathed, had gone tobed, and had an opiated doze, but was still in his state of feverednervousness, and showed it, unconsciously to himself, in hisconversation. Just now his mind was running on the subject of Gazaway,probably in connection with his own lack of promotion; and he talkedwith a bitterness of comment, and an irritation of feeling which werevery unusual with him.

  "You know the secret history of his rehabilitation," said he. "Well,there is one consolation in the miserable affair. He fooled our slyGovernor. You know it was agreed, that, after Gazaway had beenwhitewashed with a lieutenant-colonelcy, he should show his gratitude bycarrying his district for our party, and then resign to make way for theGovernor's nephew, Major Rathbun. But it seems Gazaway had his ownideas. He knew a trick or two besides saving his bacon on thebattle-field. His plan was that he should be the candidate for Congressfrom the district. When he found that he couldn't make that work, he didthe next best thing, and held on to his commission. Wasn't it capital?It pays me for being overlooked, during three years, in spite of therecommendations of my colonel and my generals. There he is still,Lieutenant-Colonel, with the Governor's nephew under him to do hisfighting and field duty. I don't know how Gazaway got command of theconscript camp where he has been for the last year. I suppose he lobbiedfor it. But I know that he has turned it to good account. One of mysergeants was on detached duty at the camp, and was taken behind thescenes. He told me that he made two hundred dollars in less than amonth, and that Gazaway must have pocketed ten times as much."

  "How is it possible that they have not ferreted out such a scoundrel!"exclaims the horror-stricken Doctor.

  "Ah! the War Department has had a great load to carry. The WarDepartment has had its hands too full of Jeff Davis to attend to everysmaller rascal."

  "But why didn't Major Rathbun have him tried for his old offences? Itwas the Major's interest to get him out of his own way."

  "Those were condoned by the acceptance of his resignation. Gazaway diedofficially with full absolution; and then was born again in hisreappointment. He could go to work with clean hands to let substitutesescape for five hundred dollars a-piece, while the sergeant who allowedthe man to dodge him got fifty. Isn't it a beautiful story?"

  "Shocking! But this is doing you harm. You don't need talk--you needsleep. I have brought you a dose to make you hold your tongue tillto-morrow morning."

  "Oh, opium. I have been living on it for the last forty-eight hours--thelast week."

  "Twelve more hours won't hurt you. You must stop thinking and feeling. Itell you honestly that I never saw you in such a feverish state ofexcitation when you were wounded. You talk in a manner quite unlikeyourself."

  "Very well," said Colburne with a long-drawn sigh, as if resigninghimself by an effort to the repugnant idea of repose.

  Here we may as well turn off Lieutenant-Colonel Gazaway, since he willnot be executed by any act of civil or military justice. Removed at lastfrom the conscript camp, and ordered to the front, he at once sent inhis resignation, backed up by a surgeon's certificate of physicaldisability, retired from the service with a capital of ten or fifteenthousand dollars, removed to New York, set up a first-classbilliard-saloon, turned democrat once more, obtained a couple of cityoffices, and now has
an income of seven or eight thousand a-year, acircle of admiring henchmen, and a reputation for ability in businessand politics. When he speaks in a ward meeting or in a squad ofspeculators on 'Change, his words have ten times the influence thatwould be accorded in the same places to the utterances of Colburne orRavenel. I, however, prefer to write the history of these two gentlemen,who appear so unsuccessful when seen from a worldly point of view.

  Fearing to disturb Colburne's slumbers, Ravenel did not visit him againuntil nine o'clock on the following morning. He found him dressed, andlooking over a mass of company records, preparatory to commencing hismuster-out roll.

  "You ought not to do that," said the Doctor. "You are very feverish andweak. All the strength you have is from opiates, and you tax your brainfearfully by driving it on such fuel."

  "But it must be done, Doctor," he said with a scowl, as if trying tosee clearly through clouds of fever and morphine. "It is an awful job,"he added with a sigh. "Just see what it is. I must have the name ofevery officer and man that ever belonged to the company--where, when,and by whom enlisted--where, when, and by whom mustered in--when and bywhom last paid--what bounty paid and what bounty due--balance ofclothing account--stoppages of all sorts--facts and dates of everypromotion and reduction, discharge, death and desertion--number and dateof every important order. Five copies! Why don't they demand fivehundred? Upon my soul, it doesn't seem as if I could do it."

  "Why not make some of your men do it?"

  "I have none here. I am the only man who will go out on this paper.There is not a man of my original company who has not either re-enlistedas a veteran, or deserted, or died, or been killed, or been dischargedbecause of wounds, or breaking down under hardships."

  "Astonishing!"

  "Very curious. That Shenandoah campaign cut up our regiment wonderfully.We went there with four hundred men, and we had less than one hundredand fifty when I left."

  The civilian stared at the coolness of the soldier, which seemed to himmuch like hard-heartedness. The latter rubbed his forehead and eyes, notaffected by these tremendous recollections, but simply seeking to gainclearness of brain enough to commence his talk.

  "You must not work to-day," said the Doctor.

  "I have only three days for the job, and I _must_ work to-day."

  "Well--go on then. Make your original, which is, I suppose, the greatdifficulty; and my daughter and I will make the four others."

  "Will you? How kind you are!"

  At nine o'clock of the following morning Colburne delivered to Ravenelthe original muster-out roll. During that day and the next the fatherand daughter finished the four copies, while Colburne lay in bed, toosick and dizzy to raise his head. On the fourth day he went by railroadto the city of ----, the primary rendezvous of the regiment, and wasduly mustered out of existence as an officer of the United States army.Returning to New Boston that evening, he fainted at the door of thehotel, was carried to his room by the porters, and did not leave his bedfor forty-eight hours. At the end of that time he dressed himself in hiscitizen's suit, and called on Mrs. Carter. She was astonished andfrightened to see him, for he was alarmingly thin and ghastly.Nevertheless, after the first startled exclamation of "CaptainColburne!" she added with a benevolent hypocrisy, "How much better youlook than I thought to see you!"

  He held both her hands for a moment, gazing into her eyes with aprofound gratification at their sympathy, and then said, as he seatedhimself, "Thank you for your anxiety. I am going to get well now. I amgoing to give myself three months of pure, perfect rest."

  The wearied man pronounced the word _rest_ with a touching intonation ofpleasure.

  "Don't call me Captain," he resumed. "The very word tires me, and I wantrepose. Besides, I am a citizen, and have a right to the Mister."

  "He is mortified because he was not promoted," thought Lillie, andcalled him by the threadbare title no more.

  "It always seems to be our business to take care of you when you aresick," she said. "We nursed you at Taylorsville--that is, till we wantedsome fighting done."

  "That seems a great while ago," replied Colburne meditatively. "How manythings have happened since then!" he was about to say, but checked theutterance for fear of giving her pain.

  "Yes, it seems a long time ago," she repeated soberly, for she toothought how many things had happened since then, and thought it withmore emotion than he could give to the idea. He continued to gaze at herearnestly and with profound pity in his heart, while his memory flashedover the two great incidents of maternity and widowhood. "She has foughtharder battles than I have," he said to himself, wondering meanwhile tofind her so little changed, and deciding that what change there was onlymade her more charming. He longed to say some word of consolation forthe loss of her husband, but he would not speak of the subject until sheintroduced it. Lillie's mind also wondered shudderingly around thatbereavement, and then dashed desperately away from it, without utteringa plaint.

  "Can I see the baby?" he asked, after these few moments of silence.

  She colored deeply, not so much with pleasure and pride, as with areturn of the old virginity of soul. He understood it, for he rememberedthat she had blushed in the same manner when she met him for the firsttime after her marriage. It was the modesty of her womanhood,confessing, "I am not what I was when you saw me last."

  "He is not a baby," she laughed. "He is a great boy, more than a yearold. Come and look at him."

  She led the way into her room. It was the first time that he had everbeen in her room, and the place filled him with delicious awe, as if hewere in the presence of some sweet sanctity. Irish Rosann, sitting bythe bedside, and reading her prayer-book, raised her old head and took akeen survey of the stranger through her silver-rimmed spectacles. On thebed lay a chubby urchin, well grown for a yearling, his fair face redwith health, sunburn, and sleep, arms spread wide apart, and one dimpledleg and foot outside of the coverlet.

  "There is the Little Doctor," she said, bending down and kissing adimple.

  It was a long time since she had called him "Little General," or,"Little Brigadier." From the worship of the husband she had gone backin a great measure, perhaps altogether, to the earlier and happierworship of the parent.

  "Does he look like his grandfather?" asked Colburne.

  "Why! Can't you see it? He is wonderfully like him. He has blue eyes,too. Don't you see the resemblance?"

  "I think he has more chins than your father. He has double chins all theway down to his toes," said Colburne, pointing to the collops on thelittle leg.

  "You mustn't laugh at him," she answered. "I suppose you have seen himenough. Men seldom take a longer look than that at a baby."

  "Yes. I don't want to wake him up. I don't want the responsibility ofit. I wouldn't assume the responsibilities of an ant. I haven't theenergy for it."

  They returned to the little parlor. The Doctor came in, and immediatelyforced the invalid to lie on a sofa, propping him up with pillows andproposing to cover him with an Affghan.

  "No," said Colburne. "I beg pardon for my obstinacy, but I suffer withheat all the time."

  "It is the fever," said the Doctor. "Remittent malarious fever. It is nojoke when it dates from Brashear City."

  "It is not being used to a house," answered Colburne, stubborn in faithin his own health. "It is wearing a vest and a broadcloth coat. I reallyam not strong enough to bear the hardships of civilization."

  "We shall see," said the Doctor gravely. "The Indians die ofcivilization. So does many a returned soldier. You will have to becareful of yourself for a long time to come."

  "I am," said Colburne. "I sleep with windows open."

  "Why didn't you write to us that you were sick?" asked Lillie.

  "I didn't wish to worry you. I knew you were kind enough to be worried.What was the use?"

  She thought that it was noble, and just like him, but she said nothing.She could not help admiring him, as he lay there, for looking so sickand weak, and yet so cheerful and courageo
us, so absolutely indifferentto his state of bodily depression. There was not in his face or manner asingle shadow of expression which seemed like an appeal for pity orsympathy. He had the air of one who had become so accustomed tosuffering as to consider it a common-place matter, not worthy of amoment's despondency, or even consideration. His look was noticeablyresolute, and energetic, yet patient.

  "You are the most resigned sick man that I ever saw," she said. "Youmake as good an invalid as a woman."

  "A soldier's life cultivates some of the Christian virtues," heanswered; "especially resignation and obedience. Just see here. You areroused at midnight, march twenty miles on end, halt three or four hours,perhaps in a pelting rain; then you are faced about, marched back toyour old quarters and dismissed, and nobody ever tells you why orwherefore. You take it very hard at first, but at last you get used toit and do just as you are bid, without complaint or comment. You no morepretend to reason concerning your duties than a millstone troublesitself to understand the cause of its revolutions. You are set inmotion, and you move. Think of being started out at early dawn and madeto stand to arms till daylight, every morning, for six weeks running.You may grumble at it, but you do it all the same. At last you forget togrumble and even to ask the reason why. You obey because you areordered. Oh! a man learns a vast deal of stoical virtue in fieldservice. He learns courage, too, against sickness as well as againstbullets. I believe the war will give a manlier, nobler tone to thecharacter of our nation. The school of suffering teaches grand lessons."

  "And how will the war end?" asked Lillie, anxious, as every citizen was,to get the opinion of a soldier on this great question.

  "We shall beat them, of course."

  "When?"

  "I can't say. Nobody can. I never heard a military man of any meritpretend to fix the time. Now that I am a civilian, perhaps I shallresume the gift of prophecy."

  "Mr. Seward keeps saying, in three months."

  "Well, if he keeps saying so long enough he will hit it. Mr. Sewardhasn't been serious in such talk. His only object was to cheer up thenation."

  "So we shall beat them?" cheerfully repeated the converted secessionist."And what then? I hope we shall pitch into England. I hate her for beingso underhandedly spiteful toward the North, and false toward the South."

  "Oh no; don't hate her. England, like every body else, doesn't like agreat neighbor, and would be pleased to see him break up into smallneighbors. But England is a grand old nation, and one of the lights ofthe world. The only satisfaction which I should find in a war withEngland would be that I could satisfy my curiosity on a point ofprofessional interest. I would like to see how European troops fightcompared with ours. I would cheerfully risk a battle for the spectacle."

  "And which do you think would beat?" asked Lillie.

  "I really don't know. That is just the question. Marengo against CedarCreek, Leipsic against the Wilderness. I should like, of all things inthe world, to see the trial."

  Thus they talked for a couple of hours, in a quiet way, strolling overmany subjects, but discussing nothing of deep personal interest.Colburne was too weak to have much desire to feel or to excite emotions.In studying the young woman before him he was chiefly occupied indetecting and measuring the exact change which the potent incidents ofher later life had wrought in her expression. He decided that she lookedmore serious and more earnest than of old; but that was the total of hisfancied discoveries; in fact, he was too languid to analyze.