CHAPTER XVII. CAMP JACKSON
What enthusiasm on that gusty Monday morning, the Sixth of May, 1861!Twelfth Street to the north of the Market House is full three hundredfeet across, and the militia of the Sovereign State of Missouri isgathering there. Thence by order of her Governor they are to march toCamp Jackson for a week of drill and instruction.
Half a mile nearer the river, on the house of the Minute Men, thestrange flag leaps wildly in the wind this day.
On Twelfth Street the sun is shining, drums are beating, and bandsare playing, and bright aides dashing hither and thither on spiritedchargers. One by one the companies are marching up, and taking place inline; the city companies in natty gray fatigue, the country companiesoften in their Sunday clothes. But they walk with heads erect and chestsout, and the ladies wave their gay parasols and cheer them. Here arethe aristocratic St. Louis Grays, Company A; there come the WashingtonGuards and Washington Blues, and Laclede Guards and Missouri Guards andDavis Guards. Yes, this is Secession Day, this Monday. And the colorsare the Stars and Stripes and the Arms of Missouri crossed.
What are they waiting for? Why don't they move? Hark! A clatter and acloud of dust by the market place, an ecstasy of cheers running in wavesthe length of the crowd. Make way for the dragoons! Here they comeat last, four and four, the horses prancing and dancing and pointingquivering ears at the tossing sea of hats and parasols and ribbons.Maude Catherwood squeezes Virginia's arm. There, riding in front, erectand firm in the saddle, is Captain Clarence Colfax. Virginia is red andwhite, and red again,--true colors of the Confederacy. How proud she wasof him now! How ashamed that she even doubted him! Oh, that was his truecalling, a soldier's life. In that moment she saw him at the head ofarmies, from the South, driving the Yankee hordes northward and stillnorthward until the roar of the lakes warns them of annihilation. Shesaw his chivalry sparing them. Yes, this is Secession Monday.
Down to a trot they slow, Clarence's black thorough-bred arching hislong neck, proud as his master of the squadron which follows, four andfour. The square young man of bone and sinew in the first four, whosehorse is built like a Crusader's, is George Catherwood. And Eugeniegives a cry and points to the rear where Maurice is riding.
Whose will be the Arsenal now? Can the Yankee regiments with theirslouchy Dutchmen hope to capture it! If there are any Yankees in TwelfthStreet that day, they are silent. Yes, there are some. And there aresome, even in the ranks of this Militia--who will fight for the Union.These are sad indeed.
There is another wait, the companies standing at ease. Some of thedragoons dismount, but not the handsome young captain, who ridesstraight to the bright group which has caught his eye, Colonel Carvelwrings his gauntleted hand.
"Clarence, we are proud of you, sir," he says.
And Virginia, repeats his words, her eyes sparkling, her fingerscaressing the silken curve of Jefferson's neck.
"Clarence, you will drive Captain Lyon and his Hessians into the river."
"Hush, Jinny," he answered, "we are merely going into camp to learn todrill, that we may be ready to defend the state when the time comes."
Virginia laughed. "I had forgotten," she said.
"You will have your cousin court-martialed, my dear," said the Colonel.
Just then the call is sounded. But he must needs press Virginia's handfirst, and allow admiring Maude and Eugenie to press his. Then he goesoff at a slow canter to join his dragoons, waving his glove at them, andturning to give the sharp order, "Attention"! to his squadron.
Virginia is deliriously happy. Once more she has swept from her heartevery vestige of doubt. Now is Clarence the man she can admire. Chosenunanimously captain of the Squadron but a few days since, Clarence hadtaken command like a veteran. George Catherwood and Maurice had told thestory.
And now at last the city is to shake off the dust of the North. "On toCamp Jackson!" was the cry. The bands are started, the general andstaff begin to move, and the column swings into the Olive Street road,followed by a concourse of citizens awheel and afoot, the horse carscrowded. Virginia and Maude and the Colonel in the Carvel carriage, andbehind Ned, on the box, is their luncheon in a hamper Standing up, thegirls can just see the nodding plumes of the dragoons far to the front.
Olive Street, now paved with hot granite and disfigured by trolleywires, was a country road then. Green trees took the place of crowdedrows of houses and stores, and little "bob-tail" yellow cars were drawnby plodding mules to an inclosure in a timbered valley, surrounded bya board fence, known as Lindell Grove. It was then a resort, a picnicground, what is now covered by close residences which have long shownthe wear of time.
Into Lindell Grove flocked the crowd, the rich and the poor, theproprietor and the salesmen, to watch the soldiers pitch their tentsunder the spreading trees. The gallant dragoons were off to the west,across a little stream which trickled through the grounds. By the sideof it Virginia and Maude, enchanted, beheld Captain Colfax shoutinghis orders while his troopers dragged the canvas from the wagons, andstaggered under it to the line. Alas! that the girls were there! TheCaptain lost his temper, his troopers, perspiring over Gordian knots inthe ropes, uttered strange soldier oaths, while the mad wind which blewthat day played a hundred pranks.
To the discomfiture of the young ladies, Colonel Carvel pulled hisgoatee and guffawed. Virginia was for moving away.
"How mean, Pa," she said indignantly. "How car, you expect them to do itright the first day, and in this wind?"
"Oh! Jinny, look at Maurice!" exclaimed Maude, giggling. "He is pulledover on his head."
The Colonel roared. And the gentlemen and ladies who were standing bylaughed, too. Virginia did not laugh. It was all too serious for her.
"You will see that they can fight," she said. "They can beat the Yankeesand Dutch."
This speech made the Colonel glance around him: Then he smiled,--inresponse to other smiles.
"My dear," he said, "you must remember that this is a peaceable camp ofinstruction of the state militia. There fly the Stars and Stripes fromthe general's tent. Do you see that they are above the state flag?Jinny; you forget yourself."
Jinny stamped her foot
"Oh, I hate dissimulation," she cried, "Why can't we, say outright thatwe are going to run that detestable Captain Lyon and his Yankees andHessians out of the Arsenal."
"Why not, Colonel Carvel?" cried Maude. She had forgotten that one ofher brothers was with the Yankees and Hessians.
"Why aren't women made generals and governors?" said the Colonel.
"If we were," answered Virginia, "something might be accomplished."
"Isn't Clarence enough of a fire-eater to suit you?" asked her father.
But the tents were pitched, and at that moment the young Captain wasseen to hand over his horse to an orderly, and to come toward them. Hewas followed by George Catherwood.
"Come, Jinny," cried her cousin, "let us go over to the main camp."
"And walk on Davis Avenue," said Virginia, flushing with pride. "Isn'tthere a Davis Avenue?"
"Yes, and a Lee Avenue, and a Beauregard Avenue," said George, takinghis sister's arm.
"We shall walk in them all," said Virginia.
What a scene of animation it was. The rustling trees and the young grassof early May, and the two hundred and forty tents in lines of militaryprecision. Up and down the grassy streets flowed the promenade, proudfathers and mothers, and sweethearts and sisters and wives in galadress. Wear your bright gowns now, you devoted women. The day is comingwhen you will make them over and over again, or tear them to lint, tostanch the blood of these young men who wear their new gray so well.
Every afternoon Virginia drove with her father and her aunt to CampJackson. All the fashion and beauty of the city were there. The bandsplayed, the black coachmen flecked the backs of their shining horses,and walking in the avenues or seated under the trees were natty younggentlemen in white trousers and brass-buttoned jackets. All was notsoldier fare at the regimental messes. Cakes and jellies
and even icesand more substantial dainties were laid beneath those tents. Dressparade was one long sigh of delight: Better not to have been born thanto have been a young man in St. Louis, early in Camp Jackson week, andnot be a militiaman.
One young man whom we know, however, had little of pomp and vanityabout him,--none other than the young manager (some whispered "silentpartner") of Carvel & Company. If Mr. Eliphalet had had politicalambition, or political leanings, during the half-year which had justpassed, he had not shown them. Mr. Cluyme (no mean business man himself)had pronounced Eliphalet a conservative young gentleman who attendedto his own affairs and let the mad country take care of itself. Thisis precisely the wise course Mr. Hopper chose. Seeing a regiment ofMissouri Volunteers slouching down Fifth street in citizens' clothes hehad been remarked to smile cynically. But he kept his opinions so closethat he was supposed not to have any.
On Thursday of Camp Jackson week, an event occurred in Mr. Carvel'sstore which excited a buzz of comment. Mr. Hopper announced to Mr.Barbo, the book-keeper, that he should not be there after four o'clock.To be sure, times were more than dull. The Colonel that morning had readover some two dozen letters from Texas and the Southwest, telling of theimpossibility of meeting certain obligations in the present state of thecountry. The Colonel had gone home to dinner with his brow furrowed.On the other hand, Mr. Hopper's equanimity was spoken of at the widow'stable.
At four o'clock, Mr. Hopper took an Olive Street car, tucking himselfinto the far corner where he would not be disturbed by any ladies whomight enter. In the course of an hour or so, he alighted at the westerngate of the camp on the Olive Street road. Refreshing himself with alittle tobacco, he let himself be carried leisurely by the crowd betweenthe rows of tents. A philosophy of his own (which many men before andsince have adopted) permitted him to stare with a superior good natureat the open love-making around him. He imagined his own figure,--whichwas already growing a little stout,--in a light gray jacket and ducktrousers, and laughed. Eliphalet was not burdened with illusions of thatkind. These heroes might have their hero-worship. Life held somethingdearer for him.
As he was sauntering toward a deserted seat at the foot of a tree, it sochanced that he was overtaken by Mr. Cluyme and his daughter Belle. Onlythat morning, this gentleman, in glancing through the real estate columnof his newspaper, had fallen upon a deed of sale which made him wink. Hereminded his wife that Mr. Hopper had not been to supper of late. So nowMr. Cluyme held out his hand with more than common cordiality. When Mr.Hopper took it, the fingers did not close any too tightly over his own.But it may be well to remark that Mr. Hopper himself did not do anysqueezing. He took off his hat grudgingly to Miss Belle. He had neverliked the custom.
"I hope you will take pot luck with us soon again, Mr. Hopper," saidthe elder gentleman. "We only have plain and simple things, but they arewholesome, sir. Dainties are poor things to work on. I told that to hisRoyal Highness when he was here last fall. He was speaking to me on themerits of roast beef--"
"It's a fine day," said Mr. Hopper.
"So it is," Mr. Cluyme assented. Letting his gaze wander over the camp,he added casually, "I see that they have got a few mortars and howitzerssince yesterday. I suppose that is the stuff we heard so much about,which came on the 'Swon' marked 'marble.' They say Jeff Davis sent thestuff to 'em from the Government arsenal the Secesh captured at BatonRouge. They're pretty near ready to move on our arsenal now."
Mr. Hopper listened with composure. He was not greatly interested inthis matter which had stirred the city to the quick. Neither had Mr.Cluyme spoken as one who was deeply moved. Just then, as if to spare thepains of a reply, a "Jenny Lind" passed them. Miss Belle recognized thecarriage immediately as belonging to an elderly lady who was well knownin St. Louis. Every day she drove out, dressed in black bombazine, andheavily veiled. But she was blind. As the mother-in-law of the stalwartUnion leader of the city, Miss Belle's comment about her appearance inCamp Jackson was not out of place.
"Well!" she exclaimed, "I'd like to know what she's doing here!"
Mr. Hopper's answer revealed a keenness which, in the course of a fewdays, engendered in Mr. Cluyme as lusty a respect as he was capable of.
"I don't know," said Eliphalet; "but I cal'late she's got stouter."
"What do you mean by that?" Miss Belle demanded.
"That Union principles must be healthy," said he, and laughed.
Miss Cluyme was prevented from following up this enigma. The appearanceof two people on Davis Avenue drove the veiled lady from her mind.Eliphalet, too, had seen them. One was the tall young Captain ofDragoons, in cavalry boots, and the other a young lady with dark brownhair, in a lawn dress.
"Just look at them!" cried Miss Belle. "They think they are alone in thegarden of Eden. Virginia didn't use to care for him. But since he'sa captain, and has got a uniform, she's come round pretty quick. I'mthankful I never had any silly notions about uniforms."
She glanced at Eliphalet, to find that his eyes were fixed on theapproaching couple.
"Clarence is handsome, but worthless," she continued in her sprightlyway. "I believe Jinny will be fool enough to marry him. Do you thinkshe's so very pretty, Mr. Hopper?"
Mr. Hopper lied.
"Neither do I," Miss Belle assented. And upon that, greatly tothe astonishment of Eliphalet, she left him and ran towards them."Virginia!" she cried; "Jinny, I have something so interesting to tellyou!"
Virginia turned impatiently. The look she bestowed upon Miss Cluyme wasnot one of welcome, but Belle was not sensitive. Putting her arm throughVirginia's, she sauntered off with the pair toward the parade grounds,Clarence maintaining now a distance of three feet, and not caring tohide his annoyance.
Eliphalet's eyes smouldered, following the three until they were lostin the crowd. That expression of Virginia's had reminded him of atime, years gone, when she had come into the store on her return fromKentucky, and had ordered him to tell her father of her arrival. He hadsmarted then. And Eliphalet was not the sort to get over smarts.
"A beautiful young lady," remarked Mr. Cluyme. "And a deserving one, Mr.Hopper. Now, she is my notion of quality. She has wealth, and manners,and looks. And her father is a good man. Too bad he holds such viewson secession. I have always thought, sir, that you were singularlyfortunate in your connection with him."
There was a point of light now in each of Mr. Hopper's green eyes. ButMr. Cluyme continued:
"What a pity, I say, that he should run the risk of crippling himself byhis opinions. Times are getting hard."
"Yes," said Mr. Hopper.
"And southwestern notes are not worth the paper they are written on--"
But Mr. Cluyme has misjudged his man. If he had come to Eliphalet forinformation of Colonel Carvel's affairs, or of any one else's affairs,he was not likely to get it. It is not meet to repeat here the longbusiness conversation which followed. Suffice it to say that Mr. Cluyme,who was in dry goods himself, was as ignorant when he left Eliphaletas when he met him. But he had a greater respect than ever for theshrewdness of the business manager of Carvel & Company.
.........................
That same Thursday, when the first families of the city were whisperingjubilantly in each other's ears of the safe arrival of the artillery andstands of arms at Camp Jackson, something of significance was happeningwithin the green inclosure of the walls of the United States arsenal,far to the southward.
The days had become alike in sadness to Stephen. Richter gone, and theJudge often away in mysterious conference, he was left for hours ata spell the sole tenant of the office. Fortunately there was work ofRichter's and of Mr. Whipple's left undone that kept him busy. ThisThursday morning, however, he found the Judge getting into that bestblack coat which he wore on occasions. His manner had recently lost muchof its gruffness.
"Stephen," said he, "they are serving out cartridges and uniforms to theregiments at the arsenal. Would you like to go down with me?"
"Does that mean Camp Jackson?"
asked Stephen, when they had reached thestreet.
"Captain Lyon is not the man to sit still and let the Governor take thefirst trick, sir," said the Judge.
As they got on the Fifth Street car, Stephen's attention was at onceattracted to a gentleman who sat in a corner, with his children abouthim. He was lean, and he had a face of great keenness and animation. Hehad no sooner spied Judge Whipple than he beckoned to him with a kind ofmilitary abruptness.
"That is Major William T. Sherman," said the Judge to Stephen. "Heused to be in the army, and fought in the Mexican War. He came here twomonths ago to be the President of this Fifth Street car line."
They crossed over to him, the Judge introducing Stephen to MajorSherman, who looked at him very hard, and then decided to bestow on hima vigorous nod.
"Well, Whipple," he said, "this nation is going to the devil; eh?"
Stephen could not resist a smile. For it was a bold man who expressedradical opinions (provided they were not Southern opinions) in a St.Louis street car early in '61.
The Judge shook his head. "We may pull out," he said.
"Pull out!" exclaimed Mr. Sherman. "Who's man enough in Washingtonto shake his fist in a rebel's face? Our leniency--our timidity--hasparalyzed us, sir."
By this time those in the car began to manifest considerable interest inthe conversation. Major Sherman paid them no attention, and the Judge,once launched in an argument, forgot his surroundings.
"I have faith in Mr. Lincoln. He is calling out volunteers."
"Seventy-five thousand for three months!" said the Major, vehemently,"a bucketful on a conflagration I tell you, Whipple, we'll need all thewater we've got in the North."
The Judge expressed his belief in this, and also that Mr. Lincoln woulddraw all the water before he got through.
"Upon my soul," said Mr. Sherman, "I'm disgusted. Now's the time to stop'em. The longer we let 'em rear and kick, the harder to break 'em. Youdon't catch me going back to the army for three months. If they want me,they've got to guarantee me three years. That's more like it." Turningto Stephen, he added: "Don't you sign any three months' contract, youngman."
Stephen grew red. By this time the car was full, and silent. No one hadoffered to quarrel with the Major. Nor did it seem likely that any onewould.
"I'm afraid I can't go, sir."
"Why not?" demanded Mr. Sherman.
"Because, sir," said the Judge, bluntly, "his mother's a widow, and theyhave no money. He was a lieutenant in one of Blair's companies beforethe call came."
The Major looked at Stephen, and his expression changed.
"Find it pretty hard?" he asked.
Stephen's expression must have satisfied him, but he nodded again, morevigorously than before.
"Just you WAIT, Mr. Brice," he said. "It won't hurt you any."
Stephen was grateful. But he hoped to fall out of the talk. Much to hisdiscomfiture, the Major gave him another of those queer looks. His wholemanner, and even his appearance, reminded Stephen strangely of CaptainElijah Brent.
"Aren't you the young man who made the Union speech in MercantileLibrary Hall?"
"Yes, sir," said the Judge. "He is."
At that the Major put out his hand impulsively, and gripped Stephen's.
"Well, sir," he said, "I have yet to read a more sensible speech, exceptsome of Abraham Lincoln's. Brinsmade gave it to me to read. Whipple,that speech reminded me of Lincoln. It was his style. Where did you getit, Mr. Brice?" he demanded.
"I heard Mr. Lincoln's debate with Judge Douglas at 'Freeport," saidStephen; beginning to be amused.
The Major laughed.
"I admire your frankness, sir," he said. "I meant to say that its logicrather than its substance reminded one of Lincoln."
"I tried to learn what I could from him, Major Sherman."
At length the car stopped, and they passed into the Arsenal grounds.Drawn up in lines on the green grass were four regiments, all at lastin the blue of their country's service. Old soldiers with baskets ofcartridges were stepping from file to file, giving handfuls to therecruits. Many of these thrust them in their pockets, for there were notenough belts to go around. The men were standing at ease, and as Stephensaw them laughing and joking lightheartedly his depression returned.It was driven away again by Major Sherman's vivacious comments. Forsuddenly Captain Lyon, the man of the hour, came into view.
"Look at him!" cried the Major, "he's a man after my own heart. Justlook at him running about with his hair flying in the wind, and thepapers bulging from his pockets. Not dignified, eh, Whipple? Butthis isn't the time to be dignified. If there were some like Lyon inWashington, our troops would be halfway to New Orleans by this time.Don't talk to me of Washington! Just look at him!"
The gallant Captain was a sight, indeed, and vividly described by MajorSherman's picturesque words as he raced from regiment to regiment,and from company to company, with his sandy hair awry, pointing,gesticulating, commanding. In him Stephen recognized the force that hadswept aside stubborn army veterans of wavering faith, that snapped thetape with which they had tied him.
Would he be duped by the Governor's ruse of establishing a State Camp atthis time? Stephen, as he gazed at him, was sure that he would not. Thisman could see to the bottom, through every specious argument. Littlematters of law and precedence did not trouble him. Nor did he believeelderly men in authority when they told gravely that the state troopswere there for peace.
After the ranks were broken, Major Sherman and the Judge went to talk toCaptain Lyon and the Union Leader, who was now a Colonel of one ofthe Volunteer regiments. Stephen sought Richter, who told him that theregiments were to assemble the morning of the morrow, prepared to march.
"To Camp Jackson?" asked Stephen.
Richter shrugged his shoulders.
"We are not consulted, my friend," he said. "Will you come into myquarters and have a bottle of beer with Tiefel?"
Stephen went. It was not their fault that his sense at their comradeshipwas gone. To him it was as if the ties that had bound him to them wereasunder, and he was become an outcast.
The Crisis — Complete Page 30