The Crisis — Complete

by Winston Churchill

  CHAPTER XVIII. THE STONE THAT IS REJECTED

  That Friday morning Stephen awoke betimes with a sense that somethingwas to happen. For a few moments he lay still in the half comprehensionwhich comes after sleep when suddenly he remembered yesterday'sincidents at the Arsenal, and leaped out of bed.

  "I think that Lyon is going to attack Camp Jackson to-day," he said tohis mother after breakfast, when Hester had left the room.

  Mrs. Brice dropped her knitting in her lap.

  "Why, Stephen?"

  "I went down to the Arsenal with the Judge yesterday and saw themfinishing the equipment of the new regiments. Something was in the wind.Any one could see that from the way Lyon was flying about. I think hemust have proof that the Camp Jackson people have received supplies fromthe South."

  Mrs. Brice looked fixedly at her son, and then smiled in spite of theapprehension she felt.

  "Is that why you were working over that map of the city last night?" sheasked.

  "I was trying to see how Lyon would dispose his troops. I meant to tellyou about a gentleman we met in the street car, a Major Sherman who usedto be in the army. Mr. Brinsmade knows him, and Judge Whipple, and manyother prominent men here. He came to St. Louis some months ago to takethe position of president of the Fifth Street Line. He is the keenest,the most original man I have ever met. As long as I live I shall neverforget his description of Lyon."

  "Is the Major going back into the army?" said Mrs. Brice, Stephendid not remark the little falter in her voice. He laughed over therecollection of the conversation in the street car.

  "Not unless matters in Washington change to suit him," he said. "Hethinks that things have been very badly managed, and does not scrupleto say so anywhere. I could not have believed it possible that two mencould have talked in public as he and Judge Whipple did yesterday andnot be shot down. I thought that it was as much as a man's life is worthto mention allegiance to the Union here in a crowd. And the way Mr.Sherman pitched into the Rebels in that car full of people was enough tomake your hair stand on end."

  "He must be a bold man," murmured Mrs. Brice.

  "Does he think that the--the Rebellion can be put down?"

  "Not with seventy-five thousand men, nor with ten times that number."

  Mrs. Brice sighed, and furtively wiped her eyes with her handkerchief.

  "I am afraid we shall see great misery, Stephen," she said.

  He was silent. From that peaceful little room war and its horrors seemedvery far away. The morning sun poured in through the south windows andwas scattered by the silver on the sideboard. From above, on the wall,Colonel Wilton Brice gazed soberly down. Stephen's eyes lighted on theportrait, and his thoughts flew back to the boyhood days when he used toply his father with questions about it. Then the picture had suggestedonly the glory and honor which illumines the page of history. Somethingworthy to look back upon, to keep ones head high. The hatred and thesuffering and the tears, the heartrending, tearing apart for all time ofloving ones who have grown together,--these were not upon that canvas,Will war ever be painted with a wart?

  The sound of feet was heard on the pavement. Stephen rose, glancing athis mother. Her face was still upon her knitting.

  "I am going to the Arsenal," he said. "I must see what as happening."

  To her, as has been said, was given wisdom beyond most women. She didnot try to prevent him as he kissed her good-by. But when the door hadshut behind him, a little cry escaped her, and she ran to the window tostrain her eyes after him until he had turned the corner below.

  His steps led him irresistibly past the house of the strange flag,ominously quiet at that early hour. At sight of it anger made him hotagain. The car for South St. Louis stood at the end of the line, fastfilling with curious people who had read in their papers that morning ofthe equipment of the new troops. There was little talk among them, andthat little guarded.

  It was a May morning to rouse a sluggard; the night air tingled intolife at the touch of the sunshine, the trees in the flitting gloryof their first green. Stephen found the shaded street in front of theArsenal already filled with an expectant crowd. Sharp commands broke thesilence, and he saw the blue regiments forming on the lawn inside thewall. Truly, events were in the air,--great events in which he had nopart.

  As he stood leaning against a tree-box by the curb, dragged down oncemore by that dreaded feeling of detachment, he heard familiar voicesclose beside him. Leaning forward, he saw Eliphalet Hopper and Mr.Cluyme. It was Mr. Cluyme who was speaking.

  "Well, Mr. Hopper," he said, "in spite of what you say, I expect youare dust as eager as I am to see what is going on. You've taken an earlystart this morning for sightseeing."

  Eliphalet's equanimity was far from shaken.

  "I don't cal'late to take a great deal of stock in the military," heanswered. "But business is business. And a man must keep an eye on whatis moving."

  Mr. Cluyme ran his hand through his chop whiskers, and lowered hisvoice.

  "You're right, Hopper," he assented. "And if this city is going to beUnion, we ought to know it right away."

  Stephen, listening with growing indignation to this talk, was unaware ofa man who stood on the other side of the tree, and who now came forwardbefore Mr. Hopper. He presented a somewhat uncompromising front. Mr.Cluyme instantly melted away.

  "My friend," said the stranger, quietly, "I think we have met before,when your actions were not greatly to your credit. I do not forget aface, even when I see it in the dark. Now I hear you utter words whichare a disgrace to a citizen of the United States. I have some respectfor a rebel. I have none for you, sir."

  As soon as Stephen recovered from the shock of his surprise, he saw thatEliphalet had changed countenance. The manner of an important man ofaffairs, which he hay so assiduously cultivated, fell away from him. Hetook a step backward, and his eyes made an ugly shift. Stephen rejoicedto see the stranger turn his back on the manager of Carvel & Companybefore that dignitary had time to depart, and stand unconcernedly thereas if nothing had occurred.

  Then Stephen stared at him.

  He was not a man you would look at twice, ordinarily, he was smoking agreat El Sol cigar. He wore clothes that were anything but new, a slouchhat, and coarse grained, square-toed boots. His trousers were creased atthe knees. His head fell forward a little from his square shoulders, andleaned a bit to one side, as if meditatively. He had a light brown beardthat was reddish in the sun, and he was rather short than otherwise.

  This was all that Stephen saw. And yet the very plainness of the man'sappearance only added to his curiosity. Who was this stranger? Hiswords, his action, too, had been remarkable. The art of administeringa rebuke like that was not given to many men. It was perfectly quiet,perfectly final. And then, when it was over, he had turned his back anddismissed it.

  Next Stephen began to wonder what he could know about Hopper. Stephenhad suspected Eliphalet of subordinating principles to business gain,and hence the conversation with Mr. Cluyme had given him no shock inthe way of a revelation, But if Hopper were a rogue, ought not ColonelCarvel to hear it? Ought not he, Stephen Brice, to ask this man with thecigar what he knew, and tell Judge Whipple? The sudden rattle of drumsgave him a start, and cruelly reminded him of the gulf of prejudice andhatred fast widening between the friends.

  All this time the stranger stood impassively chewing his cigar, his handagainst the tree-box. A regiment in column came out of the Arsenal gate,the Union leader in his colonel's uniform, on horseback at its head.He pulled up in the street opposite to Stephen, and sat in his saddle,chatting with other officers around him.

  Then the stranger stepped across the limestone gutter and walked upto the Colonel's horse, He was still smoking. This move, too, wassurprising enough, It argued even more assurance. Stephen listenedintently.

  "Colonel Blair, my name is Grant," he said briefly.

  The Colonel faced quickly about, and held out his gloved hand cordially,"Captain Ulysses Grant," said he; "of the old army?"r />
  Mr. Grant nodded.

  "I wanted to wish you luck," he said.

  "Thank you, Grant," answered the Colonel. "But you? Where are you livingnow?"

  "I moved to Illinois after I left here," replied Mr. Grant, as quietlyas before, "and have been in Galena, in the Leather business there. Iwent down to Springfield with the company they organized in Galena, tobe of any help I could. They made me a clerk in the adjutant general'soffice of the state I ruled blanks, and made out forms for a while." Hepaused, as if to let the humble character of this position sink intothe Colonel's comprehension. "Then they found out that I'd beenquartermaster and commissary, and knew something about military ordersNow I'm a state mustering officer. I came down to Belleville to musterin a regiment, which wasn't ready. And so I ran over here to see whatyou fellows were doing."

  If this humble account had been delivered volubly, and in another tone,it is probable that the citizen-colonel would not have listened, sincethe events of that day were to crown his work of a winter. But Mr. Grantpossessed a manner of holding attention.. It was very evident, however;that Colonel Blair had other things to think of. Nevertheless he saidkindly:

  "Aren't you going in, Grant?"

  "I can't afford to go in as a captain of volunteers," was the calmreply: "I served nine years in the regular army and I think I cancommand a regiment."

  The Colonel, whose attention was called away at that moment, did notreply. Mr. Grant moved off up the street. Some of the younger officerswho were there, laughed as they followed his retreating figure.

  "Command a regiment!" cried one, a lieutenant whom Stephen recognizedas having been a bookkeeper at Edwards, James, & Doddington's, and whosestiff blue uniform coat creased awkwardly. "I guess I'm about as fit tocommand a regiment as Grant is."

  "That man's forty years old, if he's a day," put in another. "I rememberwhen he came here to St. Louis in '54, played out. He'd resigned fromthe army on the Pacific Coast. He put up a log cabin down on the GravoisRoad, and there he lived in the hardest luck of any man I ever saw untillast year. You remember him, Joe."

  "Yep," said Joe. "I spotted him by the El Sol cigar. He used to bring aload of wood to the city once in a while, and then he'd go over to thePlanters' House, or somewhere else, and smoke one of these long fellows,and sit against the wall as silent as a wooden Indian. After that hecame up to the city without his family and went into real estate onewinter. But he didn't make it go. Curious, it is just a year ago thismonth than he went over to Illinois. He's an honest fellow, and hardworking enough, but he don't know how. He's just a dead failure."

  "Command a regiment!" laughed the first, again, as of this in particularhad struck his sense of humor. "I guess he won't get a regiment in ahurry, There's lots of those military carpet-baggers hanging around forgood jobs now."

  "He might fool you fellows yet," said the one caller, though his tonewas not one of conviction. "I understand he had a first-rate record anthe Mexican War."

  Just then an aide rode up, and the Colonel gave a sharp command whichput an end to this desultory talk. As the First Regiment took upthe march, the words "Camp Jackson" ran from mouth to mouth on thesidewalks. Catching fire, Stephen ran with the crowd, and leaping onpassing street car, was borne cityward with the drums of the cominghosts beating in his ears.

  In the city, shutters were going up on the stores. The streets werefilled with, restless citizens seeking news, and drays were halted hereand there on the corners, the white eyes and frenzied calls of the negrodrivers betraying their excitement. While Stephen related to his motherthe events of the morning, Hester burned the dinner. It lay; stilluntouched, on the table when the throbbing of drums sent them to thefront steps. Sigel's regiment had swung into the street, drawing in itswake a seething crowd.

  Three persons came out of the big house next door. One was AnnaBrinsmade; and there was her father, his white hairs uncovered. Thethird was Jack. His sister was cringing to him appealingly, and hestruggling in her grasp. Out of his coat pocket hung the curved butt ofa pepperbox revolver.

  "Let me go, Anne!" he cried. "Do you think I can stay here while mypeople are shot down by a lot of damned Dutchman?"

  "John," said Mr. Brinsmade, sternly, "I cannot let you join a mob. Icannot let you shoot at men who carry the Union flag."

  "You cannot prevent me, sir," shouted the young man, in a frenzy. "Whenforeigners take our flag for them own, it is time for us to shoot themdown."

  Wrenching himself free, he ran down the steps and up the street ahead ofthe regiment. Then the soldiers and the noisy crowd were upon them andwhile these were passing the two stood there as in a dream. After thatsilence fell upon the street, and Mr. Brinsmade turned and went backinto the house, his head bowed as in prayer. Stephen and his mother drewback, but Anne saw them.

  "He is a rebel," she faltered. "It will break my father's heart."

  She looked at Stephen appealingly, unashamed of the tears in her eyes.Then she, too went in.

  "I cannot stay here mother," he said.

  As he slammed the gate, Anne ran down the steps calling his name. Hepaused, and she caught his sleeve.

  "I knew you would go," she said, "I knew you would go. Oh, Stephen, youhave a cool head. Try to keep Jack--out of mischief."

  He left her standing on the pavement. But when he reached the corner andlooked back he saw that she had gone in at his own little gate tomeet his mother. Then he walked rapidly westward. Now and again he wasstopped by feverish questions, but at length he reached the top of thesecond ridge from the river, along which crowded Eighteenth Street nowruns. There stood the new double mansion Mr. Spencer Catherwood hadbuilt two years before on the outskirts of the town, with the wall atthe side, and the brick stable and stable yard. As Stephen approachedit, the thought came to him how little this world's goods avail in timesof trouble. One of the big Catherwood boys was in the blue marchingregiment that day, and had been told by his father never again to darkenhis doors. Another was in Clarence Colfax's company of dragoons, andstill another had fled southward the night after Sumter.

  Stephen stopped at the crest of the hill, in the white dust of thenew-turned street, to gaze westward. Clouds were gathering in the sky,but the sun still shone brightly, Half way up the rise two blue lineshad crawled, followed by black splotches, and at the southwest was theglint of the sun on rifle barrels. Directed by a genius in the art ofwar, the regiments were closing about Camp Jackson.

  As he stood there meditating and paying no attention to those whohurried past, a few familiar notes were struck on a piano. They camethrough the wide-shuttered window above his head. Then a girl's voicerose above the notes, in tones that were exultant:--

  "Away down South in de fields of cotton, Cinnamon seed and sandy bottom, Look away, look away, Look away, look away. Den I wish I was in Dixie's Land, Oh, oh! oh, oh! In Dixie's Land I'll take my stand, And live and die in Dixie's Land. Away, away, away. Away down South in Dixie."

  The song ceased amid peals of girlish laughter. Stephen was rooted tothe spot.

  "Jinny! Jinny Carvel, how dare you!" came through the shutters. "Weshall have a whole regiment of Hessians in here."

  Old Uncle Ben, the Catherwoods' coachman, came out of the stable yard.The whites of his eyes were rolling, half in amusement, half in terror.Seeing Stephen standing there, he exclaimed:

  "Mistah Brice, if de Dutch take Camp Jackson, is we niggers gwinter befree?"

  Stephen did not answer, for the piano had started again,

  "If ever I consent to be married, And who could refuse a good mate? The man whom I give my hand to, Must believe in the Rights of the State."

  More laughter. Then the blinds were flung aside, and a young lady ina dress of white trimmed with crimson stood in the window, smiling.Suddenly she perceived Stephen in the road. Her smile faded. For aninstant she stared at him, and then turned to the girls crowding behindher. What she said, he did no
t wait to hear. He was striding down thehill.