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THE MASTER OF WARLOCK
A VIRGINIA WAR STORY
BY GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON
AUTHOR OF "DOROTHY SOUTH," "A CAROLINA CAVALIER," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY C. D. WILLIAMS
LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY BOSTON
COPYRIGHT, 1903,
BY LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL
Published, January, 1903
TO "DOROTHY SOUTH," THE DEAR LITTLE WOMAN WHO HAS BEEN WIFE TO ME FOR THIRTY-FOUR YEARS, WHO HAS UNCONSCIOUSLY INSPIRED ALL MY WORK, AND WHOSE PERSONALITY, IN ITS SEVERAL PHASES, IT HAS BEEN MY LOVING ENDEAVOUR TO PORTRAY IN ALL THE STORIES I HAVE WRITTEN, I DEDICATE THIS BOOK WITH REVERENCE AND SOUL-FELT THANKS.
GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON.
_Culross, October 18, 1902._
"_In the firelight_"]
Table of Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A BREAK IN THE BRIDGE 11
II. THE BRINGING UP OF AGATHA 32
III. JESSAMINE AND HONEYSUCKLE 47
IV. IN REVOLT 71
V. AT THE OAKS 78
VI. NEXT MORNING 94
VII. A FAREWELL AT THE GATE 111
VIII. A RED FEATHER 118
IX. THE BIRTH OF WOMANHOOD 135
X. IN ACTION 144
XI. AT WARLOCK 163
XII. UNDER ESCORT 172
XIII. A SOUVENIR SERVICE 187
XIV. QUICK WORK 199
XV. AGATHA'S VENTURE 214
XVI. CANISTER 223
XVII. AT HEADQUARTERS 238
XVIII. A BRUSH AT THE FRONT 248
XIX. AGATHA'S RESOLUTION 256
XX. TWO HOME-COMINGS 265
XXI. AT PARTING 279
XXII. SAM AS A STRATEGIST 290
XXIII. A NEGOTIATION 301
XXIV. FLIGHT 317
XXV. A NARROW ESCAPE 327
XXVI. MADEMOISELLE ROLAND 336
XXVII. AGATHA'S WONDER-STORY 345
XXVIII. WHEN A MAN TALKS TOO MUCH 364
XXIX. A STRUGGLE OF GIANTS 374
XXX. THE LAST STRAW 380
XXXI. AT WARLOCK AND AT THE OAKS 396
XXXII. IN RIGHTEOUS WRATH 407
XXXIII. UNDER RED LEAVES 416
XXXIV. THE END AND AFTER 425
_List of Illustrations_
"_In the firelight_" Frontispiece
_Agatha Ronald_ 44
"'_If any man flunks--I'll brain him_'" 126
"'_Riding under gallant escort_'" 186
"'_I love you, Agatha Ronald_'" 235
"'_At Christ-church-in-the-woods_'" 423
The Master of Warlock
I
_A BREAK IN THE BRIDGE_
The road was a winding, twisting track as it threaded its way through astretch of old field pines. The land was nearly level at that point, andquite unobstructed, so that there was not the slightest reason thatordinary intelligence could discover for the roadway's deviouswanderings. It might just as well have run straight through the pinelands.
But in Virginia people were never in a hurry. They had all of leisurethat well-settled and perfectly self-satisfied ways of life could bringto a people whose chief concern it was to live uprightly and happily inthat state of existence into which it had pleased God to call them. Whatdifference could it make to a people so minded, whether the journey tothe Court-house--the centre and seat of county activities of allkinds--were a mile or two longer or shorter by reason of meaninglesscurves in the road, or by reason of a lack of them? Why should theybother to straighten out road windings that had the authority of longuse for their being? And why should the well-fed negro drivers of familycarriages shake themselves out of their customary and comfortable napsin order to drive more directly across the pine land, when the horses,if left to themselves, would placidly follow the traditional track?
The crookedness of the road was a fact, and Virginians of that timealways accepted and respected facts to which they had been longaccustomed. For that sufficient reason Baillie Pegram, the young masterof Warlock, was not thinking of the road at all, but accepting it as hedid the greenery of the trees and the bursting of the buds, as he joggedalong at a dog-trot on that fine April morning in the year of our Lord1861.
He was well mounted upon a mettlesome sorrel mare,--a mare withpronounced ideas of her own. The young man had taught her to bend thesesomewhat to his will, but her individuality was not yet so far subduedor suppressed as to lose itself in that of her master. So she suddenlyhalted and vigorously snorted as she came within sight of the littlebridge over Dogwood Branch, where a horse and a young gentlewoman wereobviously in trouble.
I name the horse and the girl in that ungallant reverse order, becausethat was the order in which they revealed themselves to the mare and hermaster. For the girl was on the farther side of the horse, and stooping,so that she could not be seen at a first glance. As she heardapproaching hoof-beats she straightened herself into that dignity ofdemeanour which every young Virginia gentlewoman felt it to be hersupreme duty in life to maintain under any and all circumstances.
She was gowned in the riding-habit of that time, with glove-fitting bodyand a skirt so long that, even when its wearer sat upon a high horse, itextended to within eighteen inches of the ground. When Baillie Pegramreached the little bridge and hastily dismounted, she was standing aserect as a young hickory-tree, making the most of her five feet four ofheight, and holding the skirt up sufficiently to free her feet. Shewore a look half of welcome, half of defiance on her face. The defiancewas prompted by a high-bred maidenly sense of propriety and by somethingelse. The welcome was due to an instinctive rejoicing in the coming ofmasculine help. For the girl was indeed in sore need of assistance. Herhorse had slipped his foot through a break in the bridge flooring, andafter a painful struggle, had given up the attempt to extricate it. Hewas panting with pain, and his young mistress was sympatheticallysharing every pain that he suffered.
Baillie Pegram gave the girl a rather formal greeting as he dismounted.Stooping he examined the imprisoned leg of the animal. Then seizing astone from the margin of the stream, he quickly beat the planking loosefrom its fastenings, releasing the poor brute from its pillory. But thefreed foot did not plant itself upon the ground again. The horse held itup, limp and dangling. Seeing what had happened, the young man promptlyungirthed the saddles, and transferred that of the young woman to theback of his own animal.
"You must take my mare, Miss Ronald," he said. "Your horse is in nocondition to carry you, and, poor fellow, he never will be again."
"Just what has happened, Mr. Pegram?" the girl asked, with a good dealof hauteur in her tone.
"Your horse's leg is broken beyond all possibility of repair," heanswered. "I will take care of him for you, and you must ride my mare.She is a trifle unruly at times, and not very bridle-wise, so that sheis scarcely fit for a lady's use. But I take it you know how to ride."
The girl did not answer at once. After a space she said:
"You forget that I am Agatha Ronald."
"No, I do not forget," he answered. "I remember that fact with regretwhenever I think of you. However, under the circumstances, you must sofar overcome your prejudice as to accept the use of my mare."
There was a mingling of hauteur and amusement in the
girl's voice andcountenance as she answered:
"Permit me, Mr. Pegram, to thank you for your courteous proffer of help,_and to decline it_."
"I need no thanks," he said, "for a trifling courtesy which is soobviously imperative. As for declining it, why of course you cannot dothat."
"Why not?" she asked, resentfully. "Am I not my own mistress? Surely youwould not take advantage of my mishap to force unwelcome attentions uponme?"
The utterance was an affront, and Baillie Pegram saw clearly that it wasintended to be such. He bit his lip, but controlled himself.
"I will not think," he answered, "that you quite meant to say that. Youare too just to do even me a wrong, and surely I have not deserved suchan affront at your hands. Nor can the circumstances that prompt you todecline any unnecessary courtesy at my hands justify you in--well, insaying what you have just said. I have not sought to force attentionsupon you, and you know it. I have only asked you to let me behave like agentleman under circumstances which are not of my making or my seeking.Your horse is hopelessly lamed--so hopelessly that as soon as you aregone, I am going to kill him by the roadside as an act of ordinaryhumanity. You are fully five miles from The Oaks, where you are stayingwith your aunts. Except in this bit of pine barren, the roads areexceedingly muddy. You are habited for riding, and you could not walkfar in that costume, even upon the best of roads. You simply must makeuse of my mare. I cannot permit you to refuse. If I did so, I shouldincur the lasting and just disapproval of your aunts, The Oaks ladies.You certainly do not wish me to do that. I have placed your saddle uponmy mare, and I am waiting to help you mount."
The girl hesitated, bewildered, unwilling, and distinctly in thatfeminine state of mind which women call "vexed." At last she asked:
"What will you do if I refuse?"
"O, in that case I shall turn the mare loose, and walk at a respectfuldistance behind you as you trudge over the miry road, until you becomehopelessly involved in the red clay at Vinegar Post. Then I shall rushto your rescue like a gallant knight, and carry you pick-a-back all theway to The Oaks. It will be a singularly undignified approach to amansion in which the proprieties of life are sternly insisted upon.Don't you think you'd better take the mare, Miss Ronald?"
The girl stood silent for nearly a minute in a half-angry mood ofresistance, which was in battle with the laughing demon that just nowpossessed her. She did not want to laugh. She was determined not tolaugh. Therefore she laughed uncontrollably, as one is apt to do whensomething ludicrous occurs at a funeral. Presently she said:
"I wonder what it was all about anyhow--the quarrel, I mean, betweenyour grandfather and my poor father?"
There was a touch of melancholy in her tone as she spoke of her "poorfather"--for that phrase, in Virginian usage, always meant that the dearone mentioned was dead. "I wonder what it was that makes it soimperative for me to be formally courteous beyond the common to you, andat the same time highly improper for me to accept such ordinarycourtesies at your hands as I freely accept from others, thinkingnothing about the matter."
"Would you really like to know?" the young man asked.
"Yes--no. I'm not quite certain. Sometimes I want to know--just now, forexample--so that I may know just what my duty is. But at other times Ithink it should be enough for me, as a well-ordered young person, toknow that I must be loyal to my poor father's memory, and never forgivea Pegram while I live. My good aunts have taught me that much, but theyhave never told me anything about the origin of the feud. All I know isthat, in order to be true to the memory of my poor father, who diedbefore I was born, I must always remember that the Ronalds and thePegrams are hereditary enemies. That is why I refuse to use the marewhich you have so courteously offered me, Mr. Pegram."
"Still," answered the young man, as if arguing the matter out withhimself, "it might not compromise your dignity so much to ride a marethat belongs to me, as to let me 'tote' you home--for that is preciselywhat I must do if you persist in your refusal."
The girl again laughed, merrily this time, but still she hesitated:
"Listen!" said Baillie; "that's my boy Sam coming. It would be unseemlyfor us to continue our quarrel in the presence of a servant."
As he spoke the voice of Sam rose from beyond the pines, in a dittywhich he was singing with all the power of a robust set of vocal organs:
"My own Eliza gal--she's de colour ob de night, When de moon it doesn't shine a little bit; But her teeth shows white in de shaddah ob de night, And her eyes is like a lantern when it's lit.
"Oh, Eliza! How I prize yeh! You'se de nicest gal dere is; It's fer you dat I'se a-pinin', For you're like a star dat's shinin' When de moon it's done forgitten how to riz."
With that Sam came beaming upon the scene. His round, black, shiningvisage, and eyes that glittered with a humour which might have won ananchorite to merriment, resembled nothing so much as the sun at itsrising, if one may think of the sun as black and glistening from adiligent rubbing with a bacon rind, which was Sam's favourite cosmetic,as it is of all the very black negroes.
Sam was sitting sidewise upon a saddleless mule, but when he saw thesituation he quickly slipped to the ground, pulled his woolly forelockin lieu of doffing the hat which he had not, and asked:
"What's de mattah, Mas' Baillie?"
The girl saw the impropriety of continuing the discussion--it had ceasedto be a quarrel now--in Sam's presence. So she held out her hand, andsaid:
"Thank you very much, Mr. Pegram. I will ride your beautiful mare, andto-morrow, if you are so minded, you may call at The Oaks to inquire howthe animal has behaved toward me. Good morning, sir!"
She sprang into the saddle without waiting for young Pegram to assisther, for she was even yet determined to accept no more of attention athis hands than she must. He, in his turn, was too greatly relieved bythis ending of the embarrassing scene to care for the implied snub tohis gallantry. As soon as the girl rode away, which she did withoutpausing for a moment, Baillie Pegram turned to Sam, and withoutinquiring upon what errand that worthy had been going, gave the order:
"Mount your mule and ride at a respectful distance behind Miss AgathaRonald. She may have trouble with that half-broken mare of mine. Andmind you, boy, don't entertain the young lady with any of your songs asyou go. When you get back to Warlock, bring me a horse to theCourt-house, do you hear?"
Then leading the wounded animal upon three legs into the woods near by,Pegram fired a charge of shot from the fowling-piece which he carried,into its brain, killing the poor beast instantly and painlessly.
Having discharged this duty of mercy, the young man, with high bootsdrawn over his trousers' legs, set out with a brisk stride for thecounty-seat village, known only as "the Court-house." Entering theclerk's office, he said to the county clerk:
"As a magistrate of this county I direct you to enter a fine of fivedollars against Baillie Pegram, Esq., supervisor of the Vinegar Postroad, for his neglect to keep the bridge over Dogwood Branch in repair.Here's the money. Give me a receipt, please, and make the proper entriesupon the court records."
"Pardon me, Mr. Pegram," answered the clerk, "but you remember that atthe last term of the county court, with a full bench of magistratessitting, it was decided to adjourn the court indefinitely in view of thedisturbed condition of the time?"
"I remember that," answered the young man, "but that action was takenonly upon the ground that under present circumstances it would workhardship to many for the courts to meet for the enforcement of debts.This is a very different case. As road supervisor I am charged with apublic duty which I have neglected. As a magistrate it is my duty tofine every road supervisor who is derelict. No session of the court isnecessary for that. I shall certainly not tolerate such neglect of dutyon the part of any county officer, particularly when I happen to bemyself the derelict official. So enter the fine and give me a receiptfor the money."
Does all this impress the reader as qu
ixotic? Was it a foolishsentimentalism that prompted these men to serve their neighbours and thepublic without pay, and, upon occasion, to hold themselves rigidlyresponsible to a high standard of duty? Was it quixotism which promptedGeorge Washington to serve his country without one dollar of pay,through seven years of war, as the general of its armies, and throughnearly twice that time as President, first of the ConstitutionalConvention, and afterwards, for eight years, as President of the nation?Was it an absurd sentimentalism that prompted him, after he had declinedpay, to decline also the gifts voluntarily and urgently pressed upon himby his own and other States, and by the nation? The humourists ridiculeall such sentiment. But the humourists are not a court of final appeal.At any rate, this sentimentality had its good side.
But at this time of extreme excitement, there were, no doubt, ludicrousexaggerations of sentiment and conduct now and then, and on thissixteenth day of April, 1861, the master of Warlock encountered somethings that greatly amused him. Having finished his business in theclerk's office, he found himself in the midst of excited throngs.Startling news had come from Richmond that morning. In view of thebombardment of Fort Sumter, President Lincoln had called forseventy-five thousand men as an army with which to reduce the secedingStates to subjection.
Virginia was not one of the seceding States. Up to that time, she hadutterly repudiated the thought that secession was justified by Mr.Lincoln's election, or by any threat to the South which his accession tooffice implied.
The statesmen of Virginia had busied themselves for months with effortsto find a way out of the difficulties that beset the country. They wereintent upon saving that Union which had been born of Virginia'ssuggestion, if such saving could be accomplished by any means that didnot involve dishonour. The people of Virginia, when called upon todecide the question of their own course in such a crisis by the electionof a constitutional convention, had overwhelmingly decided it againstsecession, and in favour of adherence to the Union. Under Virginia'sinfluence, Maryland, North Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky, Arkansas, andMissouri had refused to secede.
But while the Virginians were thus opposed to secession, and while theywere fully convinced that secession was neither necessary nor advisableunder the circumstances then existing, they were of one mind inbelieving that the constitutional right of any State to withdraw fromthe Union at will was absolute and indefeasible. So when Mr. Lincolncalled upon Virginia for her quota of troops with which to coerce backinto the Union those States which had exercised what the Virginians heldto be their rightful privilege of withdrawal, it seemed to theVirginians that there was forced upon them a choice between secessionand unspeakable dishonour. They wanted to remain in the Union, of whichtheir State had been from the beginning so influential a part. They wereintensely loyal to the history and traditions of that Union over whichtheir Washington, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, and Tyler had presided,and at the head of whose supreme court their John Marshall had so wiselyinterpreted the constitution. But when Mr. Lincoln notified them thatthey must furnish their quota of troops with which to make war uponsister States for exercising a right which the Virginians deemedunquestionable, they felt that they had no choice but to join theseceding States and take the consequences.
What a pity it seems, as we look back upon that crisis of forty oddyears ago, that Mr. Lincoln could not have found some other way out ofhis difficulties! What a pity that he could not have seen his way clearto omit Virginia and the other border States from his call for troops,with which to make war upon secession! Doubtless it was impracticablefor him to make such a distinction. But the pity of it is none the lesson that account. For if this might have been done, there would have beenno civil war worthy the attention of the historian or the novelist. Inthat case the battles of Bull Run, the Seven Days, Fredericksburg,Antietam, Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, the Wilderness, Spottsylvania,Cold Harbour, and the rest of the bloody encounters would never havebeen fought. In that case the country would not have exhausted itselfwith four years of strenuous war, enlisting 2,700,000 men on one side,and 600,000 on the other. In that case many thousands of brave younglives would have been spared, and the desolation of homes by tens ofthousands would not have come upon the land.
It is idle, however, to speculate in "if's," even when theirsignificance is so sadly obvious as it is in this case. Facts are facts,and the all-dominating fact on that 16th of April, 1861, was thatPresident Lincoln had called upon Virginia for her quota of troops withwhich to make war upon the seceding States, and that Virginia had nomind to respond to the call.
It was certain now, that Virginia--however reluctantly and howeverfirmly convinced she might be that secession was uncalled for on thepart of the Southern States, would adopt an ordinance of secession, andthus make inevitable the coming of the greatest war in all history,where otherwise no war at all, or at most an insignificant one, wouldhave occurred.
There was no question in the minds of any body at the Court-house onthis sixteenth day of April, 1861, that Virginia would secede as soon asa vote could be taken in the convention.
The county was a small one, insignificant in the number of its whiteinhabitants,--there being six negroes to one white in itspopulation,--but it was firmly convinced that upon its attitude dependedthe fate of Virginia, and perhaps of the nation. This conviction wasstrong, at any rate, in the minds of the three local orators who hadordered a muster for this day in order that they might have an audienceto harangue. These were Colonel Gregor, of the militia and the bar,Lieutenant-Colonel Simpson, also of the bar and the militia, and CaptainSam Guthrie, who commanded a troop of uniformed horsemen, long agoorganised for purposes of periodical picnicking. This troop afterwardrendered conspicuously good service in Stuart's First Regiment ofVirginia cavalry, but not under Captain Guthrie's command. That officer,early in the campaign, developed a severe case of nervous prostration,and retired. The militiamen also volunteered, and rendered their fullfour years of service. But Lieutenant-Colonel Simpson retired during hisfirst and only skirmish, while Colonel Gregor discovered in himself adivine call to the ministry of the gospel, and stayed at home to answerit. But all this came later. In April, 1861, these three were the eageradvocates of war, instant and terrible. Under inspiration of the newsfrom Richmond, they spouted like geysers throughout that day. They couldnot have been more impassioned in their pleas if theirs had been areluctant community, in danger of disgracing itself by refusing tofurnish its fair share of volunteers for Virginia's defence, though infact every able-bodied man in the county had already signified hisintention of volunteering at the first opportunity.
But the orators were not minded to miss so good an opportunity todisplay their eloquence, and impress themselves upon the community.Colonel Gregor, in a fine burst of eloquence, warned his fellowcitizens, whom he always addressed as "me countrymen," to examinethemselves carefully touching their personal courage, "for," hethundered, "where Gregor leads, brave men must follow."
Later in the day, Lieutenant-Colonel Simpson hit upon the happy idea,which his superior officer at once adopted, of ordering the entiremilitia of the county into camp at the Court-house, where the three meneloquent might harangue them at will between drills. The twofield-officers told the men that they must now regard themselves asminute men, and hold themselves in readiness to respond at a moment'snotice to the country's call, for the repelling of invasion, whensoeverit might come.
All this impressed Baillie Pegram as ridiculous. That young gentlemanhad a saving sense of humour, but he was content to smile at afoolishness in which he had no mind to join. The young men of thecounty responded enthusiastically to the encampment call. It meant forthem some days of delightful picnicking, with dancing in the evening.
Baillie Pegram, having business to transact in Richmond, absentedhimself from a frolic not to his taste, and took the noonday train forthe State capital.
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