Westways: A Village Chronicle

by S. Weir Mitchell

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  Late on Christmas morning of this year 1864, Penhallow with no duty onhis hands saw with satisfaction the peacemaking efforts of the winterweather. A thin drizzle of cold rain froze as it fell on the snow; theengineers' lines were quiet. There was no infantry drill and the rawrecruits had rest from the never satisfied sergeants, while unmanageableaccumulations of gifts from distant homes were being distributed towell-pleased men. Penhallow, lazily at ease, planned to spend Christmasday with Tom McGregor or Roland Blake. The orders of a too energeticColonel of his own Corps summarily disposed of his anticipated leisure.The tired and disgusted Captain dismounted at evening, and limping gavehis horse to Josiah.

  "What you done to Hoodoo, Master John? He's lame--and you too."

  Without answering John Penhallow turned to greet Tom McGregor. "HappyChristmas, Tom."

  "You don't look very happy, John, nor that poor beast of yours. But I amglad to have caught you at last." The faraway thunder of the siegemortars was heard as he spoke. "Nice Christmas carol that! Have you beento-day in the graveyards you call trenches?"

  "No, I was not on duty. I meant to ride over to your hospital to have ahome-talk and exchange grumbles, but just as I mounted Colonel Swiftstopped with a smartly dressed aide-de-camp. I saluted. He said, 'I waslooking for an engineer off duty. Have the kindness to ride with me.'"

  "By George! Tom, he was so polite that I felt sure we were on someunpleasant errand. I was as civil, and said, 'With pleasure.' A niceChristmas celebration! Well, I have been in the saddle all day. It rainedand froze to sleet on the snow, and the horses slipped and slid mostunpleasantly. About noon we passed our pickets. I was half frozen. Whenwe got a bit further, the old colonel pulled up on a hillside and beganto ask me questions, how far was that bridge, and could I see theirpickets, and where did that cross-road go to. The aide was apparentlyornamental and did not do anything but guess. I answered with sublimeconfidence, as my mind got thawed a little and the colonel made notes."

  "I know," laughed Tom. "Must never admit in the army that you don't know.You can always write 'respectfully referred' on a document. When GeneralGrant visits our hospital and asks questions ten to the minute, I fireback replies after quick consultation with my imagination. It works. Heassured the surgeon-in-charge that I was a remarkably well-informedofficer. So was he!"

  "Come in," said Penhallow. "I am cold and cross. I expect a brevet atleast--nothing less; but if Comstock or Duane reads the colonel's notes,I may get something else."

  "Have you had a fall, John? You are pretty dirty, and that horse with thequeer name is dead lame. How did you come to grief?"

  "I had an adventure."

  "Really! What was it?"

  "Tell you another time--it was a queer one. Here's Mr. Rivers." He wasfollowed by a contraband black with a basket.

  "Happy Christmas, boys. I bring you a Christmas turkey and a plum-puddingfrom your aunt, John."

  He was made heartily welcome and was in unusually good spirits, as Josiahtook possession of these unexpected rations and John got into dryclothes.

  They fell to familiar talk of Westways. "I fear," said Rivers, "that thecolonel is worse. I am always sure of that when Mrs. Penhallow writes ofhim as cheerful."

  "My father," said Tom, "tells me he has days of excessive unnaturalgaiety, and then is irritable and cannot remember even the events ofyesterday."

  "Can you account for it, Tom?" asked John.

  "No, but he ought to take dad's advice and see Professor Askew. It makeshim furious. Oh! if we were all at home again, Mr. Rivers--and out ofthis row. You are limping, John--what's wrong? Let me see that leg."

  "No, you don't," cried John merrily. "You promised to get even with meafter our famous battle--I don't trust you. I bruised my knee--that'sall."

  "Well, I can wait."

  They talked of home, of the village and its people, and at their meal ofthe way they proposed to conduct the spring campaign. Many bloodlessbattles were thus fought over mess-tables and around camp-fires.

  "For my part," said John, "I want to get done with this mole business anddo anything in the open--Oh, here comes Blake! You know our clergymanfrom home, the Rev. Mr. Rivers? No! Well, then I make you the Christmasgift of a pleasant acquaintance. Sit down, there is some turkey leftand plum-pudding."

  "Glad to see you, McGregor," said Blake. "I know Mr. Rivers bysight--oh, and well, too--he was back of the line in that horridmix-up at the Bloody Angle--he was with the stretcher-bearers."

  "Where," said McGregor, "he had no business to be."

  Rivers laughed as he rarely did. "It may seem strange to you all, but Iam never so happy"--he came near to saying so little unhappy--"as when Iam among the dying and the wounded, even if the firing is heavy."

  Blake looked at the large-featured face and the eyes that, as oldMcGregor said, were so kindly and so like mysterious jewels as theyseemed to radiate the light that came from within. His moment of criticaldoubt passed, and he felt the strange attractiveness which Rivers had formen and the influential trust he surely won.

  "I prefer," remarked McGregor, "to operate when bullets are not flying."

  "But you do not think of them then," returned Rivers, "I am sure you donot."

  "No, I do not, but they seem to be too attentive at times. I lost alittle finger-tip back of Round Top. We had thirteen surgeons killed orwounded that day. The Rebs left eighty surgeons with their wounded. Wesent them home after we got up enough help from the cities."

  "It was not done always," said Penhallow. "More's the pity."

  "We had Grant at the hospital yesterday," said the doctor. "He comesoften."

  "Did you notice his face?" queried Rivers.

  "The face? Not particularly--why?"

  "He has two deep lines between the eyes, and crossing them two lateralfurrows on the forehead. In Sicily they call it the 'cross ofmisfortune.'"

  "Then it has yet to come," said Blake.

  "Late or early," said Rivers, "they assure you it will come. Some menfind their calamities when young, some when they are old, which isbetter."

  "Let us be thankful that we have no choice," said Blake.

  "May God spare you now and always," said Rivers. The habitual melancholyhe dreaded took possession of his face as he rose, adding, "Come, Tom, wemust go."

  "And I," said Blake.

  "Happy Christmas to you all--and a happier New Year than 1864." They leftJohn to the letters Josiah placed on the table.

  The night was now clear and the stars brilliant, as Penhallow saw Blakemount his horse and Rivers and McGregor walk away to find the hospitalambulance. "There at least is peace," said John, as he watched thePleiades and the North Star, symbol of unfailing duty. "Well, it is asgood as a sermon, and as it belongs there on eternal guard so do Ibelong here for my little day; but I trust the spring will bring uspeace, for--oh, my God!--I want it--and Westways." He went in to his hutand stirred the fire into roaring companionship.

  Meanwhile Rivers, walking with McGregor, said, "Did the figure of thatdoomed wretch haunt you as we talked to John?"

  "It did indeed! I had never before been ordered to certify to a deathlike that, and I hated it even before I bent down and knew who it was."

  "How far was he accountable, Tom?"

  "Don't ask me riddles like that, Mr. Rivers. It is a subject I have oftenthought about. It turns up in many forms--most terribly in the cases ofthe sins of the fathers being loaded on the sons. How far is a manaccountable who inherits a family tendency to insanity? Should he marry?If he falls in love, what ought he to do or not do? It is a pretty grimproposition, Mr. Rivers."

  "He should not marry," replied the clergyman, and both moved on in silentthought.

  "Oh, here is our ambulance," said Tom. They got in, Rivers reflecting howwar, parent of good and evil, had made of this rough country-bred lad adutiful, thoughtful man.

  Presently McGregor said, "When we were talking of our unpleasant duties,I meant to tell you that one of the
m is to tattoo a D--for deserter--onthe breast of some poor homesick fellow. After that his head is shaved;then the men laugh as he is drummed out of the lines--and it'sdisgusting."

  "I agree with you," said Rivers.

  John lighted a fresh pipe and sat down by the fire to get some Christmaspleasure from the home letter in Leila's large and clear script. His aunthad ceased to write to him, and had left to her niece this task,insisting that it should be punctually fulfilled. This time the letterwas brief.

  "Of course, my dear John, you know that I am under orders to write to youonce a week."--"Is that explanatory?" thought the reader.--The letterdealt with the town and mills, the sad condition of Colonel Penhallow,his aunt's messages and her advice to John in regard to health. Thehorses came in for the largest share of a page. And why did he not writemore about himself? She did not suppose that even winter war consistedonly in drawing maps and waiting for Grant to flank Lee out of Petersburgand Richmond. "War," wrote the young woman, "must be rather a dullbusiness. Have you no adventures? Tom McGregor wrote his father that youhad a thrilling experience in the trenches lately. The doctor spoke of itto Aunt Ann, who was surprised I had never mentioned it. Don't dry upinto an old regular like the inspecting major of ordnance at the mills.

  "Expectantly yours,

  "LEILA GREY.

  "A Happy Christmas, Jack."

  "Oh, Great Scott!" laughed John. He read it again. Not a word of herself,nor any of her rides, or of the incessant reading she liked to discusswith him. Some dim suspicion of the why of this impersonal letter gentlyflattered the winged hopefulness of love. "Well, I think I shall punishyou, Miss Grey, for sending me a Christmas letter like that." Oh, thedear old playmate, the tease, the eyes full of tenderness when thechild's shaft of satire hurt! He laughed gaily as he went through thehistorically famous test of courage in snuffing the flaring candle wickswith his fingers. The little cabin was warm, the night silent, not asound came from the lines a mile away to disturb the peaceful memories ofhome within the thirty thousand pickets needed to guard our far-spreadarmy. Men on both sides spoke this Christmas night, for they were oftennear and exchanged greetings as they called out, "Halloa, Johnny Reb,Merry Christmas!"

  "Same to you, Yank," and during that sacred night there was the truce ofGod and overhead the silence of the solemn stars.

  As the young Captain became altogether comfortable, his thoughts wanderedfar afield--always at last to Josiah's pansy, the many-masked Leila, andbehind her pretty feminine disguises the serious-minded woman for whom,as he smilingly consulted his fancy, he found no flower emblem to suithim. The letter he read once more represented many Leilas. Could heanswer all of them and abide too by the silence he meant to preserveuntil the war was over? The imp of mischief was at his side. There was nokind of personal word of herself in the letter, except that he wasordered to talk of John Penhallow and his adventures. He wrote far intothe Christmas night:

  "DEAR LEILA: To hear is to obey. I am to write of myself--of adventures.Nearness to death in the trenches is an every-second-day adventureenough--no one talks of it. Tom was ill-advised to report of me at home.I used to dream of the romance of war when I was a boy. There is verylittle romance in it, and much dirt, awful horrors of the dead andwounded, of battles lost or won, and waste beyond conception. After a bigfight or wearying march one could collect material for a rummage-salesuch as would rout Aunt Ann's ideal of an amusing auction of uselessthings.

  "My love to one and all, and above all to the dear Colonel who is neverlong out of my mind.

  "Yours truly,

  "JOHN PENHALLOW."

  "I put on this separate sheet for you alone the adventure you ask for. Itis the only one worth telling, and came to me this Christmas morning. Itwas strange enough.

  "An old Colonel caught me as I was about to visit Tom McGregor at thehospital. I was disgusted, but he wanted an engineer. He got me, alas! Werode far to our left over icy snow-crust. To cut my tale short, after wepassed our outlying pickets and I had answered a dozen questions, hesaid, 'Can you see their pickets?' I said, 'No, they are half a mile awayon the far side of a creek in the woods. That road leads to a bridge;they may be behind the creek.'

  "'Do you think it fordable?'

  "'I do not know.' Like a fool, I said, 'I will ride down the road and geta nearer look.' He would be much obliged. I rode Hoodoo down an icy hillwith a sharp lookout for their pickets. As I rode, I slipped my revolverout and let it hang at my wrist. I rode on cautiously. About a quarter ofa mile from the creek I made up my mind that I had gone far enough. Thecreek was frozen, as I might have known, and the colonel too. As Ichecked Hoodoo a shot rang out from a clump of pines on my right and ahorseman leaped into the road some twenty yards in front of me. I firedand missed him. He turned and rode pretty fast toward the bridge, turningto fire as he went. I like a fool rode after him. We exchanged shot aftershot. He was on the farther end of the bridge when he pulled up his horseand stopped short. He held up a hand; I felt for my sword, having emptiedmy revolver. It was rather ridiculous. By George! the man was laughing.We were not fifty feet apart when I reined up Hoodoo. We had each firedsix shots in vain--I had counted his.

  "He called out, 'A rather pretty duel, sir. Don't ride over the bridge.'A picket shot from the left singing over my head rather emphasized hiswarning. 'It would not be fair--you would ride right into my pickets.' Itwas an unusual bit of chivalry.

  "I called out, 'Thank you, I hope I have not hit you. May I ask yourname?'

  "'I am at your service. I am'--here Captain John wrotemerrily--'Scheherazade who says--

  "Being now sleepy, the Caliph will hear the amazing sequel to-morrownight or _later_.

  "There you have my adventure all but the end. If I do not hear more ofMiss Grey's personal adventures she will never--never, hear the name.

  "JOHN PENHALLOW."

  He laughed outright as he closed and directed the envelope. I suppose,he wrote in his diary, that as there are several Leilas, there are alsoseveral John Penhallows, and I am just now the mischievous lad who wasso much younger than Miss Grey. Would she laugh over the lesson of hisletter or be angry, or cry a little and feel ill-treated, or--and eventhat was possible--say it was of no moment who the man was. He felt thegaiety which in some men who have not the mere brute courage of thebull-dog is apt to follow for many hours the escape from a great danger.The boylike mischief of his letter was in part due to some return of thecheerful mood which possessed him after the morning's risks. He went outto question the night of the weather. As he looked over the snow and thenup at the mighty clock-work of the stars, he responded slowly to theawe this silentness of immeasurable forces was apt to produce; a perfectengine at the mills in noiseless motion always had upon him the sameeffect. As he moved, his knee reminded him of the morning's escape. Whenhe rode away from the bridge, with attentions from the enemy's picketsfollowing and came near the waiting colonel, his horse came down and likehis rider suffered for the fall on frozen ground.

  There was just then for a time less work than usual for the engineers,and he had begun to feel troubled by the fact that two weeks had gone bysince Leila wrote, without a home letter. Then it came and was brief:

  "DEAR JOHN: I have truly no better and no worse news to send about dearUncle Jim and this saddened home. To be quite frank with you, your lettermade me realize what is hardly felt as here in our home we become used towar news. I thought less of your mischievous attempt to torment mycuriosity than of your personal danger, and yet I know too well whatare the constant risks in your engineer duties, for I have found amongUncle Jim's books accounts of the siege of Sevastopol. As to your naughtyending, I do not care who the man was--why should I? I doubt if youreally know.

  "I am,Your seriously indifferentLEILA GREY.

  "P.S. I am ashamed to admit that I reopened my letter to tell you Ifibbed large. _Please_ not to tease me any more."

  He replied at once:

  "DEAR LEILA: I am off to the front as usual. The man was Henry Gre
y. Anamazing encounter! I had never seen him, as you may know. I did not waitto reply to him because the Rebel pickets were not so considerate astheir colonel. I recalled Uncle Jim's casual mention of Henry Grey as arather light-minded, quixotic man. I am glad he is, but imagine whata tragedy failed to materialize because two men were awkward with thepistol. But what a strange meeting too! It is not the only case. Acaptain I know took his own brother prisoner last month; the Rebel wouldnot shake hands with him. Do not tell Aunt Ann--or rather, do what seemsbest to you. I trust you, of course. The encounter made me want to knowyour uncle in some far-off happier day.

  "In haste, Yours,

  "JOHN PENHALLOW."