by Charles King
CHAPTER III.
It was one of Sam Waring's oddities that, like the hero of "HappyThoughts," other people's belongings seemed to suit him so much betterthan his own. The most immaculately dressed man in the regiment, he wasnever satisfied with the result of the efforts of the New York artistswhom he favored with his custom and his criticism. He would wear threeor four times a new coat just received from that metropolis, and spendnot a little time, when not on duty or in uniform, in studyingcritically its cut and fit in the various mirrors that hung about hisbachelor den, gayly humming some operatic air as he conducted thesurvey, and generally winding up with a wholesale denunciation of thecutter and an order to Ananias to go over and get some other fellow'scoat, that he might try the effect of that. These were liberties he tookonly with his chums and intimates, to be sure, but they were libertiesall the same, and it was delicious to hear the laugh with which hewould tell how Pierce had to dress in uniform when he went up to theopera Thursday night, or how, after he had worn Ferry's stylish morningsuit to make a round of calls in town and that young gentleman later onwent up to see a pretty girl in whom he felt a growing interest, herhateful little sister had come in and commented on his "borrowing Mr.Waring's clothes." No man in the battery would ever think of refusingSam the use of anything he possessed, and there were half a dozen youngfellows in the infantry who were just as ready to pay tribute to hiswhims. Nor was it among the men alone that he found such indulgence.Mrs. Cram had not known him a fortnight when, with twinkling eyes and abetraying twitch about the corners of his mouth, he appeared one morningto say he had invited some friends down to luncheon at the officers'mess and the mess had no suitable china, therefore he would thank her tosend over hers, also some table-cloths and napkins, and forks andspoons. When the Forty-Sixth Infantry were on their way to Texas and theofficers' families were entertained over-night at the barracks and hisrooms were to be occupied by the wife, sister, and daughters of CaptainCraney, Waring sent the battery team and spring wagon to town with anote to Mrs. Converse, of the staff, telling her the ladies had said somuch about the lovely way her spare rooms were furnished that he haddecided to draw on her for wash-bowls, pitchers, mosquito-frames, netsand coverlets, blankets, pillows, slips, shams, and anything else shemight think of. And Mrs. Converse loaded up the wagon accordingly. Thiswas the more remarkable in her case because she was one of the womenwith whom he had never yet danced, which was tantamount to saying thatin the opinion of this social bashaw Mrs. Converse was not considered agood partner, and, as the lady entertained very different views on thatsubject and was passionately fond of dancing, she had resented not alittle the line thus drawn to her detriment. She not only loaned,however, all he asked for, but begged to be informed if there were notsomething more she could do to help entertain his visitors. Waring senther some lovely flowers the next week, but failed to take her out evenonce at the staff german. Mrs. Cram was alternately aghast anddelighted at what she perhaps justly called his incomparable impudence.They were coming out of church together one lovely morning during thewinter. There was a crowd in the vestibule. Street dresses were thenworn looped, yet there was a sudden sound of rip, rent, and tear, and aportly woman gathered up the trailing skirt of a costly silken gown andwhirled with annihilation in her eyes upon the owner of the offendingfoot.
"That is far too elegant a skirt to be worn unlooped, madame," said Mrs.Cram's imperturbable escort, in his most suave and dulcet tones, liftinga glossy silk hat and bowing profoundly. And Mrs. Cram laughed all theway back to barracks at the recollection of the utter discomfiture inthe woman's face.
These are mere specimen bricks from the fabric which Waring had buildedin his few months of artillery service. The limits of the story are alltoo contracted to admit of extended detail. So, without furtherexpansion, it may be said that when he drove up to town on this eventfulApril day in Cram's wagon and Larkin's hat and Ferry's Hatfield clothes,with Pierce's precious London umbrella by his side and Merton's watchin his pocket, he was as stylish and presentable a fellow as ever issuedfrom a battery barrack, and Jeffers, Cram's English groom, mutelyapproved the general appearance of his prime favorite among the officersat the post, at most of whom he opened his eyes in cockney amaze, andcritically noted the skill with which Mr. Waring tooled the spiritedbays along the levee road.
Nearly a mile above the barracks, midway between the long embankment totheir left and the tall white picket fence surmounted by the olive-greenfoliage of magnolias and orange-trees on the other hand, they had comeupon a series of deep mud-holes in the way, where the seepage-water fromthe rapidly-rising flood was turning the road-way into a pond. Stuckhelplessly in the mud, an old-fashioned cabriolet was halted. Its driverwas out and up to his knees thrashing vainly at his straining,staggering horse. The tortuous road-way was blocked, but Waring had beenup and down the river-bank too many times both day and night to bedaunted by a matter so trivial. He simply cautioned Jeffers to lean wellover the inner wheel, guided his team obliquely up the slope of thelevee, and drove quietly along its level top until abreast the scene ofthe wreck. One glance into the interior of the cab caused him suddenlyto stop, to pass the reins back to Jeffers, to spring down the slopeuntil he stood at the edge of the sea of mud. Here he raised his hat andcried,--
"Madame Lascelles! madame! this is indeed lucky--for me. Let me get youout."
At his call a slender, graceful woman who was gazing in anxiety anddismay from the opposite side of the cab and pleading with the drivernot to beat his horse, turned suddenly, and a pair of lovely dark eyeslighted up at sight of his face. Her pallor, too, gave instant place toa warm flush. A pretty child at her side clapped her little hands andscreamed with delight,--
"_Maman! maman! C'est M'sieu_' Vayreeng; _c'est_ Sa-am."
"Oh, Monsieur Wareeng! I'm so glad you've come! Do speak to that man! Itis horrible the way he beat that poor horse.--_Mais non_, Nin Nin!" shecried, reproving the child, now stretching forth her little arms to herfriend and striving to rise and leap to him.
"I'd like to know how in hell I'm to get this cab out of such a hole asthis if I don't beat him," exclaimed the driver, roughly. Then oncemore, "Dash blank dash your infernal hide! I'll learn you to balk withme again!" Then down came more furious lashes on the quivering hide, andthe poor tortured brute began to back, thereby placing the frailfour-wheeler in imminent danger of being upset.
"Steady there! Hold your hand, sir! Don't strike that horse again. Juststand at his head a moment and keep quiet till I get these ladies out,"called Waring, in tone quiet yet commanding.
"I'll get 'em out myself in my own way, if they'll only stop theirinfernal yellin'," was the coarse reply.
"Oh, Monsieur Wareeng," exclaimed the lady in undertone, "the man hasbeen drinking, I am sure. He has been so rude in his language."
Waring waited for no more words. Looking quickly about him, he saw aplank lying on the levee slope. This he seized, thrust one end acrossthe muddy hole until it rested in the cab, stepped lightly across, tookthe child in his arms, bore her to the embankment and set her down,then sprang back for her young mother, who, trembling slightly, rose andtook his outstretched hand just as another lash fell on the horse's backand another lurch followed. Waring caught at the cab-rail with one hand,threw the other arm about her slender waist, and, fairly lifting littleMadame over the wheel, sprang with her to the shore, and in an instantmore had carried her, speechless and somewhat agitated, to the top ofthe levee.
"Now," said he, "let me drive you and Nin Nin wherever you were going.Is it to market or church?"
"_Mais non_--to _bonne maman's_, of whom it is the _fete_," cried theeager little one, despite her mother's stern orders of silence. "Look!"she exclaimed, showing her dainty little legs and feet in creamy silkenhose and kid.
It was "bonne maman," explained Madame, who had ordered the cab fromtown for them, never dreaming of the condition of the river road orsuspecting that of the driver.
"So much the happier for me," laughed Waring
.--"Take the front seat,Jeffers.--Now, Nin Nin, _ma fleurette_, up with you!" And the delightedchild was lifted to her perch in the stylish trap she had so oftenadmired. "Now, madame," he continued, extending his hand.
But Madame hung back, hesitant and blushing.
"Oh, Monsieur Wareeng, I cannot, I must not. Is it not that some oneshall extricate the cab?"
"No one from this party, at least," laughed Waring, mischievously makingthe most of her idiomatic query. "Your driver is more _cochon_ than_cocher_, and if he drowns in that mud 'twill only serve him right. Likeyour famous compatriot, he'll have a chance to say, 'I will drown, andno one shall help me,' for all I care. The brute! _Allons!_ I will driveyou to _bonne maman's_ of whom it is the _fete_. Bless that babydaughter! And Madame d'Hervilly shall bless Nin Nin's _tout devoue_Sam."
And Madame Lascelles found further remonstrance useless. She was liftedinto the seat, by which time the driver, drunken and truculent, hadwaded after them.
"Who's to pay for this?" was his surly question.
"You, I fancy, as soon as your employer learns of your driving into thathole," was Waring's cool reply.
"Well, by God, I want five dollars for my fare and trouble, and I wantit right off." And, whip in hand, the burly, mud-covered fellow camelurching up the bank. Across the boggy street beyond the white picketfence the green blinds of a chamber window in an old-fashioned Southernhouse were thrown open, and two feminine faces peered forth, interestedspectators of the scene.
"Here, my man!" said Waring, in low tone, "you have earned no fivedollars, and you know it. Get your cab out, come to Madame d'Hervilly's,where you were called, and whatever is your due will be paid you; but nomore of this swearing or threatening,--not another word of it."
"I want my money, I say, and I mean to have it. I'm not talking to you;I'm talking to the lady that hired me."
"But I have not the money. It is for my mother--Madame d'Hervilly--topay. You will come there."
"I want it now, I say. I've got to hire teams to get my cab out. I gotstalled here carrying you and your child, and I mean to have my payright now, or I'll know the reason why. Your swell friend's got themoney. It's none of my business how you pay him."
But that ended the colloquy. Waring's fist landed with resounding whackunder the cabman's jaw, and sent him rolling down into the mud below. Hewas up, floundering and furious, in less than a minute, cursing horriblyand groping in the pocket of his overcoat.
"It's a pistol, lieutenant. Look out!" cried Jeffers.
There was a flash, a sharp report, a stifled cry from the cab, a screamof terror from the child. But Waring had leaped lightly aside, andbefore the half-drunken brute could cock his weapon for a second shot hewas felled like a log, and the pistol wrested from his hand and hurledacross the levee. Another blow crashed full in his face as he strove tofind his feet, and this time his muddled senses warned him it were bestto lie still.
Two minutes more, when he lifted his battered head and strove to stanchthe blood streaming from his nostrils, he saw the team driving brisklyaway up the crest of the levee; and, overcome by maudlin contemplationof his foeman's triumph and his own wretched plight, the cabman sat himdown and wept aloud.
And to his succor presently there came ministering angels from acrossthe muddy way, one with a brogue, the other in a bandanna, and betweenthe two he was escorted across a dry path to the magnolia-fringedenclosure, comforted with soothing applications without and within, andencouraged to tell his tale of woe. That he should wind it up withvehement expression of his ability to thrash a thousand swells like theone who had abused him, and a piratical prophecy that he'd drink hisheart's blood within the week, was due not so much to confidence in hisown powers, perhaps, as to the strength of the whiskey with which he hadbeen liberally supplied. Then the lady of the house addressed her Ethiopmaid-of-all-work:
"Go you over to Anatole's now, 'Louette. Tell him if any of the byes arethere I wahnt 'um. If Dawson is there, from the adjutant's office, Iwahnt him quick. Tell him it's Mrs. Doyle, and never mind if he's beendhrinkin'; he shall have another dhrop here."
And at her beck there presently appeared three or four besotted-lookingspecimens in the coarse undress uniform of the day, poor devils, absentwithout leave from their post below and hoping only to be able to begor steal whiskey enough to stupefy them before the patrol should comeand drag them away to the guard-house. Promise of liberal reward inshape of liquor was sufficient to induce three of their number to go outwith the fuming cabman and help rescue his wretched brute and trap. Themoment they were outside the gate she turned on the fourth, a pallid,sickly man, whose features were delicate, whose hands were white andslender, and whose whole appearance, despite glassy eyes and tremulousmouth and limbs, told the pathetic story of better days.
"You're off ag'in, are you? Sure I heerd so, and you're mad for a dhrinknow. Can ye write, Dawson, or must I brace you up furrst?"
An imploring look, an unsteady gesture, alone answered.
"Here, thin, wait! It's absinthe ye need, my buck. Go you into that roomnow and wash yourself, and I'll bring it, and whin the others come backfor their whiskey I'll tell 'um you've gone. You're to do what I say,now, and Doyle will see you t'rough; if not, it's back to that hell inthe guard-house you'll go, my word on it."
"Oh, for God's sake, Mrs. Doyle----" began the poor wretch,imploringly, but the woman shut him off.
"In there wid you! the others are coming." And, unbarring the frontdoor, she presently admitted the trio returning to claim the fruits oftheir honest labor.
"Is he gone? Did he tell you what happened?"
"He's gone, yes," answered one: "he's gone to get square with thelieutenant and his cockney dog-robber. He says they both jumped on himand kicked his face in when he was down and unarmed and helpless. Was helyin'?"
"Oh, they bate him cruel. But did he tell you of the lady--who it wasthey took from him?"
"Why, sure, the wife of that old Frenchman, Lascelles, that livesbelow,--her the lieutenant's been sparkin' this three months."
"The very wan, mind ye!" replied the lady of the house, with significantemphasis and glance from her bleary eyes; "the very wan," she finished,with slow nodding accompaniment of the frowzy head. "And that's the kindof gintlemen that undertakes to hold up their heads over soldiers likeDoyle. Here, byes, dhrink now, but be off ag'inst his coming. He'll behere any minute. Take this to comfort ye, but kape still about this tillye see me ag'in--or Doyle. Now run." And with scant ceremony the drearyparty was hustled out through a paved court-yard to a gate-way openingon a side street. Houses were few and scattering so far below the heartof the city. The narrow strip of land between the great river and theswamp was cut up into walled enclosures, as a rule,--abandonedwarehouses and cotton-presses, moss-grown one-storied frame structures,standing in the midst of desolate fields and decrepit fences. Only amongthe peaceful shades of the Ursuline convent and the warlike flankingtowers at the barracks was there aught that spoke of anything butdemoralization and decay. Back from the levee a block or two the doublelines of strap-iron stretched over a wooden causeway between parallelwet ditches gave evidence of some kind of a railway, on which, at rareintervals, jogged a sleepy mule with a sleepier driver and a musty oldrattle-trap of a car,--a car butting up against the animal's lazy hocksand rousing him occasionally to ringing and retaliatory kicks. Aroundthe barracks the buildings were closer, mainly in the way of saloons;then came a mile-long northward stretch of track, with wet fields oneither side, fringed along the river by solid structures and walledenclosures that told of days more prosperous than those which so closelyfollowed the war. It was to one of these graceless drinking-shops andinto the hands of a rascally "dago" known as Anatole that Mrs. Doylecommended her trio of allies, and being rid of them she turned back toher prisoner, their erstwhile companion. Absinthe wrought its work onhis meek and pliant spirit, and the shaking hand was nerved to do thewoman's work. At her dictation, with such corrections as his bettereducation suggested, two let
ters were draughted, and with these in herhand she went aloft. In fifteen minutes she returned, placed one ofthese letters in an envelope already addressed to Monsieur ArmandLascelles, No.--Rue Royale, the other she handed to Dawson. It wasaddressed in neat and delicate feminine hand to Colonel Braxton, JacksonBarracks.
"Now, Dawson, ye can't see her this day, and she don't want ye till youcan come over here sober. Off wid ye now to barracks. They're all outat inspection yet, and will be for an hour. Lay this wid the colonel'smail on his desk, and thin go you to your own. Come to me thisafthernoon for more dhrink if ye can tell me what he said and did whenhe read it. No! no more liquor now. That'll brace ye till dinnertime,and more would make ye dhrunk."
Miserably he plodded away down the levee, while she, his ruler, throwingon a huge, dirty white sun-bonnet, followed presently in his tracks, and"shadowed" him until she saw him safely reach the portals of thebarracks after one or two fruitless scouts into wayside bars in hope offinding some one to treat or trust him to a drink. Then, retracing hersteps a few blocks, she rang sharply at the lattice gate opening into acool and shaded enclosure, beyond which could be seen the white-pillaredveranda of a long, low, Southern homestead. A grinning negro boyanswered the summons.
"It's you, is it, Alphonse? Is your mistress at home?"
"No; gone town,--_chez Madame d'Hervilly_."
"Madame Devillease, is it? Very well; you skip to town wid that note andget it in your master's hands before the cathedral clock strikestwelve, or ye'll suffer. There's a car in t'ree minutes."
And then, well content with her morning's work, the consort of thesenior first lieutenant of Light Battery "X" (a dame whose credentialswere too clouded to admit of her reception or recognition within thelimits of a regular garrison, where, indeed, to do him justice, Mr.Doyle never wished to see her, or, for that matter, anywhere else)betook herself to the magnolia-shaded cottage where she dwelt beyond thepale of military interference, and some hours later sent 'Louette to sayto Doyle she wanted him, and Doyle obeyed. In his relief at finding thecolonel had probably forgotten the peccadillo for which he expectedpunishment, in blissful possession of Mr. Waring's sitting-room andsupplies now that Waring was absent, the big Irishman was preparing tospend the time in drinking his junior's health and whiskey anddiscoursing upon the enormity of his misconduct with all comers, whenAnanias entered and informed him there was a lady below who wished tosee him,--"lady" being the euphemism of the lately enfranchised for thefemales of their race. It was 'Louette with the mandate from hermistress, a mandate he dared not disregard.
"Say I'll be along in a minute," was his reply, but he sighed and sworeheavily, as he slowly reascended the stair. "Give me another dhrink,smut," he ordered Ananias, disregarding Ferry's suggestion, "Betterdrink no more till after dark." Then, swallowing his potion, he wentlurching down the steps without another word. Ferry and Pierce steppedto the gallery and gazed silently after him as he veered around to thegate leading to the old war-hospital enclosure where the battery wasquartered. Already his walk was perceptibly unsteady.
"Keeps his head pretty well, even after his legs are gone," said Ferry."Knows too much to go by the sally-port. He's sneaking out through theback gate."
"Why, what does he go out there for, when he has the run of Waring'ssideboard?"
"Oh, didn't you hear? Mrs. Doyle sent for him."
"That's it, is it? Sometimes I wonder which one of those two will killthe other."
"Oh, he wouldn't dare. That fellow is an abject coward in the dark. Hebelieves in ghosts, spooks, banshees, and wraiths,--everythinguncanny,--and she'd haunt him if he laid his hands on her. There's onlyone thing that he'd be more afraid of than Bridget Doyle living, andthat would be Bridget Doyle dead."
"Why can't he get rid of her? What hold has she on him? This thing's aninfernal scandal as it stands. She's only been here a month or so, andeverybody in garrison knows all about her, and these doughboys don'tmake any bones about chaffing us on our lady friends."
"Well, everybody supposed he had got rid of her years ago. He shook herwhen he was made first sergeant, just before the war. Why, I've heardsome of the old stagers say there wasn't a finer-looking soldier in allthe regiment than Jim Doyle when he married that specimen atBrownsville. Doyle, too, supposed she was dead until after he got hiscommission, then she reappeared and laid claim to him. It would havebeen an easy enough matter five years ago to prove she had forfeited allrights, but now he can't. Then she's got some confounded hold on him, Idon't know what, but it's killing the poor beggar. Good thing for theregiment, though: so let it go."
"Oh, I don't care a rap how soon we're rid of him or her,--the soonerthe better; only I hate to hear these fellows laughing and sneeringabout Mrs. Doyle." And here the young fellow hesitated. "Ferry, you knowI'm as fond of Sam Waring as any of you. I liked him better than any manin his class when we wore the gray. When they were yearlings we wereplebes, and devilled and tormented by them most unmercifully day andnight. I took to him then for his kindly, jolly ways. No one ever knewhim to say or do a cross or brutal thing. I liked him more every year,and missed him when he was graduated. I rejoiced when he got histransfer to us. It's because I like him so much that I hate to hearthese fellows making their little flings now."
"What flings?" said Ferry.
"Well, you know as much as I do. You've heard as much, too, I haven't adoubt."
"Nobody's said anything about Sam Waring in my hearing that reflected onhim in any way worth speaking of," said Ferry, yet not very stoutly.
"Not on him so much, perhaps, as the world looks at this sort of thing,but on her. She's young, pretty, married to a man years her senior, asnuffy, frowzy old Frenchman. She's alone with her child and one or twoservants from early morning till late evening, and with that weazenedlittle monkey of a man the rest of the time. The only society she seesis the one or two gossipy old women of both sexes who live along thelevee here. The only enjoyment she has is when she can get to hermother's up in town, or run up to the opera when she can get Lascellesto take her. That old mummy cares nothing for music and still less forthe dance; she loves both, and so does Waring. _Monsieur le Mari_ goesout into the foyer between the acts to smoke his cigarette and gossipwith other relics like himself. Waring has never missed a night shehappened to be there for the last six weeks. I admit he is there many atime when she is not, but after he's had a few words with the ladies inthe general's box, what becomes of him? I don't know, because I'm seldomthere, but Dryden and Taggart and Jack Merton of the infantry can tellyou. He is sitting by her in the D'Hervilly _loge grillee_ and goingover the last act with her and rhapsodizing about Verdi, Bellini,Mozart, or Gounod,--Gounod especially and the garden-scene from'Faust.'"
"Isn't her mother with her, and, being in mourning, doesn't she have tostay in her latticed loge instead of promenading in the foyer anddrinking that two-headaches-for-a-picayune punch?" queried Ferry, eagerfor a diversion.
"Suppose she is," answered Pierce, stoutly. "I'm a crank,--strait-laced,if you like. It's the fault of my bringing up. But I know, and you know,that that little woman, in her loneliness and in her natural longing forsome congenial spirit to commune with, is simply falling madly in lovewith Sam Waring, and there will be tragedy here before we can stop it."
"See here, Pierce," asked Ferry, "do you suppose Mrs. Cram would be soloyal a friend to Waring if she thought there was anything wrong in hisattentions to Madame Lascelles? Do you suppose Cram himself wouldn'tspeak?"
"He has spoken."
"He has? To whom?"
"To me, three days ago; said I had known Waring longest and best,perhaps was his most intimate friend, and he thought I ought to warn himof what people were saying."
"What have you done?"
"Nothing yet: simply because I know Sam Waring so well that I know justwhat he'd do,--go and pull the nose of the man who gossiped about himand her. Then we'd have a fight on our hands."
"Well, we can fight, I suppose, can't we?"
"No
t without involving a woman's name."
"Oh, good Lord, Pierce, was there ever a row without a woman _au fond_?"
"That's a worm-eaten witticism, Ferry, and you're too decent a fellow,as a rule, to be cynical. I've got to speak to Waring, and I don't knowhow to do it. I want your advice."
"Well, my advice is _Punch's_: Don't. Hello! here's Dryden. Thought youwere on court duty up at head-quarters to-day, old man. Come in and havea wet?" Mr. Ferry had seen some happy days at Fortress Monroe when theships of Her Majesty's navy lay off the Hygeia and the gallants ofEngland lay to at the bar, and Ferry rejoiced in the vernacular of theUnited Service, so far as he could learn it, as practised abroad.
"Thanks. Just had one over at Merton's. Hear you've been having reviewand all that sort of thing down here," said the infantryman, as helolled back in an easy-chair and planted his boot-heels on the galleryrail. "Glad I got out of it. Court met and adjourned at ten, so I camehome. How'd Waring get off?"
"Huh!--Cram's wagon," laughed Ferry, rather uncomfortably, however.
"Oh, Lord, yes, I know that. Didn't I see him driving Madame Lascellesup Rampart Street as I came down in the mule-car?"
And then Pierce and Ferry looked at each other, startled.
That evening, therefore, it was a comfort to both when Sam came toolingthe stylish turnout through the sally-port and his battery chums caughtsight of the Allertons. Pierce was just returning from stables, andFerry was smoking a pipe of _perique_ on the broad gallery, and bothhastened to don their best jackets and doff their best caps to theseinteresting and interested callers. Cram himself had gone off for a rideand a think. He always declared his ideas were clearer after a gallop.The band played charmingly. The ladies came out and made a picturesquecroquet-party on the green carpet of the parade. The officers clusteredabout and offered laughing wagers on the game. A dozen romping childrenwere playing joyously around the tall flag-staff. The air was rich withthe fragrance of the magnolia and Cape jasmine, and glad with music andsoft and merry voices. Then the stirring bugles rang out their livelysummons to the batterymen beyond the wall. The drums of the infantryrolled and rattled their echoing clamor. The guard sprang into ranks,and their muskets, glistening in the slanting beams of the setting sun,clashed in simultaneous "present" to the red-sashed officer of the day,and that official raised his plumed hat to the lieutenant with thelovely girl by his side and the smiling elders on the back seat as theteam once more made the circuit of the post on the back trip to town,and Miss Flora Allerton clasped her hands and looked enthusiastically upinto her escort's face.
"Oh," she cried, "isn't it all just too lovely for anything! Why, Ithink your life here must be like a dream."
But Miss Allerton, as Mrs. Cram had said, sometimes gushed, and life atJackson Barracks was no such dream as it appeared.
The sun went down red and angry far across the tawny flood of therushing river. The night lights were set at the distant bend below. Thestars came peeping through a shifting filmy veil. The big trees on thelevee and about the flanking towers began to whisper and complain andcreak, and the rising wind sent long wisps of straggly cloud racingacross the sky. The moon rose pallid and wan, hung for a while over thedense black mass of moss-grown cypress in the eastward swamp, then hidher face behind a heavy bank of clouds, as though reluctant to look uponthe wrath to come, for a storm was rising fast and furious to break uponand deluge old Jackson Barracks.