CHAPTER III
THE MOSAIC CLUB
Prescott was a staff officer and a captain, bearing a report from theCommander of the Army of Northern Virginia to the President of theConfederacy; but having been told in advance that it was perfunctory inits nature, and that no haste was necessary in its delivery, he waiteduntil the next morning before seeking the White House, as the residenceof the President was familiarly called at Richmond, in imitation ofWashington. This following of old fashions and old ways often struckPrescott as a peculiar fact in a country that was rebelling againstthem.
"If we succeed in establishing a new republic," he said to himself, "itwill be exactly like the one that we quit."
He was told at the White House that the President was then in conferencewith the Secretary of War, but Mr. Sefton would see him. He had heardoften of Mr. Sefton, whose place in the Government was not clearlydefined, but of whose influence there was no doubt. He was usually knownas the Secretary. "The Secretary of what?" "The Secretary ofeverything," was the reply.
Mr. Sefton received Prescott in a large dark room that looked like aworkshop. Papers covered the tables and others were lying on the floor,indicating the office of a man who worked. The Secretary himself wasstanding in the darkest corner--a thin, dark, rather small man of aboutforty, one who seemed to be of a nervous temperament ruled by a strongwill.
Prescott remembered afterward that throughout the interview theSecretary remained in the shadow and he was never once able to gain aclear view of his face. He found soon that Mr. Sefton, a remarkable manin all respects, habitually wore a mask, of which the mere shadow in aroom was the least part.
Prescott gave his report, and the Secretary, after reading itattentively, said in a singularly soft voice:
"I have heard of you, Captain Prescott. I believe that you distinguishedyourself in the great charge at Gettysburg?"
"Not more than five thousand others."
"At least you came out of the charge alive, and certainly five thousanddid not do that."
Prescott looked at him suspiciously. Did he mean to cast some slur uponhis conduct? He was sorry he could not see the Secretary's face moreclearly, and he was anxious also to be gone. But the great man seemed tohave another object in view.
"I hear that there is much discontent among the soldiers," said Mr.Sefton in a gentle, sympathetic voice. "They complain that we shouldsend them supplies and reinforcements, do they not?"
"I believe I have heard such things said," reluctantly admittedPrescott.
"Then I have not been misinformed. This illustrates, Captain, the lackof serious reflection among the soldiers. A soldier feels hungry. Hewants a beefsteak, soft bread and a pot of coffee. He does not see themand at once he is angry. He waves his hand and says: 'Why are they nothere for me?' The Government does not own the secret of Arabian magic.We cannot create something where nothing is."
Prescott felt the Secretary gazing at him as if he alone were to blamefor this state of affairs. Then the door opened suddenly and several menentered. One, tall, thin and severe of countenance, the typical Southerngentleman of the old school, Prescott recognized at once as thePresident of the Confederacy. The others he inferred were members of hisCabinet, and he rose respectfully, imitating the example of Mr. Sefton,but he did not fail to notice that the men seemed to be disturbed.
"A messenger from General Lee, Mr. President," said Mr. Sefton, in hissmooth voice. "He repeats his request for reinforcements."
The worried look of the President increased. He ran his hand across hisbrow.
"I cannot furnish them," he said. "It is no use to send any more suchrequests to me. Even the conscription will not fill up our armies unlesswe take the little boys from their marbles and the grandfathers fromtheir chimney-corners. I doubt whether it would do so then."
Mr. Sefton bowed respectfully, but added nothing to his statement.
"The price of gold has gone up another hundred points, Mr. Sefton," saidthe President. "Our credit in Europe has fallen in an equal ratio andour Secretary of State has found no way to convince foreign governmentsthat they are undervaluing us."
Prescott looked curiously at the Secretary of State--it was the firsttime that he had ever seen him--a middle-aged man with broad features ofan Oriental cast. He it was to whom many applied the words "the brainsof the Confederacy." Now he was not disturbed by the President's evidentannoyance.
"Why blame me, Mr. President?" he said. "How long has it been since wewon a great victory? Our credit is not maintained here in Richmond norby our agents in Europe, but on the battlefield."
Mr. Sefton looked at Prescott as if to say: "Just as I told you."Prescott thought it strange that they should speak so plainly beforehim, a mere subordinate, but policy might be in it, he concluded onsecond thought. They might desire their plain opinion to get backinformally to General Lee. There was some further talk, all of whichthey seemed willing for him to hear, and then they returned to the innerroom, taking Mr. Sefton, who bade Prescott wait.
The Secretary returned in a half-hour, and taking Prescott's arm with anappearance of great familiarity and friendliness, said:
"I shall walk part of the way with you, if you will let me, CaptainPrescott. The President asks me to say to you that you are a gallantsoldier and he appreciates your services. Therefore, he hopes that youwill greatly enjoy your leave of absence in Richmond."
Prescott flushed with pleasure. He liked a compliment and did not deemit ignoble to show his pleasure. He was gratified, too, at theconfidence that the Secretary, a man whose influence he knew was notexaggerated, seemed to put in him, and he thanked him sincerely.
So they walked arm in arm into the street, and those who met them raisedtheir hats to the powerful Secretary, and incidentally to Prescott also,because he was with Mr. Sefton.
"If we win," said Mr. Sefton, "Richmond will become a great city--one ofthe world's capitals."
"Yes--if we win," replied Prescott involuntarily.
"Why, you don't think that we shall lose, do you?" asked the Secretaryquickly.
Prescott was confused and hesitated. He regretted that he had spoken anypart of his thoughts, and felt that the admission had been drawn fromhim, but now thought it better to be frank than evasive.
"Napoleon said that Providence was on the side of the heaviestbattalions," he replied, "and therefore I hope ours will increase inweight soon."
The Secretary did not seem to be offended, leaning rather to the otherside as he commended the frankness of the young Captain's speech. Thenhe began to talk to him at great length about the army, its condition,its prospects and the spirit of the soldiers. He revealed a knowledge ofthe camp that surprised Prescott and aroused in him admiration mingledwith a lingering distrust.
Mr. Sefton seemed to him different, indeed, from the average Southerner.Very few Southern men at that time sought to conceal their feelings.Whatever their faults they were open, but Mr. Sefton wore his maskalways. Prescott's mind went back unconsciously to the stories he hadread of the agile Italian politicians of the Middle Ages, and for amoment paused at the doctrine of reincarnation. Then he was ashamed ofhimself. He was wronging Mr. Sefton, an able man devoted to the Southerncause--as everybody said.
They stopped just in front of Mrs. Prescott's house.
"You live here?" said the Secretary. "I know your mother. I cannot goin, but I thank you. And Miss Harley lives in the next house. I knowher, too--a spirited and beautiful woman. Good-day, Captain Prescott; Ishall see you again before you return to the army."
He left Prescott and walked back toward the White House. The youngcaptain entered his own home, thinking of what he had seen and heard,and the impression remained that he had given the Secretary fullinformation about the army.
Prescott received a call the next morning from his new friend Talbot.
"You are invited to a meeting of the Mosaic Club to-night at the houseof Mrs. Markham," he said.
"And what is the Mosaic Club?" asked Prescott.
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br /> "The Mosaic is a club without organization, by-laws or members!" repliedTalbot. "It's just the choice and congenial spirits of Richmond who havegot into the habit of meeting at one another's houses. They're worthknowing, particularly Mrs. Markham, the hostess to-night. She heard ofyou and told me to invite you. Didn't write you a note--stationery's toohigh."
Prescott looked doubtfully at his mother.
"Why, of course you'll go," she said. "You did not come home to sit hereall the time. I would not have you do that."
Talbot called for him shortly after dusk and the two strolled togethertoward the street where the Markham residence stood.
"Richmond is to be a great capital some day," said Talbot as they walkedon, "but, if I may use the simile, it's a little ragged andout-at-elbows now."
This criticism was drawn from him by a misstep into the mud, but hequickly regained the ill-paved sidewalk and continued his course withunbroken cheerfulness. The night was dark, the few and widely scatteredstreet lamps burned dimly, and the city loomed through the dusk,misshapen and obscure.
"Do you know," said Talbot, "I begin to believe that Richmond wouldn'tamount to much of a town in the North?"
"It would not," replied Prescott; "but we of the South are agriculturalpeople. Our pride is in the country rather than the towns."
A cheerful light shone from the windows of the Markham house as theyapproached it. When they knocked at the door it was opened by a colouredservant, and they passed into a large room, already full of people whowere talking and laughing as if they had known one another all theirlives. Prescott's first glimpse was of Helen Harley in a flowered silkdress, and he felt a thrill of gladness. Then he was presented to hishostess, Mrs. Markham, a small woman, very blonde, bright in attire andwearing fine jewels. She was handsome, with keen features and brillianteyes.
"You are from General Lee's camp," she said, "and it is a Yankee bulletthat has enabled you to come here. If it were not for those Yankeebullets we should never see our brave young officers; so it's an illball that brings nobody good."
She smiled into his eyes, and her expression was one of such greatfriendliness and candour that Prescott liked her at once. She held himand Talbot a few moments longer with light talk, and then he passed on.
It was a large room, of much width and greater length, containing heavymahogany furniture, while the floor was carpeted in dark colours. Thewhole effect would have been somber without the presence of so manypeople, mostly young, and the cheerful fire in the grate glowing redlyacross the shades of the carpet.
There were a half-dozen men, some in uniform and some in civilian garb,around Helen Harley, and she showed all a young girl's keen and naturaldelight in admiration and in the easy flow of talk. Both Raymond andWinthrop were in the circle, and so was Redfield, wearing a black frockcoat of unusual length and with rings on his fingers. Prescott wonderedwhy such a man should be a member of this group, but at that moment someone dropped a hand upon his shoulder and, turning, he beheld the tallfigure of Colonel Harley, Helen's brother.
"I, too, have leave of absence, Prescott," he said, "and what bettercould a man do than spend it in Richmond?"
Harley was a large, fair man, undeniably handsome, but with a slightexpression of weakness about the mouth. He had earned his militaryreputation and he visibly enjoyed it.
"Where could one find a more brilliant scene than this?" continued theColonel. "Ah, my boy, our Southern women stand supreme for beauty andwit!"
Prescott had been present before the war, both in his own country and inothers, at occasions far larger and far more splendid; but noneimpressed him like the present, with the never-failing contrast of campand battlefield from which he had come. There was in it, too, a singularpathos that appealed to his inmost heart. Some of the women wore dressesthat had belonged to their mothers in their youth, the attire of the menwas often strange and variegated, and nearly half the officers presenthad empty sleeves or bandaged shoulders. But no one seemed to noticethese peculiarities by eye or speech, nor was their gaiety assumed; itwas with some the gradual contempt of hardship brought about by use andwith others the temporary rebound from long depression.
"Come," said Talbot to his friend, "you must meet the celebrities.Here's George Bagby, our choicest humourist; Trav. Daniel, artist, poetand musician; Jim Pegram, Innes Randolph, and a lot more."
Prescott was introduced in turn to Richmond's most noted men of wit andmanners, the cream of the old South, and gradually all drew together inone great group. They talked of many things, of almost everything exceptthe war, of the news from Europe, of the books that they hadread--Scott and Dickens, Thackeray and Hugo--and of the music that theyhad heard, particularly the favourite arias of Italian opera.
Mrs. Markham and Miss Harley were twin stars in this group, and Prescottcould not tell which had the greater popularity. Mrs. Markham was themore worldly and perhaps the more accomplished; but the girl was allyouthful freshness, and there was about her an air of simplicity thatthe older woman lacked.
It gradually developed into a contest between them, heightened, so itseemed to Prescott, by the fact that Colonel Harley was always by theside of Mrs. Markham, and apparently made no effort to hide hisadmiration, while his sister was seeking without avail to draw him away.Prescott stood aside for a few moments to watch and then Raymond put hishand on his shoulder.
"You see in Mrs. Markham a very remarkable woman--the married belle,"said the editor. "The married belle, I understand, is an establishedfeature of life abroad, but she is as yet comparatively unknown in theSouth. Here we put a woman on the shelf at twenty--or at eighteen if shemarries then, as she often does."
Coffee and waffles were served at ten o'clock. Two coloured womenbrought in the coffee and the cups on a tray, but the ladies themselvesserved it.
"I apologize for the coffee," said Mrs. Markham. "I have a suspicionthat it is more or less bean, but the Yankee blockading fleet is veryactive and I dare any of you to complain."
"Served by your hand, the common or field bean becomes the finestmocha," said Mr. Pegram, with the ornate courtesy of the old South.
"And if any one dare to intimate that it is not mocha I shall challengehim immediately," said Winthrop.
"You will have to use a worse threat than that," said Mrs. Markham. "Iunderstand that at your last duel you hit a negro plowing in a cornfieldfifty yards from your antagonist."
"And scared the negro's mule half to death," added Raymond.
"But in your cause, Mrs. Markham, I couldn't miss," replied the gallantWinthrop, not at all daunted.
The waffles were brought in hot from the kitchen and eaten with thecoffee. After the refreshments the company began to play "forfeitessay." Two hats were handed around, all drawing a question from one hatand a word from the other. It became the duty of every one to connectquestion and word by a poem, essay, song or tale in time to be recitedat the next meeting. Then they heard the results of the last meeting.
"That's Innes Randolph standing up there in the corner and getting readyto recite," said Talbot to Prescott. "He's one of the cleverest men inthe South and we ought to have something good. He's just drawn from onehat the words 'Daddy Longlegs' and from the other 'What sort of shoe wasmade on the last of the Mohicans?' He says he doesn't ask to wait untilthe next meeting, but he'll connect them extempore. Now we'll see whathe has made out of them."
Randolph bowed to the company with mock humility, folded his handsacross his breast and recited:
"Old Daddy Longlegs was a sinner hoary, And punished for his wickedness according to the story; Between him and the Indian shoes the likeness doth come in, One made a mock o' virtue and one a moccasin."
He was interrupted by the entrance of a quiet little man, modestly cladin a civilian's suit of dark cloth.
"Mr. Sefton," said some one, and immediately there was a halt in thetalk, followed by a hush of expectation. Prescott noticed with interestthat the company looked uncomfortable. The effect that Mr. Se
ftonproduced upon all was precisely the same as that which he hadexperienced when with the Secretary.
Mr. Sefton was not abashed. He hurried up to the hostess and said:
"I hope I am not intrusive, Mrs. Markham, but I owed you a call, and Idid not know that your little club was in session. I shall go in a fewminutes."
Mrs. Markham pressed him to stay and become one of them for the evening,and her manner had every appearance of warmth.
"She believes he came to spy upon us," said Raymond, "and I am not suremyself that he didn't. He knew well enough the club was meeting hereto-night."
But the Secretary quickly lulled the feelings of doubt that existed inthe minds of the members of the Mosaic Club. He yielded readily to theinvitation of Mrs. Markham and then exerted himself to please, showing afacile grace in manner and speech that soon made him a welcome guest. Hequickly drifted to the side of Miss Harley, and talked so well from therich store of his experience and knowledge that her ear was more for himthan for any other.
"Is Mr. Sefton a bachelor?" asked Prescott of Winthrop.
Winthrop looked at the young Captain and laughed.
"Are you, too, hit?" Winthrop asked. "You need not flush, man; I haveproposed to her myself three times and I've been rejected as often. Iexpect to repeat the unhappy experience, as I am growing somewhat usedto it now and can stand it."
"But you have not answered my question: is the Secretary married?"
"Unfortunately, he is not."
There was an adjoining room to which the men were permitted to retirefor a smoke if the spirit moved them, and when Prescott entered it forthe first time he found it already filled, General Markham himselfpresiding. The General was a middle-aged man, heavy and slow of speech,who usually found the talk of the Mosaic Club too nimble for his witsand began his devotions to tobacco at an early hour.
"Have a cigar, Prescott," he said, holding up a box.
"That looks like a Havana label on the box," replied Prescott. "Are theygenuine?"
"They ought to be genuine Havanas," replied the General. "They cost mefive dollars apiece."
"Confederate money," added a colonel, Stormont; "and you'll be lucky ifyou get 'em next year for ten dollars apiece."
Colonel Stormont's eyes followed Prescott's round the room and helaughed.
"Yes, Captain Prescott," he said, "we are a somewhat peculiar company.There are now fourteen men in this room, but we can muster among us onlytwenty-one arms and twenty-four legs. It's a sort of general assembly,and I suppose we ought to send out a sergeant-at-arms for the missingmembers."
The Colonel touched his own empty left sleeve and added: "But, thankGod, I've got my right arm yet, and it's still at the service of theConfederacy."
The Member of Congress, Redfield, came into the room at this moment andlighted a pipe, remarking:
"There will be no Confederacy, Colonel, unless Lee moves out and attacksthe enemy."
He said this in a belligerent manner, his eyes half closed and his chinthrust forward as he puffed at his pipe.
An indignant flush swept over the veteran's face.
"Is this just a case of thumbs up and thumbs down?" he asked. "Is theGovernment to have a victory whenever it asks for it, merely because itdoes ask for it?"
Redfield still puffed slowly and deliberately at his pipe, and did notlower his chin a fraction from its aggravating height.
"General Lee overestimates the enemy," he said, "and has communicatedthe same tendency to all his men. It's a fatal mistake in war; it's afatal mistake, I tell you, sir. The Yankees fight poorly."
The flush on the face of the Confederate colonel deepened. He tapped hisempty sleeve and looked around at what he called the "missing members."
"You are in Congress, Mr. Redfield," he said, "and you have not seen theYankees in battle. Only those who have not met them on the field saythey cannot fight."
"I warn you that I am going to speak in Congress on the inaction of Leeand the general sloth of the military arm!" exclaimed Redfield.
"But, Mr. Redfield," said Prescott, seeking to soothe the Colonel and tostill the troubled waters, "we are outnumbered by the enemy in our frontat least two to one, we are half starved, and in addition our arms andequipment are much inferior to those of the Yankees."
Here Redfield burst into a passion. He thought it a monstrous shame, hesaid, that any subaltern should talk at will about the SouthernGovernment, whether its military or civil arm.
Prescott flushed deeply, but he hesitated for an answer. His was not ahot Southern temper, nor did he wish to have a quarrel in a club atwhich he was only a guest. While he sought the right words, Winthropspoke for him.
"I think, Mr. Redfield," said the editor, "that criticism of theGovernment is wholly right and proper. Moreover, not enough of it isdone."
"You should be careful, Mr. Winthrop, how far you go," replied Redfield,"or you may find your printing presses destroyed and yourself inprison."
"Which would prove that instead of fighting for freedom we are fightingfor despotism. But I am not afraid," rejoined the editor. "Moreover, Mr.Redfield, besides telling you my opinion of you here, I am alsoperfectly willing to print it in my paper. I shall answer for all that Isay or write."
Raymond was sitting at a table listening, and when Winthrop finishedthese words, spoken with much fire and heat, he took out a note-book andregarded it gravely.
"Which would make, according to my entry here--if Mr. Redfield choosesto challenge--your ninth duel for the present season," he said.
There was an equivocal smile on the face of nearly every one present asthey looked at the Member of Congress and awaited his reply. What thatwould have been they never knew, because just at that moment enteredMr. Sefton, breathing peace and good will. He had heard the last words,but he chose to view them in a humourous light. He pooh-poohed suchfolly as the rash impulses of young men. He was sure that his friendRedfield had not meant to cast any slur upon the army, and he wasequally sure that Winthrop, whose action was right-minded were his pointof view correct, was mistaken as to the marrow of Redfield's speech.
The Secretary had a peculiarly persuasive power which quickly exertedits influence upon Winthrop, Stormont and all the others. Winthrop wasgood-natured, avowing that he had no cause of quarrel with anybody ifnobody had any with him, and Redfield showed clearly his relief. Itseemed to Prescott that the Member of Congress had gone further than heintended.
No breath of these stormy airs was allowed to blow from the smoking-roomupon the ladies, and when Prescott presently rejoined them he foundvivacity and gaiety still prevalent. Prescott's gaze dwelt longest onMiss Harley, who was talking to the Secretary. He noted again the lookof admiration in the eyes of Mr. Sefton, and that feeling of jealousywhich he would not have recognized had it not been for Talbot'shalf-jesting words returned to him. He would not deny to himself nowthat Helen Harley attracted him with singular force. There was about heran elusive charm; perhaps it was the slight trace of foreign look andmanner that added to her Southern beauty a new and piquant grace.
Mr. Sefton was talking in smooth, liquid tones, and the others had drawnback a little in deference to the all-powerful official, while the girlwas pleased, too. She showed it in her slightly parted lips, her vivideyes and the keen attention with which she listened to all that he said.
Mrs. Markham followed Prescott's look. An ironical smile trembled for amoment on her lips. Then she said:
"The Secretary, the astute Mr. Sefton, is in love."
She watched Prescott keenly to notice the effect upon him of what shesaid, but he commanded his countenance and replied with a pretense ofindifference:
"I think so, too, and I give him the credit of showing extremely goodtaste."
Mrs. Markham said no more upon the subject, and presently Prescott askedof Miss Harley the privilege of taking her home when the club adjourned,after the universal custom among the young in Southern towns.
"My shoulder is a little lame yet, but I am sure t
hat I shall guard yousafely through the streets if you will only let me try," he addedgallantly.
"I shall be pleased to have you go," she replied.
"I would lend you my carriage and horses," said Mrs. Markham, who stoodby, "but two of my horses were killed in front of an artillery wagon atAntietam, another fell valourously and in like manner at Gettysburg, andthe fourth is still in service at the front. I am afraid I have noneleft, but at any rate you are welcome to the carriage."
Prescott laughingly thanked her but declined. The Secretary approachedat that moment and asked Miss Harley if he might see her home.
"I have just accepted Captain Prescott's escort, but I thank you for thehonour, Mr. Sefton," she replied.
Mr. Sefton flashed Prescott a single look, a look that the young Captaindid not like; but it was gone in a moment like a streak of summerlightning, and the Secretary was as bland and smiling as ever.
"Again do I see that we civilians cannot compete with the military," hesaid.
"It was not his shoulder straps; he was quicker than you," said Mrs.Markham with a soft laugh.
"Then I shall not be a laggard the next time," replied the Secretary ina meaning tone.
The meeting of the club came to an end a half-hour later, but firstthere was a little ceremony. The coffee was brought in for the third andlast time and all the cups were filled.
"To the cause!" said General Markham, the host. "To the cause that isnot lost!"
"To the cause that is right, the cause that is not lost," all repeated,and they drank solemnly.
Prescott's feelings as he drank the toast were of a curiously minglednature. There was a mist in his eyes as he looked upon this gathering ofwomen and one-armed men all turning so brave a face and so bold a heartto bad fortune. And he wished, too, that he could believe as firmly asthey in the justice of the cause. The recurring doubts troubled him. Buthe drank the toast and then prepared for departure.
Before the Dawn: A Story of the Fall of Richmond Page 3