Shoulder-Straps: A Novel of New York and the Army, 1862

by Henry Morford

  CHAPTER XXVII.

  SOCIETY AND SHOULDER-STRAPS AT THE FALLS--TOM LESLIE ANNEXINGCANADA--MEETING OF THE NEW YORKERS--ANOTHER RENCONTRE, A MYSTERIOUSDISAPPEARANCE AND A GENERAL WONDER.

  Tom Leslie was not left to loneliness and his own resources very long atthe Cataract, for Walter Lane Harding reached Niagara at noon on Monday,having left New York on Sunday evening. Though even had Leslie been leftto his "own resources," these resources were somewhat more numerous thanusual, and he was never much in the habit of being so bored by Time asto be obliged to lay plots against its life. In the first place--no,that should be the _second_ place--he had his duties as anewspaper-correspondent at a leading and fashionable resort, whichentailed a letter every day, but which did not entail, let us say, thechronicling of the details of hops and evening assemblies, after amanner somewhat scandalously prevalent, with descriptions of the"charming dress worn by Miss A----," the "elegance and grace of theaccomplished Miss B----," and all the other disgusting and indecentJenkinsism of the initials, together with fulsome laudations of thetable and even the laundry of the hotel, leading to the impression thatthe correspondent is upon free board and even free _washing_! Ourcosmopolitan had outlived that phase of callow journalism, long before;and the managing-editor would have been a bold one who should now haveproposed to him to re-enter that most contemptible of all literaryharness. What he was to write and what he _did_ write, catching up theprevailing topics of conversation and tones of feeling, with sensationaldescriptions of scenery and incident interspersed like under-tones tojoyous music,--men who have hearts, brains and breeding will at oncerecognize, and others will never know under any detail of information.

  What Tom Leslie found it necessary to do in the _first_ place, was towrite a letter per day, and occasionally two, to a certain ladytemporarily located at West Falls, Oneida County, that lady having verykindly given him her address with permission to use it, and havingpromised to answer these epistles with brief and maidenly little notesof her own. When it is said that as early as Monday he received one ofthose notes, and that for an hour thereafter he had very indefiniteideas as to which end of the human figure was intended for the purposesof locomotion, it will be understood that both parties to the compactwere carrying out their agreement with praiseworthy faithfulness.

  But even without the duties devolved upon him by love or newspapers, TomLeslie, a trained observer of society around him, would have foundplenty of occupation on the favorite promenades and in the parlors andhalls of the International and Cataract. Such a complete and totalrevolution in society was beginning to show itself, in the gradualdropping away of the old "good families" who years before had madeNiagara, Saratoga and Newport their Meccas at midsummer; such bloatedpretenders, with unlicked cubs of families, the "shoddy aristocracy" whohad first aided to make the war, and then make dishonest fortunes fromit, had come up to take their places, with everything about them, sireand son, mother and daughter, new, arrogant and unpleasant; and therewas such a marked absence of that Southern element which in other dayshad supplied money to obsequious waiters and green girls to needyfortune-hunters,--that there seemed to have been a complete turn of thekaleidoscope, and it almost puzzled an old habitue to know whether hehad not exchanged lands as well as years.

  And something else, of no secondary importance, presented its claims tonotice. This was the "blue and buttons"--the "absenteeism" to whichnotice has been before so often called during the progress of thisnarration. The result of the Seven Days' Battles was just coming to thesojourners at Niagara, through the Buffalo and New York papers; andwhile the Fourth of July address of McClellan to his soldiers, whichcame among the other items of news from the army, and which was then andthere being read and commented upon, showed that the last chance ofvictory was not yet lost, it showed at the same time how fearfully theranks of our armies had been thinned and what a necessity there wasthat every man who had pretended to be a soldier, and who had from anycause been so far absent from the field, should return at once and aidto sustain the perilled cause. And yet through every corridor of theleading houses at Niagara, in every parlor, on every walk and on everypiazza, sat, stood, walked, read, smoked or flirted, the blue-clothed,buttoned, shoulder-strapped, jaunty-capped, natty-whiskered andkillingly-moustached officers of the Union army, who had sworn to servethe country and aid to defend the republic,--but who paid no moreattention to the pleading call of the generals in the field or theauthoritative voice of the President, than they would have done to ablind piper playing in the street! It was easier to dawdle than to fightor even do duty in camp: it was more pleasant to bask in the admiringsmiles of silly girls who should have turned their eyes into basilisksto blast the indolent and miserable cowards--than to dare the July sunon the banks of the James, or run the risk of a flash from the enemy'scannon. Men who had the welfare of the republic at heart, turned sickwhen they looked at these hale, hearty and unwounded absentees from anhonorable service, every man of them daily breaking his oath to hiscountry and his obligations to his own conscience. This was one more ofthe phases of society at Niagara, which Tom Leslie was called upon tonote down and study during those opening days of July, and one of theevils which--shame to the nation that it should be so!--is only now[16]beginning to find a partial remedy.

  [Footnote 16: March 14th, 1863.]

  But it has been said that Walter Harding reached Niagara at noon onMonday, and thenceforth Leslie had a companion in most of his strollsand observations. Harding's calm face looked a little jaded with closeattention to business in hot weather and a time of financial trouble; hehad not been quite so frequent a rambler at the Falls as Leslie, and hadsome points of interest yet to visit in the neighborhood, especially onthe Canada side; he was fonder of the road and less fond of observationsamong the crowd of sight-seers and summer-loungers, than his friend; andas a consequence, after his coming, riding took the place of loungingto a great degree. Nothing with reference to these rides, most of whichtook place along the green lanes and among the fertile fields ofBrantford County, deserves notice in this place, except one phase of thepeculiar character of Leslie, half-earnest patriotism andhalf-tormenting mischief. He found plenty of ill-feeling towards theUnited States, among the Canadians, and as much effort as possible todepreciate the Federal currency. Thenceforth his special anxiety was tovex and annoy as many of the Canadians and native English as possible,and verbally, at least, to annex the two Canadas to the Union.

  Going up to the top of the Observatory at Lundy's Lane, on theirTuesday-morning ride, among the other visitors who were listening to theten-thousandth repetition of the story of the battle of Niagara (variedto suit customers), told by the old soldier who either was or was not aparticipant in the battle, they found one true John Bull from the mothercountry,--a stout, thick-set, florid-faced man of middle-age, notover-intelligent but very earnest and enthusiastic. Leslie marked him asa victim and began at him at once.

  "I suppose you have not heard the telegraphic reports from Washington,this morning?" he said to the Englishman, after some conversation withreference to the battle had brought them to terms of speakingacquaintance.

  "No," answered the Englishman. "Anything of consequence?"

  "I should think so!" said Leslie, very gravely. "War between the UnitedStates and England, beyond a doubt."

  "God bless my soul!" said John Bull. "No?"

  "Sure as you live!" said Leslie, while Harding shook his head andknitted his brows at him as a hint to be careful how far he went withhis mischief--a signal which was misinterpreted by some of thebystanders to mean that he should not have betrayed the intelligence."Lord Lyons made a demand on Secretary Seward, yesterday morning, toopen the ports of Charleston and Savannah within twenty-four hours, forthe free exportation of cotton. Secretary Seward at once refused to openthem at all before the conclusion of the war or the First of January1900; and Lord Lyons immediately exhibited his instructions to comehome by the first steamer if the demand was not acceded to. He leftWashington last even
ing, and will sail for England by the steamer ofto-morrow."

  Some of the auditors--intelligent visitors from the hotels, and otherwell-informed people, saw the joke and humored it. Others, prepared foralmost any item of startling news, and not too well up in nationalaffairs, took it all for sober earnest. John Bull was completelymystified.

  "Good heavens!" he said. "Can this be possible?"

  "I must hurry back!" said Leslie, warming into broader mischief, andpulling out his watch. "Non-intercourse between the two countries may beproclaimed at any moment, and in that case I should be a prisoner!"

  "God bless me" said the Englishman. "In that case I had better get overto the International and look after getting part of my baggage that isthere, over on this side of the river!"

  "I should advise you to do so at once," answered Leslie, quite asgravely as before. "I wonder whether we shall be stopped on our wayback, or not? However, it is a matter of not much consequence. If any ofus _should_ be taken prisoners and kept over here, it would not be forlong. Our people will of course overrun Canada within a week, and annexit to the Northern States."

  "Oh, they couldn't do _that_, you know!" said John Bull, who mightbelieve anything else, but who could not possibly be brought to believeanything against the power of the British Government or its colonies,when in arms.

  "I believe that you are an Englishman by birth? Am I mistaken?" askedLeslie, in a tone of ministerial gravity and dignity.

  "Not at all mistaken, sir," said the Englishman, proudly. "John HazeltonButts, Leakington, Monmouthshire."

  "John Thompson, Jr., late Secretary of Legation to the Duchy of Parma,"said Leslie, picking up the first names that happened to come into mind,and bowing in return. "You seem, Mr. Butts, to be a highly intelligentgentleman--"

  "Thank you, Mr. Secretary," said the Englishman, who had at least caughtthe fictitious title.

  "But, sir," Leslie went on, "it is impossible that any foreign residentshould know, concerning affairs on this continent, what necessarilycomes under _our_ knowledge. Perhaps you will be a little surprised whenI tell you that there is a secret order existing all along the bordersof the States adjoining these provinces, numbering more than threehundred thousand men, all drilled weekly, and all sworn, in the event ofany opportunity occurring, to seize upon the Canadas and New Brunswickat once?"

  "Indeed I _am_ surprised," said the Englishman. "This is really thecase?"

  "Really and incontestably, sir," answered Leslie. "You will see at once,sir, what chance there could be of defending these provinces againstsuch an inroad. But come, Smith!" addressing Harding, "we must reallyhurry back before the bridge closes. Good morning, Mr. Butts!--goodmorning, gentlemen!" and Leslie hurried down from the observatory andaway, accompanied by Harding. Whether the Englishman at once went overafter his baggage, or not, is uncertain.

  "What _is_ the use of all that, Tom?" asked Harding, when they were oncemore in the carriage and rolling along the privet-hedged lanes.

  "Use? oh, plenty of use!--_fun_! I have been as grave as a judge fornearly a week; and besides, every Englishman whom I succeed in makingthoroughly uncomfortable, is one scion of the stock of _perfide Albion_paid off for all old scores!"

  "Humph!" said Harding. "You are incorrigible, and that is all that canbe said about it."

  Close to the edge of one of the fields along which they were driving,some laborers were at work, hoeing potatoes. There were some splendidgrain-fields adjoining, and at a little distance stood a handsomefarm-house with thrifty-looking outbuildings. Leslie's spirit ofmischief was now up, and nothing but exercise could calm it.

  "Hallo, there!" he called to the laborers, stopping the carriage at thesame time. One of the working-men stopped his work and came up to thefence.

  "Whose farm is this?"

  "Mr. Bardeleau's, sir."

  "Oh, Bardeleau! I know him. Crops look finely."

  "Yes, very finely, sir," answered the workman.

  "Going to the house soon?"

  "Yes, sir, going in to dinner before long," answered the man.

  "Well, my good man," said Leslie, "be good enough to give Mr. Bardeleauthe regards of Mr. Thompson, International Hotel, an old friend of his,and to tell him that war has just broken out between England and theUnited States, and that the President has this morning issued aproclamation annexing Canada to the State of New York. Good morning."

  Mischief of this character varied and enlivened the performances of thatday and the next, Harding alternately enjoying and protesting againstit. But on the third day there was a decided change in the programme.Running over the register at the desk, before breakfast on Fridaymorning, Leslie found the following four names, arrivals of the nightbefore: "Richard Crawford--John Crawford--Miss Isabel Crawford--MissMarion Hobart--New York City."

  "Why, here are acquaintances--or at least one of them!" he called toHarding, who was at a little distance. He might have said more than oneacquaintance, with propriety, for though he had met none of theCrawfords except Bell, he knew so much of them from Josephine Harristhat he seemed to have known them for a twelvemonth.

  "Who are they?" asked Harding, busy with a carriage-order.

  "The Crawfords--and somebody else with them," answered Leslie. "Youremember the young ladies on Broadway, the impudent scoundrel and thecaning, a few days ago--one of them a Miss Crawford"--

  "Yes, I remember," said Harding, with a little flush rising suddenly tohis face. He also remembered, beyond a doubt, that he had been very muchimpressed by that young lady, and that had he _dared_, he would havecalled at her house before leaving the city. Here she was, broughtaccidentally into the same hotel with himself, and--. What else hethought may be left to the imagination. "Yes, I remember," he said."And the other lady--Miss Harris, is she in the company?"

  "No," said Leslie, "she does not appear to be." ("Appear to be!"--justas if that scamp did not know where she was, and as if he had not aletter in his pocket from her!) "No, see--Miss Crawford and her twobrothers, with another lady whose name I have never heard before."

  The result of this discovery was that the parties met at breakfast, aslight flush (corresponding to that of Harding a little while before)mounting to the face of Bell Crawford as she introduced the two friendsto her brothers and Miss Hobart. Very naturally, thereafter, thoughthere was an overplus of males and a deficiency of females to make theassociation perfect, the two parties blended, and in the future plansfor sight-seeing and amusement each made arrangements for and calculatedupon the other.

  They were just passing from the breakfast-room--that cool breakfast anddining-room of the Cataract, overlooking the lower rapids with theclumped little islands near the bridge,--when Leslie caught sight of afigure crossing the hall.

  "Look--quick!" he said, touching the arm of Harding. "Look down thehall. There he is, now! Do you not recognize him?"

  Harding, to whom Leslie had of course told the story of his laterencontre, looked in the direction indicated. Just for one instant theface of the person alluded to was turned towards them, and Hardingplainly distinguished that it was that of the Virginian whom they hadseen at the corner of Houston Street on the night of the opening of thisstory. He had but a moment to observe, for the tall man was almost atthe office-door, and in an instant he had disappeared through it. At thesame instant Marion Hobart uttered a quick, sharp cry, and staggeredagainst John Crawford, as if about to fall. All the party gatheredaround her instantly, two or three of the waiters came up, and for themoment attention was distracted from everything beside.

  "I had a sudden pain here. I do not feel very well. If you please I willgo up to my room and lie down a little while. But I shall soon bebetter," said the young Virginian girl, in response to the anxiousinquiries of her friends as to the cause of the sudden cry and theevident paleness of her face.

  In compliance with her wish Bell Crawford accompanied her up-stairs; andthe moment after, Tom Leslie stepped into the office-door through whichhe had seen Dexter Ralston disappear. He wa
s not there. In reply to aninquiry, the clerk said that a tall man, whom he had seen several timesbefore, had come into the room and stepped to the counter a moment,perhaps to examine the register, but that he had almost instantly goneout again. Leslie looked through the halls and upon the piazza, a littleperplexed by the sudden appearances and disappearances of this man; buthe was not in sight anywhere--he had evidently left the house.

  Before quitting the breakfast-table, it had been arranged that the wholereinforced party should use the fine morning for a ride over the bridgeinto Canada, a three-seated carriage being called into requisition. Butafter the gentlemen had waited a few moments for tidings from the suddeninvalid, Bell Crawford came down-stairs again and announced that theywould be obliged to take the ride without female company, as Miss Hobartfelt too much indisposed to ride and would remain in her room, and shecould not think of leaving her entirely alone in a strange house on thefirst day of their arrival. Marion, she said, had proclaimed herwillingness to remain alone, and had even urged her to go, but she hadrefused and would remain.

  This arrangement did not precisely please any of the gentlemen, andleast of all it pleased Walter Lane Harding, who had lately ridden overall that ground quite often enough unless he was to go over it this timein peculiarly pleasant company. He had an insane belief, by this time,that Miss Bell Crawford was "very pleasant company." But there waslittle else to do, than to obey the decrees of fate; one of the ladieswas temporarily an invalid, and the other, for humanity's sake, mustplay nurse; the gentlemen could have little of their society, at leastfor the morning; and so half an hour afterwards, while Bell Crawfordreturned up-stairs, fortified with a novel and two Buffalo papers, toperform her self-denying office of Good Samaritan, the four gentlementook an open landau and were whirled down to the Suspension Bridge andover to the Canada side.

  Their drive had lasted perhaps three hours and covered nearly twentymiles, when, hastening back to dinner, they drove in at the gate-houseon the Canada side of the Suspension Bridge. A close-carriage was justleaving the bridge at the same moment. Between this and the carriage inwhich the four friends were seated, a clumsy furniture-wagon attemptedto pass at the moment when they stopped to show tickets, and in doing sothe driver locked his wheel with that of the close-carriage coming over.The friends noticed that there were trunks on the rack of this carriage,and that though the day was so hot and sultry, the windows were closed.As the wheels locked, one of the windows was dashed down with somepetulance, and a head appeared through it, while a sharp, strong voicecried:

  "Why the d--l don't you drive on?"

  Both Tom Leslie and Walter Harding recognized the face and voice ofDexter Ralston. The latter, glancing at the figures in the landau,observed Leslie, and made a sign of recognition. By this time the wheelwas cleared, Ralston again shut the window sharply, and the carriagedashed away at full speed towards the custom-house on which "V.R." isdisplayed for the benefit of those who never tread upon British soil tosee it more liberally distributed.

  "There he is again!" said Leslie to Harding.

  "And apparently going away, by the trunks on the rack," replied Harding.

  "Who is it?" asked John Crawford.

  "An odd character, about whom we will tell you by-and-bye," said TomLeslie. "He is a Southerner, but he must have been born in a _very_ hotclimate, to need the windows closed on such a day as this."

  "And he must be in a hurry," said Harding, "by his impatience and thespeed at which the carriage drove away."

  They drove slowly over the bridge and then hurried back towards theCataract. It was nearly two o'clock when they reached the house, and theriders and strollers had come back from their various wanderings andfilled the halls and parlors, chatting, looking at the stereoscopicviews arranged for the destruction of eyes, and waiting for dinner. Asthe four friends entered the hall after dismissing the carriage, theywere met by Bell Crawford, who seemed to have been looking out for themfrom the head of the stairs--her face pale, her voice thick andtroubled, and her general appearance frightened and "flustered."

  "What is the matter?" asked Richard Crawford, who had, even in thatshort space of exposure to the outer air, so much improved that fatiguerather made him fresher than otherwise, and who might even then havebeen called "almost a well man."

  "She is gone!" cried Bell, drawing John and Richard, and the othersinsensibly following, into an unoccupied corner of the parlor, whichwas, however, vacated the moment after, in answer to the dinner-call.

  "Who is gone?" asked John Crawford, alarmed.

  "Marion Hobart--gone--gone away. Oh, what can it all mean?" said poorBell, almost distracted with trouble and wonder.

  "Marion Hobart gone? gone where--gone how?" asked John, grasping Bell bythe arm with his one unwounded hand.

  "I do not know--oh, I am half crazy!" said the poor girl. "All that Iknow is, that she has left this house in such a manner that sheevidently never means to return to it."

  "My God!" said John. "My oath!--I swore to take care of her! Tell me,quick, what is it that has happened?"

  "I will tell you all that I know," said poor Bell, "only give me timeand do not frighten me any worse if you can help it. You know Marion wasunwell, and that she went up-stairs and lay down on her bed. Her room isup yonder on the next floor, number Fifteen, very near the head of thestairs. Mine is number Sixteen, adjoining. She lay on the bed, and I satbeside her, chatting with her, though she seemed to speak wildly and asif frightened. After a while she seemed drowsy and appeared to wish togo to sleep. I thought I would leave her alone, then, for a littlewhile, to sleep; and I took my book and went out on the little balconyat the end of that corridor. I was reading 'John Brent,' and I suppose Igot crazy over the galloping horses going down to Luggernel Alley, for Iread for perhaps an hour without hearing or seeing anything else thanthe things in my book. Then I went back to Marion's room--it was not anhour ago--and she was gone!"

  "But she may have gone down on the Island--she is a strange littlemortal--she may be out on the balcony over the rapids. What makes youthink that she is _gone_, as you call it?" asked John, terribly excited,while all the others listened with strange interest.

  "Oh," said Bell, "I know that she is gone for good" [_Americanice_,"finally"] "and I knew it the moment I entered her room. Her large trunkwas gone--the one you bought her the other day, John; her clothing wasgone--everything."

  "Astonishing!" said Richard Crawford.

  "This beats romance!" said Tom Leslie.

  "It just beats the _d--l_!" said John Crawford, who must be excused forusing such words in the presence of a lady,--because he was only a roughsoldier. "And that is all you know, is it, sister?"

  "No," answered Bell Crawford. "I know a good deal more, and it is allworse and worse. I got the chambermaid to enquire, and she found that atall man came with a close carriage--"

  "A tall man? a close carriage?" almost gasped Tom Leslie, though he onlyspoke to Walter Harding. "Do you hear what she says? This was aVirginian girl--he is a Virginian--his being here this morning--over theSuspension Bridge--those trunks on the rack--by George, Harding--don'tyou see?"

  "But what could _he_ have been to _her_?" asked Harding, who did not yetsee it in the same clear light.

  Bell Crawford had meanwhile gone on with her story.--"That the tall manwent up-stairs, asking one of the waiters for number Fifteen, and thatfive minutes afterwards he came down with a very small lady, dressed fortravelling, ordered down the baggage from that room, put her into thecarriage and got in himself after throwing a dollar to the waiter whobrought down the trunks; and that then the carriage drove rapidly awaytowards the Bridge."

  "By George, I knew it!" said Tom Leslie, this time so loudly that allcould hear him. All turned to him in surprise.

  "What do you mean?" asked Richard Crawford.

  "That I believe I know the man who has taken away this girl!" answeredTom Leslie.

  "And I believe that _I_ do, _now_," said Walter Harding, at last fairlyconvinced
.

  "Stop," said Bell. "There was one thing I forgot to tell you. She hadevidently left in great haste, and two or three little things were leftscattered around the room. Here are two of them, that I picked up andput in my pocket--one of her tiny little shoes, and this locket. Thelocket I have before seen in her possession. She seemed to be sorry thatI had seen it, as I accidentally did, and said that it was the portraitof a dear friend of her family." She took out a little slipper, scarcelytoo large for an ordinary child of ten years, yet retaining the mould ofthe graceful atom of foot that had rested warm within it; and with itshe took out the enamelled locket we have before seen, and handed it tothe gentlemen. Tom Leslie grasped it with an almost frantic haste andthrew it open.

  "Dexter Ralston!" he cried. "Look, Harding! It is all explained! I know,now, why he haunted this house, and what the sharp cry meant when hecrossed the hall this morning! Don't you see!"

  They did see, as little by little, while the dinner-dishes were rattlingin the dining-room adjoining, Tom Leslie explained to his wonderingauditors (Harding only excepted--who yawned and was hungry) so much ofthe antecedents and character of the strange Virginian as could bear anyrelation to the abduction--though abduction it could not be properlycalled. That that singular and commanding man and that equally singularmere child had been friends, perhaps lovers, was evident; that they hadfled away, with the girl's consent, beyond the hope of successfulpursuit, was equally evident: and here the mystery for the time shutcompletely down, and they knew no more.

  But what was it that Mazeppa said, through the lips of hisself-appointed spokesman, Byron, of the impossibility of escaping thepatient search and long vigil of the man seeking revenge for wrong? Hemight have cited another motive, less fierce but quite aspowerful--_curiosity_! _Job Thornberry_ may give up his search for thename of the destroyer of his daughter, and allow her to break her heartin quiet; but not so _Paul Pry_, who needs a full explanation of thescandal for retail purposes. John Crawford, in spite of the oath whichhe could now no longer keep, might possibly have allowed the mystery torest here, had not Tom Leslie, who had sworn no oath whatever, been inhis way. Balked in New York and mystified everywhere, the lattergentleman determined to know more--or less! John Crawford only neededthis companionship; and an hour after the discovery of the abduction,the two once more whirled over into Canada, possibly on a longer ridethan the one they had just concluded.