Beloved Scoundrel

by Clarissa Ross

  “I keep trying to avoid the subject,” the girl worried.

  “I understand.”

  “Yet he always comes back to it. I’m supposed to see him soon again,” she went on. And then with an uneasy glance in her direction, she asked, “Would you go there with me for a brief visit after we finish our luncheon?”

  Fanny was caught by surprise. She didn’t know quite what to say. But there was such a silent pleading in the girl’s pretty face that she could not refuse.

  She said, “Of course I’ll go with you. It is time I saw more of the grim side of this war. I have been trying to avoid it. Not thinking about it more than I had to.”

  The girl was at once grateful. “I do appreciate it “ she said warmly. “Tom will be glad to see an actress as famous as you. His name is Tom Miller.”

  “And he was an actor?”

  “A ·pretty good one,” Nancy said with some pride. “His dad was in the theatre and he began when he was little more than a lad.”

  “You played in companies together?”

  “Two or three,” the girl said. “Then when he enlisted he said he’d write to me and I promised I’d answer his letters.”

  Fanny said, “And then this happened.”

  The girl sighed. “It’s a shame! He’s still young. All his life ahead of him. To be blind!”

  “Is he bitter?”

  “No,” she said. “He’s accepted it very well. But he does worry about going back to the theatre.”

  “Little wonder,” Fanny sighed. “It is difficult to find work when one is in full health.”

  “I know,” Nancy agreed. “But I try to cheer him up.”

  “Perhaps we can take him some treats,” Fanny suggested. “We can stop somewhere along the way and buy him some fruit.”

  “That would be nice,” the other girl agreed.

  When they finished luncheon they went to a green grocer’s and Fanny picked out some oranges and grapes. Then she and the blonde girl took a hack out to the army hospital where the young actor was a patient. It was on the outskirts of the city and took nearly half an hour.

  Fanny decided it would be wise to have the carriage wait for them. So she paid the driver and told him to remain outside. The hospital was a gray, frame building which had been hastily erected with the inflow of wounded. Visitors and medical staff were constantly arriving and leaving, keeping the grounds occupied with various vehicles.

  Inside, there was a strong smell of disinfectant in the lobby. Tired-looking nurses manned the information desk and moved about doing other duties. Doctors m long white coats and with stethoscopes around their necks were constantly on the go. Also the hallways were filled with bandaged ambulatory patients, and some others in wheelchairs. There were so those on their way to or from the operating room wheeled on stretchers by orderlies.

  “The place always depresses me,” Nancy said.

  Fanny suggested, “Why don’t you go see your friend first. Then come get me after you’d had a few minutes talk. He might not feel like meeting a stranger today.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” Nancy said. “But if that is what you’d like me to do.”

  “I think it might be best,” she said. “I’ll wait here by the information desk.”

  “I won’t be long,” Nancy promised and she burned off own one of the hallways, the bag of fruit clutched m her small hand.

  Fanny tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible and at the same time observe the activity going on around her. She heard someone complain that the hospital was overcrowded and was sure this was likely so.

  Suddenly a voice at her elbow said, “Good afternoon Mrs. Cornish!”

  She turned quickly and found herself facing the pleasant Major Furlong whom she’d met at a party. She gasped, “I didn’t expect to find you here!”

  “Nor I to find you,” he said.

  She saw that he was wearing the long white coat of a doctor. She hadn’t realized that he was in this branch of the service. She said awkwardly, “I assumed you were in the artillery or infantry of something like that!”

  He smiled. “No. I’m a major in the Medical Corps. And while it may not seem glamorous, I promise you we do a useful work.”

  “I’m sure of that. This hospital seems to be crammed.”

  “It is,” he agreed, glancing around. “Have you come to help us? We’re enlisting all the volunteers we can get our hands on.”

  “Sorry, no,” she said. “I’m here with an actress from our company who is visiting an injured friend.”

  “Perhaps later on,” Major Furlong said with a sad smile.

  “I would like to help,” she told him. “But it is very likely that we will soon be leaving Washington. Mr. Barnum is going ahead with plans for a New York season.”

  “I wish you well,” Major Furlong said. “I dare not plan more than a few days ahead. This place is constantly overcrowded.”

  “And the wounded still keep coming?”

  He nodded. “The madness goes on.”

  “Are you permanently stationed here?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “I was wounded at Bull Run. I thought the war was at an end then. It seemed all too likely the troops in gray would overrun Washington. But we kept them back.”

  “What is it like in the front lines?” she wanted to know.

  “Grim,” the Medical Major said. “Imagine a long line of men huddled close to the ground, a glaring sun rising to beat down on them. They glance over a rim of earth that separates them from the enemy. To keep your head up a second too long is to win a bullet. And it’s almost certain death to go to the rear to have a wound dressed, get food, fill a canteen with dirty water or, you’ll forgive me, madam, answer a call of nature!”

  “Is it any more bearable at night?”

  “At night the front comes alive,” he said. “The men take shovels and picks and axes and work to make their trenches stronger. Where there are trees they slash them down, put the slashed branches out for a defense with branches pointed upward, and use the logs to make solid breastworks. They dig the trenches deep enough for men to stand erect in

  them without being shot. And they make zig-zag alleyways through the earth to the rear, so they may go to and from with some hope of not being shot.”

  “What number of casualties are there?” she asked. “Or do you know?”

  “We have close to two thousand a day coming in to all our hospitals,” the Major said. “There must be many more.”

  “Incredible carnage!” she gasped. “We must do something. I shall contact Mr. Barnum and ask if we cannot have a special performance or a series of performances to purchase small luxuries for the patients.”

  Major Furlong showed pleasure on his bearded face. “I commend you for your kindness, Mrs. Cornish. It is a good idea. And there is much to be done.”

  “I shall discuss it with John Wilkes Booth as well,” she promised.

  “Ah, yes, Mr. Booth,” the Major said. “The ladies of Washington society dote on him. He seldom misses a party. But I must say he is an excellent actor as well.”

  “He is,” she agreed.

  The Major was ready to continue talking but a nurse arrived with an air of urgency and called him away. Fanny had enjoyed the meeting and was sincere in her desire to do something for the unfortunate wounded.

  A serious-faced young man with a bandaged foot and using crutches to get along, suddenly halted before her and exclaimed, “Fanny Cornish! I saw you in The Rivals!”

  “Did you enjoy it?” she asked.

  “It was first rate,” the wounded, young man said. “You and a blond man were playing the leads.”

  “Yes. Peter Cortez,” she said.

  “I saw him later in New York,” the young man said. “He enlisted in the same artillery company as myself. But I didn’t get a chance to talk to him. I was transferred to the front.”

  She stared at the young man in amazement. “This is the first news I’ve had of Peter
Cortez since he left the company. Are you sure it was he who enlisted?”

  “Positive,” the young man said. “I asked the officer in charge and he told me it was the famous actor. Gave a lot of boost to our morale.”

  “Have you any idea where he may be stationed?”

  “Could be anywhere,” the young man said. “They had us constantly on the move. And he would be sent some place for training. I reckon he’d be an officer.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, still stunned by the news. “So he may not have seen any action yet.”

  “Not likely,” the lad said ruefully. “I’d finished my lot of training so I was ripe for the Confederates.”

  She looked down at his foot. “Is it a bad injury?”

  “No dancing for a while,” he said with a grim smile. “But the doctor tells me it will be all right. I won’t be going back though. And that doesn’t worry me a bit. I wanted to fight for the Union and I have. But now I reckon I’m lucky to be out of it and still alive.”

  “I think you’re a brave young man,” she said.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” the lad said. “I expect that Peter Cortez will make a name for himself as well. He sure was good on the stage.” And with that the young man limped on his way.

  She was shocked by the news about Peter. He had not shown any interest in the war. But once he’d had the bitter quarrel with her he’d likely been in a dangerous mood. Rather than look for a theatre job which might be denied him he’d enlisted in the army.

  Her reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Nancy. The petite actress said, “Tom Miller is anxious to meet you. I’ve told him all about you and Mr. Booth!”

  “All right,” she said.

  “I’m sorry I kept you waiting so long,” the golden haired girl apologized.

  Fanny smiled at her as they walked down a long ball passing many ambulatory wounded along the way. She said, “It didn’t matter I met several people.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. One of them a Major Furlong who is in charge of this hospital.”

  “I’ve seen him,” Nancy agreed. “Fine looking man with a beard.”

  “That is him,” Fanny said. “And then I met a lad who came from the New York area and he gave me the most amazing news.”

  “What?”

  “You’ll find it hard to believe. Peter Cortez enlisted in his company. But the lad was sent on to the front while Peter was held back for training.”

  “Peter! He’s the last one I’d expect to find in the army!” Nancy exclaimed.

  “I know,” she said. “Still, I’m not all that surprised. He knew few theatre jobs would be available after what he did here. Few managers would hire him after Barnum put him on his blacklist. So he may have decided to look for adventure in the army.”

  “If he’s not lucky he may find more than that, death or mutilation,” Nancy said sadly. “I don’t think I’d have the nerve to offer if I were a man.”

  “That’s why Mr. Lincoln is going ahead with his conscription act,” Fanny pointed out. “As the grim truth about war comes back in the wounded and dead, it is hard to keep up enthusiasm. Volunteers vanish!”

  They halted before a door and Nancy said, “Tom is in here. There are only four or five other patients with him. Most of them are bedfast and very badly wounded. So we must speak quietly.”

  “I’ll remember,” she promised.

  Fanny followed the small girl inside and over to a chair by a partly-opened window in which a dark-haired young man with a sturdy body and good even features sat. His eyes were heavily bandaged but he sensed their approach and smiled.

  He said, “Fanny Cornish?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m glad to meet you, Tom Miller.”

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said. “I wish I could see you. You have a lovely voice.”

  “I hear you were on the stage,” she said.

  The boy sighed. “Yes. I started when I was ten. Worked in companies with my father. My mum died young. I played boy parts until I was old enough to do regular bits. And before I went in the army I was playing second leads.”

  “You also have a nice voice,” Fanny told him. “I’m sure you were very good.”

  “Dependable,” Nancy put it. “All the managers liked him.”

  “I doubt if any of them would offer me a job now,” the young man said with a hint of bitterness. Then in a different tone, he added, “Not that I should complain. There’s worse off than me in this room.”

  “I’m sure there are,” Fanny said, glancing at the pallid motionless figures in the other four hospital beds. “How did you get your wound?”

  The young man said, “I was on the front line. The rain stopped before dawn, and then it grew bright and the sun was warm. Our guns started and we could see the Confederate infantry columns moving towards us. Couriers came spurring up to battery commanders and we all were ordered to take our places.”

  “So it was in actual battle it happened,” she said.

  “Yes. A big crash of artillery came and then a crackle of muskets. Suddenly we were very close to the Rebs, face to face, almost. Thousands of muskets sent out long sheets of flames along the lines! Great clouds of smoke rose up and the noise of the cannon deafened us! The man on my right dropped and I thought an order had been given to lie down. I threw myself on the ground. A moment later an officer came and prodded me with his sword told me to get up and resume the attack. I did and there was a flame brighter than all the others right in front of my eyes. I felt a stinging pain and I fell backward. When I came to I was in the hospital and my eyesight was gone.”

  Fanny was shocked by the account. “A dreadful business! Let us hope it will soon end!”

  “It won’t until every last Reb is on his back with a bullet or a bayonet in him,” the young man said angrily.

  “You must not talk so, Tom,” the sympathetic Nancy said taking the young man’s hand in hers.

  “I cannot help it,” he said. “I feel my life is ruined. What is there for me now?”

  Fanny said, “You are in good health except for your eyes. There must be a way for you to live a useful life.”

  “As an actor?” he asked, bitterly.

  “Perhaps not as an actor,” she said, slowly getting to an idea which had been forming in her mind. “But I recall that many of the best comedies we did in England, including one called Wild Oats were written by an Irish playwright who had been an actor and lost his sight. Have you ever thought of writing plays?”

  “No,” he said.

  Nancy’s face brightened. “That is truly a good idea!” she exclaimed. “I never thought about it.”

  “It came to me because of the playwright I mentioned,” she said. “It seems to me your experience on the stage and your knowledge of what audiences like could be of the utmost help to you.”

  Tom was listening now with more interest. He said, “It is true I have the words of a lot of plays in my mind.”

  Fanny told him, “Pick one out and think about it. Pull it apart in your mind. Then plan one something like it but with an idea of your own.”

  “Do you think I could?” he asked.

  “I’m sure of it,” she said. “You could dictate it to someone like Nancy who understands how to put dialogue and stage directions down.”

  “I’d be happy to help,” Nancy said enthusiastically.

  The young man with the bandaged eye was silent for a moment. Then he said, “It might work. I will think about it.”

  “Do that,” Fanny said. “And if you come up with a play suitable for me I promise I shall see it is given performance. It could be the beginning of a real career for you.”

  “We’re looking far ahead,” the blind man reproved her. “But I thank you for giving me hope.”

  “That is something we all need,” Fanny said, rising. “I wish you luck . And when I next come to Visit perhaps you’ll be able to tell me the story of your first play.”

  “You are a kind woman
, Fanny Cornish,” he said. “And I shall try very hard!”

  Fanny bade him goodbye and then waited at the door until Nancy finished taking with him. The petite, golden-haired girl finally joined her and they made their way out of the busy hospital to their waiting carriage.

  On the drive back to the city, Nancy told her, “You have done poor Tom Miller a great service. He actually seems to have some interest in living Now.”

  “I meant all I said,” Fanny assured the other girl.