XIV
THE HUSH BEFORE THE STORM
The autumn crept into winter; the winter went by, short and fitful, and thespring unfolded slowly. With the milder weather the mud dried in the roads,and the Major and the Governor went daily into Leicesterburg. The youngerman had carried his oratory and his influence into the larger cities of thestate, and he had come home, at the end of a month of speech-making, in afervour of almost boyish enthusiasm.
"I pledge my word for it, Julia," he had declared to his wife, "it willtake more than a Republican President to sever Virginia from the Union--infact, I'm inclined to think that it will take a thunderbolt from heaven, orthe Major for a despot!"
When, as the spring went on, men came from the political turmoil to ask forhis advice, he repeated the words with a conviction that was in itself aring of emphasis.
"We are in the Union, gentlemen, for better or for worse"--and of all theguests who drank his Madeira under the pleasant shade of his maples, onlythe Major found voice to raise a protest.
"We'll learn, sir, we'll live and learn," interposed the old gentleman.
"Let us hope we shall live easily," said the doctor, lifting his glass.
"And learn wisdom," added the rector, with a chuckle.
Through the spring and summer they rode leisurely back and forth, bringingbundles of newspapers when they came, and taking away with them a memory ofthe broad white portico and the mellow wine.
The Major took a spasmodic part in the discussions of peace or war, sittingsometimes in a moody silence, and flaring up, like an exhausted candle, atthe news of an abolition outbreak. In his heart he regarded the state ofpeace as a mean and beggarly condition and the sure resort of bloodlesscowards; but even a prospect of the inspiring dash of war could not elicitso much as the semblance of his old ardour. His smile flashed but seldomover his harsh features--it needed indeed the presence of Mrs. Ambler or ofBetty to bring it forth--and his erect figure had given way in the chest,as if a strong wind bent him forward when he walked.
"He has grown to be an old man," his neighbours said pityingly; and it istrue that the weight of his years had fallen upon him in a night--as if hehad gone to bed in a hale old age, with the sap of youth in his veins, toawaken with bleared eyes and a trembling hand. Since the day of his wife'sreturn from the tavern, when he had peered from his hiding-place in hislibrary window, he had not mentioned his grandson by name; and yet thethought of him seemed forever lying beneath his captious exclamations. Hepricked nervously at the subject, made roundabout allusions to the baseingratitude from which he suffered; and the desertion of Big Abel haddamned for him the whole faithful race from which the offender sprang.
"They are all alike," he sweepingly declared. "There is not a trustworthyone among them. They'll eat my bread and steal my chickens, and then runoff with the first scapegrace that gives them a chance."
"I think Big Abel did just right," said Betty, fearlessly.
The old gentleman squared himself to fix her with his weak red eyes.
"Oh, you're just the same," he returned pettishly, "just the same."
"But I don't steal your chickens, sir," protested the girl, laughing.
The Major grunted and looked down at her in angry silence; then his facerelaxed and a frosty smile played about his lips.
"You are young, my child," he replied, in a kind of austere sadness, "andyouth is always an enemy to the old--to the old," he repeated quietly, andlooked at his wrinkled hand.
But in the excitement of the next autumn, he showed for a time a revival ofhis flagging spirit. When the elections came he followed them with anabsorption that had in it all the violence of a mental malady. The fourpossible Presidents that stood before the people were drawn for him in boldlines of black and white--the outward and visible distinction between, onthe one side, the three "adventurers" whom he heartily opposed, and, on theother, the "Kentucky gentleman," for whom he as heartily voted. There wasno wavering in his convictions--no uncertainty; he was troubled by nodelicate shades of indecision. What he believed, and that alone, wasGod-given right; what he did not believe, with all things pertaining to it,was equally God-forsaken error.
Toward the Governor, when the people's choice was known, he displayed aresentment that was almost touching in its simplicity.
"There's a man who would tear the last rag of honour from the OldDominion," he remarked, in speaking of his absent neighbour.
"Ah, Major," sighed the rector, for it was upon one of his weekly visits,"what course would you have us gird our loins to pursue?"
"Course?" promptly retorted the Major. "Why, the course of courage, sir."
The rector shook his great head. "My dear friend, I fear you recognize thevirtue only when she carries the battle-axe," he observed.
For a moment the Major glared at him; then, restrained by his inheritedreverence for the pulpit, he yielded the point with the soothingacknowledgment that he was always "willing to make due allowance forministers of the gospel."
"My dear sir," gasped Mr. Blake, as his jaw dropped. His face showedplainly that so professional an allowance was exactly what he did not taketo be his due; but he let sleeping dangers lie, and it was not until afortnight later, when he rode out with a copy of the _Charleston Mercury_and the news of the secession of South Carolina, that he found the daringto begin a direct approach.
It was a cold, bright evening in December, and the Major unfolded the paperand read it by the firelight, which glimmered redly on the frosted windowpanes. When he had finished, he looked over the fluttering sheet into thepale face of the rector, and waited breathlessly for the first decisivewords.
"May she depart in peace," said the minister, in a low voice.
The old gentleman drew a long breath, and, in the cheerful glow, the other,looking at him, saw his weak red eyes fill with tears. Then he took out hishandkerchief, shook it from its folds, and loudly blew his nose.
"It was the Union our fathers made, Mr. Blake," he said.
"And the Union you fought for, Major," returned the rector.
"In two wars, sir," he glanced down at his arm as if he half expected tosee a wound, "and I shall never fight for another," he added with a sigh."My fighting days are over."
They were both silent, and the logs merrily crackled on the great brassandirons, while the flames went singing up the chimney. A glass of Burgundywas at the rector's hand, and he lifted it from the silver tray and sippedit as he waited. At last the old man spoke, bending forward from hisstation upon the hearth-rug.
"You haven't seen Peyton Ambler, I reckon?"
"I passed him coming out of town and he was trembling like a leaf," repliedthe rector. "He looks badly, by the way. I must remember to tell the doctorhe needs building up."
"He didn't speak about this, eh?"
"About South Carolina? Oh, yes, he spoke, sir. It happened that Jack Powellcame up with him when I did--the boy was cheering with all his might, and Iheard him ask the Governor if he questioned the right of the state tosecede?"
"And Peyton said, sir?" The Major leaned eagerly toward him.
"He said," pursued the rector, laughing softly. "'God forbid, my boy, thatI should question the right of any man or any country to pursue folly.'"
"Folly!" cried the Major, sharply, firing at the first sign of opposition."It was a brave deed, sir, a brave deed--and I--yes, I envy the honour forVirginia. And as for Peyton Ambler, it is my belief that it is he who hassapped the courage of the state. Why, my honest opinion is that there arenot fifty men in Virginia with the spirit to secede--and they are women."
The rector laughed and tapped his wine-glass.
"You mustn't let that reach Mrs. Lightfoot's ears, Major," he cautioned,"for I happen to know that she prides herself upon being what the paperscall a 'skulker.'" He stopped and rose heavily to his feet, for, at thispoint, the door was opened by Cupid and the old lady rustled stiffly intothe room.
"I came down to tell you, Mr. Lightfoot, that you really must not a
llowyourself to become excited," she explained, when the rector had comfortablysettled her upon the hearth-rug.
"Pish! tush! my dear, there's not a cooler man in Virginia," replied theMajor, frowning; but for the rest of the evening he brooded in troubledsilence in his easy chair.
In February, a week after a convention of the people was called atRichmond, the old gentleman surrendered to a sharp siege of the gout, andthrough the long winter days he sat, red and querulous, before the libraryfire, with his bandaged foot upon the ottoman that wore Aunt Emmeline'swedding dress. From Leicesterburg a stanch Union man had gone to theconvention; and the Major still resented the selection of his neighbours asbitterly as if it were an affront to aspirations of his own.
"Dick Powell! Pooh! he's another Peyton Ambler," he remarked testily, "andon my word there're too many of his kind--too many of his kind. What welack, sir, is men of spirit."
When his friends came now he shot his angry questions, like bullets, fromthe fireside. "Haven't they done anything yet, eh? How much longer do youreckon that roomful of old women will gabble in Richmond? Why, we might aswell put a flock of sheep to decide upon a measure!"
But the "roomful of old women" would not be hurried, and the Major grewalmost hoarse with scolding. For more than two months, while North andSouth barked at each other across her borders, Virginia patiently andfruitlessly worked for peace; and for more than two months the Majorwrithed a prisoner upon the hearth.
With the coming of the spring his health mended, and on an April morning,when Betty and the Governor drove over for a quiet chat, they found himlimping painfully up and down the drive with the help of a greatgold-knobbed walking-stick.
He greeted them cordially, and limped after them into the library whereMrs. Lightfoot sat knitting. While he slowly settled his foot, in its loose"carpet" slipper, upon the ottoman, he began a rambling story of the War of1812, recalling with relish a time when rations grew scant in camp, and"Will Bolling and myself set out to scour the country." His thoughts hadmade a quick spring backward, and in the midst of events that fired theGovernor's blood, he could still fondly dwell upon the battles of hisyouth.
The younger man, facing him upon the hearth, listened with his patientcourtesy, and put in a sympathetic word at intervals. No personal anxietycould cloud his comely face, nor any grievance of his own sharpen the edgeof his peculiar suavity. It was only when he rose to go that he voiced, fora single instant, his recognition of the general danger, and replied to theMajor's inquiry about his health with the remark, "Ah, grave times makegrave faces, sir."
Then he bowed over Mrs. Lightfoot's hand, and with his arm about Betty wentout to the carriage.
"The Major's an old man, daughter," he observed, as they rolled rapidlyback to Uplands.
"You mean he has broken--" said Betty, and stopped short.
"Since Dan went away." As the Governor completed her sentence, he turnedand looked thoughtfully into her face. "It's hard to judge the young, mydear, but--" he broke off as Betty had done, and added after a pause, "Iwonder where he is now?"
Betty raised her eyes and met his look. "I do not know," she answered, "butI do know that he will come back;" and the Governor, being wise in hisgeneration, said nothing more.
That afternoon he went down into the country to inspect a decayedplantation which had come into his hands, and returning two days later, herode into Leicesterburg and up to the steps of the little post-office,where, as usual, the neighbouring farmers lounged while they waited for anexpected despatch, or discussed the midday mail with each newcomer. It wasApril weather, and the afternoon sunshine, having scattered the looseclouds in the west, slanted brightly down upon the dusty street, the littlewhitewashed building, and the locust tree in full bloom before the porch.
When he had dismounted, the Governor tied his horse to the long white pole,raised for that purpose along the sidewalk, and went slowly up the steps,shaking a dozen outstretched hands before he reached the door.
"What news, gentlemen?" he asked with his pleasant smile. "For two days Ihave been beyond the papers."
"Then there's news enough, Governor," responded several voices, uniting ina common excitement. "There's news enough since Tuesday, and yet we'rewaiting here for more. The President has called for troops from Virginia toinvade the South."
"To invade the South," repeated the Governor, paling, and a man behind himtook up the words and said them over with a fine sarcasm, "To invade theSouth!"
The Governor turned away and walked to the end of the little porch, wherehe stood leaning upon the railing. With his eyes on the blossoming locusttree, he waited, in helpless patience, for the words to enter into histhoughts and to readjust his conceptions of the last few months. Thereslowly came to him, as he recognized the portentous gravity in the airabout him, something of the significance of that ringing call; and as hestood there he saw before him the vision of an army led by strangersagainst the people of its blood--of an army wasting the soil it loved,warring for an alien right against the convictions it clung to and thefaith it cherished.
His brow darkened, and he turned with set lips to the group upon the steps.He was about to speak, but before the words were uttered, there was a cheerfrom the open doorway, and a man, waving a despatch in his hand, camerunning into the crowd.
"Last night there was a secret session," he cried gayly, "and Virginia hasseceded! hurrah! hurrah! Virginia has seceded!" The gay voice passed, andthe speaker, still waving the paper in his hand, ran down into the street.
The men upon the porch looked at one another, and were silent. In thebright sunshine their faces showed pale and troubled, and when the sound ofcheers came floating from the courthouse green, they started as if at thefirst report of cannon. Then, raising his hand, the Governor bared his headand spoke:--
"God bless Virginia, gentlemen," he said.
* * * * *
The next week Champe came home from college, flushed with enthusiasm, eagerto test his steel.
"It's great news, uncle," were his first joyful words, as he shook theMajor's hand.
"That it is, my boy, that it is," chuckled the Major, in a highgood-humour.
"I'm going, you know," went on the young man lightly. "They're getting up acompany in Leicesterburg, and I'm to be Captain. I got a letter about it aweek ago, and I've been studying like thunder ever since."
"Well, well, it will be a pleasant little change for you," responded theold man. "There's nothing like a few weeks of war to give one an appetite."
Mrs. Lightfoot looked up from her knitting with a serious face.
"Don't you think it may last months, Mr. Lightfoot?" she inquireddubiously. "I was wondering if I hadn't better supply Champe with extraunderclothing."
"Tut-tut, ma'am," protested the Major, warmly. "Can't you leave such thingsas war to my judgment? Haven't I been in two? Months! Nonsense! Why, in twoweeks we'll sweep every Yankee in the country as far north as Greenland.Two weeks will be ample time, ma'am."
"Well, I give them six months," generously remarked Champe, in defiance ofthe Major's gathering frown.
"And what do you know about it, sir?" demanded the old gentleman. "Were youin the War of 1812? Were you even in the Mexican War, sir?"
"Well, hardly," replied Champe, smiling, "but all the same I give them sixmonths to get whipped."
"I'm sure I hope it will be over before winter," observed Mrs. Lightfoot,glancing round. "Things will be a little upset, I fear."
The Major twitched with anger. "There you go again--both of you!" heexclaimed. "I might suppose after all these years you would place somereliance on my judgment; but, no, you will keep up your croaking until ourtroops are dictating terms at Washington. Six months! Tush!"
"Professor Bates thinks it will take a year," returned Champe, his interestoverleaping his discretion.
"And when did he fight, sir?" inquired the Major.
"Well, any way, it's safer to prepare for six months," was Champe'srejoinder.
"I shouldn't like to run short of things, you know."
"You'll do nothing of the kind, sir," thundered the Major. "It's going tobe a two weeks' war, and you shall take an outfit for two weeks, or stay athome! By God, sir, if you contradict me again I'll not let you go to fightthe Yankees."
Champe stared for an instant into the inflamed face of the old gentleman,and then his cheery smile broke out.
"That settles it, uncle," he said soothingly. "It's to be a war of twoweeks, and I'll come home a Major-general before the holidays."
BOOK THIRD
THE SCHOOL OF WAR
Battle Ground Page 20