Kitty's Conquest
"Never mind, Mr. Agent," broke in Harrod, impatiently; "when are they due?"
"Coffee's ordered for 12.30. Reckon they'll be along very soon," replied the nettled functionary.
"What say you, Brandon? Shall we try it?"
"Most assuredly; and I think it can be done."
Four pairs of anxious, eager eyes watched that train of "damyankees" as it came rushing into the station sharp at 12.30. A crowd of sullen-looking "white trash" had gathered, a larger knot of curious and eager darkies, to see the sight. The engine whizzed past the platform; then two passenger-cars, from every window of which protruded blue-capped, dust-begrimed soldier heads; sentries stood at the doors, and only as the last car – a third passenger-car – came opposite us did the train stop. A sharp, business-like young fellow, in dust-covered fatigue dress with infantry shoulder-straps and cap, sprang out.
"That coffee ready?" he asked, bounding at the agent at once.
"Wall, I s'pose so," drawled the party addressed, as though desirous of giving all the annoyance he could.
"If you want your money you'd better know, and lively too. We've no time to waste. Tumble out here, Sergeant Triggs. Bring six men while this party is waking up."
Then as his men went into the kitchen to bring out the steaming caldrons, I asked if I could see the commanding officer on immediate and important business.
"Certainly, sir; rear car. Come this way."
We followed him, Harrod and I; found the forward half of the third car filled, as were the other two, with the rank and file. At the rear end were half a dozen sleepy, dusty, and disgusted-looking gentlemen.
"This is Major Williams, sir," said the business-like youngster, and in an instant he was out on the platform again.
A tall, dust-colored officer rose to meet my extended card and hand, mild surprise in his eyes. "Major," said I, "Major Vinton, of the cavalry, lies dangerously ill in New Orleans. He is engaged to the sister of my friend, Colonel Summers. No train leaves here until nine to-night, and in our eagerness to get to Vinton before it be too late we ask to be taken with you."
For an instant the commanding officer was staggered by my impetuous harangue, but "he rallied."
"Major Vinton, say you? I'm distressed to hear it. I know him well by reputation, though it has not been my good fortune to meet him. We – we must find some way – Excuse me, let me speak one instant with the quartermaster."
He quickly stepped to a bulky, stolid-looking youth, and addressed him in few rapid words. The whistle blew, – my heart stood still. He sprang to a window, stuck out his head, and shouted, —
"A – a – Mr. Turpin. Stop the train. Don't start till I tell you."
"All right, sir," came back in the quick, sharp tones we had heard before.
Again the major and the stolid youth met. We heard snatches of the latter's words, – "no precedent, no authority," – and my heart again sank. Like Mr. Perker of blessed memory, I was about to interpose with "But my dear sir, my dear sir," when Mr. Turpin burst in like a thunder-clap at the rear door.
"Jupiter Ammon, fellows! Blow the dust from your eyes if you want to see the prettiest girl in the South!"
"Never mind precedent; we'll make a precedent," broke in the major, impatiently. "Gentlemen," – he turned to us, – "you see how forlorn are our surroundings, but you and yours are welcome." The whole thing took less time than it takes to read it.
Harrod sprang for his sister. Mr. Turpin sprang for Kitty. Eager hands seized the bags and traps, shoving them through windows, anywhere, anyhow; and half bewildered, all grateful, all surprise, Pauline and Kitty found themselves aboard, and we were spinning out of inhospitable Corinth.
"Pardon our great haste, ladies," I heard the major saying. "We must be in New Orleans some time in the early morning." The "damyankees" were going to get us there twenty-four hours ahead of any other arrangement we could have made.
Shall I ever forget that almost breathless ride? "Be here to-morrow morning without fail" were the words of the dispatch Major Williams had received at the point where his train left the Louisville road and swung into the rails of the Mobile and Ohio. It was the "longer way round," – that through Mobile, – but some late experiences had proved it the shorter way home; and, as the conductor presently explained to the major, on entering the car, "I've given the engineer orders to jump her for all she's worth. We only stop for water and passing one up-train. Even the express has to side-track for us."
Then the conductor wiped his hot brow, and with infinite surprise looked first at the ladies just getting settled into the seats eager hands had been dusting and preparing for them, then at me. Then Harrod came quickly to us, and in him he recognized at once Colonel Summers of the Alabama cavalry of by-gone days. With the Free-masonry of old campaigners, they gripped hands before questions of any kind were put. Harrod promptly explained the situation. "Thanks to these gentlemen, we are permitted to share their car. Of course we settle with you for the fare. But for their kindness we could not have reached New Orleans before late, perhaps too late, to-morrow night."
The conductor turned to the officers: "Major Williams, sir (yes, he did say "sah," and I liked to hear it), I want to thank you in the name of the road for your prompt courtesy to these friends of mine. I had to jump for the telegraph-office myself, and did not see them. You can just bet your life, sir, the Mobile and Ohio shall know of it, and they'll thank you in a way I'm not empowered to."
And so, whizzing at forty-five miles an hour, Southron and Yank were drawing into the brotherhood of a common sympathy.
And so it went all through that grimy afternoon. With what unremitting thoughtfulness and care those fellows looked after our fair charges! The sanctity of her grief and anxiety rendered Miss Summers the object of the deepest respect and sympathy. Reclining at the rear of the car, her veil drawn over her face, none but Harrod ventured to approach her; but Kitty was the centre of incessant attention, and through her all manner of improvised delicacies were brought to Pauline. The dust was stifling, and indefatigable Mr. Turpin appeared from somewhere in front with a tin basin filled with cracked ice. The doctor came forward with a silver cup of delicious lemonade (he had levied on his pannier for lime-juice and powdered sugar) dexterously rendered soulful by a dash of Vini Gallici. Kitty smiled her thanks to both, and a duplicate of the beverage was grateful to her silent cousin. We flew over the rattling rails, and the jarring was incessant. The doctor produced an air-pillow for Pauline's head. We stopped somewhere for water, and the major disappeared. The ladies had brought luncheon in a large basket – but no appetites. The soldiers had rations and were filled. The officers had not had a mouthful since a breakfast at 3 A.M., and were hungry. No chance for a bite until 5 P.M., when, said the conductor, they might grab a sandwich at Ragsdale's, at Meridian. "But we can't stop three minutes, boys." Kitty overheard it. She was in animated conversation with a tall subaltern, who claimed to be from Kentucky. They were sitting three seats ahead of Miss Summers, who was undisturbed by their chatter; all voices were subdued as far as was possible. Mr. Turpin, who was a man of few words but vast action, was hovering about, eager for a chance to do something. She knew it. They all seem to have infinite intuition that way.
"Oh, Mr. Turpin, would you please bring me our lunch-basket?" And Turpin was down upon us like his namesake of old, demanding the basket in a manner suggestive of "or your lives." Another second and it was deposited in front of her, and she bade him summon his brotherhood; and they went, even the stolid quartermaster, who felt sheepish apparently. And there she sat like a little Lady Bountiful, dispensing to each and all (a Southern lunch-basket reminds me of the parable of the loaves and fishes), and they surrounded her, eating and adoring.
At five we rolled into Meridian, and Ragsdale's sandwiches were forgotten. Major Williams sprang from the train.
"Yes, dear," I heard Harrod saying to his sister, "I will try and send a dispatch from here," and with that he rose. I went with him in search of the telegraph-office. At the door we met the major, some open dispatches in his hand.
"Have we time to send a despatch to New Orleans?" asked Harrod, eagerly.
"Hardly," said the major, with a quiet smile. "But won't this do?" and he placed in Harrod's hand one of the papers. The message read:
"Telegram received. Assure Vinton's friends that fever is less. He receives best care. We are hopeful now.
"Reynolds, A.A.G."
"Thank God!" I uttered.
Summers, with tears starting to his eyes, grasped the soldier's hand.
"You are a very thoughtful man, sir."
"All aboard!" yelled the conductor. "Get those lamps lit now."
Somehow I was glad it was dusk in the car as we sprang aboard. Harrod, with quick, eager step, went directly to her. Something told her he had news, and she rose, throwing back her veil, and bent eagerly forward. He placed the paper in her hand, and, clutching it, she seemed to devour the contents. Kitty had turned quickly to look. Conversation somehow had ceased. Then we saw her glance one instant up in his face. Then his strong arms were round her, for, burying her face in his breast, she had burst into a passion of almost hysterical weeping. Then we all turned away and shook hands. The whole car knew Vinton was better. One soldier up in front wanted to give three cheers, but was promptly suppressed. Kitty's own eyes were overflowing as she received the congratulations of the lately banquetted, and with a great load off our hearts we sped onward through the darkness.
Two sweet pictures remain in my memory of that strange night. First was that of Miss Summers and Major Williams. At her request Harrod brought him to her, that she might thank him for the thoughtfulness, the delicate attention he had shown. Her face was exquisite in the revival of hope, in the intensity of gratitude.
The second was about 11 P.M. We had had to make some stops. Our run was now less impeded. It had grown chilly and raw. Coming in from the front, whither I had gone to smoke with the conductor, I found the inmates of the rear of our car apparently buried in slumber, except one figure. Mr. Turpin, with his blouse collar turned up and his hands in his pockets, was sitting bolt upright. Two seats behind him, her fair hair curling about her rounded cheek, sleeping like a babe after all the fatigues and excitements of the day, but from neck to foot completely enveloped in a cloak of army blue, was Kitty Carrington, our rampant little rebel Kit.
CHAPTER IX
Early in the morning, earlier even than I had supposed possible, the conductor's voice was heard announcing to somebody that we would be in New Orleans in less than half an hour. I had been sleeping somewhat uneasily, curled up on one of the seats. I was dimly conscious of the fact that at some unknown hour in the night another telegram had been received referring to Vinton, and that Miss Summers was wide awake when it came. I remember Harrod's bending over and kissing her, and hearing the words, "That is better yet." Then sleep again overpowered me. Now, at daybreak, I arose and gazed around the dimly-lighted car. Miss Summers, Harrod, and Major Williams were the only occupants apparently astir. The former was sitting near the opened window; the cool, salty breeze from the Gulf was playing with the ripples of fair hair that clustered about her forehead. She looked very white and wan in the uncertain light, but there was a womanly tenderness and sweetness about her face that made it inexpressibly lovely to me. She was gazing wistfully out over the sea of marsh and swamp, as though longing to bridge the distance that still separated us from the city, where he lay battling with that insidious enemy. Harrod and the major were in earnest conversation. Other occupants of the car were beginning to stir uneasily, as though warned that soon they must be up and doing; but Kitty still slept, and the cloak of army blue still covered her. Mr. Turpin had disappeared.
A few moments more and the officers had been aroused; the men were donning their belts and equipments; Pauline herself stepped forward, and, bending over her pretty cousin, roused her from her baby-like sleep; and glancing from the windows, I could see that we were rolling up the "Elysian Fields." Then came the curving sweep around on the broad levee. All looked quiet, even deserted, as we passed the Mint and the wide thoroughfare of Esplanade Street. Some of the lamps still burned dimly in the cafés and bars, but no trace of commotion or excitement could be discerned. It was with some little surprise then that our eyes met the warlike scene as we rolled into the station at the foot of Canal Street.
The instant the train stopped, our car was boarded by an alert gentleman in civilian dress whom I had often seen, and whom I knew to be an aide-de-camp on the staff of the commanding general. He came at once to Major Williams; shook hands with him, and conveyed some orders in a low tone of voice; then asked to be presented to Colonel Summers. Major Williams brought him to where our group of four was then standing, at the rear of the car, – Miss Summers, Kitty, Harrod, and myself.
"Let me introduce Colonel Newhall, of General Emory's staff," he said, and the colonel, raising his hat in general salutation to the party, spoke in the hurried, nervous way I afterwards found was habitual with him, despite the sang-froid that distinguished him at all times save in the presence of ladies.
"I have come direct from Major Vinton's room, Colonel Summers, and am happy to tell you that the doctors pronounce him much better. The general charged me to bring you the latest news of him, and to express to you and to your ladies his warm interest and sympathy."
Then we had not come as strangers to a strange land. I glanced at Pauline, as her brother, warmly grasping the staff-officer's hand, presented him to her and to Kitty. Her clear, brave eyes were suffused with tears and she did not venture to speak a word; but she was infinitely moved by the constantly recurring evidences of interest in her and her gallant lover. Such an informal announcement of an engagement perhaps was not strictly in accordance with the prevailing customs of society, but the exigencies of the case put all such considerations aside. Everybody on our train knew the story of course, and it had evidently been telegraphed to headquarters. Meantime, Major Williams had been superintending the debarkation of his men, and they were forming ranks on the platform outside. Beyond them, a long line of stacked arms was guarded by sentries, and several companies of infantry were grouped behind them, watching with professional interest the arrival of comrade soldiery. A number of officers had gathered at the side of the car, – very weary they looked too, and far from jaunty in their dusty fatigue uniforms; but they were intent on welcoming Major Williams and his command, and at that hour in the morning, costume and unshaven chins were not subject to criticism. Time and again it had been my lot to be at this very station, but never before had I seen it thronged with troops. It was evident that matters of grave moment were going on in the city.
Colonel Newhall had left the car for a moment and Harrod came to me:
"It seems that Vinton is at Colonel Newhall's quarters on Royal Street, Mr. Brandon. He met the troop on its arrival in town, and finding Vinton wellnigh delirious with fever, had him taken at once to his lodgings. There are a number of vacant rooms, he tells me, and he has made all arrangements to take us right there; so there we will go. The St. Charles is crowded, and Pauline naturally wants to be near him. I think it the best arrangement that could possibly be made."
Even as he finished, the colonel came in to say that the carriage was ready. Harrod, Pauline, Kitty and I followed him to the platform. The group of officers standing there courteously raised their forage-caps as our ladies passed them. Kitty looked furtively about her as she stepped from the car, and Mr. Turpin sprang forward to take her light satchel. It was but a few steps to the carriage. Pauline and Kitty were handed in. Summers and Colonel Newhall took their seats in the carriage. We shook hands all round without saying much of anything, except that I should meet them later in the day; the driver cracked his whip, and away they went up Canal Street, Mr. Turpin and I gazing after them.
Even as we looked, there came trotting down the stone pavement towards us a pair of cavalrymen. The one in front, tall, slender, erect, I recognized at once as Frank Amory. The one in rear was evidently his orderly. Never noticing the carriage, which had hurried off on the Custom-House side of the street, the former rode rapidly to the very point where we were standing. I saw Mr. Turpin look eagerly at him, then spring forward.
"Sheep, old man, how are you?"
"Hello, Cyclone! when did you get here?" and throwing the reins to his orderly, Frank Amory sprang from the saddle, and warmly grasped Mr. Turpin by the hand. The boys were classmates.
It was perhaps a minute before Amory noticed that I was standing there, so absorbed was he in greeting his comrade. The moment he caught sight of me, however, he stepped quickly forward. Quite a number of the younger officers had gathered around by this time, and with heightened color he looked eagerly in my face.
"When did you come? Who – who else came?" he asked, excitedly.
"We arrived only a few minutes ago," I said. "Miss Summers, Miss Kitty, and the colonel with me. They just drove off in that carriage. We are so rejoiced to hear Major Vinton is better."
"You don't say so!" he exclaimed, then stopped short, as though at a loss what to add. "I – I had no idea she – you could get here so soon. Vinton is better, thank God! Where have they gone?"
"To Colonel Newhall's quarters," I answered. "It seems there are several rooms, and the colonel says his landlady will take the best of care of them. Then they will be near him, which is something to be considered."
"Why, Sheep, did you know Colonel Summers and Miss Carrington?" broke in Mr. Turpin, suddenly.
"Yes, quite well. I was stationed near them," was the answer, given with some constraint.
Mr. Turpin stuck his hands deep in his pockets and said not another word. Other officers crowded about Mr. Amory to inquire for Major Vinton, and to ask for news. Presently Major Williams came up with Colonel Starr, the commanding officer of the battalion that was "in bivouac" at the station, and I was presented to the latter. From them I learned something of the situation.
They had been on guard all night there at the station. What for they could not exactly tell. It seems that one faction of the Legislature occupied the temporary State-House; another had its headquarters over a prominent bar-room in Royal Street; and a large concourse of citizens had organized with military formalities and the avowed intention of dislodging the factional Legislature from the house; installing a Governor of their own choice; and subduing the police force of the city, now enrolled as a uniformed and fully-equipped battalion of infantry, with a battery of field-guns and a squadron of cavalry as assistants. The police held the various stations, and no encounter had taken place; but the citizens had turned out in great numbers, and the chances were that they would prove too powerful for the mixed array of the police force; and trouble had been anticipated for that very night, but it had not come. A strong battalion of infantry was posted here at the railway station. Another, after a day of weary marching, was resting at a large cotton-press up the levee; two companies of cavalry were stationed at the quartermaster's warehouse up in Magazine Street, near the headquarters of the commanding general, and two foot batteries from an artillery regiment had spent the night in the State-House itself. Cavalry patrols had been scouting through the city all night, promptly reporting any unusual gathering, but in no case interfering. Verily these were strange accompaniments to the times of piping peace.
It was after seven o'clock when I reached my rooms. I was tired and ought to have been sleepy after the long, rapid ride by rail, but the morning papers were full of exciting prophecy as to the events of the day, and sleep was out of the question. Amory had declined my invitation to breakfast, saying that he could not be away from his troop more than fifteen minutes at a time, and had only managed to get down to the station while out looking after his patrols. A bath and a change of raiment proved refreshing. Then I took a car; rode to Canal Street; walked down Royal to Colonel Newhall's lodgings; met one of the doctors, who assured me that Major Vinton was doing very well, and that later they hoped he might be well enough to see Miss Summers. He was still flighty and had no idea of his whereabouts. The ladies were up-stairs resting. Would I see them? No, I preferred not to disturb them, and so went off by myself to breakfast at my usual haunt, Moreau's. The room was already well filled when I entered. Most of the tables were occupied, many of them by prominent citizens. Much earnest talk was going on in subdued tones, and there was an air of suppressed excitement that was noticeable to the most careless observer. Two of the tables were occupied by a party of infantry officers whom I had seen at the station, and it was noticeable that within earshot of them little was being said in reference to "the situation." I had several acquaintances among the business men present, and took a seat near them. The first words that fell upon my ears were, —
"And it will be done to-night, you may depend upon it."
"But do you suppose that General Emory will stand by and allow such a thing to go on under his very nose?"
"General Emory can't help himself, sir. His orders from Washington do not permit him to act unless called upon by the marshal or by the State authorities. The whole thing will be over and done with before they can make their demand, and our people will have dispersed before the troops get there."
"But suppose they get wind of it and call upon him to station his men to meet the move?"
"Why, that ends it, of course. We are helpless in that case. We don't mean to raise a finger against the general government. Let him send a corporal's guard to any one of the places and it's safe; but as for this infernal mottled police – "
"Steady!"
And then both speakers looked up at the party of infantry officers, who had risen and were quietly leaving. Then they looked at me, and the rest of the conversation was in too low a tone for any one to hear.
The day was one of restless anxiety, yet of apparent quiet and order. The broad "banquette" of Canal Street was thronged with ladies and children as is customary on bright afternoons. The matinées at the Varieties and the St. Charles Theatre were crowded. At half-past four, as I strolled up the street under the friendly shade of the awnings, that made the wide sidewalks one long arcade, I was struck by the perfectly peaceful aspect of the scene. From the Custom-House to Rampart Street, on the lower side of the way, I did not see a policeman, much less a soldier in uniform; but at all the corners, the knots of unoccupied men were much larger than usual; this being especially the case around Dumonteil's and Lopez's confectioneries, and the well-known establishment of "Dr. Sample."
On the opposite side and grouped around the brown-stone building of the Shakespeare Club, half a dozen men in civilian dress were lolling about, and less than one hundred yards up Dryades Street, as many more were sitting or standing around the entrance of the massive Mechanics' Institute, now used as a State-House and place of meeting of one at least of the rival Legislatures; but there was nothing in its exterior to indicate the state of siege as described in the daily press. In all, there might have been one hundred loungers scattered from Victor's marble-columned restaurant on the lower side down to "Dr. Sample's," in the middle of the next block; but absolute quiet and order reigned. Some of the windows in the second story of the Institute were open, and occasionally the features of some colored legislator could be seen peering curiously and cautiously out towards Canal Street.
