CHAPTER XXV
THE MOUNTAIN GENERAL
It was a bleak, cold night and Prescott's feelings were of the sametenor. The distant buildings seemed to swim in a raw mist andpedestrians fled from the streets. Prescott walked along in aimlessfashion until he was hailed by a dark man on a dark horse, who wished toknow if he were going "to walk right over us," but the rough words werebelied by joviality and welcome.
Prescott came out of his cloud and, looking up, recognized the greatcavalryman, Wood. His huge beard seemed bigger than ever, but his keeneyes shone in the black tangle as if they were looking through the holesin a mask.
"What ails you, boy?" he asked Prescott. "You were goin' to walk rightinto me, horse an' all, an' I don't believe you'd have seen a house ifit had been planted right in your path!"
"It's true I was thinking of something else," replied Prescott with asmile, "and did not see what was about me; but how are you, General?"
Wood regarded him closely for a moment or two before replying and thensaid:
"All right as far as that goes, but I can't say things are movin' wellfor our side. We're in a deadlock down there at Petersburg, and herecomes winter, loaded with snow an' hail an' ice, if signs count foranythin'. Mighty little for a cavalryman to do right now, so I just gotleave of absence from General Lee, an' I've run up to Richmond for a dayor two."
Then the big man laughed in an embarrassed way, and Prescott, looking upat him, knew that his face was turning red could it but be seen.
"A man may employ his time well in Richmond, General," said Prescott,feeling a sudden and not unsympathetic desire to draw him out.
The General merely nodded in reply and Prescott looked at him again andmore closely. The youth of General Wood and himself had been sodifferent that he had never before recognized what there was in thisilliterate man to attract a cultivated woman.
The crude mountaineer had seemed to him hitherto to be a soldier andnothing else; and soldiership alone, in Prescott's opinion, was very farfrom making up the full complement of a man. The General sitting thereon his horse in the darkness was so strong, so masterful, so deeplytouched with what appeared to be the romantic spirit, that Prescottcould readily understand his attraction for a woman of a positionoriginally different in life. His feeling of sympathy grew stronger.Here at least was a man direct and honest, not evasive and doubtful.
"General," he said with abrupt frankness, "you have come to Richmond tosee Miss Harley and I want to tell you that I wish you the utmostsuccess."
He held out his hand and the great mountaineer enclosed it in an irongrasp. Then Wood dismounted, threw his bridle over his arm and said:
"S'pose we go along together for awhile?"
They walked a minute or two in silence, the General running his fingersnervously through his thick black beard.
"See here, Prescott," he said at last, "you've spoke plain to me an'I'll do the same to you. You wished me success with Miss Harley. Why, Ithought once that you stood in the way of me or any other man."
"Not so, General; you credit me with far more attractions than I have,"replied Prescott deliberately. "Miss Harley and I were children togetherand you know that is a tie. She likes me, I am sure, but nothing more.And I--well I admire her tremendously, but----"
He hesitated and then stopped. The mountaineer gave him a sudden keenglance and laughed softly.
"There's somebody else?" he said.
Prescott was silent but the mountaineer was satisfied.
"See here, Prescott," he exclaimed with great heartiness. "Let's wisheach other success."
Their hands closed again in a firm grasp.
"There's that man Sefton," resumed the mountaineer, "but I'm not so muchafraid of him as I was of you. He's cunnin' and powerful, but I don'tthink he's the kind of man women like. He kinder gets their teeth onedge. They're afraid of him without admirin' his strength. There's twokinds of strong men: the kind that women are afraid of an' like and thekind that they're afraid of an' don't like; an' I think Sefton fallsinto the last class."
Prescott's liking for his companion increased, and mingled with it was agrowing admiration wholly aside from his respect for him as a soldier.He was showing observation or intuition of a high order. The General'sheart was full. He had all of the mountaineer's reserve and taciturnity,but now after years of repression and at the touch of real sympathy hisfeelings overflowed.
"See here, Prescott," he said abruptly, "I once thought it was wrong forme to love Helen Harley--the difference between us is so great--andmaybe I think so yet, but I'm goin' to try to win her anyhow. I'm justthat deep in love, and maybe the good God will forgive me, because Ican't help it. I loved that girl the first time I ever set eyes on her;I wasn't asked about it, I just had to."
"There is no reason why you should not go ahead and win her," said theother, warmly.
"Prescott," continued the mountaineer, "you don't know all that I'vebeen."
"It's nothing dishonest, that I'd swear."
"It's not that, but look where I started. I was born in the mountainsback there, an' I tell you we weren't much above the wild animals thatlive in them same mountains. There was just one room to our loghouse--one for father, mother and all of us. I never was taught nothin'.I didn't learn to read till I was twenty years old and the big wordsstill bother me. I went barefoot six months every year till I was a mangrown. Why, my cavalry boots pinch me now."
He uttered the lamentation of the boots with such tragic pathos thatPrescott smiled, but was glad to hide it in the darkness.
"An' I don't know nothin' now," resumed the mountaineer sadly. "When Igo into a parlour I'm like a bear in a cage. If there's anythin' aboutto break, I always break it. When they begin talkin' books and picturesand such I don't know whether they are right or wrong."
"You are not alone in that."
"An' I'm out of place in a house," continued the General, not noticingthe interruption. "I belong to the mountains an' the fields, an' whenthis war's over I guess I'll go back to 'em. They think somethin' of menow because I can ride an' fight, but war ain't all. When it's overthere'll be no use for me. I can't dance an' I can't talk pretty, an'I'm always steppin' on other peoples' feet. I guess I ain't the timberthey make dandies of."
"I should hope not," said Prescott with emphasis. He was really stirredby the big man's lament, seeing that he valued so much the little thingsthat he did not have and so little the great things that he did have.
"General," he said, "you never shirked a battle and I wouldn't shirkthis contest either. If I loved a woman I'd try to win her, and youwon't have to go back to the mountains when this war is over. You'vemade too great a name for that. We won't give you up."
Wood's eyes shone with satisfaction and gratitude.
"Do you think so?" he asked earnestly.
"I haven't a doubt of it," replied Prescott with the utmost sincerity."If fortune was unkind to you in the beginning nature was not so. Youmay not know it, but I think that women consider you rather good to lookat."
Thus they talked, and in his effort to console another Robert forgotsome of his own pain. The simple, but, on the whole, massive characterof Wood appealed to him, and the thought came with peculiar force thatwhat was lacking in Helen Harley's nature the tougher fiber of themountaineer would supply.
It was late when they separated and much later before Prescott was ableto sleep. The shadow of the Secretary was before him and it was amenacing shadow. It seemed that this man was to supplant him at everyturn, to appear in every cause his successful rival. Nor was hesatisfied with himself. A small but audible voice told him he hadbehaved badly, but stubborn pride stopped his ear. What right did hehave to accuse her? In a worldly sense, at least, she might fare well ifshe chose the Secretary.
There was quite a crowd in the lobby of the Spotswood Hotel nextmorning, gathered there to talk, after the Southern habit, when there isnothing pressing to be done, and conspicuous in it were the editors,Raymond and Winthrop, whom Prescott h
ad not seen in months and who nowreceived him with warmth.
"How's the _Patriot_?" asked Prescott of Raymond.
"The _Patriot_ is resting just now," replied Raymond quietly.
"How is that--no news?"
"Oh, there's plenty of news, but there's no paper. I did have a little,but Winthrop was short on a supply for an edition of his own sheet, andhe begged so hard that I let him have mine. That's what I call trueprofessional courtesy."
"The paper was so bad that it crumbled all to pieces a day afterprinting," said Winthrop.
"So much the better," replied Raymond. "In fact, a day is much too longa life for such a sheet as Winthrop prints."
The others laughed and the talk returned to the course from which it hadbeen taken for a moment by the arrival of Prescott. Conspicuous in thecrowd was the Member of Congress, Redfield, not at all improved inappearance since the spring. His face was redder, heavier and coarserthan ever.
"I tell you it is so," he said oratorically and dogmatically to theothers. "The Secretary is in love with her. He was in love with HelenHarley once, but now he has changed over to the other one."
Prescott shifted uneasily. Here was the name of the Secretary dogginghim and in a connection that he liked least of all.
"It's the 'Beautiful Yankee,' then," said another, a young man namedGarvin, who aspired eagerly to the honours of a ladykiller. "I don'tblame him. You don't see such a face and figure more than once in alifetime. I've been thinking of going in there myself and giving theSecretary something to do."
He flecked a speck of dust off his embroidered waistcoat and exudedvanity. Prescott would have gone away at once, but such an act wouldhave had an obvious meaning--the last thing that he desired, and hestayed, hoping that the current of talk would float to a new topic.Winthrop and Raymond glanced at him, knowing the facts of the Wildernessand of the retreat that followed, but they said nothing.
"I think that the Secretary or anybody else should go slow with thisYankee girl," said Redfield. "Who is she--and what is she? Where did shecome from? She drifted in with the army after the battles in theWilderness and that's all we know."
"It's enough," said Garvin; "because it makes a delightful mystery whichbut adds to the 'Beautiful Yankee's' attractions. The Secretary is fargone there. I happen to know that he is to take her to the President'sreception to-morrow night."
Prescott started. He was glad now that he had not humbled himself.
"At any rate," said Redfield, "Mr. Sefton can't mean to marry her--anunknown like that; it must be something else."
Prescott felt hot pincers grip him around the heart, and a passion thathe could not control flamed to his brain. He strode forward and put hishand heavily on the Member's shoulder.
"Are you speaking of Miss Catherwood?" he demanded.
"I am," replied Redfield, throwing off the heavy hand. "But whatbusiness is that of yours?"
"Simply this; that she is too good and noble a woman to be spoken ofslightingly by you. Such remarks as you have just made you repeat atyour risk."
Redfield made an angry reply and there were all the elements of a fierceencounter; but Raymond interfered.
"Redfield," he said, "you are wrong, and moreover you owe all of us anapology for speaking in such a way of a lady in our presence. I fullyindorse all that Captain Prescott says of Miss Catherwood--I happen tohave seen instances of her glorious unselfishness and sacrifice, and Iknow that she is one of God's most nearly perfect women."
"And so do I," said Winthrop, "and I," "and I," said the others.Redfield saw that the crowd was unanimously against him and frowned.
"Oh, well, perhaps I spoke hastily and carelessly," he said. "Iapologize."
Raymond changed the talk at once.
"When do you think Grant will advance again?" he asked.
"Advance?" replied Winthrop hotly. "Advance? Why, he can't advance."
"But he came through the Wilderness."
"If he did he lost a hundred thousand men, more than Lee had altogether,and now he's checkmated."
"He'll never see Richmond unless he comes to Libby," said Redfieldcoarsely.
"I'm not so sure," said Raymond gravely. "Whatever we say to the peopleand however we try to hold up their courage, we ought not to conceal thefacts from ourselves. The ports of the Confederacy are sealed up by theYankee cruisers. We have been shattered down South and here we areblockaded in Richmond and Petersburg. It takes a cartload of our moneyto buy a paper collar and then it's a poor collar. When I bring out thenext issue of my newspaper--and I don't know when that will be--I shallsay that the prospects of the Confederacy were never brighter; but Iwarn you right now, gentlemen, that I shall not believe a single one ofmy own words."
Thus they talked, but Prescott did not follow them, his mind dwelling onLucia and the Secretary. He was affected most unpleasantly by what hehad heard and sorry now that he had come to the hotel. When he couldconveniently do so he excused himself and went home.
He was gloomier than ever at supper and his mother uttered a mild jestor two on his state of mind.
"You must have failed to find any friends in the city," she said.
"I found too many," he replied. "I went to the Spotswood Hotel, mother,and I listened there to some tiresome talk about whipping the Yankeesout of their boots in the next five minutes."
"Aren't you going to do it?"
Prescott laughed.
"Mother," he said, "I wouldn't have your divided heart for anything. Itmust cause you a terrible lot of worry."
"I do very well," she said, with her quiet smile, "and I cherish noillusions."