XI
IN COLUMN OF PLATOONS
Love's war was declared. From hour to hour of that night and the nextmorning, in bed, at board, dressing for the thronged city, spinning withConstance and Miranda up Love Street across Piety and Desire and on intothe town's centre, Anna, outwardly all peace, planned that war'sdefensive strategy. Splendidly maidenly it should be, harrowinglyarduous to the proud invader, and long drawn out. Constance should seewhat a man can be put through. But oh, but oh, if, after all, theinvasion should not come!
In those days New Orleans paved her favorite streets, when she pavedthem at all, with big blocks of granite two feet by one. They came fromthe North as ballast in those innumerable wide-armed ships whose cloudof masts and cordage inspiringly darkened the sky of that far-windingriver-front where we lately saw Hilary Kincaid and Fred Greenleaf ride.Beginning at the great steamboat landing, half a mile of Canal Streethad such a pavement on either side of its broad grassy "neutral ground."So had the main streets that led from it at right angles. Longafterward, even as late as when the Nineteenth Century died, some ofthose streets were at the funeral, clad in those same old pavements,worn as smooth and ragged as a gentleman-beggar's coat. St. CharlesStreet was one. Another was the old Rue Royale, its squat ground-floordomiciles drooping their mossy eaves half across the pinched sidewalksand confusedly trying to alternate and align themselves with tall brickhouses and shops whose ample two-and three-story balconies were upheld,balustraded, and overhung by slender garlandries of iron openwork asgraceful and feminine as a lace mantilla. With here and there the flagof a foreign consul hanging out and down, such is the attire the oldstreet was vain of in that golden time when a large square sign on everytelegraph pole bade you get your shirts at S.N. Moody's, corner of Canaland Royal Streets.
At this corner, on the day after the serenade, there was a dense,waiting crowd. On the other corner of Royal, where the show-windows ofHyde & Goodrich blazed with diamonds, and their loftily nested goldpelican forever fed her young from her bleeding breast, stood an equalthrong. Across Canal Street, where St. Charles opens narrowly southward,were similar masses, and midway between the four corners the risingcircles of stone steps about the high bronze figure of Henry Clay werehidden by men and boys packed as close as they could sit or stand. Agreat procession had gone up-town and would by and by return. Near andfar banners and pennons rose and fell on the luxurious air, and theranks and ranks of broad and narrow balconies were so many gardens ofdames and girls, parasols, and diaphanous gowns. Near the front of thelowest Hyde & Goodrich balcony, close by the gilded pelican, sat theCallenders, all gladness, holding mute dialogues with Flora and MadameValcour here on the balcony of Moody's corner. It was the birthday ofWashington.
Not of him, however, did Flora and her grandmother softly converse inSpanish amid the surrounding babel of English and French. Their themewas our battery drill of some ten days before, a subject urged uponFlora by the mosquito-like probings of Madame's musically whinedqueries. Better to be bled of almost any information by the antiquelittle dame than to have her light on it some other way, as she had anamazing knack of doing. Her _acted_ part of things Flora kept untold;but grandma's spirit of divination could unfailingly supply that, andher pencilled brows, stiff as they were, could tell the narrator she haddone so.
Thus now, Flora gave no hint of the beautiful skill and quick successwith which, on her homeward railway trip with Greenleaf that evening,she had bettered his impressions of her. By no more than a gentle playof light and shade in her smile and an undulating melody ofvoice--without a word that touched the wound itself, but with a timidglow of compassionate admiration--she had soothed the torture of a heartwhose last hope Anna had that same hour put to death.
"But before he took the train with you," murmured the mosquito to thebutterfly, "when he said the General was going to take Irby upon hisstaff and give the battery to Kincaid, what did you talk of?"
"Talk of? Charlie. He said I ought to make Charlie join the battery."
"Ah? For what? To secure Kincaid's protection of your dear littlebrother's health--character--morals--eh?"
"Yes, 'twas so he put it," replied Flora, while the old lady's eyebrowsvisibly cried:
"You sly bird! will you impute _all_ your own words to that Yankee, andhis to yourself?"
Which is just what Flora continued to do as the grandma tinkled: "Andyou said--what?"
"I said if I couldn't keep him at home I ought to get him into thecavalry. You know, dear, in the infantry the marches are so cruel, thecamps so--"
"But in the artillery," piped the small dame, "they ride, eh?" (It was atrap she was setting, but in vain was the net spread.)
"No," said the serene girl, "they, too, go afoot. Often they must helpthe horses drag the guns through the mire. Only on parade they ride, orwhen rushing to and fro in battle, whips cracking, horses plunging, thehills smoking and shaking!" The rare creature sparkled frankly, seeingthe battery whirling into action with its standard on the wind--thisvery flag she expected presently to bestow.
"And with Kincaid at the head!" softly cried the antique.
The girl put on a fondness which suddenly became a withering droop ofthe eyes: "Don't mince your smile so, grannie dear, I can hear the paintcrack."
The wee relic flashed, yet instantly was bland again: "You were about tosay, however, that in the artillery--?"
"The risks are the deadliest of all."
"Ah, yes!" sang the mosquito, "and for a sister to push her boy brotherinto a battery under such a commander would be too much like murder!"
The maiden felt the same start as when Greenleaf had ventured almostthose words. "Yes," she beamingly rejoined, "that's what I told theLieutenant."
"With a blush?"
"No," carelessly said the slender beauty, and exchanged happy signalswith the Callenders.
"You tricksy wretch!" muttered the grandmother to herself. For thoughCharlie was in the battery by his own choice, Hilary would have kept himout had not the sister begged to have him let in.
Suddenly there was a glad stoppage of all by-play in the swarmingstreets. Down St. Charles from LaFayette Square came the shock ofsaluting artillery, and up Royal from Jackson Square rolled backantiphonal thunders.
"Grandma!" softly cried Flora, as if sharing the general elation, buthad begun again to tell of Greenleaf, when from far over in Camp Streether subtle ear caught a faint stray sigh of saxhorns.
"Well? well? about the Yankee--?" urged Madame.
"Oh, a trifle! He was to go that night, and thinking he might some dayreturn in very different fashion and we be glad to make use of him, I--"The speaker's lithe form straightened and her gaze went off to the left."Here they come!" she said, and out where Camp Street emerges, a glintof steel, a gleam of brass, a swarming of the people that way, and againa shimmer of brass and steel, affirmed her word that the long, plumed,bristling column had got back to the arms of its darling Canal Street.
"Yes," cried many, "they're turning this way!"
"Well?--Well?" insisted the old lady amid the rising din. "And soyou--you?"
"Be more careful," murmured the girl. "I told him that ourconvictions--about this war--yours and mine--not Charlie's--_are thesame as his_."
A charming sight she was, even in that moment of public enthusiasm andspectacle, holding the wondering stare of her companion with a gayetythat seemed ready to break into laughter. The dainty Madame went limp,and in words as slow and soft as her smile, sighed, "You are a genius!"
"No, only the last thing you would suspect--a good housekeeper. I haveput him up in sugar."
The distant martial strains became more coherent. In remote balconieshandkerchiefs fluttered wildly, and under nearer and nearer ones thepeople began to pack closer and choose their footing along the curb.Presently from the approaching column came who but Hilary Kincaid,galloping easily over the slippery pavements. Anna saw his eyes sweepthe bank of human flowers (with its occasional male caterpillar) onMoody's balcony and li
ght upon Flora. He lifted his kepi and halted. Onecould read his soft questions.
"All right? All ready? Where are the others?--Ah!" He sent an eagersalutation to the Callenders, and two joyfully bowed, but Anna gave nosign. With great dignity her gaze was bent beyond him on the nearinghost, and when Constance plucked her arm she tardily looked three wrongways.
The rider could not wait. The police were pressing back the jubilantmasses, swarms of ladies on the rear forms were standing up, and Flora,still seated, had leaned down beamingly and was using every resource ofvoice and fan to send him some word through the tumult of plaudits anddrums. He spurred close. In a favoring hush--drum-corps inviting theband--she bent low and with an arch air of bafflement tried once more,but an outburst of brazen harmonies tore her speech to threads.Suddenly--
"Ever of thee I'm fondly dreaming--"
pealed the cornets, pumped the trombones, whipping it out, cracking itoff, with a rigor of rhythm to shame all peace-time languishments--
"Thy gentle voice my spirit can cheer. Thou art the star--"
What could the balconies do but wave more joyously than ever? Thestreets hurrahed! The head of the procession was here! The lone horsemanreined back, wheeled, cast another vain glance toward Anna, and with analarming rataplan of slipping and recovering hoofs sped down the column.
But what new rapture was this? Some glorious luck had altered the route,and the whole business swung right into this old rue Royale! Now, nowthe merry clamor and rush of the crowd righting itself! And behold! thisblazing staff and its commanding general--general of division! Hefirst, and then all they, bowed to Flora and her grandmother, bowed tothe Callenders, and were bowed to in return. A mounted escort followed.And now--yea, verily! General Brodnax and his staff of brigade! Wave,Valcours, wave Callenders! Irby's bow to Flora was majestic, and hers tohim as gracious as the smell of flowers in the air. And here wasMandeville, most glittering in all the glitter. Flora beamed on him aswell, Anna bowed with a gay fondness, Miranda's dainty nose crimpeditself, and Constance, with a blitheness even more vivid, wished allthese balconies could know that Captain--he _was_ Lieutenant, but thatwas away back last week--Captain Etienne Aristide Rofignac de Mandevillewas _hers_, whom, after their marriage, now _so_ near at hand, she wasgoing always to call Steve!