CHAPTER II.
Fifty seats in the parquette had been reserved for the members of theclass graduated from West Point on the beautiful morning of the 12th ofJune. The brilliant auditorium was thronged with friends of the youngfellows. Officers of the Academy were seated in the boxes, interested nomore in the play than in the enjoyment of "the boys" just released fromtheir four years of hard study and rigid discipline. Two of the chairswere vacant almost until the close of the first act, then their ownerscame in.
"You fellows have missed a heap of fun," whispered a classmate. Then aburst of laughter and applause drowned his words. "All the same wedidn't miss the train," was the reply as soon as the new-comer couldmake himself heard, after the lowering of the curtain. "Poor old Dad! Itwasn't easy to let him go."
"What took him off in such a devil of a hurry? We counted on his beingwith us at the last supper."
"Oh, the Parson don't take much stock in last suppers--of this kind,"answered the other in no irreverence of spirit, for the young fellowspoke in genuine earnestness; "still, he couldn't have gone back on usif it hadn't been for bad news from home."
"What, his mother?"
"No--o. It's a girl. He said he had to go."
"Ah, yes, we knew all along he was engaged, though he never saidanything about it. Parson never struck me as being one of the spoonykind."
"No, he wasn't a bit. He wrote to her every week, but her letters keptcoming all the time--regular continued stories; but he wouldn't standchaffing about them and didn't fancy remarks, so I quit."
"Know anything about her? Ever see her picture?"
"Once, by accident,--a mighty pretty girl, too,--but he never talkedabout her; it wasn't his way. We lived together the last two years, andI reckon there isn't anything I didn't tell him. I remember how you alllaughed at the idea of my taking up with 'Parson' Davies, but he's puregold."
"There's no discount on that, Jimmy; but what a time it took to find itout! If it weren't for the riding-hall we never would have known howmuch there was to him. There may be some prettier riders than Parson,but he's all round the best horseman in the class. What on earth did hechoose the infantry for?"
"Something about that girl, I reckon. Looks to me as though he weregoing to get married before he joined the regiment."
"Sacrificing himself and his profession for the sake of a spoons, is it?Well, thank God, I'm not in love, and I wish he weren't."
Meantime the subject of this cadet chat, a tall, slender, serious-facedyoung fellow, was sitting in one of the crowded cars of the nightexpress whistling away up the shores of the Hudson, shadowy yetfamiliar, fifty miles to the hour. His new civilian dress--donned thatmorning for the first time--bore something of the cadet about it in itstrim adjustment to the lines of his erect, even gaunt figure. He satvery straight, looking silently across the aisle out on the starlitriver to his left, and holding on his knees the new dark-blue cape andan old travelling-bag. A lone woman in search of a seat had entered thecar at Harlem and passed by a dozen unsympathetic travellers, who madeno move to share the seat over which they sprawled aggressively. Thefirst to lift his satchel and make way for her was the tall, thin-facedyoung man in the straw hat and pepper-and-salt suit. He rose and offeredher the inner half, which she accepted gratefully, then thanked him inbroken English for stowing her various bundles in the rack above.
The conductor looked oddly at him as he unrolled his ticket.
"Going through? Don't you want a sleeper?"
"How much is a single berth to Chicago?"
"Five dollars."
"No. I'll get along here."
Not until they reached Albany, after midnight, had he a seat to himself.Meantime, finding his companion overcome by drowsiness and her poor oldhead bobbing helplessly, he rolled his new cloak cape into a sort ofpillow, wedged it between her and the window seat, and bade her use it.As they came in view of the brightly-lighted station she awoke with astart and made a spring for her belongings. She had slept soundly eversince they left Poughkeepsie, and was again profuse in gratitude. "Westay here several minutes," said Mr. Davies. "Let me help you with yourbundles." And, unheeding her protest, he marched off with a bird-cageand a big band-box. A burly German made a rush for the car the momentshe appeared upon the platform and lifted her off with vehementosculatory welcome, Davies standing silently and patiently by the while,then surrendering her traps to her legal protector. "He is such a kindyoung man," said the smiling frau. "He gif me his seat. We have a sohn,yust so old as you," she added, "but he is farder as Chick-ago. He is asoldier, out by Fort Larmie."
"Yes?" said Davies, smiling. "Then perhaps I'll see him some day. Iexpect to be out there before long."
"And you are a soldier, too! Ach Gott! ein offizier?" she exclaimed, inconsternation, born of German associations.
"Not yet, though I suppose I shall be very soon. What is your boy'sregiment?"
And, jabbering excitedly now, both at once, the two old people beganpouring their tale into his ears; told their boy's name,--"He was agorboral alretty,"--and they were justly proud, and Davies made themhappy by noting the name and company in his book and giving his own,though he explained that he was not yet a lieutenant, only ajust-graduated cadet, but that if ever he found the corporal, he said,he should tell him of his pleasant meeting with the old folks, and then,after a cup of coffee at the restaurant counter, he returned to his ownthoughts and the car.
Soon they were spinning up along the shining Mohawk, and still hiseyelids would not close. In his waistcoat-pocket lay a bulky letter,the last of many in the same superscription--a prim, unformed,school-girlish hand--that had come to him during the last two years ofhis cadet life. Its predecessors, carefully wrapped and tied, were inthe old trunk somewhere ahead among the baggage. In his hand again wasthe telegram that, reaching him at the moment when he was bidding adieuto the academic shades he had grown so deeply to love, had determinedhim in the already half-formed resolution to cut loose from his comradesand the class festivities in New York and take the first train for thefar West.
"URBANA, June 12.
"Doctor says come quick. Almira worse.
"B."
"B" was Almira's elder sister. Urbana, the home of his boy- and hergirlhood, the home where his father lived and died, pastor of thevillage flock, a man whose devotion and patriotism during the great warhad won for himself the friendship of the leaders of the armies of theWest and for his only son, years afterwards, the prize of a cadetship atWest Point. Deeply religious in every fibre of his soul, the chaplainhad labored among the hospitals in the field from first to last, anddied not long after the close of the historic struggle, a martyr to thecause. He died poor, too, as such men ever die, laying up no treasuresupon earth, where moth and rust and thieves are said to lessen treasurethere accumulated, yet where its accumulation seems the chief end of mannot spiritually constituted as was Davies, who was imposed upon by everybeat and beggar, tramp and drab, within reachable distance of Urbana.Far and wide had spread abroad the words of his personal creed,--that hewould rather it were recorded against him that he had been duped amillion times than that one human being had left his door hungering. Hiswidow was not only merely penniless, she was helpless but for the strongarms of her son, who slaved for her as the father had slaved for theUnion. Those were the days when pensions were few. It was too soon afterthe war, and facts were fresher in men's minds. Percy did all thefarm-work by day and taught school by night until, in his twenty-firstyear, he was sent to the Military Academy by the President himself, whohad known his father from the days of Donelson. It was told of the tall,taciturn young man that he seriously contemplated resigning during hisfourth class year when he found that he could not send home the littlesavings from his cadet pay. If the rule of the sacred commandment couldbut be made to work both ways, and days would be indeed long in the landthe Lord our God had given to him who most honored his father andmother, no life insurance company in all America would have hesitated inPercy Davies
's case, had the policy been millions and the premium unity.A gentle woman was Mrs. Davies, but a distressingly helpless anddependent one, and it was an old saying in Urbana that Davies hadmarried poor Salome Percy because if he didn't nobody would; not becausehe stood in need of her, but because she was much in need of him. Andwhen, not long after his father's death, Percy appealed to a well-to-docitizen on the widow's behalf, he was refused, and the brawny son andheir of the well-to-do citizen told of the incident, and was idiotenough in Percy's presence to repeat this old village saw as the reasonof the refusal, it nearly led to tragedy. Seizing the first availableweapon, a flail, which he wielded with uncommon skill, in one mad momentthe indignant youth smote the other hip and thigh,--the first, and foryears the only, time he was ever known to lose control of himself. Inten seconds the battered gossip was sprawled full length, and they whowould have rushed to tear his assailant away stood amazed to see himtearfully imploring the pardon of the vanquished.
And then as Percy grew in years and grace, working day and night that hemight obey that last sacred whispered injunction, "Take care of poormother," and Urbana grew in population and importance, one mortgage waslifted by the sale of part of their little farm, and the home made morecomfortable for the ailing, querulous woman. She loved young folks, andyet lacked the faculty of attracting them. Striving to interest some ofthe village maids in her, Percy interested more than one in himself, andamong these was a rural beauty, by name Almira Quimby. She was onlysixteen, a romantic child with an exquisite complexion, big melting blueeyes, and curling ringlets. She lived, said other village maids, "onSylvanus Cobb and slate-pencils." She devoured with avidity every bit ofsensational trash procurable in the public or post-office libraries, andmade eyes at the tall, strong school-master,--the best rider, reaper,thresher in the field, and best reader and declaimer in the winterlyceums. He was intellectually far ahead of his fellows, and his fatherhad labored to teach him. He was "serious," which was our Western way ofsaying he had strong religious views, and Almira became devoted in herattentions at church, Bible-class, and Sunday-school. Still, he did notbecome an adorer, and she began visiting the widow in her affliction,and thereby seeing more and more of the widow's son. There werestrapping prairie beaux who would have given all they possessed for anyone of the soft, shy looks she stole at Percy Davies, and who began tohate him vehemently as her fancy for him increased.
He would have been of utterly unimpressionable material could he havelooked unmoved day after day upon her budding beauty, and it was notlong before Davies found himself strangely interested, and still hewould not speak. It was not until his appointment came, and he waspreparing to go to the Academy, that he owned himself vanquished.Almira's red eyes and not entirely concealed emotion had told the motherhow the girl was grieving at the prospective loss of her first love, andshe with motherly solicitude took Percy to task. If he cared for Almirawhy didn't he say so? With perfect truth the young man replied that hecouldn't help admiring her, but had struggled against it because he wasin no position to marry, and did not know when he would be. To this themother replied that she had grown very fond of Almira, and had learnedto depend upon her. She was not only very pretty but, what was muchbetter, a very good girl, and her father was as "well-to-do" as anybodyin Urbana, except the hotel-keeper. He could well afford to give herpart of the big farm and build them a house near the widow's own roof.She knew, or thought she knew, as do so many of us, just what herneighbor could and should do, but overlooked the fact that old Quimbyhad two sons and three daughters older than Almira. The fact that mostof them were married in no wise detracted from their expectations ofmaterial aid from the "old man." The fact that he might care to takeunto himself a wife to replace the late incumbent now sleeping placidlyin Urbana's leafy cemetery was no more contemplated by them than by theWidow Davies. But there was another widow in Sangamon County who knewbetter and who wisely said naught. Almira's father was well off, saidMrs. Davies. She had rich relations in the great metropolis of theState. Her Aunt Almira was married to the manager of the Q. R. & X.Railway,--the man who used to send father Davies an annual pass so longas he lived. Mrs. Davies longed, she said, to see her son happily mated,and then she would be glad to go and rest by the father's side under theshadow of the soldier's monument. How it all happened would be too long,too old, and by no means uncommon a story. When Percy Davies went toWest Point he left behind him a weeping maid who vowed that she wouldwait for him a lifetime, if need be. It was really quite a romanticparting, and the young man believed himself very deeply in love, and sodid Almira.
And yet he was not easy in his mind. Percy Davies was old for his years.He was going to the Point because of his father's strong predilectionfor the graduates of that institution. The son had no especial tastefor a military life. He was studious. He would far rather have gone tosome college or university and pursued a classical course, and thenstudied for the law or the ministry. He had no means for such an end,however, and accepted what was offered him on his father's account, withno little uneasiness on his own. It was not his desire or purpose toremain in the army. If he could honorably do so he meant to leave themilitary service within the four years which his letter of appointmentstipulated he should serve after graduation. He doubted the propriety ofhis accepting it under the circumstances, and he--looked upon by hisfellow-men and youths as the most enviable of their number--left hishome for the new life in no enviable frame of mind.
For some months after his departure Almira fairly lived with the invalidmother, and was faithful both to her and to the absent lover. Not a daypassed without her spending hours with the widow and discoursing on theperfections of the absent one. Old Quimby, a hard-fisted, hard-headedold democrat, had made no objection to the engagement, remarking that if'twan't Davies 'twould be somebody else, and seeing as he was thesmartest lad at farming and schooling, and that it would be four yearsanyhow, why, there was no call for him to worry. Then Urbana built abigger school-house and got a new teacher, and for two years saw naughtof Percy Davies. Property increasing in value, another slice of thehomestead lot had been sold, and with economy the widow could becomfortable on her little income; but it was not long before thegossips, dropping in to cheer her up a bit, began to tell of the swainswho were making eyes at 'Mira, and then of 'Mira's growing consciousnessof her charms and fascinations. The second year of Percy's absence therecould be no doubt that three or four bucolical hearts were turned on heraccount. Had there been just one devotee the absent lover's claims mighthave been endangered, but there being several she was content in aplacid cowlike way in their attentions, and became less devoted tomamma. With the second summer, however, Percy came home on cadetfurlough. The slight stoop was gone. An erect, martial carriage andquick, springy step had replaced the somewhat plodding gait of theschool and farm. The sprouting beard and whiskers had vanished, and astiff moustache, which soon began to curl and twist becomingly, adornedhis upper lip. The "store clothes" of the Western town long since castaside, Davies appeared in stylish and trim-fitting civilian dress, butresolutely declined all appeals to wear--except for mother's eyes--theuniform of his famous corps. When he went on sunshiny Sundays to thechurch that seemed hallowed to his father's memory, the spotless whitetrousers and natty sack coat of dark-blue flannel were, however, somilitary in their effect as to create, despite himself, almost theeffect of regimentals. Then he had acquired already an air and manner, apolish that distinguished him at once above his fellow-townsmen, andAlmira's wavering allegiance gave place to new romance and fervor. Theold flame had found too little breath in his earnest, honest letters tokeep it alive. As for him, though he had belonged to what was termed the"bachelor gang" at the Point and mingled but little in ladies' society,he was a close observer, and Percy Davies saw at a glance that thoughmore radiant in her rustic beauty than before, more appealing to thesenses in the flush of her health and unconscious grace, there was stillsomething besides the fashion of her gown that differed widely from thebeauties who thronged the gravel
led walks, the shady groves, the tentedfield of the national military academy. The swains of the winter gone bywere less in evidence now, and it pleased her anyhow during the twomonths of his home stay to forget them one and all and cling only tohim. Changes came in the next two years--and trouble. Old Quimby marriedagain. Almira's home-life became unhappy. Quarrels ensued between thenew wife and the children. Reproaches fell from the lips of the failingwidow because of Almira's tacit acceptance of the devotions of young Mr.Powlett, son of the resident physician of the sanitarium that was nowbringing so many patients to Urbana. A handsome, dare-devil sort of boywas Powlett, who speedily cut out all the local beaux at the parties andpicnics which filled the summer of '75. A beautiful dancer was he, andtaught Almira to waltz and "glide" in a style never before seen inUrbana, and that other couples first derided, then envied, then vainlystrove to imitate. That Urbana censors should go to the widow withinvidious comment upon Almira's misbehavior was a matter of course, andthat the widow should transmit their tales, not entirely withoutembellishment and reproof, was only to be expected. Almira accepted bothwith ill grace, was moved to tears and protest. She couldn't help it ifpeople admired her and liked to dance and walk and talk with her. Shemust either submit to it or shut herself up and mope and not go out atall. She thought Mrs. Davies most unjust, but she did not promise toamend. Then the widow, finding Almira obdurate, was moved to write toPercy advising him that he should caution her, who was onlylight-hearted and thoughtless, and, to the widow's surprise, Percyrefused. He gravely wrote that Almira was but a child when she engagedherself to him. She had seen nothing of the world or of other men, andit was a matter he would not interfere with, and one that he desired hismother to leave alone. This was simply incomprehensible. Urbana was verygay that autumn and early winter. The sanitarium was the means ofbringing business to town, and a number of new stores were opened, andnew young men came to tend the counter and swell the parties, and stillyoung Powlett held supremacy, and everybody began to say that the cadetwas cut out, and Almira Quimby had gone over heart and soul to the newclaimant, when there came a cataclysm,--a scandal at the sanitarium, astir at the Palace Hotel, Urbana's new hostelry, the arrest of arecently discharged patient by the name of Brannan, an afflicted youngman with what was described as an unconquerable mania for drink, and thesudden disappearance of young Powlett. There was investigation and morescandal. It transpired that this young Adonis had abused his father'strust to the extent of smuggling liquor to certain patients and ofheaven only knew what else. Dr. Powlett resigned, crushed andhumiliated. Lawyers came and bailed out the other unfortunate, of whomit soon was rumored that he was Almira Quimby's own cousin, the son ofher rich city aunt, and that was the reason the lawyers and not therelatives came. It was presently established that young Brannan was moresinned against than sinning, and the holidays opened, with a fearful gapin Urbana, for Almira's devoted lover, to the comfort of everyright-thinking maid and swain in Sangamon society, had fled, no one knewwhither.
Two weeks later the Widow Davies lay at death's door. Her son wastelegraphed for, and came. His leave was for only one week,--even that amost unusual concession, granted only because of his unimpeachableconduct and his safe though not high standing in scholarship. His comingseemed to give new life to the mother, and Almira vied with him inattention and devotion. Urbana took it much to heart that after hermonths of monopoly of Mr. Powlett, of whom the most damaging anddreadful things were now told, she should so calmly and complacentlyresume her apparent sway over this martial and dignified and superiorsort of person, the widow's son. Urbana fully meant that his eyes shouldbe opened just so soon as the mother's were closed. But Urbana foundthat luck was dead against it. The widow began to mend,--the son it waswho was suddenly prostrated on the eve of his return to the Point.
Leaving Almira at her father's door one night after seeing her safelyhome, Davies was found lying in the high-road, senseless, an hour later,and never, said Urbana, knew what hit him. Concussion of the brain wasfeared, for he had evidently been assaulted in the dark from behind andfelled to earth by blows of some heavy, blunt instrument. Robbery wasevidently the motive, for his little store of money and the beautifuland costly watch presented to his father at the close of the war weregone. Almira had two patients now, and devotedly she attended them. Whenin a fortnight Percy declared he must return, and did return to pass hismidwinter examination, she wore at last an engagement ring. Urbana didnot know that he had offered--and she had refused--freedom. Urbana didnot know that she declared she loved him as she never did before, and asshe never had another. Urbana resented it that he who was so soon tooccupy the exalted station of an officer of the regular army, and theprincely salary of something over a thousand dollars a year "with allexpenses paid,"--double the sum enjoyed by the head salesman of Miller &Crofts,--should be so utterly deluded as to the frivolous character ofhis betrothed, and means were taken to enlighten him. Anonymous letterscame to Cadet Davies of the graduating class, which that grave andreverend senior committed, not to memory, but to flames. Whatever shehad been before his visit and mishap, Almira was all devotion now. InMay he wrote to her gravely and affectionately, bidding her rememberthat he always felt that she had been pledged to him when too young toknow her own mind, that his must needs be a life of self-denial,privation, and danger, that he must live with the utmost economyconsistent with his position as an officer, because his mother's comfortmust be a sacred charge so long as she lived, and that it might be yearsbefore he could see his way to asking any woman to come and share hislot. All this he had conscientiously explained to her before, and shehad met it with tears and reproaches. She could help him liveeconomically. They could sell the homestead and take mother to live withthem. She would welcome the day when she could leave her father's roof,now no longer a home to her. She knew it must be that he was tiring ofher,--that he had met some proud lady in the East, and his poor littlevillage maid was forgotten, etc. Now, in answer to this last letter,virtually proffering release if she so desired, her response wasvehement. He would kill her with his cruelty and coldness. She had nohope or ambition other than to share his lot, however humble. To be hernoble soldier, her hero Percy's bride, would be her heaven, and neithergold nor grandeur nor princely mansion could tempt her from his side,and she would welcome the grave if he proved false to her. It was allthe high-flown, emotional, melodramatic trash to be expected of anill-balanced girl whose pretty head was stuffed with the romance of thecountry post-office type, and Davies sighed heavily as he read.
He had planned to visit an old friend of his father's and see somethingof New York harbor and city before turning his back on the East. Neveryet had he set foot in Gotham, and as it would be years beforeopportunity might again be afforded him, he had weighed it all pro andcon, and decided that Dr. Iverson's advice and invitation should beaccepted. He would go with his classmates, spend the last evening withthem, and join the reverend doctor on the morrow. His mother, even inher invalided state, urged that he should do so, but Almira heard theplan with fresh outburst of tears. There was to be a grand picnic ofall the beaux and belles of Urbana on the 18th. She had counted onhaving her soldier lover in attendance on that occasion. She had toldhim of it, and that was enough. She had declined all other invitations,saying that Mr. Davies was to hasten thither the moment the graduatingexercises were over, and now to think of the triumph and maliciousdelight of the other girls was intolerable. Her lover should fly to herlike homing-pigeon the instant he was released from prison. It wastantamount to treason that he should purpose anything else. Almirafretted herself into a fever. She wrote one long letter to the recreantParson, and her sister Be_ay_trice, as they called her, followed it upwith another still more alarming. Then, as he did not wire instantsubmission, the telegram was sent. Old Quimby was on the platform at theUrbana station as Davies sprang from the train. "Nothing much," said he,in response to the young man's eager inquiry. "Some dam girl nonsenseshe and Bee have cooked up between them. When they ain't devilling theli
fe out of their step-mother they're worrying somebody else. Oh,yes!--'course the doctor's been humbugging for a week,--too glad to geta chance of shovin' in a bill."
Davies went gravely up the sunny street to his mother's home,--a meetingthat served to chase away the clouds, and then an hour later to Almira'sbower. Bee ushered him into a pretty room whose windows were overhungwith honeysuckle and pink chintz, and there in a great old-fashionedrocking-chair reclined the lovely invalid, who greeted him withoutstretched arms and rapturous cry, and who was sufficiently restoredto exhibit him at the Sunday-school picnic as originally planned. So faras she was concerned, all went blithely as a marriage-bell until themorning of July 5, when there came the fearful news of the massacre ofGeneral Custer and his troops at the hands of the Sioux. That eveningthe city papers said all officers on leave were hurrying to theirregiments, that reinforcements were being pushed to the front, thatrecruits were needed at once; and the next day, followed by a mother'sprayers and a maiden's unavailing protest, Percy Davies was gone. Justas his father did in '61, leaving all to pursue the path of duty, theyoung soldier, though not yet commissioned, sped to the nearest armypost, and joined the first command _en route_ for the field.