Under Fire. Charles King

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СКАЧАТЬ letter, virtually proffering release if she so desired, her response was vehement. He would kill her with his cruelty and coldness. She had no hope or ambition other than to share his lot, however humble. To be her noble soldier, her hero Percy's bride, would be her heaven, and neither gold 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 all the high-flown, emotional, melodramatic trash to be expected of an ill-balanced girl whose pretty head was stuffed with the romance of the country post-office type, and Davies sighed heavily as he read.

      He had planned to visit an old friend of his father's and see something of New York harbor and city before turning his back on the East. Never yet had he set foot in Gotham, and as it would be years before opportunity might again be afforded him, he had weighed it all pro and con, and decided that Dr. Iverson's advice and invitation should be accepted. He would go with his classmates, spend the last evening with them, and join the reverend doctor on the morrow. His mother, even in her invalided state, urged that he should do so, but Almira heard the plan with fresh outburst of tears. There was to be a grand picnic of all the beaux and belles of Urbana on the 18th. She had counted on having her soldier lover in attendance on that occasion. She had told him of it, and that was enough. She had declined all other invitations, saying that Mr. Davies was to hasten thither the moment the graduating exercises were over, and now to think of the triumph and malicious delight of the other girls was intolerable. Her lover should fly to her like homing-pigeon the instant he was released from prison. It was tantamount to treason that he should purpose anything else. Almira fretted herself into a fever. She wrote one long letter to the recreant Parson, and her sister Beaytrice, as they called her, followed it up with another still more alarming. Then, as he did not wire instant submission, the telegram was sent. Old Quimby was on the platform at the Urbana station as Davies sprang from the train. "Nothing much," said he, in response to the young man's eager inquiry. "Some dam girl nonsense she and Bee have cooked up between them. When they ain't devilling the life out of their step-mother they're worrying somebody else. Oh, yes!—'course the doctor's been humbugging for a week—too glad to get a chance of shovin' in a bill."

      Davies went gravely up the sunny street to his mother's home—a meeting that served to chase away the clouds, and then an hour later to Almira's bower. Bee ushered him into a pretty room whose windows were overhung with honeysuckle and pink chintz, and there in a great old-fashioned rocking-chair reclined the lovely invalid, who greeted him with outstretched arms and rapturous cry, and who was sufficiently restored to exhibit him at the Sunday-school picnic as originally planned. So far as she was concerned, all went blithely as a marriage-bell until the morning of July 5, when there came the fearful news of the massacre of General Custer and his troops at the hands of the Sioux. That evening the city papers said all officers on leave were hurrying to their regiments, that reinforcements were being pushed to the front, that recruits were needed at once; and the next day, followed by a mother's prayers and a maiden's unavailing protest, Percy Davies was gone. Just as his father did in '61, leaving all to pursue the path of duty, the young soldier, though not yet commissioned, sped to the nearest army post, and joined the first command en route for the field.

CHAPTER III.

       Table of Contents

      In the hot July sunshine, up the long vista of the street the flags hung drooping, every one, with a single exception, at half staff. Over the building where hearts were heaviest the colors soared highest; the general commanding, until ordered from Washington, being debarred a manifestation of mourning which the sovereign citizen adopts as a matter of course. It was bitter disaster that had befallen the national arms and involved so popular a commander with scores of his gallant men; the stars and stripes that had been saluted all over town in honor of the ever-glorious Fourth were now set at mid-height or draped with black. The crowds that had gathered about the newspaper offices and department head-quarters all the previous day were scattered, in the conviction that little remained to be told, but there was a gathering at the railway station to bid adieu to the battalion of infantry from the neighboring fort, leaving by special train for the seat of war. They had cheered the dusty fatigue uniforms as the cars rolled away, and many a young fellow would gladly have gone with the boys in blue could he have faced the social ban which a misguided public has established against its most loyal servants, holding enlistment in the regular army as virtual admission of general worthlessness. And now the crowds still lingered under the glass roof of the big passenger shed, for word had gone out that another train coming across the bridge was loaded with more troops, and there was a fascination in watching these prospective victims of the stake and scalping-knife. It had been a fierce campaign thus far, and one in which the losses and vicissitudes both (there are no honors to speak of) had been borne principally by the cavalry, but now the "doughboys" with their "long toms" were being pushed to the front. "Wait till Emma Jane gets her eye on ould Squattin' Bull," said an Irish private, patting the butt of his rifle, as with head and shoulders half-way out of the car window he confidentially addressed the crowd. "It'll be the last spache he'll ever ax to hear."

      "That'll do there, Moriarty; get that gun inside," said a lieutenant, briefly. And as Moriarty obeyed, with a grin and wink at the throng, the laugh and cheer that went up were evidently for Private Pat and not for his superior. It is the smiling face, not official gravity, that wins the great heart of the people. The band which had headed the column on the march in from the post, but was not to accompany it to the field, was still waiting to give the next comers a fitting "send off." Two or three staff officers in civilian dress stood in earnest talk with the superintendent of the railway, a knot of curious citizens surrounding them, eager to pick up any point with reference to the troops or their transportation. Expectant eyes were cast towards the east where the towers of the great bridge loomed in the shimmer and glare of the hot noontide. "She ought to be here now," said the railway-man with an impatient snap of his watch-case. "What keeps No. 5, Gus?" he asked of an assistant hurrying by.

      The man hauled up short and touched his hat. "This just came at the train-despatcher's office, sir," said he, as he handed up a slip of paper, which the superintendent quickly read, a queer look coming into his face as he did so.

      "Hu-m-m, gentlemen. This is something you'll have to straighten out. It doesn't seem to be in my line." And he handed the paper to Major Ludlum, chief quartermaster of the department, who in turn read it, his eyes filling with grave concern.

      "Recruits on No. 5 broke loose at Bluff Siding—drunk—raiding the saloon. Can't get 'em on train again. Can guards or police be sent?" It was signed by the conductor.

      "Well," said Ludlum, disgustedly, "we might have known that would happen. The idea of sending three car-loads of raw recruits with only one officer, and that one old Muffet. It's tempting Providence."

      "Why, I thought he had a lieutenant with him. Somebody said so at the office this morning," said the department engineer officer.

      "Not even a lieutenant—a cadet, if you like; graduated not a month ago—not yet commissioned. Some young cub just out of school, with about as much idea how to handle drunken recruits as I have of dressing a doll. Home on graduating leave and thought it his duty to volunteer is all I can make out of it."

      "Well, bully for him!" spoke up the superintendent. "The boy's got the right stuff in him if that's the case."

      "What's his name?" asked the engineer officer. "I knew most of this year's class when I was there on duty."

      "Davies," said the quartermaster, consulting a notebook. "Remember him?"

      "Why—yes—vaguely. He was not in the section I had charge of," said Captain Eustis. "One of the last men to attract attention—Parson Davies they called him, I believe. He was one of the Bible-class. Don't think anybody knew him outside of the Sunday-school."

      "No СКАЧАТЬ