CHAPTER V. THE AUCTION
"Stephen," said the Judge, in his abrupt way, "there isn't a great dealdoing. Let's go over to the Secesh property sales."
Stephen looked up in surprise. The seizures and intended sale ofsecession property had stirred up immense bitterness and indignation inthe city. There were Unionists (lukewarm) who denounced the measure asunjust and brutal. The feelings of Southerners, avowed and secret, mayonly be surmised. Rigid ostracism was to be the price of bidding on anygoods displayed, and men who bought in handsome furniture on that daybecause it was cheap have still, after forty years, cause to rememberit.
It was not that Stephen feared ostracism. Anne Brinsmade was almost theonly girl left to him from among his former circle of acquaintances.Miss Carvel's conduct is known. The Misses Russell showed him veryplainly that they disapproved of his politics. The hospitable days atthat house were over. Miss Catherwood, when they met on the street,pretended not to see him, and Eugenie Renault gave him but a timid nod.The loyal families to whose houses he now went were mostly Southerners,in sentiment against forced auctions.
However, he put on his coat, and sallied forth into the sharp air, theJudge leaning on his arm. They walked for some distance in silence.
"Stephen," said he, presently, "I guess I'll do a little bidding."
Stephen did not reply. But he was astonished. He wondered what Mr.Whipple wanted with fine furniture. And, if he really wished to bid,Stephen knew likewise that no consideration would stop him.
"You don't approve of this proceeding, sir, I suppose," said the Judge.
"Yes, sir, on large grounds. War makes many harsh things necessary."
"Then," said the Judge, tartly, "by bidding, we help to support starvingUnion families. You should not be afraid to bid, sir."
Stephen bit his lip. Sometimes Mr. Whipple made him very angry.
"I am not afraid to bid, Judge Whipple." He did not see the smile on theJudge's face.
"Then you will bid in certain things for me," said Mr. Whipple. Herehe hesitated, and shook free the rest of the sentence with a wrench."Colonel Carvel always had a lot of stuff I wanted. Now I've got thechance to buy it cheap."
There was silence again, for the space of a whole block. Finally,Stephen managed to say:-- "You'll have to excuse me, sir. I do not careto do that."
"What?" cried the Judge, stopping in the middle of a cross-street, sothat a wagon nearly ran over his toes.
"I was once a guest in Colonel Carvel's house, sir. And--"
"And what?"
Neither the young man nor the old knew all it was costing the other tosay these things. The Judge took a grim pleasure in eating his heart.And as for Stephen, he often went to his office through Locust Street,which was out of his way, in the hope that he might catch a glimpse ofVirginia. He had guessed much of the privations she had gone through.He knew that the Colonel had hired out most of his slaves, and he hadactually seen the United States Police drive across Eleventh Street withthe piano that she had played on.
The Judge was laughing quietly,--not a pleasant laugh to hear,--as theycame to Morgan's great warerooms. A crowd blocked the pavement, andhustled and shoved at the doors,--roughs, and soldiers off duty, andladies and gentlemen whom the Judge and Stephen knew, and some of whomthey spoke to. All of these were come out of curiosity, that they mightsee for themselves any who had the temerity to bid on a neighbor'shousehold goods. The long hall, which ran from street to street, waspacked, the people surging backward and forward, and falling roughlyagainst the mahogany pieces; and apologizing, and scolding, and swearingall in a breath. The Judge, holding tightly to Stephen, pushed his wayfiercely to the stand, vowing over and over that the commotion was asecession trick to spoil the furniture and stampede the sale. In truth,it was at the Judge's suggestion that a blue provost's guard was calledin later to protect the seized property.
How many of those mahogany pieces, so ruthlessly tumbled about beforethe public eye, meant a heartache! Wedding presents of long ago, dear tomany a bride with silvered hair, had been torn from the corner where thechildren had played--children who now, alas, were grown and gone to war.Yes, that was the Brussels rug that had lain before the fire, and whichthe little feet had worn in the corner. Those were the chairs the littlehands had harnessed, four in a row, and fallen on its side was thearmchair--the stage coach itself. There were the books, held up tocommon gaze, that a beloved parent had thumbed with affection. Yes, andhere in another part of the hall were the family horses and the familycarriage that had gone so often back and forth from church with thehappy brood of children, now scattered and gone to war.
As Stephen reached his place beside the Judge, Mr. James's effects werebeing cried. And, if glances could have killed, many a bidder would havedropped dead. The heavy dining-room table which meant so much to thefamily went for a song to a young man recently come from Yankeeland,whose open boast it was--like Eliphalet's secret one--that he would oneday grow rich enough to snap his fingers in the face of the Southernaristocrats. Mr. James was not there. But Mr. Catherwood, his facehaggard and drawn, watched the sideboard he had given his wife on hersilver wedding being sold to a pawnbroker.
Stephen looked in vain for Colonel Carvel--for Virginia. He did not wantto see them there. He knew by heart the list of things which had beentaken from their house. He understood the feeling which had sent theJudge here to bid them in. And Stephen honored him the more.
When the auctioneer came to the Carvel list, and the well-known name wasshouted out, the crowd responded with a stir and pressed closer to thestand. And murmurs were plainly heard in more than one direction.
"Now, gentlemen, and ladies," said the seller, "this here is a genuineEnglish Rothfield piano once belonging to Colonel Carvel, and thecelebrated Judge Colfax of Kaintucky." He lingered fondly over thenames, that the impression might have time to sink deep. "This heremagnificent instrument's worth at the very least" (another pause)"twelve hundred dollars. What am I bid?"
He struck a base note of the keys, then a treble, and they vibratedin the heated air of the big hall. Had he hit the little C of the topoctave, the tinkle of that also might have been heard.
"Gentlemen and ladies, we have to begin somewheres. What am I bid?"
A menacing murmur gave place to the accusing silence. Some there werewho gazed at the Rothfield with longing eyes, but who had no intentionof committing social suicide. Suddenly a voice, the rasp of whichpenetrated to St. Charles Street, came out with a bid. The owner wasa seedy man with a straw-colored, drunkard's mustache. He was leaningagainst the body of Mrs. Russell's barouche (seized for sale), and thoseabout him shrank away as from smallpox. His hundred-dollar offer wasfollowed by a hiss. What followed next Stephen will always remember.When Judge Whipple drew himself up to his full six feet, that was awarning to those that knew him. As he doubled the bid, the words cameout with the aggressive distinctness of a man who through a long lifehas been used to opposition. He with the gnawed yellow mustache pushedhimself clear of the barouche, his smouldering cigar butt dropping tothe floor. But there were no hisses now.
And this is how Judge Whipple braved public opinion once more. As hestood there, defiant, many were the conjectures as to what he could wishto do with the piano of his old friend. Those who knew the Judge (andthere were few who did not) pictured to themselves the dingy littleapartment where he lived, and smiled. Whatever his detractors might havesaid of him, no one was ever heard to avow that he had bought or soldanything for gain.
A tremor ran through the people. Could it have been of admiration forthe fine old man who towered there glaring defiance at those about him?"Give me a strong and consistent enemy," some great personage has said,"rather than a lukewarm friend." Three score and five years the Judgehad lived, and now some were beginning to suspect that he had a heart.Verily he had guarded his secret well. But it was let out to many morethat day, and they went home praising him who had once pronounced hisname with bitterness.
This is what happened.
Before he of the yellow mustache could pick uphis cigar from the floor and make another bid, the Judge had cried outa sum which was the total of Colonel Carvel's assessment. Many recallto this day how fiercely he frowned when the applause broke forthof itself; and when he turned to go they made a path for him, inadmiration, the length of the hall, down which he stalked, lookingneither to the right nor left. Stephen followed him, thankful for theday which had brought him into the service of such a man.
And so it came about that the other articles were returned to ColonelCarvel with the marshal's compliments, and put back into the cold parlorwhere they had stood for many years. The men who brought them offered toput down the carpet, but by Virginia's orders the rolls were stood up inthe corner, and the floor left bare. And days passed into weeks, and nosign or message came from Judge Whipple in regard to the piano he hadbought. Virginia did not dare mention it to the Colonel.
Where was it? It had been carried by six sweating negroes up thenarrow stairs into the Judge's office. Stephen and Shadrach had by Mr.Whipple's orders cleared a corner of his inner office and bedroom ofpapers and books and rubbish, and there the bulky instrument was finallyset up. It occupied one-third of the space. The Judge watched theproceeding grimly, choking now and again from the dust that was raised,yet uttering never a word. He locked the lid when the van man handed himthe key, and thrust that in his pocket.
Stephen had of late found enough to do in St. Louis. He was the kind ofman to whom promotions came unsought, and without noise. In the autumnhe had been made a captain in the Halleck Guards of the State Militia,as a reward for his indefatigable work in the armories and his knowledgeof tactics. Twice his company had been called out at night, and oncethey made a campaign as far as the Merimec and captured a party ofrecruits who were destined for Jefferson Davis. Some weeks passed beforeMr. Brinsmade heard of his promotion and this exploit, and yet scarcelya day went by that he did not see the young man at the big hospital. ForStephen helped in the work of the Sanitary Commission too, and so stroveto make up in zeal for the service in the field which he longed to give.
After Christmas Mr. and Mrs. Brinsmade moved out to their place on theBellefontaine Road. This was to force Anne to take a rest. For thegirl was worn out with watching at the hospitals, and with tendingthe destitute mothers and children from the ranks of the refugees. TheBrinsmade place was not far from the Fair Grounds,--now a receivingcamp for the crude but eager regiments of the Northern states. To Mr.Brinsmade's, when the day's duty was done, the young Union officersused to ride, and often there would be half a dozen of them to tea. Thathouse, and other great houses on the Bellefontaine Road with which thishistory has no occasion to deal, were as homes to many a poor fellow whowould never see home again. Sometimes Anne would gather together suchyoung ladies of her acquaintance from the neighbor hood and the city astheir interests and sympathies permitted to waltz with a Union officer,and there would be a little dance. To these dances Stephen Brice wasusually invited.
One such occasion occurred on a Friday in January, and Mr. Brinsmadehimself called in his buggy and drove Stephen to the country early inthe afternoon. He and Anne went for a walk along the river, the surfaceof which was broken by lumps of yellow ice. Gray clouds hung low in thesky as they picked their way over the frozen furrows of the ploughedfields. The grass was all a yellow-brown, but the north wind whichswayed the bare trees brought a touch of color to Anne's cheeks. Beforethey realized where they were, they had nearly crossed the Bellegardeestate, and the house itself was come into view, standing high on theslope above the withered garden. They halted.
"The shutters are up," said Stephen. "I understood that Mrs. Colfax hadcome out here not long a--"
"She came out for a day just before Christina," said Anne, smiling, "andthen she ran off to Kentucky. I think she was afraid that she was one ofthe two women on the list of Sixty."
"It must have been a blow to her pride when she found that she was not,"said Stephen, who had a keen remembrance of her conduct upon a certainSunday not a year gone.
Impelled by the same inclination, they walked in silence to the houseand sat down on the edge of the porch. The only motion in the view wasthe smoke from the slave quarters twisting in the wind, and the hurryingice in the stream.
"Poor Jinny!" said Anne, with a sigh, "how she loved to romp! What goodtimes we used to have here together!"
"Do you think that she is unhappy?" Stephen demanded, involuntarily.
"Oh, yes," said Anne. "How can you ask? But you could not make her showit. The other morning when she came out to our house I found her sittingat the piano. I am sure there were tears in her eyes, but she would notlet me see them. She made some joke about Spencer Catherwood runningaway. What do you think the Judge will do with that piano, Stephen?"
He shook his head.
"The day after they put it in his room he came in with a great blackcloth, which he spread over it. You cannot even see the feet."
There was a silence. And Anne, turning to him timidly, gave him a long,searching look.
"It is growing late," she said. "I think that we ought to go back."
They went out by the long entrance road, through the naked woods.Stephen said little. Only a little while before he had had one of thosevivid dreams of Virginia which left their impression, but not theirsubstance, to haunt him. On those rare days following the dreams herspirit had its mastery over his. He pictured her then with a glow on herface which was neither sadness nor mirth,--a glow that ministered tohim alone. And yet, he did not dare to think that he might have won her,even if politics and war had not divided them.
When the merriment of the dance was at its height that evening, Stephenstood at the door of the long room, meditatively watching the brightgowns and the flash of gold on the uniforms as they flitted past.Presently the opposite door opened, and he heard Mr. Brinsmade's voicemingling with another, the excitable energy of which recalled somefamiliar episode. Almost--so it seemed--at one motion, the owner of thevoice had come out of the door and had seized Stephen's hand in a warmgrasp,--a tall and spare figure in the dress of a senior officer. Themilitary frock, which fitted the man's character rather than the man,was carelessly open, laying bare a gold-buttoned white waistcoat and anexpanse of shirt bosom which ended in a black stock tie. The ends of thecollar were apart the width of the red clipped beard, and the mustachewas cropped straight along the line of the upper lip. The forehead rosehigh, and was brushed carelessly free of the hair. The nose was almoststraight, but combative. A fire fairly burned in the eyes.
"The boy doesn't remember me," said the gentleman, in quick tones,smiling at Mr. Brinsmade.
"Yes, sir, I do," Stephen made haste to answer. He glanced at the staron the shoulder strap, and said. "You are General Sherman."
"First rate!" laughed the General, patting him. "First rate!"
"Now in command at Camp Benton, Stephen," Mr. Brinsmade put in. "Won'tyou sit down, General?"
"No," said the General, emphatically waving away the chair. "No,rather stand." Then his keen face suddenly lighted with amusement,--andmischief, Stephen thought. "So you've heard of me since we met, sir?""Yes, General."
"Humph! Guess you heard I was crazy," said the General, in his downrightway.
Stephen was struck dumb.
"He's been reading the lies in the newspapers too, Brinsmade," theGeneral went on rapidly. "I'll make 'em eat their newspapers for sayingI was crazy. That's the Secretary of War's doings. Ever tell you whatCameron did, Brinsmade? He and his party were in Louisville last fall,when I was serving in Kentucky, and came to my room in the Galt House.Well, we locked the door, and Miller sent us up a good lunch and wine,After lunch, the Secretary lay on my bed, and we talked things over. Heasked me what I thought about things in Kentucky. I told him. I got amap. I said, 'Now, Mr. Secretary, here is the whole Union line from thePotomac to Kansas. Here's McClellan in the East with one hundred milesof front. Here's Fremont in the West with one hundred miles. Here weare in Kentucky, in the cen
tre, with three hundred miles to defend.McClellan has a hundred thousand men, Fremont has sixty thousand. Yougive us fellows with over three hundred miles only eighteen thousand.''How many do you want?' says Cameron, still on the bed. 'Two hundredthousand before we get through,' said I. Cameron pitched up his handsin the air. 'Great God?' says he, 'where are they to come from?' 'Thenorthwest is chuck full of regiments you fellows at Washington won'taccept,' said I. 'Mark my words, Mr. Secretary, you'll need 'em all andmore before we get done with this Rebellion.' Well, sir, he was veryfriendly before we finished, and I thought the thing was all thrashedout. No, sir! he goes back to Washington and gives it out that I'mcrazy, and want two hundred thousand men in Kentucky. Then I am orderedto report to Halleck in Missouri here, and he calls me back from Sedaliabecause he believes the lies."
Stephen, who had in truth read the stories in question a month or twobefore, could not conceal his embarrassment He looked at the man infront of him,--alert, masterful intelligent, frank to any stranger whotook his fancy,--and wondered how any one who had talked to him couldbelieve them.
Mr. Brinsmade smiled. "They have to print something, General," he said.
"I'll give 'em something to print later on," answered the General,grimly. Then his expression changed. "Brinsmade, you fellows did havea session with Fremont, didn't you? Anderson sent me over here lastSeptember, and the first man I ran across at the Planters' House wasAppleton. '--What are you in town for?' says he. 'To see Fremont,'I said. You ought to have heard Appleton laugh. 'You don't thinkFremont'll see you, do you?' says he. 'Why not?' 'Well,' says Tom, 'go'round to his palace at six to-morrow morning and bribe that Hungarianprince who runs his body-guard to get you a good place in the line ofsenators and governors and first citizens, and before nightfall youmay get a sight of him, since you come from Anderson. Not one man ina hundred,' says Appleton, I not one man in a hundred, reaches hischief-of-staff.' Next morning," the General continued in a staccatowhich was often his habit, "had breakfast before daybreak and went'round there. Place just swarming with Californians--army contracts."(The General sniffed.) "Saw Fremont. Went back to hotel. MoreCalifornians, and by gad--old Baron Steinberger with his nose hangingover the register."
"Fremont was a little difficult to get at, General," said Mr. Brinsmade."Things were confused and discouraged when those first contracts wereawarded. Fremont was a good man, and it wasn't his fault that theinexperience of his quartermasters permitted some of those men to getrich."
"No," said the General. "His fault! Certainly not. Good man! To be surehe was--didn't get along with Blair. These court-martials you're havinghere now have stirred up the whole country. I guess we'll hear now howthose fortunes were made. To listen to those witnesses lie about eachother on the stand is better than the theatre."
Stephen laughed at the comical and vivid manner in which the General setthis matter forth. He himself had been present one day of the sittingsof the court-martial when one of the witnesses on the prices of muleswas that same seedy man with the straw-colored mustache who had bid forVirginia's piano against the Judge.
"Come, Stephen," said the General, abruptly, "run and snatch one ofthose pretty girls from my officers. They're having more than theirshare."
"They deserve more, sir," answered Stephen. Whereupon the General laidhis hand impulsively on the young man's shoulder, divining what Stephendid not say.
"Nonsense!" said be; "you are doing the work in this war, not we. Wedo the damage--you repair it. If it were not for Mr. Brinsmade and yougentlemen who help him, where would our Western armies be? Don't yougo to the front yet a while, young man. We need the best we havein reserve." He glanced critically at Stephen. "You've had militarytraining of some sort?"
"He's a captain in the Halleck Guards, sir," said Mr. Brinsmade,generously, "and the best drillmaster we've had in this city. He's seenservice, too, General."
Stephen reddened furiously and started to protest, when the Generalcried:-- "It's more than I have in this war. Come, come, I knew he was asoldier. Let's see what kind of a strategist he'll make. Brinsmade, haveyou got such a thing as a map?" Mr. Brinsmade had, and led the way backinto the library. The General shut the door, lighted a cigar with asingle vigorous stroke of a match, and began to smoke with quick puffs.Stephen was puzzled how to receive the confidences the General wasgiving out with such freedom.
When the map was laid on the table, the General drew a pencil from hispocket and pointed to the state of Kentucky. Then he drew a line fromColumbus to Bowling Green, through Forts Donelson and Henry.
"Now, Stephen," said he, "there's the Rebel line. Show me the properplace to break it."
Stephen hesitated a while, and then pointed at the centre.
"Good!" said the General. "Very good!" He drew a heavy line across thefirst, and it ran almost in the bed of the Tennessee River. He swung onMr. Brinsmade. "Very question Halleck asked me the other day, and that'show I answered it. Now, gentlemen, there's a man named Grant down inthat part of the country. Keep your eyes on him. Ever heard of him,Brinsmade? He used to live here once, and a year ago he was less than Iwas. Now he's a general."
The recollection of the scene in the street by the Arsenal that Maymorning not a year gone came to Stephen with a shock.
"I saw him," he cried; "he was Captain Grant that lived on the GravoisRoad. But surely this can't be the same man who seized Paducah and wasin that affair at Belmont."
"By gum!" said the General, laughing. "Don't wonder you're surprised.Grant has stuff in him. They kicked him around Springfield awhile, afterthe war broke out, for a military carpet-bagger. Then they gave him fora regiment the worst lot of ruffians you ever laid eyes on. He fixed'em. He made 'em walk the plank. He made 'em march halfway across thestate instead of taking the cars the Governor offered. Belmont! I guesshe is the man that chased the Rebs out of Belmont. Then his boys brokeloose when they got into the town. That wasn't Grant's fault. The Rebscame back and chased 'em out into their boats on the river. Brinsmade,you remember hearing about that.
"Grant did the coolest thing you ever saw. He sat on his horse at thetop of the bluff while the boys fell over each other trying to get onthe boat. Yes, sir, he sat there, disgusted, on his horse, smoking acigar, with the Rebs raising pandemonium all around him. And then, sir,"cried the General, excitedly, "what do you think he did? Hanged if hedidn't force his horse right on to his haunches, slide down the wholelength of the bank and ride him across a teetering plank on to thesteamer. And the Rebs just stood on the bank and stared. They were soastonished they didn't even shoot the man. You watch Grant," said theGeneral. "And now, Stephen," he added, "just you run off and take holdof the prettiest girl you can find. If any of my boys object, say I sentyou."
The next Monday Stephen had a caller. It was little Tiefel, now a firstlieutenant with a bristly beard and tanned face, come to town on a fewdays' furlough. He had been with Lyon at Wilson's Creek, and he hada sad story to tell of how he found poor Richter, lying stark on thatbloody field, with a smile of peace upon his face. Strange that heshould at length have been killed by a sabre!
It was a sad meeting for those two, since each reminded the other ofa dear friend they would see no more on earth. They went out to suptogether in the German style; and gradually, over his beer, Tiefelforgot his sorrow. Stephen listened with an ache to the little man'stales of the campaigns he had been through. So that presently Tiefelcried out:
"Why, my friend, you are melancholy as an owl. I will tell you a funnystory. Did you ever hear of one General Sherman? He that they say iscrazy?"
"He is no more crazy than I am," said Stephen, warmly--
"Is he not?" answered Tiefel, "then I will show you a mistake. Yourecall last November he was out to Sedalia to inspect the camp there,and he sleeps in a little country store where I am quartered. Now upgets your General Sherman in the middle of the night,--midnight,--andmarches up and down between the counters, and waves his arms. So, sayshe, 'land so,' says he, 'Sterling Price will be here, and Steele h
ere,and this column will take that road, and so-and-so's a damned fool. Isnot that crazy? So he walks up and down for three eternal hours. Sayshe, 'Pope has no business to be at Osterville, and Steele here atSedalia with his regiments all over the place. They must both go intocamp at La Mine River, and form brigades and divisions, that the troopsmay be handled.'"
"If that's insanity," cried Stephen so strongly as to surprise thelittle man; "then I wish we had more insane generals. It just showshow a malicious rumor will spread. What Sherman said about Pope's andSteele's forces is true as Gospel, and if you ever took the trouble tolook into that situation, Tiefel, you would see it." And Stephen broughtdown his mug on the table with a crash that made the bystanders jump.
"Himmel!" exclaimed little Tiefel. But he spoke in admiration.
It was not a month after that that Sherman's prophecy of the quietgeneral who had slid down the bluff at Belmont came true. The wholecountry bummed with Grant's praises. Moving with great swiftness andsecrecy up the Tennessee, in company with the gunboats of CommodoreFoote, he had pierced the Confederate line at the very point Shermanhad indicated. Fort Henry had fallen, and Grant was even then moving tobesiege Donelson.
Mr. Brinsmade prepared to leave at once for the battlefield, taking withhim too Paducah physicians and nurses. All day long the boat was loadingwith sanitary stores and boxes of dainties for the wounded. It was muggyand wet--characteristic of that winter--as Stephen pushed through thedrays on the slippery levee to the landing.
He had with him a basket his mother had put up. He also bore a messageto Mr. Brinsmade from the Judge It was while he was picking his wayalong the crowded decks that he ran into General Sherman. The Generalseized him unceremoniously by the shoulder.
"Good-by, Stephen," he said.
"Good-by, General," said Stephen, shifting his basket to shake hands."Are you going away?"
"Ordered to Paducah," said the General. He pulled Stephen off the guardsinto an empty cabin. "Brice," said he, earnestly, "I haven't forgottenhow you saved young Brinsmade at Camp Jackson. They tell me that you areuseful here. I say, don't go in unless you have to. I don't mean force,you understand. But when you feel that you can go in, come to me orwrite me a letter. That is," he added, seemingly inspecting Stephen'swhite teeth with approbation, "if you're not afraid to serve under acrazy man."
It has been said that the General liked the lack of effusiveness ofStephen's reply.