CHAPTER III.
HEROINES.
"What is so rare as a day in June?" sings the poet, and where can a dayin June be more beautiful than at this Highland Gate of the peerlessHudson? It is June of the Centennial year, and all the land is ablazewith patriotic fervor. From North, from South, from East and West, theproducts of a nation's ingenuity or a nation's toil have been garneredin one vast exhibition at the Quaker City; and thither flock thethousands of our people. It is June of a presidential nomination, andthe eyes of statesmen and politicians are fixed on Cincinnati. It is thecelebration of the first century of a nation's life that engrosses thethoughts of millions of hearts, and between that great jubilee and thatquadrennial tempest-in-a-teapot, the nomination, who but a few lonelywives and children have time to think of those three columns far, farout in the broad Northwest,--those three columns of regulars, cavalryand infantry, rough-garbed, bronzed and bearded, steadily closing intowards the wild and beautiful region along the northern water-shed ofthe Big Horn Range, where ten thousand hostile Indians are uneasilywatching their coming? On the Atlantic seaboard comrades in full-dressuniform, with polished arms, are standing guard over governmenttreasures on exhibition, and thoughtless thousands wonder at the easeand luxury of the soldier's life. Out on the frontier, in buckskin andflannel, slouch hats and leggings, and bristling prairie-belts, thelittle army is concentrating upon an outnumbering foe, whosesignal-fires light the way by night, whose trail is red with blood byday. From the northeast, up the Yellowstone, Terry of Fort Fisher fame,the genial, the warm-hearted general, whose thoughts are ever with hisofficers and men, leads his few hundred footmen, while Custer, whosedivision has flashed through battery after battery, charge after charge,in the great Rebellion, now rides at the head of a single regiment. Fromthe northwest, down the Yellowstone, with but a handful of triedsoldiery, comes Gibbon; he who led a corps at Gettysburg and Appomattox.From the south, feeling his way along the eastern base of the Big Horn,with less than two thousand troopers and footmen, marches the "GrayFox," the general under whom our friends of the --th so long and sosuccessfully battled with the Apaches of Arizona. He has met his matchthis time. Cheyenne, Ogallalla, Brule, Uncapapa, Minneconjou, Sans Arc,and Blackfoot, all swarm over the broad and breezy uplands in his front,or lurk in the deep shade of the lovely valleys. Twice have they sprungupon him and checked his advance. Once only has he been forced tohesitate, but now, as the longest days of the year approach and theglistening dome of Snow Peak is yet warm with the flush of the settingsun, when "morn, in russet mantle clad," tinges the eastern slopes withglowing light; now, at last, the long-dreaded leaders of the borderwarfare are being hemmed in between the encircling advance. Now may welook for stirring work along the bluffs and boulders of the Big Horn.
And June, Centennial June, has come to West Point. Examinations aregoing briskly on, four buoyant classes are all excitement with thejoyous prospects of the season: the seniors look forward to the speedycoming of the longed-for diploma and the prized commission, for relieffrom the restraint of academic life and for the broader field of thearmy; the second, the juniors, to reaching the dignity of "first-classcamp," with the highest offices and honors to be achieved so long asthey shall wear the gray; the third, ah! they are the furloughmen, sosoon to be restored for two brief months to home and kindred after thetwo years of rigid discipline and ceaseless duty; the fourth, to step atonce and for all from the meekness of "plebedom" and become the envied"old cadet." June brings bliss for all,--for all but those who fail.
And June brings joy to sisters and sweethearts by the dozen, to fondmammas, to proud paternals, who throng the hostelries of the Point andthe neighborhood, and swarm in lively interest all over the historicspot, listening with uncomprehending but tireless patience toexaminations on fortification or grand tactics, mechanics or calculus;gasping with excitement over dashing charges on the "cavalry plain,"shuddering over the reckless daring in the riding-hall, stopping theirears against the thunder of the great guns at the batteries, and beatingtime with head and foot to the spirited quicksteps of the band.Dress-parade, the closing ceremony of each day, concentrates the entireassemblage along the shaded walk that borders on the west the beautifulgreen carpet of the "infantry plain," and, at last, as the four gray andwhite companies go dancing off in double-time through the grimsally-port beneath the barracks, and the carriages and stages whirl awaythe watching throngs, and the plumed cadet officers scurry off tosupper, and, group after group, the spectators saunter homewards, theband disappears below the crest of the plain towards "Bumtown," andlittle by little the light turns to violet on the wooded heights acrossthe swirling Hudson, and silence settles down upon the scene.
Gazing out from under the foliage of the great elms, watching these verychanges, two ladies are seated upon the piazza of the officers' quartersopposite the southern half of the plain. One is a young matron, whoseeyes once seen are not soon forgotten,--so soft, so deep, so brown, sotruthful are they under the long curling lashes, under the low-arched,heavy brows. Beautiful eyes were they when, in all their girlishfearlessness and innocence, they first beamed upon our old friends ofthe --th in the days of exile in Arizona. Lovelier still are they now inthat consummation of a woman's happiness,--a worshipped wifehood. It wasearly in the previous winter when Captain Truscott brought his fairbride to make her home among the scenes so dear to both, and her lifehas been one song of unutterable gladness. If earth contained a thing towish for in those six months, Grace Truscott could not name it. Herpretty army house is the gem of the military community, the envy of manya wife. Her husband is a man whom all men honor and hold in deep esteem.In strength, in dignity, in soldierly ability, and in his devotion toher he is all her heart could ask. If she loved him dearly when theywere married, her love has developed into almost an idolatry,--"Jack" isher world. Not that she talks or writes very much of that matter,however; for quite a wise little head is that which is perched on Mrs.Truscott's white shoulders. Once in a while in some letter to an old andtrusted friend she finds it more than she can do to utterly repress heroverwhelming sense of bliss, and then she lets slip some littleconfession of which Jack is the subject. She never dreamed a man couldbe so lovely, so delicate, so thoughtful, so considerate, so_everything_ that was simply perfect, is the way she has once or twicefound herself constrained to clinch the matter in default of adjectivessufficiently descriptive. "Every day he develops some new, lovely, andunsuspected trait," she once confided to her friend Mrs. Tanner (withwhom she has corresponded quite regularly since her marriage, and towhom we are indebted for some of these interesting details), and as JackTruscott was confessedly a man of many admirable qualities before hismatrimonial alliance, it may be conjectured that ere the waning of herhoneymoon Mrs. Jack's enumeration table was beginning to proveinadequate. And bliss has been, and is, becoming to Grace. She has lostnone of the girlish delicacy of expression which was so marked acharacteristic of her youthful beauty a year before, still she hasrounded somewhat, and both mentally and physically has developed. Theslender white hand that rests upon the volume of Carlyle in her laplooks less fragile than it did that day at old Camp Sandy when, inTanner's library searching for the children's books among the shelves,it showed itself to Truscott's eyes without a certain ring. Mrs. Jackdoes not fancy Carlyle. He is too crabbed by far, she thinks, and shewonders how and where people get such distorted views of life, but thecaptain has been reading him a great deal during the past two months,and anything that interests him is food for her. Happy she is beyond allquestion, happy as woman ever becomes in this world where happiness isnever perfect. If it were, where would be the use of heaven hereafter?And as she sits here gazing out upon the soft lights and shadowssettling upon the distant hills, her sweet, mobile face is fit subjectfor the brush of some inspired painter who seeks a model for an idealpicture,--"I Ask No More."
It is twilight, too, the hour of all others when the faintest sorrow isapt to assert itself upon reposeful features,--the hour when it takes avery h
appy woman to look happy; yet Grace Truscott's eyes tell of onlyone story,--love, peace, tranquillity; and at last the silence is brokenby the remark, which is naturally the result of a woman's undisturbedcontemplation of such a face,--
"I declare, Grace, it is enough to make one want to marry just to lookat you!"
Mrs. Truscott returns to earth with sudden bound, dropping her blissfulday-dream with a merry laugh and a blush that refuses to down at herbidding. She holds forth her hand appealingly, leaning forward in thegreat wicker rocking-chair in which, till now, she has been lazilyinclining.
"How absurd, to be sure! I wish you would seize me and shake me, Marion,whenever you see me going off into dreamland like that. It is simplydetestable. Yet, I can't help it. Oh!" with sudden impulse, "wait tillyou marry some one the least like Jack, and then see for yourself."
"But I never shall marry any one the least like Jack," replies MissSanford. "To begin with, you would not be apt to admit any such mancould exist. Now, don't bristle all over, Grace; you are not in theleast absurd,--to ordinary people that is; you really behave verycreditably for so young a wife, but you are quite warranted in betrayingyour admiration to me. I like it. It was simply mean of me to interruptyour revery as I did, but the exclamation was involuntary. I had beenwatching your face for several minutes, and thinking how few, how veryfew women are blessed as you are."
Mrs. Truscott's eyes filled with tears, and her hand sought and claspedthat of her friend. A most unusual caress for her.
"Sometimes I fear I'm growing very selfish in it all, Marion, and Iblame myself more than I can tell you when these spells come over me. Wehad planned to make your visit lovely,--Jack and I,--and here, themoment we are alone together, I go mooning off and leaving you to beentertained by the sight of my imbecility." Mrs. Truscott gave herself avigorous shake. "There! Now tell me about your walk. Was Mr. Ferrispleasant?"
"Pleasant? Very! They all are for that matter, and I hate to think howmuch I've lost in being away all May. Father insisted though, and sothose six weeks had to be spent at ---- with them. It is mockery tocall it home." And a deep trouble seemed to settle on her beautifulface.
Mrs. Truscott leaned nearer to her friend, an eager tremor in her voice.
"Listen, Marion dear," she spoke; "I cannot allude to the subject exceptwhen you do; but, much as your father loves you, he must see now that itis next to impossible for you to live at home, and after her conductthis spring,--first demanding that you should come instead of spendingMay with us as was arranged, and then making it so wretched for you, andfinally almost driving you from the house,--it is useless to think ofgoing back this summer. _Do_ spend it with us. We both ask it, Jack andI. It was such a disappointment to lose you in May, and now that we'vegot you again,--though you said 'twas only for a week,--we talked it allover last night, Maid Marion,"--and here Mrs. Truscott has recourse toone of the pet names of their school-days,--"we talked it all over, Jackand I, and that was one of the things he went to the city for to-day. Hehad determined to ask your father to let you spend the summer here. Iwant it so much, so does Jack, for he may have to go to Kentucky to buyhorses for the cavalry stables. Marion, _do_ stay if he will let you."And both Mrs. Truscott's white hands now seized and clasped theunresisting, passive members that lay, still gloved, in her companion'slap.
For a moment there was no move. Two big tears were starting from MissSanford's eyes; her sweet, sensitive lips were twitching nervously. Sheglanced hurriedly up and down the broad road in front of thequarters,--they were unobserved and alone,--and, leaning back in herchair, she gently withdrew one hand and held her handkerchief to herface. Mrs. Truscott quickly rose and bent over her, pressed her lips oneinstant upon the luxuriant hair that fell thickly over the girl'sforehead; then, twining her arm around her head, nestled her own softcheek where she had pressed her lips. And there she hovered, sayingnothing more, waiting until the little rain-cloud had passed away.
Presently there came the sound of quick, springy footsteps along theasphalt from the direction of the barracks. Mrs. Truscott raised herhead.
"It is Sergeant Wolf, Marion. I think he is coming here."
Miss Sanford started up, wiped her eyes and half turned her back, as ayoung soldier in the undress uniform of a cavalry sergeant entered thegateway, and, halting at the foot of the steps, respectfully raised handto his cap, and stood there as though addressing an officer.
"Pardon me, madame," he asked, with a distinctly German accent, but withthe intonation of a gentleman on every syllable. "The captain has notyet returned?"
"Not yet, sergeant; I expect him on the eight-thirty train."
"It is about Corporal Stein, madame; he has overstayed his pass."
"I presume Mr. Waring should be told. Have you seen him?"
"Madame, the lieutenant is neither at his quarters nor the mess."
"Then there is nothing further to be done that I know of," said Mrs.Truscott, whose girlhood had been passed in garrison at times, andwhose earliest recollections were of papa's dragoons. "I will tell thecaptain as soon as he returns." And she stepped backward towards thechairs.
The sergeant paused one moment. He was tall, lithe, of graceful andmuscular mould; his face was of the singular Saxon cast,--so very fair;his eyes were blue and clear, his nose and mouth finely shaped; histeeth were white and even, his hair crisp and curly, and the very colorof bleached straw, but redeemed from that dead, soda-dried effect by thesheen of every lock; his face was oval; clean-shaved but for the upperlip, whose long, blond moustache twirled trooper-fashion till the endsalmost swept his ears. He was a handsome fellow, and his manners andlanguage bespoke him a man of education. After the moment's hesitation,he again touched his cap and quitted the little garden, walking withquick, brisk steps and erect carriage away towards the upper end of therow.
Mrs. Truscott stood silently looking after him a moment, then sheturned:
"Did you notice his hands, Marion?"
"Certainly; I did the first time I saw him, and he is always here. Yousay Wolf is an assumed name?"
"Yes. Jack says there can be no question but that he is an educatedGerman officer who has had to quit the service there for some crime ortrouble. He came here just when I did, last December; and Jack says heis the finest first sergeant he ever saw, though I believe the men don'tfancy him. He speaks French as well as he does English, and there isapparently nothing he does not know about cavalry service."
"And how did he happen to be in the army?"
"I do not know; there was nothing else for him to do, I suppose. The oldfirst sergeant of the cavalry detachment here was discharged last fall,and when a new one was needed, and there seemed to be no really good onein the troop, Jack wrote to a recruiting officer in the city to send hima first-class man. One day he got a letter saying that a young Germandesired to enlist for cavalry service who was evidently a thoroughsoldier, and that there was some mystery about him. He was dressed likea gentleman, but had not a cent of money, and claimed to have arrivedonly within three days from the old country. Next day the man himselfcame here. Jack had told me nothing about the letter. The servant saidthere was a gentleman in the parlor wanted to see the captain. Jack wasaway at the riding-hall, and I went into the parlor, and there stoodthis tall, fine-looking fellow. I thought, of course, he must be someofficer on leave,--some one whom Jack knew. It was a little dark,--oneof those rainy December days, and he had his back to the light,--but themoment he spoke and I heard the German accent I saw there was a mistake.He seemed greatly embarrassed, said he had been told he would find thecaptain here, apologized for the intrusion, and started for the door,when I saw his face was as white as a sheet and that he was staggering,and the next thing I knew he had dropped like a fainting woman in thebig arm-chair. Something told me he was weak from want of food. I calledMary, and got some wine and made him drink it, and pretty soon herevived, and then Jack came, and I left them together. He said that hehad eaten nothing for three days and was exhausted.
"We
ll, Jack questioned him closely that evening after he had made himrest and had fed him well, poor fellow! and the result was that in a dayor two he regularly enlisted. Jack really tried to induce him not to,telling him that a man of his education would surely find somethingbetter, but it was useless. He said that if he could not enlist here hewould go back to New York and enter for service on the frontier, so,finally, it was settled. He was made a corporal in a few weeks, and nowhe is first sergeant. He is invaluable in that respect; still, I do wishthere were no mystery. I hate mysteries. He is never seen with the menat all, and when not on duty he is always reading. Jack lends him booksthat no other soldier cares to look at and that they do not have in thetroop library. That is what brings him here so often. He comes every dayor two with a book he has read and wants another; but his name isn'tWolf. Somewhere, he has a seal ring with a crest on it, and lastmonth--there had been some trouble among the men, and two hardcharacters had laid in wait for the sergeant one dark night near thestables and assaulted him, but he was too quick and powerful for them,though they escaped--last month he brought Jack a sealed packet which heasked him to keep, and if anything happened to him it was to be returnedto an address he gave in Dresden. It's really quite a romance, but Iwish----" And Mrs. Truscott broke off abruptly without saying what she_did_ wish.
Miss Sanford was silent. She had recovered her self-control, and thetraces of recent tears were vanishing. Once more Mrs. Truscott seatedherself by her side.
"You will stay with us, won't you?" she said, with that uninterrogativeaccent on the "won't" which is indicative of a conviction on part of thequestioner that denial is impossible.
"Yes, Grace, gladly, if Captain Truscott can win papa over to it. Ishall be far happier here, and he will at least have peace at home. Shewill be satisfied and content if I am not there. How can I thank youenough, Gracie? I had almost made up my mind to ask Mrs. Zabriskie totake me back to Europe with her. You know she returns on the 'Werra' inJuly."
"Indeed you shall not. I had counted on having you for bridesmaid, andyou would not come home. That was the only disappointment in my wedding;but, after all, since Mr. Ray couldn't come, there would have been agroomsman short if you _had_ been there."
"Why didn't he come? You never told me."
"Why? Poor Mr. Ray! He wrote one of his laughing letters to Jack to saythat he'd be switched if he was going to play hangman at his ownexecution. You never knew such a queer fellow as he is. The real reasonwas that he could not afford to come East from Kansas and give us awedding present too. Jack and I would have far rather had him drop thepresent, but could not see how to tell him. He sent us that lovelyice-cream set, you know,--one of the prettiest of all my presents.Everybody thought Ray must have been studying up on art, it was sograceful and pretty. Mr. Gleason, I believe it was, said that Ray wroteto Colonel Thayer of the lieutenant-general's staff and had him buy it:he was in Chicago when we were married,--you know that was GrandmotherDe Ruyter's stipulation,--and that Colonel Thayer, not Ray, was entitledto the credit for taste; but Jack says that there is far more to Raythan most people give him credit for. He's a loyal friend anyway!"
"What was the name of that droll creature who was here lastApril,--Drake? Blake?"
"Mr. Blake? Oh, yes! He is one of the characters of the regiment. He isthe book of nonsense on two very long legs, but he is full of fun andfull of goodness. He is not at all Mr. Ray's kind, however. Jack saysthat Mr. Ray is the man of all others whom he would most expect to cometo the front in a general war, and that nothing could shake his faith inhim. Ray could never do or say a dishonorable thing."
"And wasn't it Mr. Ray who saved you when your horse was running away?"
"The very man. You glory so in daring horsemanship, Marion, I just wishyou could see Ray ride. Jack is splendid, of course, but he is so muchlarger, heavier, you know. Ray rides as lightly as a bird flies; heseems just part of a horse, as indeed Jack does, but then there's thisdifference: Mr. Ray rides over hurdles and ditches and prairie-dog holesand up and down hill just like an Indian, and the wonder is he isn'tkilled. Jack is a fine horseman,--nobody looks better in the saddle thanhe,--but then Jack rarely rides at top speed,--never, unless there'ssome reason for it.
"See, Marion, it's almost dark. Shall we go in the parlor and light thelamps?"
"Grace, wasn't Mr. Ray just a little bit in love with you once?"
"Honestly, Marion, no! I know he admired me, and I liked him, and hadreason to like him greatly, for he was a true friend to me when I wantedone at Sandy. Once he was a wee bit sentimental," and even in the duskGrace could feel that Marion saw the flush that mounted to her verybrows, "but that was when I fainted after the runaway; never before,never since. Don't talk nonsense, Maidie."
"I think I should like to know him," said Miss Sanford, as she rose toenter the hall.
"I _know_ you would. Only--well, you might not like him entirely,either. Jack should be here in less than half an hour now, then we'llhave tea. Oh, Marion! I'm so glad you will stay, so will he be."
On the parlor-table, as they entered, lay two letters. Turning up thegas, Mrs. Truscott scanned the superscriptions. Both were addressed toher husband. One was postmarked Fort Hays.
"This is the one Jack will open first," she said to her friend. "I don'tknow whom the other comes from, but this is news from the regiment. Itis Mr. Billings's writing, and Jack is always eager for news from him."
"Mr. Ferris asked me this evening, while we were walking, if CaptainTruscott had any news from his regiment. He seemed unusually interested.I could not tell why, but it was something about General Crook beingheavily reinforced by troops from somewhere. They were talking of itdown at the mess to-day, and Mr. Waring said that if his regiment wereordered on that duty, he would apply by telegraph to Washington fororders to join it at once. There was some embarrassment then, becauseone of the gentlemen present--Mr. Ferris wouldn't say who--belonged to aregiment already there on that very campaign, and he had not applied fororders at all, and wasn't going to, and----Why, _Grace_! What is thematter?"
With her face rapidly paling Grace Truscott had stood gazing piteouslyat her companion, and then, seizing the letter in her trembling hands,she stood glaring at the address. For a moment she made no reply, andagain Miss Sanford, alarmed, repeated her question.
"Marion! Marion! It means that I know now why Jack did not show me MajorStannard's last letter. It means that this letter from the adjutant isto tell Jack that the --th is ordered into the field. It means--itmeans"--and she threw herself prone upon the sofa, clinching her handsabove her head--"it means that my dream of delight is shattered; theywill take my husband from me."
"But how--but why, Grace? I don't understand. Mr. Ferris said distinctlythat Captain Truscott would not be affected, that he had just begun hisdetail here. If an officer doesn't _have_ to go when his regiment isalready in the field, how can your husband be required?"
"_My_ husband! Marion. You don't know him, neither does Mr. Ferris, ifthat's his idea. My husband would never wait to be ordered to join hiscomrades on campaign. If that letter says the --th is to go, that endsit all, for Jack will start to-morrow."