Sam Morrow told his story in a few words. He had served in the Seventh Cavalry for five years under the name of Samuel Moore, and two years before, while with his troop on the Yellowstone, the man calling himself Frost was a sergeant in another company. He was only a short time in the regiment, but his fine appearance, intelligence, and education led to his speedy appointment as sergeant, and as Sergeant Farrand he had been for a few months a popular and respected man; but as soon as they got back to winter-quarters he turned out to be a gambler, then a swindler and card-sharper. He lost the respect of both officers and men, got into a gambling-scrape with some teamsters in Bismarck, was locked up by the civil authorities, and, after a series of troubles of that description, deserted the service in the Black Hills the summer of '75, taking three horses with him, and that was the last seen of him until now. Sam had been shot in the arm in the fight of the 25th of June, after the Indians had butchered Custer's part of the regiment, and now, having served out his time, was once more home, with an honorable discharge and a certificate of high character from his officers.
In substantiation of Sam's story, Mr. Morrow exhibited two letters which he had found among his brother's papers. They were from the adjutant of the Seventh Cavalry, in reply, evidently, to inquiries which old Morrow had instituted in May, and the second one contained a description of Frost as the soldier Farrand, which tallied exactly.
"And now, Frost, what have you to say as to the murder?" was the next question; and, cowering and abject, the wretch sat with bowed head and trembling limbs, gasping, "I did not do it, I did not do it." But this Nemahbin would believe no longer. There was a wild cry of "Hang him!" from the excited crowd in the street, and then came a scene. Peaceful and law-abiding as had been the community, it turned in almost savage fury upon the scoundrel who had sought to charge his own crime upon an innocent and long-respected citizen. A dozen resolute men leaped through the post-office to the doorway of the inner room, but there they halted. Between them and the cowering form of Frost stood the tall figure of Sam Morrow, his eyes ablaze, his mouth set and stern, his left arm in a sling, but in his right hand a levelled revolver.
"Back, every man of you!" he said. "He killed my father, but, by God, it has got to be a fair trial!" Lowrie, the doctor, and the detective were at his back, and Nemahbin hesitated, thought better of its mad impulse, and retired. That night Frost lay behind the prison bars, accused of an array of crimes, with cold-blooded murder as the climax, and Sam Morrow, Dick Graham, and Nellie met once more at the old home.
In less than a month Frost's last hope had gone. Whether his pluck and nerve had given out entirely, whether the rapid accumulation of damaging evidence had made him fearful that even hanging would be too good for him if all his past were "ferreted out," as now seemed likely, or whether he hoped, by confession, to gain mercy, is not known; but, before his trial, he made full admission of his guilt. He had come to Nemahbin hoping to get such a hold on the old man by telling him he could find Sam that he would be welcomed, and allowed to prosecute his suit with Nellie, who was plainly fascinated. If he could gain her love and her hand, he might settle down, be respectable on old Morrow's money, and then, even if Sam did come home, he would not be apt to expose the man his sister loved and married. But his efforts to convince the old man that he was trying to find Sam, while all the time he was doing all he knew how to keep him on the wrong track, were at constant cross-purposes. The old man soon became suspicious of him, would advance him no money, paid him a nominal sum for keeping books, etc., the first three months he was there, then relieved him of that duty, and kept up incessant cross-questioning. At last Frost found out that Graham suspected him of being a deserter, and that the old man had got that idea and also that his own boy was somewhere in the army. Then came the news of the Custer massacre, and by that time he felt sure he could win Nellie's hand if her father's consent could be gained; but Morrow was all suspicion and eagerness, and Frost knew by his manner that he was on the trail of his lost boy by means of letters—and these letters would plainly betray him, who had deserted from Sam's own regiment. He hurried to Chicago, and there—there he came upon that list of killed in the battle of the Little Big Horn, and among the names was the one he wanted to see, Sergeant Sam Moore. It decided him at once. He went to his uncle, claiming that he was about to marry Nellie Morrow, got from him a small supply of money, and came back determined to win her at once. She was the old man's only child and sole heir. That very day Morrow had told him that he had found him out, that in his absence he had received letters proving him to be a scoundrel, and, giving him just one chance to tell him where his lost boy was or to leave. Frost feared to tell then, as he knew the miller would insist on proofs, and in some way his own connection with the regiment would be known. That evening, before tea, Morrow, in an angry interview, which Schaffer partially overheard, told him he had proofs of his rascality—letters to settle his case for good and all. Then he became desperate. Soon as Dick had gone to town with the ladies he went to Graham's room, got the revolver, and once more went to the mill, and found Morrow at the office door. It was then almost dark. Then came the accusation of desertion, and, once in the office, Morrow had called him by his soldier name, and Frost knew "all was up." He must have those papers. He drew the revolver to frighten the old man, and it went off, killing him instantly. He was horror-stricken, but strove to collect himself. Flight would betray him at once as the murderer. Why not make it a case of suicide—leave the pistol by him? No—that would not do. It was Graham's—Ha! why not make Graham the guilty one? Quickly he got the safe key from the old man's pocket, unlocked and obtained the cash-drawer, with its five hundred dollars in green-backs—opened the desk, and rummaged through the letters till he found one from the headquarters of the Seventh Cavalry, which gave a description of several men almost his height and general appearance who had deserted. Among them he recognized his own and his soldier name. With these he went to the cottage, leaving all dark at the mill, burned the letter, hid portions of the money in Graham's mattress, and was thinking, in terror, what to do next, when he heard voices on the road. He dare not go out, and so wasted some time in the house. When he heard Graham drive back with the buggy he hurriedly undressed and went to bed. Then Schaffer came home and he called him in, that the boy might say that he was in bed and undressed; but when Graham entered he shammed sleep. Roused, at last, by Graham's demand for his money and the news that he was going away, an idea occurred to him. Cutting a slit in his finger with a razor, he let the blood fall on a couple of five-dollar bills—smeared and quickly dried it—gave them to Graham before he started, and as soon as he was gone went busily to work. Going down to the mill as soon as satisfied that all was safe—Schaffer asleep and Dick far on his way to the railroad—he found the east door locked. Then he knew that Graham had been there; had locked the door and taken the key to the hall of the mill-house, and of course had seen nothing of the body. He got the key, obtained Graham's overalls from the mill, burned them in the stove at the cottage—as he argued Dick could have done had he bloodied them in the affray—and then in Graham's room had found his cambric handkerchief. Once more he went down to the ghostly mill, and dipped this into the blood of his victim; then locked the mill door (he had locked the office door, leaving the key inside), put the key back in the house, returned to the cottage, and to bed. He had woven a chain for Graham that, added to the poor fellow's flight and his previous disagreements, would fasten all suspicion on him as the murderer. Then he thought of the money. He rose, bundled it loosely in an old oyster-can, stole out in the gray light of approaching dawn, and buried it in the loose sand down on the shore of the mill-pond, just where all the cattle would go for water, and trample out all traces within an hour; then once more he went back to bed, and to the counterfeited sleep from which Schaffer had such difficulty in rousing him. It was well planned—and when he heard the boy declare he had seen Graham coming from the mill at 11 o'clock he thought it perfect.
But he had failed to cross one track—the bloody print of a slender, city-made, shapely boot on the flour-dusted floor under the peg where Graham's overalls generally hung. It was the only footprint in that corner of the old mill, and Frost's was the only boot in all Nemahbin that would fit it. Keen eyes had noted this even while the wiseacres of the law were urging the pursuit of Graham; and then came the inexorable watch on every move that Frost might make. Even without his confession, the relentless search of the detectives would have run him down. And now Dick Graham was free.
It wasn't such a mystery, after all. A greater one was being enacted right here in the old mill-house, whither Nellie had hurriedly returned on the telegraphic news of Sam's home-coming. She had sent Dick Graham sorrowing to his fate only a month ago. She never wished to see him or speak to him again. She had twined her girlish hero-worship around the tall beauty of Mr. Frost, and seen it shrivel with aversion in a single day. And now, surrounded by the halo of his sufferings, his self-imposed exile, his years of patient, uncomplaining, unswerving devotion, here was her brother's best friend, sharing with that brother the admiration and homage of their little village circle; here was her true lover, Dick, loving, forgiving, unreproaching, and yet unseeking, and one sweet August night, calm and still and starlit, she stood at the very gate where he had seen her parting with Frost that dread Sunday morning. And now her little hand was trembling on his arm as he would have closed the gate behind him. He felt the detaining pressure, and turned, gently as ever:
"What is it, Nellie?"
"Dick, will you never forgive me for what I said—that night?"
One instant he could hardly speak—hardly breathe; but then, slowly, with swimming eyes and quivering lips, soft and tremulous, she looked up into his radiant face.
And now—eight years after—'Mahbin Mill hums and whirs more merrily than ever. Dick Graham is master and manager, for Sam, with a well-earned strap of gold-lace on each broad shoulder, has gone back to the frontier life he learned to love in the old regiment. Frost languished but a few months in his prison before death mercifully took him away, and Nellie—Nellie is the happiest little woman around Nemahbin for miles; only those two scamps, Sam and Dick, seven and five years old respectively, keep her in a fidget and their father in a chuckle with their pranks. They are always in mischief or the mill-pond.
For five years the life of Second Lieutenant Plodder, of the —th Foot, had been a burden to him. For more than five years Second Lieutenant Plodder had been something of a burden to the —th Foot. In the dreary monotone in which the psalm of life is sung, or was sung, in frontier garrisons before the introduction of such wildly diverting exercises as daily target practice, or measuring-distance drill, the one thing that became universally detestable was the man with the perennial grievance, and Mr. Plodder's grievance was slow promotion. There was nothing exceptionally harrowing in his individual experience; dozens of other fellows in his own and in other regiments were victims of the same malady, but for some reason Mr. Plodder considered himself the especial target of the slings and arrows of a fortune too outrageous for even a downtrodden "dough-boy" to bear in silence, and the dreary burden of his song—morn, noon, and night—was the number of years he had served, and might yet have to serve, with never a bar to his strap of faded blue.
Entering the army as a volunteer in '61, he had emerged, after four years of singularly uneventful soldiering, a lieutenant in the company in which he started as private. Provost-guard duty and the like had told but little on the aggregate of present for duty with his command, and that sort of campaigning being congenial, Mr. Plodder concluded to keep it up as a profession. A congressional friend got him a second-lieutenancy at the close of the war, and the devil himself, said Mr. Plodder, got him into that particular regiment. "I never saw such a God-forsaken lot of healthy fellers in my life," he was wont to declare over the second or third toddy at "the store" in the long wintry evenings. "There ain't a man of 'em died in six years, and here I am after nigh onto twelve years' consecutive service, and I ain't a first lieutenant yit."
We youngsters, with our light hearts and lighter pockets, used to rather enjoy getting old Plodder started, it must be confessed; and when pin-pool or auction-pitch had palled in interest, and we would be casting about for some time-killing device, and the word would come from the window, scattering the group of oldsters, that Plodder was on his way to the store, somebody would be apt to suggest a project for "putting up a job on Grumpy," and it would be carriednem. con.
"Heard the news, Plod?" some young reprobate would carelessly inquire while banging the balls about the table.
"What news?" says Plodder.
"You're in for a file. They say old Cramps is going to die. He's off on leave now."
"Who says so?" says Plodder, eying his interlocutor askance. He is always suspicious of the youngsters.
"Fact, Plodder. Ask the major, if you don't believe me."
And before long Plodder would be sure to make his way into the inner court —thesanctum sanctorumof the store—sacred ordinarily to the knot of old officers who liked to have their quiet game aloof from the crash of pool-pins and the babel of voices in the main room, and there, after more or less beating round the bush, he would inquire as to whether the major had recently heard news of old Captain Cramps, and what was the state of his health; returning then to the billiard-room with wrath and vengeance in his eye, to upbraid his tormentor for sending him off on such a cruel quest.
"Well, what did you go for?" would be the extent of his comfort. "I only said Cramps was going to die, and it's my profound conviction he will—some time or other."
And Plodder would groan in spirit, "It's all very well for you youngsters, but just you wait till you've served as long as I have, twelve years' consecutive service, by George! and if you don't wish lineal promotion would come in, or the grass was growing green over every man that ever opposed it, you can stopmypay."
It got to be a serious matter at last. It was Plod's monomania. We used to swear that Plod spent half his time moaning over the army register, and that his eyes were never fixed upon the benevolent features of his captain but that he was wondering whether apoplexy would not soon give him the longed-for file. Every week or two there would come tidings of deaths, dismissals, resignations, or retirements in some other corps or regiment, and second lieutenant so-or-so would become first lieutenantvicesomebody else, and on such occasions poor old Plod would suffer the tortures of the damned. "There's that boy," he would say, "only two years out of that national charity school up there on the Hudson, in leading-strings, by George! when we fellers were fightin' and bleedin' an—"
"Hello, Plod! I forgot you fought and bled in the provost-guard. Where was it, old man? Take a nip and tell us about it," some one would interpose, but Plodder would plunge ahead in the wild recitative of his lament, and the floor would be his own.
Tuesday evenings always found him at the store. The post-trader's copy of theArmy and Navy Journalarrived soon after retreat, and it was one of the unwritten laws of the establishment that old Plod should have first glimpse. There had been a time when he resorted to the quarters of brother-officers and possessed himself of their copy, but his concomitant custom of staying two or three hours and bemoaning his luck had gradually been the means of barring him out, and, never having a copy of his own (for Plodder was thrifty and "near"), he had settled into the usurpation of first rights with "Mr. O'Bottle's" paper, and there at the store he devoured the column of casualties with disappointed eyes, and swallowed grief and toddy in "consecutive" gulps.
It used to be asserted of Plodder that he was figuring for the Signal Corps. He was at one time generally known as "Old Probabilities;" indeed, it had been his nickname for several years. He was accused of keeping a regular system of "indications" against the names of his seniors in rank, and that godless young reprobate Trickett so far forgot his reverence for rank as to prepare and put in circulation "Plodder's Probabilities," a Signal Service burlesque that had the double effect of alienating that gentleman's long-tried friendship and startling into unnatural blasphemy the staid captains who figured in the bulletin. Something in this wise it ran (and though poor fun at best, was better than anything we had had since that wonderful day when "Mrs.CaptainO'Rorke av ye plaze" dropped that letter addressed to her friend "Mrs. Captain Sullivan, O'Maher Barrix"):
"PLODDER'S PROBABILITIES."For Captain Irvin.—Higher living together with lower exercise. Cloudy complexion, with temperament choleric veering to apoplectic. Impaired action followed by fatty degeneration of the heart."For Captains Prime and Chipsey.—Barometer threatening. Squalls domestic. Stocks lower. Putler and Soaker bills falling (due N.E., S., and W.) from all parts of the country."For Lieutenant Cole, R.Q.M.—Heft increasing. Nose and eyelids turgid. Frequent (d)rains, Sp. Fru. Heavy shortage C. and G. E., S. T. 187(-)X.[TN2]"Cautionary Signalsfor Burroughs, Calvin, and Waterman. Something sure to turn up."
"PLODDER'S PROBABILITIES.
"For Captain Irvin.—Higher living together with lower exercise. Cloudy complexion, with temperament choleric veering to apoplectic. Impaired action followed by fatty degeneration of the heart.
"For Captains Prime and Chipsey.—Barometer threatening. Squalls domestic. Stocks lower. Putler and Soaker bills falling (due N.E., S., and W.) from all parts of the country.
"For Lieutenant Cole, R.Q.M.—Heft increasing. Nose and eyelids turgid. Frequent (d)rains, Sp. Fru. Heavy shortage C. and G. E., S. T. 187(-)X.[TN2]
"Cautionary Signalsfor Burroughs, Calvin, and Waterman. Something sure to turn up."
We were hard up for fun in those days, and even this low order of wit excited a high degree of hilarity. The maddest men were Prime, Chipsey, and the R.Q.M., but their wrath was as nothing compared with the blaze of indignation which illuminated the countenances of Mrs. Prime and Mrs. Chipsey, next-door neighbors and bosom friends as feminine friendships go. Each lady in this instance was ready to acknowledge the pertinence of Mr. Trickett's diagnosis in the case of her neighbor's husband, and confidentially to admit that there was even some justification for the allegation of "squalls domestic" next door, but that anything of this sort should be even hinted at in her own case, nothing but utter moral depravity on the part of the perpetrator could account for it. Trickett paid dear for his whistle, but for the time it seemed to hold Plodder in check. The ruling passion soon cropped out again, however. Gray hairs were beginning to sprinkle his scanty beard, and crow's-feet to grow more deeply under his suspicious eyes. He never looked at a senior without a semi-professional scrutiny of that senior's physical condition as set forth in the clearness of his eye or skin. He never shook hands without conveying the impression that he was reaching for a man's pulse. If any old officer were mentioned as going off on "surgeon's certificate" to visit the sea-shore, and the question should be asked, "What's the matter with him?" the interrogated party invariably responded, "Don't know. Ask Plodder."
It was not only in the regiment that Plodder became a notoriety. For one eventful year of its history the —th Foot was stationed in close proximity to department headquarters, and department headquarters became speedily and intimately acquainted with Mr. Plodder. Having once made his calls of ceremony upon the commanding general and his staff, it became his custom to make frequent visits to the city, and, passing beyond the established haunts where his comrades were wont to dispense for creature comforts their scanty dimes, to spend some hours pottering about the offices at headquarters. But for a month no one really fathomed the object of his attentions. "Trying to get a soft detail in town" was the theory hazarded by some of the youngsters, who were well aware of his distaste for company duty; "Boning for aide-de-camp," suggested another. But not until the medical director one day explosively alluded to him as "that —— old vampire-bat," with an uncomplimentary and profane adjective in place of the ——, and the acting judge-advocate of the department impulsively asked if "that infernal Mark Meddle couldn't be kept at home," did it begin to dawn on us what old Plodder really was driving at. His theory being that army casualties could be divided up pretty evenly between the Medical Department and the Bureau of Military Justice as the expediting means, he hoped by ingenious engineering of the conversation to pick up points as to probabilities in the —th Foot, or to furnish such as might be lacking.
In plain words, it transpired about this time that Plodder had taken to haunting the office of the judge-advocate at hours when he could hope for uninterrupted conversation with that officer, and one day, with very ruffled demeanor, he was encountered making hurried exit therefrom, pursued, said Mr. Trickett, by the toe of the judge-advocate's boot. Indeed, Mr. Trickett was not far wrong. He and his now reconciled captain were about calling upon the judge-advocate when Plodder burst forth, and surely there was every symptom of a wrathful intent in the attitude of the staff-officer whom they met at the door. It was a minute or so before he could recover his composure, though he politely invited them to enter and be seated. No explanation was vouchsafed as to what had occurred, but Trickett and Prime came back to barracks full of speculation and curiosity, told pretty much everybody what they had seen, and, all being convinced that Plodder and the judge-advocate had had some kind of a row, it was determined to draw Plodder out. Consequently there was a gathering in the billiard-room that night, and when Plodder entered, with visage of unusual gloom, he ought to have been put on his guard by the unexpectedly prompt and cheery invites to "take something" that greeted him. But Plodder had been taking several somethings in the privacy of his quarters, and, being always ready to partake at somebody else's expense, he was speedily primed into talkative mood, and then the inquisition began.
"Saw you coming out of Park's office to-day," said Prime. "What was your hurry?"
No answer for a moment, then a rather sulky growl, "I'd finished my business, and thought you might want to see him."
"I? Lord, no! What should I want to see him for except socially?"
No answer.
"Nicefellow, Park," said Trickett; "seems such a calm, self-poised sort of man, you know."
"One of the most courteous men I ever met," said Waterman.
Then the others joined in with some kind of transparent adulation of the official referred to, all keeping wary eyes on Plodder, who at last burst forth,
"You all can think what you like.Myidea is, he's no gentleman."
Of course Plodder was assailed with instant demands to explain his meaning. Everybody was amazed; but Plodder would only shake his head and mutter that he knew what he was talking about. Nobody could tellhimwhat constituted a gentleman. Park wasn't one anyhow, and all hopes for light upon that interview were for the moment dashed; but a day or two more brought everything out in startling colors, when it was announced that Lieutenant Calvin, who had been commanding a detachment "up the country," was ordered to return and explain certain allegations that had been brought to the notice of the regimental commander. Plodder's cautionary signal had been hoisted to some purpose after all.
It seems that being cut off from congenial society, and having no associates with whom to while away the weary hours of his detached service, Lieutenant Calvin had sought solace in the flowing bowl, had become involved in a quarrel with some rather hard cases among the citizens, and in some mysterious way the matter had reached headquarters. Calvin was on a sort of probation at the time, for his conduct on some previous occasions had given great cause for complaint to his colonel, and that officer had now received a note from headquarters on the subject of Calvin's recent misdemeanor, and felt himself called upon to investigate. This note had come three days before the date of Plodder's last visit to town, and the colonel had communicated its contents to no one but his adjutant, and yet it was known throughout the garrison on the day after Plodder's visit that Mr. Calvin was to be overhauled, and the colonel decided to inquire, among other things,howit became so speedily known.
"I would prefer to have some officer sent from elsewhere to relieve him," he had said to the commanding general in presence of the judge-advocate. "It will then create no talk or speculation at the barracks before he comes."
"It is known there already," said the judge-advocate.
"Most extraordinary!" said the colonel. "I don't see how that could be and I not know it." And, indeed, there were very few matters on which he was not fully informed.
"It is so, nevertheless," said the staff-officer. "One of your—a—subalterns—a gentleman with whom I have very slight acquaintance, came to me to tell me about it, as he expressed it, yesterday."
Then the colonel insisted upon hearing the whole story, and it came out. It seems that after one or two somewhat embarrassed visits, Mr. Plodder had succeeded in finding the judge-advocate alone on the previous afternoon, had then drawn his chair close to that officer's desk, and, very much to his surprise, had bent forward, and in confidential tone had remarked, "Say, I want to tell you about Calvin," and before the astonished judge-advocate could well interrupt him he had rushed through a few hurried sentences descriptive of the affair in which Calvin was involved, and looked up in very great astonishment when the judge-advocate suddenly checked him.
"One moment, Mr. Plodder. I do not understand the object of this narrative. Have you come to make an official complaint of Mr. Calvin's conduct? I am not the person. Your colonel—"
"Oh, no, no. You don't understand," interrupted Mr. Plodder. "Idon't want to appear in the matter at all; but you see I happen to know—"
"You don't mean to say that you have come to me to give confidential information about an officer of your regiment?" burst in the judge-advocate with growing wrath.
"I thought you ought to know," said Plodder, sulkily. "You have charge of the court-martial business, and I s'pose charges are to be preferred—"
"And you want to appear as a witness, do you? or do you mean to prefer additional charges, or—what the devil do you mean?"
"No,I'mnot a witness," exclaimed Plodder, hastily. "I just thought you ought to know about this, you see, and all you've got to do is to write to so-and-so, and so-and-so.Theywere there and saw it. Oh, no, I don't want to appear at all."
"In plain words, then, Mr. Plodder, you came here as a tale-bearer, and expect me to treat you like a gentleman," said the judge-advocate, rising in wrath and indignation, while Mr. Plodder sat gazing at him in pained surprise. "By G—gulp, sir, I did not suppose the uniform had got so low as that. Go to your colonel, if you want to tattle, sir; don't come to me. There's the door, Mr. Plodder; there's the door, sir." And in utter amaze the gentleman of nigh on to twelve years' consecutive service slipped out into the hall as ruefully ruffled in spirit as though he had been kicked thither. It was there he encountered Prime and Trickett, and it was in this shape that the interview was eventually made known to the regiment, but not until some time after—not until the grand evolution of a pet and long-projected scheme. Then it was that this experience of Plodder's was told, with many unflattering comments; and so it happened that not one grain of sympathy was felt for him in the moment of his most supreme dejection—the crowning disappointment of his life.
For the first time in his "years of consecutive service" Plodder actually saw a first-lieutenancy within his grasp, and this is how the matter stood.
Among a lot of desperately, hopelessly healthy and virtuous captains and first-lieutenants there appeared the unfortunate Mr. Calvin, whose record had been somewhat mottled in the past, and who was now in a very precarious state. To get him out of the way would ordinarily secure for Mr. Plodder only a step, for at this moment he stood third on the list of second lieutenants; but here was a case of unusual combinations. The senior second lieutenant was at that moment undergoing trial on charges that must dismiss him from the service. There was no question as to his guilt; indeed, he had hardly made any defence against the allegations. But, even were he to be dismissed, how was that to help Plodder? Look at the list:
Second Lieutenants —th Infantry.1. John B. Riggs (in arrest, undergoing trial).2. William H. Trainor,regimental adjutant.3. Pariah Plodder.
The army reader sees the scheme at a glance. With Riggs dismissed, Trainor came to the head of the list, and was entitled to immediate promotion to first lieutenant, "he being the adjutant." This, then, made old Plodder senior second, and now—now, if he could only get Calvin out, there were his bars. Under these circumstances, Plodder was not the man to hesitate. Knowing Calvin's weakness, he had "kept an eye on him;" had obtained, through some mysterious correspondent, details of his proceedings at his post of isolation, and it was not long before it began to be suspected that it was he who inspired the rumors that appeared in the local papers, and so drew the attention of the authorities to Calvin's offence.
Well, Calvin came in, had an interview with his colonel, who was stern and non-committal. Calvin protested that his offence had been grievously exaggerated. Britton, who took his place up the country, swore that the best citizens up there came in to speak in high terms of Calvin. The men with whom he had had the disturbance were rough characters, who had purposely insulted him, and Britton said that he believed the whole statement could be traced to one of the enlisted men, a bad fellow, whom Calvin had disciplined. The man was known to be writing letters frequently, and no one knew to whom they were sent. Calvin behaved well around garrison, and the colonel was divided in his mind. He hated to prefer charges he could not fully substantiate, and it was by no means certain that the allegations against Calvin could be reliably supported, although there was strong probability of their truth. Then it began to be rumored about the post that the colonel was wavering, despite his firm front against all Calvin's appeals, and that night Plodder was observed to be in a high state of nervous excitement. He had a confidential interview with one subaltern, and sought another with at least one more, but was sternly and angrily rebuffed. "I cannot say what the matter was," explained the offended youngster, "as he made me agree to regard his offer, as he called it, confidential. But it lets me out on Plodder, that's all."
The next day Plodder had a long talk with Calvin. The latter looked infinitely depressed at its close, and went up to town by permission of the colonel to see some legal friends. When night came he did not return, as was understood to be the arrangement, and the adjutant, driving up in the ambulance immediately after retreat, reappeared at tattoo, escorting Calvin; and Calvin, perceptibly intoxicated, was conducted to his quarters, and bidden there to abide in close arrest.
Two days more, and his unconditional resignation was forwarded "approved" from regimental headquarters, and a few days later, sadly bidding his comrades adieu, Calvin started homewards. "It was no use trying to make a fight," he said. "Some fellow had been spying around up the country, and had prejudiced the colonel, and he told me he meant to bring up charges for the old matter. I could have stood up against them separately, but not collectively; and I had no war record, no friends, no influence. What was the use? Old Plodder gave me a check for four hundred dollars, payable at the First National in Chicago. I'll go back to railroading. Wish to God I'd never left it for soldiering, anyhow!" And with that he was gone, to await at his home the acceptance of his tendered resignation.
Now there was unexpected sympathy for Calvin in the regiment. He was a plain man, of limited education, who had run an engine on one of Tecumseh Sherman's vitally important railways in '64, and when his train was attacked by Hood's horsemen he had fought like a hero, had been made an officer in a regiment doing railway-guard duty, and at the end of the war a lieutenant in the regular infantry. Being sociable, warm-hearted, and weak, he had fallen into drinking ways, had spent his money fast, and so had fallen from grace. He had long been unhappy and out of his element in the service. Perhaps it was best that he should go back to the old life, where drink was an impossibility.
But the wonder was, how could old Plodder bear to spend four hundred dollars of his hoarded gains even for the coveted file?Thatwas not answered until long afterwards, and really has no place in the immediatedénouementof this plot. It might come in handily elsewhere. Hehadgiven Calvin four hundred dollars to resign at once, and perhaps the colonel breathed freer at having the case decided for him. Now we were all agog for the result. It depended, of course, upon Riggs's sentence.
Now Riggs was an anomaly. He had few friends in the regiment. He was a shy, sensitive, retiring sort of fellow—a man who read a great deal, was known to be very well informed, a man who rarely appeared at the social gatherings at the store, never played cards or billiards, was civil and courteous to the younger officers, but a little surly to the seniors. He was disliked by most of the latter, and cordially hated by his own captain. When they sat on courts together, Mr. Riggs invariably carried the day in all discussions that came up. He knew more law than any of them. Indeed, there seemed to be no point on which he had not more information than all but two or three of his seniors, and he rather delighted in drawing them out and exposing their ignorance. On the other hand, in the thousand little ways in which superior officers can inflict humiliation upon their juniors, his own and other captains made him feel his dependent position, and poor Riggs, with all his knowledge, was a very unhappy man. He had not a real friend, certainly not an intimate, in the regiment; in fact, he incurred the hostility of many of the subs at the very start by being transferred from an old regiment to near the top of the list of this one when the consolidation took place in '71—a transfer that drove Mr. Plodder nearly frantic at the time, and laid the solid foundation of his undying hate. Riggs made no attempt to conciliate anybody. He never mentioned his past life or services. No one knew his war history, though it was known that he had served. No one ever heard him refer to what he had seen or experienced. Yet the few caustic comments with which he occasionally silenced Plodder's reminiscences amid an explosion of laughter from the youngsters assured every one that he knew whereof he spoke. He was sad, dreamy in temperament; some said he took opium, all knew he took whiskey, and a great deal of it, though never was he known to do or say an unseemly thing under its influence. His face would flush and his speech sometimes thicken, but for a long time that had been all. He was what was called a steady drinker, and as an excuse, his wife (and she was a devoted little woman) was wont to tell the ladies of the regiment who ventured to allude to it that Mr. Riggs had a pulmonary difficulty, a bad cough, and that his physicians had prescribed whiskey.
Cough he certainly had, and at times a very consumptive look, and as time wore on he had grown moody and sullen. Then came an exciting period in the history of the regiment. Several days and nights of sharp and stirring service against rioters in the streets of the adjoining city. Several days with irregular food and nights with irregular sleep, and after forty-eight hours of such experience Lieutenant Riggs, suddenly summoned at daybreak by his captain to command a guard to be sent to some public buildings, plunged, stupidly drunk, into plain sight of assembled officers and men, and was sent back to the garrison in disgrace and close arrest. This was the offence for which he had just been tried. There was no hope for him said the colonel and the officers of the regiment. Dismissal short and sharp was the only prospect before him. A presidential announcement had but recently been made thatthatwas the one thing not to be overlooked at an executive mansion where dismayed diplomats were compelled to struggle through state dinners unaided by the accustomed Château Yquem and Pommery Sec, and rushed away chilled and alarmed to seek vinous aid for their offended stomachs. Riggs was ruined, and must expect to go.
But the case had been tried before a general court of considerable rank, and composed of officers from other posts and commands. Only one of the —th Foot was on the detail. Admitting the facts alleged in the specification, Mr. Riggs had called upon one or two officers, his colonel and the major, for evidence as to his general character and previous conduct, and they could say nothing of consequence against him, anddidsay much that was favorable. When they had retired Mr. Riggs surprised the court by calling upon one of its own members, an old surgeon, and subsequently upon another, a veteran lieutenant-colonel of artillery.
"What in thunder could he have wanted of them?" was the amazed inquiry down at the barracks that evening when it was there announced, and all that was said in reply was, that they had known him during the war. Next day some important documentary evidence was introduced, and then, asking only twenty-four hours in which to write his defence, Mr. Riggs, in a voice that trembled with emotion and with eyes that filled with tears he strove in vain to dash away, proceeded to address the court. "My wife is very ill, gentlemen, and her anxiety on my account has increased the trouble. The order convening the court assigned the barracks as the place of meeting, but it was changed, very properly, to suit the convenience of the members who were in the city. As it is, I have to leave there early in the morning, and be away from her all day. May I ask, as a great favor, that you arrange to meet to-morrow at the old place? I can then be near her in case—in case—" Here he stopped short, and, covering his face with his hands, turned his back upon the court.
The solemn silence was broken by the voice of the old surgeon.
"I know Mrs. Riggs, and have known her for years; she is indeed very much prostrated, and I have a note from Dr. Grant at the barracks substantiating what Mr. Riggs says." The judge-advocate stepped out and had a short consultation with the adjutant-general of the department in his adjoining office, and when the court adjourned it adjourned to meet at noon on the following day down at the barracks.
It was perhaps an hour after adjournment when the judge-advocate of the court, accompanied by one of its members, started out to take a drive. Passing the headquarters building where they had been in session during the morning, they were surprised to see Lieutenant Riggs standing alone at the doorway and gazing anxiously down the street.
"Why, I thought his wife was so sick, and supposed that he would be on his way to barracks by this time," said the member.
"And I, too; I don't understand it," said the junior, who was driving. "At least," he added, hesitatingly, "he may be waiting for the ambulance. It's a six-mile drive, and no hackman will go there for less than a small fortune."
There was silence for a moment as they trotted briskly along. Both the judge-advocate and the member caught each other in the act of glancing back towards the dim and lonely figure of Mr. Riggs, and in another minute the younger officer pulled up his team.
"Major, you want to go back and see what's the matter?"
"Yes, and so do you. Hold up a minute; there's Coles now. He'll know about the ambulance."
Reining in towards the sidewalk, the sauntering quartermaster was hailed, and that somewhat bulky official stepped up to the side of their stylish turn-out.
"Was the ambulance to take Riggs back to the post? He seems to be waiting for something very anxiously," said the judge-advocate.
The quartermaster started. "Why, yes; I thought it had gone long ago, and had stopped below here where I met it. Captain and Mrs. Breen and one or two others were doing a little shopping, I reckon."
"Meantime poor Riggs is waiting to get back to his sick wife, and has been waiting for an hour," said the legal adviser of the court, with an impatient crack of the whip that startled his spirited grays as they were whirled about and sent spinning up the street, leaving the dazed quartermaster staring after them. At headquarters the team again abruptly pulled up, and its driver called out, in cheery tones,
"Riggs, we are going out to barracks. Can we give you a lift? It may be some time before that ambulance comes along."
"It was to have been here over an hour ago," said the infantryman, slowly. "I don't know what's the matter, and I could not go in search of it; my arrest limits me to this building when in town. I hate to trouble you, yet I ought to have been home by this time."
"Jump in, jump in! We'll get you there in less than no time," exclaimed both occupants. And, only too willing, Mr. Riggs "leaped aboard," and they sped away for the outskirts of the city.
Passing a favorite restaurant, where officers and ladies were wont to rendezvous when in town, they caught sight of the missing ambulance.
"Weren't you ordered to be at headquarters for Lieutenant Riggs at three o'clock?" demanded the judge-advocate of the driver.
"Yes, sir," replied that party, glancing in nervous embarrassment over his shoulder at somebody in the depths of the vehicle, "but—"
A forage-capped head appeared from behind the curtain; the benign features of Captain Breen slowly hove in sight, and a smile of greeting spread thereover as his eyes met those of the staff-officers.
"Oh, ah! Good-afternoon, colonel. How de do, Captain Park. Why—yes, there was something said about going for Riggs when we got through—when the ladies finished shopping, you know. I was just reading the evening paper. If you are ready, Riggs, I—I'll hurry them out now," said the captain, startled into civility to the subaltern on seeing the distinguished company in which he drove.
"Thanks; we won't trouble you. Hup there!" said Captain Park, dryly and energetically, as once more the grays dashed off at rapid trot, and in half an hour Mr. Riggs was landed in front of his quarters in the garrison.
He said very little as he stepped from the light road-wagon, but he grasped the extended hands of the two officers, and looked up in their faces with mute eloquence. The post surgeon happened along at the moment, and Riggs turned eagerly towards him.
"A little easier, if anything," said the doctor, in answer to the look of anxious inquiry. "Better, I think, than she has been for the last two days. Your telegram cheered her a good deal."
"Excuse me now, will you, gentlemen?" said the lieutenant to his late conductors. "You understand my haste, and will forgive my inhospitality in not asking you in. You—you don't know how I thank you." And with that he was gone.
"Doctor, what seems the matter with Mrs. Riggs?" asked the judge-advocate, impetuously.
"Heart-trouble mainly. Any great anxiety tells right there. She was a very sick woman yesterday. Won't you stop at my quarters?"
"Thanks, no. We were just out for a drive, and must get back."
Whether from motives of delicacy, or possibly from lack of curiosity, very few of the older officers of the —th Foot were present in the court-room when Mr. Riggs read his brief statement or defence on the following day; but nothing could keep Plodder away. Among the group of four or five junior officers his keen little eyes and eager face peered out, ferret-like, glancing from member to member of the court as though he sought to probe their inmost souls. Brief as it was, Riggs had written an admirable little argument. He made no accusations, no recriminations; indeed, he rather slightingly alluded to a portion of the evidence which went to show that during the forty-eight hours preceding his offence he had been kept almost continuously on duty night and day, while the other company officer, his captain, slept almost as continuously. He manfully admitted his guilt, he showed that never before had he been accused of such an offence, and then, with brief reference to the testimony of the surgeon and his old division commander of war days, and the documentary evidence in their possession, he threw himself upon the mercy of the court.
The youngsters could not repress a murmur of admiration as he closed. Plodder with open mouth and staring eyes looked around the long, littered table like a military Shylock imploring the fulfilment of his bond. His eyes brightened as the judge-advocate slowly rose; he knew how trenchant he could be, at least, and he had confidence that his response would shatter the favorable impression left by Mr. Riggs's defence. It was with an almost audible gasp of dismay that he heard the next words that broke the silence of the court-room. The judge-advocate calmly said, "The case is submitted without remark."
Not until Mr. Waterman had plucked him by the coat-sleeve and hoarsely whispered, "Don't stand there like a stuck pig, you old idiot. Court's cleared," could Mr. Plodder be made to understand that all outsiders were required to withdraw that the court might proceed to its deliberation. Even at the outer door he again stopped and looked back, a half-formed project taking root in his bewildered brain, and again Mr. Waterman unfeelingly interrupted him. "Come on, Plodder. D—n it all! are you thinking of going in and haranguing the court yourself?" It was in more than perturbation that Plodder finally sought his quarters and, secure in his solitude, unlocked and uncorked his demijohn.
In another hour the court had adjourned and gone its way. Issuing from the stuffy room over the colonel's office, the members had been met by hospitable invitations to take luncheon here, there, and elsewhere about the garrison, and the story of the documentary and war evidence having got around by this time, there was much questioning as to its exact nature, and much wonderment that it had not been heard of before. The surgeon had testified to Mr. Riggs's having been twice severely wounded, once at Shiloh, again at Chickamauga. The artillery colonel to his having twice noticed admirable and gallant conduct in action, which he had praised in orders. The documentary evidence went even further. Evidently Riggs's stock was looking up. Of course no member of the court could give the faintest hint of the action taken, and as they finally drove away, and the officers after evening parade were discussing the probable fate of the accused, the colonel quietly put a stop to speculation by the remark made to the second in command, "He pleaded guilty. They had to sentence him to dismissal. Now only the President can save him. He has no influence, and the President has just said he would not overlook such offences in future. That settles it in my mind."
That night, therefore, Mr. Plodder went to bed half full of comfort and whiskey.
But it was noticed that the judge-advocate, Captain Park, had gone off with the surgeon after the adjournment of court, and while the rest of the garrison were at lunch he, with Dr. Grant, had appeared at Riggs's door.
"She has begged to be allowed to see you," the doctor had explained, "and what she needs is some little word of hope.Hishopefulness she fears is only simulated for her sake." And nodding appreciatively in response to the doctor's significant glance, Captain Park was shown into the plainly furnished little parlor, where, reclining in a broad sofa-chair, propped upon white pillows, white as her own wan face, was the fragile form of the invalid. He had known her only slightly, but her gentle, unassuming, sweet-tempered ways had often attracted his attention, and her devotion to her husband was a matter that had excited the somewhat envious remarks of Benedicts less favored. She held out her thin white hand, and looked with glistening eyes up into the grave bearded face that bent over her in courteous greeting and kindly interest.
"I wanted to see you and thank you," she said in her gentle voice. "More than once Mr. Riggs has spoken of your consideration and courtesy in all this—this sad affair; but yesterday he was quite overcome. They did not get back with the ambulance until nearly seven, and all that time he would have been kept waiting, and I—"
"It was a pleasure to me to be of any service," he answered; "but I am grieved to see you so prostrated, so ill. Do you know I—I think you are worrying far too much?"
Eagerly she glanced up into his face. "Oh, Captain Park! I know you cannot tell me the sentence; I know you cannot tell me anything they have done, but I am so torn with doubt, so unhappy! Mr. Riggs seems so friendless here. No one knows him, no one understands him. Last night he almost broke down as he said that in a whole year yours was the only voice he had heard that seemed to have a ring of friendship or sympathy. His people have written to him to come home. They think he must be dismissed, and have so written to him and to me. They urge me to come at once and get the little home they offer in readiness, so that he can be induced to come right there if the order is—is against us. I am ill, but if need be I could go. I would be glad to think of having that little haven for him in case he were crushed by this, butoughtI to go? Ought I to leave him here alone? It will be full three weeks or a month before we can hear from Washington, I suppose."
Still standing, he bent over her chair. "Shall I tell you what I think you ought to do, at once?" he asked, almost smiling. "I believe I will, anyway. It may be a very rude and impertinent thing to say, but it is my belief that the best thing you can do is get well—get well right away, and be ready, you and Mr. Riggs, to take Christmas dinner with us. Mrs. Park will be back next week, and I know she will be delighted. There! It is nearly a month away to be sure, but that will give you abundant time. Meanwhile, of course you can't go home. Will you promise me, Mrs. Riggs?" And the legal adviser held out his hand, gave her a cordial grasp, and vanished before she could find one word in which to thank him. When Mr. Riggs rejoined his wife she was sobbing like a little child, and yet there was a world of hope and gladness in her swollen eyes as she gazed up into his tired face and drew it down to her lips.
As for Captain Park, it was observed of him that he whistled with considerable cheeriness on his way back to town, and as he sat at his desk that evening completing the record of the court. Some weeks afterwards, in speaking of the requirement that no officer of a court shall make known its sentence except to the reviewing authority, Captain Park was heard to mutter, "Wonder if inviting a fellow to a Christmas dinner would be revealing the sentence of a court?" and somebody present replied, "How could it be?"
And yet Mrs. Riggs was gaining health and spirits with every day, and Mr. Riggs, though still confined to the garrison in arrest, was serenely enjoying life in her society.
Three weeks later a brace of orders arrived from the War Department, and there was uproar and excitement among the youngsters in the —th Foot. Full information of course preceded the official announcement, but the very enlisted men grinned with delight when those orders were read on parade, for the story of Plodder's speculation had reached the ranks, where he was no favorite. Divested of their official forms the orders were, first, publication of the proceedings of the court-martial before which Lieutenant Riggs was arraigned and tried, and in accordance with his plea was found guilty and sentenced to be dismissed the service. All of which was approved; but, said the order, "in view of the earnest recommendation signed by the entire court, and concurred in by the commanding generals of the department and of the army, the president has been pleased to remit the sentence, and Lieutenant Riggs will resume his sword and return to duty."
Then came the second order from the A.G.O.:
/* "PROMOTIONS AND APPOINTMENTS."—th Infantry.*/"Second Lieutenant John B. Riggs to be first lieutenant, vice Calvin resigned. December 3, 187-."Second Lieutenant William H. Trainor to be first lieutenant, he being the adjutant. December 3, 187-."
/* "PROMOTIONS AND APPOINTMENTS.
"—th Infantry.*/
"Second Lieutenant John B. Riggs to be first lieutenant, vice Calvin resigned. December 3, 187-.
"Second Lieutenant William H. Trainor to be first lieutenant, he being the adjutant. December 3, 187-."
And Plodder's hoarded four hundred dollars had really purchased Riggs's promotion. "Bless your generous heart, Plod!" burst out that irrepressible scapegrace Trickett as the officers dispersed after dismissal of parade. "Let me shake hands with you, old man. Now just chip in another four hundred and buy me a file and I'll—" But the rest was lost in the explosions of laughter, under cover of which poor Plodder went raging to his quarters.
As for Riggs, he wore his bars for the first time at Park's Christmas dinner, and he wears them yet, only he hates to be spoken of as "Plodder's Promotion."
THE END.
[TN1]"...account of their * on..." Transcriber assumes "actions" is the missing word. The sentence broke across two pages.
[TN2]Sp. Fru. abbreviates "spiritus frumenti" (better known as whiskey).C. and G. E. is the acronym for "Camp and Garrison Equipage."R.Q.M. is the acronym for Regimental Quarter-Master."
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Miss Woolson is one of the few novelists of the day who know how to make conversation, how to individualize the speakers, how to exclude rabid realism without falling into literary formality.—N. Y. Tribune.
Constance Fenimore Woolson may easily become the novelist laureate.—Boston Globe.
Miss Woolson has a graceful fancy, a ready wit, a polished style, and conspicuous dramatic power; while her skill in the development of a story is very remarkable.—London Life.
Miss Woolson never once follows the beaten track of the orthodox novelist, but strikes a new and richly loaded vein which, so far, is all her own; and thus we feel, on reading one of her works, a fresh sensation, and we put down the book with a sigh to think our pleasant task of reading it is finished. The author's lines must have fallen to her in very pleasant places; or she has, perhaps, within herself the wealth of womanly love and tenderness she pours so freely into all she writes. Such books as hers do much to elevate the moral tone of the day—a quality sadly wanting in novels of the time.—Whitehall Review, London.
Published byHARPER & BROTHERS,New York.Any of the above works sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the UnitedStates, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price.