THE PROVOST CATCHES A TARTAR, AND CAPTAIN MIDDLETON SEEKS THE CONSOLATIONS OF RELIGION

Steve Allen on his removal to the county seat after his sudden abandonment of farming, had taken up his quarters in an old building, fronting on the court-green near the Clerk’s office, and with its rear opening on a little lane which led to two of the principal roads in the county. From the evening of his arrival Steve took possession of the entire village. He wore his old cavalry uniform, the only suit he possessed, and, with his slouched hat set on one side of his handsome head, carried himself so independently that he was regarded with some disfavor by the two young officers, whom he on his side treated with just that manner which appeared to him most exasperating to each of them. He was immediately the most popular man in the place. He played cards with the men, and marbles with the boys; made love to the girls, and teased the old women; joked with the soldiers, especially with the big Irish Sergeant, Dennis O’Meara, and fought the war over with the officers. He boldly asserted that the Confederates had been victorious in every battle they had ever fought, and had, as someone said, simply “worn themselves out whipping the Yankees,” a line of tactics which exasperated even little Thurston, until he one day surprised a gleam of such amused satisfaction in Steve’s gray eyes that he afterward avoided the ambuscade and enjoyed the diversion of seeing Leech, and even Middleton, caught.

Leech had been warned in advance by Mr. Still of Steve Allen’s intention to settle at the county seat, and immediately on Steve’s arrival had notified him to appear before him as Provost and exhibit his parole. From that time Steve had taken Leech as his prey. Knowing that the Provost was not the proper officer, he did not obey the order, and repaid Leech’s insolence with burning contempt, never failing, on occasion, to fire some shafts at him which penetrated and stung.

General Legaie and Dr. Cary, after their experience with Leech, determined to lose no more time than was necessary in adopting the suggestion of Captain Middleton and going to see the Commandant of the Freedmen’s Bureau in the city. The General, however, stipulated that he should not be expected to do more than state his views to the officer in command. This he was willing to do, as he was going with Dr. Cary to the city, where the Doctor was to see Mr. Ledger and conclude the negotiation for a loan to re-stock his plantation.

It happened, however, that when General Legaie and Dr. Cary called on Colonel Krafton, two other visitors from their county had been to see that officer: Hiram Still and Leech.

The two gentlemen were kept waiting for some time after their names had been taken in by the sentinel before they were admitted to the Chief Provost’s presence, and every minute of that period the General grew hotter and hotter, and walked up and down the little ante-room with more and more dignity.

“Dr. Johnson before Lord Chesterfield,” said the Doctor, laughing at his friend’s impatience and indignation.

“Dr. Johnson before a dog!” was the little General’s retort. “Why, sir, I never treated a negro in my life as he has treated us.”

At last, however, they were admitted.

The officer, a stout man with closely cropped iron-gray hair, a lowering brow and a heavy jaw, was seated at his desk writing. He did not look up when they entered, but said, “Sit down,” and wrote on. When he was through, he called out, and a sentinel entered.

“Send that off at once—or—wait where you are. I may have another to send.” He turned to the two visitors who were still standing.

“Well?”

“I am Major Cary,” that gentleman said, advancing, “And this is General Legaie.” He bowed gravely.

“Oh! I know you,” said the officer. He turned to his desk and searched for something.

“Oh!—I was not aware that I had had the pleasure of meeting you before,” said the Doctor, brightening. “Where was it, sir? I regret that my memory has not served me better.” He seated himself.

“I did not say I had met you—I said I knew you, and I do. I know you both.”

“Oh! I thought I should not have forgotten,” said the Doctor.

“No, nor you won’t. I have a report of you, and know why you’ve come.” He shook his head as he turned to them. “I’m Colonel Krafton, Provost of this district, and I mean to be the Provost, and you might as well understand it now as hereafter.”

“Oh!” said the Doctor, rising slowly from the seat he had taken.

“I know about your conferences, and your meetings, and the terms you propose to dictate to me; but I will show you that I am in authority here and I don’t propose to be dictated to, either; do you understand? I don’t want any of your advice. When I want you I’ll send for you; do you understand? “

The Doctor, who had waited in a sort of maze for the Provost to pause, turned to his friend, whose face was perfectly white and whose usually pleasant eyes had a red rim around the irises.

“I beg your pardon, General Legaie, I thought we should find a gentleman, but——”

“I never did, Major,” said the little General. “But I had no idea we should find such a dog as this.” He turned to the Provost, and, with a bow, fixed his eyes on him. But that officer looked at the sentry and said:

“Open the door.”

The General looked out of it, expecting a file of soldiers to arrest them, and straightened himself for the ordeal. There was none there, however. The General’s countenance fell.

“I said ‘dog,’ but I apologize to that animal, and say—worm!” He turned his eyes once more on the Provost.

“I shall be at the Brandon tavern until the evening. Do you understand that?” he said, addressing the Provost. He stalked out, his nose high in the air, his heels ringing on the floor.

As soon as they were outside, the Doctor began to apologize to the General again; but the latter, having blown off his steam, and fully appreciating his friend’s mortification, was very handsome about it. He had at heart a sly hope that the Provost officer might consult some friend who would insist on his taking up the insult, and so give him a satisfaction which he was at that moment very eager for. None came that evening, however, and as the next day none had come, the General was forced to return home unsatisfied.

The effect of Dr. Cary’s and General Legaie’s interview with Colonel Krafton was shortly felt in the county.

A few days later an order came for an inquisition to be made from house to house for arms. The labor this required was so great that it was divided up. In the part of the county where General Legaie lived, the investigation was made by Middleton, who conducted himself throughout with due propriety, even declaring it, as General Legaie reported, “an unpleasant duty,” and “taking in every case a gentleman’s word,” never touching a thing except, perhaps, where there would be an army musket or pistol. General Legaie’s old duelling-pistols, which his butler, Julius, had hidden and taken care of all during the war, were left unmolested, and the young officer went so far as to express, the General stated, a “somewhat critical admiration for them,” observing that they were the first genuine duelling-pistols he had ever seen. On this the General—though, as he declared, it required all his politeness to do so—could not but make the offer that in case Captain Middleton should ever have occasion to use a pair they were entirely at his service.

In the Red Rock and Birdwood neighborhood, the people were not so fortunate. There the inquisition was conducted by Leech—partly, perhaps, because the two young officers did not wish to pay their first visit to Dr. Cary’s on such an errand, and partly because Leech requested to be allowed to assist in the work.

Though the other officers knew nothing of it, Leech had two reasons for wishing to conduct the search for arms at Dr. Cary’s. He had not forgotten Dr. Cary’s action and look the day of the trial. The other reason was hatred of Steve Allen. “I’ll show him what I can smell,” he said to Still, who smiled contentedly.

“It won’t do to fool with him too much, personally,” Still warned him. “He’s a dangerous man. They’re all of ’em dangerous, you hear me.”

“I’ll show ’em who I am, before I’m through with ’em,” said Leech.

Thus the inquisition for arms was peculiarly grateful to Leech.

Leech had a squad of men under his command, which made him feel as if he were really an officer, and he gave them orders as though he were leading them to a battle. He intimated that they might be met with force, and asserted that, if so, he should act promptly. On riding up to the Doctor’s a Sabbatic stillness reigned over everything.

The Doctor was not at home that day, having gone to the city to see the General in command there about the appointment of magistrates and other civil officers for the county, and, as Mrs. Cary had a sick headache, the blinds were closed, and Blair and old Mammy Krenda were keeping every sound hushed. It was a soft, balmy afternoon, when all nature seemed to doze. The sunlight lay on the fields and grass, and the trees and shrubbery rustled softly in the summer breeze.

Flinging himself from his horse, the Provost banged on the door loudly and, without waiting for anyone to answer his summons, stalked noisily into the house with his men behind him. Both Blair and Mammy Krenda protested against his invading one particular apartment. Blair planted herself in front of the door. She was dressed in a simple white dress, and her face was almost as white as the dress.

“What’s in there?” asked Leech.

“Nothing. My mother is in there with a sick headache.”

“Ah-h-h!” said Leech, derisively. He caught Blair by the arm roughly. Blair drew back, the color flaming in her cheeks, and the old negro woman stepped up in her place, bristling with anger.

The flash in the young girl’s eyes as she drew herself up abashed the Provost. But he recovered himself and, pushing old Krenda roughly aside, opened the door. There he flung open the blinds and rummaged in the drawers, turning everything out on the floor, and carried off in triumph a pair of old, horseman’s pistols which had belonged to the Doctor’s grandfather in the Revolutionary War, and had been changed from flintlock to percussion at the outbreak of the recent hostilities.

Leech had just come out of this room when Jacquelin Gray drove up. He stopped outside for a moment to ask what the presence of the soldiers meant, and then came hobbling on his crutches into the house.

As he entered, Blair turned to him with a gesture, partly of relief and partly of apprehension.

“Oh, Jacquelin!” The rest was only a sob. The blood flushed Jacquelin’s pale face, and he passed by her.

“By what authority do you commit this outrage?” he asked Leech.

“By authority enough for you. By what authority do you dare to interfere with an officer in the discharge of his duty, you limping, rebel dog? If you know what is good for you, you’ll take yourself off pretty quick.” Leech took in his squad with a wave of his hand, and encountering Jacquelin’s blazing eyes and a certain motion of his crutch, moved a little nearer to his men, laying his hand on his pistol as he did so.

Blair made a gesture to stop Jacquelin; but he took no heed of it. He moved on his crutches nearer to the Provost.

“I demand to know your authority, dog,” he said, ignoring both Leech’s threat and Blair’s imploring look.

“I’ll show you. Seize him and search him,” said Leech, falling behind his squad and adding an epithet not necessary to be repeated.

“I am not armed; if I were—” said Jacquelin. At Blair’s gesture he stopped.

“Well, what would you do?” Leech asked after waiting a moment for Jacquelin to proceed.” You hear what he says, Sergeant?” He addressed the bluff, red-haired Irishman who wore a sergeant’s chevrons.

“Sames to me he says nothin’ at all,” said the Sergeant, who was the same man that had had charge of the ambulance in which Jacquelin had been brought home the day he arrived, and who had been a little grumpy ever since he had been put under Leech’s command.

“Arrest him and if he offers any resistance, tie him securely to a tree outside,” ordered Leech.

“Does Captain Middleton know of this?” Jacquelin asked the Sergeant.

“Well, you see, it’s arders from headquarrters, an’ I guess the Cap’n thaught bayin’ a ferrut was a little more in his line.” The Sergeant nodded his head in the direction of Leech, who had called the other men and gone on ostentatiously with his search.

Just then, however, the Provost encountered a fresh enemy. If Mrs. Cary and Miss Blair deemed it more dignified and ladylike to preserve absolute silence during this invasion, Mammy Krenda had no such inconvenient views. The old woman had nursed both Mrs. Cary and her daughter. She was, indeed, what her title implied, and had all her life held the position of a member of the family. In her master’s absence she considered herself responsible, and she had followed Leech from room to room, dogging his every step, and now, emboldened by Jacquelin’s presence, she burst forth, pouring out on the Provost the vials of her wrath which, instead of being exhausted by use, gathered volume and virulence with every minute.

“Yaas, I know jest what sort you is,” she said, mockingly: “you is the sort o’ houn’-dog that ain’t got sperit enough to fight even a ole hyah, let alone a coon; but comes sneakin’ into folks’ kitchen, tryin’ to steal a scrap from chillerns’ mouths when folks’ backs air turned! I ain’t talkin’ to you all,” she explained, with ready tact, to the squad of privates who showed in their countenances some appreciation of her homely, but apt illustration; “I know you all’s got to do it if you’ marsters tell’s you to. Nor, I’m talkin’ to him. I declare I’m right glad my marster ain’t at home; I’m feared he’d sile his shoe kickin’ yer dutty body out de do’.” She stood with her arms akimbo, and her eyes half-closed in derision.

This touch, with an ill-suppressed snicker from one of the men behind, proved too much for the leader’s self-control, and he turned in a rage:

“Shut up, you black hag,” he snarled, angrily, “or I’ll—I’ll—” He paused, hunting for a threat which would appall her. “I’ll tie you to a tree outside and wear out a hickory on you.”

If he thought to quell the old woman by this, however, he was mistaken. He only infuriated her the more.

“You will, will you!” she hissed, straightening herself up and walking up close to him. “Do you know what would happen if you did? My marster would cut your heart out o’ you; but I wouldn’t lef’ you for him to do it! You ain’t fitten for him to tetch. De ain’ nobody uver tetched me since my mammy whipped me last; and she died when I was twelve years ole’; an’ ef you lay your hand ’pon me I’ll wear you out tell you ain’t got a piece o’ skin on you as big as dat!—see?” She walked up close to him and indicating the long, pink nail on her clawlike little-finger, poked a black and sinewy little fist close up under the Provost’s very nose.

“Now—” she panted: “Heah me; tetch me!”

But Leech had recovered himself. He quailed before the two blazing coals of fire that appeared ready to dart at him, and recognizing the fact that even his men were against him and, like Jacquelin, were secretly enjoying his discomfiture, he angrily ordered them out of the house and concealed as best he could his consuming inward rage.

Incensed by Jacquelin’s look of satisfaction at the old mammy’s attack, Leech took him along with him, threatening him with dire punishment for interfering with a Union officer in the discharge of his duty; but learning from the Sergeant that Jacquelin was “a friend of the Captain’s,” he released him, assuring him of the fortunate escape he had, and promising him very different treatment “next time.” Jacquelin returned no answer whatever until at the end, when he said, looking him deep in the eyes, “It may not be next time, you dog; but some time will be my time.”

When Dr. Cary reached home that evening, both Mrs. Cary and Blair congratulated themselves afresh that he had been absent during the Provost’s visit. The first mention of the man’s conduct had such an effect on him that Mrs. Cary, who had already interviewed both her daughter and the mammy on the propriety of giving a somewhat modified account of the visitation, felt it necessary to make even yet lighter of it than she had intended. The Doctor grew very quiet, and his usually pleasant mouth shut close, bringing his chin out strongly and giving him an uncommonly stern appearance. Mrs. Cary whipped around suddenly and gave the matter a humorous turn. But the Doctor was not to be diverted; the insolence of Leech’s action to Blair, and of penetrating into his wife’s chamber, had sunk in deeply, and a little later, having left his wife’s sick-room, he called up the mammy. If Mrs. Cary possessed instincts and powers of self-control which enabled her to efface her sense of injury in presence of a greater danger, the old servant had no such cultivated faculty. At the first mention of the matter by the Doctor, her sense of injury rose again, her outraged pride came to the surface once more, and in the presence of him to whom she had always looked for protection her self-control gave out.

She started to tell the story lightly, as she knew her mistress wished done, but, at the first word, broke down and suddenly began to whimper and rock.

When it had all come out between sobs of rage and mortification, her master sent her away soothed with a sense of his sympathy and of the coming retribution which he would exact.

When the Doctor saw Mrs. Cary again, he was as placid as a May-morning, perhaps more placid than usual. He thought himself very clever indeed. But no man is clever enough to deceive his wife if she suspects him, and Mrs. Cary read him as though he had been an open book. As a result, before he left her room she had exacted a promise from him not under any circumstances to seek a personal interview with Leech, or even to go to the court-house for some time.

The story of the old negro woman’s terrible tongue-lashing of the Provost got abroad. He had attempted to use both command and persuasion to prevent his men from telling it, but even the bribery of a free treat at a store on the roadside, which was a liberality he had never been known to display before, failed to secure the desired secrecy, and the story reached the court-house almost as quickly as he. Sergeant O’Meara related it to the camp with great gusto.

“Bedad!” said he, “the ould woman looked like wan of theyse little black game-burruds whan a dog comes around her chicks, with her fithers all oop on her back and her wings spraid, and the Liftenant—if he is a Liftenant, which I don’t say he is, moind—he looked as red as a turkey-cock and didn’t show much moor courege. She was a very discriminatin’ person, bedad! She picked me out for a gintleman and the sutler for a dog, and bedad! she wasn’t far wrong in ayether. Only you’re not to say I towld you, for whan a gintleman drinks a man’s whiskey it doesn’t become him to tell tales on him.”

Perhaps it was well for Mr. Jonadab Leech that the matter got abroad, for it gave the incident a lighter turn than it otherwise would have had. As it was, there was a storm of indignation in the county, and next day there were more of the old Confederate soldiers in the village than had been there since the war closed. In their gray uniforms, faded as they were, they looked imposing. Leech spent the day in the precincts of the camp. A deputation, with Steve Allen at their head, waited on Middleton and had a short interview with him, in which they told him that they proposed to obey the laws, but they did not propose to permit ladies to be insulted.

“For I tell you now, Captain Middleton,” said Steve, “before we will allow our women to be insulted, we will kill every man of you. We are not afraid to do it.” He spoke as quietly as though he were saying the most ordinary thing in the world. Middleton faced him calmly. The two men looked in each other’s eyes, and recognized each other’s courage.

“Your threat has no effect on me,” said Middleton; “but I wish to say that before I will allow any woman to be insulted, I will kill every man in my command. Lieutenant Leech is not in my command, though in a measure subject to my authority; but the matter shall be investigated immediately.”

What occurred in the interview which took place between Middleton and Leech was not known at the time, but that night Leech sent for Still to advise him. Even the negroes were looking on him more coldly.

“I knows if he lays his han’ ’pon me, I’m gwine to cut his heart out ’n him,” said a tall, black young negro in the crowd as Leech passed, on his way to his office. It was evidently intended for Leech to hear. Leech had not then learned to distinguish black countenances and he did not yet know Jerry.

Still was equal to the emergency. “These quality-niggers ain’t used to bein’ talked to so,” he explained to Leech; “and they won’t stand it from nobody but quality. They’re just as stuck up as their masters, and you can’t talk to ’em that way. You got to humor ’em. The way to manage ’em is through their preachers. Git Sherrod and give him a place in the commissary. He’s that old hag’s son-in-law, and he’s a preacher. I always manage ’em through their preachers.”

The result of taking Still’s advice, in one way, so far surpassed Leech’s highest expectation, that he could not but admit that Still was a genius. One other appointment Still suggested, and that was of a negro who had belonged to the Grays and who was believed to have as much influence with the devil as Sherwood had in the other direction. “And,” as Still said, “with Jim Sherrod to attend to Heaven and Doctor Moses to manage t’other place, I think me and you can sorter manage to git along on earth.

“You’ve got to do with them,” he added, sinking his voice almost to a whisper. “For, as I told you, you’ve got to work your triggers up that a-way.” He waved his hand toward the North. “If you can git the money you say you can, I can make it over and over fer you faster than nigger-tradin’. You jest git Krafton to stand by you and that old feller Bolter to stake us, and we’re all right.

“You’ve got to git rid of this young Captain. One of you’s got to go some time, and the one as holds out longest will win. ’Twon’t do to let him git too strong a hold down here.—Now this party they’re gittin’ up? If they invite your young men—you might work that string. But you can’t quarrel with him now. You say he’s in with your Mrs. Welch. Better work the nigger racket. That’s the strong card now. Git some more boxes from Mrs. Welch and let me put ’em where they’ll do most good. Niggers loves clo’es mo’ than money. Don’t fall out with your young man yet—keep in with a man till you have got under-holt, then you can fling him.”

Meantime, while this conference was going on, Middleton was in a far less complacent frame of mind. He had just left the camp that afternoon and was on his way to his quarters, when, at a turn in the street, he came on a group of young gentlemen surrounding a young lady who was dressed in a riding-habit, and was giving an animated account of some occurrence. As soon as he turned the corner, he was too close on them to turn back; so he had to pass. He instantly recognized Miss Cary, though her back was toward him: the trim figure, abundant hair, and musical voice were not to be forgotten.

“I don’t think you need any guard, so long as you have Mammy Krenda,” laughed one of the young men.

“No, with her for the rank and file, I am just waiting for Captain M— I mean to meet him some day, and—”

“Hush-here he is now.”

“I don’t care.” She tossed her head.

Middleton could not help hearing what she said, or seeing the gesture that stopped her.

He passed on, touching his cap to one or two of the young men, who returned the salute. But Miss Cary took no more notice of him than if he had been a dog.

Thurston had reached their room a little before Middleton arrived. He was in unusually good spirits, having just relieved his mind by cursing Leech heartily to Miss Dockett, and thus re-establishing himself with that young lady, who had been turning her back on him ever since she had heard of the incident at Birdwood. In reward for this act of reparation, the young lady had condescended to tell Lieutenant Thurston of the entertainment which the young people proposed to get up; and the little officer had made up his mind that, if possible, he and Middleton should be invited. He had just lit his pipe and was, as he said, laying out his campaign, when Middleton entered and, tossing his sword in a corner, without a word, lit a cigar, flung himself in an arm-chair and gazed moodily out of the window. The Lieutenant watched his friend in silence, with a more serious look on his face than usually found lodgement on that cheerful countenance. The cloud remained on Middleton’s brow, but the Lieutenant’s face cleared up, and presently, between the puffs of his pipe, he said:

“Larry, you need the consolations of religion.” Middleton, without taking his eyes from the distance, turned his cigar in his mouth and remained silent.

“And I’m going to make you sit under the ministrations of the pious Mr. Langstuff—”

“Foolstuff!” growled Middleton, turning his eye on him.

“—For your soul’s good and your eyes’ comfort,” continued the Lieutenant placidly. “For they do say, Larry, that he preaches to the prettiest lot of unrepentant, stony-hearted, fair rebels that ever combined the love of Heaven with the hatred of their fellow-mortals. You are running to waste, Larry, and I must utilize you.”

“Jackass!” muttered Middleton, but he looked at Thurston, who smoked solemnly.

“For they say, Larry, there’s going to be a dancing-party, and we must be there, you know.”

Middleton’s face, which had begun to clear up, clouded again.

“What’s the good of it? Not one of ’em would speak to us. I met one just now—and she looked at me—they all look at me, or by me—as if I were a snake!”

“As you are, Larry—a snake in the grass,” interjected the little Lieutenant. “Pretty?”

“As a peach—Can’t you be serious a minute?”—for Thurston’s eyes were twinkling. “Every one looks as if she hated me.”

“As they ought to, Larry; for you’re their enemy.” Thurston settled back with his pipe between his lips, and chuckled to himself. “You ought to see the way they look at me, Larry. I know you, Alexander. You’re not satisfied with your success with Miss Ruth, and Miss Rockfield, and every other girl in the North, but you must conquer other worlds; and you sigh because they don’t capitulate as soon as they see your advance-guard.”

“Don’t be an ass, Thurs!” Middleton interrupted. “You know as well as I, that I never said a word to Ruth Welch in my life—or thought of doing so. When her father was wounded so badly, it happened that I had a scratch too, and I saw something more of her than I otherwise should have done, and that is all there is about it. Besides, we are cousins, and you know how that is. Her mother would have seen me in perdition before she would have consented to anything between us; and as to Edith Rockfield——”

But the little Lieutenant did not care about Miss Rockfield. It was Miss Welch he was interested in. So he cut in, breaking into a snatch of a song:

“Sure, Kate Riley she’s me cousin.
Harry, I have cousins too;
If ye like such close relations,
I have cousins close as you.”

He slipped down farther in his chair, his heels up on the table, and his hands clasped above his curly head.

“If you don’t stop that howling, old Mrs. Dockett will come and turn you out again,” growled Middleton.

“Not me, Larry, my dear. I can warble all I like now. I’m promoted.”

“Promoted! How?”

“Don’t you see I sit next to the butter, now?”

“Fool!—But I’m used to being treated with a reasonable degree of civility;” Middleton went on, as if he had not been interrupted, “and I’ve put myself out more to be polite here than I ever did in my life, and yet, by Jove! these little vixens turn up their noses at me as if—as if—Why, they look as if they felt about me precisely as I feel about Leech!”

He looked out of the window gloomily, and his friend watched him for a moment with an amused expression in his blue eyes.

“Larry, they don’t know what great men we are, do they? You know that’s one of the things that has always struck me? I wonder how girls can have such a good time when they don’t know me. I suppose it’s the ignorance of the poor young things! But they shall know me and you, too. We’ll give the girls a treat next Sunday; we’ll go to church, and later to the ball.”

“Church! You go to church!”

The Captain turned his head and looked at his friend with such blank amazement that the Lieutenant actually colored.

“Yes,” he nodded. “You d——d Pharisee!—you think you are the only one that knows anything about church, because that little gir— cousin of yours—converted you; you’re nothing but a Dissenter anyhow. But I’m a churchman, I am. I’ve got a prayer-book—somewhere—and I’ve found out all about the church here. There’s an old preacher in the county, named Longstuff or Langstuff or something, and he preaches once a month at the old church eight or ten miles above here, where they say all the pretty girls in the country congregate to pray for the salvation of Jeff Davis and the d—— nation of the Yankees—poor misguided, lovely creatures that they are!—as if we weren’t certain enough of it anyhow, without their making it a subject of their special petition. I’m going to have a look at ’em. We’ll have our trappings rubbed up, and I’ll coach your dissenting, condemned soul on the proper church tactics, and we’ll have the handsomest pair of horses in the county and show ’em as fine a pair of true-riding, pious young Yanks as ever charged into a pretty girl’s heart. We’ll dodge Leech and go in as churchmen. That’s one place he’s not likely to follow us. What do you say? Oh, I’ve got a great head on me! I’ll be a general some day!”

“If you don’t get it knocked off for your impudence,” suggested Middleton.

So the equipments were burnished up; the horses were carefully groomed; the uniforms were brushed and pressed afresh, and when Sunday morning came, the two young officers, having dodged Leech, who had been trying all the week to find out what was on foot, rode off, in full and dazzling panoply, like conquering young heroes, to impress, at least, the fairer portion of their “subjects,” as Thurston called them. They were, in fact, a showy pair as they rode along, for both men were capital horsemen, little Thurston looking at least a foot higher on his tall bay than when lifted only by his own short, plump legs; and on their arrival at church, which they purposely timed to occur after the services should have begun, they felt that they could not have been more effective.

The contrast between them and the rest of the assemblage was striking. The grove about the church was well filled with animals and vehicles; but all having a worn and shabby appearance: thin horses and mules, and rickety wagons, with here and there an old carriage standing out among them, like old gentlemen at a county gathering. A group of men under one of the trees turned and gazed curiously at the pair as they rode up and tied their showy horses to “swinging limbs,” and then strode silently toward the church, where the sound of a chant, not badly rendered, told that the services were already begun.

The entrance of the blue-coats created quite as much of a sensation as they could have expected, even if the signs of it were, perhaps, not quite as apparent as they had anticipated, and they marched to a vacant seat, feeling very hot and by no means as effective as they had proposed to do. Little Thurston dropped down on his knees and bowed his head, and Middleton, with a new feeling of Thurston’s superior genius, followed his “tactics.”

This was good generalship, for no one could know that the two young reprobates were mopping their perspiring faces and setting every button straight, instead of being bowed in reverential devotion. No one entered their pew, and they were left alone. Several who came in the church after them, and might have turned to their pew, on seeing the blue uniforms, passed by with what looked very like a toss of the head. But what Thurston called his “straight flush” was when he drew out his prayer-book—which he had found “somewhere”—and began to follow the service, in a distinctly reverential voice.

As many eyes were bent on them at this as had been directed to them when they first appeared, and Miss Thomasia, adjusting her spectacles to satisfy herself beyond doubt if her eyes were not deceiving her, dropped them on the floor and cracked one of the glasses. For the idea of a Yankee soldier using a prayer-book had never occurred to any female member of that congregation any more than it had that a certain distinguished being used it, popularly supposed to be also clad in blue uniform, of sulphurous flame. The favorable impression made by this move was apparent to the young men, and Middleton stepped on Thurston’s toe, so heavily as almost to make him swear with pain, trying at once to convey his admiration and to call Thurston’s attention to a very pretty young girl in the choir, whose eyes happened to fall that way, and whom he indicated as Miss Cary. Steve Allen was with her now, singing out of the same book with her, as if he had never thrown a card or taken a drink in his life.

The self-gratulation of the two officers was, however, of brief duration. The next moment there was a heavy tread and a sabre-clatter behind them, and turning with the rest of the congregation to look, there was Leech stalking up the aisle. He made directly toward the officers, and had Middleton been at the entrance of the pew he might, perhaps, in the frame of mind into which the sight threw him, have openly refused the new-comer admittance. Thurston, however, was nearer the entrance, and nothing of the kind occurred. He simply moved down to the door of the pew, and was so deeply immersed in his devotions at that particular instant, that even the actual pressure of Leech’s hand on his arm failed to arouse him, and the Provost, after standing a moment waiting for him to move, stepped into a pew behind, and sat down in the corner by himself.

The change in sentiment created by the Provost’s appearance was strong enough actually to be felt by the young men, and Middleton looked in Thurston’s eyes with such helpless rage in his own that the little Lieutenant almost burst out laughing, and had to drop his prayer-book and stoop for it to compose himself.

Still the congregation was mystified. It was pretty generally supposed that it was not mere piety which brought the young officers there. Some thought it was to insult them; some to show off their fine horses—some suggested that it was to watch and report on their old rector, the Rev. Mr. Langstaff, one of the best and Godliest of men, whose ardor as a Confederate was only equalled by his zeal as a Christian. But Steve Allen—speaking with the oracular wisdom of a seer, who, in addition to his prophetic power, has also been behind the scenes—declared that they had come to look at the pretty girls, and further avowed that he didn’t blame them, because there were the prettiest girls in the world, right in that church, and, as for him, he was ready to walk right up, on the spot, with any one of them, from Miss Thomasia to Miss Blair, and Mr. Langstaff could settle the whole matter for them, in five minutes. Though, of course, he added, if General Legaie had any preference, he himself would waive his privilege (as having spoken first) and let the General lead the way, as he had often done before on occasion. To which proposal, made in the aisle after church, when the weekly levee was held, the General responded that he was “quite ready to lead so gallant a subaltern, if Miss—” his eye sought Miss Thomasia’s placid face—“ah! if—any lady could be found,” etc.

Steve was right—he very often was, though frequently he concealed his wisdom in an envelope of nonsense.

It was conceded after the young officers had ridden away, that they had “acted decently enough, but for those odious blue uniforms,” and had showed no sign beyond nudging each other when Mr. Langstaff prayed for the President of the Confederate States, with an unction only equalled by the fervor with which the entire congregation had responded “Amen”—at least, that the first two of them had showed no sign. The third, however, had proved what they were. To be sure, he had come after the others, and they had evidently tried to make it appear as if they wished to avoid recognizing him, and had gone away alone. But what did that prove? Were they not all alike? And even if the Provost had sat in a pew by himself, and did not have a uniform exactly like the others, he had never even bowed during the prayers, but had sat bolt upright throughout the whole service, staring around. And when the President was prayed for, had he not scowled and endeavored to touch his companions? What if they had appeared to ignore him? Might not this be all a part of their scheme? And, as someone said, “when the hounds were all in a huddle, you could not tell a good dog from a bad one.” This simile was considered good by most of the male members of the congregation; but there were dissenters. Mrs. Gray remembered that those two young men sent Jacquelin home the day he arrived; and the General remembered the civility of one of them in the performance of a most disagreeable duty; Miss Thomasia recalled the closely followed prayer-book, and some of the other ladies objected to hunting similes at church.

However, when, after service, the two young officers left the church and marched straight to their horses, even without the presence of Leech to offend them—for they had clearly told him they did not wish his company—they were far less composed than their martial mien and jingling spurs might have appeared to indicate.