Eben Holden Part 39

Too many tickets had been distributed and soon 'there was an elbow on every rib and a heel on every toe', as Mr Greeley put it. Every miss and her mamma tiptoed for a view of the Prince and his party, who came in at ten, taking their seats on a dais at one side of the crowded floor.

The Prince sat with his hands folded before him, like one in a reverie.

Beside him were the Duke of Newcastle, a big, stern man, with an aggressive red beard; the blithe and sparkling Earl of St Germans, then Steward of the Royal Household; the curly Major Teasdale; the gay Bruce, a major-general, who behaved himself always like a lady. Suddenly the floor sank beneath the crowd of people, who retired in some disorder.

Such a compression of crinoline was never seen as at that moment, when periphery pressed upon periphery, and held many a man captive in the cold embrace of steel and whalebone. The royal party retired to its rooms again and carpenters came in with saws and hammers. The floor repaired, an area was roped off for dancing--as much as could be spared.

The Prince opened the dance with Mrs Governor Morgan, after which other ladies were honoured with his gallantry.

I saw Mrs Fuller in one of the boxes and made haste to speak with her. She had just landed, having left Hope to study a time in the Conservatory of Leipzig.

'Mrs Livingstone is with her,' said she, 'and they will return together in April.

'Mrs Fuller, did she send any word to me?' I enquired anxiously. 'Did she give you no message?

'None,' she said coldly, 'except one to her mother and father, which I have sent in a letter to them.

I left her heavy hearted, went to the reporter's table and wrote my story, very badly I must admit, for I was cut deep with sadness. Then I came away and walked for hours, not caring whither. A great homesickness had come over me. I felt as if a talk with Uncle Eb or Elizabeth Brower would have given me the comfort I needed. I walked rapidly through dark, deserted streets. A steeple clock was striking two, when I heard someone coming hurriedly on the walk behind me. I looked over my shoulder, but could not make him out in the darkness, and yet there was something familiar in the step. As he came near I felt his hand upon my shoulder.

'Better go home, Brower,' he said, as I recognised the voice of Trumbull. 'You've been out a long time. Pa.s.sed you before tonight.'

'Why didn't you speak?'

'You were preoccupied.'

'Not keeping good hours yourself,' I said.

'Rather late,' he answered, 'but I am a walker, and I love the night. It is so still in this part of the town.'

We were pa.s.sing the Five Points.

'When do you sleep,' I enquired.

'Never sleep at night,' he said, 'unless uncommonly tired. Out every night more or less. Sleep two hours in the morning and two in the afternoon--that's all I require. Seen the hands o' that clock yonder on every hour of the night.'

He pointed to a lighted dial in a near tower.

Stopping presently he looked down at a little waif asleep in a doorway, a bundle of evening papers under his arm. He lifted him tenderly.

'Here, boy,' he said, dropping corns in the pocket of the ragged little coat, 'I'll take those papers--you go home now.

We walked to the river, pa.s.sing few save members of 'the force, who always gave Trumbull a cheery 'h.e.l.lo, Cap!' We pa.s.sed wharves where the great sea horses lay stalled, with harnesses hung high above them, their noses nodding over our heads; we stood awhile looking up at the looming masts, the lights of the river craft.

'Guess I've done some good,' said he turning into Peck Slip. 'Saved two young women. Took 'em off the streets. Fine women now both of them--respectable, prosperous, and one is beautiful. Man who s got a mother, or a sister, can't help feeling sorry for such people.

We came up Frankfort to William Street where we shook hands and parted and I turned up Monkey Hill. I had made unexpected progress with Trumbull that night. He had never talked to me so freely before and somehow he had let me come nearer to hun than I had ever hoped to be.

His company had lifted me out of the slough a little and my mind was on a better footing as I neared the chalet.

Riggs's shop was lighted--an unusual thing at so late an hour. Peering through the window I saw Riggs sleeping at his desk An old tin lantern sat near, its candle burning low, with a flaring flame, that threw a spray of light upon him as it rose and fell. Far back in the shop another light was burning dimly. I lifted the big iron latch and pushed the door open. Riggs did not move. I closed the door softly and went back into the gloom. The boy was also sound asleep in his chair.

The lantern light flared and fell again as water leaps in a stopping fountain. As it dashed upon the face of Riggs I saw his eyes half-open.

I went close to his chair. As I did so the light went out and smoke rose above the lantern with a rank odour.

'Riggs!' I called but he sat motionless and made no answer.

The moonlight came through the dusty window lighting his face and beard. I put my hand upon his brow and withdrew it quicidy. I was in the presence of death. I opened the door and called the sleeping boy. He rose out of his chair and came toward me rubbing his eyes.

'Your master is dead,' I whispered, 'go and call an officer.

Riggs's dream was over--he had waked at last. He was in port and I doubt not Annie and his mother were hailing him on the sh.o.r.e, for I knew now they had both died far back in that long dream of the old sailor.

My story of Riggs was now complete. It soon found a publisher because it was true.

'All good things are true in literature,' said the editor after he had read it. 'Be a servant of Truth always and you will be successful.'

Chapter 37

As soon as Lincoln was elected the att.i.tude of the South showed clearly that 'the irrepressible conflict', of Mr Seward's naming, had only just begun. The Herald gave columns every day to the news of 'the coming Revolution', as it was pleased to call it. There was loud talk of war at and after the great Pine Street meeting of December 15. South Carolina seceded, five days later, and then we knew what was coming, albeit, we saw only the dim shadow of that mighty struggle that was to shake the earth for nearly five years. The Printer grew highly irritable those days and spoke of Buchanan and Davis and Toombs in language so violent it could never have been confined in type. But while a bitter foe none was more generous than he and, when the war was over, his money went to bail the very man he had most roundly d.a.m.ned.

I remember that one day, when he was sunk deep in composition, a negro came and began with grand airs to make a request as delegate from his campaign club. The Printer sat still, his eyes close to the paper, his pen flying at high speed. The coloured orator went on lifting his voice in a set pet.i.tion. Mr Greeley bent to his work as the man waxed eloquent. A nervous movement now and then betrayed the Printer's irritation. He looked up, shortly, his face kindling with anger.

'Help! For G.o.d's sake!' he shrilled impatiently, his hands flying in the air. The Printer seemed to be gasping for breath.

'Go and stick your head out of the window and get through,' he shouted hotly to the man.

He turned to his writing--a thing dearer to him than a new bone to a hungry dog.

'Then you may come and tell me what you want,' he added in a milder tone.

Those were days when men said what they meant and their meaning had more fight in it than was really polite or necessary. Fight was in the air and before I knew it there was a wild, devastating spirit in my own bosom, insomuch that I made haste to join a local regiment. It grew apace but not until I saw the first troops on their way to the war was I fully determined to go and give battle with my regiment.

The town was afire with patriotism. Sumter had fallen; Lincoln had issued his first call. The sound of the fife and drum rang in the streets. Men gave up work to talk and listen or go into the sterner business of war. Then one night in April, a regiment came out of New England, on its way to the front. It lodged at the Astor House to leave at nine in the morning. Long before that hour the building was flanked and fronted with tens of thousands, crowding Broadway for three blocks, stuffing the wide mouth of Park Row and braced into Vesey and Barday Streets. My editor a.s.signed me to this interesting event. I stood in the crowd, that morning, and saw what was really the beginning of the war in New York. There was no babble of voices, no impatient call, no sound of idle jeering such as one is apt to hear in a waiting crowd. It stood silent, each man busy with the rising current of his own emotions, solemnified by the faces all around him. The soldiers filed out upon the pavement, the police having kept a way clear for them, Still there was silence in the crowd save that near me I could hear a man sobbing. A trumpeter lifted his bugle and sounded a bar of the reveille. The clear notes clove the silent air, flooding every street about us with their silver sound. Suddenly the band began playing. The tune was Yankee Doodle. A wild, dismal, tremulous cry came out of a throat near me.

It grew and spread to a mighty roar and then such a shout went up to Heaven, as I had never heard, and as I know full well I shall never hear again. It was like the riving of thunderbolts above the roar of floods--elemental, prophetic, threatening, ungovernable. It did seem to me that the holy wrath of G.o.d Almighty was in that cry of the people.

It was a signal. It declared that they were ready to give all that a man may give for that he loves--his life and things far dearer to him than his life. After that, they and their sons begged for a chance to throw themselves into the hideous ruin of war.

I walked slowly back to the office and wrote my article. When the Printer came in at twelve I went to his room before he had had time to begin work.

'Mr Greeley,' I said, 'here is my resignation. I am going to the war.'

His habitual smile gave way to a sober look as he turned to me, his big white coat on his arm. He pursed his lips and blew thoughtfully. Then he threw his coat in a chair and wiped his eyes with his handkerchief.

'Well! G.o.d bless you, my boy,' he said. 'I wish I could go, too.'

Chapter 38

I worked some weeks before my regiment was sent forward. I planned to be at home for a day, but they needed me on the staff, and I dreaded the pain of a parting, the gravity of which my return would serve only to accentuate. So I wrote them a cheerful letter, and kept at work. It was my duty to interview some of the great men of that day as to the course of the government. I remember Commodore Vanderbilt came down to see me in s.h.i.+rt-sleeves and slippers that afternoon, with a handkerchief tied about his neck in place of a collar--a blunt man, of simple manners and a big heart, one who spoke his mind in good, plain talk, and, I suppose, he got along with as little profanity as possible, considering his many cares. He called me 'boy' and spoke of a certain public man as a 'big sucker'. I soon learned that to him a 'sucker' was the lowest and meanest thing in the world. He sent me away with nothing but a great admiration of him. As a rule, the giants of that day were plain men of the people, with no frills upon them, and with a way of hitting from the shoulder. They said what they meant and meant it hard. I have heard Lincoln talk when his words had the whiz of a bullet and his arm the jerk of a piston.

John Trumbull invited McClingan, of whom I had told him much, and myself to dine with him an evening that week. I went in my new dress suit--that mark of sinful extravagance for which Fate had brought me down to the pounding of rocks under Boss McCormick. Trumbull's rooms were a feast for the eye--aglow with red roses. He introduced me to Margaret Hull and her mother, who were there to dine with us. She was a slight woman of thirty then, with a face of no striking beauty, but of singular sweetness. Her dark eyes had a mild and tender light in them; her voice a plaintive, gentle tone, the like of which one may hear rarely if ever.

For years she had been a night worker in the missions of the lower city, and many an unfortunate had been turned from the way of evil by her good offices. I sat beside her at the table, and she told me of her work and how often she had met Trumbull in his night walks.