United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
"Poor boy!" said the aunt. "It's the first line you've had for months.
Your sweet mother wrote, but her letters were all intercepted, and the
last time she was warned that next time she'd be dealt with according to
military usage! I'm glad we could give you this one at once. We can't
give you the uniform, for we--why, girls, what--why, what nonsense!"
Maybe I did not say vindictive things inside me just then! The three
nieces had turned open-mouthed upon one another and sunk down upon their
luggage with averted faces.
"I say we can't give it to you now," Miss Harper persisted, with a
motherly smile; "we're wearing it ourselves. We've had no time to take
it off. I couldn't get the boots off me last night. And even if you had
the boots, the other things--"
"Aunt Martha!" moaned some one. "Well, in short," said the aunt,
twinkling like her brother, "we can't deliver the goods, and--" She
started as though some one had slapped her between the shoulder-blades.
It was the engine caused it, whistling in the old, lawless way, putting
a whoop, a howl, a scream and a wail into one. The young ladies quailed,
the train jerked like several collisions, the bell began tardily to
clang, and my steed whirled, cleared a packing case, whirled again, and
stood facing the train, his eyes blazing, his nostrils flapping, not
half so much frightened as insulted. The post-quartermaster waved to the
ladies and they to us. For a last touch I lifted my cap high and backed
my horse on drooping haunches--you've seen Buffalo Bill do it--and
then, with a leap like a cricket's, and to a clapping of maidens' hands
that made me whooping drunk, we stretched away, my horse and I, on a
long smooth gallop, for Brookhaven.
VI
A HANDSOME STRANGER
Certainly no cricket ever dropped blither music from his legs than did
my beautiful horse that glorious morning as we clattered in perfect
rhythm on the hard clean road of the wide pine forest. Ah! the forest is
not there now; the lumbermen--
For an hour or so the world seemed to have taken me for its center as
smoothly as a sleeping top. Only after a good seven miles did my
meditations begin to reveal any bitter in the sweet; but it was in
recalling for the twentieth time the last sight of Camille, that I
heard myself say, I know not whether softly or loudly,
"Oh, hang the uniform!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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