The Coward: A Novel of Society and the Field in 1863 — John Shaqi
The Coward: A Novel of Society and the Field in 1863Morford, Henry
History
The Coward: A Novel of Society and the Field in 1863
Morford, Henry
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
Lifting from his brow, as he approached the house, to wipe away the slight
moisture which had gathered there even in riding, the broad-brimmed and
low-crowned hat of light gray, which so well accorded with his loose but
well-fitting suit of the same color, he gave an opportunity for studying
the whole man, which could not well have been attained under other
circumstances; and both narrator and reader may be excused for stopping him
momentarily in that position, while due examination is made of his most
striking outward peculiarities.
He was at least five feet eleven inches in height, with a figure rather
slight than stout, but singularly erect, sinewy, and elastic, every
movement giving evidence that the body could not well be set to a task
beyond its power of endurance. The foot was not very small, but
well-shaped, and the ungloved hand which held his riding-whip was almost
faultless in shape and color. The hat removed, a brow rather broad than
high was seen, with a head well balanced in all the intellectual and moral
requirements, densely covered with light, curling hair, of that peculiar
shade which the poetical designate as "blonde" and the practical as
"sandy." The complexion, though the cheeks were a little browned by the
summer sun, was very fair, and that of the brow as stainless as any petted
girl's could be. The features were nearly faultless in the Greek severity
of their outline, the nose straight and well cut, the mouth small but with
full curved lips, the eyes of hazel, widely set. The lower part of his face
was effectually concealed by a luxuriant full beard and moustache, a few
shades darker than his hair, and showing a propensity to curl on slight
provocation. He was a decidedly handsome man of twenty-eight to thirty,
erect, gentlemanly, dignified, and with something in his general appearance
irresistibly reminding the spectator of the traditional appearance of those
blonde Englishmen of good birth, who seem made to dawdle life away without
exhibiting one of the sterner qualities of human nature, until deadly
danger shows them to have that cool recklessness of life which charged two
hundred years ago with Prince Rupert and ten years ago with poor Nolan. Yet
this was the idea more likely to be formed of him and his capabilities, by
strangers and those who lacked opportunity to examine his face and manner
closely, than by those intimately acquainted with both; for there was an
occasional nervousness in the movement of the hands, and even of the whole
figure, that to a close observer would have belied the first-assumed
self-confidence; and a something drooping, tremulous, and undecided in the
lower lip at the corners, was so well matched by a sad and even troubled
expression that often rested like a cloud over the eyes, that the whole man
seemed to be made into another self by them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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