The Victim: A Romance of the Real Jefferson DavisDixon, Thomas, Jr.
History
The Victim: A Romance of the Real Jefferson Davis
Dixon, Thomas, Jr.
Davis, Jefferson, 1808-1889 -- Fiction; Historical fiction, American; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
The old Colonel scowled. It was just like a young fool to wish to sit in
solemn judgment on a fellow officer--in his shirt sleeves. If he had
asked to be excused from serving on the Court--yes--he could accept his
excuse and let him go. But this insolence was unbearable. The Colonel
glanced over the Court before putting the question to a vote. Smith was
his enemy. Whichever way he voted as President, the Major could be
depended on to go against his decision. There was a feud between those
two hot-tempered fire-eaters which had lasted for years. He glanced at
his future son-in-law with a smile of assured victory. Tom Smith would
vote against him, but the trembling youngster who had quailed before him
that night asking for his daughter's hand was practically in the family.
He smiled at the certainty of downing Smith once more.
In a voice, whose tones left nothing to the imagination of the
presumptuous Second Lieutenant, the Colonel growled:
"Gentlemen, we are asked to allow an officer to sit in the formal
judgment of a court-martial without uniform--I put the question to a
vote and cast mine. No!"
"I vote yes!" shouted the Major.
The Colonel did not condescend to look his way. He knew what that vote
was before he heard it. He bent his piercing eyes on his future
son-in-law:
"Lieutenant Davis?"
There was just a moment's hesitation. The Lieutenant smiled at his
embarrassed young fellow officer and mildly answered:
"I think, Colonel, in view of the distance to St. Louis, we may excuse
the young man for the first offense--I vote--yes."
The old Colonel stared at him in speechless amazement. Smith grinned.
The Colonel's face grew purple with rage. He was just able to gasp his
words during the progress of the trial. It was brief, and when it ended
and the rest had gone, he faced the Lieutenant with blazing eyes:
"How dare you, sir, vote with that damned fool against me?"
"Why, I never thought to hurt you, Colonel--"
"No? And what _did_ you think?"
"I only thought of relieving the evident embarrassment of a young
officer--"
"You did, eh?--no thought of me or my feelings, of my wishes. You're a
hell of a son-in-law, you are--"
He paused for breath and choked with rage no words could express. When
at last his tongue found speech, he swore in oaths more expressive and
profound than modern man has ever dreamed. He damned the Court. He
damned Tom Smith. He damned the Second Lieutenant. He damned the
regiment. He damned the Government that created it. He damned the
Indians that called it to the plains. He damned the world and all in it,
and all things under it. But, particularly and specifically, he damned
the young ass who dared to flaunt his feelings and opinions after
smiling in his face at his house, for days and weeks and months.
Finally, facing the blushing Lieutenant, his eyes flashing indignant
scorn, he shouted:
"No man who votes with a damned fool like Tom Smith, can marry my
daughter!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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