The Essential Winston Churchill Collection - Winston Churchill

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Brice!" exclaimed Mr. Brinsmade, in astonishment.

      Virginia felt Anne's hand tighten But her own was limp. A hot wave swept over her, Was she never to hear the end of this man.

      "Yes, sir, Stephen Brice," answered Mr. Sherman. "And I never in my life saw a finer thing done, in the Mexican War or out of it."

      Mr. Brinsmade grew a little excited. "Are you sure that you know him?"

      "As sure as I know you," said the Major, with excessive conviction.

      "But," said Mr. Brinsmade, "I was in there last night, I knew the young man had been at the camp. I asked him if he had seen Jack. He told me that he had, by the embankment. But he never mentioned a word about saving his life."

      "He didn't," cried the Major. "By glory, but he's even better than I thought him, Did you see a black powder mark on his face?"

      "Why, yes, sir, I saw a bad burn of some kind on his forehead."

      "Well, sir, if one of the Dutchmen who shot at Jack had known enough to put a ball in his musket, he would have killed Mr. Brice, who was only ten feet away, standing before your son."

      Anne gave a little cry--Virginia was silent--Her lips were parted. Though she realized it not, she was thirsting %a hear the whole of the story.

      The Major told it, soldier fashion, but well. How John rushed up to the line. How he (Mr. Sherman) had seen Brice throw the woman down and had cried to him to lie down himself how the fire was darting down the regiment, and how men and women were falling all about them; and how Stephen had flung Jack and covered him with his body.

      It was all vividly before Virginia's eyes. Had she any right to treat such a man with contempt? She remembered hour he had looked, at her when he stood on the corner by the Catherwoods' house. And, worst of all, she remembered many spiteful remarks she had made, even to Anne, the gist of which had been that Mr. Brice was better at preaching than at fighting. She knew now--and she had known in her heart before--that this was the greatest injustice she could have done him.

      "But Jack? What did Jack do?"

      It was Anne who tremblingly asked the Major. But Mr. Sherman, apparently, was not the man to say that Jack would have shot Stephen had he not interfered. That was the ugly part of the story. John would have shot the man who saved his life. To the day of his death neither Mr. Brinsmade nor his wife knew this. But while Mr. Brinsmade and Anne had gone upstairs to the sickbed, these were the tidings the Major told Virginia, who kept it in her heart. The reason he told her was because she had guessed a part of it.

      Nevertheless Mr. Brinsmade drove to the Arsenal with her that Saturday, in his own carriage. Forgetful of his own grief, long habit came to him to talk cheerily with her. He told her many little anecdotes of his travel, but not one of them did she hear. Again, at the moment when she thought her belief in Clarence and her love for him at last secure, she found herself drawing searching comparisons between him and the quieter young Bostonian. In spite of herself she had to admit that Stephen's deed was splendid. Was this disloyal? She flushed at the thought. Clarence had been capable of the deed,--even to the rescue of an enemy. But--alas, that she should carry it out to a remorseless end--would Clarence have been equal to keeping silence when Mr. Brinsmade came to him? Stephen Brice had not even told his mother, so Mr. Brinsmade believed.

      As if to aggravate her torture, Mr. Brinsmade's talk drifted to the subject of young Mr. Brice. This was but natural. He told her of the brave struggle Stephen had made, and how he had earned luxuries, and often necessities, for his mother by writing for the newspapers.

      "Often," said Mr. Brinsmade, "often I have been unable to sleep, and have seen the light in Stephen's room until the small hours of the morning."

      "Oh, Mr. Brinsmade," cried Virginia. "Can't you tell me something bad about him? Just once."

      The good gentleman started, and looked searchingly at the girl by his side, flushed and confused. Perhaps he thought--but how can we tell what he thought? How can we guess that our teachers laugh at our pranks after they have caned us for them? We do not remember that our parents have once been young themselves, and that some word or look of our own brings a part of their past vividly before them. Mr. Brinsmade was silent, but he looked out of the carriage window, away from Virginia. And presently, as they splashed through the mud near the Arsenal, they met a knot of gentlemen in state uniforms on their way to the city. Nicodemus stopped at his master's signal. Here was George Catherwood, and his father was with him.

      "They have released us on parole," said George. "Yes, we had a fearful night of it. They could not have kept us--they had no quarters."

      How changed he was from the gay trooper of yesterday! His bright uniform was creased and soiled and muddy, his face unshaven, and dark rings of weariness under his eyes.

      "Do you know if Clarence Colfax has gone home?" Mr. Brinsmade inquired.

      "Clarence is an idiot," cried George, ill-naturedly. "Mr. Brinsmade, of all the prisoners here, he refused to take the parole, or the oath of allegiance. He swears he will remain a prisoner until he is exchanged."

      "The young man is Quixotic," declared the elder Catherwood, who was not himself in the best of humors.

      "Sir," said Mr. Brinsmade, with as much severity as he was ever known to use, "sir, I honor that young man for this more than I can tell you. Nicodemus, you may drive on." And he slammed the door.

      Perhaps George had caught sight of a face in the depths of the carriage, for he turned purple, and stood staring on the pavement after his choleric parent had gone on.

      It was done. Of all the thousand and more young men who had upheld the honor of their state that week, there was but the one who chose to remain in durance vile within the Arsenal wall--Captain Clarence Colfax, late of the Dragoons.

      Mr. Brinsmade was rapidly admitted to the Arsenal, and treated with the respect which his long service to the city deserved. He and Virginia were shown into the bare military room of the commanding officer, and thither presently came Captain Lyon himself. Virginia tingled with antagonism when she saw this man who had made the city tremble, who had set an iron heel on the flaming brand of her Cause. He, too, showed the marks of his Herculean labors, but only on his clothes and person. His long red hair was unbrushed, his boots covered with black mud, and his coat unbuttoned. His face was ruddy, and his eye as clear as though he had arisen from twelve hours' sleep. He bowed to Virginia (not too politely, to be sure). Her own nod of are recognition did not seem to trouble him.

      "Yes, sir," he said incisively, in response to Mr. Brinsmade's question, "we are forced to retain Captain Colfax. He prefers to remain a prisoner until he is exchanged. He refuses to take the oath of allegiance to the United States.

      "And why should he be made to, Captain Lyon? In what way has he opposed the United States troops?"

      It was Virginia who spoke. Both looked at her in astonishment.

      "You will pardon me, Miss Carvel," said Captain Lyon, gravely, "if I refuse to discuss that question with you." Virginia bit her tongue.

      "I understand that Mr. Colfax is a near relative of yours, Miss Carvel," the Captain continued. "His friends may come here to see him during the day. And I believe it is not out of place for me to express my admiration of the captain's conduct. You may care to see him now--"

      "Thank you," said Virginia, curtly.

      "Orderly, my respects to Captain Colfax, and ask him if a he will be kind enough to come in here. Mr. Brinsmade," said the Captain, "I should like a few words with you, sir." And so,

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