The Essential Winston Churchill Collection. Winston Churchill
"Well, Mr. Hopper," he said, "in spite of what you say, I expect you are dust as eager as I am to see what is going on. You've taken an early start this morning for sightseeing."
Eliphalet's equanimity was far from shaken.
"I don't cal'late to take a great deal of stock in the military," he answered. "But business is business. And a man must keep an eye on what is moving."
Mr. Cluyme ran his hand through his chop whiskers, and lowered his voice.
"You're right, Hopper," he assented. "And if this city is going to be Union, we ought to know it right away."
Stephen, listening with growing indignation to this talk, was unaware of a man who stood on the other side of the tree, and who now came forward before Mr. Hopper. He presented a somewhat uncompromising front. Mr. Cluyme instantly melted away.
"My friend," said the stranger, quietly, "I think we have met before, when your actions were not greatly to your credit. I do not forget a face, even when I see it in the dark. Now I hear you utter words which are a disgrace to a citizen of the United States. I have some respect for a rebel. I have none for you, sir."
As soon as Stephen recovered from the shock of his surprise, he saw that Eliphalet had changed countenance. The manner of an important man of affairs, which he hay so assiduously cultivated, fell away from him. He took a step backward, and his eyes made an ugly shift. Stephen rejoiced to see the stranger turn his back on the manager of Carvel & Company before that dignitary had time to depart, and stand unconcernedly there as if nothing had occurred.
Then Stephen stared at him.
He was not a man you would look at twice, ordinarily, he was smoking a great El Sol cigar. He wore clothes that were anything but new, a slouch hat, and coarse grained, square-toed boots. His trousers were creased at the knees. His head fell forward a little from his square shoulders, and leaned a bit to one side, as if meditatively. He had a light brown beard that was reddish in the sun, and he was rather short than otherwise.
This was all that Stephen saw. And yet the very plainness of the man's appearance only added to his curiosity. Who was this stranger? His words, his action, too, had been remarkable. The art of administering a rebuke like that was not given to many men. It was perfectly quiet, perfectly final. And then, when it was over, he had turned his back and dismissed it.
Next Stephen began to wonder what he could know about Hopper. Stephen had suspected Eliphalet of subordinating principles to business gain, and hence the conversation with Mr. Cluyme had given him no shock in the way of a revelation, But if Hopper were a rogue, ought not Colonel Carvel to hear it? Ought not he, Stephen Brice, to ask this man with the cigar what he knew, and tell Judge Whipple? The sudden rattle of drums gave him a start, and cruelly reminded him of the gulf of prejudice and hatred fast widening between the friends.
All this time the stranger stood impassively chewing his cigar, his hand against the tree-box. A regiment in column came out of the Arsenal gate, the Union leader in his colonel's uniform, on horseback at its head. He pulled up in the street opposite to Stephen, and sat in his saddle, chatting with other officers around him.
Then the stranger stepped across the limestone gutter and walked up to the Colonel's horse, He was still smoking. This move, too, was surprising enough, It argued even more assurance. Stephen listened intently.
"Colonel Blair, my name is Grant," he said briefly.
The Colonel faced quickly about, and held out his gloved hand cordially, "Captain Ulysses Grant," said he; "of the old army?"
Mr. Grant nodded.
"I wanted to wish you luck," he said.
"Thank you, Grant," answered the Colonel. "But you? Where are you living now?"
"I moved to Illinois after I left here," replied Mr. Grant, as quietly as before, "and have been in Galena, in the Leather business there. I went down to Springfield with the company they organized in Galena, to be of any help I could. They made me a clerk in the adjutant general's office of the state I ruled blanks, and made out forms for a while." He paused, as if to let the humble character of this position sink into the Colonel's comprehension. "Then they found out that I'd been quartermaster and commissary, and knew something about military orders Now I'm a state mustering officer. I came down to Belleville to muster in a regiment, which wasn't ready. And so I ran over here to see what you fellows were doing."
If this humble account had been delivered volubly, and in another tone, it is probable that the citizen-colonel would not have listened, since the events of that day were to crown his work of a winter. But Mr. Grant possessed a manner of holding attention.. It was very evident, however; that Colonel Blair had other things to think of. Nevertheless he said kindly:
"Aren't you going in, Grant?"
"I can't afford to go in as a captain of volunteers," was the calm reply: "I served nine years in the regular army and I think I can command a regiment."
The Colonel, whose attention was called away at that moment, did not reply. Mr. Grant moved off up the street. Some of the younger officers who were there, laughed as they followed his retreating figure.
"Command a regiment!" cried one, a lieutenant whom Stephen recognized as having been a bookkeeper at Edwards, James, & Doddington's, and whose stiff blue uniform coat creased awkwardly. "I guess I'm about as fit to command a regiment as Grant is."
"That man's forty years old, if he's a day," put in another. "I remember when he came here to St. Louis in '54, played out. He'd resigned from the army on the Pacific Coast. He put up a log cabin down on the Gravois Road, and there he lived in the hardest luck of any man I ever saw until last year. You remember him, Joe."
"Yep," said Joe. "I spotted him by the El Sol cigar. He used to bring a load of wood to the city once in a while, and then he'd go over to the Planters' House, or somewhere else, and smoke one of these long fellows, and sit against the wall as silent as a wooden Indian. After that he came up to the city without his family and went into real estate one winter. But he didn't make it go. Curious, it is just a year ago this month than he went over to Illinois. He's an honest fellow, and hard working enough, but he don't know how. He's just a dead failure."
"Command a regiment!" laughed the first, again, as of this in particular had struck his sense of humor. "I guess he won't get a regiment in a hurry, There's lots of those military carpet-baggers hanging around for good jobs now."
"He might fool you fellows yet," said the one caller, though his tone was not one of conviction. "I understand he had a first-rate record an the Mexican War."
Just then an aide rode up, and the Colonel gave a sharp command which put an end to this desultory talk. As the First Regiment took up the march, the words "Camp Jackson" ran from mouth to mouth on the sidewalks. Catching fire, Stephen ran with the crowd, and leaping on passing street car, was borne cityward with the drums of the coming hosts beating in his ears.
In the city, shutters were going up on the stores. The streets were filled with, restless citizens seeking news, and drays were halted here and there on the corners, the white eyes and frenzied calls of the negro drivers betraying their excitement. While Stephen related to his mother the events of the morning, Hester burned the dinner. It lay; still untouched, on the table when the throbbing of drums sent them to the front steps. Sigel's regiment had swung into the street, drawing in its wake a seething crowd.
Three persons came out of the big house next door. One was Anna Brinsmade; and there was her father, his white hairs uncovered. The third was Jack. His sister was cringing to him appealingly, and he struggling in her grasp. Out of his coat