The Rock of Chickamauga: A Story of the Western Crisis by Joseph A. Altsheler (best ebook reader for surface pro .txt) 📕

When the old man ceased at last from exhaustion Colonel Winchester said quietly:

“If you had spoken to me in the proper manner we might have gone away and found quarters elsewhere. But we intend to stay here and we will repay your abuse with good manners.”

Dick saw the daughter flush, but the old man said:

“Then it will be the first time that good manners were ever brought from the country north of the Mason and Dixon line.”

Colonel Winchester flushed in his turn, but made no direct reply.

“If you will assign us rooms, Miss Woodville,” he said, “we will go to them, otherwise we'll find them for ourselves, which may be less convenient for you. I repeat that we desire to give you as little trouble as possible.”

“Do so, Margaret,” interrupted Colonel Woodville, “because then I may get rid of them all the sooner.”

Colonel Winchester bowed and turned toward the door. Miss Woodville, obedient to the command of her father, led the way. Dick was the last to go out, and he said to the old lion who lay wounded in the bed:

“Colonel Woodville, I've met your nephew, Victor.”

He did not notice that the old man whitened and that the hand now lying upon the cover clenched suddenly.

“You have?” growled Colonel Woodville, “and how does it happen that you and my nephew have anything in common?”

“I could scarcely put it that way,” replied Dick, refusing to be angered, “unless you call an encounter with fists something in common. He and I had a great fight at his father's plantation of Bellevue.”

“He might have been in a better business, taking part in a common brawl with a common Yankee.”

“But, sir, while I may be common, I'm not a Yankee. I was born and grew up south of the Ohio River in Kentucky.”

“Then you're a traitor. All you Kentuckians ought to be fighting with us.”

“Difference of opinion, but I hope your nephew is well.”

The deep eyes under the thick white thatch glared in a manner that Dick considered wholly unnecessary. But Colonel Woodville made no reply, merely turning his face to the wall as if he were weary.

Dick hurried into the hall, closing the door gently behind him. The others, not missing him, were already some yards away, and he quickly rejoined Pennington and Warner. The younger men would have been glad to leave the house, but Colonel Winchester's blood was up, and he was resolved to stay. The little party was eight in number, and they were soon quartered in four rooms on the lower floor. Miss Woodville promptly disappeared, and one of the camp cooks arrived with supplies, which he took to the kitchen.

Dick and Warner were in one of the rooms, and, removing their belts and coats, they made themselves easy. It was a large bedroom with high ceilings and wicker furniture. There were several good paintings on the walls and a bookcase contained Walter Scott's novels and many of the eighteenth century classics.

“I think this must have been a guest chamber,” said Dick, “but for us coming from the rain and mud it's a real palace.”

“Then it's fulfilling its true function,” said Warner, “because it has guests now. What a strange household! Did you ever see such a peppery pair as that swearing old colonel and his acid daughter?”

“I don't know that I blame them. I think, sometimes, George, that you New Englanders are the most selfish of people. You're too truly righteous. You're always denouncing the faults of others, but you never see any of your own. Away back in the Revolution when Boston called, the Southern provinces came to her help, but Boston and New England have spent a large part of their time since then denouncing the South.”

“What's struck you, Dick? Are you weakening in the good cause?”

“Not for a moment. But suppose Mississippi troops walked into your own father's house in Vermont, and, as conquerors, demanded food and shelter! Would you rejoice over them, and ask them why they hadn't come sooner?”

“I suppose not, Dick. But, stop it, and come back to your normal temperature. I won't quarrel with you.”

“I won't give you a chance, George. I'm through. But remember that while I'm red hot for the Union, I was born south of the Ohio River myself, and I have lots of sympathy for the people against whom I'm fighting.”

“For the matter of that, so've I, Dick, and I was born north of the Ohio River. But I'm getting tremendously hungry. I hope that cook will hurry.”

They were called soon, and eight officers sat at the table. The cook himself served them. Miss Woodville had vanished, and not a servant was visible about the great house. Despite their hunger and the good quality of the food the group felt constraint. The feeling that they were intruders, in a sense brigands, was forced upon them. Dick was sure that the old man with the great bald head was swearing fiercely and incessantly under his breath.

The dining-room was a large and splendid apartment, and the silver still lay upon the great mahogany sideboard. The little city, now the camp of an overwhelming army, had settled into silence, and the twilight was coming.

With the chill of unwelcome still upon them the officers said little. As the twilight deepened Warner lighted several candles. The silver glittered under the flame. Colonel Winchester presently ordered the cook to take a plate of the most delicate food to Colonel Woodville.

As the cook withdrew on his mission he left open the door of the dining-room and they heard the sound of a voice, uplifted in a thunderous roar. The cook hurried back, the untouched plate in his hand and his face a little pale.

“He cursed me, sir,” he said to Colonel Winchester. “I was never cursed so before by anybody. He said he would not touch the food. He was sure that it had been poisoned by the Yankees, and even if it were not he'd rather die than accept anything from their hands.”

Colonel Winchester laughed rather awkwardly.

“At any rate, we've tendered our good offices,” he said. “I suppose his daughter will attend to his wants, and we'll not expose ourselves to further insults.”

But the refusal had affected the spirits of them all, and as soon as their hunger was satisfied they withdrew. The soldier who had acted as cook was directed to put the dining-room back in order and then he might sleep in a room near the kitchen.

Dick and Warner returned to their own apartment. Neither had much to say, and Warner, lying down on the bed, was soon fast asleep. Dick sat by the window. The town was now almost lost in the obscurity. The exhausted army