Читать книгу The Young Lieutenant; or, The Adventures of an Army Officer - Oliver 1822-1897 Optic - Страница 8

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Lieutenant Somers sat down in one corner of the car, near the seats occupied by Miss Guilford and her father. He was just beginning to be conscious of the fact that he had done a “big thing;” not because he had helped one of God’s suffering creatures, but because she happened to be a Senator’s daughter. But he still had the happy reflection, that what he had done had been prompted by motives of humanity, not by the love of applause, or for the purpose of winning the favor of a great man who could dispense the “loaves and fishes” when he should need them.

He was rather sensitive. He was a young man of eighteen, and he had not yet become familiar with the grossness and selfishness of this calculating world. He was rather offended at the patronage which the Senator had proposed to bestow upon him, and he even regretted that he had so readily given him his address.

Lieutenant Somers regarded himself as emphatically a fighting officer; and the idea of working his way up to distinction by the favor of a member of Congress was repulsive to him. He really wished the Hon. Mr. Guilford had only thanked him for what he had done, and not said a word about having it in his power to be of service to him.

While he was meditating upon the events which had transpired, and the Senator’s patronizing offer, he saw Captain de Banyan enter the forward door of the car through which the gentleman who had taken so much pains to compliment the young officer had disappeared a short time before. The distinguished captain walked through the car directly to the seat of the lieutenant, who had not even yet ceased to blush under the praises which had been bestowed upon him.

“Somers, your hand,” said he, extending his own. “I have heard all about it, and am proud that our regiment has furnished so brave and devoted a man. Oh, don’t blush, my dear fellow! You are a modest man. I sympathize with you; for I am a modest man myself. I didn’t get over blushing for three weeks after his imperial majesty, the Emperor of France, complimented me for some little thing I did at the battle of Palestro.”

“I thought that was at Magenta,” added Somers.

“So it was. The fact is, I have been in a great many battles, and I get them mixed up a little sometimes. But you are in luck, Somers,” continued the captain in a lower tone, as he seated himself by the side of his fellow-officer.

“Why so?”

“They say she is the daughter of a Senator.”

“What of that?”

“What of that! Why, my dear fellow, you are as innocent as a school girl. Don’t you see he can get you on some general’s staff, and have you promoted every time there is a skirmish?”

“I don’t want to be promoted unless I earn it.”

“Of course you don’t; but every officer that earns it won’t get it. By the way, Somers, can’t you introduce me to the old gentleman?”

“I never saw him before in my life.”

“No matter for that. I’ll warrant you, he’ll be glad to make all your friends his friends.”

“But I don’t feel enough acquainted with him to introduce a gentleman whom I never saw in my life till two hours ago.”

“You are right, my dear fellow; excuse me,” replied Captain de Banyan, looking very much disappointed. “I dare say, if I should show him the autograph of the Emperor of France, he would be very glad to know me.”

“No doubt of it. At any rate, I recommend you to make the trial.”

“Yes; but the mischief of it is, I have left all those papers at home.”

“That’s unfortunate,” added Lieutenant Somers, who had some serious doubts in regard to the existence of those papers.

“So it is. If I had been lucky enough to have made the acquaintance of that young lady, as you have, I would not let my aspirations stop short of the stars of a major-general.”

“You need not as it is, if you do your duty.”

“Ah! my dear fellow, you are as sentimental as a girl of sixteen. I am a modest man; but, in my estimation, there are ten thousand men in the army as good as I am. They can’t all be major-generals, can they?”

“Certainly not.”

“Then, if you live a few months longer, you will find out how good a thing it is to have a friend at court. You are a modest young man; but I suppose you think there isn’t another man in the army who is quite your equal, and that your merit and your bravery will make a brigadier of you in less than a year. It’s a good thing to think so; but——”

“I don’t think so. That would be modesty with a vengeance.”

“I was a sentimental boy like you once, and I was just as certain that I should be made a field-marshal, and have the command of the French army in the Crimea——”

“I thought you were in the English army in the Crimea,” interposed the young lieutenant, eager to change the subject.

“Certainly, in the English army; that’s what I said,” continued the gallant captain, entirely unmoved by the interruption. “I was just as sure of having the command of the British army in the Crimea as you are of becoming a brigadier by the time we get into Richmond. But I have no friends at court as you have now.”

“I never thought of such a thing as being a brigadier,” protested Somers. “I never even expected to become a second lieutenant.”

“It isn’t much to be a brigadier. I served with ‘Old Rosey’ in West Virginia for a time. We had a captain there who didn’t know any more about military than a swine does about Lord Chesterfield’s table etiquette. He went into action with a cane in his hand, hawbucking his company about just as a farmer does a yoke of cattle. That fellow is a brigadier-general now; and there’s hope for you and me, if we can only have a friend at court.”

“I am higher now than I ever expected to be, and I wouldn’t give a straw for fifty friends at court.”

“That’s because you are sentimental; but you’ll get over that.”

“Lieutenant Somers,” said Senator Guilford, who had risen from his seat, and approached that occupied by the two officers, “I shall leave the train at the next stopping-place, in order to procure proper medical attendance for my daughter. I desire again to express my thanks to you for the signal service you have rendered to my daughter.”

Our hero blushed again, and stammered out some deprecatory remark.

“When you are in Washington, you must call and see me. You must promise this for Emmie’s sake, if not for mine,” added the Senator.

“I should be very happy to call,” replied the young officer.

“My friend Lieutenant Somers is as bashful as a maiden of sweet sixteen,” interposed Captain de Banyan. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Guilford; though your name and fame are familiar to me, I have not the honor of your personal acquaintance; but, under the circumstances, I shall make it part of my duty to see that my friend does not neglect your reasonable request.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied the Senator.

“Captain de Banyan, at your service,” added the modest officer who had served in Italy and the Crimea.

“Thank you, Captain de Banyan. I see you are in the same regiment with Lieutenant Somers.”

“Yes, sir, I have that honor; and I assure you there is not a nobler and braver young officer in the Army of the Potomac. He reminds me very much of a splendid fellow I served with in the Crimea.”

“Ah! you were in the Crimea?”

“I was, sir; and he looks very much like Captain de Waite, whom I saw made a major on the field of Magenta, for the most daring bravery, by the Emperor of France.”

“You have seen service, captain,” added the Senator.

“A little, sir.”

“You must speak with my daughter, lieutenant, before we part,” continued Mr. Guilford. “Her gratitude has no limit.”

Lieutenant Somers was astounded by the effrontery of his military companion, who had claimed to be his friend, and forced himself upon the acquaintance of the powerful man on the strength of that intimacy; had even brought to his notice the fact—if it was a fact—that he had been at Magenta and in the Crimea. The simple-minded young man had seen no such diplomacy in Pinchbrook, or in the course of his travels in Maryland and Virginia; and he was fearful that the audacious fellow would dare to address the daughter as he had the father.

“Be seated,” said the Senator, as he pointed to the seat in front of Miss Emmie.

She was pale, and appeared to be suffering from the pain of her broken arm; but she bestowed a sweet smile upon him as he took the proffered seat.

“Lieutenant Somers, after what I have heard from Mr. Holman”—that was the gentleman who had spoken so handsomely of him—“I feel sure that I owe my life to you.”

“I think not, Miss Guilford,” replied the lieutenant, very much embarrassed. “I only pulled you out from the ruins; I couldn’t have helped doing it if I had tried; and I hope you won’t feel under any obligations to me.”

“But I do feel under very great obligations to you, and I assure you I am happy to owe my life to so brave and gallant a soldier.”

Somers felt just as though he was reading an exciting chapter in a sensational novel; though he could not help thinking of Lilian Ashford, and thus spoiling all the romance of the affair. He made no reply to Miss Emmie’s pretty speech; it was utterly impossible for him to do so; and therein he differed from all the heroes of the novels.

“I want to hear from you some time, and even to see you again. You must promise to call and see me when we get to Washington.”

“I may not be able to leave my regiment at that time.”

“Oh! my father will get you a furlough any time you want one.”

Lieutenant Somers thought he would like to see himself asking a furlough to enable him to visit a young lady in Washington, even if she was a Senator’s daughter; but he promised to call at Mr. Guilford’s whenever he happened to be at the capital, which was entirely satisfactory to the young lady. Though Emmie was by this time suffering severely, she managed to say several pleasant things; and among them she hinted that her father could make a brigadier as easily as a tinker could make a tin kettle.

The train arrived at the stopping-place; and Mr. Guilford, with the assistance of Lieutenant Somers, placed his daughter in a carriage. Captain de Banyan was very anxious to assist in the operation; but the sufferer declined. They parted with a renewed promise on the part of the young officer to visit her in Washington, whenever his duty called him to that city. The cars arrived in New York two hours behind time—too late to connect with the train for Philadelphia. Captain de Banyan proposed, as they were obliged to remain in the city over night, that they should stop at the “Fifth Avenue,” declaring that it was the best hotel in New York. Somers objected; hoping that he should thus escape the society of the captain, who appeared to be altogether too “fast” for his time.

De Banyan was accommodating; and, when the lieutenant mentioned a small hotel downtown, he readily agreed to the proposition, and Somers found it useless to attempt to get rid of him. The captain, for some reason or other, appeared to have taken a decided liking to our officer. Perhaps he hoped to share with him the powerful patronage of Senator Guilford.

After supper, Captain de Banyan proposed that they should go out and see the “elephant;” but Somers, having no taste for the study of this description of natural history, positively declined to see the metaphorical monster.

“We must go somewhere,” persisted the captain, taking up a newspaper. “Here’s a ‘Lecture on the Battle of Bull Run, by Lieutenant-Colonel Staggerback, who participated in that memorable action,’ ” he continued, reading from the paper.

“I was in that battle myself; I don’t object to that,” replied Somers.

“Good! Then we’ll go.”

They walked up Broadway till they came to one of those gaudy saloons where rum and ruin are tricked out in the gayest of colors.

“We are early for the lecture, Somers. Let’s go in here, and see what there is to be seen.”

“No, I thank you; I don’t care about going into any of these dens of vice and sin.”

“ ‘Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, As, to be hated, needs but to be seen,’ ”

repeated the captain with dramatic force.

“ ‘But seen too oft——’

You needn’t see it but once. Don’t you want to see the lions of the metropolis?”

“Don’t object to the lions; but, in my opinion, you will find only the donkeys in there.”

“Let us see, at any rate.”

“I will go in for a moment,” replied Somers, who did not like to seem over-squeamish.

They entered this outer gate to ruin. There was a bar at the end next to the street, while at the other end a band of music was playing the national airs. It looked like a very pleasant place to the young lieutenant, who had never entered one of these saloons before.