From the Ranks | Page 4

has not yet gone. I do not know how long he will be gone or how
soon he will start. For pressing personal reasons he has turned over the
command to me; and, if he decide to remain away, of course some
field-officer will be ordered to come to head-quarters. For a day or two

you will have to worry along with me; but I shan't worry you more than
I can help. I've got mystery and mischief enough here to keep me busy,
God knows. Just ask Sloat to come back here to me, will you?
And--Wilton, I did not mean to be abrupt with you. I'm all upset to-day.
Mr. Adjutant, notify Mr. Jerrold at once that he must not leave the post
until I have seen him. It is the colonel's last order. Tell him so."

II.
The night before had been unusually dark. A thick veil of clouds
overspread the heavens and hid the stars. Moon there was none, for the
faint silver crescent that gleamed for a moment through the
swift-sailing wisps of vapor had dropped beneath the horizon soon after
tattoo, and the mournful strains of "taps," borne on the rising wind,
seemed to signal "extinguish lights" to the entire firmament as well as
to Fort Sibley. There was a dance of some kind at the quarters of one of
the staff-officers living far up the row on the southern terrace. Chester
heard the laughter and chat as the young officers and their convoy of
matrons and maids came tripping homeward after midnight. He was a
crusty old bachelor, to use his own description, and rarely ventured into
these scenes of social gayety, and, besides, he was officer of the day,
and it was a theory he was fond of expounding to juniors that when on
guard no soldier should permit himself to be drawn from the scene of
his duties. With his books and his pipe Chester whiled away the lonely
hours of the early night, and wondered if the wind would blow up a
rain or disperse the clouds entirely. Towards one o'clock a light,
bounding footstep approached his door, and the portal flew open as a
trim-built young fellow with laughing eyes and an air of exuberant
health and spirits came briskly in. It was Rollins, the junior second
lieutenant of the regiment, and Chester's own and only pet,--so said the
envious others. He was barely a year out of leading-strings at the Point,
and as full of hope and pluck and mischief as a colt. Moreover, he was
frank and teachable, said Chester, and didn't come to him with the idea
that he had nothing to learn and less to do. The boy won upon his gruff
captain from the very start, and, to the incredulous delight of the whole
regiment, within six months the old cynic had taken him into his heart

and home, and Mr. Rollins occupied a pleasant room under Chester's
roof-tree, and was the sole accredited sharer of the captain's mess. To a
youngster just entering service, whose ambition it was to stick to
business and make a record for zeal and efficiency, these were manifest
advantages. There were men in the regiment to whom such close
communion with a watchful senior would have been most embarrassing,
and Mr. Rollins's predecessor as second lieutenant of Chester's
company was one of these. Mr. Jerrold was a happy man when
promotion took him from under the wing of "Crusty Jake" and landed
him in Company B. More than that, it came just at a time when, after
four years of loneliness and isolation at an up-river stockade, his new
company and his old one, together with four others from the regiment,
were ordered to join head-quarters and the band at the most delightful
station in the Northwest. Here Mr. Rollins had reported for duty during
the previous autumn, and here they were with troops of other arms of
the service, enjoying the close proximity of all the good things of
civilization.
Chester looked up with a quizzical smile as his "plebe" came in:
"Well, sir, how many dances had you with 'Sweet Alice, Ben Bolt'? Not
many, I fancy, with Mr. Jerrold monopolizing everything, as usual. By
gad! some good fellow could make a colossal fortune in buying that
young man at my valuation and selling him at his own."
"Oh, come, now, captain," laughed Rollins, "Jerrold's no such slouch as
you make him out. He's lazy, and he likes to spoon, and he puts up with
a good deal of petting from the girls,--who wouldn't, if he could get
it?--but he is jolly and big-hearted, and don't put on any airs,--with us,
at least,--and the mess like him first-rate. 'Tain't his fault that he's
handsome and a regular