The Long Roll | Page 9

his powerful frame, not tall, but deep-chested, broad-shouldered, looked larger than life. "I don't talk this way often--as you'll grant!" he said, and laughed. "But I suppose to-day loosed all our tongues, lifted every man out of himself!"
"If war came," said Allan, "it couldn't be a long war, could it? After the first battle we'd come to an understanding."
"Would we?" answered the other. "Would we?--God knows! In the past it has been that the more equal the tinge of blood, the fiercer was the war."
As he spoke he moved across to the sapling where was fastened his horse, loosed him, and sprang into the saddle. The horse, a magnificent bay, took the road, and the three began the long descent. It was very cold and still, a crescent moon in the sky, and lights beginning to shine from the farmhouses in the valley.
"Though I teach school," said Allan, "I like the open. I like to do things with my hands, and I like to go in and out of the woods. Perhaps, all the way behind us, I was a hunter, with a taste for books! My grandfather was a scout in the Revolution, and his father was a ranger.... God knows, I don't want war! But if it comes I'll go. We'll all go, I reckon."
"Yes, we'll all go," said Cleave. "We'll need to go."
The one rode, the other walked in silence for a time; then said the first, "I shall ride to Lauderdale after supper and talk to Fauquier Cary."
"You and he are cousins, aren't you?"
"Third cousins. His mother was a Dandridge--Unity Dandridge."
"I like him. It's like old wine and blue steel and a cavalier poet--that type."
"Yes, it is old and fine, in men and in women."
"He does not want war."
"No."
"Hairston Breckinridge says that he won't discuss the possibility at all--he'll only say what he said to-day, that every one should work for peace, and that war between brothers is horrible."
"It is. No. He wears a uniform. He cannot talk."
They went on in silence for a time, over the winter road, through the crystal air. Between the branches of the trees the sky showed intense and cold, the crescent moon, above a black mass of mountains, golden and sharp, the lights in the valley near enough to be gathered.
"If there should be war," asked Allan, "what will they do, all the Virginians in the army--Lee and Johnston and Stuart, Maury and Thomas and the rest?"
"They'll come home."
"Resigning their commissions?"
"Resigning their commissions."
Allan sighed. "That would be a hard thing to have to do."
"They'll do it. Wouldn't you?"
The teacher from Thunder Run looked from the dim valley and the household lamps up to the marching stars. "Yes. If my State called, I would do it."
"This is what will happen," said Cleave. "There are times when a man sees clearly, and I see clearly to-day. The North does not intend to evacuate Fort Sumter. Instead, sooner or later, she'll try to reinforce it. That will be the beginning of the end. South Carolina will reduce the fort. The North will preach a holy war. War there will be--whether holy or not remains to be seen. Virginia will be called upon to furnish her quota of troops with which to coerce South Carolina and the Gulf States back into the Union. Well--do you think she will give them?"
Allan gave a short laugh. "No!"
"That is what will happen. And then--and then a greater State than any will be forced into secession! And then the Virginians in the army will come home."
The wood gave way to open country, softly swelling fields, willow copses, and clear running streams. In the crystal air the mountain walls seemed near at hand, above shone Orion, icily brilliant. The lawyer from a dim old house in a grove of oaks and the school-teacher from Thunder Run went on in silence for a time; then the latter spoke.
"Hairston Breckinridge says that Major Cary's niece is with him at Lauderdale."
"Yes. Judith Cary."
"That's the beautiful one, isn't it?"
"They are all said to be beautiful--the three Greenwood Carys. But--Yes, that is the beautiful one."
He began to hum a song, and as he did so he lifted his wide soft hat and rode bareheaded.
"It's strange to me," said Allan presently, "that any one should be gay to-day."
As he spoke he glanced up at the face of the man riding beside him on the great bay. There was yet upon the road a faint after-light--enough light to reveal that there were tears on Cleave's cheek. Involuntarily Allan uttered an exclamation.
The other, breaking off his chant, quite simply put up a gauntleted hand and wiped the moisture away. "Gay!" he repeated. "I'm not gay. What gave you such an idea? I tell you that though I've never been in a war, I know all about war!"
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