Chapter XIX: A Cold-Blooded Sentence

’Tis now past midnight, and by eight to-morrow
Thou must be made immortal. If I must die,
I will encounter darkness as a bride,
And hug it to my breast.—SHAKSPEARE.

At length Monck looked up from his map, but he turned his heavy white face towards Colonel Rosenthal and stared with his big blue eyes straight through that gentleman’s head as if it had not stood in his line of vision. Monck was evidently in a maze, being still bewildered with his geographical puzzles.

With a courteous bow and wave of his hand towards his companions, Captain Bannister motioned him up to the guerrilla chief and presented him.

“Colonel Rosenthal, of the —— Cavalry. Major Monck.”

“Colonel Rosenthal, I am very glad to see you—very glad indeed! I can say these words with more truth than they are usually said. Indeed I was so desirous of entertaining you, that hearing you were on your way to W., attended by a single orderly, I sent out a special detachment of my best men to meet and escort you here. Again I say I am delighted to make your acquaintance. How are you, sir?” said Monck, with a sort of cold jocularity, extending his fat hand to his prisoner.

But Colonel Rosenthal ignored the hand and retreating a step, bowed coldly.

“Take a seat, sir—take a seat. Make yourself at home. We hope to enjoy the pleasure of your company for a good long while. We shall hold you in a sort of honorable captivity, as a hostage for the safety of some of our poor fellows now pining in the clock-peddlers’ prisons. Sit down, sir. Pray sit down. But let us find a chair first. Here! you! Hoskins! bring a chair this way for the gentleman. I hope we shall spend a pleasant season together, Colonel Rosenthal.”

One of the men brought forward a rude wooden chair, probably of camp manufacture, and Justin threw himself into it.

Monck squared himself for a talk. Placing his big hands upon his fat knees, and staring blankly straight before him, as seemed his senseless habit, he began by saying:

“I hope, sir, you found your quarters agreeable.”

“I believe, sir, Captain Bannister did his best to make them so,” answered Justin, coldly.

“That was right. By the way, Captain Bannister, you can retire,” said Monck, turning towards his officer, who immediately left the room.

“And your rations, sir? How were they?” inquired Monck, squaring towards his prisoner again.

“I found no fault with them.”

“That is well. Nor, to tell the honest truth, do I think that you had any reason to do so. We have a plenty of provender just now. The capture of that sutler’s wagon was a great stroke of good fortune. It came in the nick of time, when we were expecting distinguished company, you see—ho! ho! ho! Well, I am glad you find yourself so comfortable, Colonel.”

Again Justin bowed gravely.

“So Grant is to have the command of the Army of the Potomac!” said Monck, suddenly.

“I have heard nothing to that effect, Major Monck,” replied Justin, coldly.

“That’s strange! And we knew all about it.”

Justin made no reply.

“And General W. is in the Valley again?” said the guerilla, interrogatively.

“Major Monck, you must be aware that I cannot converse with you upon military affairs,” said Justin.

“Humph! not even upon subjects the details of which are as familiar to us as they are to your cabinet at Washington, or to your general officers in council! Bless you, man, we have our friends in your cabinet, in your Congress, in your councils—and even in your very detective police force! Ha, ha, ha! ho, ho, ho! Why, man, _we_ know the contents of the sealed orders with which your ships of war sail, long before the commanders who hold them have broken them open! We knew where Banks was going, though all the loyal people of the United States, and all the naval and military officers, were in a frenzy of curiosity and wonder as to the meaning of the expedition!”

“I know nothing of your means of information, Major Monck; but I _do_ know that I cannot converse with you on the subject.”

“Quite right! I beg your pardon! Let us talk of something else. My poor fellows up there in your Old Capitol Prison at Washington! How do you treat them? give them enough to eat and drink?”

“Assuredly we do, sir. However little I may know, by experience, of our military prison discipline, I am quite certain that our prisoners are well fed, well clothed, and well sheltered,” said Justin, gravely.

“That is as it should be, especially as to the feeding. I shouldn’t mind so much your hanging one of our men now and then when you can find hanging matter against him; because hanging is short work, and soon over; and I do the like myself occasionally; but I do abhor the idea of your starving the poor fellows! Being a good feeder myself, I feel pity for a famishing man. And so long as I have food for myself and men I divide it fairly with my prisoners. I never, under any circumstances, stint my prisoner; though sometimes, in the way of retaliation for some poor devil of a bushwhacker that you have strung up to a roadside tree, and to give my boys something to look at, and keep them in a good humor, I have to hang a Yankee!—Colonel, you smoke? Try one of those cigars; you will find them excellent. Yonder Scotch sutler is a good judge of tobacco and whiskey. I never met with better Habanas or better old Mononghahela than what we took from his wagon. Again I say it was a capital stroke of good fortune, the falling upon that sutler. Try one of these cigars, Colonel.”

“Thanks—no. I seldom smoke in the morning,” answered Justin, coldly.

“Here, Pearson, bring that parcel of newspapers that we took from the sutler’s wagon,” called Monck.

A soldier advanced from a remote part of the room, bringing in his arms a large bundle of papers, which he laid upon the table.

“Colonel Rosenthal, here are Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington papers. None of them are over two days old, and therefore as likely to be new to you as they were to me. Pray take them, and amuse yourself while I try to study out this cursed course on the map. You will remain here and dine with me to-day. And you will make yourself at home in the house, and within the limits of the camp consider yourself at liberty.”

Justin bowed, took up the parcel of papers, and withdrew to an unoccupied window seat to look over them.

And Monck resumed the study of his map, probably trying to make out the shortest and safest route to the rendezvous at the Black Bear’s Pass.

So several hours went by quietly enough.

Monck remained seated at the table, tracing lines on his map and making memoranda on his paper, or receiving reports and giving instructions to the officers and men who were continually coming and going.

Colonel Rosenthal remained in the window seat, occupied with his newspapers.

At length, about four o’clock in the afternoon, Monck impatiently arose from the table, and sweeping his maps and papers into a heap, exclaimed:

“Put all these things out of my sight. The more I puzzle myself over them, the more I addle my brains. And tell them to serve dinner immediately. I want it.”

Two of the men came forward and cleared the table, sweeping the things that were on top of it into a drawer below it. And then they went out to attend to the dinner.

Monck stretched his huge limbs, yawned like a clap of thunder, and began to walk heavily up and down the old floor, shaking the ricketty house as with the tread of an elephant.

Meanwhile his attendant soldiers came in and arranged the table for dinner, by spreading over it a white cloth, and placing upon it a miscellaneous assortment of cracked crockery ware and nicked cutlery.

Then they brought in the dishes—a boiled ham, a roast turkey, and vegetables, which, with a bottle of pale brandy and another of old rye whiskey, they sat upon the dinner table, after which they arranged a second course of pastries and jellies, and a dessert of fruits, nuts, and light wines on a side-table.

“Heaven bless the Scotch sutler!” exclaimed Monck, as he saw all these luxuries. “Come, Colonel, draw up to the table and help me to enjoy the good victuals set before us. Forget that we are foes, and let us be good fellows for once! What is that the Russian poet says?

‘When at the board let hate forget
The bitterest words of yesterday,
For where the bread and salt have met
All thoughts of hate should pass away.’

Come! do not let us be worse Christians than the Cossack! Sit up, sit up!” said Monck, placing a chair for himself and one for Colonel Rosenthal at the table.

Thus pressed, Justin laid aside his newspapers and came and seated himself at the board.

An orderly waited on the two officers.

Monck carved the turkey, and requested Colonel Rosenthal to cut the ham.

The orderly handed the plates, and the dinner commenced.

Monck, the guerrilla, is said never to have appeared to greater advantage than when seated at the head of his own table. He was really, as he had proclaimed himself to be, a good feeder. He was also a good drinker, and he enjoyed eating and drinking excessively, especially in the company of an agreeable companion, such as he was disposed to consider his prisoner.

Monck was obstinate and stolid, and disposed to enjoy himself; so he either would not, or could not, perceive that Colonel Rosenthal shared his society under protest, or had done so, rather; for now the Russian’s rhyme was running in Justin’s head, and somewhat modifying his feelings:

“Where the bread and salt are met
All thoughts of hate should pass away.”

The dinner was very protracted. The major, and of course his prisoner guest, lingered long over the first course, longer still over the second, and longest over the third; so that it was after six o’clock, and growing dark, when Monck called out to his attendants:

“Clear the table now; and bring us lights, and more brandy, and pipes, and tobacco. We’ll make a night of it!——And here! throw some more logs on to the fire. Let us have a roaring blaze!”

Monck’s orders were promptly obeyed. The table was cleared of the _debris_ of the dessert, and pipes, tobacco, cigars, brandy and whiskey set upon it; and two candles stuck into black bottles, were placed beside them. Lastly, four or five huge pine logs were thrown upon the fire, which now burst into a broad flame, illumining the whole room with a cheerful light.

Colonel Rosenthal, seeing these preparations for “making a night of it,” arose from his chair to leave the table.

But Monck, with friendly earnestness, laid his sledgehammer hand upon the prisoner guest’s shoulder and forced him back into his seat, saying cordially:

“No, no, no! Don’t often get a boon companion, and can’t let you go! You needn’t drink, since you don’t like it! but you have no German blood in you, as your name would indicate, if you don’t like a good smoke! Sit down and try some of these cigars.”

Thus pressed, Colonel Rosenthal resumed his seat.

An hour went by, during which the blazing wood-fire roared and crackled in the chimney, lighting up the whole room in which Monck and his prisoner sat at table—Monck smoking and drinking, his prisoner smoking and thinking.

Occasionally, as through the day, officers and men came to make reports and receive instructions and went away to execute orders. These were the only interruptions, and they were very brief ones. And at length these also ceased. The tattoo was beat, the guards set, and the camp subsided to repose, and the guerrilla chief and his guest were left in peace.

But not for any long time. Another hour was passing slowly by, when the stillness was broken by an unusual noise without.

Monck took the pipe from his mouth, and turned his head to listen.

The noise increased and became uproarious. A great clatter of horses’ hoofs, as from a large body of cavalry dashing into the camp, mingled with loud cries, oaths and curses, and a confusion of strange sounds, filled the air, and nearly deafened and bewildered those who tried to listen and understand.

“I’m blasted if I don’t think the Yankees have surprised the camp!” exclaimed Monck, starting to his feet to run out.

At the door he paused and turned suddenly to Justin, and saying:

“Remember your parole and stay where you are.” And then he rushed through the door, banging it after him.

Left to himself, Justin listened anxiously to the sounds without. Had the Union cavalry gained clue to Monck’s retreat and surprised his camp? He earnestly hoped that it might be so, and he closed his eyes and strained his ears to hear. And the noise continued in all its chaos and sounds, but it told him nothing definitely. And no one came into the room of whom he might make inquiries, for in the excitement of the hour every man was on the scene of action outside. And he himself was bound by his parole to remain where he was.

As he listened in keen anxiety and heavy suspense, he thought that the noise without was certainly not that of an engagement. There was no firing of shots, no ringing of steel, no sound of battle whatever. Only the prancing of horses and the yelling of men. Certainly if the confusion was caused by the onslaught of the Union cavalry, the guerrillas must have yielded without a blow. And that was scarcely a supposable case either with men of their fierce nature and reckless courage.

Still as he listened the noise began to subside; the horses ceased to prance, the men to yell. And then it occurred to Justin that all this excitement might have been kindled by the return of Monck’s own foragers from their late raid. Nothing more likely, he decided.

At length, when perhaps half an hour had passed, and quiet seemed to have been restored without, Major Monck re-entered the room, and resumed his seat at the table.

“May one inquire what all the noise was about?” questioned Justin.

“Oh, nothing in particular—nothing unusual—fortune of war,” answered Monck, evasively. Then raising his voice, he bawled out, “Here, Hoskins, bring two fresh candles. These are burning so low that they are about to slip down into the bottles.”

The man called Hoskins came in, bringing the required articles, and with the increase of light, Justin saw that a great change had passed over his host. The face of the guerrilla chief, always white and heavy, was now stern and set with some grim purpose.

“Throw more logs on the fire, Hoskins. It is nearly out,” he said, as he drummed thoughtfully on the table with his fat fingers.

Hoskins obeyed the order given him, and once more the fire blazed up.

“Now bring more brandy. Some of that Dry London Dock and Otard, mind you; and more cigars, some of the best,” he added.

The man sat two bottles and one parcel on the table, and then waited farther directions.

“You may go, now,” said Monck. And Hoskins left the room.

Justin looked at his host and wondered what had happened, and surmised that the foraging party must have come to bitter grief, so to have changed the aspect of this unimpressible man.

“I am sure that something unpleasant has occurred to you, Major,” said Justin.

“Oh, no, no—nothing at all but what we are used to,” replied Monck, who was in the act of drawing the cork from one of the brandy bottles. When he had done so, he poured out a large glass of brandy and pushed it towards his guest, and said:

“You have drank nothing, neither wine nor liquor, to-day. Oblige me by trying this fine old Otard.”

“Thanks, no. I would rather not,” answered Justin.

“Are you a member of the Total Abstinence Society, then?”

“Oh, no! I take a little brandy now and then, when I really need it,” replied Justin.

“You need it now, or you will need it before many minutes are over your head. I beg that you will drink,” insisted Monck without a smile on his face.

“Oh, well, if you make so strong a point of it. I am under no pledge,” replied Justin, laughing again as he raised the glass to his lips.

“That is right. It will brace you up,” said Monck And with that he filled a large tumbler with brandy for himself and tossed it off, and then another and another, until the bottle was empty.

The quantity of brandy that would have intoxicated almost any other man only steadied him. To use a common phrase, he was himself again—the same cold, cruel, sensual monster, who could order a poor wretch hung up by the neck to a tree before his tent; and have the door left open, so that while eating his breakfast he might enjoy the dying agonies of the victim. In a word, he was the same man that he was reported, but that Justin had never really believed him to be.

“Take a cigar, Colonel. I see that Hoskins has brought us a really good lot. Bless that Scotch sutler! Try this one. The sedative effects of good tobacco upon a man’s nerves is really incomparable,” said Monck, handing what he considered a choice cigar to Colonel Rosenthal, and then selecting and lighting one for himself.

They puffed away in silence for awhile, and then Monck removing his “weed” to knock the ashes off, looked intently upon the face of his companion and inquired:

“How do you feel, Colonel Rosenthal?”

“Quite well, thank you,” answered Justin, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

“That’s right! Pretty strongly braced up, eh?”

“Quite so!”

“Glad to know it. Able to bear a pretty severe shock?”

“I do not know. What do you mean?” exclaimed Justin, uneasily.

“Because I shall have to give you a devil of a shock presently.”

“In the name of Heaven what has happened? Have you any ill news of my friends?” anxiously inquired Colonel Rosenthal.

“No,” said Monck, coolly replacing the cigar in his mouth and drawing the end of it into a bright coal. “No; no ill news _of_ your friends! ill news _for_ your friends, however?”

“What do you mean, Major Monck?”

“Colonel Rosenthal, you are a brave man?” said Monck, semi-interrogatively.

“My friends think so.”

“And your foes _know_ so.”

Justin bowed his head in acknowledgment of this compliment.

“Well, Colonel Rosenthal, _as_ a brave man, you have no fear of death,” said Monck, coolly throwing away his stump of cigar and lighting another.

“At least I have faced it often enough,” replied Justin.

“And faced it fearlessly, no doubt.”

“I trust so. But really I do not know to what this talk is tending.”

“No, you really do not seem to know. And that is the worst of it. This breaking of bad news is a very difficult matter, especially when the hearer does not help the speaker by jumping half way to the conclusion. But to return to our mutton—our _dead_ mutton! So you have faced death, and faced it fearlessly; death in the field, and death in the hospital; death sharp and sudden as a sabre stroke, and death slow and painful as the gnawing of the worm that never dies!”

“I have looked upon death in all these aspects,” answered Colonel Rosenthal, gravely.

“And he has no terrors for you—

‘For come he slow or come he fast,
He is but death that comes at last,’

I suppose you think, eh, Colonel Rosenthal?”

“I have said so. But I would be glad to know why you press these questions upon me.”

“Now, do you see, I don’t think you would be glad to know? ‘Ignorance is bliss,’ my dear fellow, most especially in your case. Take some more brandy.”

“No, thanks; no more for me. Tell me to what all this talk tends, Major Monck.”

“‘Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, till you approve the deed,’ I _might_ say, only I can’t, because, you see, the ‘deed’ can’t be done without your knowledge, and, when it is done, you will be very far past ‘approving’ it!—Really, this Old London Dock is very much finer than the Otard. Let me persuade you to try it.”

“No! Tell me what you mean by this strange discourse.”

“Well, if you insist upon it, I will. Besides, it is really time to tell you. But light your cigar first. We can smoke while we talk. Well, then, I mean that I shall have to hang you in about an hour from this.”