The Way of a Man

by Emerson Hough

  CHAPTER XLIII

  THE RECKONING

  So it was war. We drew apart into hostile camps. By midwinter SouthCarolina, Mississippi, Georgia, Alabama, Florida, Louisiana, Texas, hadwithdrawn from the Union. There arose two capitals, each claiming agovernment, each planning war: Washington and Richmond.

  As for me, I had seen the flag on our far frontiers, in wide, freelands. It was a time when each must choose for himself. I knew with whommy own lot must be cast. I pledged myself to follow the flag of thefrontier, wherever it might go.

  During the winter I busied myself, and when the gun of Sumpter came onthat sad day of April, I was ready with a company of volunteers who hadknown some months of drill, at least, and who had been good enough toelect me for their captain. Most of my men came from the mountains ofWestern Virginia, where geography made loyalty, and loyalty later made aState. I heard, remotely, that Colonel Meriwether would not join theConfederacy. Some men of Western Virginia and Eastern Kentucky remainedwith the older flag. Both the Sheratons, the old Colonel and his sonHarry, were of course for the South, and early in January they both lefthome for Richmond. On the other hand, again, our friend CaptainStevenson stood for the Federal government; and so I heard, alsoindirectly, did young Belknap of the Ninth Dragoons, Regulars, a gallantboy who swiftly reached distinction, and died a gallant man's death atShiloh later on.

  My mother, all for peace, was gray and silent over these hurryingevents. She wept when she saw me in uniform and belt. "See," she said,"we freed our slaves long ago. We thought as the North thinks. This waris not for the Society of Friends." But she saw my father's blood in meagain, and sighed. "Go, then," she said.

  All over the country, North and South, came the same sighed consent ofthe women, "Go, then." And so we went out to kill each other, we whoshould all have been brothers. None of us would listen. The armiesformed, facing each other on Virginia soil. Soon in our trampled fields,and broken herds, and ruined crops, in our desolated homes and hearts,we, brothers in America, learned the significance of war.

  They crossed our little valley, passing through Alexandria, coming fromHarper's Ferry, these raw ninety-day men of McDowell and Patterson, whothought to end the Confederacy that spring. Northern politics drove theminto battle before they had learned arms. By midsummer all the worldknew that they would presently encounter, somewhere near Manassas, tothe south and west, the forces of Beauregard and Johnston, then lyingwithin practical touch of each other by rail.

  My men, most of them young fellows used to horse and arms, were brigadedas infantry with one of the four divisions of McDowell's men, whoconverged along different lines toward Fairfax. For nearly a week we laynear the front of the advance, moving on in snail-like fashion, whichill-suited most of us Virginians, who saw no virtue in postponing fight,since we were there for fighting. We scattered our forces, we did notunite, we did not entrench, we did not advance; we made all the mistakesa young army could, worst of all the mistake of hesitancy.

  It was not until the twentieth of July that our leaders determined upona flanking movement to our right, which was to cross Bull Run at theSudley Ford. Even so, we dallied along until every one knew our plans.Back of us, the battle opened on the following day, a regiment at atime, with no concert, no _plan_. My men were with this right wing,which made the turning movement, but four brigades in all. Four otherbrigades, those of Howard, Burnside, Keyes and Schenck, were lostsomewhere to the rear of us. Finally, we crossed and reached the leftflank of the Confederates under Beauregard, and swung south along BullRun. Our attack was scattering and ill-planned, but by three o'clock ofthe next day we were in the thickest of the fighting around the slopeswhich led up to the Henry House, back of which lay the Confederateheadquarters.

  I saw the batteries of Rickett and Griffin of our Regulars advance andtake this height against the steadily thickening line of theConfederates, who had now had full time to concentrate. There came a hotcavalry charge upon the Zouave regiment on my left, and I saw theZouaves lie down in the woods and melt the line of that charge withtheir fire, and save the battery for a time. Then in turn I saw thatblunder by which the battery commander allowed Cummings' men--theThirty-third Virginia, I think it was--deliberately to march withinstone's throw of them, mistaken for Federal troops. I saw them pour avolley at short range into the guns, which wiped out their handlers, andlet through the charging lines now converging rapidly upon us. Then,though it was but my first battle, I knew that our movement must fail,that our extended line, lying upon nothing, supported by nothing, mustroll back in retreat along a trough road, where the horses and gunswould mow us down.

  Stuart's men came on, riding through us as we broke and scattered.Wheat's Louisiana Tigers came through our remnants as well. We had nosupport. We did not know that back of the hill the Confederate recruitswere breaking badly as ourselves, and running to the rear. We were allnew in war. We of the invading forces caught the full terror of thatawful panic which the next day set the North in mourning, and the Southaflame with a red exultation.

  All around us our lines wavered, turned and fled. But to some, who knewthe danger of the country back of us, it seemed safer to stay than torun. To that fact I owe my life, and at least a little satisfaction thatsome of us Virginians held our line for a time, even against those otherVirginians who came on at us.

  We were scattered in a thin line in cover of heavy timber, and when thepursuit came over us we killed a score of their men after they hadpassed. Such was the confusion and the madness of the pursuit, that theyrolled beyond our broken line like a wave, scarce knowing we were there.Why I escaped I do not know, for I was now easily visible, mounted on ahorse which I had caught as it came through the wood riderless. I waspassing along our little front, up and down, as best I could in thetangle.

  The pursuit went through us strung out, scattered, as disorganized asour own flight. They were practically over us and gone when, as I rodeto the right flank of the remaining splinter of my little company, Isaw, riding down upon us, a splendid soldier, almost alone, andapparently endeavoring to reach his command after some delay at therear. He was mounted on a fine horse--a great black animal. His tallfigure was clad in the gray uniform of the Confederates, with a blackhat sweeping back from his forehead. He wore cavalry boots and deepgauntleted gloves, and in all made a gallant martial figure as he rode.A few of our men, half witless with their terror, crossed his path. Isaw him half rise, once, twice, four times, standing in the stirrups toenforce his saber cuts, each one of which dropped a man. He and hishorse moved together, a splendid engine of ruthless, butchery.

  "Look out, Cap!" I heard a squeaking voice behind me call, and lookingdown, I saw one of my men, his left arm hanging loose, resting his gunacross a log with his right. "Git out 'o the way," he repeated. "I'mgoin' to kill him." It was that new-made warrior, Andrew JacksonMcGovern, who had drifted back into our valley from some place, andjoined my company soon after its organization. I ordered the boy now todrop his gun. "Leave him alone!" I cried. "He belongs to me."

  It was Gordon Orme. At last, fate had relented for me. My enemy was athand. No man but Orme could thus ride my old horse, Satan. Now I sawwhere the horse had gone, and who it was that owned him, and why Ormewas here.

  I rode out to meet him. The keenness of the coming, encounter for thetime almost caused me to forget my anger. I seem never to have thoughtbut that fate had brought me there for that one purpose. He saw meadvance, and whirled in my direction, eager as myself; and presently Isaw also that he recognized me, as I did him.

  This is to be said of Gordon Orme, that he feared no man or thing onearth. He smiled at me now, showing his long, narrow teeth, as he came,lightly twirling his long blade. Two pistols lay in my holsters, andboth were freshly loaded, but without thought I had drawn my sword for aweapon, I suppose because he was using his. He was a master of thesword, I but a beginner with it.

  We rode straight in, and I heard the whistle of his blade as he circledit about his head like a band of ligh
t. As we joined he made a cut tothe left, easily, gently, as he leaned forward; but it came with suchswiftness that had it landed I doubt not my neck would have been shornlike a robin's. But at least I could ride as well as he or any otherman. I dropped and swerved, pulling out of line a few inches as wepassed. My own blow, back-handed, was fruitless as his.

  We wheeled and came on again, and yet again, and each time he put me ondefense, and each time I learned more of what was before me to do. Myold servant, Satan, was now his servant, and the great black horse wassavage against me as was his rider. Wishing nothing so much as to killhis own rival, he came each time with his ears back and his mouth open,wicked in the old blood lust that I knew. It was the fury of his horsethat saved me, I suppose, for as that mad beast bored in, striving tooverthrow my own horse, the latter would flinch away in spite of all Icould do, so that I needed to give him small attention when we met inthese short, desperate charges. I escaped with nothing more than a ripacross the shoulder, a touch on the cheek, on the arm, where his pointreached me lightly, as my horse swerved away from the encounters. Icould not reach Orme at all.

  At last, I know not how, we clashed front on, and his horse bore mineback, with a scream fastening his teeth in the crest of my mount, as adog seizes his prey. I saw Orme's sword turn lightly, easily againaround his head, saw his wrist turn gently, smoothly down and extend ina cut which was aimed to catch me full across the head. There was noparry I could think, but the full counter in kind. My blade met his witha shock that jarred my arm to the shoulder.

  I saw him give back, pull off his mad horse and look at his hand, wherehis own sword was broken off, a foot above the hilt. Smiling, he salutedwith it, reigning back his horse, and no more afraid of me than if Iwere a child. He did not speak, nor did I. I pulled up my own horse, notwishing to take the advantage that now was mine, but knowing that hewould not yield--that I must kill him.

  He did so at his own peril who took Orme for a dullard. I watched himclosely. He saluted again with his broken sword, and made as though totoss it from him, as indeed he did. Then like a flash his hand droppedto his holster.

  I read his thought, I presume, when he made his second salute. Hismotion of tossing away the sword hilt gave me the fraction of time whichsometimes is the difference between life and death. Our fire was almostat the same instant, but not quite. His bullet cut the epaulet cleanfrom my left shoulder; but he did not fire again, nor did I. I saw himstraighten up in his saddle, precisely as I had once seen an Indianchieftain do under Orme's own fire. He looked at me with a startledexpression on his face.

  At that moment there came from the edge of the woods the crack of amusket. The great horse Satan pitched his head forward and dropped limp,sinking to his knees. As he rolled he caught his rider under him. Imyself sprung down, shouting out some command toward the edge of thewood, that they should leave this man to me.

  Whether my men heard me or not I do not know. Perhaps they heard ratherthe hoarse shouts of a fresh column in gray which came up in thepursuit, fagged with its own running. When these new men passed me allthey saw was a bit of wood torn with shot and ball, and in the open twofigures, both dusty and gray, one helping the other from what seemed tobe a fall of his horse. Scenes like that were common. We were notdisturbed by the men of either side. We were alone presently, GordonOrme and I.

  I stooped and caught hold of the hind leg of the great black horse, andeven as I had once turned a dead bull, so now I turned this carcass onits back. I picked up the fallen rider and carried him to the woods, andthere I propped his body against a tree. Slowly he opened his eyes, evenpulled himself up more fully against the support.

  "Thank you, old man," he said. "The horse was deucedly heavy--spoiledthat leg, I think." He pointed to his boot, where his foot lay turned toone side. "I suffer badly. Be a good fellow and end it."

  I answered him by tossing down one of his own pistols, both of which Ihad secured against need. He looked at it, but shook his head.

  "Let's talk it over a bit first," he said. "I'm done. I'll not make anytrouble. Did you ever know me to break parole?"

  "No," said I, and I threw down the other weapon on the ground. "Inmercy to us both, Orme, die. I do not want to kill you now; and youshall not live."

  "I'm safe enough," he said. "It's through the liver and stomach. I can'tpossibly get over it."

  He stared straight ahead of him, as though summoning his will."_Swami_!" I heard him mutter, as though addressing some one.

  "There, that's better," he said finally. He sat almost erect, smiling atme. "It is _Asana_, the art of posture," he said. "I rest my body on myribs, my soul on the air. Feel my heart."

  I did so, and drew away my hand almost in terror. It stopped beating athis will, and began again! His uncanny art was still under his control!

  "I shall be master here for a little while," he said. "So--I move thosehurt organs to ease the flow. But I can't stop the holes, nor mend them.We can't get at the tissues to sew them fast. After a while I shalldie." He spoke clearly, with utter calmness, dispassionately. I neversaw his like among men.

  I stood by him silently. He put his own hand on his chest. "Poor oldheart," he said. "Feel it work! Enormous pumping engine, tremendousthing, the heart. Think what it does in seventy years--and all forwhat--that we may live and enjoy, and so maybe die. What few minutes Ihave now I owe to having trained what most folk call an involuntarymuscle. I command my heart to beat, and so it does."

  I looked down at a strange, fascinating soul, a fearsome personality,whose like I never knew in all my life.

  "Will you make me a promise?" he said, smiling at me, mocking at me.

  "No," I answered.

  "I was going to ask you, after my death to take my heart and send itback to my people at Orme Castle, Gordon Arms, in England--you knowwhere. It would be a kindness to the family." I gazed at him in a sortof horror, but he smiled and went on. "We're mediaeval to-day as ever wewere. Some of us are always making trouble, one corner or the other ofthe world, and until the last Gordon heart comes home to rest, there'sno peace for that generation. Hundreds of years, they've traveled allover the world, and been lost, and stolen, and hidden. My father's islost now, somewhere. Had it come back home to rest, my own life mighthave been different. I say, Cowles, couldn't you do that for me? We'venearly always had some last friend that would--we Gordons."

  "I would do nothing for you as a favor," I answered.

  "Then do it because it is right. I'd rather it should be you. You've awrist like steel, and a mind like steel when you set yourself to do athing."

  "I say, old man," he went on, a trifle weary now, "you've won. I'm jollywell accounted for, and it was fair. I hope they'll not bag you when youtry to get out of this. But won't you promise what I've asked? Won't youpromise?"

  It is not for me to say whether or not I made a promise to Gordon Orme,or to say whether or not things mediaeval or occult belong with usto-day. Neither do I expect many to believe the strange truth aboutGordon Orme. I only say it is hard to deny those about to die.

  "Orme," I said, "I wish you had laid out your life differently. You area wonderful man."

  "The great games," he smiled--"sport, love, war!" Then his facesaddened. "I say, have you kept your other promise to me?" he asked."Did you marry that girl--what was her name--Miss Sheraton?"

  "Miss Sheraton is dead."

  "Married?" he asked.

  "No. She died within two months after the night I caught you in theyard. I should have killed you then, Orme."

  He nodded. "Yes, but at least I showed some sort of remorse--the firsttime, I think. Not a bad sort, that girl, but madly jealous. Fightingblood, I imagine, in that family!"

  "Yes," I said, "her father and brother and I, all three, swore the sameoath."

  "The same spirit was in the girl," he said, nodding again."Revenge--that was what she wanted. That's why it all happened. It waswhat _I_ wanted, too! You blocked me with the only woman--"

  "Do not speak her nam
e," I said to him, quietly. "The nails on yourfingers are growing blue, Orme. Go with some sort of squaring of yourown accounts. Try to think."

  He shrugged a shoulder. "My Swami said we do not die--we only changeworlds or forms. What! I, Gordon Orme, to be blotted out--to lose mymind and soul and body and senses--not to be able to _enjoy_. No,Cowles, somewhere there are other worlds, with women in them. I do notdie--I transfer." But sweat stood on his forehead.

  "As to going, no ways are better than this," he mused, presently. "Iswear I'm rather comfortable now; a trifle numb--but we--I say, we mustall--all go some time, you know. Did you hear me?" he repeated, smiling."I was just saying that we must all go, one way or another, you know."

  "I heard you," I said. "You are going now."

  "Yes," he admitted, "one can't hold together forever under a pull likethis. You're an awfully decent sort. Give me a bit of paper. I want towrite." I found him a pencil and some pages of my notebook.

  "To please you, I'll try to square some things," he said. "You've beenso deuced square and straight with me, all along. I'm--I'm Gordon, now,I'm English. Word of a fighting man, my--my _friend_."

  He leaned forward, peering down at the paper as though he did notclearly see; but he wrote slowly for a time, absorbed in thought.

  In all the death scenes which our country knew in thousands during thoseyears, I doubt if any more unbelievable than this ever had occurrence. Isaw the blood soaking all his garments, lying black on the ground abouthim. I saw his face grow gray and his nails grow blue, his pallor deepenas the veins lost their contents. I saw him die. But I swear that hestill sat there, calm as though he did not suffer, and forced his bodyto do his will. And--though I ask a rough man's pardon for intruding myown beliefs--since he used his last superb reserves to leave the truthbehind him, I myself thought that there must be somewhere an undyinginstinct of truth and justice, governing even such as Gordon Orme; yes,I hope, governing such as myself as well. Since then I have felt thatsomewhere there must be a great religion written on the earth and in thesky. As to what this could offer in peace to Gordon Orme I do not say.His was a vast debt. Perhaps Truth never accepted it as paid. I do notknow.

  There he sat, at last smiling again as he looked up. "Fingers gettingdreadfully stiff. Tongue will go next. Muscles still under the power fora little time. Here, take this. You're going to live, and this is theonly thing--it'll make you miserable, but happy, too. Good-by. I'll notstop longer, I think."

  Like a flash his hand shot out to the weapon that lay near him on theground. I shrank back, expecting the ball full in my face. Instead, itpassed through his own brain!

  His will was broken as that physical instrument, the brain, wonder seatof the mysteries of the mind, was rent apart. His splendid mind nolonger ruled his splendid body. His body itself, relaxing, sank forward,his head at one side, his hand dropping limp. A smile drew down thecorner of his mouth--a smile horrible in its pathos; mocking, and yetbeseeching.

  * * * * *

  At last I rubbed the blood from my own face and stooped to read what hehad written. Then I thanked God that he was dead, knowing how impossibleit would have been elsewise for me to stay my hand. These were thewords:

  "I, Gordon Orme, dying July 21, 1861, confess that I killed John Cowles, Senior, in the month of April, 1860, at the road near Wallingford. I wanted the horse, but had to kill Cowles. Later took the money. I was a secret agent, detailed for work among U.S. Army men.

  "I, Gordon Orme, having seduced Grace Sheraton, asked John Cowles to marry her to cover up that act.

  "I, Gordon Orme, appoint John Cowles my executor. I ask him to fulfill last request. I give him what property I have on my person for his own. Further, I say not; and being long ago held as dead, I make no bequests as to other property whatsoever.--Gordon Orme. In Virginia, U.S.A."

  It was he, then, who had in cold blood killed my father! That horridriddle at last was read. In that confession I saw only his intent togive me his last touch of misery and pain. It was some moments before Icould read all the puzzle of his speech, half of which had promised mewretchedness, and half happiness. Then slowly I realized what I held inmy hand. It was the proof of his guilt, of my innocence. He had robbedme of my father. He had given me--what? At least he had given me achance. Perhaps Ellen Meriwether would believe!

  * * * * *

  It was my duty to care for the personal belongings of Gordon Orme; butregarding these matters a soldier does not care to speak. I took fromhis coat a long, folded leather book. It was hours later, indeed latethe following morning, before I looked into it. During the night I wasbusy making my escape from that fated field. As I came from the rear,mounted, I was supposed to be of the Confederate forces, and so I gotthrough the weary and scattered columns of pursuit, already overloadedwith prisoners. By morning I was far on my way toward the Potomac. ThenI felt in my pockets, and opened the wallet I had found en Orme's body.

  It held various memoranda, certain writings in cipher, others in foreigncharacters, pieces of drawings, maps and the like, all of which Idestroyed. It contained also, in thin foreign notes, a sum large beyondthe belief of what an ordinary officer would carry into battle; and thismoney, for the time, I felt justified in retaining.

  Orme was no ordinary officer. He had his own ways, and his own errand.His secret, however great it was--and at different times I have hadreason to believe that men high in power on both sides knew how great itwas, and how important to be kept a secret--never became fully known. Inall likelihood it was not his business actually to join in the fightingranks. But so at least it happened that his secret went into the unknownwith himself. He was lost as utterly as though he were a dark visionpassing into a darker and engulfing night. If I learned more than mostregarding him, I am not free to speak. He named no heirs beyond myself.I doubt not it was his wish that he should indeed be held as one wholong ago had died.

  Should Gordon Orme arise from his grave and front me now, I shouldhardly feel surprise, for mortal conditions scarce seem to give hisdimensions. But should I see him now, I should fear him no more thanwhen I saw him last. His page then was closed in my life forever. It wasnot for me to understand him. It is not for me to judge him.