Complete Works of Stephen Crane

by Stephen Crane

  “No one?”

  She lifted her eyes to him in that appeal that the human being must make even to falling trees, crashing bowlders, the sea in a storm, and said, “No, no, there is no one here.” He could plainly see her tremble.

  Of a sudden he bethought him that she continually kept her hands behind her. As he recalled her air when first discovered, he remembered she appeared precisely as a child detected at one of the crimes of childhood. Moreover, she had always backed away from him. He thought now that she was concealing something which was an evidence of the presence of the enemy in the house.

  “What are you holding behind you?” he said suddenly.

  She gave a little quick moan, as if some grim hand had throttled her.

  “What are you holding behind you?”

  “Oh, nothing — please. I am not holding anything behind me; indeed I’m not.”

  “Very well. Hold your hands out in front of you, then.”

  “Oh, indeed, I’m not holding anything behind me. Indeed, I’m not.”

  “Well,” he began. Then he paused, and remained for a moment dubious. Finally, he laughed. “Well, I shall have my men search the house, anyhow. I’m sorry to trouble you, but I feel sure that there is some one here whom we want.” He turned to the corporal, who with the other men was gaping quietly in at the door, and said, “Jones, go through the house.”

  As for himself, he remained planted in front of the girl, for she evidently did not dare to move and allow him to see what she held so carefully behind her back. So she was his prisoner.

  The men rummaged around on the ground floor of the house. Sometimes the captain called to them, “Try that closet,” “Is there any cellar?” But they found no one, and at last they went trooping toward the stairs which led to the second floor.

  But at this movement on the part of the men the girl uttered a cry — a cry of such fright and appeal that the men paused. “Oh, don’t go up there! Please don’t go up there! — ple — ease! There is no one there! Indeed — indeed there is not! Oh, ple — ease!”

  “Go on, Jones,” said the captain calmly.

  The obedient corporal made a preliminary step, and the girl bounded toward the stairs with another cry.

  As she passed him, the captain caught sight of that which she had concealed behind her back, and which she had forgotten in this supreme moment. It was a pistol.

  She ran to the first step, and standing there, faced the men, one hand extended with perpendicular palm, and the other holding the pistol at her side. “Oh, please, don’t go up there! Nobody is there — indeed, there is not! P-l-e-a-s-e!” Then suddenly she sank swiftly down upon the step, and, huddling forlornly, began to weep in the agony and with the convulsive tremors of an infant. The pistol fell from her fingers and rattled down to the floor.

  The astonished troopers looked at their astonished captain. There was a short silence.

  Finally, the captain stooped and picked up the pistol. It was a heavy weapon of the army pattern. He ascertained that it was empty.

  He leaned toward the shaking girl, and said gently, “Will you tell me what you were going to do with this pistol?”

  He had to repeat the question a number of times, but at last a muffled voice said, “Nothing.”

  “Nothing!” He insisted quietly upon a further answer. At the tender tones of the captain’s voice, the phlegmatic corporal turned and winked gravely at the man next to him.

  “Won’t you tell me?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “Please tell me!”

  The silent privates were moving their feet uneasily and wondering how long they were to wait.

  The captain said, “Please won’t you tell me?”

  Then this girl’s voice began in stricken tones half coherent, and amid violent sobbing: “It was grandpa’s. He — he — he said he was going to shoot anybody who came in here — he didn’t care if there were thousands of ‘em. And — and I know he would, and I was afraid they’d kill him. And so — and — so I stole away his pistol — and I was going to hide it when you — you — you kicked open the door.”

  The men straightened up and looked at each other. The girl began to weep again.

  The captain mopped his brow. He peered down at the girl. He mopped his brow again. Suddenly he said, “Ah, don’t cry like that.”

  He moved restlessly and looked down at his boots. He mopped his brow again.

  Then he gripped the corporal by the arm and dragged him some yards back from the others. “Jones,” he said, in an intensely earnest voice, “will you tell me what in the devil I am going to do?”

  The corporal’s countenance became illuminated with satisfaction at being thus requested to advise his superior officer. He adopted an air of great thought, and finally said: “Well, of course, the feller with the gray sleeve must be upstairs, and we must get past the girl and up there somehow. Suppose I take her by the arm and lead her — —”

  “What!” interrupted the captain from between his clinched teeth. As he turned away from the corporal, he said fiercely over his shoulder, “You touch that girl and I’ll split your skull!”

  III.

  The corporal looked after his captain with an expression of mingled amazement, grief, and philosophy. He seemed to be saying to himself that there unfortunately were times, after all, when one could not rely upon the most reliable of men. When he returned to the group he found the captain bending over the girl and saying, “Why is it that you don’t want us to search upstairs?”

  The girl’s head was buried in her crossed arms. Locks of her hair had escaped from their fastenings and these fell upon her shoulder.

  “Won’t you tell me?”

  The corporal here winked again at the man next to him.

  “Because,” the girl moaned—”because — there isn’t anybody up there.”

  The captain at last said timidly, “Well, I’m afraid — I’m afraid we’ll have to — —”

  The girl sprang to her feet again, and implored him with her hands. She looked deep into his eyes with her glance, which was at this time like that of the fawn when it says to the hunter, “Have mercy upon me!”

  These two stood regarding each other. The captain’s foot was on the bottom step, but he seemed to be shrinking. He wore an air of being deeply wretched and ashamed. There was a silence.

  Suddenly the corporal said in a quick, low tone, “Look out, captain!”

  All turned their eyes swiftly toward the head of the stairs. There had appeared there a youth in a gray uniform. He stood looking coolly down at them. No word was said by the troopers. The girl gave vent to a little wail of desolation, “O Harry!”

  He began slowly to descend the stairs. His right arm was in a white sling, and there were some fresh blood stains upon the cloth. His face was rigid and deathly pale, but his eyes flashed like lights. The girl was again moaning in an utterly dreary fashion, as the youth came slowly down toward the silent men in blue.

  Six steps from the bottom of the flight he halted and said, “I reckon it’s me you’re looking for.”

  The troopers had crowded forward a trifle and, posed in lithe, nervous attitudes, were watching him like cats. The captain remained unmoved. At the youth’s question he merely nodded his head and said, “Yes.”

  The young man in gray looked down at the girl, and then, in the same even tone which now, however, seemed to vibrate with suppressed fury, he said, “And is that any reason why you should insult my sister?”

  At this sentence, the girl intervened, desperately, between the young man in gray and the officer in blue. “Oh, don’t, Harry, don’t! He was good to me! He was good to me, Harry — indeed he was!”

  The youth came on in his quiet, erect fashion until the girl could have touched either of the men with her hand, for the captain still remained with his foot upon the first step. She continually repeated: “O Harry! O Harry!”

  The youth in gray man[oe]uvred to glare into the captain’s face, f
irst over one shoulder of the girl and then over the other. In a voice that rang like metal, he said: “You are armed and unwounded, while I have no weapons and am wounded; but — —”

  The captain had stepped back and sheathed his sabre. The eyes of these two men were gleaming fire, but otherwise the captain’s countenance was imperturbable. He said: “You are mistaken. You have no reason to — —”

  “You lie!”

  All save the captain and the youth in gray started in an electric movement. These two words crackled in the air like shattered glass. There was a breathless silence.

  The captain cleared his throat. His look at the youth contained a quality of singular and terrible ferocity, but he said in his stolid tone, “I don’t suppose you mean what you say now.”

  Upon his arm he had felt the pressure of some unconscious little fingers. The girl was leaning against the wall as if she no longer knew how to keep her balance, but those fingers — he held his arm very still. She murmured: “O Harry, don’t! He was good to me — indeed he was!”

  The corporal had come forward until he in a measure confronted the youth in gray, for he saw those fingers upon the captain’s arm, and he knew that sometimes very strong men were not able to move hand nor foot under such conditions.

  The youth had suddenly seemed to become weak. He breathed heavily and clung to the rail. He was glaring at the captain, and apparently summoning all his will power to combat his weakness. The corporal addressed him with profound straightforwardness, “Don’t you be a derned fool!” The youth turned toward him so fiercely that the corporal threw up a knee and an elbow like a boy who expects to be cuffed.

  The girl pleaded with the captain. “You won’t hurt him, will you? He don’t know what he’s saying. He’s wounded, you know. Please don’t mind him!”

  “I won’t touch him,” said the captain, with rather extraordinary earnestness; “don’t you worry about him at all. I won’t touch him!”

  Then he looked at her, and the girl suddenly withdrew her fingers from his arm.

  The corporal contemplated the top of the stairs, and remarked without surprise, “There’s another of ’em coming!”

  An old man was clambering down the stairs with much speed. He waved a cane wildly. “Get out of my house, you thieves! Get out! I won’t have you cross my threshold! Get out!” He mumbled and wagged his head in an old man’s fury. It was plainly his intention to assault them.

  And so it occurred that a young girl became engaged in protecting a stalwart captain, fully armed, and with eight grim troopers at his back, from the attack of an old man with a walking-stick!

  A blush passed over the temples and brow of the captain, and he looked particularly savage and weary. Despite the girl’s efforts, he suddenly faced the old man.

  “Look here,” he said distinctly, “we came in because we had been fighting in the woods yonder, and we concluded that some of the enemy were in this house, especially when we saw a gray sleeve at the window. But this young man is wounded, and I have nothing to say to him. I will even take it for granted that there are no others like him upstairs. We will go away, leaving your d —— d old house just as we found it! And we are no more thieves and rascals than you are!”

  The old man simply roared: “I haven’t got a cow nor a pig nor a chicken on the place! Your soldiers have stolen everything they could carry away. They have torn down half my fences for firewood. This afternoon some of your accursed bullets even broke my window panes!”

  The girl had been faltering: “Grandpa! O grandpa!”

  The captain looked at the girl. She returned his glance from the shadow of the old man’s shoulder. After studying her face a moment, he said, “Well, we will go now.” He strode toward the door and his men clanked docilely after him.

  At this time there was the sound of harsh cries and rushing footsteps from without. The door flew open, and a whirlwind composed of blue-coated troopers came in with a swoop. It was headed by the lieutenant. “Oh, here you are!” he cried, catching his breath. “We thought —— Oh, look at the girl!”

  The captain said intensely, “Shut up, you fool!”

  The men settled to a halt with a clash and a bang. There could be heard the dulled sound of many hoofs outside of the house.

  “Did you order up the horses?” inquired the captain.

  “Yes. We thought — —”

  “Well, then, let’s get out of here,” interrupted the captain morosely.

  The men began to filter out into the open air. The youth in gray had been hanging dismally to the railing of the stairway. He now was climbing slowly up to the second floor. The old man was addressing himself directly to the serene corporal.

  “Not a chicken on the place!” he cried.

  “Well, I didn’t take your chickens, did I?”

  “No, maybe you didn’t, but — —”

  The captain crossed the hall and stood before the girl in rather a culprit’s fashion. “You are not angry at me, are you?” he asked timidly.

  “No,” she said. She hesitated a moment, and then suddenly held out her hand. “You were good to me — and I’m — much obliged.”

  The captain took her hand, and then he blushed, for he found himself unable to formulate a sentence that applied in any way to the situation.

  She did not seem to heed that hand for a time.

  He loosened his grasp presently, for he was ashamed to hold it so long without saying anything clever. At last, with an air of charging an intrenched brigade, he contrived to say, “I would rather do anything than frighten or trouble you.”

  His brow was warmly perspiring. He had a sense of being hideous in his dusty uniform and with his grimy face.

  She said, “Oh, I’m so glad it was you instead of somebody who might have — might have hurt brother Harry and grandpa!”

  He told her, “I wouldn’t have hurt ’em for anything!”

  There was a little silence.

  “Well, good-bye!” he said at last.

  “Good-bye!”

  He walked toward the door past the old man, who was scolding at the vanishing figure of the corporal. The captain looked back. She had remained there watching him.

  At the bugle’s order, the troopers standing beside their horses swung briskly into the saddle. The lieutenant said to the first sergeant:

  “Williams, did they ever meet before?”

  “Hanged if I know!”

  “Well, say — —”

  The captain saw a curtain move at one of the windows. He cantered from his position at the head of the column and steered his horse between two flower beds.

  “Well, good-bye!”

  The squadron trampled slowly past.

  “Good-bye!”

  They shook hands.

  He evidently had something enormously important to say to her, but it seems that he could not manage it. He struggled heroically. The bay charger, with his great mystically solemn eyes, looked around the corner of his shoulder at the girl.

  The captain studied a pine tree. The girl inspected the grass beneath the window. The captain said hoarsely, “I don’t suppose — I don’t suppose — I’ll ever see you again!”

  She looked at him affrightedly and shrank back from the window. He seemed to have woefully expected a reception of this kind for his question. He gave her instantly a glance of appeal.

  She said, “Why, no, I don’t suppose we will.”

  “Never?”

  “Why, no, ‘tain’t possible. You — you are a — Yankee!”

  “Oh, I know it, but — —” Eventually he continued, “Well, some day, you know, when there’s no more fighting, we might — —” He observed that she had again withdrawn suddenly into the shadow, so he said, “Well, good-bye!”

  When he held her fingers she bowed her head, and he saw a pink blush steal over the curves of her cheek and neck.

  “Am I never going to see you again?”

  She made no reply.

  “Never?” he rep
eated.

  After a long time, he bent over to hear a faint reply: “Sometimes — when there are no troops in the neighbourhood — grandpa don’t mind if I — walk over as far as that old oak tree yonder — in the afternoons.”

  It appeared that the captain’s grip was very strong, for she uttered an exclamation and looked at her fingers as if she expected to find them mere fragments. He rode away.

  The bay horse leaped a flower bed. They were almost to the drive, when the girl uttered a panic-stricken cry.

  The captain wheeled his horse violently and upon his return journey went straight through a flower bed.

  The girl had clasped her hands. She beseeched him wildly with her eyes. “Oh, please, don’t believe it! I never walk to the old oak tree. Indeed, I don’t! I never — never — never walk there.”

  The bridle drooped on the bay charger’s neck. The captain’s figure seemed limp. With an expression of profound dejection and gloom he stared off at where the leaden sky met the dark green line of the woods. The long-impending rain began to fall with a mournful patter, drop and drop. There was a silence.

  At last a low voice said, “Well — I might — sometimes I might — perhaps — but only once in a great while — I might walk to the old tree — in the afternoons.”

  THE VETERAN.

  Out of the low window could be seen three hickory trees placed irregularly in a meadow that was resplendent in springtime green. Farther away, the old, dismal belfry of the village church loomed over the pines. A horse meditating in the shade of one of the hickories lazily swished his tail. The warm sunshine made an oblong of vivid yellow on the floor of the grocery.

  “Could you see the whites of their eyes?” said the man who was seated on a soap box.

  “Nothing of the kind,” replied old Henry warmly. “Just a lot of flitting figures, and I let go at where they ‘peared to be the thickest. Bang!”

  “Mr. Fleming,” said the grocer — his deferential voice expressed somehow the old man’s exact social weight—”Mr. Fleming, you never was frightened much in them battles, was you?”