“Now, now,” he said, turning around now and grinning. McBurney was like Marie in that way. It always seemed to put a spark of life in him if he thought he was annoying someone. “I was only foolin a bit, Emily dear, but tell me, can’t they ever find replacements for wounded men in your Pa’s army?”
“It’s very difficult nowadays,” I admitted. “My father’s own regiment is now less than half the size it was before Gettysburg.” And immediately I was sorry I had said that. It was not the sort of information to be entrusted to someone like McBurney. But then I also thought, what difference does it make? Our boys will always compensate in spirit for what they lack in numbers. And McBurney isn’t going to leave us in the near future anyway, I thought—because that’s the way it seemed then—and when he does go, he isn’t going to be eager to return to his army. Also by that time the tide will very likely have turned in our direction.
And so, foolishly, I told him more. It was partly to take his mind off his own troubles, I guess, and partly to show him that we could be completely realistic about our problems, facing them squarely and surmounting them so that we were bound to win in spite of them.
When I was home last Christmas, my Daddy explained the whole situation to me. Since my brothers have been gone my mother is upset by any talk of war, so Daddy really has no one else but me at home to discuss his troubles with and since I was a most willing listener I really learned a lot last Christmas about our military situation.
For example Daddy made me understand how important it was that our armies remain intact and mobile. Even though the Yankees do outnumber us now, they will never defeat us, according to Daddy, if they can’t pin us down. And if we can just hold out a while longer, Daddy says, the Yankees will exhaust themselves. Also, it’s well known how much dissension there is in the North. Very many of the natives up there are sick and tired of this war which that insane Mister Lincoln forced on them. Even the Yankee troops are becoming disgusted and, well fed and well armed though they may be, hundreds of them are deserting every day. Therefore, says Daddy, all we need to do is hang together, never let them get us into a corner, conserve our strength and wait for just the right moment. Then bang! Up through Maryland and Pennsylvania we’ll go again and this time they’ll never stop us.
“When does your Pa think this will likely happen?” Johnny asked after I had explained it to him.
“Soon now, very soon. In fact,” I said, “Daddy has a plan all worked out for such a venture and he may be presenting it to General Lee very shortly, if he hasn’t done so already.”
“Will he dig a tunnel from the Potomac to the Hudson or what?”
Well I told him all I knew about my father’s plan. It was very imprudent, I realize now, and I don’t believe I ever would have gone so far had not Johnny been exhibiting such a sneering and sarcastic attitude, even though at that time there seemed no harm in telling him.
I explained that the success of the plan would depend on General Grant’s being kept occupied in front of Richmond while a small striking force led by my father, General Stevenson, would slip in behind them, cross the Potomac quickly—avoiding the enemy strongpoints—and then rush up through Maryland to the Yankee capital where they would proceed to burn it before any force could be organized to stop them. My Daddy’s feeling is that the Yankee civilian population would be so demoralized by such a catastrophe that the whole country would just rise up and demand an immediate end to this war which they have started.
And the more I talked the more I told. Maybe for bragging as much as any other reason, I went ahead and reported to McBurney everything my father had told me . . . the route of march he was suggesting, the places where they could safely cross the Rappahannock and the Potomac, even the identities and locations of some reliable people on the way whom my father thought could be relied upon to supply information and possibly even food and shelter for his band. Of course, Daddy didn’t tell even me the exact addresses of these people. It was more like . . . a farmer he’d heard about who lived near a Rappahannock ford and had lost two sons to the Yankees at Malvern Hill . . . or a man in Alexandria whose brother the Yankees had hanged for spying. Not exact names and descriptions of those people, you see, but still close enough so that a determined enemy could certainly find them.
Well I must say McBurney listened to it all with little show of enthusiasm. “It’s been thought of before,” said he when I finished. “I’ll bet a bob there ain’t an officer in the rebel army above the rank of major who hasn’t at one time or another dreamed of makin himself famous by burning Washington.”
“My father isn’t out for personal glory,” I answered him hotly.
“Oh I’m sure not. I wasn’t referrin to him, only to the common run of rebel officers. Well your father can burn the whole shebang, from the Potomac to the Hudson, for all o’ me. Just tell him to leave one boat in the Bay of New York so’s I can get back home, if he doesn’t mind.”
“The difference between Daddy’s plan and the others—if there have been others—is that his is very carefully worked out. He has these contacts I’ve mentioned, people behind the Union lines who’re ready to help him.”
“How’d he hear about these people?”
“I don’t know. Possibly the information was given him by some disgruntled prisoners he captured—boys like yourself, who may have been very dissatisfied with the state of things in the North.”
“You can’t always trust fellas like that, you know,” Johnny said and looked away from me again. I’ve been thinking lately that was the most honest statement he made while he was here, and perhaps the only one.
Anyway I left him then, thinking no more at that time of the potentially dangerous news I had disclosed to him. I went back out to the stable with my measurements and continued to work on the crutches, hoping to have them finished by the time he was ready to use them—or rather when Miss Martha was ready to let him risk using them.
And I just about managed to meet that deadline, notwithstanding an ever-increasing number of saw and nail scratches and an uncountable amount of bruised fingers I suffered, many of which were inflicted on me by Miss Amelia on those occasions when I gave in to her entreaties and let her use the hammer while I held the nail. It is my belief—unprovable unfortunately—that several and perhaps all of her misdirected blows did not happen accidentally. Amelia is too agile a little creature, it seems to me, to ever do anything like that without intention.
At any rate the crutches were finished and brought to Miss Martha for inspection. Miss Martha was rather doubtful about them. I must admit, but I tried to calm her fears.
“I believe they may prove a deal sturdier than they appear, Miss Martha,” I said. “Just look here.” And I demonstrated their strength by hopping about the room on them, rather awkwardly, of course, since they were too large for me.
“Well I guess I have no objections,” Miss Martha finally said, “as long as they satisfy Mister McBurney. I suppose he can always improve them if he likes.”
I thought privately that McBurney ought to be very thankful to be getting such a nice gift and went quietly ahead with a little plan I had devised for presenting the crutches to him.
Now I know the event has been labeled The Great Crutch Presentation Ceremony by some people here who chose to mock it, but actually there was very little formal ceremony attached to it. In brief what I did was recruit all the students after dinner for a few moments’ instruction—one person in particular whose first name like my own begins with E was a very unwilling participant I can tell you—and then together with our teachers and old Mattie we proceeded to the parlor and stood in formation in front of Corporal McBurney’s settee—or rather the others did. I sent the others in advance, you see—Mattie first, and then the students in descending order of their age and then our teachers by rank—while I waited in the hall until they were all in a row and then I entered, bearing the crutches, to a place midway between th
e group and Corporal McBurney.
There was some childish and uncalled for snickering in the line as I came in and out of the corner of my eye I noted Marie Deveraux, who with Mattie stood at one end, with her right leg drawn back a bit—all ready. I was certain, to throw it out in an attempt to trip me as I went past. Unfortunately for this dirty scheme, however, I halted before I reached her and wheeled around and stood in silence for a moment until I had a reasonable amount of attention—all you could ever get in this place—before beginning to make a few remarks I had prepared.
Well I won’t go into those remarks—I can’t remember half of them now anyway—except to say that they were on the general subject of patriotism and self-sacrifice, with a few allusions to great military heroes of history, especially those who had been wounded in combat. The whole thing was ruined anyway by the tittering and giggling in the ranks behind me.
“Present crutches,” whispered Marie. “Right shoulder crutch—left shoulder crutch!” And she went on with other such annoying and disgusting comments like that. Miss Martha and Miss Harriet did try to shush her but of course their shushing was as much an interruption as Marie’s nasty comments.
“I think we had better end the speech, Miss Emily,” said Miss Martha before I was scarcely into it, when order became increasingly difficult to maintain. “Give Mister McBurney his crutches and let him try them, if he is willing.”
“Oh I’m willing enough, ma’am,” McBurney said. He had been sitting there very solemnly watching and listening, with his blanket over his lap. Mattie had helped him dress himself in another shirt and pair of trousers which had belonged to Mister Robert Farnsworth and which Mattie had pressed very neatly, even tucking up the right trousers leg and fastening it with a pin so that it would not dangle loosely when he attempted to walk.
“I thank all you ladies, young and otherwise, for your kindness,” he said now as I placed the crutches atop the blanket on his lap. “Maybe I’ll give them a try a bit later.”
“I’d prefer you’d do it now if you don’t mind, while we’re here to help you,” Miss Martha told him.
“But I don’t need any help,” he insisted.
“All the same, it would be a comfort to us if you’d try them now, Mister McBurney,” said Miss Harriet. “That way we’ll know whether the crutches are suitable or not.”
“Also,” said I, very disappointed at his stubbornness, “it was part of my plan to have you walk down the row in front of us. I was planning to join the others in the line and then you were to pass in front of us and then we would all follow you out to the dining room where Mattie has prepared a little celebration treat for us.”
“Yes, for pity’s sake, Johnny,” snickered Marie, “review the troops here as Emily has planned. Otherwise she’ll keep us standing here at attention all night and we never will get to eat any of those delicious corn meal cakes with blackberry jam which dear sweet Mattie has fixed for us.”
“You ain’t gonna get but one,” Mattie retorted, “no matter how much or how often you dear sweet me.”
“The cakes couldn’t be brought in here, I suppose,” McBurney persisted.
“No they couldn’t, sir,” Miss Martha said firmly. “I will not have crumbs and jam scattered all over my parlor. Now, sir, will you get up and try your crutches . . . or are you afraid to do so?”
“No, ma’am,” said he, very pale now. “I’m not afraid, never think that.” And he pushed himself erect on his one leg, trying to tuck the blanket in the waist of his trousers.
“You’re not going to begin wearing a skirt are you, Johnny?” Alice laughed. “It’s not at all becoming.”
“Perhaps there are holes in his trousers which he wants to cover,” said Marie.
The blanket dropped to the floor anyway when he reached for the crutches. He refused to look down at all at the pinned up trousers leg but stared straight ahead, his forehead beaded and his lips trembling, while Amelia and I set the crutches beneath his arms.
“Now then,” I said, stepping back, “off you go, Corporal.”
“Forward march, Johnny,” yelled Marie. “Show them how the Catholics do it.”
Well it was a complete disaster. Whether his fear and uncertainty were the cause of it, or the floor was too highly polished, or the crutches had been tampered with—which I am not really suggesting but only mentioning as a possibility, because I did think the crutches were strong enough if he had managed them properly—whatever the reason, he had no sooner taken more than two or three hesitating steps on his left leg before the crutches went flying and McBurney landed with a terrible thud on the parlor floor.
“Are you hurt, Johnny?” screamed Amelia, rushing to him. Well I suppose we all rushed to him, including Miss Martha who inspected him quickly and, thankfully, found him undamaged, except for his borrowed trousers which were split on the bottom where he had landed. His right leg stump wasn’t hurt at all and in fact the bandage wasn’t even torn.
But he just sat there, searching all our faces—quite pitiously I thought at first—and then, unbelievable as it seems, he began to weep as though he had lost his last friend.
“You’ve made a fool of me,” he cried. “You came to laugh at me!”
“No, we didn’t, dear,” Miss Harriet told him. “No one’s laughing at you.”
“You fixed those miserable old crutches so’s they’d break on me!”
“Not at all,” I put in, a bit annoyed at that. “That’s quite untrue and unfair, Corporal McBurney. In the first place only one crutch is broken and that one might have cracked when you fell on it.”
“I didn’t fall on it,” he shouted tearfully. “Goddamit it snapped when I leaned on it!”
“Please consider your language, Mister McBurney,” Miss Martha requested him.
“To hell with my language,” he yelled, “and to hell with all of you!” He pushed back on the floor to the settee and then attempted to rise by pulling himself up on it. This was very difficult for him to do so because the settee is fairly high and he was in a rather awkward position, so as a result he became even more angry and tried to hurl himself up, thereby catching the torn part of his trousers in some way and tearing them even more, all the way down the right side, ripping even Miss Martha’s carefully tied bandage so that it all came away revealing the bruised and only partly healed stump beneath.
“Oh Jesus, Jesus,” he moaned. Apparently it was the first time he had seen it.
“Now, now, dear,” said Miss Harriet, weeping herself, “everything will be all right.” She went to him again as did Amelia and some others—Edwina and Mattie, I believe, but not me because I was just too exasperated by his entire behavior—and tried to help him up but he wouldn’t permit it.
“Get away,” he shouted. “Get away from me, all of you! A bunch o’bloody old hags is what you are! Look what you’ve done to me . . . Jaysus God just look at me!”
And he reached for the crutches and flung them at us, the splintered halves of the broken one and the good one too. It was just a wonder someone wasn’t badly hurt with the vicious way he hurled them, but fortunately he didn’t aim well and no one was struck.
“Now get away,” he shouted again. “I want no more of you, any of you . . . clear out of here!”
“All of us, Johnny?” asked Amelia, somewhat shocked.
“That’s what I said . . . all of you!”
“Young ladies,” said Miss Martha with most admirable calmness. “Go to your rooms this instant.”
So we did and with hardly any hesitation. Amelia and Marie, of course, wanted to hang back a bit to see what sort of terrible punishment Miss Martha was going to levy on McBurney for his outrageous conduct but Miss Harriet hurried them along. Some of the girls were rather dumbfounded at his outburst but I personally was surprised that it hadn’t happened sooner, considering what a really uncourageous fellow he was.
/> I think it’s possible he had been lying there on the settee all those past days, pretending that we were all just fooling him and that his leg really wasn’t gone. I think maybe that he tried to deceive himself like that for as long as he possibly could—maybe until the very moment he found himself on the floor, staring at that vacant space below his knee.
At any rate I let Miss Harriet lead them out and then fell in as the last in line—acting as rear guard for the party, so to speak, since there seemed no end to what McBurney might do in his maddened condition. From this rear position I could hear Miss Martha say to our still weeping guest, using her most cold and commanding voice, “Sir, this is still my home and I am still in charge of it. Do not think for one moment, sir, that you are dispossessing me from this room. I have sent the young ladies away to spare them your vulgar temper and I will take myself away now for the same reason.”
“Hurry along, hurry along, you bald-headed old goat,” I thought I heard McBurney shout, or maybe it was some other descriptive word he coupled with goat, such as “bone headed” or “gall headed” since the adjective “bald” would not seem to be of any significance when applied to Miss Martha who has as much hair as anyone here.
Anyway there was a pause and then Miss Martha continued as before and with no change in her voice, “Mister McBurney, I cannot ask you to walk out of here in your present condition, but I can have you taken away from us. In the morning I shall go and inform the first Union soldiers I can find of the presence of a deserter in my house.”
A roar of laughter greeted this remark, almost insane laughter, I think you could call it. In the midst of it, Miss Martha, bayonet still and deadly pale, shot out of the parlor holding her skirt in her two fists in front of her, like the prow of some man o’ war.
“If you are not otherwise occupied, Miss Emily,” she said as she swept past, “I suggest you obey my order.”
“I’m coming, Miss Martha,” I called to her as she went up the stairs. “I’m only waiting here to see that Marie comes along.”
The Beguiled Page 39
