by J. F. Collen
Magruder emitted an expansive laugh that reverberated through the forest. “I will soon be free of Thayer’s legacy and that infernal book of rules. Any infractions I may receive between now and graduation will be as naught, once I surpass my entire class with my performance before the Board of Visitors and Professors. I intend to ‘bone it’ with all my might to ensure I excel at the upcoming examinations. I am determined to rise to the top and earn the rank of general. All to make my state of Virginia proud.”
“Strange that I did not realize you were from the South,” Nellie said.
“I was from western Virginia, but now I am from West Point. This fine education in engineering and maneuvering, coupled with my innate, naturally superior abilities....”
As they hustled through the dark woods and Magruder droned on and on singing his own praises, Nellie ceased to listen. Thank goodness, I heeded Mutter’s advice and wore my sturdy but stoutly unattractive walking boots. This would be quite the journey in my fancy dress boots. But thank goodness, I did not listen to Mutter and stay in Mrs. Van Cortlandt’s suite at the hotel. Even Mrs. Van Cortlandt, with her more lenient chaperoning style, would never permit my absence at night for this this length of time.
I should not fret—my absence allows Agnes some unchaperoned time with her beau Armistead in the comfort of Professor French’s drawing room. Some well-deserved ‘spooning’ time. Aware that she was merely rationalizing her behavior, Nellie tried to revive her adventuristic spirit. She pushed some hair, loosened by her stumbling steps, away from her eyes. Magruder’s Professor’s house permits the freedom to make this daring expedition. Did I not desire adventure and intrigue? Finding little comfort in these thoughts, Nellie tried to think of other things. Might I have a husband who is a professor here someday, dwelling in such a darling house? Nellie stole a glance at Magruder, who continued to list his strengths and accomplishments, oblivious to the fact that Nellie was no longer paying attention. How unfortunate that upon closer study, William is a blowhard braggadocio, and little else. I suppose it is necessary to suffer many encounters with potential suitors in order to ascertain their true colors....
Before Magruder ran out of laudatory compliments for himself they had completed the mile trudge to their destination: Benny Havens’ Tavern, on the bluff in Buttermilk Falls.
In the darkness, the building did not look very impressive. Seems hardly worth the trek, Nellie thought. She was even less impressed when they ran the last few feet from the woods and dashed inside. In the dingy light, she saw a glowing pot belly stove, a few cadet’s faces ringing the fire, several more men lining the stools on the bar, and groups of two and three men clustered around some small tables.
Magruder brought them directly to the bar.
“Son, ‘tis good to see ye again. What’ll ye be imbibing tonight?
“No need to ask—A Hot Flip!” said Magruder, pumping the bartender’s outstretched hand with enthusiasm and plopping on a barstool.
“And you, little lady?” asked the bartender.
“Oh, I am not prepared to.... I would like to have.... goodness no, I could not...A mint julep?” she finally asked, in such a timid voice no one save the bartender heard her, and he laughed so loudly that Nellie, in spite of being totally flustered, knew that she would not see the bartender make this drink.
Is mint not in season? Nellie wondered. “What in heaven’s name is ‘A Hot Flip’?”
“Just about the finest concoction ever conceived. You must try one. Just watch Benny whip one up,” said Magruder, leaning forward to watch Benny more closely.
Nellie timidly perched on a stool and watched the process. After thirty seconds she blurted out, “I most certainly would not drink that. It is not made of beer—it is made with rum! I saw the bartender put rum into the flagon.”
“That’s no bartender, that is our host and the proprietor, Mr. Benny Havens himself,” said Magruder.
At the mention of his name, Benny touched his head, miming a doffing of his cap, and approached Nellie. “An’ who might this fair colleen be?”
“Mr. Benny Havens, may I present a member of the fairer sex, who hails from just a short float down the Hudson, Miss Cornelia Rose Entwhistle.” Cornelia jumped down from the stool and curtseyed.
“’Tis a pleasure,” said Benny, laughing. Feeling a bit foolish she blushed and climbed back up.
“A Hot Flip w’ a touch o’ cider then, will it be?” Benny smiled with such an engaging, friendly smile Nellie felt a bit more at ease.
A cheerful, robust man, Benny took delight in tending to his cadet customers. As he beat three eggs for Nellie, he inquired after Magruder’s state of being. The two carried on a conversation as if they were the dearest of friends.
“Mercy,” said Nellie to Magruder when Mr. Havens turned to wait on another customer. “One might speculate that you and Mr. Havens are quite intimate companions, by the length and subject of your conversation.”
“Benny’s a best friend to every cadet who strolls in here. His genuine and hospitable manner is the reason that poor old misfit Edgar Allen Poe wrote of West Point, ‘Benny Havens was the only congenial soul in the entire God-forsaken place.’”
Nellie watched Benny throw a dram of cider and a generous dash of sugar into the pewter mug containing the eggs. He followed that with a shake from each of four jars. Those must be spices, she thought. Maybe nutmeg? Cinnamon? The enticement of this beverage increases.... She was surprised to see him reach into the fire and grab one of the hot pokers. Benny thrust it into the mug and held it there for about thirty seconds.
It gave a scintillating, sustained sizzle.
“Why have you put a hot poker in the mug?” Nellie called, her curiosity overcoming her reticence to speak.
“Trade secret, m’ dear.” At Nellie’s confused face, Benny laughed. “I could tell ye, but then I’d have to hang ye!”
Nellie blushed a crimson so deep it was visible even in the dim light of the tavern.
“Jest ‘aving a bit o’ sport w’ ye, is all.” Benny winked and leaned in closer. Nellie noted with surprise that he did not reek of beer, but rather had a pleasant fresh-scrubbed scent, with a hint of pot roast. Benny tapped his head. “The real secret is in knowing jist when to remove the poker for that special caramelized flavor.
“Ye be the judge o’ it fer yerself.” He thumped it down on the bar in front of her.
She took a cautious sip. It was pleasing to the palate, she thought. She took another, larger sip, appreciating the bouquet of flavors in her beverage.
Magruder regaled her with the history of the tavern. “At first Benny sold only ale, cider, and buckwheat cakes. But now that the military has seen fit to remove him from the convenient location he occupied for so long near the hospital on campus, forcing him to set up shop over a mile and a half distance from us, Benny rewards our extra travel with a repast a bit more substantial.”
I told you Thayer would not approve of this venture, Nellie thought. I wonder if it were he that removed this establishment from the campus grounds?
Magruder winked at Nellie, seeing that she was enjoying the concoction.
Benny took up the tale, “Aye, colleen, the chaps what come here are homesick and hungry, and me and the missus take care o’ them like they was our own. Many of the regulation-breaking cadets we have befriended have gone on to achieve high ranks and fame.”
“But don’t the instructors and sergeants come looking for the cadets?” Nellie was getting less nervous by the sip, but still, she felt compelled to ask.
“More likely they come looking for a piece of that fine fowl Benny has roasting there,” Magruder answered. He pointed to the spit Mrs. Havens was turning over the fire. “And a bit o’ Hot Flip for themselves!” he added. Magruder laughed into his drink and ordered another, with a side of buckwheat flapjacks.
“Letitia, bring a slice o’ your tasty critter for our new guest,” Benny called, busy wiping out mugs for the next customer. “Let her try
a sample of our finest.”
In spite of herself, Nellie’s mouth began to water at the tantalizing smell permeating the tavern. She hadn’t eaten much at tea. Had there even been tea? She could not recall. She gratefully took the sampling from Mrs. Havens and was trying her first juicy bite when suddenly two tables of cadets in the back stood up and sang:
“Come, fill your glasses, fellows, and stand up in a row,
To singing sentimentally we’re going for to go;
In the army there’s sobriety, promoting’s very slow,
So we’ll sing our reminiscences of Benny Havens’, OH!”
In one motion, every cadet seated in the tavern stood and they all joined in the chorus:
O! Benny Havens, oh! O! Benny Havens, oh!
We’ll sing our reminiscences of Benny Havens, oh!”
They all sat back down again and resumed their drinking as if no interruption had occurred.
Benny winked at Nellie again. “I ‘av a system, yes, I do. I employ a scout nightly and we hustle the underclassmen out when the big brass come in,” he said.
No sooner had he made that statement when a boy came running in. “Ye’ve got less than ten minutes before General Ambrose Burnside arrives!” the lad panted.
“That scalawag!” said Benny. “‘T’will be good to see ‘im again.”
Nellie jumped up, ready to run. But Magruder took another sip of his second Hot Flip, and banged his fork on the bar. “Burnside was in here so much when he was a cadet, he had his own stool! Eventually he carved his name on it. Dawdle awhile. You haven’t even taken more than three sips of your cider Hot Flip.”
“How can you be so cavalier when the fruits of your four years of hard labor are in jeopardy?” Nellie demanded.
“The lookout is stationed at the top of the cliff stairs. We still have plenty of time to leave, if we deem it desirable. The carriage road winds way around before it meanders here. Therefore, I propose you drink your beverage while we discuss the pros and cons of this important decision,” said Magruder, unperturbed.
Nellie took another sip. It is actually quite delicious. “I am forced to confess I do enjoy the caramelized flavor.”
The fire crackled nearby. Many uniformed cadets still lounged about, eating their comfort food, chatting companionably with each other and with Benny and his wife.
“I confess I remain unenlightened as to why they call it a ‘Hot Flip,’” said Nellie.
“Well now, what ye might call a ‘red-hot poker’ apparently some fine folk call a ‘flip dog.’ We couldn’a rightly call a food a ‘hot dog’ so that left ‘Hot Flip,’” answered Benny, again bestowing his ready smile on her.
Nellie looked skeptical at that explanation, but she had no time to retort.
Emerging from the murky shadows of the back of the bar, Zetus, Anastasia’s solid-framed cadet suddenly loomed in front of her like an impenetrable wall. A gasp of surprise escaped Nellie.
“Zetus S. Searle,” she exclaimed as simultaneously he said, “Cornelia Rose Entwhistle!”
“I am shocked to see you here!” They both said at the same time.
“You must leave at once.” They both said together again.
Anastasia’s beau is correct! Nellie thought. I care not a whit for the opinion of William T. Magruder, whose motives are questionable, even in the mildest of circumstances.
A second urchin burst through the door. “Burnside just got joined by bigger brass than him. Ulysses S. Grant....”
“To the windows and back door men! Make haste!” said Mrs. Haven in a loud whisper.
Nellie turned to follow the command, panic rising in her heart.
Magruder pulled her elbow back. “Why do you scamper like a scared squirrel? You are a civilian. You have every right to be here, accompanying me.”
“You’re not leaving?” asked Nellie.
“For Burnside and Grant? They have logged too many hours by this fireside for me to leave this cozy perch for the likes of them.”
“Nellie, come on!” Zetus tugged her other elbow. Maybe it was the fact that he used her nickname. Or maybe it was because he was ‘buttoned’ to Anastasia, and Nellie knew that under her youthful silliness Anastasia had good judgment of character. But in any case, she pulled her elbow out of William’s clutches and allowed Zetus to pull her along.
“Cornelia Rose, if you retreat like a coward at the first sign of conflict, you are not the lady for me,” William said in a booming voice, partially rising from his barstool.
“Mayhap you are correct.” Nellie threw the words over her shoulder without even looking back.
In an instant, the crowd pushing to get out the back door consumed Nellie and Zetus. “I’ll take the window after I push you through the front of this ungentlemanly group,” Zetus shouted.
He steered Nellie toward the door. The crowd pushed and shoved around them. Zetus could get not any closer to the doorway than behind the door. Planting himself behind it, he reached a large arm around the door and shoved Nellie out, just as the pack of cadets pulled him back and squeezed ahead of him.
Nellie ran around to the side windows, stumbling in the shadows where the light from the tavern did not reach the ground.
Cadet after cadet spilled out of the two windows, tumbling against each other as they hit the ground in their haste to evacuate the premises. Nellie looked for Zetus but in all the uniformed arms, legs and backs she could not distinguish even his most recognizable build.
A loud clatter from the window’s shutter caused her to look up in time to see two cadets burst through the window at the same time. One landed on his feet and the other on his side. In the light from the suddenly vacant window, Nellie could see that the one on his side was at last Zetus. She ran to him, wondering why he did not immediately spring up. She reached down to pull his hand only to find it was thoroughly wet and clammy.
“What has soaked you so?” she asked, repulsed by the ooze still on her own hand. “Mercy, what has transpired during your attempt to escape?”
Zetus stumbled to his feet, hand clutching his thigh, whispering, “As soon as we clear the area we can see.” He turned but remained crouched as he tried to scramble for the wooded footpath.
“Why ever do you not stand erect? Moreover, what is the source that drenched your hand and cuff so?”
Nellie looked down at her current escort. He was breathing rapidly, shambling in an awkward manner at her side, when suddenly he collapsed.
“Cadet Searle, what ails you?” Nellie cried. She tried to pull the cadet upright, but he lay there gasping for breath. Cadets ran around them, desperate to get away. Nellie tried frantically to ascertain the cause of Zetus’ inability to walk.
In between labored breaths, Zetus gasped, “Not... wet.... Bloody....”
Nellie grasped his hand and tried to examine it to determine the cause of bleeding. The blood was drying up and there was no cut that she could feel. Her panic was beginning to ebb as she asked, with what she hoped was a calm medical manner, “How did you hurt your hand?” Furthermore, how would that injury prevent you from walking?
“No... no,” was all Searle could reply.
“There is no wound evident. Furthermore, even a severe hand wound should not prevent ambulation,” said Nellie. In point of fact, it could have been someone else’s blood, since you do not appear to be bleeding.
But Zetus remained on the ground, his hand now clutching his muscular thigh. Nellie decided she had better investigate, although she was reluctant to examine the cadet’s body further.
Just then light from a kerosene lantern suddenly beamed upon them. Nellie saw in a flash that Zetus’ hand was again covered in blood. “Halt, please, who-so-ever conducts the lantern. Your assistance is required,” she said.
The lantern obediently came closer. Nellie did not even look to see who carried it. She focused on the alarming dark red patch, growing bigger by the second on Zetus’ upper thigh.
“No....” Zetus whispered. “Don�
�t let the patrol cadet catch me. Do not call attention to me.”
Those words you have breath for? Nellie thought, almost amused. “I am reluctant to alarm you but you have a wound on your leg, and I must have the light to determine its magnitude.”
Chapter 21 – Homeward Bound
Highland Cliffs, April 1850
The light bearer shone the beam full on the pair, and illuminated the wounded cadet’s face. “Searle, a fine pickle you’re in!” someone said.
Searle rolled his eyes back in his head in response. Nellie clamped her hand over the ripped material jaggedly covering the skin below, trying to stem the flow of blood.
“Searle, buck up. It is I, Gouverneur Kemble Warren, friend, not foe. Did the fact that I accompanied you to Benny Havens’ somehow slip your mind?” the steady, practical voice continued.
“Gouverneur Kemble, the senator and industrialist?” Nellie almost released her hand from applying pressure to the wound at her surprise.
“No, no,” said Warren, a trace of annoyance in his voice. “A common mistake, to be sure. I am his namesake.”
“I beg your pardon. It was my understanding that the Senator was a confirmed bachelor, but obviously he is your father,” said Nellie, while trying to figure out her next step in providing medical aid.
“He is actually no blood relation. He and my father are fast friends, so I am named to carry on his legacy. No, no, I am no industrialist. I am a classmate of old Searle here.”
“My apologies, ‘tis such an unusual name.” Nellie kept her hand on the wound while she tried to gauge its depth. She shuddered at the thought. I can’t possibly have him remove his trousers. I must continue to apply pressure through the cloth. Nellie summoned the lantern closer, lifted her hand off the wound and took a long, probing look.
