CHAPTER XIV. MRS. JUNIPER ENTERTAINS.
Mrs. Julia Juniper was a wealthy widow, of easy conscience and uncertain age. Courted and flattered alike for her charms and her wealth, for Mrs. Julia Juniper had both, she was the acknowledged belle of the country, the leader of the elite and the ruler of fashion. When Mrs. Julia Juniper gave a party it was sure to be successfully attended, and it needed only to be known that she was to be at a ball to ensure the presence of the very best society in the neighborhood.
The widow was a little above medium height, slender and graceful, with dark, sparkling eyes, clear white complexion, and black hair. She was vivacious as well as beautiful, and her sparkling wit was sufficient to enliven the dullest assemblage.
Mrs. Julia Juniper owned and possessed (as the lawyers say) a large plantation, and the granite mansion she had furnished with lavish elegance.
Two or three weeks have passed since the occurrences last recorded, and many startling events have taken place. Colonel Holdfast, with his force at the Junction, had joined McClellan, and fought gallantly at Phillippi, on the 3d of June. Abner Tompkins had been promoted to a captaincy, and Sergeant Swords and Corporal Grimm wore uniforms. Uncle Dan Martin accompanied the army as guide and scout, and was of invaluable service, as he knew every inch of the ground over which they had to pass. Colonel Scrabble had been compelled to fall back with his force about forty or fifty miles south, where a large force was assembling near Rich Mountain. The colonel's regiment had been recruited, refitted, and furnished with arms by the Confederate States, and the colonel himself now held a commission. Owing to the fact that Lieutenant Whimple had been disabled, perhaps for life, by his fall from his horse in the race from Uncle Dan's cabin, Oleah Tompkins had been promoted to first lieutenant.
The regiment was now encamped in the neighborhood of Mrs. Julia Juniper, and Mrs. Juniper, a Southern lady with all a Southern lady's prejudices and passions, and intense likes and dislikes, loved her sunny South, and loved every one who was engaged defending it against the cold-blooded Northern invader, and, desirous of doing all she could to cheer the brave hearts of her country's defenders, resolved to give a reception in honor of the regiment. It was at the same time a first meeting and a farewell, for the colonel hourly expected orders to march further east and join the troops massing in the valley of the Shenandoah under Johnston and Beauregard.
It was the evening of the 9th of July, 1861, and the grand mansion of Mrs. Julia Juniper was ablaze with light and splendor. The drawing-rooms, parlors, reception rooms, and the spacious dining hall were lighted early in the evening, festooned with flags, and lavishly adorned with flowers. The piazza, the lawn, the conservatory, and even the garden, on this evening, were filled with a gay, laughing throng. Mrs. Julia Juniper had ordered all form and ceremony to be laid aside, and desired that her guests should consider her house their home. She met officer and private, as they entered, clasping the hand of each with a fervent "God save our sunny South." More than one young soldier, looking on that lovely face, resolved to fight till death for a cause so dear to her. Corporal Diggs was present, and as Mrs. Julia Juniper's hand clasped his, and he heard her say: "God bless, you, my dear friend and make your arm strong to defend our beloved country!" He felt proud that he had not deserted, as he declared he should, after the retreat from Twin Mountain. Mrs. Juniper was everywhere, shedding on all the light of her countenance, enlivening all conversation with the rich, warm tones of her voice or her merry, musical laugh.
At least two hundred officers, commissioned and non-commissioned, fell in love with the widow, and twice as many privates were willing to lie down and have their heads amputated for her sake. Many of our Southern soldier friends were present, among them Howard Jones and Seth Williams, both sergeants now. Corporal Diggs was in ecstacies of delight, but the presence of his old tormentor, Seth Williams, was a slight drawback at times to his happiness. Mrs. Juniper had introduced the corporal and Seth Williams to two charming young ladies, Miss Ada Temple and Miss Nannie Noddington, both of them bright, lively girls, fond of sport. Miss Temple made herself particularly agreeable to the little apple-dumpling of a corporal.
Mr. Corporal Diggs had on a neat little suit of gray, without shoulder straps, but with yellow braid enough on his coat sleeves to indicate his office and rank. His thick hair was parted exactly in the middle, his burnside whiskers were neatly trimmed, and his glasses were on his nose. He tried to appear witty, making him appear silly enough to enlist the sympathy of any one except Seth Williams.
Seth was bent on fun and mischief, and in Miss Nannie Noddington he found an able accomplice and ally.
Corporal Diggs was making an extraordinary endeavor to make himself agreeable to Miss Temple, who laughed at his witticisms in a coquettish way that was wholly irresistible, and Corporal Diggs became brilliant, drawing continually on his immense fund of knowledge, talking science, physics, and metaphysics, history, literature, and art, at last touching on the theme, sacred to love and lovers, poetry.
"Hem, hem, hem! Miss Temple, I presume—hem—you are very fond of poetry," he said, leaning back in his chair, his soleful eyes gleaming through his glasses.
"I am passionately fond of poetry, corporal," said the blonde beauty, with a winning smile.
"I—hem, hem!—before I entered the army, used to be passionately fond of poetry, but the multifarious duties of an officer during these exciting times will allow no thought of polite accomplishments."
"He is inflating now," whispered Seth Williams to Miss Noddington. "He will explode soon in a burst of poetical eloquence."
Mr. Diggs, as we have seen, had a peculiar stoppage in his speech, occasioned more by habit than by any defect in the organs of articulation.
"Yes, Miss Temple, I—hem, hem, hem!—admire, or rather I adore poetry. The deep sublimity of thought—hem, hem, hem!—given forth in all of poetical expression and—hem, hem!—as the poet says 'the eye in fine frenzy rolling.'"
"That was in his 'Ode to an Expiring Calf,' was it not?" said Seth Williams, who was one of the group.
No one could repress a smile, and Miss Noddington was attacked by a convulsive cough.
"You always have a way of degrading the sublime to the ridiculous, Mr. Williams," said the little corporal, loftily.
"Who of the English poets do you like best, Corporal Diggs?" asked Miss Temple, pretending not to notice Williams' sally and the consequent discomfiture of her companion.
"I—hem, hem!" said the little fellow, leaning forward and locking his hands, with all the dignity that he assumed when about to give one of his opinions. "I—hem—am rather partial to Scott. I don't know why, unless his wild poems rather suit my warlike nature. I like to read of Marmion, the Lady of the Lake, and the Vision of Don—Don—hem—Don—"
"Quixote," put in Seth Williams.
The bright black eyes of Miss Noddington twinkled, but Miss Temple feigned sympathy with the corporal, whose memory was evidently bad.
"But—hem, hem!—Miss Temple," he went on, heroic to the last, "that is a sublime as well as a truthful thought of Scott, who says,—hem, hem!—how does it begin? Oh yes:
"O, woman, in our hours of ease
Uncertain, coy, and hard to—"
"Squeeze," put in Seth Williams, who was really boiling over with mischief.
Miss Temple looked shocked, but Miss Noddington only buried her blushing face in her handkerchief.
The discomforted Corporal Diggs cast a furious glance at Seth Williams, who sat with a face as solemn as any judge on the bench.
"Mr. Williams, such talk is very unbecoming any gentleman," said he, rising and looking as furious, to use Seth Williams own words, "as an enraged potato bug."
"I beg the pardon of all the company," said Seth, whose face was gravity itself. "I wanted to find some word that would rhyme with ease, and spoke the first that came to my mind."
"The word, sir, is 'please,'" said Corporal Diggs, re-seating himself after entreaty from the ladies, who assured him that it was only a lapsus linguæ on the part of Sergeant Williams.
"Now, corporal, do go on and repeat the entire verse, for I do so admire Sir Walter Scott," pleaded Miss Temple, whose roguish blue eyes were sparkling almost as brightly as those of her friend, Nannie Noddington.
"Yes, Corporal Diggs," said the beautiful Nannie, "do go on and give us the entire stanza."
"Yes, the entire canto," put in Seth.
There was no refusing the appeal from those blue eyes of Miss Temple or the sparkling black eyes of Miss Noddington, so, after a few "hems" and a moment spent in bringing the poem to his memory, the corporal began again:
"O, woman, in our hours of ease
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please;
Yet seem too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace."
This time both ladies laughed outright, and even Seth Williams could not restrain a smile, while the corporal wondered what in the world could be the matter with them.
"Your version is no better than mine," said Seth Williams.
"Oh! Corporal Diggs, you are too cute, you made that mistake on purpose," laughed Miss Temple.
The corporal, hearing his witty blunder praised on all sides, concluded to pretend it was an intentional joke, originating from his own fertile brain; Miss Temple smiled on him, Miss Noddington declared him charmingly cute, and the corporal felt himself quite a hero.
After further favoring the company with choice selections, he launched out on history, which he brought down to the present time by allusions to his adventures since he had been in the army.
"Have you ever been in any engagement, corporal?" asked sweet Miss Temple.
"Yes, Miss Temple, I have been where bullets flew thicker—hem, hem!—than hail stones; replied Corporal Diggs.
"Where was it?" asked the blonde.
"Once at Wolf Creek."
"Were you not frightened?"
"I was as cool as I ever was in my life," replied Corporal Diggs, leaning back in his chair, and looking very brave.
"That was because you were so deep down in mud and water under the drift-wood," put in Seth Williams.
Corporal Diggs turned a look of wrath on his companion. "Who said I was in the mud and water?" he demanded, fiercely. "Who saw me in the mud and water?"
"No one, I don't suppose; but Lieutenant Whimple found you on the bank, looking very much as though you had just left the hands of Crazy Joe."
Before Corporal Diggs could reply, Miss Temple, rising, begged him to walk with her on the piazza.
As the two went away, Seth laughed for the first time during the evening, and told his companion the story of Crazy Joe's mud man.
The lawn had been converted into a dining-room, and long rows of tables were spread there; Chinese lanterns hung from all the trees, and an army of black waiters was in attendance.
The dining hall had been cleared and fitted for dancing, and already the soft sound of music was heard there, and gay dancers were gliding gracefully through the waltz.
It was nearly two o'clock in the morning, when Oleah Tompkins tired of dancing walked into the conservatory, and from there into the garden. His thoughts naturally flew back to his home, to his parents, and to her he had learned to love with all the warmth and ardor of his Southern heart. A hand touched him on the shoulder. He turned and beheld standing behind him a mulatto, one who had played the leading violin in the orchestra. He was between forty and fifty years of age, a man of grave and somber countenance.
"Well, sir, what will you have?" demanded the lieutenant, turning sharply about.
"Is your name Tompkins?" asked the man.
"Yes. What is your business with me?"
"I was anxious to be sure," said the mulatto, "for I assure you, Lieutenant Tompkins, that I may sometime be able to give you some valuable information."
"If you have any information to give, why not give it now?" demanded the young officer.
"I have reasons that I can not give. To tell the reasons would be to give the information."
Oleah looked fixedly into the mulatto's face. There was something unusual about him, something that impressed the young lieutenant strangely, yet, what it was, he could not tell.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"They call me Yellow Steve."
"How long have you been in this State?" asked Oleah, after a pause.
"About two years," was the answer.
"Have I ever known you before?"
"I don't think you ever saw me before."
"Well, have you ever seen me before?"
"No."
"Then what can you have to tell me that would interest me?"
"I can tell you something of the early history of her you call your sister, something that no one on earth but myself knows. You shall know it in the future."
The mulatto turned, pushed open the door of a Summer house near by, and disappeared.
"Stay!" cried Oleah. "By heavens, if you know anything of her, I will not wait, I will know it now."
He sprang through the door after the mulatto, but the Summer house was vacant. The strange musician had disappeared as suddenly as if he had sank into the earth. After searching vainly through the grounds Oleah returned to the house. The other musicians (all colored) knew the "yaller man who played first fiddle," but, as "he lived no where particularly, but about in spots," no one could tell where he would most likely be found.
It was late that night before Lieutenant Tompkins sought his tent, and sleep came not to his eyes until nearly daylight. When he did sleep, the strange mulatto was constantly before his eyes—his yellow skin, his yellow teeth, and yellow eyes all gleaming.