CHAPTER IX.
Early in the morning, earlier even than I had supposed possible, the conductor's voice was heard announcing to somebody that we would be in New Orleans in less than half an hour. I had been sleeping somewhat uneasily, curled up on one of the seats. I was dimly conscious of the fact that at some unknown hour in the night another telegram had been received referring to Vinton, and that Miss Summers was wide awake when it came. I remember Harrod's bending over and kissing her, and hearing the words, "That is better yet." Then sleep again overpowered me. Now, at daybreak, I arose and gazed around the dimly-lighted car. Miss Summers, Harrod, and Major Williams were the only occupants apparently astir. The former was sitting near the opened window; the cool, salty breeze from the Gulf was playing with the ripples of fair hair that clustered about her forehead. She looked very white and wan in the uncertain light, but there was a womanly tenderness and sweetness about her face that made it inexpressibly lovely to me. She was gazing wistfully out over the sea of marsh and swamp, as though longing to bridge the distance that still separated us from the city, where he lay battling with that insidious enemy. Harrod and the major were in earnest conversation. Other occupants of the car were beginning to stir uneasily, as though warned that soon they must be up and doing; but Kitty still slept, and the cloak of army blue still covered her. Mr. Turpin had disappeared.
A few moments more and the officers had been aroused; the men were donning their belts and equipments; Pauline herself stepped forward, and, bending over her pretty cousin, roused her from her baby-like sleep; and glancing from the windows, I could see that we were rolling up the "Elysian Fields." Then came the curving sweep around on the broad levee. All looked quiet, even deserted, as we passed the Mint and the wide thoroughfare of Esplanade Street. Some of the lamps still burned dimly in the cafés and bars, but no trace of commotion or excitement could be discerned. It was with some little surprise then that our eyes met the warlike scene as we rolled into the station at the foot of Canal Street.
The instant the train stopped, our car was boarded by an alert gentleman in civilian dress whom I had often seen, and whom I knew to be an aide-de-camp on the staff of the commanding general. He came at once to Major Williams; shook hands with him, and conveyed some orders in a low tone of voice; then asked to be presented to Colonel Summers. Major Williams brought him to where our group of four was then standing, at the rear of the car,—Miss Summers, Kitty, Harrod, and myself.
"Let me introduce Colonel Newhall, of General Emory's staff," he said, and the colonel, raising his hat in general salutation to the party, spoke in the hurried, nervous way I afterwards found was habitual with him, despite the sang-froid that distinguished him at all times save in the presence of ladies.
"I have come direct from Major Vinton's room, Colonel Summers, and am happy to tell you that the doctors pronounce him much better. The general charged me to bring you the latest news of him, and to express to you and to your ladies his warm interest and sympathy."
Then we had not come as strangers to a strange land. I glanced at Pauline, as her brother, warmly grasping the staff-officer's hand, presented him to her and to Kitty. Her clear, brave eyes were suffused with tears and she did not venture to speak a word; but she was infinitely moved by the constantly recurring evidences of interest in her and her gallant lover. Such an informal announcement of an engagement perhaps was not strictly in accordance with the prevailing customs of society, but the exigencies of the case put all such considerations aside. Everybody on our train knew the story of course, and it had evidently been telegraphed to headquarters. Meantime, Major Williams had been superintending the debarkation of his men, and they were forming ranks on the platform outside. Beyond them, a long line of stacked arms was guarded by sentries, and several companies of infantry were grouped behind them, watching with professional interest the arrival of comrade soldiery. A number of officers had gathered at the side of the car,—very weary they looked too, and far from jaunty in their dusty fatigue uniforms; but they were intent on welcoming Major Williams and his command, and at that hour in the morning, costume and unshaven chins were not subject to criticism. Time and again it had been my lot to be at this very station, but never before had I seen it thronged with troops. It was evident that matters of grave moment were going on in the city.
Colonel Newhall had left the car for a moment and Harrod came to me:
"It seems that Vinton is at Colonel Newhall's quarters on Royal Street, Mr. Brandon. He met the troop on its arrival in town, and finding Vinton wellnigh delirious with fever, had him taken at once to his lodgings. There are a number of vacant rooms, he tells me, and he has made all arrangements to take us right there; so there we will go. The St. Charles is crowded, and Pauline naturally wants to be near him. I think it the best arrangement that could possibly be made."