"Well, a wilful lad must have his way, I presume, as well as a wilful woman. So boot and saddle, my boy, and may Southern steel and lead spare you to return to us, is the earnest wish of your old friend, Basil Wattletop. But whom shall I have to play chess with? Have you thought of that?"
"Ah! doctor, it's a grander game I shall engage in this time, but only as a pawn."
"Why a pawn?"
"Perhaps I shouldn't say that, for I'm striving for something better. You know I'm not altogether astray on horseback, and can ride, I believe, better than I can walk, which perhaps is not saying much; and old Copp, our night-watchman, who was sergeant-major during the Mexican war, and considered one of the best swordsmen in his corps, is teaching me sabre exercise, and if I only pass a fair examination at Trenton, I shall get a commission as lieutenant, I hope."
"No fear but you'll make the effort. So it goes: spondee, dactyl and anapest avaunt, and our nose now is continually in Jomini, or Cavalry Tactics, I'll warrant. That's our game now, my unappreciated genius, is it?"
Mark smiled at his old friend's banter, for the inconstant had indeed given the Muses the cold shoulder, to pay his devoirs to fierce Bellona. He even left uncompleted a stirring ode suited to the hour, entitled The Fasces, destined to illuminate the columns of the Belton Sentinel, and which might have established his reputation as a second Korner. And wonderful was the zeal with which he set about qualifying himself for his new vocation. At break of day he was off scouring the roads on some mettlesome steed to acquire a perfect seat, and the evenings he spent practising sword-cuts and "moulinets" with old Copp, or poring over some volume on the art of war (which, to say the truth, proved of but little practical value to him), till long past midnight. Thanks to his perseverance, he soon had a smattering of the rudiments of the profession of arms sufficient to enable him to pass an examination. This and a little of his brother's political influence, secured him a lieutenantcy in the volunteer cavalry.
George Gildersleeve, however, was not at all pleased at the prospect of parting with Mark, or rather with Mark's services, for he foresaw a vast increase of business for him growing out of the requirements of the War Department, and needed a valuable coadjutor now more than ever. He even went so far as to offer Mark a partnership in the Works if he would give up his intention of joining the army and remain at work, which the young man, however, peremptorily refused. George, knowing the bent of his brother's character, saw the uselessness of further efforts to dissuade him from his purpose, and complained to Dr. Wattletop about the matter in strong terms, laying the chief blame upon his old enemies, the anathematized abolitionists, or "woolley-heads," as he ordinarily designated them. "He always has some dam whim or other in his head," said George, alluding to Mark. "Now it's nigger on the brain, and I believe he thinks more of freeing the darks than of saving the Union. So I'd rather he'd stay at home. It's all very well to go if he was wanted. I'm ready to go myself at a moment's notice if I'm needed—when the country calls I'm there, you can bet your life; and I'll shoulder a fire-iron as quick as any to help give the seceshers a warming, and for the matter o' that, the pusillanimous woolley-heads as well. They both deserve it. But this boy's no call to go. He's a deuced sight more useful here, but you might as well talk to a post. My wife's done all she could and so have I, but it's no use. Now, major, I wish you would see what you can do. You've about as much influence over him as any one. Dammit, I'd furnish a dozen substitutes rather than have him leave. He's the best draughtsman I know of, and worth any three men in my shops. Work's crowding on us, and I can't spare him—that's the fact. If it hadn't been for the black republicans we wouldn't have had this here parra—parracidal war, and everything would have gone along lovely."
Dr. Wattletop had been to the "Shades" that afternoon, and made the following dignified reply, as he settled his chin in his swaddling cravat and shouldered his walking-stick like a drill-master: "In days gone by, Mr. Gildersleeve, in days gone by, Sir, had you Yankees remained loyal and steadfast (with a tighter grasp of his stick), I say, loyal and steadfast, as it was your bounden duty, to your sovereign King George of glorious memory, you would now have formed part of the mightiest and grandest empire on which the sun ever shone, and enjoying and sharing in true, sound, conservative, and constitutional freedom. There would have been no strife or fratricidal war in regard to slavery, for slavery cannot exist on British soil; but you chose to rebel against righteous authority, and now, the monster you have conjured threatens to devour you. Sorry for you, very sorry; but permit me to say frankly that you deserve it all. You certainly deserve it all, and have brought it on yourselves;" and the doctor shook his head very decidedly, as if, while he could not entirely forgive the American nation, he might be willing to temper his judgment with mercy.
The master of the Archimedes Works was at a loss, for a moment, how to reply to this unexpected philippic; but finally drove his adversary off by asserting, rather vehemently, that the American people intended settling their family difficulties in their own way, and if John Bull attempted to interfere he would get a repetition of the warming Old Hickory gave him at New Orleans.
"Or at Bladensburg, mayhap," added the doctor, as he walked away, convinced that his parting shot was an extinguisher, and chuckling as he muttered "Hoc habet! hoc habet!"