“I am detailed to convey to you some important papers, and I congratulate you on your promotion to Brigadier-General,” he said, with a bow.
“Brigadier? Well, well; they are giving me a pleasant reception,” and his face showed his pleasure as he looked at the papers. “Thank you, Captain Masterson. By the way, how much time have you?”
“Until tomorrow night; I meant to ride over to the plantation after delivering this.”
“The ladies won’t hear to that when they get sight of you. They are giving a party tonight and need all the uniforms we can muster; a squad of your men on their way to the forts below have stopped over for breakfast, and they’ve even captured them, and you’ll be welcome as the flowers of May.”
Masterson glanced at Monroe and hesitated. “Those men are needed at one of the fortifications,” he said guardedly; “they had better take some other time for a party. With your permission I’ll send them on, and remain in their place with one orderly, if convenient.”
“Certainly; glad to have you; give your own orders about the men. I do not know that they have accepted the invitation to linger, I only know that the ladies wanted them to.”
He rang for Pluto, who was given orders concerning rooms for Captain Monroe, and for Captain Masterson, who left to speak with the men waiting orders without. He made a gesture towards the packet in McVeigh’s hand and remarked: “I have reason apart from the commission to think the contents are important. Our regiment is to be merged in your brigade, and all pressed to the front. Towards what point I could not learn at Columbia, but your information will doubtless cover all that, General.”
“Colonel will answer until I find my brigade,” said McVeigh, with a smile. “You stay over until I learn, since we are to go together, and I will look them over soon as possible.”
He himself showed Monroe the room he was to occupy, to the chagrin of Pluto, who was hanging about in a fever of curiosity and dread at sight of a Northern soldier––the first he had ever seen, and the rumor that he was brought there a prisoner suggested calamities to the army through 275 which, alone, his own race dared hope for freedom; and to hear the two men chat and laugh over West Point memories was an aggravation to him, listening, as he was, for the news of today, and the serious questions involved. Only once had there been allusion to the horrors of war––when McVeigh inquired concerning his former classmate, Monroe’s brother, Fred, and was told he had been numbered with the dead at Shiloh. The door was open and Pluto could hear all that was said––could see the bronzed face of the Northerner, a face he liked instinctively though it was not exactly handsome––an older face than McVeigh’s. He was leaving West Point as the young Southerner entered––a man of thirty years, possibly––five of them, the hard years of the frontier range. A smile lit up his face, changing it wonderfully. His manner was neither diffident nor overconfident––there was a certain admirable poise to it. His cool, irritating attitude towards the zealous Masterson had been drawn out by the innate antagonism of the two natures, but with McVeigh only the cordial side was appealed to, and he responded with frank good will.