University of Virginia Library

36. XXXVI.
CAMPAIGN OF GENERAL LONGKNIFE.

THE Captain twirled his moustache.

We would call the attention of the reader to the
fact, which we have hitherto omitted to mention,
that Captain Wagner was always engaged in
twirling his moustache. Or, if the statement seems extreme
and improbable, let us simply say that he was often thus
laboriously occupied, and seemed to derive much innocent
satisfaction from the ceremony.

On the present occasion he gave to the martial appendage
a jaunty and gallant curl toward the eyes; then he
looked at Mrs. Butterton, who was busily knitting opposite
the Captain, and the table by the Captain, upon which was
deposited the Captain's warm glass of punch and unfilled
pipe.

Monsieur Jambot, for the moment in deep disgrace, was
forlornly carrying on a sleepy conversation with Mynheer
Van Doring in one corner—a ceremony which resulted between
the two in an awful mutilation of King George the
Second's English. In another corner George and Cannie
were talking in a low tone, and assisting what they uttered
with smiles and confidential glances.

“My dear Mrs. Butterton,” said the Captain, “have you
any commands in Belhaven—or, as these new-fangled folks
will call it, Alexandria? It's a shame to be re-christening
so promising a child—or I'm a dandy!

“Any commands in Belhaven?” asked the lady with a
little simper and flutter; “why do you ask, Captain?”

“Because I think it likely that I'll go back soon to amuse
myself. You remain here, I believe.”

These cold and cruel words made the lady's heart throb.
Then Captain Wagner cared nothing for her!

“Yes,” she said, faintly, “perhaps till the spring.”

“I would like to do as much myself,” continued the
worthy, “but the rascally Injuns, whose scalps I was to
have, won't come, and it is repugnant to the feelings of a
soldier to be living on that honest fellow, Fairfax, without
doing him any service in return.”

“Why, Captain,” said Mrs. Butterton, with evident admiration
in her eyes, for one who spoke in this free and easy
way of so great a nobleman, “why, Captain, his lordship is
delighted at your visit, and I heard him with my own ears
say, no longer ago than this morning, that you were worth
a thousand pounds a year to him in good spirits!”

“All flattery!” returned the soldier, “or I'm a dandy!
I have remonstrated with Fairfax about that bad habit he
has of trying to ingratiate himself with people by flattering
them. He knew you were my friend—that you would repeat
it—and he is trying to get around me.”

“Oh, Captain! How can you talk so of his lordship!”

The worthy laughed.

“He's only a man like anybody else, my dear Mrs. Butterton;
it's not his fault that he is called Earl and Baron.
I'm free to say he'd be a dooms good fellow under any circumstances.
I like Fairfax. He's no pretender. And I
repeat that I don't like to be eating and drinking, as I eat
and drink, at his expense, when the Injun devils decline
coming along and getting themselves done for! I was sent
for to eat Injuns, not beef! to drink blood, not Jamaica!
And these Injuns—where are they? Nowhere, or may the
—hum!”

The soldier terminated this sentence by swallowing a
mouthful of punch, which seemed to refresh him greatly.

“Why, Captain,” said Mrs. Butterton, “you are certainly

mistaken about the chance of an inroad. They say there's
no certainty of peace from day to day.”

“My dear madam,” returned the Borderer, “it has been
my habit for a number of years to hunt up Mr. 'They Say,'
and when I have heard his views to go and lay my plans
precisely to the contrary. I have no respect for 'They
Say.' I know the rascal—he is as completely ignorant of
what is really going on as a mole! Even if the Injun rascals
do come along, let Fairfax send down for me! I can't
be neglecting my most important affairs dangling hereabouts,
and chopping arguments with his earlship!”

“Your affairs?” persisted the lady, smiling, “why, Captain,
you have no business in Belhaven, have you?”

The conversation was taking the direction which the cunning
Captain desired. He smiled.

“Well, really,” he said, “I hardly know how to reply to
you, my dear madam—to reply without touching upon a
most delicated subject—you comprehend?”

The lady blushed, but said nothing.

“It is true,” continued Captain Wagner, “that many
people would say I had no business whatsoever to attend to
in Belhaven, like merchants, and shopkeepers, lawywers, and
all that small fry, who are thinking all the time of money
and nothing else—not like us soldiers, of honor and glory,
and—hem!—love.”

“Of—love?” asked Mrs. Butterton, faintly. What could
the Captain mean?

“I would not refer to these matters with any one else, my
dear madam,” said the worthy, edging his chair across to
Mrs. Butterton's side, and speaking in low, confidential
tones; “but you are my good friend, and are well acquainted
with—the lady.”

“The lady”—And Mrs. Butterton's voice died away in
her throat.

“The fair Emmelina, your friend,” whispered the Captain,

bending over. But his companion's agitation made
her turn away her head—she could not reply.

“Miss Emmelina,” continued the subtle campaigner, in
the same confidential tone, “is, it is true, past the bloom of
youth. She is nearly my own age, indeed, I fancy, and this
might seem to many persons an objection. But is it really
such? I am tired, my dear madam, of your school-girls and
young misses—your sweet young creatures, full of sentiment
and romance—who clasp their hands when they look at the
moon, and read poetry verses and say, `Oh, how beautiful!'
I don't say I never admired 'em, but I'm past all that, or
may—ahem! I now admire the ripe flower, not the bud
—I confess I want a wife, and it has seemed to me that
Miss Emmelina, your, friend, whom you have so often
praised, would make a noble spouse—and likes me well
enough to give me a fair start—don't you think so—Emmelina?”

And the Captain scratched his nose, and regarded the
ceiling, after this tender exclamation, with an absent and
pre-occupied air, which was very striking.

As to Mrs. Butterton, that fair lady remained for some
time silent and blushing—then, on being again pressed by
the Captain, replied that she thought—she had hoped—she
—No! Emmelina was not calculated to adorn the married
state. No doubt Captain Wagner would think—and here
Mrs. Butterton assumed a tone meant for hauteur—that she
was unjust and unfriendly. Yet candor compelled her to
say that she knew Emmelina well, but in spite of a most
tender friendship for that lady, must say she was in the
sphere she was best calculated to fill—that of an old maid.
In that sphere, said Mrs. Butterton with animated feeling,
Emmelina was worthy of all praise. She had her little
faults, such as a propensity to gossip, a disposition to pry
into her neighbors' matters, and a talent for adding to and
coloring all that she repeated, which no doubt arose from
her smartness. She had certainly been the cause of that

terrible fight at the corner of King Street, where the two
lovers of her corner neighbor bruised each other so awfully,
and created such a horrible scandal; but she, Mrs. Butterton,
was quite sure that Emmelina had never expected any
such misfortune to take place in consequence of her communicating
the trifle which she did to one of the young
men—it had given her great pain, and she had deeply regretted
it. With these, and a few other little drawbacks—
such as an undue love of money, a disposition to spend
nothing more than she was absolutely compelled to—a
strong dislike and suspicion of every one who did not belong
to her particular church, she was very well in her way, as
an old maid. Out of that condition, she, Mrs. Butterton,
very greatly feared that Emmelina would not be a very perfect
character. She was little suited for a wife, still, if
Captain Wagner thought differently, it was no affair of hers.
She hoped he would not find out too late the failings in
Emmelina's character.

Having made this lengthy speech, which the Captain listened
to with silent attention and a subtle smile, Mrs. Butterton
applied herself to her knitting in a more hurried
manner than before, and assumed an air of studied indifference.

“My dear madam,” replied the Captain, with earnest and
solemn feeling, “I thank you for this interest in me, but
are you not misled somewhat in your estimate of the sweet
Emmelina, by the opinions of those persons who dislike
her? Are the fair sex at all given to gossip? I do
not, I cannot believe it, my dear madam! I will never
credit the assertion! True, I have heard it said that
when they get to be old women—even after the tender
and still blooming age of twenty-five, they experience the
extremest pleasure in the circulation of intelligence about
their friends. The irreverent and low-minded individual
who made this statement in my hearing, added, that the
truth was so dear to these angelic newscarriers, that much
of their existence was heroically and fondly dedicated to

the task of decking it in bright apparel, and presenting it
in such a manner as to forcibly impress it on the minds of
those who made its acquaintance. `The poor, plain maiden
Truth,' this wretched person added, `scarcely knew herself
when she was thus pranked out; and none of her old friends
could recognize her.' Now, all these base insinuations I
abhor and utterly reject and despise! Attribute to the
fair sex any such poor, narrow conduct? regard them as
laboring under this `disease,' as the low fellow worded it—
as the victims of a sickly craving? Never! never! I don't
respect the man who allows his mind to be filled with such
base prejudices! What, madam! Acknowledge that the
beautiful and superior sex—the better half of human beings
—fritter away their time and intellect on little smirking
gossip and tittle-tattle! Believe that they go round and
smile and whisper, and stab people in secret behind their
backs—and when they meet them afterwards, squeeze their
hands and look into their eyes with tender friendship! Believe
that when the female mind should grow in dignity and
sweetness, that it only waxes smaller and more narrow—
festering away into nods and smirks, and `guggle—guggle—
guggle—whish—sh—sh—sh!' beneath the breath! Credit
this statement, madam! think thus of the ladies!—never!
never! The cynical and sneering may believe it, but Captain
Julius Wagner? Never!”

The worthy uttered these indignant words with such solemnity
and emphasis that Mrs. Butterton experienced a
sentiment of admiration for the speaker and his lofty views,
amounting almost to enthusiasm.

What he said of women was quite worthy of his generous
and liberal heart, she replied, and did him honor. It was
rare to find a gentleman so magnanimous toward the fair
sex, and she would not have him think that she intended to
speek harshly of her friend Emmelina. She had alluded to
those little foibles in her character, without the least intention
or desire of doing her injustice—and perhaps she was

mistaken in her. It was more than human nature could
accomplish, to become free from every failing—and Emmelina
was, perhaps, no worse than many others.

“Again I thank you, my dear madam,” said the Captain;
“you are a friend indeed! But let me ask if there is
not a chance of all these little foibles disappearing after
matrimony—I mean in case I were to become the happy—
hum!—possessor of the beauteous Emmelina? I have frequently
observed this singular change. There was my friend,
Dick Thonderguste—he married a perfect vixen, and I assure
you, on the word of Wagner, that in six months you wouldn't
have known her—she was so meek and mild! There, again,
was my old playmate, Charley Ryan, who always smiled
when people got angry. He married his cousin, a quiet,
sunny little thing, who seemed as good-natured and
soft as a May morning. And what was the consequence?
In a year, madam, Mrs. Ryan was a tartar—yes, a terror
to her household, including Charley! I never dared
to go and see him—she looked so black at me. I would
sometimes call on Charley when I knew she was out; but
when her footstep was heard on the porch, I would take my
hat unconsciously, wring Charley's hand with deep commiseration,
and get off, if possible, without meeting the lady.
You see I was afraid of her—of that timid little thing!—I,
Captain Longknife!—and all this has induced me to suppose
that marriage frequently changes the fair sex. Don't you
think so, my dear madam?—and might it not change Emmelina—Emmelina!”

And the worthy again gazed at the ceiling.

“It may,” said Mrs. Butterton, curtly but sadly too.

“If I return to my home yonder,” however added the Captain,
“I shall take with me the satisfaction of reflecting, madam,
that I have been of some service to you. It rejoices me
to reflect that this day the town of Winchester has been selected
as the county seat. I rejoice upon your account wholly,
madam; for confidentially speaking, I regard the village of

Winchester as the poorest place on the habitable globe. It
is a failure—it always will be!—there are no men of public
spirit there—no natural advantages—and mark me! there is
no future for Winchester! Stephensburg, on the contrary, is
the pearl of towns, the diamond of villages. It bids fair to
become a gigantic city. Fairfax is a man of intelligence,
and he understood this, and preferred Stephensburg. But
for you I should have gone for it—when, of course, madam,
it would have been chosen. But I could not desert a friend,
one for whom I had so great a—hum—regard; so real a—
hum—attachment! I declared war against Fairfax on my
own private account—I went about to see the justices—I
made a little speech—it was nothing,” said the Captain,
modestly, “a mere series of remarks—and I beat his lordship,
ha! ha! I say, my dear madam, that if I go, I shall
take away with me this pleasing reflection—if I go.”

“Why do you go?” said Mrs. Butterton, fixing upon
Captain Wagner her most significant glance.

The Captain sighed, and looked deeply depressed.

“Because—I have not told you—” he said in almost a
whisper, “because there is another reason, stronger than
any I have given.”

“Another reason?”

The Captain accidentally secured one of the lady's hands,
which hung at her side.

“Because I have been defeated once, madam, and am
afraid to remain near the enemy—like a coward! afraid!
Because I am subjected to the pain of seeing what I wish to
possess, ever before me, yet beyond my reach! Because I
am humiliated, mortified, lowered in my own opinion, by
finding myself distanced by a professor of the frivolous art
of dancing and music playing”—here the Captain darted
a terrific scowl, full of gloomy rage, at the unconscious
Monsieur Jambot—“and because it does not become a soldier
to get on his knees and beg, or crouch like a hound to
be cut! These, madam,” said Captain Wagner, with an air

of touching sorrow, “are the reasons which impel me to leave
this neighborhood—which drive me away from your side!
If I thought this fair hand, which I hold, cared to rest in
my clasp—if I thought it would not drop mine like a hot—
hum—indifferently:—if I thought it would retain me, when
I was going away forever—then I would stay, for it is my
most coveted treasure. But this is folly—farewell! farewell!”

Having uttered these whispered words in a tone of dignified
misery and unfaltering resolve, the Captain made a motion
to withdraw his hand and go. But strange!—unexpected!—astounding
event!—event wholly unanticipated or
thought of by the Captain!—the hand which he would have
released would not suffer that ceremony to be performed.
With a gentle pressure it retained the soldier's, and the
owner of the hand turned away her blushing countenance,
but not before she had bestowed upon her companion a
glance which said plainly as glance could say: “If another
defeat is all that you fear, you need fear no longer—for
the enemy whom you are afraid of is ready to capitulate—
the hand which you think cold, is ready to rest here, in
your own for life!”

The fair Mrs. Butterton may not have made use of this
elegant and graceful speech, which we have skillfully attributed,
therefore, to the “glance of her eye,” but before the
interview terminated, the overjoyed Captain received from
the lady's lips the assurance that she was willing to become
Mrs. Captain Wagner.

The rest of the company could not tell what made the
Captain's countenance shine so resplendently as he finished
his punch at a single gulp, or why Mrs. Butterton was so
gay and so sorrowful by turns.

We know the meaning of the first of these emotions; the
second is as simply explained. The dame was looking with
pity at her disappointed suitor, Monsieur Jambot.