The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, January 3, 1904, Page 1

1IN is the first installment “*Crittenden’™ by John Fox-Jr. It isa novel full thrills, and best of all, of su- In fact* perior literary. merit. iti ever come from the pen of this talented author, and if you tried 1o buy it elsewhere in any form it would cost you more than ten times what-you will get it for in the pages of The-Suniday Call Magoazine. Just think moment. that over for & Sopyright 900, Day breaking on' the edge. of the Blpegrass and birds sifiging the dawn in ng the rise and Dervou adr of Ten stes swiftly al world’ is to the r g sweep of green slopes from a high mist of: t verdure - to low wind-shaken f ‘young leaves: from gilant ar.to white ash nd _sugar-tree log:* cabin. fo homesteads of - br d' stone; from ush to mea lark; rhododen- uegrass mountain to was T eing home: kivoods " for biy to:fish really, 1 He fellow his' horse dowin- went at walt Whe the . moonlight e ky castned fore. He before— him now & up at helped. blaze of ‘that wal d. Briton fof 1 on the again Mexican and in ght -each had done o ¥ It was even true had al- ready given fe for the very cause that was sc ng the nation now. Thaus it s en with his people straight down the bloedy na- tional highway from Yorktown to Ap- pomattox nd if thére was war, he thought y ¥ # hé swung from his horse—tt t nmow be with him. war? i for:weeks biefqre :hie no more seemed pos- could- come sbould live childheod on the edge of » a -dark truth tall letters eaped fr the There paper wis a hing up- ite House led for wi g hahds by the to wield it, and the Ken- that hdd aght in Mex- in twain to fight for the for the South, and had come shoulder ‘when. the breach sed—the legion of his own loved was the first body of volunteers the hilt. Regulars were ring from the four winds to an battlefield. Already the reach for Southern its way to camp in the His town was making ready and among the names of who were to voice the IL train slackened speed and ed. There was his horse—Rain- —and his buggy h waiting for him stepped from the platform; ¢ he went forward with his fish- a livery-stable boy sprang buggy and went to the ing out horse’s head of the Bob lef’ yo' hoss in town las’ night, Mustuh Crittenden,” he said. “Miss Rachel said yestiddy she jes knowed you was comin’ home this mornin”.” Crittenden smiled—it was one of his mother’s premonitions; she seemed al- ways to know when he was coming home. s the best ereation ‘that has, get: these: thing: t on with his pap Yessih! Things had gope swiftly whilé he was in hills. Old ex-Confederites were answering the: call from the Capitol. Dne of his fatheér's old eomrades—little Carter —was. to be madé a Amorg ‘the regulars Chickamauga was the he .said, we Jerry to. which Rivers, ' a friend t ‘his bayhood, - belonged.~ There, three days lat his:State was going dedicate two monuments to her soms n the old battle-field, fighting with . ofe £ the Legion ng ‘brother, ‘fight- . the other against -it, _had fought face tq.face; ‘where "his uncle met death -on.the -field and his father got the woind that brought death ‘to And then he that- fer a moment war from his brain > the paper quickly. Judith had come home—Judith was to &il -th tues—Judith Page. asleep, except.for thé the banging. of him:Gf ‘A Streét car; yesrs after the War. something and ¥ town' w carts, the nden d, sinooth turmplke here - Raipcrow shook his- -haunches and e sivinging -tret peculiar to grass! The earth is excent “ig. _the - first sh¥ ves, a: floating. mist “of ant: that, ‘- if ed, havé flodted up- the * blight af frost -or the ‘droop of -age. Tha. air, rich with the smeH of new ‘earth and sprouting grass, the’ long, 10w skies wewly washed and,”through "radiant ances, clouds dight as- fhistledown avhite’ ag snaw. s in: the hedges, sparrows by the ide and-on fenesirafls, starlings d ‘over meadows briliant.. with tening dew, larks inthé pastures— a1l. singing a5 they sapg “at the first dawn, and thre mood of naturs that pértect blending -of earth’ and hedven that is given” her childreii but rarély to know, It was good to be alive at the breaking: of such a d good to be young -and" strong,..and -eager- and raid, ‘when the’ nation ¢ °d for »ung ‘men and red Mars was. the g.star. The blood cf dead fight- to- léap again ‘in. his” veins. & his chin was racial chord touched within” = him that had been ‘dumb a long -while. "Apd t ivas all it was—the :blodbd: of his fath- ers; for was honaer and fot love that bound-hinr to his own flag. - ‘He s 'his mothe~’s son, and the un< spoken’ bitterness that lurked ‘1 her nostrils dilated i: proudly heart lurked; likewise, on her ac.ount, - in his. On the top of:a low:hill, & wind from the .dawn struck him, and “the paper in the bottom of the buggy be- gan to snap against the dashboard. He reached dwn to Keep it from be- ing whisked into.the'road, and. he saw again- that ~Judith, Page had come home. When -he sat up again, his face was quite changed. His head fell'a little forward, -his shoulders drooped slightly ‘and;, for a moment, his -buoyancy was gone. of the mouth showed a settled melan- choly where before was sunny humor. The eyes, which ‘were dreamy, kindly, gray, looked .backward in-a morbid glow -of concentration; and over the rather reckless cast of his features lay at once the shadow of suffering and the light of a great tenderness. Slowly, a-little hardness came into his eyes and a litti€ bitterness about. his mouth; His upper lip curved ‘in upon his teeth with self-scorn—for he had had little cause to be pleased with himsélf . while Judith’ was gone, arid ‘his. eyes showed now how proud was the scorn—and he shook himself sharply ' and sat upright. He had forgotten again. That ‘part of his life belonged to the past and, like the past, was gone and was not to come back again. The pres- ent had life and hope now, and the pur- pose born’ that day from five blank vears like the sudden birth of a flower in- a desert. 3 : The sun.-had burst from .the horizon now and was shining through the tops of the treesin the lovely woodland into which Crittenden turned, and through which a road of brown creeksand ran to the pasture beyond and through that to the long avenue of locusts, up which the noble portico of his-old homestead, Canewood, was visible among cedars and firs and old forest trees, His mother Wwas not. up yet—the shutters of her window: were still closed—but the ser- vants were astir and busy. ‘He could see men and plow horses on their way to the fields; and, that far away, he could hear the sound of old Eph- raim's ax at the woodpile, the noises around the barn and cowpens, and old .Aunt Keziah singing a hymn in the kitchen, the old wailing cry of - the ‘mother slave, J “Oh I wonder whur my baby's gone, O Lawd! An’ I git on my knees an’ pray.” The song stopped, a hegro boy sprang out the kitchen door and ran for the stiles—a tall, strong and very black boy with a dancing eye, white teeth and a look of welcome that was littl -*norl of dumb idolatry, 3 “Howdy, Bob.” for the Lost Cause, ° moved- through' empty . under - 1008¥d, * #tepped ~thick turf and began to tiptoe. And the birds!. The corners. -and back again. S NOTHER, HE SAID, I GG “Howdy, Ole.Cap'n.” Crittenden had been “Ole Captain” with the servants— since the death of “Ole’ Master,” his fathér-—to distinguish him from “Young Captain,” who was his brother, Basil. Master and servant shook hands and . Bob’s feeth flaghed. ““What's the mattér, Bob?"” Bob climbed into the buggy. “You gwine-te de wah.” Crittenden laughed. - “How do you know, Bob?” ‘Oh, I know—T know. I seed it when you, was drivin’ up to de.stlles, an’ ® lemme tell you, Ole Can'n.”' The horse started for the barn suddenly and Bob took. wide cuit in order to catch the ‘eve of a brown milkmald, in the coyepens, who sniffed the air scornfully, to show that she did not see him, and buried the waves of her black hair into the silken sides of a young Jersey. .“Y¥es,” he said, shaking his head and making threats to himself; “an’ Bob's gwine wid him. 4 A 4 As Criftenden climbed the stiles, old Keziah filled the kifchén door. . . “Time-you gittin' back, suh” she, ‘cried withmock _severity. “I been studyin’.’bout you. Little mo’ an’ I'd 'a”.been comin' fer you myself. Yes— suh.” --And she gave a l6ud laugh that rang through -the yard and ended in a soft, Gueer Jlittle whoop -that was musical. Crittepden smiled, but, instead of an- swering, reised his hand - warningly, and, as he approached the.poftico, he from the gravel walk to the At the foot of the tow flight of stone steps he stopped—smiling. . k: The- big double. fiont door was open, -and strajght. through the cap on the wall. Upder them stood- a Doy with his hands clasped behind him and his chin upraised.” The lad conld Bee the bullet hole through the top, and he knew that on the visor was a faded 'stdin. of hjs father’s- blond. As a chud he had .heen 'told nevér to touch tha cap or sword and, until this moment, he had not wanted'to ts singe’he - was a ohild; and even now the habit of obedlence held hiin back for a while, as he stood looking up at them. Qutsige a lizght wind rustled the leaves of the' rose bush-at his mother's win- dow, swept through the open door and mide .the ' curtain .at his. elbow swell gently. As the heavy fold fell back to its placé and swung dut again, it caught the hilt of the sword and made the metal point of the scabbard clark softly against the wall. .The boy breathed sharply, remembered that he was grown and reverently reached up- ward. There was the stain where the blood had run down from the furrowed wound that had caused -his father's death, long after the war and just be- fore the hoy was born. The hilt was tarnished, and when he caught it and .pulled the blade came out a little way and stuck fast. Some one stepped on the porch outside and he turned quick- ly, as he might have turned had some ong caught him ' unsheathing tha weapon when a child. ““Hold ¢én there, little brother.” Crittenden stopped in the doorway, smiling, affectionately, and the boy thrust the blade back to the hiit. 3 biz, wide hallway ard at the entrance. of - the dAlning-room, a ‘swosd—a long sav-— salry, saher—~hung with a jaunty gray thém down . “Why, Clay,” he cried, :nd as he ran’ forward, “Are- you guing?”’ he asked, eagerly. 5 “I'm the first born, you know,” added Crittenden, still smiling, and the lad stretched the saber cut to him, repeat- ing eagerly, “Are you going?” The older brother did not answer, but turned, without taking the weapon, and walked to the door and back again. “‘Are you?” “Me?. Oh, I have to go.” said the boy solemnly and. with great dignity, ‘as though the matter were quite be- yond the pale of discussion. “You do?” . . “Yes; the Legion is going.” “Only the members who volunteer; nobody has to go.” “Don’t they?” said the lad, indignant- ly. “Well, if T had a son who belonged to -a military organization in time of - peace”’—the lad spoke glibly—“and re- fused to go with it to war—well, I'd rather see him dead first.” ¥ ‘“Who said that?” asked the other, and .the lad colored. “Why, Judge Tage said it; that's who. And you just ofight to hear Miss Judtth!” Again the other walked to the door Then he took the scabbard and drew the blade to its point as easily as though it had been olled, thrust it balk and hung it with the cap in its place on the wall. “Perhaps neither of us will need it,” he sald. “We'll both be privates—that <18, if I go—and I tell you what we'll do. 'We'll let the better man win the sword, and the better man shall have _ it after the war. What do you say?"” “Say?"” cried the boy. and he gave the other a hug and both started for «e porch. As they passed the door of his_mother’s room the lad put-one fin- ger on his lips: but the mother had heard, and inside a woman in black, who had been standing before a mirror with ‘her hands to her throat, let them s fall suddenly until they were clasped for an instant across her breast. But she gave no sign that she had heard at breakfast an hour later, even when the boy cleared his throat, and after many futile efforts to bring the matter up signaled -across the table to his brother for help. “Mother, Basil there wants to go to war. He says if he had a son who be- longed to a military organization in time of peace and refused to go with it in time of war, that he'd rather see him dead.” The mether's lin quivered when she answered, but so imperceptibly that only the older son saw it. “That is what his father would have said,” she sald, quietly, and Crittenden knew she had already fought out the battle with herself—alone. For a mo- ment the boy was stunned with his good fortune—‘“it was too- easy”’—and with a whoop he sprang from his place and caught his mother around - the neck, while Uncle Ben, the black but- ler, shook his head and hurried into the kitchen t;.vr cornbread and to.tell the news. £ “Oh, I tell you it's great fun to have to go to war! Mother,” added the boy, with quick mischief, “Clay wants to 80 too.” v 3 Crittenden braced himself and looked up with one quick glance sidewise at his mother’s face. It had not changed a line. “I heard all you said in the hallway. If a son of mine thinks it his duty to g0, I shall never say one word to dis- suade him—if he thinks it is his duty,” .she added, so solemnly that silence fell upon the three, and with a smothered “good Lawd,” at the door, Ben hurried again into the kitchen. “Both them boys was a-goin’ off to gt killed an’ ole Miss Rachel not sayin’ one wud to keep 'em back—not a wud." After breakfast the boy hurried.out and, as Crittenden rose, the mother, who pretended to he arranging silver at the old sideboard, spoke with her back to him. “Think it over, son. I can't see that you should go, but if you think you ought, I shall have nothing to say. Have you made up your mind?” Crittenden ‘hesitated. “Not qujte.” “Think it over very carefully, then— please—for my sake.” Her voice trem- bled, and, with a pang, Crittenden thought of the suffering she had known from one war. - Basil’s way was clear, and he could never ask the boy to give up to him because he was the elder. ‘Was it fair to brave mother for him to g0, too—was it right? “Yes, mother,” he said, soberly. IIL The Legion came out next morning &nd pitched camp in a woodland of oak and sugar trees, where was to be voiced a patriotic welcome by a great editor, a great orator, and young Crittenden. Before noon, company streets were laid out and lined with tents and, when the first buggies and rockaways began to roll in from the country, every boy-. AND- ~BY ol FOX. soldler was drushed and burnished to defy the stare of Inspection ard to quite dazzle the eye of masculine eavy or feminine admiration. In’the center of the woodland was a big auditorium, where the speaking was to take place. After the orators were done, there was to be a regimental review in the bluegrass pasture in front of historic Ashland. It was ut the col- onel's tent, where Crittenden went to pay his respects, that he found Judith Page, and he stopped for a moment under an oak, taking in the gay party of women and officers who sat and stood about the entrance. In the center of the group stood a lieutenan: in the blue of a regular and with the crossed sabers of a cavalryman on his neck- band and-the number of his regiment. The girl was talking to the gallant old colonel With her back to Crittenden, but he would Fave known her had he seen but an arm, a shoulder, the poise of her head, a single gesture—a little fuller, perhaps, ®ut graceful, round and slen- der, as was the throat. The hair was a trifle darker, he thought, but brown still, and as rich with gold as autumn sunlight. The ofile was in outline now—it was moré®cleanly cut than ever. The face was a little older, but still re- markably girlish in spite of its maturer strength; and as she turned to answer his look, he kept on unconsciously re- affirming to his memory the broad brow and deep clear eyes, even while his hand was reaching for the brim of his hat. She showed only gracious surprise . open-air auditorfum now and, from at seeing him and, fo his wonder, he was as calm apd cbo) as though he were welcoming back hdhe any good friend who-had been aWay a long time. He could now see that the lieutenant be- longed to the Tenth United States Cav- alry; he knew that the Tenth was a col- ored regiment; he understood a cer- tain stiffness that he ‘elt rather than saw in ‘the courtesy that was care- fully shown him by the Southern vol- unteers who were about him; and he turned away to avoid-. meeting him. For the same reason,-he ‘fancled, Ju- dith turned, too. The -mere idea of negro soldiers was not only repugnant to him, but he did not bélieve in negro regiments. *These would be the men who could and would organize and @rill the blacks in the South; who, in other words,’ would make possible, hasten, ‘and prolong the race war that sometimes struck him as inevitable. ‘As he turned, he saw a tall, fine-look- ing negro, fifty yards away, in the uniforny of a sergeant of cavalry and surrounded by a'crowd ‘of gaping dar- kies, whom he was haranguing earn- estly. “ Lieutenant and “sergeant were evidently on 2n enlisting tour. Just then. a radiant little creature lookéd up into Crittenden's face, call- ing him by name and holding out both hands—Phyllis, Basfl's® little sweet- heart. With her was a tall, keen- “featured fellow,” whorh she introduced & war correspondent and a North- erner. . “A sort of war correspondent,” cor- rected Grafton, with a swift look of interest at’ Crittenden;, but turning his eyes at once back to Phyllls. She was & new and diverting type to the North- ern man and her name was fitting and pleased him. A company passed just then, and ‘a smothered exclama- tion from Phyllls tfirned attention to ft. On the end of the line, with his chin up, his shoulders squared, his S straight . forward, was warrior-brothér, Basil: Only his face colored to show that he knew where he was .and who was looking at him, but not so much a glance: of his-eye did he send toward the tent. Judit turned to Crittenden quickly “Your little brother is going to the war?” The question was thoughtless and significant, £or it betrayed to him what was golng on in her mind, and she knew it and colored, as he paled a little. “My little brother is going to the war,” he repeated, looking at her. Judith smiled and went on bravely: “And you?" Crittenden, too, smiled. “I may consider it my duty to st 1y at hom The girl looked rather surprised—in- stead of sowing the subdued. sar that he was looking for—and, in t she was. Hils evasive and careless an- swer showed an indifference. to her wish and opinion in the matter: that would once have -been very Straightway there was a tug at heartstrings that also was unusual The people were gathering Crittenden’ unusual. her the all in over the camp, the crowd began ta move that way. All kne~ the word of the_orator’s mouth and the word of the editor—they had heard the one and had seen the other on his printed page many times: and it was for this reaso perhaps, that Crittenden's fresh thrilled and swayed the crowd as did. When he rose, most under him it he sdw his mother al- and; not far behind her, Judith with her father, Judge Page. The licutenant of regulars was standing on the edge of t »wd, and to his right was Grafton, als tanding, with hjs hat under his arm—idly euri- ous. But it was to his mother that he spoke and, stes strong, gentle face even whe looking far over her head, and he that she knew that he point then and there between them It was, he said, the first war of its kind in history. It marked. an epoch in the growth of national character since the world began. A he bélieved tkat no fing medieval- ism should so much as touch this hen isphere. The Cubans had earned t freedom long since, ahd thé ecries n for t starving women arnd ch bread which fathers and thers asked but the right to earn must cease To put out of mind the Americans blown to death at Havana—if such a thing were possible—he yet b sved with all his heart in the war. He did not think there would be much of a fight—but it everybody acted on that presumption, there would be mo answer tp the call for volunteers. He was proud to think that the Legion of his own State, that in itself stood far the reumion of the North and the South, had been the first to spring to arms. And he was proud to think that not even they were the first Kentuckians to fight for Cuban liberty. He was proud that before the Civil War even, a Kentuckian of his own name and blood had 'ed a band of one hundred and fifty b men of his own State against Spanish tyranny. in Cuba, and a Critt with fifty of his followers, were captured and shot in platoons of six. “A Kentuckidn knéels onlv tc woman and his God,” this Crittenden had said proudly when ordered to kneel blind- folded and with his face to the wall, “and always dies facing his enemy.” And so those Kentuckians: had died nearly half a century before, and he knew that the young Kentuckians be- fore him would as bravely die, if need be, in the same cause now: and when they came face to face with the Span- jard they the shat- tered battleship in the Havana harbor and something more—they" would- re- member Crittenden. And thén the speaker closed with the words of a cer- tain proud old Confederate soidier to his son: “No matter who was right and who was wrong in the Civil War, the mat- ter.is settled now by the sword. The constitution left the question open, but it is written there now in letters of blood. We have given' our word that they shall stand; and rememiber it is the word of gentlemen and binding on their sons. There have been these in the North who have doubted that word; there have been those .in the South who have given cause for doubt; and this may be true for a long time. But if ever the time comes to. test that word, do you be the first to prove it. You will fight for your flag—mine now as well’ s yours—just as sincerely as 1 fought against it.” And these words, said Crittenden, In a trembling voice, the brave gentleman spoke again on his deathbed; and now, as' ke looked around on the fearless young faces about_him, he had no need to fear that they were spoken in vain. Ard so the time was come for the South to prove its loyalty—not to itself, nor to the North, but to the world. Under him he saw his mother's eyes fill with tears, for these words of her would remember