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"I happen to know something about Coulter's will," he said to Howard. "The News-Record stock is to be sold and you and I are to have the first chance to take it at three hundred and fifty which is certainly cheap enough." "Why did he arrange to dispose of the most valuable part of his estate?" "Well, we had an agreement about it.
Coulter," he said after an exasperating episode in which Coulter's Pharisaic sensitiveness had resulted in Malcolm's having to "flop" the paper both editorially and in its news columns twice in three days, "we would not have made ourselves ridiculous and contemptible. The public is an ass, but it is an ass with a memory at least three days long.
When the captain broke silence his voice was cool, almost casual. "Mr. Kirkenhead," he ordered the chief engineer, "take this man Hoak to the stokehold, and keep him there until we reach port. Give him double shift and if he makes a false move kill him." The giant made a passionate start forward, and found himself looking down the barrel of Coulter's magazine pistol.
He was apparently not altogether serious; it certainly did not seem a place where any artillerist, however brave, would like to put a gun. The colonel thought that possibly his division commander meant good-humoredly to intimate that in a recent conversation between them Captain Coulter's courage had been too highly extolled.
A gesture of the captain's arm, some strangely agile movements of the men in loading, and almost before the troops along the way had ceased to hear the rattle of the wheels, a great white cloud sprang forward down the slope, and with a deafening report the affair at Coulter's Notch had begun.
Almost at the instant when Captain Coulter's gun blew its challenging cloud twelve answering clouds rolled upward from among the trees about the plantation house, a deep multiple report roared back like a broken echo, and thenceforth to the end the Federal cannoneers fought their hopeless battle in an atmosphere of living iron whose thoughts were lightnings and whose deeds were death.
Coulter gave interviews to many other persons, and stuck so persistently to his statements that the region which he had so minutely described was derisively dubbed "Coulter's Hell." Coulter's experiences certainly were marvellous.
As the icy waters closed over him, he struck out boldly for the spot where he had last beheld the struggling youth. Then his hand came in contact with Coulter's body and he caught the cadet by the arm. As soon as Coulter felt himself touched, he swung around, and the next instant had Jack by the shoulder, in a grip like that of death itself.
But lest this conduct should appear too irresolute, he added the punishment of twenty-four hours in irons. A fellow seaman plucked up the heroism to demand that the incident be entered on the log for admiralty investigation and Coulter's only reply was to send the insurgent into the inferno of the stoke hold for an extra shift at the shovels.
Go down and present the commander of that piece with my congratulations on the accuracy of his fire." Turning to his adjutant-general he said, "Did you observe Coulter's damned reluctance to obey orders?" "Yes, sir, I did." "Well, say nothing about it, please. I don't think the general will care to make any accusations.
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