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But so far as the great world beyond the Weehawken Hills went, Ward McAllister's was an ephemeral glory. It was a clear case of anachronism. He was born one hundred years too late, or two hundred years, or two thousand. His was the soul of the Roman Petronius, or of one of the Corinthian eccentrics, who strutted in St.
I should have been more sorry for Perigal than for anybody else, had he been killed, but happily neither bullet nor fever seemed to hurt him, and I hoped that he might once more be united to his wife. I thought, too, of poor McAllister's Mary, and of the sad news I should have to convey to her. However, I cannot say that I indulged in these, or other mournful reflections, for any length of time.
Mr Johnson, seizing one of the wounded men, and telling me to follow him, and the coxswain grasping the other, we all leaped into her. We found she was McAllister's. Two men in her were killed, and poor Grey lay in the stern-sheets badly hurt. McAllister was all excitement, utterly regardless of the shot like hail flying round him, and urging the men to pull towards the schooner.
The colonel shrugged his shoulders, and wisely said nothing. Though he did not understand all McAllister's remarks, he saw that he had gone too far, and that it would be wiser in future, whatever might have been his belief, not to utter any remarks disparaging to the women of England among a party of English sailors.
The second, commanded by Colonel W.H.L. Wallace, consisted of the Eleventh, Twentieth, Forty-fifth, and Forty-eighth Illinois, Colonel Dickey's Fourth Illinois Cavalry, and Taylor's and McAllister's batteries. The third, commanded by Colonel W.R. Morrison, comprised the Seventeenth and Forty-ninth Illinois.
He was in a quandary. He had been taken into McAllister's confidence, of course, regarding this graft exposure story which had been nursed along so carefully. The cuts to illustrate it were locked up in McAllister's desk, he knew. It was unlike the Chief to leave no word of his whereabouts. That it should happen on this of all nights!
In London he met a Californian, in with all the sporting world, on intimate terms with the champion prize-fighter of England, the Queen's pages, and the Tattersalls crowd. Chaperoned by this curious countryman, McAllister's first introduction to London life took the form of a dinner at a great house in the suburbs.
Mars Jim was stan'in' in front er Sandy Campbell's bar-room, up by de ole wagon-ya'd, w'en a po' w'ite man fum down on de Wim'l'ton Road come up ter 'im en ax' 'im, kinder keerless lack, ef he did n' wanter buy a mule. "'I dunno, says Mars Jim; 'it 'pen's on de mule, en on de price. Whar is de mule? "'Des 'roun' heah back er ole Tom McAllister's sto', says de po' w'ite man.
McAllister's battery, and Schwartz's battery commanded by Lieutenant Nispel, were reinforced by Taylor's battery, commanded by Captain Barrett, brought over from Sherman, and by Dresser's battery, commanded by Captain Timony. A determined and desperate struggle ensued, which lasted, with occasional intermissions, till late in the afternoon.
Two or three of the poor fellows brought on board alive, died of their wounds that night. We heard that Captain Collyer and Commander Ceaton were very much cut up at the failure of the expedition, and the loss of so many officers and men. I was especially sorry for McAllister's death. Though eccentric in some of his notions, he was every inch an officer and a gentleman.
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