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Gentleness never accomplished more, as to taste and pathos, than in McCullough's utterance of "I gave you all," and "I'll go with you." The rallying of the broken spirit after that, and the terrific outburst, "I'll not weep," had an appalling effect. The recognition of Cordelia was simply tender, and the death scene lovely in pathos and solemn and affecting in tragic climax.
Under the cover of night a few dusky figures met by stealth in McCullough's woods. "Howdy," said Robert, approaching Uncle Daniel, the leader of the prayer-meeting, who had preceded him but a few minutes. "Thanks and praise; I'se all right. How is you, chile?" "Oh, I'm all right," said Robert, smiling, and grasping Uncle Daniel's hand.
That sort of love was personified in McCullough's embodiment of Virginius, and that same nameless thrill of fear was imparted by its presence, even before the tragedian, with an exquisite intuition of art, made Virginius convey his vague presentiment, not admitted but quickly thrust aside, of some unknown doom of peril and agony.
There is no greater gratification to the intellect than the sense of power and completeness in itself or the perception of power and completeness in others. Those attributes were in John McCullough's acting and were at the heart of its charm. His repertory consisted of thirty characters, but probably the most imposing and affecting of his embodiments was Virginius.
The prompt movement of Halleck kept him from remaining there very long, but he was enabled to take about three thousand recruits from there without molestation from us. Price's campaign as planned for the winter was to have General McCullough's Arkansas force, which was lying at Cross Timbers, near Elkhorn Tavern, and Van Buren in Arkansas, join him.
Suddenly the cross-piece on the hilt of McCullough's sword flew off and cut the owner deeply in the forehead. Blood ran down McCullough's face, though they continued to struggle, and while, ostensibly, Booth was imitating a demon, he said in a half whisper: "Good God, John, did I hurt you?" And when they went off the stage, Booth was white with fear that he had gashed his friend.
"Now, Bob, you sen' word to Uncle Dan'el, Tom Anderson, an' de rest ob dem, to come to McCullough's woods nex' Sunday night. I want to hab a sin-killin' an' debil-dribin' time. But, boy, you'd better git out er yere. Ole Miss'll be down on yer like a scratch cat."
McCullough's first move was to resort to the never-failing expedient of arousing the parrot's ire by puffing tobacco-smoke into its cage. Mechanically the outraged bird responded with a shocking blast of invective, winking rapidly its white parchment-lidded eyes and swinging excitedly to and fro on its perch.
"That ain't all," continued Hardy, with a gloating chuckle. "Th' Old Man, 'e sez 'Belt's bein' invalided, McCullough's gettin' 'is third stripe, an' Dyvis is goin' dahn t' th' Corp'ril's Class at Regina, but that there young Redmond worries me! I don't know wot t' do abaht 'im, 'e sez jes' like that sorter kind-like not a bit like th' O.C. o' a Division torkin' t' a buck private.
Throughout Othello and King Lear McCullough's powers were seen to be curbed and guided, not by a cold and formal design but by a grave and sweet gentleness of mind, always a part of his nature, but more and more developed by the stress of experience, by the reactionary subduing influence of noble success, and by the definite consciousness of power.
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