It was not yet seven A.M. Canon had never considered lemon a particularly desirable fruit, except in the odd bowl of punch, and certainly not for breakfast. He declined, he hoped, graciously.
The professor was nonchalant. “I am of unfortunate physical disposition,” he said, “and stomach disorders are a constant trouble to me. I have found that fruits and vegetables, scientifically consumed, aid the body and mind. The acidic property of the lemon is of particular assistance to my digestive tract. I recommend it to you. No? You must try it sometime.”
He bit off one end of the lemon and noisily sucked its juice.
The fog burned away during the half-hour ride to campus, where students scurrying to class stopped to wave a salute at the professor as the carriage passed.
By the time the driver pulled to a stop in front of a neat white frame house, the two men were engaged in a spirited discussion of astronomy and artillery, the diverse subjects the professor taught at VMI.
Canon warmed to the man. Though certainly a bit unusual in some of his beliefs, the professor at times displayed intensity which Canon found engaging. Most of the talk had been small, but Canon learned the professor was graduated from West Point and had earned the rank of major fighting in the brief Mexican War.
His second wife—the first had died soon after their marriage—was daughter of the school president. They had one daughter, born six summers ago. Jackson’s young nephew lived with them.
If Canon was intrigued by the professor, he was enchanted by his wife. Mary Anna was a model of what Canon considered a Southern lady. She was slight, and her fine light brown hair was pulled back into a bit of a bun, with loosely rolled curls at her temples. She wore a simple but stylish gray day frock.
Graceful and gracious, she was concerned but not patronizing, friendly without a hint of coquettishness. Canon despised the coquette.
She settled Canon in his room while the professor, who had walked to the train station, set out on another constitutional. His frail health, he said, did not allow him to miss his constitutional, rain or shine.
Canon completed his morning toilet with a wash and change of clothes about the time the professor returned to call him to breakfast. Given the episode with the lemon and Mary Anna’s own diminutive frame, he feared there would be light going at table.
Instead, the breakfast board almost groaned in the middle. Everything was in triplicate. There were breakfast meats of ham, bacon and sausage; three gravies; eggs fried, eggs scrambled, eggs poached; pancakes, hoecakes, biscuits. There were fruits, melons, preserves.
Canon willed his stomach not to rumble as he waited through a lengthy and fervent prayer offered by his host. Then he watched in surprise as the professor took one poached egg and a small bowl of preserved figs and Mary Anna took a biscuit and a bowl of hominy grits. The children had apparently been fed in the kitchen and packed off to school.
For the first time since they met, the professor smiled at Canon. Canon would come to learn that smiles were rare to the man because he was of serious demeanor. But the professor smiled over the feast.
“Frankly,” he said, “I was doubtful in regard to reports of your physical stature. But I am happy to know that in this world there are some reports which do not exaggerate. In any event, I believe in being prepared.
“We have a difficulty in our home. My wife loves to cook, though we eat but little. It is rare that she has the opportunity to display her culinary skill. So cook prepares most of our simple meals. When I told Mary Anna about the reports of your size, she was delighted at the prospect of cooking for someone who would appreciate it. This breakfast is for you, sir.”
Canon thanked them and dug in. A half-hour later, it was he who was groaning in the middle and the professor who was amazed. A mouse would make a poor living off what remained on the table.
“Sir,” said the professor, “that was one of the grandest sights I have seen.” Turning to Mary Anna in mock concern, he said, “Mother, alert the tradesmen.”
After breakfast, Canon accepted the professor’s invitation to attend his classes. He needed some exercise after the cramped train ride and huge meal. The brisk fifteen-minute walk to the professor’s building pumped Canon’s circulation and lifted his spirits. He had been looking forward to this.
VMI was a dozen serviceable brick and frame mainbuildings that resembled medieval castles. Various outbuildings and service structures completed the functional campus.
The professor’s schoolroom was well lit and airy. Several windows were partly open even though a coal stove in the corner glowed red in the middle. Canon had enjoyed his own two years of university education and looked forward to learned discussion.
By the end of the day, he was both heartened and dismayed. He was pleased to learn the professor shared his own view of the pervasive war talk in the South. He was dismayed to find VMI Cadets even more rabidly anticipating war than were the gentry back home.
Canon had hoped to find cadets at a war college more enlightened. Instead, they talked as if economics and guns and troop strength were of little consequence in a war with the North. Yankees, by definition, were not gentlemen, they argued. And everyone knew that common Northern rabble could not stand in front of Southern nobility. Consensus was that one Southerner was worth ten Yankees.
The professor listened with patience for a while. He stood beside his desk in front of the blackboard as a score of young men sneered at the prospects of invasion from the north. The professor held up a hand and began to speak. At the start, he was cool and polite. Then a change came over him. The watery blue eyes took on gleam, then flash, until a pale blue light seemed to emanate from them. Without raising his voice, the professor lashed the would-be warriors.
“In Mexico,” he said, “they have a little hairless dog called a Chihuahua. I found it to be a most miserable creature. It is tiny and to my eye misshapen. Yet it appears to be the bravest of creatures, barking and snarling and threatening any and everything around it. It will make as if to set upon someone who only wishes to pet it. It will run at dogs ten times its size.
“But if attacked, even the merest touch in anger will send it yipping and yowling in terror. This animal fills no useful function that I am able to realize.”
The implication was not wasted on the students. A low grumble rose in the room. It was not safe in the South for anyone, be he teacher or preacher, to suggest cowardice. Duels were fought over far less. The professor’s glare never wavered.
“You think I have slandered you,” he said. “That is not my intention. What I point out to you is that the wretched Chihuahua has little choice in running away. Otherwise, it would be chewed to dollrags.
“It is to be despised because of its false bravado. It has no bravery, it has no honor, except in its own light. I do not doubt the bravery or honor of any of you. I only point out to you that it is easy to speak of bravery and honor in war before the fight. But is it seemly? Is it manly?”
No one spoke.
“I have been at war. It is a business which requires bravery and honor. I cannot think it so, but the day may come when your wishes of war are granted. Then you will be called to the test.
“If that day comes, some of you may be faced with the Chihuahua’s choice: Run or be chewed to dollrags.
“You speak of war as if it were all glory and honor. There is glory and honor, but a fractional amount compared to pain, misery and death. You speak of killing Yankees as if they would stand in awe before your aristocracy and be willingly shot down.
“Gentlemen, I will give you the main tenet of war. If you are willing to kill, you had better be willing to die. A bullet owes but one allegiance, and that is to death. And that’s what war is.”
During Canon’s stay in Lexington, which ultimately stretched to January, he attended many of the professor’s lectures. Never again did he hear an idle boast in any of