CHAPTER XXII.
The life of the individual, within its limits, is apt to present a sortof microcosmic image of the life of the nation. There comes a periodof stress, when the germs of change and growth are sown. Then,apparently without reason, time drags. The seasons roll apatheticallyin their rut, and all is done as it was done last year. But in thedeeps the great impulses are maturing, the great forces are gathering.The hour comes that looses them. Then in an instant, it seems almostwithout warning, the quiet heart is in an insurrection, the people ofploughshares is become a people of swords. With a life, or with anation, the events of a day may crowd ten volumes, or the annals of tenyears leave a page but meanly filled. Significance is all. We live inour great moments. The rest is a making ready.
That blue and yellow morning of sweet winds, when Robert rode away fromSecond Westings, and Barbara, looking after him, felt three-fourthsregretful for his going and one-fourth for her dear copy of Sir PhilipSidney's sonnets, was a morning in the late summer of 1769. He was tohave returned the following June. But neither that June nor the next,nor the next following nor the one thereafter, did he return to thequiet villages of Connecticut and the banks of the great river that hadgiven him birth. From year's end to year's end he found himself tiedto the desk in his mother's brother's office, the office with the coatof arms over the door, and the diamond windows looking out on BowlingGreen. He worked faithfully; but, being of the king's party yetsturdily American, a loyalist yet alive to the grievances of thepeople, a Tory yet not intolerant of views hostile to his own, anaristocrat, yet unfettered by the traditions of his clique and clan, hehad all the social diversion that the gay, extravagant, rich, andfoppish little city in the toe of Manhattan Island could afford.Wealthy, well-born, courtly, and kindly, the garlanded snares of themammas of Manhattan were laid thickly but vainly for his feet. He wassquire to all the fair; but not one, unless by some of those thrillingfictions with which maids triumph over their rivals, could claim aughtof him that was exclusive or committal. And he knew Sir PhilipSidney's sonnets by heart.
About once in two months, or thereabouts, went a letter to SecondWestings, full of coloured comment on the doings of the city,--ofremarks sometimes stilted and sometimes illuminating on the latestbooks from London,--of elaborate compliments that concealed rather thanrevealed the emotion glowing behind them,--but of the questions of theday, of Penal Acts, Port Bills, Tea Duties, Coercion, and ContinentalCongresses, no word. Robert had fulfilled to the letter and the spiritBarbara's demand that he study minutely the points at issue between thecolonies and the king. He had realised the blindness and folly of theking, he had acknowledged that the colonies were right to resist, byevery constitutional means, taxation by a parliament in which they werenot represented. But his loyalty to the throne was unshaken by hisregret that the king should be unjust. He tried to believe that thecounsels of the great Englishmen whom he adored,--Pitt and Burke, thefriends of America,--would open the eyes of George III. in time toprevent the cruel arbitrament of war. But--should it be war,--well,his ancestors had bled cheerfully for Charles Stuart when they knew hewas in the wrong, and Robert felt that he would maintain, at whatevercost, the tradition of his ancestors. To be loyal to a good king, aking in the right, where was the distinguishing merit of that? But tobe loyal to king in the wrong, and at great cost,--that, to Robert,seemed loyalty worth the name.
Meanwhile to Barbara, in her green world of Second Westings, lifeseemed to have got caught in a drowsy eddy. The months went by inuneventful circuit, for all the echoes of great doings that came upfrom time to time and stirred the tranquil air. She rode, canoed,read, studied spasmodically, bullied Amos, loved the animals, distilledstrange essences, repudiated the needle and the crochet-hook, as ofold. As of old, she had wild whims, repentances, indignations, dreams,and ardours born of dreams. But all these things had grown paler, in away, had lost something of their bite and vividness. It was as if Fatehad turned a screw and changed the focus. Moreover, she could nolonger, as before, believe each mood eternal and all-important. Shehad a consciousness that there were other interests lurking in life,and this kept her in an attitude of waiting. But the love between herand Doctor John and Doctor Jim lost nothing in this waiting time, butgrew as Barbara grew in stature and self-knowledge; and she lostnothing of her delight in the friendship of Mrs. Debby Blue, to whosecabin she would flee about once a month, when the vagrant blood,growing riotous in her breast, would make her tolerant of no companybut that of the shrewd old outlaw dame. As for her aunt, Barbara'slove for the blue-eyed little Puritan spinster, born that crucialmorning of Mistress Mehitable's unexpected forbearance and seed-cakes,flourished and ripened with not one serious setback. Of course, acomplete understanding between two such opposite tempers could notspring up in a day; but Mistress Mehitable was nothing less than heroicin the consistency with which she held herself to her new policy; andBarbara, having been astonished into an incongruous devotion, was readyenough to make sacrifices on the new altar. Whenever the atmospherebegan to feel overcharged between them, they would say the nicestthings they could think of to each other, and then, with much ingenuityof chance, keep apart for two or three days. In this way newmisunderstandings were avoided; till gradually the natural love betweenthem set deep root into their hearts, and grew strong enough to daresuch tempestuous flurries of the mood as cannot but blow up once inawhile when two women are living alone together.
But while her own life had seemed to have grown so tranquil that shewondered if things had forgotten to happen, Barbara knew that in theoutside world it was different, so different as to make her stillnessseem like sleep. In the outside world she knew events were crowdingand clamouring upon one another's heels, under a sky of strangeportent. She kept herself informed. She wrangled lovingly with DoctorJim; she argued tactfully, though hopelessly, with Mistress Mehitable;she debated academically with the Reverend Jonathan Sawyer; she rantedjoyously with Doctor John, and Squire Gillig, and Lawyer Perley, andold Debby, all four patriots, and the last two frank rebels. For thesake of finding out the drift of Second Westings sentiment, she once inawhile emerged from her prickly exclusiveness to smile upon her fellowsof quality, and was surprised to find them mostly patriots in theirway, with souls that strove to rise above embroidery and tatting. Asfor the common people, the workmen and apprentices and their kind, shegot at their hearts easily in her impulsive fashion, and found themajority of them slowly heating to rebellion. In Amos, her devotedAmos, however, she unearthed a fiery royalist, ready to out-thunderDoctor Jim himself; so she ceased to do Amos the favour of bullyinghim, and Amos grew at times too dejected to care much about KingGeorge. The results of these observations she conveyed minutely infrequent letters to her Uncle Bob, who was now committed to theso-called 'Continental' side. To Robert Gault, also, in his officelooking out on Bowling Green, Barbara would write about once in threemonths. But in these letters she wrote of the woods and the winds, ofwhat blooms were out in the river-meadows, of what birds were nestingor winging,--and never a word of what was in all men's mouths. She waswaiting for Robert to declare himself converted to her views, afterdigesting the course of study to which she had set him. And sherefused to admit the possibility of a clear-headed gentleman, as sheknew him to be, being so misguided as to cling to opinions differentfrom her own. To her mind Truth was a crystal of which but one facetcould be lighted at a time. One side of a question was apt to presentitself to her with such brilliancy that all the other sides were throwninto obscurity together. As for the flamboyant Toryism of Doctor Jim,she regarded it with an invincible indulgence, as one of those thingspreordained from the first,--a thing which she could not even regret,because without it Doctor Jim, who was in every way adorable, would beso much the less himself. Who cared for an eccentricity or two in abeing so big of body and soul as Doctor Jim? But she could not helpbeing glad that Doctor John's eccentricity, to which she would havebeen equally indulgent in case of need, took a different for
m fromDoctor Jim's. The Toryism of her Aunt Hitty she regarded as a part ofthe lady's religion, and with that Barbara would never dream ofmeddling. By an unspoken understanding, she and Mistress Mehitable hadagreed to leave each other's sanctuaries unprofaned.
By the time of the "Boston Tea-Party," a little before Christmas in1773, Second Westings was so established in its stiff-necked, thoughindolent, Whiggery, that Doctor Jim and Mistress Mehitable satenthroned, as it were, in the lonely isolation of their Toryism, withAmos proudly humble at their feet. The Reverend Jonathan Sawyer, whoseinterest in the controversy had been almost wholly academic from thefirst, and who cultivated on all matters outside his creed a breadth ofmind to compensate for his narrowness within it, had judged it right tofollow his flock where he could not lead it, and had amused himself byletting Barbara--of whose conquest he was genuinely proud--convert himto her doctrines. He was now a constitutional patriot, a temperate andconservative champion of colonial privilege, as opposed to kinglyprerogative. When came the soul-stirring news of how the valiant menof Boston Town had confronted the dread tea-chests in their harbour,and torn them piecemeal, and cast their fragrant contents into thetide, then no soul in Second Westings but Doctor Jim, MistressMehitable, and Amos, would drink a drop of tea--except in private.Certain compromising spirits, anxious to be both patriotic andcomfortable, had laid in a supply betimes, and so without publicscandal could dally in secret with the uninebriating cup. But Barbaradespised the alien leaf at all times; and Doctor John preferred hardcider or New England rum; and old Debby had a potent concoction of"yarbs" which made the Chinese visitor insipid; so Mistress Mehitableand Doctor Jim were free to victual their strongholds with nearly allthe tea in Second Westings. Over the achievement of the Boston heroesMistress Mehitable was gently sarcastic and Doctor Jim boisterouslyderisive; while Doctor John exclaimed, "Tut! Tut! such child's playdoes no good! Such mummery! Tut! Tut!" and Squire Gillig, ardent"Continental" but cautious merchant, said, "Such wicked waste! There'sa lot of good money gone! They should have confiscated the stuff, an'hid it, an' sold it by an' by cheap, along through the back townships!"
But to Barbara it seemed that the act was one shrewdly devised andlikely to bring matters to a head. Her reading of it seemed justifieda few months later, when the port of Boston was closed, as a punishmentfor rebellious contumacy,--and the charter of Massachusettsabrogated,---and a military governor, with four English regiments,established in the haughty city by the Charles,--and the capital of theprovince removed to its ancient rival, Salem.
The news of the billeting of the troops on Boston, and the removal ofthe capital to Salem, came with a shock to Westings House. It came ina copy of the _Connecticut Gazette_, delivered at Mistress Mehitable'sdinner-table while she and Barbara were entertaining Doctor John andDoctor Jim, Squire Gillig, and the Reverend Jonathan and Mrs. Sawyer.It had been a gay repast, but when Mistress Mehitable, cravingindulgence by reason of the times, read out the Boston news, a clouddescended upon the company. Squire Gillig began to say somethingbitter, forgetful of Mistress Mehitable's sentiments, but was stoppedby a level stare from the Reverend Jonathan Sawyer's authoritativeeyes. Then Doctor John spoke--no longer droll and jibing, but with thegravity of prescience, and turning by instinct to his brother.
"Jim! Jim!" said he, "this is going to mean _war_. I see it! I seeit! The people will not stand much more,--and more is coming, as sureas my name's John Pigeon. Your precious king's gone mad. He's goingto force it on us!"
Doctor Jim shook his great head sorrowfully. "I am sorry for this,John. I think the king is not well advised in this--on my word I do.It is too harsh, too sudden. But the people won't fight. They mayriot, and talk,--but they won't fight. We are too strong for you,John. There will be no war. That would be absurd!"
"There will be war!" repeated Doctor John, still looking into hisbrother's eyes. The two men had forgotten every one else. "There willbe war, if not this year, the next. The people will fight,--and thatsoon!"
"Then the people will be beaten, and that soon, John!" retorted DoctorJim, firmly, but in a low voice.
"The king's armies will be beaten, Jim! You mark my words! But it isgoing to be a terrible thing! A horrible and unrighteous thing! Therewill be dividing of houses, Jim!"
There were several seconds of silence, a heavy, momentous silence, andBarbara held her breath, a strange ache at her throat. Then Doctor Jimbrought down his fist upon the table, and cried in his full voice:
"A dividing of houses, maybe,--but not a dividing of hearts, JohnPigeon, never a dividing of hearts, eh, what? eh, what?"
He reached out his hand across the table, and Doctor John seized it ina mighty grip. The long years of love and trust between them spokesuddenly in their strong, large faces.
"No, never a dividing of hearts, Jim, in the days that are to come,when our swords go different ways, and we see each other not for atime!"
Then their hands dropped apart, and both laughed uneasily, as theyglanced with a shamefaced air about the table.
"Tut! Tut!" said Doctor John. "That precious king of yours bids fairto make life damnably serious, Jim. Send him away from the table atonce!"
But the diversion came too late; for Barbara was weeping heedlessly,and Mistress Mehitable, with her white chin quivering, was dabbing herhandkerchief to her eyes with an air of vexation at her own weakness;while good Mrs. Sawyer gazed at them both in wide-eyed, uncomprehendingwonder.
"If there's a war," sobbed Barbara, "_you sha'nt_ go to it, either ofyou! We need you, _here_. And--and--you'd both get killed, I know!You're both so splendid and big and tall,--and you wouldn't--take careof yourselves, and the bullets _couldn't_ miss you!"
At this picture Mistress Mehitable grew pale, where she had been red,and cast a frightened look at Doctor Jim, then at Doctor John,--thenback at Doctor Jim.
"Barbara's right, I think," she said, with an air of having weighed thequestion quite dispassionately. "You should not leave your patients,on any account. There are so many men who can destroy life, so few whocan save it. Physicians have no right to go soldiering."
"That's just it, honey!" cried Barbara, flashing radiant eyes throughher tears. "Oh, what a wise little Aunt Hitty you are! What would weever do without you!" And her apprehensions laid themselves obedientlyto rest.
"Well, well!" cried Doctor Jim. "What are two graceless old dogs likeus, that the dear eyes of the fairest of their sex should shed tears onour account? We should go and kick each other up and down the lengthof Second Westings for the rest of the afternoon, for causing suchprecious tears,--eh, what, John Pigeon?"
"'Tis the least we can do, Jim!" said Doctor John. "But now I come tothink of it, we needn't arrange to go to the war before there's a warto go to, after all."
"And when the war does come, you'll both stay right here, where youbelong!" decreed Barbara, holding the question well settled.
"Who knows what may happen?" cried Doctor Jim. "You stiff-neckedrebels may experience a change of heart, and then where's your war?"
"Barbara, sweet baggage," said Doctor John, wagging his forefinger ather in the way that even now, at her nineteen years, seemed to her asirresistibly funny as she had thought it when a child, "I cannot letthis anxiety oppress your tender young spirit. Set your heart at rest.If there be war, Jim Pigeon may go a-soldiering and get shot as full ofholes as a colander, and I'll do my duty by staying at home and lookingafter his patients. There'll be a chance of some of them getting well,then! I've never yet had a fair chance to save Jim Pigeon's patients._I_ won't desert a lovely maiden in distress, to seek the bubblereputation at the cannon's mouth!"
"How can you lie so shamelessly, John Pigeon?" demanded Doctor Jim."I'll lay you a barrel of Madeira you'll be leaning against the butt ofa musket before I am!"
"Done!" said Doctor John.
"I think you are both perfectly horrid!" cried Barbara.
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