The Broken Sword; Or, A Pictorial Page in Reconstruction

by D. Worthington

  CHAPTER XXII.

  AN HOUR WITH DICKENS.

  Alice felt that she could see a new light come into the window, into theold home, into her soul; that a peace had come visibly into the shadowedmansion, now that Aleck and Ephraim and the negro constable were dead inthe mud of the river; now that the Federal head had been removed by thebattle-axe of the fearless judge. She began to hope again, perhaps tolove again, who shall say? There was, it may be, a tiny sunbeamcoquetting with the old shadows that had so long overlaid every approachto her young heart, and perhaps a little be-jewelled goldsmith wastinkering and hammering upon a tiny arrow pointed with a ruby, andfeathered with tiny pinions of some diminutive bird, that nested amongfragrant mangoes far away in the isles of the sea, with which he was toshoot down those unsightly idols that had long pre-empted her heart. Thedays were loitering, she thought, in their flight, and the littlebrownie who had been counting the numerals of time in their flight hadfallen asleep, and the old clock in the great hall ticked languidly asif it were tired to death with its unvarying round of toil.

  In this awakening to the brighter possibilities whom should she clasp toher heart but her old friend, Charles Dickens? The Dickens of Dombey, ofBleakhouse, of David Copperfield. She remembered how this marvellousstory-teller, so familiar to all young readers, who had so many childrenof his own, the offspring of an overflowing fancy, one bleak day hadpassed up and down Westminster Hall, clasping to his heart the magazinethat contained his first effusions, with eyes dimmed with pride and joy,as he dropped stealthily, at twilight, a suspicious package into a darkletter box down a dark alley. How many times the narrative had wovengolden filaments here and there through the warp of reconstruction! Whata bright filagree into the shadows that were unceasingly coming andgoing! How many happy hours she had whiled away with Mr. Pickwick andhis admiring friends! How delightfully she had been entertained by thewit of Samuel Weller, the eloquence of Sergeant Buzfuz, of CaptainBunsby! Many a hypochondriac had laughed immoderately at the ludicrousexercises of Crummles and the infant phenomenon! What a charmingcompanion is Dick Swiveller, the inimitable! Dear old Dick; reeling nowand then from excess of wine, but great hearted withal. Who does noteven now occasionally inhale the fragrant odors of the delicious punchescompounded by that blighted being, Mr. Wilkins Micawber, as he listensto Sairy Gamp and laughs at Mrs. Harriss? Where is the tender-heartedChristian who would shout for a policeman, while they are duckingShepherd, or pommelling Squeers, or cudgelling Pecksniff, or inflictingdivers and deserved assaults upon Uriah Heep? With what a motley crowdof living characters Dickens has peopled our literature? What childrenwere ever like his children? What homes were ever like their homes?There is little Pip and honest old Joe Gargery, who pauses for a momentat his anvil to observe with animation, "Which I mean ter say, that ifyou come into my place bull baiting and badgering me, come out! Which Imean ter say, as sech, if yu're a man, come on! which I mean to say thatwhat I mean ter say, I mean to say and stand or fall by;" and Mrs. Joeover watchful and over masterful always, who in the alembic of naturehad discovered no better way of bringing little Pip up than "by hand."Then there is little Oliver Twist, a poor little waif, always hungry,licking the platter and now and then, embarrassingly asking "for more;"and poor Smikes is more terribly tragic, for he lived longer; and littleNell the heart child of unnumbered thousands, tramping along the roads,footsore and ever so weary, a poor little wanderer without home, untilthe good Lord looks down into her tearful eyes and says one day, "LittleNell your little hands and your little feet and your little heart are sotired, will you not come with me, child?" And little Paul Dombey lyingwearily in the trundle bed, within sound of the manifold voices of thesea, turns languidly to his sister Florence and asks with the naturalinquisitiveness of a child, "What are the wild waves saying?" And JoeAll Jones moves almost heedlessly on to death through more streets thanthose of London; and Tom Pinch, Betsy Trotwood and faithful old Peggottyand Ham, whose very oddities and deficiencies are turned into a crown ofglory; and the sneering melodramatic villains and scape-graces, Monckand Quilp, and the blind man in Barnaby Rudge, and the Jew Fagan andMurdstone and Carker; and the high spirited Steerforth and Nickleby andCreakle, and Stiggins and Chadband and Sampson Brass and Snawley; andpoor little idiotic Barnaby, as on the way to the gallows he points tothe stars, and says to Hugh of the Maypole, "I guess we shall know whomade the stars now;" and last of all, but not least, Pecksniff, themasterpiece of them all. From boot to hat he is all over and all under,Pecksniff; drunk or sober he is Pecksniff. He is the virtuous Pecksniffall the time, and altogether. He hugs himself to his own heart as theembodiment of all the virtues of the decalogue and the beatitudes. Nomatter into what rascality he may be plunging, his serene self consciousvirtue never forsakes him. The child wife, too, passes by us into thespirit land, and there is the beautiful, dreamy eyed Agnes, who quitecharms us with her love and trust, and the sad, calm face of Florencelooks timidly upon us; and Mrs. Jellyby tells us to look out forBorioboola Gha; and poor Micawber informs us that nothing has turned upyet, and hinting darkly about laudanum and razors. What a marvellouscharacterization! Will the world ever tire of this man and his children,that he has materialized out of ideals so unpromising; whom he hasreared up in the slums of London, many of them upon garbage?

  The blessed Sabbath day was passing uneventfully. There were no alarmsfrom any source. Old Hannah in her gloom was moving in and out of theoffice and the "ole master" who had retired to his bed chamber wasweakening as the days would come and go. Alice, with the acumen of anexperienced physician, was noting the changes from time to time, andrealized that the final change would come some day and perhaps at anhour least expected. The sad life of little Nell had wrought upon herwomanly feelings and she began to think of herself, her situation, ofher loneliness should her father be taken from her, and she thought ofthe crude inelegant suggestion of old Clarissa.

  "De crowsfoot is ergwine to cum into yer lubly face, und kurlykus andfrowns under yer eyes, und what wud you do in dis grate big grate house,und dis great big plantashun by yer lone lorn self."

  The contemplation of such a situation could only harrow her heart moreand more, but there was the gallant Arthur lying over in Virginia, andshe had plighted her troth to him that day, that she reviewed thecavalry parade, when he stood by her side so handsome, so happy, in hisConfederate uniform, with the nodding plumes in his hat, when he said toher, "Sweet Alice, will you be true to me until I return from the war?"And she promised him with a kiss that she would; "and if dear Arthur youshall never return, Alice will still be true to you."

  Is there no limitation to such a contract; are not its conditionsalready performed? She asked herself. Assuredly there are no marriagesin Heaven. She remembered that the Saviour of the world had said to theSadducees, "Ye do err not knowing the scriptures, nor the power of God.For in the resurrection they neither marry, nor are given in marriage,but are as the angels of God in Heaven." "Arthur knew that I lovedhim--that I loved him from our childhood, and I am sure that our friendsas they enter the gates, are greeted by our friends up there, and thatthey ask with so much interest and affection about their loved ones inthis sad, lonely terrene.

  If Arthur could speak to me now, and could know that ere long I shall bebereft of the last of my kindred, I am sure he would say to me with asmile, "Sweet Alice, your loving heart has been my own all these sadyears, but we cannot marry here, though we may be sweethearts. Yourequire a manly heart in which you may place your burdens, and a manlybosom upon which you may recline your tired, wearied head; strong armsthat shall shield you from every peril. Think of me at the nuptial hourand know that I shall give you away at the altar with my blessing andsmile."

  Thus ran the current of her meditation. Thus in her fancy she wasscattering over the flagstones, in the nave of the old church, a sheenas of pure gold. Tired out with these thoughts she fell asleep in herchair, and her dreams were sweet and refreshing until she was awakenedby a gentle rap upon the door which announced
the presence of herfather.

  Ned had now been installed as the butler at Ingleside. Clarissaobserving as he assumed his untried office, "Dat Ned was more spryer undcud fend fur hesef bettern oman fokses. What cud wun lone lorn oman doef de carpet-sackers shud come back sho nuff. Old marser ort to fort obdis fo now."

  The valuable estate of Burnbrae, an adjoining plantation, had fallenunder the auctioneer's hammer for unpaid taxes and an overdue mortgage.The old owner had struggled with adverse fate to preserve it for hischildren, in the same plight it had descended to him from his ancestors;saving and excepting reasonable wear and tear and other unavoidablecasualties. This large estate of more than two thousand acres had beenpurchased by Judge Bonham with its impedimenta of freed slaves that hadbeen dumped into its cellars like offal by the Freedman's Bureau.

  This incident alone was a sad commentary upon the times. From affluenceto penury the descent had been sheer and without the fault of Mr. Baringthe owner. Judge Bonham said to him however that he should not want, andthat he might remain where he was at least for the present. Thepurchasing of this property was the occasion of a visit from thatdistinguished proprietor to Colonel Seymour at Ingleside. Judge Bonhamhad been a distinguished lawyer and jurist, and in the very best oftimes had highly dignified his profession by a seat upon the SuperiorCourt bench. He was, however, confronted now by a condition and not atheory. He had interviewed from time to time the authors of his textbooks, digests and reports, but from their dead lips came nosatisfactory response to the question, "What shall be done with thesepoor negroes?" Thrust out of their home nests like unfledged eaglets,their very sustenance precarious and their condition the most pitiableand squalid. Idlers and vagrants, watching like a shipwrecked crewhopelessly for succor, when there is none to come.

  It happened that the judge and the Colonel were in confidentialcommunication for more than an hour, and doubtless the subject wasexhaustively examined and reviewed, as if it were under a microscope.The judge, had been a widower for a few years, was a man of quitedignified presence, and perhaps fifty-five years of age. He had seenAlice but once before, at the Memorial exercises at the cemetery, andto-day he contemplated the southern beauty as if he were looking uponthe face of Beatrice Cenci as it smiles upon the throngs from thegallery at Florence. Her exquisite grace, her extraordinary beauty,rekindled instantly the fire that had burned down into dead ashes somany years ago.

  He asked himself the question, "Can I be in love? Have I been ensnaredby the pretty fowler, enmeshed by the witcheries, the fascinations ofthis royal and unsophisticated beauty?" And all this done andaccomplished without the movement of a finger upon her part.

  "You, Livy Bonham, almost in the sere leaf, a veteran of fifty-fouryears, striking the flag to a feebly manned battery of bewitching blueeyes before it has opened fire! Impossible! Impossible!" This exclamationwas just loud enough for the Colonel to overhear, who enquired of thejudge, "what it was that was impossible?"

  "Ah, I was thinking if I couldn't persuade the negroes to vacate mypremises, that was all."

  "Perhaps I may find it necessary to consult you further, say to morrow.You know I am living at Burnbrae now, and the distance between us isvery short, and I am sure we shall become very intimate."

  When the judge left the mansion the old man, accompanied by Alice soughtrest in the parlor upon one of the mahogany sofas.

  "And now my daughter you will please take up your book again and read tome. What are you reading," he continued.

  "I was reading just then my dear father," the girl replied, "about thedeath of little Paul Dombey. I never weary of sentiments so heartpervading that I find running like golden threads through all ofDickens' works. You remember little Paul, father?"

  "Yes, oh yes," replied the old man, "Read it all over again."

  And Alice in her sweet, musical voice read so soothingly to her fatherthat he sank to sleep.

  Closing the door softly behind her she went out into the verandah andsang quite plaintively one or more old songs, it might have been for thelittle birds that were piping their notes too in the tree boughs aboveher.

  Shall we slip away from Alice for a moment to invade the privacy of thejudge?

  If the judge had knowledge of our unbidden presence, would he not say inthe law latin that we had committed a trespass, "_quare clausumfregit_?" Oh, no, it would flatter him immensely to suspect that he wasin love, and that with the beauty of Ingleside. He was stupidly ignorantafter propounding the question a score of times to himself, his answer,dubiously made, was always, "Well, we shall see perhaps."