What Answer?

by Anna E. Dickinson

  CHAPTER VIII

  "_For hearts of truest mettle Absence doth join, and time doth settle._"

  Anonymous

  It were a vain endeavor to attempt the telling of what filled the heartand soul of Surrey, as he marched away that day from New York, andthrough the days and weeks and months that followed. Fired by a sublimeenthusiasm for his country; thirsting to drink of any cup her hand mightpresent, that thus he might display his absolute devotion to her cause;burning with indignation at the wrongs she had suffered; thrilled withan adoring love for the idea she embodied; eager to make manifest thislove at whatever cost of pain and sorrow and suffering tohimself,--through all this the man never once was steeped inforgetfulness in the soldier; the divine passion of patriotism neveronce dulled the ache, or satisfied the desire, or answered the prayer,or filled the longing heart, that through the day marches and the nightwatches cried, and would not be appeased, for his darling.

  "Surely," he thought as he went down Broadway, as he reflected, as heconsidered the matter a thousand times thereafter,--"surely I was a foolnot to have spoken to her then; not to have seen her, have devised, haveforced some way to reach her, not to have met her face to face, and toldher all the love with which she had filled my heart and possessed mysoul. And then to have been such a coward when I did write to her, tohave so said a say which was nothing"; and he groaned impatiently as hethought of the scene in his room and the letter which was its finalresult.

  How he had written once, and again, and yet again, letters short andlong, letters short and burning, or lengthy and filled almost to thefinal line with delicate fancies and airy sentiment, ere he ventured totell that of which all this was but the prelude; how, at the conclusionof each attempt, he had watched these luminous effusions blaze and burnas he regularly committed them to the flames; how he found it difficultto decide which he enjoyed the most,--writing them out, or seeing themburn; how at last he had put upon paper some such words as these:--

  "After these delightful weeks and months of intercourse, I am to go awayfrom you, then, without a single word of parting, or a solitary sentenceof adieu. Need I tell you how this pains me? I have in vain besieged thehouse that has held you; in vain made a thousand inquiries, a thousandefforts to discover your retreat and to reach your side, that I mightonce more see your face and take your hand ere I went from the sight andtouch of both, perchance forever. This I find may not be. The hourstrikes, and in a little space I shall march away from the city to whichmy heart clings with infinite fondness, since it is filled withassociations of you. I have again and again striven to write that whichwill be worthy the eyes that are to read, and striven in vain. 'Tis afine art to which I do not pretend. Then, in homely phrase, good by.Give me thy spiritual hand, and keep me, if thou wilt, in thy gentleremembrance. Adieu! a kind adieu, my friend; may the brighter starssmile on thee, and the better angels guard thy footsteps wherever thoumayst wander, keep thy heart and spirit bright, and let thy thoughtsturn kindly back to me, I pray very, very often. And so, once more,farewell."

  Remembering all this, thinking what he would do and say were the doingand saying yet possible in an untried future, the time sped by. Hewaited and waited in vain. He looked, yet was gratified by no sight forwhich his eyes longed. He hoped, till hope gave place to despondency andalmost despair: not a word came to him, not a line of answer orremembrance. This long silence was all the more intolerable, since thetime that intervened did but the more vividly stamp upon his memory thedelights of the past, and color with softer and more exquisite tints therecollection of vanished hours,--hours spent in galloping gayly by herside in the early morning, or idly and deliciously lounged away inpicture-galleries or concert-rooms, or in a conversation carried on insome curious and subtle shape between two hearts and spirits with thehelp of very few uttered words; hours in which he had whirled herthrough many a fairy maze and turn of captivating dance-music, or insome less heated and crowded room, or cool conservatory, listened to thevoice of the siren who walked by his side, "while the sweet wind didgently kiss the flowers and make no noise," and the strains of "flute,violin, bassoon," and the sounds of the "dancers dancing in tune,"coming to them on the still air of night, seemed like the sounds fromanother and a far-off world,--listened, listened, listened, while hissilver-tongued enchantress builded castles in the air, or beguiled histhought, enthralled his heart, his soul and fancy, through many a goldenhour.

  Thinking of all this, his heart well found expression for its feelingsin the half-pleasing, half-sorrowful lines which almost unconsciouslyrepeated themselves again and again in his brain:--

  "Still o'er those scenes my memory wakes, And fondly broods with miser care; Time but the impression deeper makes, As streams their channels deeper wear."

  Thinking of all this, he took comfort in spite of his trouble."Perhaps," he said to himself, "he was mistaken. Perhaps"--O happythought!--it was but make-believe displeasure which had so torturedhim. Perhaps--yes, he would believe it--she had never received hisletter; they had been careless, they had failed to give it her or tosend it aright. He would write her once again, in language which wouldrelieve his heart, and which she must comprehend. He loved her; perhaps,ah, perhaps she loved him a little in return: he would believe so tillhe was undeceived, and be infinitely happy in the belief.

  Is it not wondrous how even the tiniest grain of love will permeate thesaddest and sorest recesses of the heart, and instantly cause it topulsate with thoughts and emotions the sweetest and dearest in life? OLove, thou sweet, thou young and rose lipped cherubim, how does thysmile illuminate the universe! how does thy slightest touch electrifythe soul! how gently and tenderly dost thou lead us up to heaven!

  With Surrey, to decide was to act. The second letter, full of sweetestyet intensest love,--his heart laid bare to her,--was written; was sent,enclosed in one to his aunt. Tom was away in another section, fightingmanfully for the dear old flag, or the precious missive would have beenintrusted to his care. He sent it thus that it might reach her sooner.Now that he had a fresh hope, he could not wait to write for heraddress, and forward it himself to her hands; he must adopt thespeediest method of putting it in her possession.

  In a little space came answer from Mrs. Russell, enclosing the letter hehad sent: a kindly epistle it was. He was a sort of idol with this sameaunt, so she had put many things on paper that were steeped ingentleness and affection ere she said at the end, "I re-enclose yourletter. I have seen Miss Ercildoune. She restores it to you; sheimplores you never to write her again,--to forget her. I add myentreaties to hers. She begs of me to beseech you not to try her by anyfurther appeals, as she will but return them unopened." That was all.

  What could it mean? He loved her so absolutely, he had such exaltedfaith in her kindness, her gentleness, her fairness and superiority,--in_her_,--that he could not believe she would so thrust back his love,purely and chivalrously offered, with something that seemed likeignominy, unless she had a sufficient reason--or one she deemedsuch--for treating so cruelly him and the offering he laid at her feet.

  But she had spoken. It was for him, then, when she bade silence, to keepit; when she refused his gift, to refrain from thrusting it upon herattention and heart. But ah, the silence and the refraining! Ah, thetime--the weary, sore, intolerable time--that followed! Summer, andautumn, and winter, and the seasons repeated once again, he trampedacross the soil of Virginia, already wet with rebel and patriot blood;he felt the shame and agony of Bull Run; he was in the night struggle atBall's Bluff, where those wondrous Harvard boys found it "sweet to diefor their country," and discovered, for them, "death to be but one steponward in life." He lay in camp, chafing with impatience andindignation as the long months wore away, and the thousands of gravesabout Washington, filled by disease and inaction, made "all quiet alongthe Potomac." He went down to Yorktown; was in the sweat and fury of theseven days' fight; away in the far South, where fever and pestilencestood guard to seize those who were spared by the bullet and bayonet;and on ma
ny a field well lost or won. Through it all marching orfighting, sick, wounded thrice and again; praised, admired, heroic,promoted,--from private soldier to general,--through two years and moreof such fiery experience, no part of the tender love was burned away,tarnished, or dimmed.

  Sometimes, indeed, he even smiled at himself for the constant thought,and felt that he must certainly be demented on this one point at least,since it colored every impression of his life, and, in some shape,thrust itself upon him at the most unseemly and foreign times.

  One evening, when the mail for the division came in, looking over thepile of letters, his eye was caught by one addressed to James Given. Thename was familiar,--that of his father's old foreman, whom he knew to besomewhere in the army; doubtless the same man. Unquestionably, hethought, that was the reason he was so attracted to it; but why heshould take up the delicate little missive, scan it again and again,hold it in his hand with the same touch with which he would have presseda rare flower, and lay it down as reluctantly as he would have yielded aknown and visible treasure,--that was the mystery. He had never seenFrancesca's writing, but he stood possessed, almost assured, of thebelief that this letter was penned by her hand; and at last parted withit slowly and unwillingly, as though it were the dear hand of which hemused; then took himself to task for this boyish weakness and folly.Nevertheless, he went in pursuit of Jim, not to question him,--he wastoo thorough a gentleman for that,--but led on partly by his desire tosee a familiar face, partly by this folly, as he called it with a sortof amused disdain.

  Folly, however, it was not, save in such measure as the subtletelegraphings between spirit and spirit can be thus called. Unjustly socalled they are, constantly; it being the habit of most people todenounce as heresy or ridicule as madness things too high for theirsight or too deep for their comprehension. As these people would say,"oddly enough," or "by an extraordinary coincidence," this very letterwas from Miss Ercildoune,--a letter which she wrote as she purposed, andas she well knew how to write, in behalf of Sallie. It was ostensibly onquite another theme; asking some information in regard to a comrade, butso cunningly devised and executed as to tell him in few words, andunsuspiciously, some news of Sallie,--news which she knew would delighthis heart, and overthrow the little barrier which had stood betweenthem, making both miserable, but which he would not, and she could not,clamber over or destroy. It did its work effectually, and made twohearts thoroughly happy,--this letter which had so strangely bewitchedSurrey; which, in his heart, spite of the ridicule of his reason, hewas so sure was hers; and which, indeed, was hers, though he knew notthat till long afterward.

  "So," he thought, as he went through the camp, "Given is here, and near.I shall be glad to see a face from home, whatever kind of a face it maybe, and Given's is a good one; it will be a pleasant rememberance."

  "Whither away?" called a voice behind him.

  "To the 29th," he answered the questioner, one of his officers andfriends, who, coming up, took his arm,--"in pursuit of a man."

  "What's his name?"

  "Given,--christened James. What are you laughing at? do you know him?"

  "No, I don't know him, but I've heard some funny stories about him; he'sa queer stick, I should think."

  "Something in that way.--Helloa! Brooks, back again?" to a fine,frank-looking young fellow,--"and were you successful?"

  "Yes, to both your questions. In addition I'll say, for your rejoicing,that I give in, cave, subside, have nothing more to say against your pettheory,--from this moment swear myself a rank abolitionist, or anythingelse you please, now and forever,--so help me all ye black gods andgoddesses!"

  "Phew! what's all this?" cried Whittlesly, from the other side of hisColonel; "what are you driving at? I'll defy anybody to make head ortail of that answer."

  "Surrey understands."

  "Not I; your riddle's too much for me."

  "Didn't you go in pursuit of a dead man?" queried Whittlesly.

  "Just that."

  "Did the dead man convert you?"

  "No, Colonel, not precisely. And yet yes, too; that is, I suppose Ishouldn't have been converted if he hadn't died, and I gone in search ofhim."

  "I believe it; you're such an obstinate case that you need one raisedfrom the dead to have any effect on you."

  "Obstinate! O, hear the pig-headed fellow talk! You're a beauty todiscourse on that point, aren't you!"

  "Surrey laughed, and stopped at the call of one of his men, who hailedhim as he went by. Evidently a favorite here as in New York, in camp asat home; for in a moment he was surrounded by the men, who crowded abouthim, each with a question, or remark, to draw special attention tohimself, and a word or smile from his commander. Whatever complaint theyhad to enter, or petition to make, or favor to beg, or wish to urge,whatever help they wanted or information they desired, was brought tohim to solve or to grant, and--never being repulsed by theirofficer--they speedily knew and loved their friend. Thus it was that thetwo men standing at a little distance, watching the proceeding, weregreatly amused at the motley drafts made upon his attention in the shapeof tents, shoes, coats, letters to be sent or received, books borrowedand lent, a man sick, or a chicken captured. They brought theirinterests and cares to him,--these big, brown fellows,--as though theywere children, and he a parent well beloved.

  "One might think him the father of the regiment," said Brooks, with asmile.

  "The mother, more like: it must be the woman element in him thesefellows feel and love so."

  "Perhaps; but it would have another effect on them, if, for instance, hedidn't carry that sabre-slash on his hand. They've seen him under steeland fire, and know where he's led them."

  "What is this you were joking about with him, a while ago?"

  "What! about turning abolitionist?"

  "Precisely."

  "O, you know he's rampant on the slavery question. I believe it's theonly thing he ever loses his temper over, and he has lost it with memore than once. I've always been a rank heretic with regard to Cuffee,and the result was, we disagreed."

  "Yes, I know. But what connection has that with your expedition?"

  "Just what I want to know," added Surrey, coming up at the moment.

  "Ah! you're in time to hear the confession, are you?"

  "'An honest confession--'You know what the wise man says."

  "Come, don't flatter yourself we will think you so because you quotehim. Be quiet, both of you, and let me go on to tell my tale."

  "Attention!"

  "Proceed!"

  "Thus, then. You understand what my errand was?"

  "Not exactly; Lieutenant Hunt was drowned somewhere, wasn't he?"

  "Yes: fell overboard from a tug; the men on board tried to save him, andthen to recover his body, and couldn't do either. Some of his peoplecame down here in pursuit of it, and I was detailed with a squad to helpthem in their search.

  "Well, the naval officers gave us every facility in their power; theriver was dragged twice over, and the woods along-shore ransacked,hoping it might have been washed in and, maybe, buried; but there wasn'tsight or trace of it. While we were hunting round we stumbled on acouple of darkies, who told us, after a bit of questioning, that darkynumber three, somewhere about, had found the body of a Federal officeron the river bank, and buried it. On that hint we acted, posted over tothe fellow's shanty, and found, not him, but his wife, who was readyenough to tell us all she knew. She showed us some traps of the buriedofficer, among them a pair of spurs, which his brother recognizeddirectly. When she was quite sure that we were all correct, and that thething had fallen into the right hands, she fished out of some safecorner his wallet, with fifty-seven dollars in it. I confess I stared,for they were slaves, both of them, and evidently poor as Job's turkey,and it has always been one of my theories that a nigger invariablysteals when he gets a chance. However, I wasn't going to give in atthat."

  "Of course you weren't," said the Colonel. "Did you ever read about theman who was told that the facts did not sustain hi
s theory, and of hissublime answer? 'Very well,' said he, 'so much the worse for thefacts!'"

  "Come, Colonel, you talk too much. How am I ever to get on with mynarrative, if you keep interrupting me in this style? Be quiet."

  "Word of command. Quiet. Quiet it is. Continue."

  "No, I said, of course they expect some reward,--that's it."

  "What an ass you must be!" broke in Whittlesly.

  "Hadn't you sense enough to see they could keep the whole of it, andnobody the wiser? and of course they couldn't have supposed any one wascoming after it,--could they?

  "How am I to know what they thought? If you don't stop your comments,I'll stop the story; take your choice."

  "All right: go ahead."

  "While I was considering the case, in came the master of the mansion,--athin, stooped, tired-looking little fellow,--'Sam,' he told us, was hisname; then proceeded to narrate how he had found the body, and knew theuniform, and was kind and tender with it because of its dress, 'for yousee, sah, we darkies is all Union folks'; how he had brought it up inthe night, for fear of his Secesh master, and made a coffin for it, andburied it decently. After that he took us out to a little spot of freshearth, covered with leaves and twigs, and, digging down, we came to arough pine box made as well as the poor fellow knew how to put ittogether. Opening it, we found all that was left of poor Hunt,respectably clad in a coarse, clean white garment which Sam's wife hadmade as nicely as she could out of her one pair of sheets. 'It wa'n'tmuch,' said the good soul, with tears in her eyes, 'it wa'n't much we'scould do for him, but I washed him, and dressed him, peart as I could,and Sam and me, we buried him. We wished, both on us, that we could havedone heaps more for him, but we did all that we could,'--which, indeed,was plain enough to be seen.

  "Before we went away, Sam brought from a little hole, which he burrowedin the floor of his cabin, a something, done up in dirty old rags; andwhen we opened it, what under the heavens do you suppose we found?You'll never guess. Three hundred dollars in bank-bills, and someimportant papers, which he had taken and hid,--concealed them even fromhis wife, because, he said, the guerillas often came round, and theymight frighten her into giving them up if she knew they were there.

  "I collapsed at that, and stood with open mouth, watching for the nextproceeding. I knew there was to be some more of it, and there was.Hunt's brother offered back half the money; _offered_ it! why, he triedto force it on the fellow, and couldn't. His master wouldn't let himbuy himself and his wife,--I suspect, out of sheer cussedness,--and hehadn't any other use for money, he said. Besides, he didn't want totake, and wouldn't take, anything that looked like pay for doing aughtfor a 'Linkum sojer,' alive or dead.

  "'They'se going to make us all free, sometime,' he said, 'that's enough.Don't look like it, jest yet, I knows; but I lives in faith; it'll comebyumby' When the fellow said that, I declare to you, Surrey, I felt likehiding my face. At last I began to comprehend what your indignationmeant against the order forbidding slaves coming into our lines, andcommanding their return when they succeed in entering. Just then we allseemed to me meaner than dirt."

  "As we are; and, as dirt, deserve to be trampled underfoot, beaten,defeated, till we're ready to stand up and fight like men in thisstruggle."

  "Amen to that, Colonel," added Whittlesly.

  "Well, I'm pretty nearly ready to say so myself," finished Brooks, halfreluctantly.