CHAPTER XXI
"_Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm._"
Gray
Jim scarcely felt the jolting of the ambulance over the city stones, andhis impatience and eagerness to get across the intervening space madedust, and heat, and weariness of travel seem but as feather weights, notto be cared for, nor indeed considered at all; though, in fact, his armcomplained, and his leg ached distressingly, and he was faint and weakwithout confessing it long before the tiresome journey reached its end.
"No matter," he said to himself; "it'll be all well, or forgotten, atleast, when I see Sallie once more; and so, what odds?"
The end was gained at last, and he would have gone to her fast ascertain Rosinantes, yclept hackhorses, could carry him, but, stoppingfor a moment to consider, he thought, "No, that will never do! Go toher looking like such a guy? Nary time. I'll get scrubbed, and put on aclean shirt, and make myself decent, before she sees me. She always usedto look nice as a new pin, and she liked me to look so too; so I'dbetter put my best foot foremost when she hasn't laid eyes on me forsuch an age. I'm fright enough, anyway, goodness knows, with mythinness, and my old lame leg; so--" sticking his head out of thewindow, and using his lungs with astonishing vigor--"Driver! streak likelightning, will you, to the 'Merchants'? and you shall have extra fare."
"Hold your blab there," growled the driver; "I ain't such a pig yet asto take double fare from a wounded soldier. You'll pay me well athalf-price,--when we get where you want to go,"--which they did soon.
"No!" said Jehu, thrusting back part of the money, "I ain't agoin' totake it, so you needn't poke it out at me. I'm all right; or, if Iain't, I'll make it up on the next broadcloth or officer I carry; neveryou fear! us fellows knows how to take care of ourselves, you'd betterbelieve!" which statement Jim would have known to be truth, without thenecessity of repetition, had he been one of the aforesaid "broadcloths,"or "officers," and thus better acquainted with the genus hack-driver inthe ordinary exercise of its profession.
As it was; he shook hands with the fellow, pocketed the surplus change,made his way into the hotel, was in his room, in his bath, under thebarber's hands, cleaned, shaved, brushed, polished, shining,--as hehimself would have declared, "in a jiffy" Then, deciding himself to bepresentable to the lady of his heart, took his crutch and sallied forth,as good-looking a young fellow, spite of the wooden appendage, as anythe sun shone upon in all the big city, and as happy, as it was bright.
He knew where to go, and, by help of street-cars and other legs than hisown, he was there speedily. He knew the very room towards which to turn;and, reaching it, paused to look in through the half-opendoor,--delighted thus to watch and listen for a little space unseen.
Sallie was sitting, her handsome head bent over her sewing,--Frankiegambolling about the floor.
"O sis, _don't_ you wish Jim would come home?" queried the youngster. "Ido,--I wish he'd come right straight away."
"Right straight away? What do _you_ want to see Jim for?"
"O, 'cause he's nice; and 'cause he'll take me to the Theayter; and'cause he'll treat,--apples, and peanuts, and candy, you know,and--and--ice-cream," wiping the beads from his little red face,--thelast desideratum evidently suggested by the fiery summer heat. "I say,Sallie!"--a pause--"won't you get me some ice-cream this evening?"
"Yes, Bobbity, if you'll be a good boy."
Frankie looked dubious over that proposition. Jim never made any suchstipulations: so, after another pause, in which he was probablyconsidering the whole subject with due and becoming gravity,--evidentlydesiring to hear his own wish propped up by somebody else'sseconding,--he broke out again, "Now, Sallie, don't you just wish Jimwould come home?"
"O Frankie, don't I?" cried the girl, dropping her work, and stretchingout her empty arms as though she would clasp some shape in the air.
Frankie, poor child! innocently imagining the proffered embrace was forhim, ran forward, for he was an affectionate little soul, to give Salliea good hug, but found himself literally left out in the cold; no arms tomeet, and no Sallie, indeed, to touch him. Something big, burly, andblue loomed up on his sight,--something that was doing its best to crushSallie bodily, and to devour what was not crushed; something that couldsay nothing by reason of its lips being so much more pleasantly engaged,and whose face was invisible through its extraordinary proximity tosomebody else's face and hair.
Frankie, finding he could gain neither sight nor sound of notice, beganto howl. But as neither of the hard-hearted creatures seemed to care forthe poor little chap's howling, he fell upon the coat-tails of the bigblue obstruction, and pulled at them lustily,--not to sayviciously,--till their owner turned, and beheld him panting and fiery.
"Helloa, youngster! what's to pay now?"
"Wow! if 'tain't Jim. Hooray!" screeched the youngster, first embracingthe blue legs, and then proceeding to execute a dance upon his head."Te, te, di di, idde i-dum," he sang, coming feet down, finally.
Evidently the bad boy's language had been corrupted by his street_confreres_; it was a missionary ground upon which Sallie entered, moreor less faithfully, every day to hoe and weed; but of this lastspecimen-plant she took no notice, save to laugh as Jim, catching himup, first kissed him, then gave him a shake and a small spank, and,thrusting a piece of currency into his hand, whisked him outside thedoor with a "Come, shaver, decamp, and treat yourself to-day," and hadit shut and fastened in a twinkling.
"O Jim!" she cried then, her soul in her handsome eyes.
"O Sallie!"--and he had her fast and tight once more.
An ineffable blank, punctuated liberally with sounding exclamationpoints, and strongly marked periods,--though how or why a blank shouldbe punctuated at all, only blissful lovers could possibly define.
"Jim, dear Jim!" whispering it, and snuggling her blushing face closerto the faded blue, "can you love me after all that has happened?"
"Come now! _can_ I love you, my beauty? Slightly, I should think. O, te,te, di di, idde i-dum,"--singing Frank's little song with his big, gayvoice,--"I'm happy as a king."
Happy as a king, that was plain enough. And what shall be said of her,as he sat down, and, resting the wounded leg--stiff and sore yet,--heldSallie on his other knee,--then fell to admiring her while she strokedhis mustache and his crisp, curling hair, looking at both and at himaltogether with an expression of contented adoration in her eyes.
Frank, tired of prowling round the door, candy in hand, here thrust hishead in at the window, and, unfortunately for his plans, sneezed."Mutual-admiration society!" he cried at that, seeing that he wasdetected in any case, and running away,--his run spoiled as soon as itbegan.
"We are a handsome couple," laughed Jim, holding back her face betweenboth hands,--"ain't we, now?"
Yes, they were,--no mistake about that, handsome as pictures.
And merry as birds, through all of his short stay. They would see nodanger in the future: Jim had been scathed in time past so often, yetcome out safe and sound, that they would have no fear for what was tobefall him in time to come. If they had, neither showed it to the other.Jim thought, "Sallie would break her heart, if she knew just what isdown there,--so it would be a pity to talk about it"; and Salliethought, "It's right for Jim to go, and I won't say a word to keep himback, no matter how I feel."
The furlough was soon--ah! how soon--out, the days of happiness over;and Jim, holding her in a last close embrace, said his farewell: "Come,Sallie, you're not to cry now, and make me a coward. It'll only be for alittle while; the Rebs _can't_ stand it much longer, and then--"
"Ah, Jim! but if you should--"
"Yes, but I sha'n't, you see; not a bit of it; don't you go to think it.'I bear'--what is it? O--'a charmed life,' as Mr. Macbeth says, andyou'll see me back right and tight, and up to time. One kiss more, dear.God bless you! good by!" and he was gone.
She leaned out of the window,--she smiled after him, kissed her hand,waved her handkerchief, so long as he could see them,--till he hadturned a co
rner way down the street,--and smile, and hand, andhandkerchief were lost to his sight; then flung herself on the floor,and cried as though her very heart would break. "God send himhome,--send him safe and soon home!" she implored; entreaty made for howmany loved ones, by how many aching hearts, that speedily lost the needof saying amen to any such petition,--the prayer for the living lost inmourning for the dead. Heaven grant that no soul that reads this evermay have the like cause to offer such prayer again!
CHAPTER XXII
"_When we see the dishonor of a thing, then it is time to renounce it._"
Plutarch
A letter which Sallie wrote to Jim a few weeks after his departure tellsits own story, and hence shall be repeated here.
* * * * *
Philadelphia, October 29, 1863.
Dear Jim:--
I take my pen in hand this morning to write you a letter, and to tellyou the news, though I don't know much of the last except about Frankieand myself. However, I suppose you will care more to hear that than anyother, so I will begin.
Maybe you will be surprised to hear that Frankie and I are at Mr.Ercildoune's. Well, we are,--and I will tell you how it came about. Notlong after you went away, Frank began to pine, and look droopy. Therewasn't any use in giving him medicine, for it didn't do him a bit ofgood. He couldn't eat, and he didn't sleep, and I was at my wits' endsto know what to do for him.
One day Mrs. Lee,--that Mr. Ercildoune's housekeeper,--an old Englishlady she is, and she's lived with him ever since he was married, andbefore he came here,--a real lady, too,--came in with some sewing, somefine shirts for Mr. Robert Ercildoune. I asked after him, and you'll beglad to know that he's recovering. He didn't have to lose his leg, asthey feared; and his arm is healing; and the wound in his breast gettingwell. Mrs. Lee says she's very sorry the stump isn't longer, so that hecould wear a Palmer arm,--but she's got no complaints to make; they'reonly too glad and thankful to have him living at all, after such adreadful time.
While I was talking with her, Frankie called me from the next room, andbegan to cry. You wouldn't have known him,--he cried at everything, andwas so fretful and cross I could scarcely get along at all. When I gothim quiet, and came back, Mrs. Lee says, "What's the matter with Frank?"so I told her I didn't know,--but would she see him? Well, she saw him,and shook her head in a bad sort of way that scared me awfully, and Isuppose she saw I was frightened, for she said, "All he wants is plentyof fresh air, and good, wholesome country food and exercise." I cantell you, spite of that, she went away, leaving me with heavy enough aheart.
The next day Mr. Ercildoune came in. How he is changed! I haven't seenhim before since Mrs. Surrey died, and that of itself was enough to killhim, without this dreadful time about Mr. Robert.
"Good morning, Miss Sallie," says he, "how are you? and I'm glad to seeyou looking so well." So I told him I was well, and then he asked forFrankie. "Mrs. Lee tells me," he said, "that your little brother isquite ill, and that he needs country air and exercise. He can have themboth at The Oaks; so if you'll get him ready, the carriage will come foryou at whatever time you appoint. Mrs. Lee can find you plenty of workas long as you care to stay." He looked as if he wanted to say somethingmore, but didn't; and I was just as sure as sure could be that it wassomething about Miss Francesca, probably about her having me out thereso much; for his face looked so sad, and his lips trembled so, I knewthat must be in his mind. And when I thought of it, and of such an awfulfate as it was for her, so young, and handsome, and happy, like thegreat baby I am, I just threw my apron over my head, and burst outcrying.
"Don't!" he said,--"don't!" in O, such a voice! It was like a knifegoing through me; and he went quick out of the room, and downstairs,without even saying good by.
Well, we came out the next day,--and I have plenty to do, and Frankie isgetting real bright and strong. I can see Mr. Ercildoune likes to haveus here, because of the connection with Miss Francesca. She was sointerested in us, and so kind to us, and he knows I loved her so verydearly,--and if it's any comfort to him I'm sure I'm glad to be here,without taking Frankie into the account,--for the poor gentleman looksso bowed and heart-broken that it makes one's heart ache just to seehim. Mr. Robert isn't well enough to be about yet, but he sits up for awhile every day, and is getting on--the doctor says--nicely. They bothtalk about you often; and Mr. Ercildoune, I can see, thinks everythingof you for that good, kind deed of yours, when you and Mr. Robert wereon the transport together. Dear Jim, he don't know you as well as I do,or he'd know that you couldn't help doing such things,--not if youtried.
I hope you'll like the box that comes with this. Mr. Robert had itpacked for you in his own room, to see that everything went in thatyou'd like. Of course, as he's been a soldier himself, he knows betterwhat they want than anybody else can.
Dear Jim, do take care of yourself; don't go and get wounded; and don'tget sick; and, whatever you do, don't let the rebels take you prisoner,unless you want to drive me frantic. I think about you pretty much allthe time, and pray for you, as well as I know how, every night when I goto bed, and am always
Your own loving
Sallie.
* * * * *
"Wow!" said Jim, as he read, "she's in a good berth there." So shewas,--and so she stayed. Frankie got quite well once more, and Salliebegan to think of going, but Mr. Ercildoune evidently clung to her andto the sunshine which the bright little fellow cast through the house.Sallie was quite right in her supposition. Francesca had cared for thisgirl, had been kind to her and helped her,--and his heart went out toeverything that reminded him of his dear, dead child. So it happenedthat autumn passed, and winter, and spring,--and still they stayed. Infact, she was domesticated in the house, and, for the first time inyears, enjoyed the delightful sense of a home. Here, then, she set upher rest, and remained; here, when the "cruel war was over," the armiesdisbanded, the last regiments discharged, and Jimmy "came marchinghome," brown, handsome, and a captain, here he found her,--and from herehe married and carried her away.
It was a happy little wedding, though nobody was there beside theessentials, save the family and a dear friend of Robert's, who was withhim at the time, as he had been before and would be often again,--noneother than William Surrey's favorite cousin and friend, Tom Russell.
The letter which Surrey had written never reached his hand till he layalmost dying from the effects of wounds and exposure, after he had beenbrought in safety to our lines by his faithful black friends, at MorrisIsland. Surrey had not mistaken his temper; gay, reckless fellow, as hewas, he was a thorough gentleman, in whom could harbor no small spite,nor petty prejudice,--and without a mean fibre in his being. At a glancehe took in the whole situation, and insisting upon being propped up inbed, with his own hand--though slowly, and as a work ofmagnitude--succeeded in writing a cordial letter of congratulation andaffection, that would have been to Surrey like the grasp of a brother'shand in a strange and foreign country, had it ever reached his touch andeyes.
But even while Tom lay writing his letter, occasionally muttering,"They'll have a devilish hard time of it!" or "Poor young un!" or "She'sone in a million!" or some such sentence which marked his feeling andcare,--these two of whom he thought, to whose future he looked with suchloving anxiety, were beyond the reach of human help or hindrance,--donealike with the sorrows and joys of time.
From a distance, with the help of a glass, and absorbing interest, hehad followed the movements of the flag and its bearer, and had cheered,till he fainted from weakness and exhaustion, as he saw them safe atlast. It was with delight that he found himself on the same transportwith Ercildoune, and discovered in him the brother of the young girl forwhom, in the past, he had had so pleasing and deep a regard, and whosepresent and future were so full of interest for him, in their new andnearer relations.
These two young men, unlike as they were in most particulars, were drawntogether by an irresistible attraction. They had that common bo
nd,always felt and recognized by those who possess it, of the gentleblood,--tastes and instincts in common, and a fine, chivalroussentiment which each felt and thoroughly appreciated in the other. Thefriendship thus begun grew with the passing years, and was intensified ahundred fold by a portion of the past to which they rarely referred, butwhich lay always at the bottom of their hearts. They had each for thosetwo who had lain dead together in the streets of New York the strongestand tenderest love,--and though it was not a tie about which they couldtalk, it bound them together as with chains of steel.
Russell was with Ercildoune at the time of the wedding, and entered intoit heartily, as they all did. The result was, as has been written, thegayest and merriest of times. Sallies dress, which Robert had given her,was a sight to behold; and the pretty jewels, which were a part of hisgift, and the long veil, made her look, as Jim declared, "so handsome hedidn't know her,"--though that must have been one of Jim's stories, orelse he was in the habit of making love to strange ladies withextraordinary ease and effrontery.
The breakfast was another sight to behold. As Mary the cook said to Janethe housemaid, "If they'd been born kings and queens, Mrs. Lee couldn'thave laid herself out more; it's grand, so it is,--just you go and see;"which Jane proceeded to do, and forthwith thereafter corroborated Mary'senthusiastic statement.
There were plenty of presents, too: and when it was all over, and theywere in the carriage, to be sent to the station, Mr. Ercildoune,holding Sallie's hand in farewell, left there a bit of paper, "which isfor you," he said. "God protect, and keep you happy, my child!" Thenthey were gone, with many kind adieus and good wishes called and sentafter them. When they were seated in the cars, Sallie looked at her bitof paper, and read on its outer covering, "A wedding-gift to SallieHoward from my dear daughter Francesca," and found within the deed of abeautiful little home. God bless her! say we, with Mr. Ercildoune. Godbless them both, and may they live long to enjoy it!
That afternoon, as Tom and Robert were driving, Russell, noting theunwonted look of life and activity, and the gay flags flung to thebreeze, demanded what it all meant. "Why," said he, "it is like a fieldday."
"It is so," answered Robert, "or what is the same; it is election day."
"Bless my soul! so it is; and a soldier to be elected. Have you voted?"
"No!"
"No? Here's a nice state of affairs! a fellow that'll get his arm blownoff for a flag, but won't take the trouble to drop a scrap of paper forit. Come, I'll drive you over."
"You forget, Russell!"
"Forget? Nonsense! This isn't 1860, but 1865. I don't forget; Iremember. It is after the war now,--come."
"As you please," said Robert. He knew the disappointment that awaitedhis friend, but he would not thwart him now.
There was a great crowd about the polling-office, and they all looked onwith curious interest as the two young men came up. No demonstration wasmade, though a half-dozen brutal fellows uttered some coarse remarks.
"Hear the damned Rebs talk!" said a man in the army blue, who, with keeneyes, was observing the scene. "They're the same sort of stuff we lickedin Carolina."
"Ay," said another, "but with a difference; blue led there; but gray'llcome off winner here, or I'm mistaken."
Robert stood leaning upon his cane; a support which he would need forlife, one empty sleeve pinned across his breast, over the scar from adeep and yet unhealed wound. The clear October sun shone down upon hisform and face, upon the broad folds of the flag that waved in triumphabove him, upon a country where wars and rumors of wars had ceased.
"Courage, man! what ails you?" whispered Russell, as he felt his comradetremble; "it's a ballot in place of a bayonet, and all for the samecause; lay it down."
Robert put out his hand.
"Challenge the vote!" "Challenge the vote!" "No niggers here!" soundedfrom all sides.
The bit of paper which Ercildoune had placed on the window-ledgefluttered to the ground on the outer side, and, looking at Tom, Robertsaid quietly, "1860 or 1865?--is the war ended?"
"No!" answered Tom, taking his arm, and walking away. "No, my friend! soyou and I will continue in the service."
"Not ended;--it is true! how and when will it be closed?"
"That is for the loyal people of America to decide," said Russell, asthey turned their faces towards home.
How and when will it be closed? a question asked by the living and thedead,--to which America must respond.
Among the living is a vast army: black and white,--shattered and maimed,and blind: and these say, "Here we stand, shattered and maimed, that thebody politic might be perfect! blind forever, that the glorious sun ofliberty might shine abroad throughout the land, for all people, throughall coming time."
And the dead speak too. From their crowded graves come voices ofthrilling and persistent pathos, whispering, "Finish the work that hasfallen from our nerveless hands. Let no weight of tyranny, nor taint ofoppression, nor stain of wrong, cumber the soil nor darken the land wedied to save."
NOTE
Since it is impossible for any one memory to carry the entire record ofthe war, it is well to state, that almost every scene in this book iscopied from life, and that the incidents of battle and camp are part ofthe history of the great contest.
The story of Fort Wagner is one that needs no such emphasis, it is toothoroughly known; that of the Color-Sergeant, whose proper name is W.H.Carney, is taken from a letter written by General M.S. Littlefield toColonel A.G. Browne, Secretary to Governor Andrew.
From the _New York Tribune_ and the _Providence Journal_ were taken theaccounts of the finding of Hunt, the coming of the slaves into a SouthCarolina camp, and the voluntary carrying, by black men, ere they wereenlisted, of a schooner into the fight at Newbern. Than these twopapers, none were considered more reliable and trustworthy in their warrecord.
Almost every paper in the North published the narrative of the black manpushing off the boat, for which an official report is responsible. Theboat was a flat-boat, with a company of soldiers on board; and thebattery under the fire of which it fell was at Rodman's Point, NorthCarolina. In drawing the outlines of this, as of the others, I havenecessarily used a somewhat free pencil, but the main incident of eachhas been faithfully preserved.
The disabled black soldier my own eyes saw thrust from a car inPhiladelphia.
The portraits of Ercildoune and his children may seem to someexaggerated; those who have, as I, the rare pleasure of knowing theoriginals, will say, "the half has not been told."
Every leading New York paper, Democratic and Republican, was gone over,ere the summary of the Riots was made; and I think the record will befound historically accurate. The _Anglo-African_ gives the story of poorAbram Franklin; and the assault on Surrey has its likeness in the deathof Colonel O'Brien.
In a conversation between Surrey and Francesca, allusion is made to anact the existence of which I have frequently heard doubted. I thereforecopy here a part of the "Retaliatory Act," passed by the RebelGovernment at Richmond, and approved by its head, May 1, 1863:--
"Sec. 4. Every white person, being a commissioned officer, or acting assuch, who, during the present war, shall command negroes or mulattoes inarms against the Confederate States, or who shall arm, train, organize,or prepare negroes or mulattoes for military service against theConfederate States, or who shall voluntarily aid negroes or mulattoes inany military enterprise, attack, or conflict in such service, shall bedeemed as inciting servile insurrection; and shall, if captured, be putto death."
I have written this book, and send it to the consciences and the heartsof the American people. May God, for whose "little ones" I have herespoken, vivify its words.
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