Bessie yielded to the influence of old associations, and, as her mother thought, was more light-hearted, more herself, than she had been for many a weary month. “After all,” she said, anxiously revolving the subject in her mind, “it may come out right yet. Bessie cannot help preferring Herbert Linwood, so good-humoured and open-hearted as he is, to Meredith, with his studied elegance, his hollow phrases, and expressive looks. Herbert’s heart is in his hand; and hand and heart he’ll not be too proud to offer her; for he sees things in their true lights, and not with the world’s eye.”
Mrs. Lee was delicate and prudent; but she could not help intimating her own sentiments to Bessie. From that moment a change came over her. Her spirits vanished like the rosy hues from the sunset clouds. Herbert wondered, but he had no time to lose in speculation. He threw himself at Bessie’s feet, and there poured out his tale of love and devotion. At first he received nothing in return but silence and tears; and, when he became more importunate, broken protestations of her gratitude and ill desert; which he misunderstood, and answered by declaring “she owed him no gratitude; that he was but too bold to aspire to her, poor wretch of broken fortunes that he was; but, please Heaven, he would mend them under her auspices.”
She dared not put him off with pretences. She only wept, and said she had no heart to give; and then left him, feeling much like some poor mariner, who, as he is joyously sailing 84into a long-desired port, is suddenly enveloped in impenetrable mist.
Herbert was not of a temper to remain tranquil in this position. He knew nothing of the “blessing promised to those that wait,” for he had never waited for any thing; and he at once told his perplexities to Mrs. Lee, who, herself most grieved and mortified, communicated slight hints which, by furnishing a key to certain observations of his own, put him sufficiently in possession of the truth. Without again seeing Bessie, he left Westbrook with the common conviction of even common lovers in fresh disappointments, that there was no more happiness for him in this world.
Mrs. Lee uttered no word of expostulation or reproach to Bessie; but her sad looks, like the old mother’s in the ballad, “gaed near to break her heart.”
There are few greater trials to a tender-hearted, conscientious creature like Bessie Lee, than to defeat the hopes and disappoint the expectations of friends, by opposing those circumstances which, as it seems to them, will best promote our honour and happiness. “Eliot,” said Bessie, in her secret meditations, “thinks I am weakly cherishing an unworthy passion—my mother believes that I have voluntarily thrown away my own advantage and happiness—thank Heaven, the wretchedness, as well as the fault, is all my own.”
Many may condemn Bessie’s unresisting weakness; but who will venture to graduate the scale of human virtue? to decide in a given case how much is bodily infirmity, and how much defect of resolution. Certain are we, that when fragility of constitution, tenderness of conscience, and susceptibility of heart, meet in one person, the sooner the trials of life are over the better.
85CHAPTER VIII.
“A name which every wind to Heaven would bear,
Which men to speak, and angels joy to hear.”
Another letter from Eliot broke like a sunbeam through the monotonous clouds that hung over the Lees.
“My Dearest Mother,—I arrived safely at headquarters on the 22d. Colonel Ashley received me with open arms. He applauded my resolution to join the army, and bestowed his curses liberally (as is his wont on whatever displeases him) on the young men who linger at home, while the gallant spirits of France and Poland are crossing the ocean to volunteer in our cause. He rubbed his hands exultingly when I told him that it was your self-originating decision that I should leave you. ‘The only son of your mother—that is, the only one to speak of’ (forgive him, Sam and Hal), ‘and she a widow!’ he exclaimed. ‘Let them talk about their Spartan mothers, half men and demi-monsters; but look at our women-folks, as tender and as timid of their broods as hens, and as bold and self-sacrificing as martyrs! You come of a good stock, my boy, and so I shall tell the gin’ral. He’s old Virginia, my lad; and looks well to blood in man and horse.’
“The next morning he called, his kind heart raying out through his jolly face, to present me to General Washington. If ever I go into battle, which Heaven of its loving mercy grant, I pray my heart may not thump as it did when I approached the mean little habitation, now the residence of our noble leader. 86‘You tremble, Eliot,’ said my colonel, as we reached the doorstep. ‘I don’t wonder—I always feel my joints give a little when I go before him. I venerate him next to the Deity; but it is not easy to get used to him as you do to other men.’
“When we entered, the general was writing. If Sam wishes to know whether my courage returned when I was actually in his presence, tell him I then forgot myself—forgot I had an impression to make. The general requested us to be seated while he finished his despatches. The copies were before him, all in his own hand. ‘Every t crossed, and every i dotted,’ whispered the colonel, pointing to the papers. ‘He’s godlike in that; he finishes off little things as completely as great.’ I could not but smile at the comparison, though it was both striking and just. When the general had finished, and had read the letters of introduction from Governor Hancock and Mr. Adams, which I presented, ‘You see, sir,’ said my kind patron, ‘that my young friend here is calculating to enter the army; I’ll answer for him, he’ll prove good and true; up to the mark, as his father Sam Lee was before him. He, that is, Sam Lee, and I, fit side by side in the French war; I was no flincher, you know, sir, and he was as brave as Julius Cæsar, Sam was; so I think my friend Eliot here has a pretty considerable claim.’
“‘But, my good sir,’ said the general, ‘you know we are contending against hereditary claims.’
“‘That’s true, sir; and thank the Lord, he can stand on his own ground; he shot one of the first guns at Lexington, and got pretty well peppered too, though he was a lad then, with a face as smooth as the palm of my hand.’
“‘Something too much of this,’ thought I; and I attempted to stop my trumpeter’s mouth by saying ‘I had no claims on the score of the affair at Lexington; that my being there was accidental, and I fought on instinct.’
“‘Ah, my boy,’ said the colonel, determined to tell his tale 87out, ‘you may say that—there’s no courage like that that comes by natur, gin’ral; he stood within two feet of me, as straight as a tombstone, when a spent ball bounding near him, he caught it in his hands just as if he’d been playing wicket, and said, “you may throw down your bat, my boys, I’ve caught you out!”—was not that metal?’
“General Washington’s countenance relaxed as the colonel proceeded (I ventured a side glance), and at the conclusion he gave two or three emphatic and pleased nods; but his grave aspect returned immediately, and he said, as I thought, in a most frigid manner, ‘the request, Mr. Lee, of my friends of Massachusetts, that you may receive a commission in the service, deserves attention; Colonel Ashley is a substantial voucher for your personal merit. Are you aware, sir, that a post of honour in our army involves arduous labour, hardships, and self-denial? Do you know the actual condition of our officers—that their pay is in arrears, and their private resources exhausted? There are among them men who have bravely served their country from the beginning of this contest; gentlemen who have not a change of linen; to whom I have even been compelled to deny, because I had not the power to divert them from their original destination, the coarse clothes provided for the soldiers. This is an affecting, but a true view of our actual condition. Should the Almighty prosper our cause, as, if we are true to ourselves, he assuredly will, these matters will improve; but I have no lure to hold out to you, no encouragement but the sense of performing your duty to your country. Perhaps, Mr. Lee, ‘you would prefer to reflect further, before you assume new obligations?’
“‘Not a moment, sir. I came here determined to serve my country at any post you should assign me. If a command is given me, I shall be grateful fo
r it: if not, I shall enter the ranks as a private soldier.’
“General Washington exchanged glances with the colonel, 88that implied approbation of my resolution, but not one syllable dropped of encouragement as to the commission; and it being evident that he had no leisure to protract our audience, we took our leave.
“I confess I came away rather crest-fallen. I am not such a puppy, my dear mother, as to suppose my single arm of much consequence to my country, but I felt an agreeable, perhaps an exaggerated consciousness, that I deserved—not applause, but some token of encouragement. However, the colonel said this was his way; ‘he never disappoints an expectation, seldom authorizes one.’
“‘Is he cold-hearted?’ I asked.
“‘The Lord forgive you! Eliot,’ he replied. ‘Cold-hearted!—No, his heat does not go off by flashes, but keeps the furnace hot out of which the pure gold comes. Lads never think there is any fire unless they see the sparks and hear the roar.’
“‘But, sir,’ said I, ‘I believe there is a very common impression that General Washington is of a reserved, cold temperament—’
“‘The devil take common impressions. They are made on sand, and are both false and fleeting. Wait, Eliot—you are true metal, and I will venture your impressions when you shall know our noble commander better. Cold, egad,’ he half muttered to himself; ‘where the deuse, then, has the heat come from that has cemented our army together, and kept their spirits up when their fingers and toes were freezing?’”
“Give me joy, my dear mother; a kiss, Bessie; a good hug, my dear little sisters; and a huzza, boys! General Washington has sent me a lieutenant’s commission, and a particularly kind note with it. So, it appears, that while I was thinking him so lukewarm to my application, he lost no time in transmitting it to Congress, and enforcing it by his recommendation. Our camp is all bustle. Soldiers, just trained and fit for service, are departing, 89their term of enlistment having expired. The new quotas are coming in, raw, undisciplined troops. The general preserves a calm, unaltered mien; but his officers fret and fume in private, and say that nothing effective will ever be achieved while Congress permits these short enlistments.”
“Thanks to you, dear mother; my funds have enabled me to purchase a uniform. I have just tried it on. I wish you could all see me in it. ‘Every woman is at heart a rake,’ says Pope; that every man is at heart a coxcomb, is just about as true. My new dress will lose its holyday gloss before we meet again, but the freshness of my love for you will never be dimmed, my dear mother; for Bessie, and for all the little band, whose bright faces are even now before my swimming eyes.
“Yours devotedly,
“Eliot Lee.
“P. S.—My poor jack-o’-lantern, Kisel, is of course of no use to me, neither does he give me much trouble. He is a sort of mountebank among the soldiers, merry himself and making others merry. If he is a benefactor who makes two blades of grass grow where but one grew before, Kisel certainly is, while he produces smiles where rugged toil and want have stamped a scowl of discontent.”
In this letter to his mother, Eliot enclosed one to Bessie; reiterating even more forcibly and tenderly what he had before said. It served no purpose but to aggravate her self-reproaches.
91CHAPTER IX.
“Come not near our fairy queen.”
Before mid-winter, Linwood joined Eliot Lee at West Point, and the young men renewed their acquaintance on the footing of friends. There was just that degree of similarity and difference between them that inspires mutual confidence and begets interest. Herbert, with characteristic frankness, told the story of his love, disappointment and all. Eliot felt a true sympathy for his friend, whose deserts he thought would so well have harmonized with Bessie’s advantage and happiness; but this feeling was subordinate to his keen anxiety for his sister. This anxiety was not appeased by intelligence from home. Letters were rare blessings in those days—scarcely to him blessings. His mother wrote about every thing but Bessie, and his sister’s letters were brief and vague, and most unsatisfactory. The winter, however, passed rapidly away. Though in winter quarters, he had incessant occupation; and the exciting novelty of military life, with the deep interest of the times, to an ardent and patriotic spirit, kept every feeling on the strain.
Eliot had that intimate acquaintance with nature that makes one look upon and love all its aspects, as upon the changing expressions of a friend’s face; and as that most interests us in its soul-fraught seriousness, so he delighted even more in the wild gleams of beauty that are shot over the winter landscape, than in all its summer wealth. To eyes like 92his, faithful ministers to the soul, the scenery of West Point was a perpetual banquet.
Nature, in our spring-time, as we all know (especially in this blessed year of our Lord 1835), rises as slowly and reluctantly from her long winter’s sleep as any other sluggard. On looking back to our hero’s spring at West Point, we find she must have been at her work earlier than is her wont; for April was not far gone when Eliot, after looking in vain for Linwood to accompany him, sauntered into the woods, where the buds were swelling and the rills gushing. At first his pleasure was marred by his friend not being with him, and he now for the first time called to mind Linwood’s frequent and unexplained absences for the last few days. Linwood was so essentially a social being, that Eliot’s curiosity was naturally excited by this sudden manifestation of a love of solitude and secrecy.
He however pursued his way; and having reached the cascade which is now the resort of holyday visiters, he forgot his friend. The soil under his feet, released from the iron grasp of winter, was soft and spongy, and the tokens of spring were around him like the first mellow smile of dawn. The rills that spring together like laughing children just out of school (we borrow the obvious simile from a poetic child), and at their junction form “the cascade,” were then filled to the brim from their just unsealed fountains. Eliot followed the streamlet where it pursues its headlong course, dancing, singing, and shouting, as it flings itself over the rocks, as if it spurned their cold and stern companionship, and was impatiently running away from the leafless woods to a holyday in a summer region. He forced his way through the obstructions that impeded his descent, and was standing on a jutting point which the stream again divided, looking up at the snow-white and feathery water, as he caught a glimpse of it here and there through the intersecting branches of hemlocks, and wondering 93why it was that he instinctively infused his own nature into the outward world: why the rocks seemed to him to look sternly on the frolicking stream that capered over them, and the fresh white blossoms of the early flowering shrubs seemed to yearn with a kindred spirit towards it, when his speculations were broken by human voices mingling with the sound of the waterfall. He looked in the direction whence they came, and fancied he saw a white dress. It might be the cascade, for that at a little distance did not look unlike a white robe floating over the gray rocks, but it might be a fair lady’s gown, and that was a sight rare enough to provoke the curiosity of a young knight-errant. So Eliot, quickening his footsteps, reached the point where the streamlet ceases its din, and steals loiteringly through the deep narrow glen, now called Washington’s Valley. He had pressed on unwittingly, for he was now within a few yards of two persons on whom he would not voluntarily have intruded. One was a lady (a lady certainly, for a well-practised ear can graduate the degree of refinement by a single tone of the voice), the other party to the tête-à-tête was his truant friend Linwood. The lady was seated with her back towards Eliot, in a grape-vine that hung, a sylvan swing, from the trees; and Linwood, his face also turned from Eliot, was decking his companion’s pretty hair with wood anemones, and (ominous it was when Herbert Linwood made sentimental sallies) saying very soft and pretty things of their starry eyes. Eliot was making a quiet retreat, when, to his utter consternation, a lady on his right, till then unseen by him, addressed him, saying, “she believed she had the pleasure of speaking to Lieutenant Lee.” Eliot bowed; whereupon she added, “that she was sure, from C
aptain Linwood’s description, that it must be his friend. Captain Linwood is there with my sister, you perceive,” she continued; “and as he is our friend, and you are his, you will do us the favour to go home and take tea with us.”
94By this time the tête-à-tête party, though sufficiently absorbed in each other, was aroused, and both turning their heads, perceived Eliot. The lady said nothing; Linwood looked disconcerted, and merely nodded without speaking to his friend. The lady rose, and with a spirited step walked towards a farmhouse on the margin of the Hudson, the only tenement of this secluded and most lovely little glen. Linwood followed her, and seemed earnestly addressing her in a low voice. By this time Eliot had sufficiently recovered his senses to remember that the farmhouse, which was visible from West Point, had been pointed out to him as the temporary residence of a Mr. Grenville Ruthven. Mr. Ruthven was a native of Virginia, who some years before had, in consequence of pecuniary misfortunes, removed to New-York, where he had held an office under the king till the commencement of the war. His only son was in the English navy, and the father was suspected of being at heart a royalist. His political partialities, however, were not so strong but that they might be deferred to prudence: so he took her counsel, and retired with his wife and two daughters to this safe nook on the Hudson, till the troubles should be overpast.
Eliot could not be insensible to the friendly and volunteered greeting of his pretty lady patroness, and a social pleasure was never more inviting than now when he was famishing for it; but it was so manifest that his presence was any thing but desirable to Linwood and his companion, that he was making his acknowledgments and turning away, when the young lady, declaring she would not take “no” for an answer, called out, “Stop, Helen—pray, stop—come back, Captain Linwood, and introduce us regularly to your friend; he is so ceremonious that he will not go on with an acquaintance that is not begun in due form.”
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