Macaria

by Augusta J. Evans

  CHAPTER XXVI

  CIVIL WAR

  The treacherous four year's lull was broken at last by the mutter of thestorm which was so soon to sweep over the nation, prostrating allinterests, and bearing desolation to almost every hearthstone in our oncehappy, smiling land of constitutional freedom. Aubrey was deeply impressedwith the vital consequences of the impending election; and as theconviction forced itself upon his mind that, through the demoralization ofthe Northern wing of Democracy, Lincoln would be elected, he endeavoured toprepare the masses for that final separation which he foresaw wasinevitable. Lincoln was elected. Abolitionism, so long adroitly cloaked,was triumphantly clad in robes of state--shameless now, and hideous, andwhile the North looked upon the loathsome face of its political Mokanna,the South prepared for resistance.

  No surer indication of the purpose of the Southern people could have beenfurnished, than the temper in which the news was received. No noisyoutbursts, expending resolve in empty words--no surface excitement--but astern calm gloom, set lips, heavy bent brows, appropriate in men whorealized that they had a revolution on their hands; not indignationmeetings, with fruitless resolutions--that they stood as body-guard for theliberty of the Republic, and would preserve the trust at all hazards. Itwould seem that, for a time at least, party animosities would have beencrushed; but bitter differences sprang up at the very threshold on the_modus operandi_ of Southern release from Yankee-Egyptic bondage. Separate"State action" or "co-operation" divided the people, many of whom wereearnestly impressed by the necessity and expediency of deliberate,concerted, simultaneous action on the part of all the Southern States,while others vehemently advocated this latter course solely because theformer plan was advanced and supported by their old opponents. In this newissue, as if fate persistently fanned the flame of hate between Mr.Huntingdon and Russell Aubrey, they were again opposed as candidates forthe State Convention.

  W---- was once more convulsed, and strenuous efforts were made by bothsides. Russell was indefatigable in his labours for prompt, immediate Stateaction, proclaiming his belief that co-operation was impracticable beforesecession; and it was now that his researches in the dusty regions ofstatistics came admirably into play, as he built up his arguments on solidfoundations of indisputable calculation.

  The contest was close and heated, and resulted somewhat singularly in theelection of a mixed ticket--two Secessionists being returned, and oneCo-operationist, Mr. Huntingdon, owing to personal popularity.

  While the entire South was girding for the contest, South Carolina, everthe _avant courier_ in the march of freedom, seceded; and if doubt hadexisted before, it vanished now from every mind--for all felt that thegallant State must be sustained. Soon after, Russell and Mr. Huntingdonstood face to face on the floor of their own State convention, and wrestleddesperately. The latter headed the opposition, and so contumacious did itprove, that for some days the fate of the State lay in dangerousequilibrium. Finally, the vigilance of the Secessionists prevailed, and,late in the afternoon of a winter day, the ordinance was signed.

  Electricity flashed the decree to every portion of the State, and thethunder of artillery and blaze of countless illuminations told that thepeople gratefully and joyfully accepted the verdict. W---- was vociferous;and as Irene gazed from the colonnade on the distant but brilliant rows oflights flaming along the streets, she regretted that respect for herfather's feelings kept the windows of her own home dark and cheerless.

  The 12th and 13th of April were days of unexampled excitement throughoutthe Southern States. The discharge of the first gun from Fort Moultriecrushed the last lingering vestiges of "Unionism," and welded the entireConfederacy in one huge homogeneous mass of stubborn resistance todespotism. With the explosion of the first shell aimed by GeneralBeauregard against Fort Sumter burst the frail painted bubble of"Reconstruction," which had danced alluringly upon the dark, surgingbillows of revolution. W---- was almost wild with anxiety; and in theafternoon of the second day of the bombardment, as Irene watched theavenue, she saw her father driving rapidly homeward. Descending the steps,she met him at the buggy.

  "Beauregard has taken Sumter. Anderson surrendered unconditionally. Nolives lost."

  "Thank God!"

  They sat down on the steps, and a moment after the roar of guns shook theatmosphere, and cheer after cheer went up the evening sky.

  "Act I, of a long and bloody civil war," said Mr. Huntingdon gravely."To-day I have come to a determination which will doubtless surprise you."

  He paused, and eyed her a moment.

  "No, father; I am not surprised that you have determined to do your duty."

  "How, Irene? What do you suppose that it is?"

  "To use Nelson's words, the Confederacy 'expects that every man will do hisduty'; and you are going into the army."

  "Who told you that?"

  "My own heart, father; which tells me what I should do were I in yourplace."

  "Well, I have written to Montgomery, to Clapham, to tender my services. Wewere at West Point together; I served under him at Contreras andChapultepec, and he will no doubt press matters through promptly. The factis, I could not possibly stay at home now. My blood has been at boilingheat since yesterday morning, when I read Beauregard's first dispatch."

  "Did you specify any branch of the service?"

  "Yes; told him I preferred artillery. What is the matter? Your lips are aswhite as cotton. By the way what shall I do with you? It won't do to leaveyou here all alone."

  "Why not, father? Home is certainly the proper place for me, if you cannottake me with you."

  "What! with nobody but the servants?"

  "They will take better care of me than anybody else. Nellie, and Andrew,and John are the only guardians I want in your absence. They have watchedover me all my life, and they will do it to the end. Give yourself notrouble, sir, on my account."

  "I suppose your Uncle Eric will be home before long; he can stay here tillI come back--or--till the troubles are over. In the meantime, you could bewith the Harrises, or Hendersons, or Mrs. Churchill."

  "No, sir; I can stay here, which is infinitely preferable on many accounts.I will, with your permission, invite Mrs. Campbell to shut up the parsonagein her husband's absence, and remain with me till Uncle Eric returns. Ihave no doubt that she will be glad to make the change. Do you approve theplan?"

  "Yes. That arrangement will answer for the present, and Arnold will be hereto take care of you."

  At the close of a week a telegraphic dispatch was received, informing Mr.Huntingdon of his appointment as major in the provisional army of theConfederacy and containing an order to report immediately for duty.

  Having completed his arrangements, and ordered the carriage to be inreadiness at daylight next morning to convey him to the depot, he bade hergood night much as usual, and retired to his own room.

  But thought was too busy to admit of sleep. He turned restlessly on hispillow, rose, and smoked a second cigar, and returned, to find himself morewakeful than ever. The clock downstairs in the library struck one; his dooropened softly, and, by the dim moonlight struggling through the window, hesaw Irene glide to his bedside.

  "Why don't you go to sleep, Irene?"

  "Because I can't. I am too miserable."

  Her voice was dry, but broken, faltering.

  "Father, the future is dark and uncertain; and I feel that I want anassurance of your entire reconciliation and affection before you go. I camehere to say to you that I deeply regret all the unfortunate circumstancesof my life which caused you to treat me so coldly for a season--that if inanything I have ever seemed obstinate or undutiful, it was not because Ifailed in love for you, but from an unhappy difference of opinion as to myduty under very trying circumstances. Father, my heart ached very bitterlyunder your estrangement--the very memory is unutterably painful. I wantyour full, free forgiveness now, for all the trouble I have ever occasionedyou. Oh, father! give it to me!"

  He drew her close to him, and kissed her twice. />
  "You have my forgiveness, my daughter--though I must tell you that yourtreatment of poor Hugh has been a continual source of sorrow and keendisappointment to me. I never can forget your disobedience in that matter.I do not believe you will ever be happy, you have such a strangedisposition; but since you took matters so completely in your own hands,you have only yourself to reproach. Irene, I very often wonder whether youhave any heart--for it seems to me that if you have, it would have been wonby the devotion which has been lavished on you more than once. You are theonly woman I ever knew who appeared utterly incapable of love; and Isometimes wonder what will become of you when I am dead."

  "God will protect me. I look continually to His guardianship. I won't keepyou awake any longer, as you have a tedious journey before you. Good night,my dear father."

  She kissed him tenderly and left him, closing the door softly behind her.

  A spectral crescent moon flickered in the sky, and stars still burned inthe violet East, when the carriage drove to the door, and Irene followedher father to the steps.

  Even in that dim, uncertain grey light he could see that her face was rigidand haggard, and tears filled his cold, brilliant eyes as he folded her tohis heart.

  "Good-bye, Beauty. Cheer up, my brave child! and look on the bright side.After all, I may come back a brigadier-general, and make you one of mystaff-officers! You shall be my adjutant, and light up my office with yourgolden head. Take care of yourself till Eric comes, and write to me often.Good-bye, my dear, my darling daughter."

  She trembled convulsively, pressing her lips repeatedly to his.

  "Oh, may God bless you, my father, and bring you safely back to me!"

  He unwound her arms, put her gently aside, and stepped into the carriage.

  William, the cook, who was to accompany him, stood sobbing near the door,and now advancing, grasped her hand.

  "Good-bye, Miss Irene. May the Lord protect you all till we come back."

  "William, I look to you to take care of father, and let me know at once ifanything happens."

  "I will, Miss Irene. I promise you I will take good care of master, andtelegraph you if he is hurt."

  He wrung her hand, the carriage rolled rapidly away, and thesorrow-stricken, tearless woman sat down on the steps and dropped her headin her hands.