CHAPTER III
SORROW COMETH WITH KNOWLEDGE
Table of Contents
THERE were no more smiles in the cozy home after that announcement. He had brought with him a newspaper, whose horrible details absorbed his attention, and from which he read aloud to her, as with noiseless step and white lips and ashen cheeks she went about preparing the evening meal, of which they had partaken together for the last time alone. Another presence — grim and terrible — sat at the board with them that night, and imbittered all the sweet viands which her pretty hands had prepared with such loving care. The name of this presence was War. It sat opposite the wife, and over against the husband. Its shadow blighted his brain, and paralyzed her heart. She could not eat; and the Fool noticed dully, when he could lift his eyes from the paper beside his plate, that there were great black circles about her eyes, which were not there when he had first met her in the hall that morning.
After supper he went out, which was another sign of mental alienation; since he had never before known a time when he would willingly leave his pretty home and gentle wife for the society of men. He stayed late, and she pretended to be asleep when he came in. She had been weeping in her loneliness; and her heart was so sore that she could not venture to give him the good-night kiss, which she had never before omitted. In the morning there was the same heaviness; and the same Shadow sat with them at the breakfast-table and mocked at the Fool, as he read the morning's paper, and did not see the tears that rolled down the wife's cheeks.
He did not come home to dine, but sent word that he was too busy to leave his office; and it was late when he came to supper. His melancholy seemed to have departed; and he was strangely, unnaturally cheerful and tender to his young wife. He came up the steps with a bound, took her lovingly from the lower stair, where she generally awaited him, and, when he had kissed her a dozen times or so, bore her in his arms to the dining-room, where the tea-table was already spread. Through the whole meal he rattled on of every thing except the fearful Shadow which sat opposite, and which he pretended not to see. When the meal was over, he led his wife into the sitting-room; and taking a seat by the window, over which clambered a rose-tree, some blossoms from which were in her hair, he seated her upon his lap, kissed her again and again, and finally said in tremulous tones, —
"Metta, the governor has called for more troops."
There was no response, except that the bowed head upon his breast nestled closer, and there was a sound of a sob choked down in the white throat.
"Don't you think, Metta, that I — that is — we — ought to do something — for the country?"
Then came a little wailing cry.
"Didn't I pick lint for two whole days, and sew bandages, and roll them; and [a burst of tears] I'm sure I'm willing to do it every day — if — if — if it will do any good."
Then the tears flowed in a torrent, and the slender form shook with successive sobs, as if a great deep had been suddenly broken up.
"Oh, I didn't mean that!" said the Fool. "Don't you think I ought to do something? — that I ought to — to — go?"
"Go! where?" came the response in assumed wonder; for she would not understand.
"To the war, dear,"he answered gently.
"What!" she cried. "You! you! my husband! Oh, it is not, it can not be so! Surely there is no need of that. Can we not do enough — our share — without that? O darling, I should die!"
She sobbed as if about to make good her words, and clung about his neck with kisses and tears mingled in distracted confusion.
"Oh, if I should lose you! Darling, darling! think of our pretty home! your bright future, and — and," she whispered something in his ear. "Surely some must stay at home; and why not you?"
"Nay, nay, darling," he said, "do not tempt me! I know it is hard; but I could not look you in the face, and know that I had shirked the call. Nay more, my darling! I could not gaze without a blush into the innocent face of that little child, if I should fail to take a man's part in the great struggle which the nation is waging with the wrong! I could not see your babe, and think that it might some time blush for its father's cowardice!"
As if it could make any possible difference to the little one who was expected, whether its father continued a thrifty and prosperous attorney, as he had hitherto been, or became a red-handed slayer of men! or, indeed, whether the said heir expectant would not be better pleased, and his interests better served, by his father taking the former course rather than the latter!
However, the young wife saw that it was useless to argue with a mind so evidently distorted in its apprehension of facts, and lay weeping and sobbing in his arms until he had fired her fancy with bright pictures of military glory and the sweets of the return home, when Peace should crown him with laurels, and spread a feast of all good things for the heroes who went forth to battle for the right.
So, in a few days, he marched forth clad in the foolish foppery of war, avoiding his wife's tearful gaze, and taking pride and credit to himself for so doing.
He was the captain of the "Peru Invincibles," which constituted Company B of an infantry regiment, that did an incredible amount of boasting at the outset, a marvelous amount of running soon after, and a reasonable amount of fighting still later in the Civil War, which had then just begun.
This species of mental alienation was then of such frequent occurrence that it might well be regarded as epidemic. It displayed itself chiefly in an irresistible inclination to the wearing of blue clothing and the carrying of dangerous weapons, together with a readiness to use them in a very unpleasant and reckless manner. There were many mild cases, in which the mania manifested itself in very loud and reckless talk about what ought to be done. These cases were not at all dangerous, as they never went beyond that point. The persons acutely affected received different names in different localities. In some they were called "Boys in Blue," "The Country's Hope," and "Our Brave Soldier-Boys;" while in others they were termed "Lincoln's Hirelings," "Abolition Hordes," and "Yankee Vandals." It may be observed, too, that the former methods of distinguishing them prevailed generally in the States lying to the north, and the latter in those lying to the south, of what used to be called "Mason and Dixon's line." Both meant the same thing. The difference was only in the form of expression peculiar to the respective regions. All these names, when properly translated, signified Fools.
CHAPTER IV
FROM BAD TO WORSE
Table of Contents
FOUR years have elapsed, and our Fool is lying on the greensward, under the clustering maples, in front of the little cottage from which he marched away in stoical disregard of his young wife's tears.
A rollicking witch, whom he calls "Lil," is fighting a sham battle with the soldier-papa whom she has never seen until a week before, but whom she now tramples and punches and pelts with that sublime disregard for the feelings of the assaulted party which shows the confidence she has in his capacity to "endure hardness like a good soldier." Resting with her back against the tree-trunk, with a mass of fluffy white cloth overspreading the light dotted muslin which rises about her in cool profusion as she sits among the long grass, is Metta, the brave young wife, whose tears ceased to flow when she found they were powerless to detain the Fool away from war's alarms, and were all turned into smiles, and treasured up to await his return and restoration to his right mind.
Ah! many a thousand times her heart has stood still with fear for him; and now, as she playfully watches the struggle going on, we can see that there is an older look upon her brow than we had marked there before. The gray eyes have a soberer light, though brimming over with joy; the lips, a trick of closing sharply, as if they would shut back the sob of fear; and the hand wanders often to the side, as if it would hush by its presence the wild beatings of a sad heart. No wonder; for the Shadow that sat at their table four years before had breakfasted, dined, and supped with her ever since, until the Fool came back a week ago. She knows that she has grown old, — live
d many a decade in those four years; but she has quite forgiven the unconscious cause of all her woe, and is busily engaged in preparing garments which shall carry no hint of his unfortunate malady. Indeed, it may be said that she has some pardonable pride in the éclat with which he returns. He has been promoted and gazetted for gallant conduct, and general orders and reports have contained his name; while the newspapers have teemed with glowing accounts of his gallantry. He is colonel now; has been breveted a brigadier-general, but despises the honor which comes as a thing of course, instead of being won by hard knocks. He is over thirty; and, as he romps with their first-born, she looks forward to how many ages of ecstasy in the sweet seclusion of their pretty home.
"There, there, Lily! go and play with Pedro," she says at length. "You will tire papa. He is not used to having such a sturdy little girl to romp with him."
She is half jealous of the child, who shares her husband's attention which she has hungered for so long. The child goes over to the old Newfoundland who is stretched at ease on the other side of the tree; and, when the parents look again, her golden curls are spread upon his shaggy coat, and both are asleep. The wife draws her husband's hand upon her knee, lets fall her needle, and forgets the world in the joy of his presence and of communion with him.
"Do you know, Metta," he said after a long silence, "that I have half a mind to go back?"
"Back! where?" she asked in surprise.
"Why, back to the South, whence I have just come," he answered.
"What! to live?" she asked, with wide, wondering eyes.
"Certainly: at least I hope so," he responded gayly.
"But you are not in earnest, Comfort, surely," with an undertone of pain in her voice.
"Indeed I am, dear!" he replied. "You see, this is the way I look at it. I have been gone four years. These other fellows, Gobard and Clarke, have come in, and got my practice all away. It could not be otherwise. If not they, it must have been some others. People must have lawyers as well as doctors. So I must start anew, even if I remain here."
"But it will not be difficult," she interrupted. "You do not know how many of your old clients have asked about you, and were only waiting for your return to give you their business again."
"Of course; but it will be slow work, and I have lost four years. Remember, I am over thirty now; and we have only our house and the surplus of my savings in the army, — not any thing like the competency I hoped to have secured by this time," he said somewhat gloomily.
"But surely there is no haste. We are yet young, and have only Lily. We can live very snugly, and you will soon have a much better business than ever before. I am sure of that," she hastened to say.
"But, darling, do you know I am half afraid to stay here? It is true I look brown and rugged from exposure, — as who that went to the sea with Sherman does not? — and my beard, which has grown long and full, no doubt gives me a look of sturdiness and strength; but for several months I have been far from well. I weigh much less than when I left here; and this old wound in my lungs has been troubling me a deal of late. Dr. Burns told me that my only chance for length of days was a long rest in a genial climate. He says I am worn out; and of course it shows at the weak point, just like a chain. I am afraid I shall never practice my profession again. It hardly seems as if I could stand it to sit at the desk, or address a jury."
"Is it so, darling?" she asked with trembling lips, while the happiness fled out of her face, and left the dull gray which had come to be its accustomed look during those long years of waiting.
"Yes," he answered tenderly; "but do not be alarmed. It is nothing serious — at least not now. I was thinking, as we had to begin over after a fashion, whether, considering every thing, it would not be best to go South. We could buy a plantation, and settle down to country life for a few years; and I may get over all traces of this difficulty in that climate. This is what the doctor advises."
"But will it be safe there? Can we live there among the rebels?" she inquired anxiously.
"Oh," he responded promptly, "I have no fear of that! The war is over, and we who have been fighting each other are now the best of friends. I do not think there will be a particle of danger. For a few months there may be disorders in some sections; but they will be very rare, and will not last any time."
"Well, dear," she said thoughtfully, "you know that I will always say as Ruth did, and most cheerfully too, 'Whither thou goest, I will go.' You know better than I; and, if your health demands it, no consideration can be put beside that. Yet I must own that I have serious apprehensions in regard to it."
"Oh," he replied, "there must be great changes, of course! Slavery has been broken up, and things must turn into new grooves; but I think the country will settle up rapidly, now that slavery is out of the way. Manufactures will spring up, immigration will pour in, and it will be just the pleasantest part of the country. I believe one-fifth of our soldiers — and that the very best part of them too — will find homes in the South in less than two years, just as soon as they can clear out their old places, and find new ones there to their mind."
So he talked, forgetful of the fact that the social conditions of three hundred years are not to be overthrown in a moment, and that differences which have outlasted generations, and finally ripened into war, are never healed by simple victory, — that the broken link can not be securely joined by mere juxtaposition of the fragments, but must be fused and hammered before its fibers will really unite.
CHAPTER V
THE ORACLE IS CONSULTED
Table of Contents
THE doubt which Metta had expressed led the Fool, a few days afterwards, to address a grave, wise man, in whose judgment he had always placed much reliance, in order to obtain his views upon the proposed change of domicile. So he wrote to his former college-president, the Rev. Enos Martin, D.D.: —
"MY DEAR OLD FRIEND, — The fact that I paid so little heed to your monitions when under your charge, is perhaps the reason why I prize your opinion upon any important matter now. I would like to have your views on the question following, promising to weigh them carefully, though I may not act upon them.
"I am considering the idea of removing my household gods to Dixie. So far as my personal characteristics are concerned, you know them better than any one else probably, except myself, and would not take my own estimate of what you do not know. I can muster a few thousand dollars, — from eight to ten perhaps. I have come out of the war a little the worse for what I have been through; having some trouble in or about one lung, no one seems to know just where, and some other mementos of the affectionate regard of our rebel friends. I find my practice gone, of course, and am a bit afraid of our cold winters. As I desire your views, I will not give mine. Of course I must burn my bridges if I go. I am too old to face a future containing two upheavals.
"Yours ever,
"COMFORT SERVOSSE."
In a few days there came this answer: —
"MY DEAR COLONEL, — I am glad to hear you are considering the question stated in your letter. Of course I can not advise you, in the ordinary sense of that word; nor do I suppose you desire that I should. I can only give my general impressions in regard to the future of that part of the country to which you think of removing.
"It is too soon to speculate as to what will be the course of the government in regard to the rebellious sections. A thousand plans are proposed, all of them, as it seems to me, crude, incomplete, and weak. One thing is certain, I think: no one will be punished for rebellion. It is true, Davis and a few others may be invited to go abroad for a few years for the country's good, and perhaps at its expense; but it will end there. There will be no examples made, no reprisals, no confiscation. At the same time, if the results of the war are to be secured, and the nation protected against the recurrence of such a calamity, these States must be rebuilt from the very ground-sill. I am afraid this is not sufficiently realized by the country. I have no idea of any immediate trouble in the South. Such exhaustiv
e revolutions as we have had do not break forth into new life readily. It is the smoldering embers which are to be feared, perhaps a score of years hence. And this can be prevented only by a thorough change in the tone and bent of the people. How much prospect there is of such change being wrought by the spontaneous action of the Southern people, I do not know: I fear, not much.
"It seems to me that the only way to effect it is by the influence of Northern immigration. Of course the old economies of the plantation and the negro-quarters will have to give way. The labor of that section must be organized, or rather taught to manage itself, to become automatic in its operations. The former master is not prepared to do this: First, because he does not know how; and, secondly, because the freedman has no confidence in his old master's desire to promote his interests. There will be exceptions; but this will be the rule. In this re-organization, I think men who have been acquainted with free labor will be able to give valuable aid, and accomplish good results. I look and hope for considerable movements of population, both from the North to the South, and vice versa; because I think it is only by such intermingling of the people of the two sections that they can ever become one, and the danger of future evil be averted. Should the present controversy be concluded, and new States erected in the recently rebellious sections, without a large increase of the Northern element in their populations, I am confident that the result will be but temporary, and the future peace of the country insecure.
"As to the social and financial prospects of persons removing there, I suppose it depends very much on the persons themselves, and the particular locality to which they go. I should say you were well fitted for such pioneer work; and, if you should conclude to go, I wish you all success and happiness in your new home, and trust that you may find there friends as devoted and sincere as you have hitherto secured by an upright and honorable life.
A Fool's Errand & Bricks without Straw Page 2
