SOUTH AND NORTH.
We made a round of pleasure after leaving West Point. That is, it was
a round of pleasure to the rest of the party. I had left my best
pleasure behind me. Certainly, I enjoyed Catskill, and Trenton Falls,
and Niagara, after some sort; but there was nothing in them all like
my walk to "Number Four." West Point had enough natural beauty to
satisfy any one, I thought, even for all summer; and there I had
besides what I had not elsewhere and never had before, a companion.
All my earlier friends were far older than I, or beneath me in
station. Preston was the single exception; and Preston and I were now
widely apart in our sympathies; indeed, always had been. Mr. Thorold
and I talked to each other on a level; we understood each other and
suited each other. I could let out my thoughts to him with a freedom I
never could use with anybody else.
It grieved me a little that I had been forced to come away so abruptly
that I had no chance of letting him know. Courtesy, I thought,
demanded of me that I should have done this; and I could not do it;
and this was a constant subject of regret to me.
At the end of our journey I came back to school. Letters from my
father and mother desired that I would do so, and appointed that I was
to join them abroad next year. My mother had decided that it was best
not to interfere with the regular course of my education; and my
father renewed his promise that I should have any reward I chose to
claim, to comfort me for the delay. So I bent myself to study with new
energies and new hope.
I studied more things than school books that winter. The bits of
political matter I had heard talked over at West Point were by no
means forgotten; and once in a while, when I had time and a chance, I
seized one of the papers from Mme. Ricard's library table and examined
it. And every time I did so, something urged me to do it again. I was
very ignorant. I had no clue to a great deal that was talked of in
these prints: but I could perceive the low threatening growl of coming
ill weather, which seemed to rise on the ear every time I listened.
And a little anxiety began to grow up in my mind. Mme. Ricard, of
course, never spoke on these subjects, and probably did not care about
them. Dr. Sandford was safe in Washington. I once asked Miss Cardigan
what she thought. "There are evil men abroad, dear," she said. "I
don't know what they will be permitted to do."
"Who do you hope will be elected?" I asked.
"I don't vote myself," said Miss Cardigan; "so I do not fash myself
much with what I can't help; but I hope the man will be elected that
will do the right thing."
"And who is that?" I asked. "You do not want slavery to be allowed in
the territories?"
"I? Not I!" said Miss Cardigan. "And if the people want to keep it out
of them, I suppose they will elect Abraham Lincoln. I don't know if he
is the right man or no; but he is on the right side. 'Break every
yoke, and let the oppressed go free.' That is my maxim, Daisy."
I pondered this matter by turns more and more. By and by there began
to be audible mutterings of a storm in the air around me. The first I
heard was when we were all together in the evening with our work, the
half hour before tea.
"Lincoln is elected," whispered one of the girls to another.
"Who cares?" the other said aloud.
"What if he is?" asked a third.
"Then," said a gentle, graceful-looking girl, spreading her embroidery
out on her lap with her slim white fingers--"_then_ there'll be
fighting."
It was given, this announcement, with the coolest matter-of-fact
assurance.
"Who is going to fight?" was the next question.
The former speaker gave a glance up to see if her audience was safe,
and then replied, as coolly as before,--
"My brother, for one."
"What for, Sally?"
"Do you think we are going to have these vulgar Northerners rule over
_us_? My cousin Marshall is coming back from Europe on purpose that he
may be here and be ready. I know my aunt wrote him word that she would
disinherit him if he did not."
"Daisy Randolph--you are a Southerner," said one of the girls.
"Of course, she is a Southerner," said Sally, going on with her
embroidery. "She is safe."
But if I was safe, I was very uncomfortable. I hardly knew why I was
so uncomfortable. Only, I wished ardently that troubles might not
break out between the two quarters of the country. I had a sense that
the storm would come near home. I could not recollect my mother and my
father, without a dread that there would be opposing electricities
between them and me.
I began to study the daily news more constantly and carefully. I had
still the liberty of Madame's library, and the papers were always
there. I could give to them only a few minutes now and then; but I
felt that the growl of the storm was coming nearer and growing more
threatening. Extracts from Southern papers seemed to my mind very
violent and very wrong-headed; at the same time, I knew that my mother
would endorse and Preston echo them. Then South Carolina passed the
ordinance of secession. Six days after, Major Anderson took possession
of Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbour, and immediately the fort he had
left and Castle Pinckney were garrisoned by the South Carolinians in
opposition. I could not tell how much all this signified; but my heart
began to give a premonitory beat sometimes. Mississippi followed South
Carolina; then United States' forts and arsenals were seized in North
Carolina and Georgia and Alabama, one after the other. The tone of the
press was very threatening, at least of the Southern press. And not
less significant, to my ear, was the whisper I occasionally heard
among a portion of our own little community. A secret whisper, intense
in its sympathy with the seceding half of the nation, contemptuously
hostile to the other part, among whom they were at that very moment
receiving Northern education and Northern kindness. The girls even
listened and gathered scraps of conversation that passed in their
hearing, to retail them in letters sent home; "they did not know,"
they said, "what might be of use." Later, some of these letters were
intercepted by the General Government, and sent back from Washington
to Madame Ricard. All this told me much of the depth and breadth of
feeling among the community of which these girls formed a part; and my
knowledge of my father and mother, Aunt Gary and Preston, and others,
told me more. I began to pray that God would not let war come upon the
land.
Then there was a day, in January, I think, when a bit of public news
was read out in presence of the whole family; a thing that rarely
happened. It was evening, and we were all in the parlour with our
work. I forget who was the reader, but I remember the words: "'The
steamer, _Star of the West_ with two hundred and fifty United States
troops on board for Fort Sumter, was fired into' (I forget the day)
'by the batteries near Charleston.' Young ladies, do you hear that?
The steamer was fired into. That is the beginning."
We looked at each other, we girls; startled, sorry, awed, with a
strange glance of defiance from some eyes, while some flowed over with
tears, and some were eager with a feeling that was not displeasure.
All were silent at first. Then whispers began.
"I told you so," said Sally.
"Well, _they_ have begun it," said Macy, who was a native of New York.
"Of course. What business had the _Star of the West_ to be carrying
those troops there? South Carolina can take care of her own forts."
"Daisy Randolph, you look as solemn as a preacher," said another.
"Which side are you on?"
"She is on the right side," said another.
"Of course," said Sally. "She is the daughter of a Southern
gentleman."
"I am not on the side of those who fire the first shot," I said.
"There is no other way," said Sally, coolly. "If a rat comes in your
way you must shoot him. I knew it had got to come. I have heard my
uncle talk enough about that."
"But what will be the end of it?" said another.
"Pooh! It will end like smoke. The Yankees do not like fighting--they
would rather be excused, if you please. Their _forte_ is quite in
another line--out of the way of powder."
I wondered if that was true. I thought of Thorold, and of Major Blunt.
I was troubled; and when I went to see Miss Cardigan, next day, I
found she could give me little comfort.
"I don't know, my dear," she said, "what they may be left to do.
They're just daft, down there; clean daft."
"If they fight, we shall be obliged to fight," I said, not liking to
ask her about Northern courage; and, indeed, she was a Scotswoman, and
what should she know?
"Aye, just that," she replied; "and fighting between the two parts of
one land is just the worst fighting there can be. Pray it may not
come, Daisy; but those people are quite daft."
The next letters from my mother spoke of my coming out to them as soon
as the school year should be over. The country was likely to be
disturbed, she said; and it would not suit with my father's health to
come home just now. As soon as the school year should be over, and Dr.
Sandford could find a proper opportunity for me to make the journey, I
should come.
I was very glad; yet I was not all glad. I wished they had been able
to come to me. I was not, I hardly knew why I was not quite ready to
quit America while these troubles threatened. And as days went on, and
the cloud grew blacker, my feeling of unwillingness increased. The
daily prints were full of fresh instances of the seizure of United
States property, of the secession of New States; then the Secession
Congress met, and elected Jefferson Davis and Alexander Stephens their
president and vice-president; and rebellion was duly organized.
Jefferson Davis! How the name took me back to the summer parade on the
West Point plain, and my first view of that smooth, sinister,
ill-conditioned face. Now _he_ was heading rebellion. Where would Dr.
Sandford, and Mr. Thorold, and Preston be? How far would the rebels
carry their work? and what opposition would be made to it? Again I
asked Miss Cardigan.
"It's beyond _me_, Daisy," she said. "I suppose it will depend very
much on whether we've got the right man to head us or no; and that
nobody can tell till we try. This man, Buchanan, that is over us at
present, he is no better than a bit of cotton-wool. I am going to take
a look at Mr. Lincoln as he comes through, and see what I think of
him."
"When is he coming?"
"They say to-day," said Miss Cardigan. "There'll be an uncommon crowd,
but I'll risk it."
A great desire seized me, that I might see him too. I consulted with
Miss Cardigan. School hours were over at three; I could get away then,
I thought; and by studying the programme of the day we found it
possible that it would not be too late then for our object. So it
proved; and I have always been glad of it ever since.
Miss Cardigan and I went forth and packed ourselves in the dense crowd
which had gathered and filled all the way by which the President-elect
was expected to pass. A quiet and orderly and most respectable crowd
it was. Few Irish, few of the miserable of society, who come out only
for a spectacle; there were the yeomanry and the middle classes, men
of business, men of character and some substance, who were waiting,
like us, to see what promise for the future there might be in the
aspect of our new chief. Waiting patiently; and we could only wait
patiently like them. I thought of Preston's indignation if he could
have seen me, and Dr. Sandford's ready negative on my being there; but
well were these thoughts put to flight when the little cavalcade for
which we were looking hove in sight and drew near. Intense curiosity
and then profound satisfaction seized me. The strong, grave, kindly
lineaments of the future Head of the Country gave me instantly a
feeling of confidence, which I never lost in all the time that
followed. That was, confidence in his honesty and goodness; but
another sort of trust was awakened by the keen, searching, shrewd
glances of those dark eyes, which seemed to penetrate the masses of
human intelligences surrounding him, and seek to know what manner of
_material_ he might find them at need. He was not thinking of himself,
that was plain; and the homely, expressive features got a place in my
heart from that time. The little cavalcade passed on from us; the
crowd melted away, and Miss Cardigan and I came slowly again up Fifth
Avenue.
"Yon's a mon!" quoth Miss Cardigan, speaking, as she did in moments of
strong feeling, with a little reminder of her Scottish origin.
"Didn't you like him?" I rejoined.
"I always like a man when I see him," said my friend. "He had need be
that, too, for he has got a man's work to do."
And it soon appeared that she spoke true. I watched every action, and
weighed every word of Mr. Lincoln now, with a strange interest. I
thought great things depended on him. I was glad when he determined to
send supplies into Fort Sumter. I was sure that he was right; but I
held my breath, as it were, to see what South Carolina would do. The
twelfth of April told us.
"So they have done it, Daisy!" said Miss Cardigan, that evening. "They
are doing it, rather. They have been firing at each other all day."
"Well, Major Anderson must defend his fort," I said. "That is his
duty."
"No doubt," said Miss Cardigan; "but you look pale, Daisy, my bairn.
You are from those quarters yourself. Is there anybody in that
neighbourhood that is dear to you?"
I had the greatest difficulty not to burst into tears, by way of
answer, and Miss Cardigan looked concerned at me. I told her there was
nobody there I cared for, except some poor coloured people who were in
no danger.
"There'll be many a sore heart in the country if this goes on," she
said, with a sigh.
"But it will not go on, will it?" I asked. "They cannot take Fort
Sumter; do you think so?"
"I know little about it," said my friend, soberly. "I am no soldier.
And we never know what is best, Daisy. We must trust the Lord, my
dear, to unravel these confusions."
And the next night the little news-boys in the streets were crying out
the "Fall of Fort Sum--ter!" It rang ominously in my heart. The
rebels had succeeded so far; and they would go on. Yes, they would go
on now, I felt assured; unless some very serious check should be given
them. Could the Yankees give that? I doubted it. Yet _their_ cause was
the cause of right, and justice, and humanity; but the right does
_not_ always at first triumph, whatever it may do in the end; and good
swords, and good shots, and the spirit of a soldier, are things that
are allowed to carry their force with them. I knew the South had
these. What had the North?
Even in our school seclusion, we felt the breath of the tremendous
excitement which swayed the public mind next day. Not bluster, nor
even passion, but the stir of the people's heart. As we walked to
church, we could hear it in half caught words of those we passed by,
see it in the grave, intense air which characterised groups and faces;
feel it in the atmosphere, which was heavy with indignation and
gathering purpose. It was said no Sunday like that had been known in
the city. Within our own little community, if parties ran high, they
were like those outside, quiet; but when alone, the Southern girls
testified an exultation that jarred painfully upon my ears.
"Daisy don't care."
"Yes, I care," I said.
"For shame not to be glad! You see, it is glorious. We have it all our
own way. The impertinence of trying to hold our forts for us!"
"I don't see anything glorious in fighting," I said.
"Not when you are attacked?"
"We were not attacked," I said. "South Carolina fired the first guns."
"Good for her!" said Sally. "Brave little South Carolina! Nobody will
meddle with her and come off without cutting his fingers."
"Nobody did meddle with her," I asserted. "It was _she_ who meddled,
to break the laws and fight against the government."
"What government?" said Sally. "Are we slaves, that we should be ruled
by a government we don't choose? We will have our own. Do you think
South Carolina and Virginia _gentlemen_ are going to live under a
rail-splitter for a President? and take orders from him?"
"What do you mean by a 'rail-splitter'?"
"I mean this Abe Lincoln the northern mudsills have picked up to make
a President of. He used to get his living by splitting rails for a
Western fence, Daisy Randolph."
"But if he is President, he is President," I said.
"For those that like him. _We_ won't have him. Jefferson Davis is my
President. And all I can do to help him I will. I can't fight; I wish
I could. My brother and my cousins and my uncle will, though, that's
one comfort; and what I can do I will."
"Then I think you are a traitor," I said.
I was hated among the Southern girls from that day. Hated with a
bitter, violent hatred, which had indeed little chance to show itself,
but was manifested in the scornful, intense avoidance of me. The
bitterness of it is surprising to me even now. I cared not very much
for it. I was too much engrossed with deeper interests of the time,
both public and private. The very next day came the President's call
for seventy-five thousand men; and the next, the answer of the
governor of Kentucky, that "Kentucky would furnish no troops for the
wicked purpose of subduing her sister Southern States." I saw this in
the paper in the library; the other girls had no access to the general
daily news, or I knew there would have been shoutings of triumph over
Governor Magoffin. Other governors of other States followed his
example. Jefferson Davis declared in a proclamation that letters of
marque and reprisal would be issued. Everything wore the aspect of
thickening strife.
My heart grew very heavy over these signs of evil, fearing I knew not
what for those whom I cared about. Indeed, I would not stop to think
what I feared. I tried to bury my fears in my work. Letters from my
mother became very explicit now; she said that troublesome times were
coming in the country, and she would like me to be out of it. After a
little while, when the independence of the South should be assured, we
would all come home and be happy together. Meantime, as soon after the
close of the school year as Dr. Sandford could find a good chance for
me, I was to come out to them at Lausanne, where my mother thought
they would be by that time.
So I studied with all my strength, with the double motive of gaining all
I could and of forgetting what was going on in the political world. Music
and French, my mother particularly desired that I should excel in; and I
gave many hours to my piano, as many as possible, and talked with Mlle.
Genevieve, whenever she would let me. And she was very fond of me and
fond of talking to me; it was she who kept for me my library privilege.
And my voice was good, as it had promised to be. I had the pleasure of
feeling that I was succeeding in what I most wished to attain. It was
succeeding over the heads of my schoolfellows; and that earned me wages
that were not pleasant among a portion of my companions. Faustina St.
Clair was back among us; she would perhaps have forgiven if she could
have forgotten me; but my headship had been declared ever since the time
of the bronze standish, and even rivalry had been long out of the
question. So the old feud was never healed; and now, between the
unfriendliness of her party and the defection of all the Southern girls,
I was left in a great minority of popular favour. It could not be helped.
I studied the harder. I had unlimited favour with all my teachers, and
every indulgence I asked for.
The news of the attack in Baltimore upon the Massachusetts troops
passing through the city, and Governor Andrew's beautiful telegram,
shook me out of my pre-occupation. It shook me out of all quiet for a
day. Indignation, and fear, and sorrow rolled through my heart. The
passions that were astir among men, the mad results to which they were
leading, the possible involvement of several of those whom I loved, a
general trembling of evil in the air, made study difficult for the
moment. What signified the course and fate of nations hundreds of
years ago? Our own course and fate filled the horizon. What signified
the power or beauty of my voice, when I had not the heart to send it
up and down like a bird any longer? Where was Preston, and Dr.
Sandford, and Ransom, and what would become of Magnolia? In truth, I
did not know what had become of Ransom. I had not heard from him or of
him in a long time. But these thoughts would not do. I drove them
away. I resolved to mind my work and not read the papers, if I could
help it, and not think about politics or my friends' course in them. I
could do nothing. And in a few months I should be away, out of the
land.
I kept my resolve pretty well. Indeed, I think nothing very particular
happened to disturb it for the next two or three weeks. I succeeded in
filling my head with work and being very happy in it. That is,
whenever I could forget more important things.