_The Work of a Mob._
Within the week Rhoda Kendall arrived with her father from Boston.
As her Cousin Joe had described her, Lettice was not surprised to
meet a quiet, reserved girl. By the side of Lettice’s dark hair, pink
and white complexion, and deep blue eyes, Rhoda’s coloring seemed
very neutral, yet the New England girl was by no means as supine as
her appearance would indicate, as Lettice soon found out; for before
twenty-four hours were over she was arguing with her new acquaintance
in a crisp, decided manner, and was so well-informed, so clever with
facts and dates, that Lettice retired from the field sadly worsted, but
with the fire of an ambitious resolve kindled within her.
“She made me feel about two inches high,” she told her father, “and I
appeared a perfect ignoramus. Why don’t I know all those things about
politics and history, father?”
“Go along, child,” he replied. “Deliver me from a clever woman! Learn
to be a good housewife, and be pretty and amiable, and you’ll do.”
“No, but I’ll not do,” Lettice persisted. “I am not going to let that
Boston girl make me feel as small as a mouse, and I don’t mean to sit
as mum as an owl while she entertains the gentlemen with her knowledge
of affairs. She’ll be having them all desert our side yet.”
Her father laughed. “That’s the way the crow flies, is it? My little
lass is like to be jealous, and she’ll have no one stealing her swains
from her. I see. Well, my love, what do you want to know?”
“I want to know why we shouldn’t have war. When I listen to Rhoda, she
fairly persuades me that we would be a blundering, senseless lot, to
war with a great nation like England. She has such a big navy, and we
have none to speak of, Rhoda says, and she laughs when I say we won’t
let ourselves be beaten. We will not, will we, father?”
“No, we will _not_,” he emphasized; “and as for our navy, we have not
a bad record. Their ships can sail no faster and are no better manned
than ours.”
“I’d like to see any one manage a vessel better than you or Uncle
Tom, and even Brother William or Brother James, and Cousin Tom can do
anything with one of our clippers. Why, they are as much at home on the
water as on the land.”
“To be sure. There are no better seamen anywhere than America can
produce, and we can show fight. At all events, daughter, we do not mean
to be bullied, and though New England has little mind to help us, we’ll
make our fight on righteous grounds of complaint.”
“But won’t our trade be spoiled? Rhoda says so.”
“You let me talk to Rhoda,” said Mr. Hopkins, rising, “and leave
politics alone, little one. Run along and help your aunt.”
“She doesn’t want any help, and she doesn’t like me to be in the
kitchen. Father, dear, when shall I be old enough to keep house for
you, and have Aunt Dorky, and Lutie, and all of them for our servants?”
He put his arm around her caressingly. “We cannot think of such things
till this war matter is settled, my pet. I must be on hand to serve if
need be, and I couldn’t leave my little girl alone, you know.”
“I wish I could fight,” said Lettice, solemnly.
Her father smiled. “Pray heaven that you’ll never see fight,” he said.
But Lettice was soon to see the first effects of war, for the following
evening Rhoda’s father came in and pulled a paper out of his pocket as
he sat down to the table. “What do you think of this, Tom?” he said.
“There’s a level-headed man for you!” and he read: “We mean to use
every constitutional argument and every legal means to render as odious
and suspicious to the American people, as they deserve to be, the
patrons and contrivers of this highly impolitic and destructive war, in
the full persuasion that we shall be supported and ultimately applauded
by nine-tenths of our countrymen, and that our silence would be treason
to them.”
“What do I think of that?” said Mr. Hopkins, “I think that Mr. Hanson
is laying up trouble for himself, for I suppose that is the _Federal
Republican_ you have there.”
“It is, and I fully agree with Mr. Hanson, if he is the editor.”
“You of Massachusetts may, but we of Maryland do not,” returned Mr.
Hopkins, with some heat; “and Mr. Hanson will find out to his cost
that he cannot disseminate such a publication without endangering
himself and his property.”
Sure enough, on the following Monday evening a party of indignant
citizens destroyed the type, presses, paper, etc., of the _Federal
Republican_, and razed the house to its foundations, following out Mr.
Hopkins’s predictions.
“Outrageous!” cried Rhoda, when she heard the reports. “What a lawless
set you are here.”
“Almost as much so as you were up in Boston some forty years ago,”
retorted her Cousin Joe, lazily, at which Rhoda’s pale blue eyes
flashed, and she set her lips defiantly.
“You are talking nonsense!” she said. “That was for our liberty, and
this is but the furthering an unnecessary conflict which will ruin the
country our fathers so bravely fought for.”
“And for which our fathers will bravely fight again, won’t they, Cousin
Joe?” Lettice broke in. “Mine will, I know, although I don’t suppose
yours will, Rhoda.”
“Sh! Sh!” cried Mrs. Hopkins. “Don’t quarrel, children. I hoped you two
girls would be good friends, but you are forever sparring. You are not
very polite, Lettice. You’ll be sending Rhoda home with a poor opinion
of Southern hospitality.”
This touched Lettice to the quick. She looked up archly from under her
long lashes. “Then I’ll be good, Rhoda,” she said. “Come, we’ll go to
market for aunt. I want you to see our Marsh market. Strangers think it
is a real pretty one.” And the two girls departed, Lettice with basket
on arm, curls dancing, and step light; Rhoda with a deep consciousness
of the proprieties, giving not so much as a side glance to the young
blades who eyed them admiringly as they passed down Market Street. But
Lettice dimpled and smiled as this or that acquaintance doffed his hat,
so that presently Rhoda said sarcastically, “It is plain to see why you
like to come to market, Lettice.”
“And why?” asked Lettice, opening her eyes.
“Because of the many pretty bows you receive.”
Lettice gave her head a little toss, and then asked, a trifle wickedly,
“Is it then a new experience to you to count on receiving a bow from a
gentleman?”
“No,” returned Rhoda, somewhat nettled; “but from so many.”
“Oh, so many; then you girls in Boston cannot account your
acquaintances by the dozen.”
“We don’t want to,” returned Rhoda, shortly. “We are not so lavish of
our smiles as to bestow them upon every masculine we meet.”
[Illustration: “_It is plain to see why you like to come to market._”]
“That’s where you lose a great deal,” replied Lettice, suavely. “Now,
I’ve been taught to be sweetly polite to everybody, and my father would
bow as courteously to Mrs. Flynn as to Mrs. Dolly Madison, and so would
my brothers.”
“You have two brothers, I believe,” said Rhoda, changing the subject.
“Yes; one has not been long married and lives at our old home in
eastern Maryland.”
“A farm?”
“A tobacco plantation, although we raise other crops. My younger
brother, James, lives there, too.”
“And how old is he?”
“Old enough to be a very fitting beau for you,” laughed Lettice.
Rhoda frowned, to Lettice’s delight. “Why don’t you say, Such
frivolity! that is what Aunt Martha always says when I mention
beaux. One would suppose it a wicked thing to marry or to receive a
gentleman’s attention. I wonder how Aunt Martha ever brought herself
to the point of becoming Uncle Tom’s second wife; but I believe she
says he carried her by storm, and she was surprised into saying yes.
How do the young men carry on such things up your way, Rhoda? Do they
sit and tweedle their thumbs and cast sheep’s eyes at you, as some of
our country bumpkins do? or do they make love to the mother, as I have
heard is the custom in some places?”
“Nonsense, Lettice, how your thoughts do run on such things! Is that
the market?”
“Yes, and now you will see as fine a display as you could wish.”
A moment after Lettice had become the careful housewife, selecting her
various articles with great judgment, tasting butter, scrutinizing
strawberries to be sure their caps were fresh and green, lifting with
delicate finger the gills of a fish to see if they were properly red,
and quite surprising Rhoda by her knowledge of and interest in articles
of food.
“One would suppose you were the housekeeper,” she said to Lettice. “How
did you learn all those things?”
“My mother taught me some, and our old cook others. My mother
considered certain matters of housekeeping the first for a girl to
learn, and I hope to keep house for my father in another year, if this
wretched war is over then.”
“War!” replied Rhoda, scornfully. “It is so absurd to talk of war.”
But not many days after came the first ominous outburst of the future
storm. It was on July 27, about twilight, that Lettice and Rhoda, who
were slowly sauntering up and down the pavement, saw a crowd beginning
to gather before a respectable-looking house on Charles Street.
“I wonder what can be the matter,” said Lettice, pausing in her account
of a fox-hunt. “Do you see yonder crowd, Rhoda?”
“Yes, let us go and find out what it means.”
“Oh, no!” And Lettice, who had surprised Rhoda by telling how she could
take a ditch, was not ready to cross the street to join the crowd.
“There can’t be any danger,” said Rhoda.
“Oh, but there is. See there, Rhoda, they are throwing stones at the
windows. Oh, I see, it is the house which Mr. Hanson now occupies,
since they tore down his printing-press. Oh, this is dreadful! Come,
Rhoda, run, run; the crowd is growing larger; we’ll be caught in the
midst of it.”
But Rhoda still hesitated. “Is that the gentleman whose paper my father
commended?”
“Mr. Hanson? Yes, it is; he is the editor of the _Federal Republican_,
and it is evident that he has written something to enrage his enemies.
Come, Rhoda, do come. I am afraid we shall be hurt, and anyhow, we
must not mingle in such a rabble. I’m going to run,” and suiting the
action to the word, she ran swiftly along the street toward home, Rhoda
following at a slower gait.
They met their Cousin Joe hurrying toward them. “Oh, Cousin Joe, Cousin
Joe,” cried Lettice, grasping his arm, “there is something dreadful
going on! Take us home! I am scared! I don’t want to see or hear what
they are doing. They are throwing stones at Mr. Hanson’s house, and are
breaking the windows, and yelling and howling like mad! Listen! What do
they mean to do? Why are they so fierce? I am so afraid some one will
be killed.”
“It means that war has begun,” said her cousin, slowly.
“But what a way to do it!” said Rhoda, indignantly. “A rabble like
that, to attack a few innocent people!”
“Innocent from your point of view, but not from the mob’s.”
“You uphold the mob?”
“No; but I don’t uphold the utterances of the _Federal Republican_.
Come home, girls, and don’t poke your noses out of doors, or at least
don’t leave our own front doorstep.”
“I’ll not,” cried Lettice, clinging to him. “I will go out into the
garden and sit there. Where are my father and Uncle Tom?”
“They have gone down to see Major Barney, to inquire what can be done
about this disturbance. I will keep you informed about what goes on.”
“Don’t go back into that mob, Cousin Joe,” Lettice begged. “You might
get killed.”
“I must see what is going on, but I will take no part in violence.”
“But what would Patsey say?” Lettice asked half archly.
Joe looked down at her with a little smile. “If she is the brave girl I
take her for, she’ll trust to my good sense to look out for myself.”
“But they are firing from the house. Listen! you can hear the reports.”
Joe listened, and then he said, “I will not go too near, little cousin.
I promise you that. Run in now.”
“You’ll come back and tell us if anything more serious happens,” said
Rhoda. “I wish my father were not in Washington.”
“He’s better off there,” Joe assured her. “For my part, I am thankful
he is not here.”
The girls retired to the garden at the back of the house. Danny with
wide-open eyes peeped out of one of the lower windows. “What’s de
matter, Miss Letty?” he asked in a loud whisper. “Is dey fightin’?”
“Yes; at least there is a riot out there. Some people are attacking the
house where Mr. Hanson is--Mr. Wagner’s house on Charles Street. It
began by a rabble of boys throwing stones and calling names.”
“Golly, but I wisht I’d been there!”
“Danny, go back to bed, and don’t get up again,” his mistress ordered.
Danny crawled reluctantly down from his place on the window-sill. “Whar
Mars Torm?” he asked.
“He has gone down town,” Lettice informed him.
Danny still hung back. “Miss Letty,” he whispered. She went a few steps
toward him, despite her aunt’s reproving voice, “You and your Uncle Tom
ruin that boy, Lettice.”
“What is it, Danny?” Lettice asked.
“Ef anythin’ tur’ble happen, I skeered you all gwine leave me hyar.”
Lettice laughed. “There isn’t anything terrible going to happen to this
house, and if there should, I’ll let you know, you needn’t be scared,
Danny.”
The noise in the street increased. As yet no military appeared to
quell the mob. Mrs. Flynn, worked up into a great state of excitement,
trotted from corner to corner, coming back so often to report that it
would seem as if she would wear herself out. “There be a gintleman
addhressin’ the crowd, Mrs. Hopkins, mum,” she said.
“They do say they’ll be rig’lar foightin’ nixt. Glory be to Pether! but
hear thim cracks av the goons!” And back she trotted to return with:
“Howly mother av Moses! they’re murtherin’ the payple in the streets. A
gintleman, be name Dr. Gale, is kilt intoirely, an’ siveral others is
hurthed bad, an’ the crowd is runnin’ in ivery direction. Do ye hear
thim drooms a-beatin’? I’ll be afther seein’ what’s that for.” And out
she went again.
“Come, girls, go to bed,” said Mrs. Hopkins. “It is near midnight, and
you can do no good by sitting up. I wish Mr. Hopkins would come in.”
But neither Mr. Tom Hopkins nor his brother appeared that night, and
all through their troubled slumbers the girls heard groans and hoarse
cries, and the sound of a surging mass of angry men bent on satisfying
their lust for revenge. Even with the dawn the horrors continued to be
carried on throughout the day.
It was not till late in the afternoon that Mr. Tom Hopkins returned
home. He looked pale and troubled. “We have heard terrible reports,
Uncle Tom,” said Rhoda. “Is it really true that some of your most
respectable citizens have been murdered by a brutal horde of lawless
villains, and that they have been tortured and almost torn limb from
limb?”
“I fear there is much truth in it,” he replied gravely.
“Oh!” The tears welled up into Letty’s eyes. “Is General Lingan killed,
and General Lee? Oh, Uncle Tom, is it so dreadful as that? And where is
my father?”
“He is with Major Barney. General Lingan, I fear, is killed. General
Lee, I am not so sure about. I hope he is safe. There has been much
wrong done, and an ill-advised mob is hard to quell, especially when it
is a principle rather than a personal grudge which is involved, because
it is the whole mind of the party which works with equal interest.
I regret exceedingly the manner of their opposition to Mr. Hanson’s
paper, but--” He frowned and shook his head.
Rhoda fired up. “It is a disgrace. I should think you would feel it to
be a blot on your city and state, that such things have been allowed
by the authorities. I wish I had never come to this place, peopled by a
set of villanous murderers.”
“Rhoda!” Her aunt spoke reprovingly.
“I don’t care.” Rhoda’s cheeks were flushed. “It is true. It is a
dreadful, dreadful thing to murder men for saying they will not
countenance a war with England.”
“It is a dreadful thing,” returned her uncle, “but we have many wrongs
to avenge. Our poor seamen have been flogged to death, have been as
brutally treated as this mob has treated the Federalists, and a desire
for vengeance which will not be satisfied with less than an eye for
an eye, is the motive power which has controlled these late horrible
scenes. It is the first battle of our war for freedom, ill-advised as
it is.”
Lettice was sobbing nervously. “I want to go home, too,” she cried, “I
don’t want to stay here, either. I want to go home, Uncle Tom. I am
afraid more dreadful things will happen.”
“I am afraid so, too, and I think you would all be safer and more at
ease down in the country. I think, Martha, you had better take the
girls and go down to Sylvia’s Ramble as soon as you can get off.”
“And leave you?”
“I am safe enough; at least, if need comes, you know what I shall do.”
Mrs. Hopkins sighed and shook her head.
“At all events,” continued Mr. Hopkins, “you all will be better off in
the country, and I will come down as soon as I can feel free to do so.”
Then Lettice dried her eyes, and while Rhoda was protesting that she
could not go away in the absence of her father, Mr. Kendall walked in.