Oh, Bessie Bell and Mary Grey,
They were twa bonnie lasses;
They bigged a bower on yon burn side,
And theekt it over wi' rashes.
The early glory of autumn was painting the woods of Indiana--crimson,
orange, purple, as though a rainbow of intensified tints had been
broken into fragments, and then scattered broadcast upon the forest.
But though ripe nuts hung on many a bough, the gipsyings had not yet
taken place, except at home--when Minna, in her desperate attempts at
making the best of things, observed, 'Now we have to make the fire
ourselves, let us think it is all play, and such fun.'
But 'such fun' was hard when one or other of the inmates of the house
was lying on the bed shaking with ague, and the others creeping wearily
about, even on their intermediate days. They had been deluded into
imprudent exposure in the lovely evenings of summer, and had never
shaken off the results.
'Come, Ella,' said Minna, one afternoon, as she descended the bare
rickety stairs, 'Ave is getting better; and if we can get the fire up,
and make some coffee and boil some eggs, it will be comfortable for her
when she comes down and Henry comes in.'
Ella, with a book in her hand, was curled up in a corner of a sofa
standing awry among various other articles of furniture that seemed to
have tumbled together by chance within the barn-like room. Minna began
moving first one and then the other, daintily wiping off the dust, and
restoring an air of comfort.
'Oh dear!' said Ella, unfolding herself; 'I am so tired. Where's Hetta
Mary?'
'Oh, don't you know, Hetta Mary went home this morning because Henry
asked her where his boots were, and she thought he wanted her to clean
them.'
'Can't Mrs. Shillabeer come in!'
'Mrs. Shillabeer said she would never come in again, because Averil
asked her not to hold the ham by the bone and cut it with her own knife
when Henry was there! Come, Ella it is of no use. We had better do
things ourselves, like Cora and Ave, and then we shall not hear people
say disagreeable things.'
The once soft, round, kitten-like Minna, whom Leonard used to roll
about on the floor, had become a lank, sallow girl, much too tall for
her ten years, and with a care-stricken, thoughtful expression on her
face, even more in advance of her age than was her height. She moved
into the kitchen, a room with an iron stove, a rough table, and a few
shelves, looking very desolate. The hands of both little girls had
become expert in filling the stove with wood, and they had not far to
seek before both it and the hearth in the sitting-room were
replenished, and the flame beginning to glow.
'Where's the coffee-mill?' said Minna, presently, looking round in
blank despair.
'Oh dear!' said Ella, 'I remember now; that dirty little Polly Mason
came to borrow it this morning. I said we wanted it every day: but she
guessed we could do without it, for they had got a tea-party, and her
little brother had put in a stone and spoilt Cora Muller's; and she
snatched it up and carried it off.'
'He will serve ours the same, I suppose,' said Minna. 'It is too far
off to go for it; let us make some tea.'
'There's no tea,' said Ella; 'a week ago or more that great Irene Brown
walked in and reckoned we could lend her 'ma some tea and sugar, 'cause
we had plenty. And we have used up our own since; and if we did ask
her to return the loan, hers is such nasty stuff that nobody could
drink it. What shall we do, Minna?' and she began to cry.
'We must take some coffee up to the hotel,' said Minna, after a
moment's reflection; 'Black Joe is very good-natured, and he'll grind
it.'
'But I don't like to go ail by myself,' said Ella; 'into the kitchen
too, and hear them say things about Britishers.'
'I'll go, dear,' said Minna, gently, 'if you will just keep the fire
up, and boil the eggs, and make the toast, and listen if Ave calls.'
Poor Minna, her sensitive little heart trembled within her at the rough
contemptuous words that the exclusive, refined tone of the family
always provoked, and bodily languor and weariness made the walk trying;
but she was thinking of Ave's need, and resolutely took down her cloak
and hat. But at that moment the latch was raised, and the bright
graceful figure of Cora stood among them, her feathered hat and
delicate muslin looking as fresh as at New York.
'What, all alone!' she said; 'I know it is poor Ave's sick day. Is she
better?'
'Yes, going to get up and come down; but--' and all the troubles were
poured out.
'True enough, the little wretch did spoil our mill, but Rufus mended
it; and as I thought Polly had been marauding on you, I brought some
down.'
'Ah! I thought I smelt it most deliciously as you came in, but I was
afraid I only fancied it because I was thinking about it. Dear Cora,
how good you are!'
'And have you anything for her to eat?'
'I was going to make some toast.'
'Of that dry stuff! Come, we'll manage something better:' and off came
the dainty embroidered cambric sleeves, up went the coloured ones, a
white apron came out of a pocket, and the pretty hands were busy among
the flour; the children assisting, learning, laughing a childlike laugh.
'Ah!' cried Cora, turning round, and making a comic threatening gesture
with her floury fingers; 'you ought not to have come till we were
fixed. Go and sit in your chair by the fire.'
'Dear Cora!'
But Cora ran at her, and the wan trembling creature put on a smile, and
was very glad to comply; being totally unequal to resist or even to
stand long enough to own her dread of Henry's finding all desolate and
nothing to eat.
Presently Cora tripped in, all besleeved and smartened, to set cushions
behind the tired back and head, and caress the long thin fingers.
'I've left Minna, like King Alfred, to watch the cakes,' she said; 'and
Ella is getting the cups. So your fifth girl is gone.'
'The fifth in five months! And we let her sit at table, and poor dear
Minna has almost worn out her life in trying to hinder her from getting
affronted.'
'I've thought what to do for you, Ave. There's the Irish woman, Katty
Blake--her husband has been killed. She is rough enough, but tender in
her way; and she must do something for herself and her child.'
'Her husband killed!'
'Yes, at Summerville. I thought you had heard it. Mordaunt wrote to
me to tell her; and I shall never forget her wailing at his dying away
from his country. It was not lamentation for herself, but that he
should have died far away from his own people.'
'She is not long from the old country; I should like to have her if--if
we can afford it. For if the dividends don't come soon from that
building company, Cora, I don't know where to turn--'
'Oh, they must come. Father has been writing to Rufus about the
arrangements. Besides, those Irish expect less, and understand old
country manners better, if you can put up with their breakages.'
'I could put up with anything to please Henry, and save Minna's little
hard-worked bones.'
'I will send her to-morrow. Is it not Minna's day of ague?'
'Yes, poor dear. That is always the day we get into trouble.'
'I never saw a child with such an instinct for preventing variance, or
so full of tact and pretty ways; yet I have seen her tremble under her
coaxing smile, that even Mis' Shillabeer can't resist.'
'See, see!' cried Ella, hurrying in, 'surely our contingent is not
coming home!'
'No,' said Cora, hastening to the door, 'these must be a reinforcement
marching to take the train at Winiamac.'
'Marching?' said Ella, looking up archly at her. 'We didn't let our
volunteers march in that way.'
They were sturdy bearded backwoodsmen, rifle on shoulder, and with
grave earnest faces; but walking rather than marching, irregularly
keeping together, or straggling, as they chose.
'Your volunteers!' cried Cora, her eyes flashing; 'theirs was toy work!
These are bound for real patriotic war!' and she clasped her hands
together, then waved her handkerchief.
'It is sad,' said Averil, who had moved to the window, 'to see so many
elderly faces--men who must be the prop of their families.'
'It is because ours is a fight of men, not of children; not one of your
European wars of paltry ambition, but a war of principle!' cried Cora,
with that intensity of enthusiasm that has shed so much blood in the
break-up of the Great Republic.
'They do look as Cromwell's Ironsides may have done,' said Averil; 'as
full of stern purpose.'
And verily Averil noted the difference. Had a number of European
soldiers been passing so near in an equally undisciplined manner, young
women could not have stood forth as Cora was doing, unprotected, yet
perfectly safe from rudeness or remark; making ready answer to the
inquiry for the nearest inn--nay, only wishing she were in her own
house, to evince her patriotism by setting refreshment before the
defenders of her cause. Her ardour had dragged Averil up with her a
little way, so as to feel personally every vicissitude that befell the
North, and to be utterly unaware of any argument in favour of the
Confederates; but still Averil was, in Cora's words, 'too English;' she
could not, for the life of her, feel as she did when equipping her
brother against possible French invasions, and when Mordaunt Muller had
been enrolled in the Federal army, she had almost offended the exultant
sister by condolence instead of congratulation.
Five months had elapsed since the arrival of Averil in
Massissauga--months of anxiety and disappointment, which had sickened
Henry of plans of farming, and lessened his hopes of practice. The
same causes that affected him at New York told in Indiana; and even if
he had been employed, the fees would have been too small to support the
expense of horses. As to farming, labour was scarce, and could only be
obtained at the cost of a considerable outlay, and, moreover, of
enduring rude self-assertions that were more intolerable to Henry than
even to his sisters. The chief hope of the family lay in the
speculation in which Averil's means had been embarked, which gave them
a right to their present domicile, and to a part of the uncleared waste
around them; and would, when Massissauga should begin to flourish,
place them in affluence. The interest of the portions of the two
younger girls was all that was secure, since these were fortunately
still invested at home. Inhabitants did not come, lots of land were
not taken; and the Mullers evidently profited more by the magnificent
harvest produced by their land than by the adventure of city founding.
Still, plenty and comfort reigned in their house, and Cora had imported
a good deal of refinement and elegance, which she could make respected
where Averil's attempts were only sneered down. Nor had sickness tried
her household. Owing partly to situation--considerably above the level
of River Street--partly to the freer, more cleared and cultivated
surroundings--partly likewise to experience, and Cousin Deborah's
motherly watchfulness--the summer had passed without a visitation of
ague, though it seemed to be regarded as an adjunct of spring, as
inevitable as winter frost. Averil trembled at the thought, but there
was no escape; there were absolutely no means of leaving the spot, or
of finding maintenance elsewhere. Indeed, Cora's constant kindness and
sympathy were too precious to be parted with, even had it been possible
to move. After the boarding-house, Massissauga was a kind of home; and
the more spirits and energy failed, the more she clung to it.
Mr. Muller had lately left home to arrange for the sale of his corn,
and had announced that he might perhaps pay a visit to his son Mordaunt
in the camp at Lexington. Cora was expecting a letter from him, and
the hope that 'Dr. Warden' might bring one from the post-office at
Winiamac had been one cause of her visit on this afternoon; for the
mammoth privileges of Massissauga did not include a post-office, nor
the sight of letters more than once a week.
The table had just been covered with preparations for a meal, and the
glow of the fire was beginning to brighten the twilight, when the sound
of a horse's feet came near, and Henry rode past the window, but did
not appear for a considerable space, having of late been reduced to
become his own groom. But even in the noise of the hoofs, even in the
wave of the hand, the girls had detected gratified excitement.
'Charleston has surrendered! The rebels have submitted!' cried Cora.
And Averil's heart throbbed with its one desperate hope. No! _That_
would have brought him in at once.
After all, both were in a state to feel it a little flat when he came
in presenting a letter to Miss Muller, and announcing, 'I have had a
proposal, ladies; what would you say to seeing me a surgeon to the
Federal forces?--Do you bid me go, Miss Muller?'
'I bid every one go who can be useful to my country,' said Cora.
'Don't look alarmed, Averil,' said Henry, affectionately, as he met her
startled eyes; 'there is no danger. A surgeon need never expose
himself.'
'But how--what has made you think of it?' asked Averil, faintly.
'A letter from Mr. Muller--a very kind letter. He tells me that
medical men are much wanted, and that an examination by a Board is all
that is required, the remuneration is good, and it will be an
introduction that will avail me after the termination of the war, which
will end with the winter at latest.'
'And father has accepted an office in the commissariat department!'
exclaimed Cora, from her letter.
'Yes,' answered Henry; 'he tells me that, pending more progression
here, it is wiser for us both to launch into the current of public
events, and be floated upwards by the stream.'
'Does he want you to come to him, Cora?' was all that Averil contrived
to say.
'Oh no, he will be in constant locomotion,' said Cora. 'I shall stay
to keep house for Rufus. And here are some directions for him that I
must carry home. Don't come, Dr. Warden; I shall never cure you of
thinking we cannot stir without an escort. You will want to put a
little public spirit into this dear Ave. That's her one defect; and
when you are one of us, she will be forced to give us her heart.'
And away ran the bright girl, giving her caresses to each sister as she
went.
The little ones broke out, 'O, Henry, Henry, you must not go away to
the wars!' and Averil's pleading eyes spoke the same.
Then Henry sat down and betook himself to argument. It would be folly
to lose the first opening to employment that had presented itself. He
grieved indeed to leave his sisters in this desolate, unhealthy place;
but they were as essentially safe as at Stoneborough; their living
alone for a few weeks, or at most months, would be far less remarkable
here than there; and he would be likely to be able to improve or to
alter their present situation, whereas they were now sinking deeper and
more hopelessly into poverty every day. Then, too, he read aloud
piteous accounts of the want of medical attendance, showing that it was
absolutely a cruelty to detain such assistance from the sick and
wounded. This argument was the one most appreciated by Averil and
Minna. The rest were but questions of prudence; this touched their
hearts. Men lying in close tents, or in crowded holds of ships, with
festering wounds and fevered lips, without a hand to help them--some,
too, whom they had seen at New York, and whose exulting departure they
had witnessed--sufferers among whom their own Cora's favourite brother
might at any moment be numbered--the thought brought a glow of
indignation against themselves for having wished to withhold him.
'Yes, go, Henry; it is right, and you shall hear not another word of
objection,' said Averil.
'You can write or telegraph the instant you want me. And it will be
for a short time,' said Henry, half repenting when the opposition had
given way.
'Oh, we shall get on very well,' said Minna, cheerfully; 'better,
perhaps for you know we don't mind Far West manners; and I'll have
learnt to do all sorts of things as well as Cora when you come home!'
And Henry, after a year's famine of practice, was in better spirits
than since that fatal summer morning. Averil felt how different a man
is in his vocation, and deprived of it.
'Oh yes,' she said to herself, 'if I had let ourselves be a drag on him
when he is so much needed, I could never have had the face to write to
our dear sufferer at home in his noble patience. It is better that we
should be desolate than that he should be a wreck, or than that mass of
sickness should be left untended! And the more desolate, the more sure
of One Protector.'
There was true heroism in the spirit in which this young girl braced
herself to uncomplaining acceptance of desertion in this unwholesome
swamp, with her two little ailing sisters, beside the sluggish stream,
amid the skeleton trees--heroism the greater because there was no
enthusiastic patriotism to uphold her--it was only the land of her
captivity, whence she looked towards home like Judah to Jerusalem.