COLONEL CARTER GAINS ONE VICTORY, AND MISS RAVENEL ANOTHER.
After the victory of Georgia Landing, the brigade was stationed for the
winter in the vicinity of the little half-Creole, half-American city of
Thibodeaux. I have not time to tell of the sacking of this land of rich
plantations; how the inhabitants, by flying before the northern Vandals,
induced the spoliation of their own property; how the negroes defiled
and plundered the forsaken houses, and how the soldiers thereby
justified themselves in plundering the negroes; how the furniture, plate
and libraries of the Lafourche planters were thus scattered upon the
winds of destruction. These things are matters of public and not of
private history. If I were writing the life and times of Colonel Carter,
or of Captain Colburne, I should relate them with conscientious
tediousness, adding a description in the best style of modern
word-painting of the winding and muddy Bayou Lafourche, the interminable
parallel levees, the flat border of rich bottom land, the fields of
moving cane, and the enclosing stretches of swampy forest. But I am
simply writing a biography of Miss Ravenel illustrated by sketches of
her three or four relatives and intimates.
To reward Colonel Carter for his gallantry at Georgia Landing, and to
compensate him for his disappointment in not obtaining the star of a
brigadier, the commanding general appointed him military governor of
Louisiana, and stationed him at New Orleans.
In his present temper and with his present intentions he was sincerely
delighted to obtain the generous loot of the governorship. In order to
save up money for his approaching married life, he tried to be
economical, and actually thought that he was so, although he regularly
spent the monthly two hundred and twenty-two dollars of his colonelcy.
But the position of governor would give him several thousands a year,
and these thousands he could and would put aside to comfort and adorn
his future wife. Now-a-days there was no private and unwarrantable
attachment to his housekeeping establishment; the pure love that was in
his heart overthrew and drove out all the unclean spirits who were its
enemies. Moreover, he rapidly cut down his drinking habits, first
pruning off his cocktails before breakfast, then his absinthe before
dinner, then his afternoon whiskeys straight, then his convivial evening
punches, and in short everything but the hot night-cap with which he
prepared himself for slumber.
"That may have to go, too," he said to himself, "when I am married."
He spent every spare moment with Lillie and her father. He was quite
happy in his love-born sanctification of spirit, and showed it in his
air, countenance and conversation. Man of the world as he was, or
thought he was, _roué_ as he had been, it never occurred to him to
wonder at the change which had come over him, nor to laugh at himself
because of it. To a nature so simply passionate as his, the present hour
of passion was the only hour that he could realize. He shortly came to
feel as if he had never lived any other life than this which he was
living now.
The Doctor soon lost his keen distrust of Carter; he began to respect
him, and consequently to like him. Indeed he could not help being
pleased with any tolerable person who pleased his daughter; although he
sometimes exhibited a petulant jealousy of such persons which was droll
enough, considering that he was only her father.
"Papa, I believe you would be severe on St. Cecilia, or St. Ursula, if I
should get intimate with them," Lillie had once said. "I never had a
particular friend since I was a baby, but what you picked her to
pieces."
And the Doctor had in reply looked a little indignant, not perceiving
the justice of the criticism. By the way, Lillie had a similar jealousy
of him, and was ready to slander any single woman who ogled him too
fondly. There were moments of great anguish when she feared that he
might be inveigled into admiring, perhaps loving, perhaps (horrid
thought!) marrying, Mrs. Larue. If it ever occurred to her that this
would be a poetically just retribution for her own sin of giving away
her heart without asking his approval, she drew no resignation from the
thought. I may as well state here that the widow did occasionally make
eyes at the Doctor. He was oldish, but he was very charming, and any man
is better than no man. She had given up Carter; our friend Colburne was
with his regiment at Thibodeaux; and the male angels of New Orleans were
so few that their visits were far between. So those half-shut, almond
eyes of dewy blackness and brightness were frequently turned sidelong
upon Ravenel, with a coquettish significance which made Lillie uneasy in
the innermost chambers of her filial affection. Mrs. Larue had very
remarkable eyes. They were the only features of her face that were not
under her control; they were so expressive that she never could fully
veil their meaning. They were beautiful spiders, weaving quite visibly
webs of entanglement, the threads of which were rays of dazzling light
and subtle sentiment.
"Devilish handsome eyes! Dangerous, by Jove!" remarked the Colonel,
judging in his usual confident, broadcast fashion, right rather more
than half the time. "I've seen the day, by Jove! when they would have
finished me."
For the present the Doctor was saved from their perilous witchery by the
advent of Colburne, who, having obtained a leave of absence for ten
days, came of course to spend it with the Ravenels. Immediately the
Larue orbs kindled for him, as if they were pyres whereon his passions,
if he chose, might consume themselves to ashes. She exhibited and felt
no animosity on account of bygones. She was a most forgiving,
cold-hearted, good-natured, selfish, well-bred little creature. She
never had standing quarrels, least of all with the other sex; and she
could practice a marvellous perseverance, without any acrimony in case
of disappointment. Colburne was favored with private interviews which he
did not seek, and visions of conquest which did not excite his ambition.
He was taken by gentle force up the intricate paths of a mountain of
talk, and shown the unsubstantial and turbulent kingdoms of coquetry,
with a hint that all might be his if he would but fall down and worship.
It became a question in his mind whether Milton should not have
represented Satan as a female of French extraction and New Orleans
education.
"Captain Colburne, you do not like women," she once said.
"I beg your pardon--I repel the horrible accusation."
"Oh, I admit that you like a woman--this one, perhaps, or that one. But
it is the individual which interests you, and not the sex. For woman as
woman--for woman because she is woman--you care little."
"Mrs. Larue, it is a very singular charge. Now that you have brought it
to my notice, I don't know but I must plead guilty, to some extent. You
mean to say, I suppose, that I can't or won't fall in love with the
first woman I come to, merely because she is handy."
"That is precisely it, only you have phrased it rather grossly."
"And do you charge it as a fault in my character?"
"I avow that I do not regard it as so manly, so truly masculine, you
comprehend, as the opposite trait."
"Upon my honor!" exclaimed Colburne in amazement. "Then you must
consider,--I beg your pardon--but it follows that Don Juan was a model
man."
"In my opinion he was. Excuse my frankness. I am older than you. I have
seen much life. I have a right to philosophise. Just see here. It is
intended for wise reasons that man should not leave woman alone; that he
should seek after her constantly, and force himself upon her; that,
losing one, he should find another. Therefore the man, who, losing one,
chooses another, best represents his sex."
She waited for a reply to her argument, but Colburne was too much
crushed to offer one. He shirked his honest duty as an interlocutor by
saying, "Mrs. Larue, this is a novel idea to me, and I must have time
for consideration before I accept it."
She laughed without a sign of embarrassment, and changed the subject.
But Mrs. Larue was not the only cause which prevented Colburne's visit
from being a monotony of happiness. He soon discovered that there was an
understanding between Colonel Carter and Miss Ravenel; not an
engagement, perhaps, but certainly an inner circle of confidences and
sentiments into which he was not allowed to enter. In this matter Lillie
was more open and legible than her lover. She so adored her hero because
of the deadly perils which he had affronted, and the honor which he had
borne from among their flame and smoke, that she could not always
conceal, and sometimes did not care to conceal, her admiration. Not
that she ever expressed it by endearments or fondling words: no, that
would have been a coarse audacity of which her maidenly nature was
incapable: but there were rare glances of irrepressible meaning,
surprised out of her very soul, which came like revelations. When she
asked Colburne to tell her the whole story of Georgia Landing, he
guessed easily what she most wanted to hear. To please her, he made
Carter the hero of the epic, related how impetuous he was during the
charge, how superbly cool as soon as it was over, how he sat his horse
and waved his sabre and gave his orders. To be sure, the enthusiastic
youth took a soldierly pleasure in the history; he was honestly proud of
his commander, and he loved to tell the tale of his own only battle. But
notwithstanding this slight pleasure, notwithstanding that the Doctor
treated him with even tender consideration, and that Mrs. Larue was
often amusing as well as embarrassing, he did not enjoy his visit. This
mysterious cloud which encompassed the Colonel and Miss Ravenel,
separating them from all others, cast upon him a shadow of melancholy.
In the first place, of course, it was painful to suspect that he had
lost this charming girl; in the second, he grieved on her account, not
believing it possible that with that man for a husband she could be
permanently happy. Carter was a brave soldier, an able officer, a person
of warm and naturally kind impulses; but gentlemen of such habits as his
were not considered good matches where Colburne had formed his opinions.
No man, whatever his talents, could win a professorship in Winslow
University, or occupy a respectable niche in New Boston society, who
rarely went to church, who drank freely and openly, who had been seen to
gamble, who swore like a trooper, and who did other things which the
Colonel had been known to do. All this time he was so over-modest by
nature, and so oppressed by an acquired sense of soldierly
subordination, that he never seriously thought of setting himself up as
a rival against the Colonel. Perhaps I am tedious in my analysis of the
Captain's opinions, motives and sentiments. The truth is that I take a
sympathetic interest in him, believing him to be a representative young
man of my native New England, and that I consider him a better match for
Miss Ravenel than this southern "high-toned" gentleman whom she insists
upon having.
While Colburne was feeling so strongly with regard to Lillie, could she
not devote a sentiment to him? Not many; she had not time; she was
otherwise occupied. So selfishly wrapped up in her own affections was
she, that, until Mrs. Larue laughingly suggested it, she never thought
of his being jealous or miserable on account of her. Then she hoped that
he did not care much for her, and was really sorry for him if he did.
What a horrible fate it seemed to her to be disappointed in love! She
remembered that she had once liked him very much indeed; but so she did
even yet, she added, with a comfortable closing of her eyes to all
change in the nature of the sentiment; and perhaps he only fancied her
in a similar Platonic fashion. Once she had cut out of a paper, and put
away in so safe a place that now she could not find it, a little poem
which he had written, and which was only interesting because he was the
author. She blushed as she called her folly to mind, and resolved that
it should never be known to any one. It is curious that she was a little
vexed with Colburne because of this reminiscence, and felt that it more
than repaid him for all the secret devotion which he might have lavished
on her.
"My leave of absence has not been as pleasant as I hoped it would be,"
he once had the courage to remark.
"Why not?" she asked absent-mindedly; for she was thinking of her own
heart affairs.
"I fear that I have lost some sympathies which I once----"
Here he checked himself, not daring to confess how much he had once
hoped. With a sudden comprehension of his meaning Lillie colored
intensely, after her usual fashion on startling occasions, and glanced
about the room in search of some other subject of conversation.
"I have a sense of being a stranger in the family," he explained after a
moment of painful silence.
She might surely have said something kind here, but she was too
conscientious or too much embarrassed to do it. She made one of those
efforts which women are capable of, and sailed out of the difficulty on
the wings of a laugh.
"I am sure Mrs. Larue takes a deep interest in you."
Colburne colored in his turn under a sense of mortification mingled with
something like anger. Both were relieved when Doctor Ravenel entered,
and thereby broke up the fretting dialogue. Now why was not the young
man informed of the real state of affairs in the family? Simply because
the Doctor, fearful for his child's happiness, and loth to lose dominion
over her future, could not yet bring himself to consider the engagement
as a finality.
There were no scenes during the leave of absence. Neither Colburne nor
Madame Larue made a declaration or received a refusal. Two days before
the leave of absence terminated he sadly and wisely and resolutely took
his departure for Thibodeaux. Nothing of interest happened to him during
the winter, except that he accompanied his regiment in Weitzel's advance
up the Teche, which resulted in the retreat of Mouton from Camp
Beasland, and the destruction of the rebel iron-clad "Cotton." A
narrative of the expedition, written with his usual martial enthusiasm,
but which unfortunately I have not space to publish, was received by
Doctor Ravenel, and declared by him to be equal in precision, brevity,
elegance, and every other classical quality of style, to the
Commentaries of Julius Cæsar. The Colonel remarked, in his practical
way, that the thing seemed to have been well planned, and that the
Captain's account was a good model for a despatch, only a little too
long-winded and poetical.
Colburne being absent, Mrs. Larue turned her guns once more upon the
Doctor. As the motto of an Irishman at a Donnybrook fair is, "Wherever
you see a head, hit it," so the rule which guided her in the Vanity Fair
of this life was, "Wherever you see a man, set your cap at him." It must
not be supposed, however, that she made the same eyes at the Doctor that
she made at Colburne. Her manner would vary amazingly, and frequently
did vary to suit her company, just as a chameleon's jacket is said to
change color according to the tree which he inhabits; and this was not
because she was simple and easily influenced, but precisely because she
was artful and anxious to govern, and knew that soft looks and words are
woman's best means of empire. It was interesting to see what a nun-like
and saintly _pose_ she could take in the presence of a clergyman. To the
Colonel she acted the part of Lady Gay Spanker; to the Doctor she was
_femme raisonnable_, and, so far as she could be, _femme savante_; to
Colburne she of late generally played the female Platonic philosopher.
It really annoys me to reflect how little space I must allow myself for
painting the character of this remarkable woman. "She was nobody's fool
but her own," remarked the Colonel, who understood her in a coarse,
incomplete way; nor did she deceive either Lillie or the Doctor in
regard to the main features of her character, although they had no
suspicion how far she could carry some of her secret caprices. It is
hard to blind completely the eyes of one's own family and daily
intimates.
As a hen is in trouble when her ducklings take to the water, so was
Lillie's soul disturbed when her father was out on the flattering sea of
Madame's conversation. Carter was amused at the wiles of the widow and
the terrors of the daughter. He comprehended the affair as well as
Lillie, at the same time that he did not see so very much harm in it,
for the lady was pretty, clever, young enough, and had money. But
nothing came of the flirtation--at least not for the present. Although
the Doctor was an eminently sociable being and indefatigably courteous
to all of Eve's daughters, he was not at bottom what you call a ladies'
man. He was too much wrapped up in his daughter and in his scientific
studies to be easily pervious to the shafts of Cupid; besides which he
was pretty solidly cuirassed by fifty-five years of worldly experience.
Madame even felt that she was kept at a distance, or, to use a more
corporeal and specially correct expression, at arm's length, by his very
politeness.
"Doctor, have you not thought it odd sometimes that I never consult you
professionally?" she asked one day, changing suddenly from _femme
raisonnable_ to Lady Gay Spanker.
"Really, it never occurred to me. I don't expect to prescribe for my own
family. It would be unfair to my brother doctors. I believe, too, that
you are never sick."
"Thanks to Heaven, never! But that is not the only cause. The truth
is--perhaps you have not noticed the fact--but you are not married. If
you want me for a patient, there must first be a Mrs. Ravenel."
"Ah! Yes. Somebody to whom I could confide what is the matter with you."
"That would not matter. We women always tell our own maladies. No; that
would not matter; it is merely the look of the thing that troubles me."
The Doctor had the air of being cornered, and remained smiling at Mrs.
Larue, awaiting her pleasure.
"I do not propose to consult you," she continued. "I am so constantly
well that I am almost unhappy about it. But I do think seriously of
studying medicine. What is your opinion of female doctors?"
"A capital idea!" exclaimed Ravenel, jumping at the change of subject.
"Why not follow it up? You could master the science of medicine in two
or three years, and you have ability enough to practice it to great
advantage. You might be extremely useful by making a specialty of your
own sex."
"You are a professor of theory and practice, Doctor. Will you instruct
me?"
"Oh! as to that--Elderkin would be better. He is precisely in what ought
to be your line. I think that out of kindness to you I ought to say No."
"Not even if I would promise to study mineralogy also?"
Ravenel pondered an instant, and then eluded her with a story.
"That reminds me of a chaffering which I overheard in a country tavern
in Georgia between a Yankee peddler and an indigenous specimen. The
Cracker wanted to sell the stranger a horse. 'I don't care particularly
for a trade,' says the Yankee, 'but I'll buy the shoes if you'll throw
in the creetur.' Medicine is a great science; but mineralogy is a far
vaster one."
In short, the Doctor was to Madame like a cold cake to a lump of butter;
he calmly endured her, but gave her no encouragement to melt upon his
bosom. Just at this time he was more than usually safe from love
entanglements because he was so anxious about Lillie's position and
prospects. He made what inquiries he could concerning Carter's way of
life, and watched his demeanor and conversation closely while talking to
him with the politest of smiles. He was unexpectedly gratified by
discovering that his proposed son-in-law led--at least for the
present--a sober and decent life. With his devotion as a lover no fault
could be found by the most exacting of fathers. He called on Lillie
every evening and sent her flowers every morning; in short, he bloomed
with fair promise of being an affectionate and even uxorious husband.
Gradually the Doctor weaned himself from his selfish or loving
suspicions, and became accustomed to the idea that from this man his
daughter might draw a life-long happiness. Thus when it happened, late
in January, nearly four months after the declaration, that Carter
requested to be informed definitely as to his prospects, he obtained
permission to consider the affair an engagement.
"You know I can't promise wealth to Miss Ravenel," he said frankly.
"She may have to put up with a very simple style of life."
"If she can't be contented, I shall not pity her," answered the Doctor.
"I don't believe that the love of money is the root of all evil. But I
do say that it is one of the most degrading passions conceivable in
woman. I sympathise with no woman whose only trouble is that she cannot
have and spend a great deal of money. By the way, you know how unable I
am to endow her."
"Don't mention it. You have already endowed her. The character that you
have transmitted to her, sir--"
The Doctor bowed so promptly and appreciatively that the Colonel did not
feel it necessary to round off the compliment.
As men do not talk copiously with each other on these subjects, the
interview did not last ten minutes.
I hope that I shall not impress the reader unfavorably concerning
Lillie's character when I state that she was frankly happy over the
result of her lover's probation. Her delight did not arise merely from
the prospect of a smooth course of love and marriage. It sprang in part
from the greatly comforting fact that now there was no difference of
opinion, no bar to perfect sympathy, between her and that loved,
respected, almost adored papa. I have given a very imperfect idea of her
if I have not already made it clear that with her the sentiment of
filial affection was almost a passion. From very early childhood she had
been remarkable for papa-worship, or whatever may be the learned name
for the canonization of one's progenitors. At the age of seven she had
propounded the question, "Mamma, why don't they make papa President of
the United States?" Some light may be shed on the character of this
departed mother and wife by stating that her answer was, "My dear, your
father never chose to meddle in politics." Whether Mrs. Ravenel actually
deified the Doctor with all the simple faith of the child, or whether
the reply was merely meant to confirm the latter in her filial piety,
is a matter of doubt even to persons who were well acquainted with the
deceased lady.
At last Lillie could prattle to her father about Carter as much as she
liked; and she used the privilege freely, being habituated to need,
demand and obtain his sympathies. Not that she filled his ears with
confessions of love, or said that Colonel Carter was "_so_ handsome!" or
anything of that sickish nature. But when her father came in from a
walk, it was, "Papa, did you see Mr. Carter anywhere? And what did he
say?" At another time it was, "Papa, did Mr. Carter ever tell you about
his first campaign against the Indians?" And then would follow the
story, related with glee and a humorous appreciation of the
grandiloquent ideas of a juvenile West Pointer about to draw his maiden
sword. A frequent subject of her conversation was Carter's chance of
promotion, not considered with regard to the pecuniary advantages
thereof, but in respect to the simple justice of advancing such an able
and gallant officer. It was, "Papa, how can the Government be so stupid
as to neglect men who know their duties? Mrs. Larue says that the
abolitionists are opposed to Mr. Carter because he doesn't hold their
ultra opinions. I suppose they would rather favor a man who talks as
they do, even if he got whipped every time, and never freed a nigger. If
Mr. Carter were on the southern side, he would find promotion fast
enough. It is enough to make any one turn rebel."
"My dear," says the Doctor with emphasis, "I would rather be a private
soldier under the flag of my country, than be a major-general in the
army of those villainous conspirators against country, liberty and
humanity. I respect Colonel Carter for holding fast to his patriotic
sentiments, in spite of unjust neglect, far more than I would if he were
loyal merely because he was sure of being commander-in-chief."
Lillie could not fail to be gratified by such a compliment to the moral
worth of her hero. After a few moments of agreeable meditation on the
various perfections of that great being, she resumed the old subject.
"I think that there is a chance yet of his getting a star when the
official report of the battle of Georgia Landing once reaches the minds
of those slow creatures at Washington. What do you think, papa? What are
the probabilities?"
"Really, my dear, you perplex me. Prophecy never formed a part of my
education. There are even a few events in the past that I am not
intimately acquainted with."
"Then you shouldn't look so awfully old, papa. If you _will_ wrinkle up
your forehead in that venerable way, as if you were the Wandering Jew,
you must expect to have people ask you all sorts of questions. Why will
you do it? I hate to see you making yourself so aggravatingly ancient
when nature does her best to keep you young."
About these times the Doctor wrote, with a pitying if not a sad heart,
to inform Colburne of the engagement. The young man had looked for some
such news, but it nevertheless pained him beyond his anticipations. No
mental preparation, no melancholy certainty of forecast, ever quite fits
us to meet the avalanche of a great calamity. No matter, for instance,
how long we have watched the sure invasion of disease upon the life of a
dear friend or relative, we are always astonished with a mighty shock
when the last feeble breath leaves the wasted body. Colburne had long
sat gloomily by the bedside of his dying hope, but when it expired
outright he was seemingly none the less full of anguished amazement.
"Who would have thought it!" he repeated to himself. "How could she
choose such a husband, so old, so worldly, so immoral? God help her and
watch over her. The love of such a man is a calamity. The tender mercies
of the wicked are unintentional cruelties."
As for himself, the present seemed a barren waste without a blossom of
happiness, and the future another waste without an oasis of hope. For a
time he even lost all desire for promotion, or for any other worldly
honor or success; and he would not have considered it hard, so
undesirable did life appear, if he had known that it was his fate to die
in the next battle. If he wanted to live it was only to see the war
terminate gloriously, and the stars and stripes once more flying over
his whole country. The devotional sentiments which his mother had sown
throughout his youth, and which had been warmed for a while into some
strength of feeling and purpose by the saintly glory of her death,
struggled anew into temporary bloom under the clouds of this second
bereavement.
"Not my will but Thine be done," he thought. And then, "How unworthy I
am to repeat those words!"
There were certain verses of the Bible which whispered to him a
comforting sympathy. Many times a day such a phrase as, "A man of
sorrows and acquainted with grief," repeated to him as if by some other
self or guardian angel, would thrill his mind with the plaintive
consolation of requiems.