THE CAPTURED LETTER.--MRS. E.'s EXILE.
Soon after these several triumphs of Texas arms, a vessel was
shipwrecked on the Gulf, and among the debris that washed upon the
coast, a U. S. mail bag was picked up by the soldiers on duty there and
forwarded to headquarters. It contained a large amount of letter mail,
going North from Texas. The letters were written in part by Texans, who
had fled the country to Mexico on account of proscription for Union
sentiments, and to avoid conscription, with other reasons. And many
were written by those still remaining in the country.
The accident furnished an opportunity for the military authorities to
discover who might be traitors in their midst. The contents of the
letters were carefully examined, and indicated that some of the writers
entertained sentiments more or less treasonable to the Southern cause.
Among the writers of this class was a Mrs. E., living a hundred miles
from the coast, on the Texas Central Railroad. She had emigrated years
before from the central part of the Old Empire State of the North. She
was a lady of a decidedly literary turn of mind, and this fact was
strongly marked in the literary tone of the contraband letter that had,
by unforeseen accident, fallen into military hands. It read, in part,
as quoted below:
"Dear Mother: It is a long time since communication was broken off
between us. It seems an age. I am tired of it, and would that the
unnatural struggle were over. But how and when, God only knows! I am
living under a reign of terror, where dissembling is an art, and must
be practiced, though self-bemeaning to an honest mind. The crushing
incubus is upon us, and must be borne as best it can be. It would be
comparatively easy to float with the current here if one's sympathies
were with it. But dare I say it (?), mine are not. May the gods, in
their own quick time, relieve the terrible suspense, and give victory
to the 'Stars and Stripes.'"
Thus wrote one of the most talented ladies in Texas. She was a lady of
medium hight and size, delicately organized, sensitive temperament,
brunette complexion, and a dark full swimming eye--a gazelle-eyed
Juno. Unlike some literary members of the sex, she was a very queen
of domestic neatness, thrift and joy, as well as a happy companion
of books. More than this, she was by no means a literary or domestic
recluse, but her large heart sent out its tendrils for the dews of
neighborhood life, and gave out the sweet waters of friendship to such
as should themselves be friendly. The beautiful climax of her character
was in giving joy to others. She was most happy when making others
so. Without guile herself, she never looked for it in other people.
Yet this beauty of her character--an ingenuous frankness of heart and
manner--sometimes inspired envy and jealousy in those who were her
personal and social antipodes.
In literary matters, the poets were as familiar to her as household
words. But she paid tribute not to literature alone, but ventured into
the deep waters of such authors as Hugh Miller on Geology, Humboldt's
Cosmos, and was able to digest metaphysics, theology, etc. And if, in
the midst of it all, household cares included, exhausted in mental and
physical strength, a little negro boy should come and say, "Please
ma'm, here is some cloth, and mother is sick, and wants you to cut me
a coat; she says you are so good you will do it," she will take the
cloth, and cut and baste by the hour, and then send the little black
home so glad.
In prose she writes heavy or light, and her muse sparkles with
beautiful poetry. She is now, and has been since the war, a
correspondent of first-class periodicals, weekly and monthly, at home
and abroad, and is a leading poetess of the "Lone Star State."
One morning the door-bell rang at her house. Mrs. E. answered the
summons in person, and on opening the door there stood a tall, handsome
gentleman, in military costume. Each said "good-morning," and bowed the
stranger's bow.
"Is Mrs. E. at home?" he inquired.
"She is," replied that lady.
"Have I the pleasure of addressing that lady now?" said the officer.
"I am Mrs. E. Will you come in, Sir?" said she, in a dignified tone.
"I thank you, Madam, I will, if you please," and stepping in, he was
seated on the sofa.
"Let me take your cap, Sir," said the lady, reaching out her hand to
relieve him of that gold-braided and spangled ornament.
"No, I thank you, Madam, I am in a hurry, and am under orders in
calling on you this morning so unceremoniously, without previous
announcement by card or courier," said the military gent, with the
feeling that he was in the presence of superior intelligence and worth.
At this moment he felt that it would be a gracious relief if he could
be spared the chagrin of serving a military summons upon the fair lady,
for whom he confessed himself inspired with unusual respect, though
never having met her before. He treated her, in words and manner, with
genuine politeness, and no gentleman could have done otherwise.
"May I inquire, Sir, speaking of being under orders, what your orders
are?" said Mrs. E., with evident surprise at the officer's hint.
This interrogatory of the lady had the effect of producing a grip of
Mars at his throat, while Cupid's arrow struck his heart, and the
lady, all unconscious of his struggle between the two deities, waited
his reply. At last regaining his speech, and having studied well the
language in which he would make his errand known, with the least
possible shock to Mrs. E.'s sensibilities, he proceeded to say:
"My dear lady, it becomes my very unpleasant duty, under imperative
orders, to request you to accompany me to headquarters, at Houston,
where General M., the Commander of the Department of Texas, will make
known to you the reasons of this summons."
"A request for me to appear at military headquarters, before the
Department General--for _me_, a lady! and may I know what for? Strange
Order from the General to a lady! What can it mean, and will you, if
at liberty, explain how, and why it is, that a humble lady like myself
has so suddenly reached such a degree of importance with the military
headship of the land?"
"As I said before, he will disclose to you the reasons for this
summons, Madame," said the officer. "It is a very unpleasant matter
to me, and the more so, as I perceive you are a lady of unusual
refinement, appearance and manners."
"I suppose, then, the summons is imperative and I must go?" said the
lady again.
"Madam, I do not clothe my orders in such abrupt language, but feel
bound to treat you in every respect as a gentleman should a lady, or,"
hesitatingly, "as if I were an old and accepted friend, paying court to
your ladyship," said the man under authority, not from the war deity
alone, for the last words were on the indictment of the little-winged
god.
A lovely carnation blush overspread the brunette cheeks of Mrs. E.,
and reflected back the sentiment, in wordless pleasure. Just then the
gallant gentleman relieved her momentary embarrassment, by pleasantly
inquiring: "How soon, Mrs. E., may I expect the pleasure of your
company by railroad to Houston. The next train will be here in two
hours. Can you be ready in that time?"
She assured him that she could. "You will then excuse me, Madam, from
taxing your time further, and I will return to the depot, and there
wait your coming at the hour." So saying, the officer retired. On
reaching the depot, he saw the two soldiers he had brought with him,
armed with bayonets, and supplied with handcuffs, in anticipation of
arresting some female outlaw, but now would part with the world, if his
to give, sooner than Mrs. E. should know of his bayonet companions,
and the other preparations for depriving her of physical freedom. He
ordered the soldiers to keep out of sight at the depot, and give him
no word or look of recognition on the train in the lady's presence. At
first they did not exactly understand the secret of such instructions,
but asked no explanations, though they wanted to ask, and the officer
did not condescend to enlighten them, so they were left to their wits
to divine the mystery.
But, meanwhile, what had been going on at the house of Mrs. E.? During
the interview between her and the officer no member of the household
had intruded into the room where they were, but as he retired she
lost no time in acquainting the family circle with what had happened.
That is, she told them that she had to report herself at military
headquarters; and described the good-looking and polite gentleman who
had served the summons, but said never a word of the little brush of
romance from Cupid's wings.
"But what does it mean?" said one and another, and still another.
"I don't know," said she, "but I am going to see. The officer is a true
gentleman, I am satisfied, and no harm will befall me in his hands.
Besides, he will not only give me a safe conduct, but will regard the
feelings of a lady, and make it _sub rosa_. And now let me say, dear
ones, that whatever developments may occur, you shall be duly informed,
and I don't feel that we need fear serious harm."
Then she retired to make her toilet, and a few minutes before train
time she was on the platform in a modest but bewitching attire. The
officer gave one glance, that was all--a stranger would have given two
or three--and, turning away, felt a soft sensation in his left side.
He tried to appear like a stranger, with no interest in the lady,
who now stood looking up the road for the train. She had divined and
appreciated the public reserve of her military escort displayed at that
delicate moment.
Soon the whistle blew, and the train was in sight. Just then the
officer passed her and said, "Select a seat in the rear car, and I will
come to you." The train moved up, bringing that car at her side. She
entered by the front platform, he by the rear. They met at the center,
and found one seat fully vacant only. He motioned her in, and she did
not object to the stranger's occupying the seat with her. Train is off,
and the noise of rumbling wheels soon drowns conversation to all but
the mutual talkers themselves. What, with the hope that nothing serious
is to befall her at headquarters--as her conscience tells of no crime
against military or civil order--and the new found pleasure of company
so congenial, she almost forgets the relation of officer and prisoner.
The trip of fifty miles seems less than an hour, as the train enters
the city of destination.
The officer and his fair prisoner are seated in an omnibus, and driven
to--not headquarters, nor the common jail, nor guard-house, but to the
---- House, the best in the city, and there Mrs. E. is imprisoned in a
nicely furnished room for the night. The officer retires after ordering
all her wants supplied, even to a special waiting-maid, saying as he
goes: "Mrs. E., I will call in the morning with further orders. I hope
you will rest well, and not have unpleasant dreams."
That night no bayonet paced the hall by her room to prevent the
prisoner's escape. No, her _honor_, better felt than told, stood
sentinel at her door! The next morning a gentle rap announced the
officer's presence, and on opening the door he gave her a pleasant
smile, with a cordial "good-morning." She looked a little pale, as if
she might not have rested well the entire night, which induced him
to ask: "Are you quite well this morning, Mrs. E.? You are looking a
little pale." On assuring him that she was, he notified her that he was
now ready, if she were agreed, to escort her to the presence of his
dignity, General M., at his private quarters.
"Certainly, Sir, I am ready and anxious, as well as curious, to know
the meaning of this strange proceeding. Is it far, Sir?"
"No, it is not very far, Madam, but no matter about the distance, as
there is a carriage at the door waiting to convey us thither."
"O, there is; but this treatment seems too kind and generous toward
your prisoner. I could have walked as well, Sir," said Mrs. E., while
a tear came into her eye, which, turning her head aside, she tried to
hide from his view, but which he saw, and treasured in the heart of his
recollection.
Taking his arm they descended the stairway, and proceeding through the
hall to the front door they entered a close carriage, and were driven
away without meeting the stare of listless spectators. On reaching the
General's quarters she was ushered into his presence with military
salutations from the subordinate to his superior officer. "I have the
honor, General, of returning the process served, and the prisoner, Mrs.
E., is before you, whom I now introduce to you," said the sub-officer.
She bowed genteelly to the General, which brought the military bluff
to his feet, and to make his politest reply, which would be awkward
in most gentlemen. He asked her to be seated, ordering a chair. Then
reseating himself in his big swivel chair, and facing the lady, he
proceeded to say:
"Mrs. E., I suppose you would first like to be informed as to the
reasons for this summary proceeding against you; and though, as
Department Commander, I am not required by military law or usage to
allege the cause of action, yet, in this case, and because I am dealing
with a lady, who though a stranger to me, I perceive to be intelligent
and genteel, I will assign to you the reason for this peremptory
summons. A letter, purporting on its face, to have been written by
yourself, or some one bearing your name, by the accidents of war and
providential direction, has fallen into my hands, and a portion of its
contents proves to be treasonable to the Confederacy." Here handing her
the letter, he inquired:
"Mrs. E., do you recognize the letter as yours?"
"I do," was the brief response.
"And those are your sentiments, as therein expressed, toward our cause,
Madam?" again said the General.
"The letter reads so, General, and it would be cowardly in me to deny,
now under fear, what I then said without fear. I was frank then, and
will not be less so now. Those were, and are, my sentiments; though
little did I think, or intend harm, by the letter, to the Confederacy
when writing it, and in forwarding it to friends in the North; as it
was strictly a private letter to private friends, disconnected with any
motive to inflict injury upon the country. Nor can I see or feel that
the offense is a penal one in any sense, so long as I am found guilty
of neither constructive nor actual treason, by aiding or abetting the
enemy, furnishing him material aid or contraband information, nor of
the possession of treasonable motives, expressed or implied, waiting
the opportune moment to display themselves, or something more than
mere feelings or convictions, which are certainly involuntary things,
and hence without responsibility. Feelings and convictions, permit me
to suggest, General, are like birds flying over one's head, for which
one is not responsible. One is only responsible for willful action, in
obedience to these feelings and convictions. I will not urge, General,
the further consideration, that your prisoner is a woman, without
pretension, whose sphere of action is confined exclusively to the
domestic circle, including some little experience in literary matters.
But of all this you must and will be the judge, of course, and I must
submit to your judgment and consequent orders in the premises, but I
would respectfully beg to be spared from sustaining damages, either
corporal or incorporal, on the plain principle of justice, that where
one has neither done nor intended damage to others, he should not be
damaged himself."
The General replied, though not without some misgiving: "My dear Madam,
you defend yourself capitally well, and I perceive you are not only an
intelligent lady, and hence, on this score, we fear you in our cause
all the more, if disposed on seeming occasion, to do damage, which is
liable to come at any time by the accidents of war, but I feel bound
to say that I believe that you are a well-meaning lady, though not
patriotic toward the country of your adoption. But, Madam, occupying
the responsible position I do, I am bound to discard personal feeling,
and take notice of facts, both actual and possible, and not be a
respecter of persons, but have my country's weal and prosperity before
me, and remove with scrupulous care all obstacles thereto, even the
least.
"As you say your case is not criminal in any important sense, but
imprudent, inexpedient, unfortunate, the least I can do is to remove
you beyond our lines till after the war. And as most convenient to us,
and probably preferable to you, I will order you, by military escort,
to Matamoras, in Mexico, across the Rio Grande. And I detail Lieutenant
H. here, the officer who placed you under arrest, and brought you to
these headquarters, to command the escort, and see the order of exile
carried out. You can now return home on your parole of honor, and there
await further orders."
To a lady of her style and sensibilities such a proceeding would be
shocking, but Mrs. E. bore up under it well. She retired from the
General's presence, with the pointed remark, addressed to him: "Well,
General, if I understand the situation then, you exile me, not so much
for what I _have_ done, as for what I _might_ do?"
"Your case is disposed of, Madam. I have nothing further to say; and
you are too much of a lady to bandy words with," replied the General.
She was driven to the cars as she had come, in company with Lieutenant
H., who saw her safe on board, and as the train moved off, he pressed
her hand, and said warmly, "Good-by. God bless you; be of good cheer;
in a few days, two or three, you will see me again, and--" he left the
sentence unfinished, as the train was getting fast, and leaped from the
platform.
At the hour of 12 M. she was at home again. "In a few days, two or
three," she said to the family, "I am off for the sunset side of the
Rio Grande to Matamoras. This is the order of the General, and to
remain there, or outside the lines, till the 'cruel war is over.'
"And now, Lew, I want you and your sister Emma to accompany me with
the ambulance and the nice white carriage mules, and be my companions
in exile. Do, my dears, and don't say no, for how can I go alone, and
leave my adopted darling brother and sister. We can do something for a
livelihood if the purse gets low, and we'll fill it as we go."
"But, dear Mrs. E., you have not told us yet why you are ordered into
exile. Have you been committing some enormous crime that deserves the
punishment of expatriation? Tell us, for it may be that we may meet the
fate of poor 'Dog Tray,' being found in bad company, which might not be
quite so pleasant after all."
Thus responded, archly, Lewis and Emma.
"Sure enough. Pardon me, dears, my mind had become so absorbed with
results that I had become oblivious of the cause. Ah! why so, not
demented am I! and yet with all my effort at self-control, there is,
I feel, a terrible strain on my nerves. But the cause, what do you
suppose it is? I will tell you. Do you remember that letter I wrote to
my dear old mother two months ago, dying, no doubt, with the heartache
for her child in this far-off country, and in these troublous times?
You do. Well, by a strange ordering of the fates that letter fell into
the hands of the military. I see you wonder how. It was on this wise:
The vessel carrying the mail was shipwrecked on the Gulf, and among
the things carried ashore by the tidewaters, near Sabine Pass, was the
mail-bag containing the fatal letter, and was picked up by the soldiers
on duty there, and forwarded to headquarters. And now that is how the
situation is, and the procuring cause of my being in military limbo."
"And is that all--is that the head and front of your offending?"
exclaimed the brother and sister, and then added, "If that be all, we
are not only ready to go with you into exile, but if need be to the
ends of the earth. Yes, we'll go, dear Mrs. E.; we'll go, and glad of
an opportunity for voluntary exile from a country so mean, and with one
so dear."
"Hush, my dears; give utterance only to such feelings when we are safe
beyond the lines. Now we understand each other, let us to the work of
preparation for the journey of four hundred miles. Lew will look after
the mules and ambulance. The ambulance will need two good seats, and
room inside, and a rack behind for provisions and trunks. And you and
I, Emma, will see the trunks well filled with clothing for all around,
and other things that may come in play. You know we shall be obliged to
camp out the whole way through, as there are no places of entertainment
in that wild country. The wolves will nightly give us howling serenades
around our camp-fires. But the escort will afford us ample protection
against four-legged wolves, and wolves bipedal."
The next two days were busy ones of preparation, interspersed with
brief respites, occasions for interesting chats and consultations on
the novel trip before them, in which the ever-recurring how, when,
where, and wherefore, were thoroughly canvassed and disposed of each
time as well as mortals with only mortal ken could dispose of such
things yet in the untried future. At last, when the clock said ten,
the second night, the trunk lids were pressed down to their places,
locked and strapped, and Mrs. E. wearied, and half-falling into a big
arm-chair, exclaimed, "There, Lieutenant H., you may come as quick as
you please, we are ready."
Just then the door-bell rang. "Why, who's that," said Mrs. E., in a
half-startled, but suppressed tone; but a little bird told her it was
the Lieutenant. Miss Emma approached and opened the door, and sure
enough it was he.
"Is Mrs. E. in?" inquired he.
"She is," replied Emma; "please step in, Sir."
"Good evening, Mrs. E.," was his salutation to that lady. She replied,
and rising and meeting him they shook hands warmly.
He remarked, apologetically, "It is a late hour to call, but I know you
will excuse me, Madam. I am stopping at the hotel in town, and just
came to know if you were ready to begin the pleasant journey in the
morning," at the same time glancing at Lew and Emma, to see if they
appeared to comprehend the situation.
"We are ready, I thank you, Lieutenant, and only wait 'further orders,'
having just this moment, before you came, strapped our trunks."
The Lieutenant looked surprised at the plural, "_we_ are ready," and
gave another glance at the brother and sister, and then at the two big
trunks, and had parted his lips to speak, when Mrs. E. interrupted
him with, "Yes, we are ready--these, my darling friends, my children
almost, are going with me to be my companions in exile; and we are
going in our own conveyance, and have just one vacant seat for you,
Lieutenant, and we all cordially invite you to occupy it, and travel
with us. And whatever military cavalcade is to accompany us, let them
travel by themselves and be our John Baptist. What say you, Sir, to
this?"
"Well now, really, Mrs. E., this is quite unexpected, and as I can have
no objection, certainly, to the surprise plan, for which you alone
are responsible, I can not refuse your kind invitation to make one of
the number of so pleasant a traveling quartette. So being ready, I
respectfully suggest the hour of eight in the morning as the time for
starting. My requisition on the Commander of the post here, for six men
and two four-mule teams and ambulances with drivers, has been filled,
but it can remain so, and I will order them out an hour ahead of us,
and we four will leave together, in a quiet way, not exciting public
curiosity. And now, good-night all, I will be here at eight, sharp."
"What do you think of him, Miss Emma, and how will we be likely to fare
in his charge?" said Mrs. E. after he had gone.
"What do I think of him? you ask. To speak, frankly, I think he is a
nice gentleman, and will _do_ to travel with, either with or without a
military escort. I feel assured in his presence."
"It is indeed a painful thought to be driven, forced from one's
home and country, even as a penalty for real crime, but when for an
accident, a misfortune, which points to no criminal intent, it is a
_grief_, unassuaged by aught save a conscious innocence. Though in my
case, so far, a halo of real romance seems to gather around to shed its
sweet sadness o'er my heart, to lighten the burden that presses it.
Indeed it feels like the tender hand of the All-wise Father, caressing
my troubled spirit into quiet and confident repose. Indeed, I almost
feel thankful for the rod; and to bless the hand that holds and applies
it. In a word, to speak directly, the trip we are about to make seems
in its circumstances more like a pleasure trip than going into exile.
But let us to repose; it is eleven o'clock, and we must rise early."
They retired, and the travelers of to-morrow are soon lost in sweet
slumbers, which are made a little sweeter by pleasant dreams, in which
the name of "Lieutenant H." escapes the lips of both the fair sleepers
in low murmuring tones. Each hears the gentle murmur from the other,
but is unknowing of her own; and each buries the secret in her heart,
resolved that what has passed the portals of the ear shall not command
the tongue for revelation on the house-top, nor to private ears, not
even their own, unless, perchance, the mischievous little deity that
presides over the heart destinies of most people, shall, for the sake
of diversion, so far awaken curiosity as to force out the secret.
The morning light breaks in the east, and throws increasing strength
upon the darkness of slumbering night. Awake, yes, wide awake. They
arise, and perform in thoughtful silence, and with unusual care, their
morning toilet. The morning repast is hurried through. The ambulance
is at the door, and Lew, at seven o'clock, is loading and strapping on
the trunks, with other necessary traveling equippage. The morning is
beautiful, and the glorious sun has nearly reached the score of eight
in the heavens, when Lieutenant H. suddenly appears, with smiling
politeness, as bright as the sunny morning, and exclaims, "All ready, I
see, and so am I; shall we be off?"
The family adieus are said. Lewis is on the front seat, with lines in
hand. The Lieutenant hands the ladies in, Emma beside her brother. Just
then Mrs. E. remarks, "I suppose, Lieutenant, you will occupy the seat
beside your prisoner, to prevent her escape into the deep, tangled wild
wood, when passing through the dark 'bottoms' of the Brazos? We shall
soon be there."
"Thank you, Madam, that would seem entirely proper, and perhaps
necessary; at least the situation is not repulsive." So saying, he
became seated with a satisfied air, and Emma gave a stolen glance
back over her shoulder at the double situation, first of officer and
prisoner, and then of friends. She denied to herself thinking she would
be willing to exchange seats with Mrs. E., as she caught sight of the
Lieutenant's handsome face smiling under the starlight of his brilliant
eyes. She felt a little uneasiness on her own seat, and imagined it
was not as easy as the back seat would be; still she comforted herself
into a tolerable degree of contentment, though it was far from being
a continual feast. She thought, and admitted to herself, that the
arrangement of seats was entirely natural, and to introduce any change
would be rude. So she would endure what had no cure, and bide her time.
These reflections came and went in her mind, but if some invisible hand
had written them down over her signature, she would have denied the
authorship of them.
An hour or more had passed, and Lew had been giving strict attention to
his handsome _mulos_, and on the level road had allowed them willing
speed, and now they descend quite a hill, and enter the four-mile
'bottoms' of the Brazos. The way was a narrow forest arcade. The giants
locked arms one and two hundred feet above their heads, festooned with
vines, mingled with the deep hanging moss, which fringed the trees here
and there, and everywhere vailing from view the face of the sky, and
holding back the sun's rays, which penetrate not that dark passage,
for full eight months of the year. Strange sounds here fall upon the
ear, reminding one that half the zoological collections of Noah's ark
could be found here, both of bird and beast. A half shuddering fear
came over the ladies in that partial night, and each one leans a little
nearer her companion. They have penetrated the dark way half a mile or
more, when suddenly the mules stop, affrighted, and begin to back. Emma
screams, and half swoons on her brother's arm. "What's the matter?"
exclaim the others. Lew is some excited, but keeps cool from necessity.
It was indeed a startling sight. An immense panther had just leaped
across the archway, from tree to tree, forty to fifty feet above,
and a few rods ahead, as though preparing for a leap upon the unwary
travelers. At the moment of alarm, the Lieutenant had clutched his
trusty rifle by his side, and the next instant all four saw the cause
of alarm. The brave officer was instantly on the ground, with rifle in
hand, and already drawing a bead on the gentleman in the trees. "Take
care of the team and ladies, Lew, and I will soon make him sick," said
he, but the animal was leaping from tree to tree, making off into the
deeper forest, and was out of sight at two or three bounds, screaming
as he went. But the Lieutenant gave him a parting salute, on a shadowy
glimpse of him, at the sixth bound. The animal gave an unearthly
scream, that sent a million echo thrills through the dark woods, and
then a heavy ground fall. "I've brought him," exclaimed the officer.
Reloading his gun, though he had one load yet in the other barrel, he
ventured carefully into the thicket against the earnest remonstrance of
the ladies, and found the game in the last muscular struggles of death,
as he expected, having luckily struck him in the heart. Drawing his
tape on him, he measured nine feet from tip to tip. Leaving his dead
carcass to be food for buzzards, and returning to the ambulance, they
moved on again through the dark tunnel, while the Lieutenant held his
finger on the trigger, keeping an eye out for further intruders.
They had driven a mile farther, when the mules again pricked up their
long ears, and this time a small pack of wolves crossed the road twenty
rods in front, in a hurry, as if pursued or pursuing. They stopped not,
nor so much as looked at the travelers, and were lost to view in an
instant or so.
The Lieutenant here mischievously inquired, "Mrs. E., is it here you
would like to escape from me 'into the deep tangled wildwood?'" That
lady only answered with a shudder. Misfortunes, _on dit_, never come
single; so with frights. They had now reached the muddy malarious
Brazos, and ferried across by virtue of a military pass, and had gone a
full mile beyond. The pressure of fear had begun to yield as they saw
open daylight through the tunnel, a quarter mile in the distance, but
now again the _mulos_ suddenly halt in a fright, and this time with
snorting fear, snuffing danger near!
"Look there ahead in the track! See that awful snake coiled there!"
exclaimed Emma. Again the Lieutenant was on the ground, gun in
hand; and again the fair ones object. But he was not deterred from
the purpose of bruising the serpent's head. Providing himself with
a dead limb that had fallen from the trees above, he went bravely
to the attack; first firing a bullet at his snakeship's head as it
stood raised in arched defiance over the complex coils, ready for the
springing bite of death! The bullet carried away the crest of the head,
which threw the reptile into fearful contortions, and then, with
terrific blows from the limb of the tree, he soon brought it to a quiet
quivering rattle! It was a fearfully large spotted wood rattlesnake,
and by the tape measured eight feet three inches in length, and had
seventeen rattles. Relieving the highway of its presence, and casting
it into the brush by the wayside, they passed on, querrying, "What next
in the line of sensation?" and thinking, that for the first half day,
and the first ten miles, the events of the morning would suffice all
fancy for that class of romance.
Again the cruel Lieutenant asks something about escaping "into the deep
tangled wildwood." But Mrs. E. extorts a promise from him of silence on
that subject in the future; at least till they get out of the woods.
No more disturbing events occurred that day, but the feast of heart
and soul was rich and racy. They were out of the fearful "bottoms"
and rising to the clear and balmy atmosphere of the beautiful upland
prairies. How different from the humid, pestiferous breath of the low,
dark regions of an hour ago! They breathed free again. It was high
noon, and they saw, two or three miles ahead, a beautiful grove, where
they agreed to go into midday camp. On nearing it at one o'clock, their
advance guard of two ambulances and the "six in gray," were coming
out. The hailing sign to halt was given by the Lieutenant, and driving
up, a few words were exchanged, and orders given about the route and
where to camp that night, and then the advance drove on, leaving the
officer and his company in the leafy grove by the cooling spring,
enjoying their noon refreshments. No fire was struck, no coffee made,
but a basket of native claret was opened, a bottle broke, and the
nectar of the gods was sipped from silver goblets by the joyous four.
Two hours had flown by in happy mood, in which the stomach proved
the principal organ of friendship. The hungry epicures in the woods
felt the divine flow more free and warm in obeying this ordinance of
the gods. Their willing hearts would have staid in such a frame, and
whiled away the sunny hours in that grove of bliss, but the voice of
duty called from refreshment to the labor of the way. The _mulos_ were
satisfied, hitched up, and on the move to the west, accomplishing
twenty miles more by nightfall, where they find the advance again, in
beautiful camps, with two bright camp-fires a few rods apart--one for
themselves and one for the exile with her attendants. The provisions
are brought out for supper, and on this occasion Lieutenant H. proves
himself an adept at coffee making.
The ladies offer to take charge of the cooking department, but he
objects, claiming that he can make the best coffee. "Ladies, 'let him
that would be great among you, be your servant.' I am the character
referred to in the quotation, and I insist that you shall not be my
competitors for distinction in the coffee-making line."
When the evening repast was over, the Lieutenant takes the ladies,
one on each arm, and kindly gives them a bit of walking exercise by
moonlight, through the grove, thus relieving the tedium of riding
all day. The balm, stilly breezes creep through the open spaces with
voluptuous effect, inspiring the arm-in-arm trio with soft sentiment,
and their happier thoughts are mostly on themselves. "Stop," says Emma.
"What dreadful noise is that?" as the distant screeching howl of the
Coyotas fell on the ear. "It is the Coyotas," replied Lieutenant H.
"Let us return to camp at once," said both the ladies, and back they
went quicker than they came.
It is ten o'clock at night, the guards are on duty, and all retire,
the ladies behind the ambulance curtains, and the officer and Lew on
a blanket before the camp-fire. The wolves come in and howl an hour
or two within a few rods of the fires, in search of camp offals. The
eyelids of the fair ones refuse sleep. At last a charge is made on the
lank, hungry creatures, and a volley fired into their ranks by the
guards, and they are routed and return not for the night, and then
_Somnus_ commands all in quiet rest for the next six hours. At seven
in the morning breakfast is over, and the advance leads out again,
followed an hour later by the traveling _partie carree_.
The next six days of travel furnish no great variety of scenery or
excitement, except in the social department, which seemed never
to cloy. Otherwise, the trip, for the most part, was but a daily
experience of repeated routine. All eyes and ears became familiar with
sights and sounds by night and by day. Immense droves of cattle and
horses were seen grazing right and left over the wide-spread prairies,
and occasionally lank hunger was seen sitting at the mouth of his
hole, in some sand bank or mound, or at the roots of some lone veteran
tree, looking wistfully at the travelers, seeming to say to them, "How
I would like to feast on your starved carcasses!" A bullet from the
Lieutenant's rifle keeled one back into his hole, and scared another,
tearing a rabbit for his breakfast so bad that he made lightning speed
northward, and never slacked for the mile he was in sight, and at the
brow of the hill, where his _narrative_ became invisible, its last
motion seemed to speak back and say, "I never heard a rifle before."
And probably it was the fact--and on he went, as if resolved on never
stopping till he got to the north pole, for fear he might hear another.
On the seventh day the weary travelers stood on the banks of the far
famed "Rio Grande," at Brownsville, opposite the city of Matamoras,
in the State of Tamaulipas, Mexico. The Lieutenant here ordered the
advance into camp to wait his return. And then he crossed the "Rio"
with the exiles, and remained with them till they were located in a
pleasant suite of three rooms fronting on the "Grand Plaza," near
the magnificent Cathedral. He made the excuse to himself that it was
necessary for him to act as special protector to the ladies, till they
were sufficiently familiarized with the ways of that strange people,
to be able to make their own way, till he could see them again, and
perhaps in nearer and dearer relations.
Lieutenant H. had now had ample time to analyze and determine the
character of his feelings, which he more than once had displayed
in manner toward Mrs. E., but had not spoken with his lips. In
his self-examination he found his heart vibrating between two
attractions--Mrs. E. and Emma. The question of preference, as tried
by a purely chronological standard, stood against Mrs. E. She was
considerably his senior in years, that was plain, but how much, and how
many years, he could only guess. He could not tell if she were older
or younger than she appeared, but probably older; that is, she was
young appearing for one of her years; or, _vice versa_, she was old
appearing for one of her years; that is, younger than she appeared;
or, making a third alternative, she was just the age she appeared to
be. "But how old would that be?" he asked himself. And here again he
was puzzled. Sometimes, during their travels, he thought she looked
younger, and then again older, than when he first saw her, and served
the summons. At one time he thought he saw the signs of wrinkling age,
and then again he didn't see them. "But," he said again, "one thing
is certain, the general proposition is true, that she is either older
or younger than she looks, or just as old as she looks. So far I am
safe; and furthermore, it is safe to affirm that, judging from _mere_
appearances, she is about forty years old. She may be older, or she
may be younger. Yes, she may be, but I think I am not far out of the
way. She certainly is, without any possible mistake, somewhere between
thirty-eight and fifty. If I were sure she were only forty, I could
stand that. Let me see: I am thirty-five. Suppose she were but forty;
how would that do? A wife five years older than her husband! It would
sound better the other way. I don't like it very well, but, with love,
I think I could endure the disparity. Endure (?), is that the word for
a man seeking a companion?
"There is Miss Emma; how old is she? From twenty to twenty-five. That
certainly sounds better. But do I love her well enough to make a wife
of her? Well, I think I could, or do(?), if Mrs. E. was out of the
question; I feel her drawing me the hardest, and the orthodox people
say there can be but one true love, and I suppose it must be so, either
because they say so, or because it is true in fact, in nature, that
is, one's experience will accord with the sentiment. But is it true
in my experience? I am afraid not; therefore I am a miserable sinner.
It is true, I am more or less involved in feelings toward Miss Emma,
warmer than common friendship between a single lady and gentleman, and
it is _more_ than less. Now what is a man to do with an experience so
in violation of the orthodox teaching and steady habits of the olden
times of our ancestors?
"But hold; here I am talking quite foolishly, for how do I know that
either of those ladies would accept? I have not proposed, and they
certainly won't. What shall I do? I can not propose to both, for I am
not a Mormon, and don't want to be. Still I like them both, that's
true, but the laws of the land are against bigamy. I wonder if nature
is? Certainly human selfishness is not. But hold again, there is no
end to love's mystery. The only way is to be brave. 'A faint heart
never won a fair lady.' The more I think, the more am I confused, in a
quandary. O thou winged god, tell me what to do! I am resolved what to
do. I will first ask one and then the other. But which one first? And
will this be honorable to the last? Stop, ye gods! confusion confused!
What am I about? Crazy! ho, for the insane asylum! But I must find
relief. I am desperate!"
Evening shades appear, and Lieutenant H. is seated alone with Mrs.
E., and after a few palpitations choked down, his sitting posture and
position of hands made satisfactory, and his words well studied, his
lips part to speak the word of destiny, when Mrs. E. suddenly breaks
the awful silence with the domestic utterance, "How I would like to
see my little daughter Kate and my husband to-night."
Horrors seize upon him. He makes no reply. "What is the matter,
Lieutenant, you look so pale?" inquired Mrs. E. He grows paler, and
she goes for the camphor, and hurrying back places the bottle to his
olfactories, repeating, "What _is_ the matter, Lieutenant?" Recovering
a little, he stammers out, "Nothing, Mrs. E.; nothing, only I felt a
little faint, as I do sometimes. Let me pass out into the open air,
and I shall soon be myself again." When he stood outside in the free
air, and looked up into the heavens, made beautiful by moonlight--the
unrivaled silvery moonlight of Mexico--he thanked his stars, most of
all, for putting it into the heart of Mrs. E. to speak at the instant
she did, and save him from unutterable chagrin! In a few minutes he
returned to the room where he had left the lady, and was once more
seated in her matronly presence. She was changed, and looked older
now, and more unapproachable in his eyes. Surprised at his quick
convalesence, he was now prepared to enter upon conversation with Mrs.
E. concerning Miss Emma. He felt settled now that his angel was calling
his heart toward her. So after a few easy interrogatories, addressed
to Mrs. E., he was satisfied that she was neither married nor engaged.
Miss Emma had been out walking with her brother Lew, and had just
returned and entered the room. For a few moments all took part in a
running conversation, but being about time to retire, Mrs. E. and Lew
withdrew from the room, thereby breaking up the congregation, and
leaving the Lieutenant and Miss Emma, each to enjoy company. "Two are
company, and three are a congregation," says Emerson.
We will say in brief, he proposed and she accepted, but on condition
that she might remain with Mrs. E. during the exile.
"Certainly, Miss Emma, you shall remain. I would not have you leave
her, and am glad to see this evidence of your friendship and faithful
devotion. And now, Miss Emma, as I have never been an advocate of
long courtships, but deprecate them after the parties engaged are
sufficiently acquainted, I would respectfully suggest, that without
ceremonious preparation or invitations, which we could not have here,
among strangers, and in a strange land--and without waiting till we can
have them--we have the nuptials solemnized to-morrow evening, in this
room, at eight o'clock, in the presence of Mrs. E. and your brother. I
will remain with you a few days, and then return with my squad, and
report to headquarters, and by some honorable means get back to you
here at an early day."
At this interesting stage of proceedings, the retired portion of the
congregation was called from their slumbers to hear and sanction the
matrimonial terms, which, being duly done, the ladies disappeared
for the night, and Lieutenant H. went to repose with Lew, who in
twenty-four hours more would be his new brother.
They were married, and in ten days duty called the bridegroom to
interior Texas, where he was held four months before he could come back
to his bride. Three months more, and the war had closed with victory
for the "Stars and Stripes." Mrs. E. and her friends were relieved from
exile, and all returned home to the blessings of peace and joys of
domestic life. Lieutenant H. had proved a heaven-sent blessing to them
all.