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