Miriam and Camilla watched with anguish Louis' devotion to the
Confederation, and many sorrowful conversations they had about it.
At last one day Miriam said, "Miss Camilla, I can stand it no
longer;--that boy is going to lift his hand agin his own people, and I
can't stand it no longer; I'se got to tell him all about it. I just
think I'd bust in two if I didn't tell him."
"Well, Mammy," said Camilla, "I'd rather he should know it than that he
should go against his country and raise his hand against the dear old
flag."
"It's not the flag nor the country I care for," said Miriam, "but it is
that one of my own flesh and blood should jine with these secesh agin
his own people."
"Well, Miriam, if you get a chance you can tell him."
"Get a chance, Miss Camilla, I'se bound to get that."
Louis was somewhat reticent about his plans; for he knew that Camilla
was a strong Union woman; that she not only loved the flag, but she had
taught her two boys to do the same; but he understood from headquarters
that his company was to march in a week, and although on that subject
there was no common sympathy between them, yet he felt that he must
acquaint her with his plans, and bid her and Miriam good-bye.
So one morning he came in looking somewhat flushed and excited, and
said: "Sister, we have got our marching orders; we leave on Thursday,
and I have only three days to be with you. I am sorry that I have seen
so little of you, but my country calls me, and when she is in danger it
is no time for me to seek for either ease or pleasure."
"Your country! Louis," said Miriam, her face paling and flushing by
turns. "Where is your country?"
"Here," said he, somewhat angrily, "in Louisiana."
"My country," said Camilla,[7] "is the whole Union. Yes, Louis," said
she, "your country is in danger, but not from the Abolitionists in the
North, but from the rebels and traitors in the South."
"Rebels and traitors!" said Louis, in a tone like one who felt the harsh
grating of the words.
"Whom do you mean?"
"I mean," said she, "the ambitious, reckless men who have brought about
this state of things. The men who are stabbing their country in their
madness and folly; who are crowding our graves and darkening our homes;
who are dragging our young men, men like you, who should be the pride
and hope of our country, into the jaws of ruin and death."
Louis looked surprised and angry; he had never seen Camilla under such
deep excitement. Her words had touched his pride and roused his anger;
but suppressing his feelings he answered her coolly, "Camilla, I am old
enough to do my own thinking. We had better drop this subject; it is not
pleasant to either of us."
"Louis," said she, her whole manner changing from deep excitement to
profound grief, "Oh, Louis, it will never do for you to go! Oh, no, you
must not!"
"And why not?"
"Because,"--and she hesitated. Just then Miriam took up the unfinished
sentence,"--because to join the secesh is to raise your hands agin your
own race."
"My own race?" and Louis laughed scornfully. "I think you are talking
more wildly than Camilla. What do you mean, Miriam?"
"I mean," said she, stung by his scornful words, "I mean that you, Louis
Le Croix, white as you look, are colored, and that you are my own
daughter's child, and if it had not been for Miss Camilla, who's been
such an angel to you, that you would have been a slave to-day, and then
you wouldn't have been a Confederate."
At these words a look of horror and anguish passed over the face of Le
Croix, and he turned to Camilla, but she was deadly pale, and trembling
like an aspen leaf; but her eyes were dry and tearless.
"Camilla," said he, turning fiercely to his adopted sister, "Tell me, is
there any truth in these words? You are as pale as death, and trembling
like a leaf,--tell me if there is any truth in these words," turning and
fixing his eyes on Miriam, who stood like some ancient prophetess, her
lips pronouncing some fearful doom, while she watched in breathless
anguish the effect upon the fated victim.
"Yes, Louis," said Camilla, in a voice almost choked by emotion. "Yes,
Louis, it is all true."
"But how is this that I never heard it before? Before I believe this
tale I must have some proof, clear as daylight. Bring me proofs."
"Here they are," said Miriam, drawing from her pocket the free papers
she had been carrying about her person for several days.
Louis grasped them nervously, hastily read them, and then more slowly,
like one who might read a sentence of death to see if there was one word
or sentence on which he might hang a hope of reprieve.
Camilla watched him anxiously, but silently, and when he had finished,
he covered his bowed face with his hands as he said with a deep groan,
"It is true, too true. I see it all. I can never raise my hand against
my mother's race."
He arose like one in a dream, walked slowly to the door and left the
room.
"It was a painful task," said Camilla, with a sigh of relief, as if a
burden had fallen from her soul.
"Yes," said Miriam, "but not so bad as to see him fighting agin his own
color. I'd rather follow him to his grave than see him join that
miserable secesh crew."
"Yes," said Camilla, "It was better than letting him go."
When Louis left the room a thousand conflicting thoughts passed through
his mind. He felt as a mariner at midnight on a moonless sea, who
suddenly, when the storm is brewing, finds that he has lost his compass
and his chart.