I cannot remember now whether it was in the early spring after our first
winter in the log-cabin, or in the early part of the second winter,
which found us still there, that it was justly thought fit I should
leave these vain delights and go to earn some money in a printing-office
in X----. I was, though so young, a good compositor, swift and clean,
and when the foreman of the printing-office appeared one day at our
cabin and asked if I could come to take the place of a delinquent hand,
there was no question with any one but myself that I must go. For me, a
terrible homesickness fell instantly upon me--a homesickness that
already, in the mere prospect of absence, pierced my heart and filled my
throat, and blinded me with tears.
The foreman wanted me to go back with him in his buggy, but a day’s
grace was granted me, and then my older brother took me to X----, where
he was to meet my father at the railroad station on his return from
Cincinnati. It had been snowing, in the soft Southern Ohio fashion, but
the clouds had broken away, and the evening fell in a clear sky,
apple-green along the horizon as we drove on. This color of the sky must
always be associated for me with the despair that then filled my soul,
and which I was constantly swallowing down with great gulps. We joked,
and got some miserable laughter out of the efforts of the horse to free
himself from the snow that balled in his hoofs, but I suffered all the
time an anguish of homesickness that now seems incredible. All the time
I had every fact of the cabin life before me; what each of the children
was doing, especially the younger ones, and what, above all, my mother
was doing, and how at every moment she was looking; I saw the wretched
little phantasm of myself moving about there.
The editor to whom my brother delivered me over could not conceive of me
as tragedy; he received me as if I were the merest commonplace, and
delivered me in turn to the good man with whom I was to board. There
were half a dozen school-girls boarding there, too, and their gayety,
when they came in, added to my desolation.
The man said supper was about ready, and he reckoned I would get
something to eat if I looked out for myself. Upon reflection I answered
that I thought I did not want any supper, and that I must go to find my
brother, whom I had to tell something. I found him at the station and
told him I was going home with him. He tried to reason with me, or
rather with my frenzy of homesickness; and I agreed to leave the
question open till my father came; but in my own mind it was closed.
My father suggested, however, something that had not occurred to either
of us; we should both stay. This seemed possible for me; but not at that
boardinghouse, not within the sound of the laughter of those girls! We
went to the hotel, where we had beefsteak and ham and eggs and hot
biscuit every morning for breakfast, and where we paid two dollars
apiece for the week we stayed. At the end of this time the editor had
found another hand, and we went home, where I was welcomed as from a
year’s absence.
Again I was called to suffer this trial, the chief trial of my boyhood,
but it came in a milder form, and was lightened to me not only by the
experience of survival from it, but by various circumstances. This time
I went to D----, where one of my uncles was still living, and he somehow
learned the misery I was in, and bade me come and stay with him while I
remained in D----. I was very fond of him, and of the gentle creature,
his wife, who stood to me for all that was at once naturally and
conventionally refined, a type of gracious loveliness and worldly
splendor.
They had an only child, to whom her cousin’s presence in the house was a
constant joy. Over them all hung the shadow of fragile health, and I
look back at them through the halo of their early death; but the
remembrance cannot make them kinder than they really were. With all
that, I was homesick still. I fell asleep with the radiant image of our
log-cabin before my eyes, and I woke with my heart like lead in my
breast.
I did not see how I could get through the day, and I began it with
miserable tears. I had found that by drinking a great deal of water at
my meals I could keep down the sobs for the time being, and I practised
this device to the surprise and alarm of my relatives, who were troubled
at the spectacle of my unnatural thirst.
Sometimes I left the table and ran out for a burst of tears behind the
house; every night after dark I cried there alone. But I could not
wholly hide my suffering, and I suppose that after a while the sight of
it became intolerable. At any rate, a blessed evening came when,
returning from work, I found my brother waiting for me at my uncle’s
house; and the next morning we set out for home in the keen, silent dark
before the November dawn.
We were both mounted on the italic-footed mare, I behind my brother,
with my arms round him to keep on better; and so we rode out of the
sleeping town, and into the lifting shadow of the woods. They might have
swarmed with ghosts or Indians; I should not have cared; I was going
home.
By-and-by, as we rode on, the birds began to call one another from their
dreams, the quails whistled from the stubble fields, and the crows
clamored from the tops of the deadening;[A] the squirrels raced along
the fence-rails, and, in the woods, they stopped half-way up the boles
to bark at us; the jays strutted down the shelving branches to offer us
a passing insult and defiance.
[A] The trees girdled, and left to die and decay, standing.
Presently, at a little clearing, we came to a log-cabin; the blue smoke
curled from its chimney, and through the closed door came the soft, low
hum of a spinning-wheel. The red and yellow leaves, heavy with the cold
dew, dripped round us; and I was profoundly at peace. The homesick will
understand how it was that I was as if saved from death.
At last we crossed a tail-race from the island, and turned up, not at
the old log-cabin, but at the front door of the new house. The family
had flitted during my absence, and now they all burst out upon me in
exultant welcome, and my mother caught me to her heart. Doubtless she
knew that it would have been better for me to have conquered myself; but
my defeat was dearer to her than my triumph could have been. She made me
her honored guest; I had the best place at the table, the tenderest bit
of steak, the richest cup of her golden coffee; and all that day I was
“company.”
It was a great day, which I must have spent chiefly in admiring the new
house. It was so very new yet as not to be plastered; they had not been
able to wait for that; but it was beautifully lathed in all its
partitions, and the closely-fitted floors were a marvel of carpentering.
I roamed through all the rooms, and up and down the stairs, and admired
the familiar outside of the house as freshly as if it were as novel as
the interior, where open wood-fires blazed upon the hearths, and threw a
pleasant light of home upon the latticed walls.
I must have gone through the old log-cabin to see how it looked without
us, but I have no recollection of ever entering its door again, so soon
had it ceased to be part of my life. We remained in the new house, as we
continued to call it, for two or three months, and then the changes of
business which had been taking place without the knowledge of us
children called us away from that roof, too, and we left the mills and
the pleasant country that had grown so dear, to take up our abode in
city streets again. We went to live in the ordinary brick house of our
civilization, but we had grown so accustomed, with the quick and facile
adaptation of children, to living in a house which was merely lathed,
that we distinguished this last dwelling from the new house as a
“plastered house.”
Some of our playmates of the neighborhood walked part of the way to
X---- with us boys, on the snowy morning when we turned our backs on the
new house to take the train in that town. A shadow of the gloom in which
our spirits were steeped passes over me again, but chiefly I remember
our difficulties in getting our young Newfoundland dog away with us; and
our subsequent embarrassments with this animal on the train, where he
sat up and barked out of the window at the passing objects, and finally
became seasick, blot all other memories of that time from my mind.