XII.

Six months passed away.

The young widow had left Belton, which had never possessed any charms

for her, to visit her maternal relatives in the island of Cuba. It was

doubtless a relief, as she had never known any happiness during her

wedded life. Her departure increased the sense of loneliness that

pervaded her former home, for it now seemed enveloped in an atmosphere

of gloom. Mr. Heath was rigid in all the observances of mourning. The

entrance gates to his grounds, which were formerly always kept

hospitably wide open, were now as constantly closed, and the domestics

wore black. As for Mr. Heath, he had lapsed into a singular state of

taciturnity, and sought seclusion. It was evident that he no longer

possessed the energetic and elastic spirit of his younger days. Then

disappointment would have spurred him to increased exertion, but now the

repeated blows dealt at him by destiny and the approach of old age,

though hardly perceptible in his still erect and vigorous frame, were

telling on the springs of action.

There are periods in a man's existence when he pauses to review his

life. It is true such periods rarely occur to the slaves of vice, or to

those under the dominion of a ruling passion, and perhaps never to the

robust individual of limited ideas to whom the mere act of existing is a

pleasure; but they come repeatedly to the free intellect, perhaps at the

very instant of realization of some long toiled-for or expected success,

or at the moment of disappointment, to ask it what it is living for, and

whither it tends? Such questions never enter the head of men like old

John Peter Obershaw, nor disturb the tough self-satisfaction of those

like George Gildersleeve; but the texture of Mr. Heath's mind, when at

rest, was impressionable, and its subtle energy liable to relax and

weaken. We have related how he succumbed to despondency on his

succession to the immense wealth of his father-in-law, and although this

feeling was soon shaken off and banished in the pursuit of ambitious

projects, it now returned as the blight on his ambition, and death of

his only son pressed the iron through a heart enamelled by worldliness.

As time wore on, his sorrow, instead of diminishing, seemed to increase,

and an expression of deep chagrin settled permanently on his

countenance. He apparently lost all interest in his great work, the

"Federal Code," and the secretary who had assisted him in its

preparation was dismissed. He seldom left the house now, spending his

time chiefly in the library engaged in meditation, or in the occasional

perusal of a chapter of Jeremy Taylor or some other standard theological

work. He even seemed to shun his family, and ceased to manifest interest

in his daughter. Edna, quick to discern this change in her father's

habits, attributed it solely to the death of her brother, and dreading

the effects of prolonged grief, strove with the assistance of her aunt

to divert his mind; but to little purpose. Each time that they tried to

interest him in household matters, or to enliven him, they met with a

rebuff. Even Mr. Abbott, who endeavored to bring balm and consolation,

found his counsel unacceptable, and the worthy young minister did not

repeat the attempt. In short, the man of even temper, the polished

gentleman, was becoming irascible, and it was a relief to the family to

learn one morning that Mr. Heath, to improve his health and divert his

mind, or for some other unexplained reason, had determined to set off on

a journey.

* * * * *

Edna, too, had certain perturbations of mind and heart to contend

with--ideas and reflections that would obtrude upon her, and that,

although temporarily banished during the period of mourning, reappeared

with greater frequency when her sorrow became assuaged. These thoughts

dated from the time of her meeting with Mark Gildersleeve, when he

avowed she inspired his poetic flights. In her simple estimation, his

verses were productions of merit and beauty; and there was something

extremely pleasing in the thought of having long been the object of the

hidden admiration and laudation of a young man gifted with such talent,

and splendid eyes. Fred Spooner, to be sure, was taller and had red

cheeks, but then Fred's knowledge, although a Harvard undergraduate, did

not seem to transcend dogs. He could entertain her only with the

exploits of his bull-terrier Spot among the rats, or discuss the

beauties of his diminutive black-and-tan Spark; while Mark knew ever so

many things, could quote Tennyson or Browning as readily as Mr. Abbott,

could work a steam-engine, and sang superbly; while all Fred Spooner

could do in that way was to roar, sadly out of tune, the touching lay of

"The Lone Fish-ball," or "Shool." Perhaps Mark might become, in time, as

celebrated as Dante or Petrarch, and she would be immortalized like

Beatrice and Laura. Edna could not help dwelling on the flattering idea,

until it took root in her gentle heart. In short, Miss Heath was fast

drifting into love, and not a little surprised to find how constantly

her thoughts would revert to the young engineer, in spite of her

exertions to employ them otherwise. Perhaps, these exertions were not

very strenuous, for the girl was of an unsophisticated nature, and not

disposed to be rebellious; hence she yielded to her inclinations more

readily than the circumspect daughter of a rigid precept-inculcating

mamma.

* * * * *

At this time the gigantic conspiracy of the Secessionists culminated,

and the demon of Civil War, that Mr. Heath and his conservative

coadjutors had vainly attempted to exorcise, bristled his angry crest.

One morning the portentous news came that the first hostile shot had

been fired by the South. Instantly, the faithful in all parts of the

North sprang to arms to avenge the insult offered to the glorious old

standard of the nation. Peaceful Belton partook of the patriotic ardor,

and manifested its loyalty by a profuse display of bunting. Party

differences were forgotten, and Republicans and Democrats, Free-soilers

and Conservatives, native and foreign-born citizens, all joined in

protesting their devotion to the Union, and their determination to

defend it to the last. George Gildersleeve, who, moved by his antipathy

to the abolitionists, had been inclined to excuse the threats of the

Southerners, now turned against them, and came out wonderfully strong

for the Union, accompanying his loyal protestations with frequent

allusions to the immortal Washington, and the patriotic services of his

grandsire in the horse-shoeing line; in testimony whereof the Archimedes

Works flaunted a starry banner of magnificent dimensions. A mass-meeting

of the citizens to take measures towards the suppression of the

rebellion was at once held in the public square. This square was the

pnyx or forum of the Beltonians. In the centre a Phrygian cap was borne

skyward by a tall liberty-pole, whose base was defended by a rusty old

carronade, which was popularly supposed to have done wonders in

freedom's cause during the trying days of Seventy-six, and was venerated

accordingly; the probability being that it had never inflicted other

damage than scorching some of the amateur artillerists, who every Fourth

of July put the superannuated piece to use in firing salutes. At the

meeting, though, it formed an appropriate buttress to the temporary

stand erected for the orators, and gave a stern dignity to the occasion.

In the absence of Judge Hull and Mr. Heath, who were both away from

home, George Gildersleeve was called upon to preside; but fluent as

honest George was in a caucus or sidewalk harangue, he lost his tongue

on the rostrum, where he prefigured too closely his boasted porcine

model of independence, and hence was forced to decline the proffered

honor. Mr. Mumbie was then pitched upon as a proper figure-head, but he

also declined, having the fear of Mrs. Mumbie, whose sympathies were

with the South, before his eyes. At length a chairman was found in Mr.

Poplin, the owner of the silk-mill, and the meeting proceeded with

spirit. Stirring addresses were made--a deal of enthusiasm evoked, and a

string of resolutions passed unanimously. The practical result was the

decision to organize without delay a "Home Guard," and George was

appointed captain of the first company. Vague apprehensions were afloat

among the staid denizens that Beauregard and the South Carolinians might

invade Belton, and the patersfamilias of the town had made up their

minds not to be caught unprepared, but to be ready to strike doughtily

for their altars and firesides at a moment's notice. So in less than

twenty-four hours, fifty-three good and true men were enrolled in this

formidable legion, and committees appointed to procure arms and

uniforms. Considerable agitation was manifested over the selection of

the latter. By virtue of his calling, Mr. Muldoon, a tailor, was

chairman of the committee on uniforms, and moved probably by personal

predilections, reported on "grane" as the most appropriate color; from

which Snopple, the minority, dissented, and recommended, with an eye to

the picturesque, the old Continental blue and buff, with a cavalier hat.

But this recommendation was not acted upon, the suggested costume being

voted unsuitable for "hard service," and as the Guards intended adopting

the rifle as their weapon, Mr. Muldoon's "grane" carried the day, with

red seams and yellow facings, however, in deference to the aesthetic

feelings of the wily Snopple, who foresaw an increase of patronage

growing out of this investiture. Among the junior members of the

community, the warlike spirit rose equally high, but took a different

direction. Of them all, none was more deeply stirred by the electric

current of patriotism than Mark. From the outbreak of the conflict, his

blood tingled to join in the fray. He flung aside all other occupations,

and threw his whole soul into the popular cause. Let us confess, though,

that he was not purely unselfish in his eagerness, for he foresaw a new

avenue to fame, and one where the goal was more accessible to a

determined mind than in the path he was pursuing. As a poet, mediocrity

at the utmost was all, he was forced to admit, that he could ever hope

for. But in war, what was there beyond the reach of a stout heart and

true blade? He felt brave enough to cast his life in the scale if need

be, and stake it for renown. Glory is a tempting bait for hot-heads and

enthusiastic natures, and its sway over Mark was irresistible. Beyond

glory, too, there was a sweeter, dearer reward that he might win. A

guerdon fit to nerve even a craven to prowess.

"By cock and pie and mousefoot! my lad, but this is serious," quoth Dr.

Wattletop, when Mark imparted his intention of turning soldier. "Fired

by bellicose ardor, we burn to seize the anlace and cry havoc, eh?

Nonsense," was the commentary that followed. "Believe me, my boy, stick

to your innocent amusements. Permute the syllables of our noble tongue

into new and strange rhythmical combinations as much as you please, but

seek not the bubble reputation by checking musket-balls in their mad

career. Stick to the shop, Mark, to itrochoidal paths and spheric

sectors. 'Honor, indeed, who hath it? He that died o' Wednesday.' Stick

to the shop, I tell you. You're a promising engineer, and there's glory

enough to be acquired as such, and better still, money."

"Very true, doctor," answered Mark with a smile. "That _is_ an

inducement. You know how devoted I am to its acquisition."

"More's the pity, my lad, more's the pity. The sceptre that rules the

world in this century is a golden one. However, I was young myself

once--long, long ago, I'm sorry to say--and can appreciate your sublime

disdain of opulence. But what has started you off on this new path, may

I ask?"

"The duty I owe my country--patriotism," exclaimed Mark rather proudly.

"Patriotism--umph! The last refuge of a scoundrel, as Dr. Johnson said.

Have you no worthier motive? Forgive me, my boy, I don't intend any

personal application--it's a quotation that occurred to me. But

patriotism has an exceedingly bad reputation, permit me to say, and is

responsible for more crimes than liberty and religion combined. _Dulce

et decorum est_, and so forth, 'Fidelity to one's country right or

wrong,' may be fine ringing mottoes; but after all, the incentive is

vain and selfish. Patriotism is the parent of national prejudice, and

prejudices of all kinds are the greatest foes to justice. In the year

A.D. 18,000, when 'man to man the warl o'er shall brithers be for a'

that,' patriotism will be looked upon as a species of fetichism.

Patriotism! I dislike it almost as much as I do generosity. Still, if

you must kill, kill for some other cause. Here you Yankees are breathing

fire and slaughter because a portion of your countrymen choose to follow

the example of their forefathers. They are rebels and traitors and what

not, because they follow in the footsteps of the men of '76, as you call

them. The great question which underlies it all is apparently set aside

and overlooked. The rallying cry is not the extinction of slavery; not

freedom to fellow-beings from an undeserved servitude; not justice; but

the Union--whatever that may be--and patriotism forsooth! the slogan

that has marshalled unnumbered hosts to the perpetration of so many

wrongs, and which is only, if I may so define it, disguised selfishness,

as loyalty is after all but refined snobbishness."

Now the doctor, although hating slavery, had a lurking sympathy for the

South. To his mind, they were abstractly in the right; it was sheer

inconsistency for a union of states the outgrowth of secession to

prevent those among themselves who desired it from taking a similar

action. Mark, it is true, while he had lately become to a certain extent

a proselyte to the teachings of the abolitionists, and admitted the

wrong of slavery, and the necessity of wiping out that blot from the

national escutcheon, made it subordinate to his great desire to preserve

the Union and save from destruction "the greatest and freest country on

earth, to which he had the honor to belong."

"Is it the greatest and freest because you belong to it?" inquired the

doctor with a sly smile. "I notice that our great men are the greater

for being our countrymen, and that our country is also the greater

because it is our country. We love the person or thing that sheds glory

or honor in any way upon us, more because it does so, than because it is

glorious or honorable in itself. For instance the walls of Shakespeare's

home are written over with the names of visitors. Now, why is this? What

leads Snooks and Noakes to scribble their names on the door-jambs of the

shrine at Stratford-upon-Avon? Is it to honor Shakespeare or themselves?

Perhaps they cannot quote two lines of his works, perhaps have never

even read them. It arises purely from that ignoble desire to gratify in

some way the measureless vanity of man. Snooks and Noakes care nothing

for Shakespeare, but the world recognizes him as a celebrity, and they

by connecting themselves, in however remote a degree, with celebrity,

fancy they thereby acquire an atom of it."

"I don't see how any of this applies to me," said Mark, seemingly a

little hurt at the doctor's remarks. "I'm sure I am not actuated by any

such small and contemptible motives. Don't misunderstand me," he

continued with rising enthusiasm; "I intend devoting myself to the cause

of the Union, solely because I believe it to be the right one, and to

carry justice with it."

"Ah! well--I like that way of putting it better," said the doctor. "You

know, Mark, how I have always endeavored to imbue you with the belief,

that to be just is the only rule of life, and that I should be sorry to

see you swerve from that in any way."

"But I do believe that the cause of the Union is the just one, and that

of the Secessionists the unjust one. I also believe that ours involves

the cause of freedom throughout the universe. Our country, doctor, is

the beacon of light and hope to the oppressed of all nations."

"So I've heard," said the doctor dryly, "and that millions yet

unborn--and so forth. Well--well, my zealous young friend, bent on it, I

see--God be with you. I hope it will all turn out right. But Mark,

how--how are you going? Will not your--your--" He hesitated, fearing he

had trenched on delicate ground, for he reflected that the young man's

lameness might interfere with his project.

"Of course," said Mark, guessing the remainder of the question, "I

prefer joining the cavalry."

"Well, a wilful lad must have his way, I presume, as well as a wilful

woman. So boot and saddle, my boy, and may Southern steel and lead spare

you to return to us, is the earnest wish of your old friend, Basil

Wattletop. But whom shall I have to play chess with? Have you thought of

that?"

"Ah! doctor, it's a grander game I shall engage in this time, but only

as a pawn."

"Why a pawn?"

"Perhaps I shouldn't say that, for I'm striving for something better.

You know I'm not altogether astray on horseback, and can ride, I

believe, better than I can walk, which perhaps is not saying much; and

old Copp, our night-watchman, who was sergeant-major during the Mexican

war, and considered one of the best swordsmen in his corps, is teaching

me sabre exercise, and if I only pass a fair examination at Trenton, I

shall get a commission as lieutenant, I hope."

"No fear but you'll make the effort. So it goes: spondee, dactyl and

anapest avaunt, and our nose now is continually in Jomini, or Cavalry

Tactics, I'll warrant. That's our game now, my unappreciated genius, is

it?"

Mark smiled at his old friend's banter, for the inconstant had indeed

given the Muses the cold shoulder, to pay his devoirs to fierce Bellona.

He even left uncompleted a stirring ode suited to the hour, entitled THE

FASCES, destined to illuminate the columns of the _Belton Sentinel_, and

which might have established his reputation as a second Korner. And

wonderful was the zeal with which he set about qualifying himself for

his new vocation. At break of day he was off scouring the roads on some

mettlesome steed to acquire a perfect seat, and the evenings he spent

practising sword-cuts and "moulinets" with old Copp, or poring over some

volume on the art of war (which, to say the truth, proved of but little

practical value to him), till long past midnight. Thanks to his

perseverance, he soon had a smattering of the rudiments of the

profession of arms sufficient to enable him to pass an examination. This

and a little of his brother's political influence, secured him a

lieutenantcy in the volunteer cavalry.

George Gildersleeve, however, was not at all pleased at the prospect of

parting with Mark, or rather with Mark's services, for he foresaw a vast

increase of business for him growing out of the requirements of the War

Department, and needed a valuable coadjutor now more than ever. He even

went so far as to offer Mark a partnership in the Works if he would give

up his intention of joining the army and remain at work, which the young

man, however, peremptorily refused. George, knowing the bent of his

brother's character, saw the uselessness of further efforts to dissuade

him from his purpose, and complained to Dr. Wattletop about the matter

in strong terms, laying the chief blame upon his old enemies, the

anathematized abolitionists, or "woolley-heads," as he ordinarily

designated them. "He always has some dam whim or other in his head,"

said George, alluding to Mark. "Now it's nigger on the brain, and I

believe he thinks more of freeing the darks than of saving the Union. So

I'd rather he'd stay at home. It's all very well to go if he was wanted.

I'm ready to go myself at a moment's notice if I'm needed--when the

country calls I'm there, you can bet your life; and I'll shoulder a

fire-iron as quick as any to help give the seceshers a warming, and for

the matter o' that, the pusillanimous woolley-heads as well. They both

deserve it. But this boy's no call to go. He's a deuced sight more

useful here, but you might as well talk to a post. My wife's done all

she could and so have I, but it's no use. Now, major, I wish you would

see what you can do. You've about as much influence over him as any one.

Dammit, I'd furnish a dozen substitutes rather than have him leave. He's

the best draughtsman I know of, and worth any three men in my shops.

Work's crowding on us, and I can't spare him--that's the fact. If it

hadn't been for the black republicans we wouldn't have had this here

parra--parracidal war, and everything would have gone along lovely."

Dr. Wattletop had been to the "Shades" that afternoon, and made the

following dignified reply, as he settled his chin in his swaddling

cravat and shouldered his walking-stick like a drill-master: "In days

gone by, Mr. Gildersleeve, in days gone by, Sir, had you Yankees

remained loyal and steadfast (with a tighter grasp of his stick), I say,

loyal and steadfast, as it was your bounden duty, to your sovereign King

George of glorious memory, you would now have formed part of the

mightiest and grandest empire on which the sun ever shone, and enjoying

and sharing in true, sound, conservative, and constitutional freedom.

There would have been no strife or fratricidal war in regard to slavery,

for slavery cannot exist on British soil; but you chose to rebel against

righteous authority, and now, the monster you have conjured threatens to

devour you. Sorry for you, very sorry; but permit me to say frankly that

you deserve it all. You certainly deserve it all, and have brought it on

yourselves;" and the doctor shook his head very decidedly, as if, while

he could not entirely forgive the American nation, he might be willing

to temper his judgment with mercy.

The master of the Archimedes Works was at a loss, for a moment, how to

reply to this unexpected philippic; but finally drove his adversary off

by asserting, rather vehemently, that the American people intended

settling their family difficulties in their own way, and if John Bull

attempted to interfere he would get a repetition of the warming Old

Hickory gave him at New Orleans.

"Or at Bladensburg, mayhap," added the doctor, as he walked away,

convinced that his parting shot was an extinguisher, and chuckling as he

muttered "_Hoc habet! hoc habet!_"