SYLVIA IN TROUBLE
The Hayes plantation was about ten miles distant from Charleston, on
the opposite side of the Ashley River. Flora told Sylvia and Grace that
the Hayes coachman would drive them out, and that they would start
early on Saturday morning. Sylvia, remembering her former visit, knew
well how delightful the drive would be, and thinking of the pleasure in
store quite forgot to be troubled by Elinor Mayhew's hostility.
At recess the girls usually walked about in the garden, or tossed a
ball back and forth. Miss Rosalie would sit on the broad piazza
overlooking the garden, her fingers busy with some piece of delicate
embroidery.
To-day, as they filed out and down the steps, Elinor whispered to
several of her companions. And suddenly Sylvia realized that she was
standing alone. Grace Waite had lingered to speak to Miss Rosalie;
Flora had been excused just before recess, as her black mammy had
arrived with a note from Mrs. Hayes. The other girls were gathered in a
little group about Elinor, who was evidently telling them something of
great interest. Sylvia walked slowly along toward a little summer-house
where Miss Patten sometimes had little tea-parties. She hoped Grace
would not stay long with Miss Patten. The other girls were between
Sylvia and the arbor, and none of them moved to let her pass; nor did
any of them speak to her, as she paused with a word of greeting.
"Now, girls," she heard Elinor say; and the others, half under their
breath, but only too distinctly for Sylvia, called out: "Yankee,
Yankee!" Then like a flock of bright-colored birds they ran swiftly
into the summer-house.
For a moment Sylvia stood quite still. She realized that Elinor meant
to be hateful; but she remembered that her father had said that all
Americans were called "Yankees," and she was not a coward. She went
straight on to the arbor. Elinor Mayhew stood on the steps.
"You are just as much a Yankee as I am. And you ought to be proud of
it," declared Sylvia, facing the older girl.
"Hear that, girls!" called Elinor to the group about her. There was a
little angry murmur from the others.
"Don't you dare say that again, Miss Boston," called May Bailey, who
stood next to Elinor.
Sylvia was now thoroughly angry. She knew of no reason why these girls
should treat her in so unkind a fashion. She felt very desolate and
unhappy, but she faced them bravely.
"Yankees! Yankees! It's what all Americans are," she declared defiantly.
In an instant the little girls were all about her. Elinor Mayhew was
holding her hands, and the others were pushing her along the path to
the shore. The thick growing shrubs hid them from the house. Sylvia did
not cry out or speak. She was not at all afraid, nor did she resist.
"We ought to make her take it back," said May Bailey, as Elinor
stopped, and they all stood in a close group about Sylvia.
"Of course she's got to take it back, and apologize on her knees,"
declared Elinor. "She might as well learn that South Carolinians will
not be insulted," and Elinor lifted her head proudly.
"I won't take it back!" retorted Sylvia, "and you are the ones who will
have to apologize. Yes, every one of you, before I will ever speak to
you again."
"Hear that, girls! Wouldn't it be dreadful if she never spoke to us
again!" sneered Elinor.
"She means she will tell Miss Rosalie," said one of the girls.
"I don't, either. I can look after my own afffairs," retorted Sylvia
bravely. "I'm not a tell-tale. Although I suppose girls who act the way
you do would tell."
"Get down on your knees," commanded Elinor, trying to push the little
girl.
"There's the bell," and they all turned and scampered back to the
house, leaving Sylvia on the path; for Elinor had let go of her so
suddenly that she had fallen forward.
Her knees were hurt, and one of her hands was bruised by the fall. For
a moment she lay sobbing quietly. She was angry and miserable. She had
been brave enough when the girls had seemed to threaten her, but now
her courage was gone. She could not go back to the schoolroom and face
all those enemies. If Miss Rosalie came in search of her she might not
be able to resist telling her what had happened; and, miserable and
unhappy as she was, Sylvia resolved that she would never tell.
"But Elinor Mayhew and all the rest of them shall be sorry for this.
Yes, they shall," she sobbed as she got to her feet and turned toward
the shore. She knew she must either go straight back to the schoolroom
or else find a hiding-place until they had ceased to search for her.
There was a wall at the foot of the garden, covered with fragrant
jessamine and myrtle. If she could only get over that wall, thought
Sylvia, she would be safe. She ran swiftly forward and began to
scramble up, grasping the sturdy vines, and finding a foothold on some
bit of rough brick. She reached the top just as she heard Miss
Rosalie's servant calling her name.
Sylvia looked down to the further side. The vines drooped over and
below the wall a high bank of sand sloped to the shore. Holding tight
to the vines she slid down, hitting her bruised knees against the rough
surface. The vines cut her hands, and when she tumbled into the sand
her dress was torn and soiled, her pretty hair-ribbon was gone, and her
once white stockings were grimy. Beside these misfortunes her hands
were bleeding. Never in all her life had Sylvia been so wretched. She
sat quite still in the warm sand, and wondered what she could do. If
she went home her mother would insist upon an explanation of her untidy
condition. Beside that Sylvia was not sure if she could find her way
home unless she climbed back into the garden. She looked along the
shore at the landing-place not far distant where several boats were
bobbing up and down in the wash of the incoming tide. She could see
boats coming and going between the forts and the city. She could see
grim Fort Sumter, with its guns that seemed to look straight at her.
She watched a schooner coming across the bay, and realized that it was
coming to that very wharf. A number of men landed, and several carts
came down and boxes were unloaded, and negroes carried them to the
schooner.
Sylvia got up and walked along the shore until she was near the wharf,
and stood watching the negroes as they lifted the heavy boxes. She
wished she could ask one of them to tell her the way home. Then she
noticed a tall figure in uniform coming up the wharf.
"It's Captain Carleton!" she exclaimed joyfully, quite forgetting for
the moment her torn dress and scratched hands as she ran toward him.
"Why! Is it Sylvia Fulton?" exclaimed the surprised Captain, looking
down at the untidy little figure. "Why, what has happened?"
"Oh, dear," sobbed Sylvia, "I guess I'm lost."
"Well, well! It's lucky you came down to this wharf. Come on board the
schooner, and we'll see to these little hands first thing," and the
good-natured Captain rested a kindly hand on the little girl's shoulder
and walked down the wharf. Sylvia heard the men talking of the
Charleston Arsenal, and of the boxes of arms which were to be taken on
the schooner to Fort Sumter.
The Captain bathed the little hurt hands and flushed face, talking
pleasantly to the little girl about the schooner, and asking her if she
did not think it a much finer craft than her father's small boat; so in
a little while she was comforted and quite at home.
"Now, sit here by the cabin window, and I will come back and take you
home as soon as I settle this trouble about my supplies," and the
Captain hurried back to the wharf.
Sylvia sat quite still and looked out of the round port-hole. She felt
very tired, and leaned her head against the cushioned wall. She could
hear the monotonous chant of the negroes, and feel the swaying motion
of the vessel, and soon was fast asleep. She did not know when the
schooner was towed out into the channel, nor when the sails were
hoisted and they went sailing down the bay.
For Captain Carleton had entirely forgotten his little guest. When he
hurried back to the wharf he discovered a little group of Charleston
citizens, one of whom was Elinor Mayhew's father, disputing the right
of the United States officers to take guns from the Charleston Arsenal
to Fort Sumter; and when the matter was settled he had hurried the
departure of the vessel. Not until they were ready to land at the fort
did he remember his little friend. He went down to the cabin, and found
Sylvia fast asleep.
"Poor little Yankee! I wonder what will happen to her if South Carolina
really leaves the Union," he thought, and then his face grew troubled
as he remembered that Mr. and Mrs. Fulton must be in great trouble and
anxiety over the disappearance of their little daughter. But first of
all he must see the schooner's cargo safely unloaded at Fort Sumter,
and send his men back to Fort Moultrie; then he would take Sylvia home,
or find some way to notify her parents that she was safe and well cared
for.