MISS LOU EMANCIPATED
Nature had endowed Scoville with a quick, active mind, and
circumstances had developed its power and capacity to a degree scarcely
warranted by his age. Orphaned early in life, compelled to hold his own
among comparative strangers since childhood, he had gained a worldly
wisdom and self-reliance which he could not have acquired in a
sheltered home. He had learned to look at facts and people squarely, to
estimate values and character promptly, and then to decide upon his own
action unhesitatingly. Although never regarded as the model good boy at
the boarding-schools wherein he had spent most of his life, he had been
a general favorite with both teachers and scholars. A certain frankness
in mischief and buoyancy of spirit had carried him through all
difficulties, while his apt mind and retentive memory always kept him
near to the head of his classes. The quality of alertness was one of
his characteristics. In schools and at the university he quickly
mastered their small politics and prevailing tendencies, and he often
amused his fellow-pupils with free-handed yet fairly truthful sketches
of their instructors. As the country passed into deeper and stronger
excitement over the prospect of secession and its consequences, he was
among the first to catch the military spirit and to take an active part
in the formation of a little company among the students. It was not his
disposition to be excited merely because others were. Certain qualities
of mind led him to look beneath the surface for the causes of national
commotion. He read carefully the utterances of leaders, North and
South, and to some extent traced back their views and animating spirit
to historical sources.
In the year of '63 he found to his joy that he had attained such
physical proportions as would secure his acceptance in a cavalry
regiment forming in his vicinity. His uncle, who was also guardian, for
reasons already known, made slight opposition, and he at once donned
the blue with its bluff trimmings. In camp and field he quickly learned
the routine of duty, and then his daring, active temperament led him
gradually into the scouting service. Now, although so young, he was a
veteran in experience, frank to friends, but secretive and ready to
deceive the very elect among his enemies. Few could take more risks
than he, yet he had not a particle of Mad Whately's recklessness.
Courage, but rarely impulse, controlled his action. As we have seen, he
could instantly stay his hand the second a deadly enemy, seeking his
life in personal encounter, was disarmed.
The prospect of talking with such a host as Mr. Baron pleased him
immensely. He scarcely knew to whom he was indebted for the courtesy,
but rightly surmised that it was Mrs. Whately, since she, with good
reason, felt under obligations to him. Even more than an adventurous
scouting expedition he relished a situation full of humor, and such,
his presence at Mr. Baron's supper-table promised to be. He knew his
entertainment would be gall and wormwood to the old Bourbon and his
wife, and that the courtesy had been wrung from them by his own
forbearance. It might be his only opportunity to see Miss Lou and
suggest the liberty he had brought to her as well as to the slaves.
Mrs. Whately met him on the veranda and said politely, "Lieutenant
Scoville, you have proved yourself to be a generous and forbearing
enemy. If you feel that you can meet frank enemies who wish to return
courtesy with courtesy, we shall be glad to have you take supper with
us."
"Yes," added Mr. Baron, "my sister has convinced me, somewhat against
my will, I must in honesty admit, that such hospitality as we can offer
under the circumstances is your due."
"I appreciate the circumstances, Mr. Baron," was the grave reply, "and
honor the Southern trait which is so strong that even I can receive the
benefit of it. Your courtesy, madam, will put me at ease."
Miss Lou, thinking it possible that she might see the Northern officer
again, had taken her own way of convincing him that he was still within
the bounds of civilization, for she made a toilet more careful than the
one with which she had deigned to grace the appointed day of her
wedding. She could scarcely believe her eyes when, entering the supper
room a little late, she saw Scoville already seated at the table. He
instantly rose and made her a ceremonious bow, thus again indicating
that their past relations should be completely ignored in the presence
of others. She therefore gravely returned his salutation and took her
place without a word, but her high color did not suggest indifference
to the situation. Mr. Baron went through the formal "grace" as usual
and then said, "Ahem! you will admit, sir, that it is a little
embarrassing to know just how to entertain one with whom we have some
slight difference of opinion."
"Perhaps such embarrassment will be removed if we all speak our minds
freely," replied Scoville, pleasantly. "Pardon the suggestion, but the
occasion appears to me favorable to a frank and interesting exchange of
views. If my way of thinking were wholly in accord with yours my words
could be little better than echoes. I should be glad to feel that my
presence was no restraint whatever."
"I'm inclined to think you are right, sir," added Mrs. Whately. "It
would be mere affectation on our part to disguise our thoughts and
feelings. With neighbors, and even with friends, we are often compelled
to do this, but I scarcely see why we should do so with an open enemy."
"And such I trust you will find me, madam, an OPEN enemy in the better
sense of the adjective. As far as I can, I will answer questions if you
wish to ask any. I will tell you honestly all the harm I meditate and
outline clearly the extent of my hostility, if you will do the same,"
and he smiled so genially that she half smiled also as she answered:
"To hear you, sir, one would scarcely imagine you to be an enemy at
all. But then we know better."
"Yes, sir, pardon me, we do," said Mr. Baron, a little stiffly. "For
one, I would like your honest statement of just what harm you and your
command meditate. I am one who would rather face and prepare for
whatever I shall be compelled to meet."
"I think, sir, you have already met and faced the direst event of the
evening--my presence at your hospitable board. Even this hardship is
due to your courtesy, not to my compulsion."
Miss Lou bowed low over her plate at this speech.
"But how about the long hours of the night, sir? Have you such control
over your men--"
"Yes, sir!" interrupted Scoville with dignity. "The men I have with me
are soldiers, not camp-followers. They would no more harm you or
anything you possess, without orders, than I would."
"Without orders--a clause of large latitude. As far as words go you
have already robbed me of the greater part of my possessions. You have
told my slaves that they are free."
"Not upon my own responsibility, sir, although with hearty goodwill. In
my humble station I am far more often called upon to obey orders than
to give them. You are aware of President Lincoln's proclamation?"
"Yes, sir, and of the Pope's bull against the comet."
Scoville laughed so genially as partially to disarm his reply of its
sting. "In this instance, sir, our armies are rather gaining on the
comet."
"But what can you and your armies hope to accomplish?" Mrs. Whately
asked. "If you should destroy every Southern man, the women would
remain unsubdued."
"Now, madam, you have me at disadvantage. I do not know what we would
or could do if confronted only by implacable Southern women."
"Do not imagine that I am jesting. I cannot tell you how strange it
seems that a man of your appearance and evident character should be
among our cruel enemies."
"And yet, Mrs. Whately, you cannot dispute the fact. Pardon me for
saying it, but I think that is just where the South is in such serious
error. It shuts its eyes to so many simple facts--a course which
experience proves is never wise. I may declare, and even believe, that
there is no solid wall before me, yet if I go headlong against it, I am
bruised all the same. Positive beliefs do not create truths. I fancy
that a few hours since you were absolutely sure that this courtesy of
which I am the grateful recipient could not be, yet you were mistaken."
"Has not the sad experience of many others inspired our fears? Neither
has the end come with us yet. You said that the main Northern force
would come this way tomorrow. We do not fear you and those whom you
control, but how about those who are to come?"
"I can speak only for the class to which I belong--the genuine soldiers
who are animated by as single and unfaltering a spirit as the best in
your armies. If a Confederate column were going through the North you
could not answer for the conduct of every lawless, depraved man in such
a force. Still, I admit with you that war is essentially cruel, and
that the aim ever must be to inflict as much injury as possible on
one's adversaries."
"But how can you take part in such a war?" Mrs. Whately asked. "All we
asked was to be let alone."
"Yes, sir," added Mr. Baron, "how can you justify these ruthless
invasions, this breaking up of our domestic institutions, this
despoiling of our property and rights by force?" and there was a tremor
of suppressed excitement in his voice.
Scoville glanced at Miss Lou to see how far she sympathized with her
kindred. He observed that her face was somewhat stern in its
expression, yet full of intelligent interest. It was not the index of
mere prejudice and hate. "Yes," he thought, "she is capable of giving
me a fair hearing; the others are not. Mr. Baron," he said, "your views
are natural, perhaps, if not just. I know it is asking much of human
nature when you are suffering and must suffer so much, to form what
will become the historical judgment on the questions at issue. The law
under which the North is fighting is the supreme one--that of
self-preservation. Even if we had let you alone--permitted you to
separate and become independent without a blow, war would have come
soon. You would not and could not have let us alone. Consider but one
point: your slaves would merely have to pass the long boundary line
stretching nearly across the continent, in order to be on free soil.
You could compel their return only by conquering and almost
annihilating the North. You will say that we should think as you do on
the subject, and I must answer that it is every man and woman's right
to think according to individual conscience, according to the light
within. Deny this right, and you put no bounds to human slavery. Pardon
me, but looking in your eyes and those of these ladies, I can see that
I should become a slave instantly if you had your way. Unconsciously
and inevitably you would make me one, for it is your strongest impulse
to make me agree with you, to see things exactly as you do. The fact
that you sincerely believe you are right would make no difference if I
just as sincerely believed you were wrong. If I could not think and act
for myself I should be a slave. You might say, 'We KNOW we are right,
that what we believe has the Divine sanction.' That is what the
tormentors of the Inquisition said and believed; that is what my
Puritan and persecuting forefathers said and believed; what does
history say now? The world is growing wise enough to understand that
God has no slaves. He endows men and women with a conscience. The
supreme obligation is to be true to this. When any one who has passed
the bounds of childhood says to us, 'I don't think this is right,' we
take an awful responsibility, we probably are guilty of usurpation, if
we substitute our will for his. In our sincerity we may argue, reason
and entreat, but in the presence of another's conscience unconvinced
and utterly opposed to us, where is human slavery to end if one man, or
a vast number of men, have the power to say, 'You shall'?"
Scoville had kept his eyes fixed on Mr. Baron, and saw that he was
almost writhing under the expression of views so repugnant to
him--views which proved his whole scheme of life and action to be
wrong. Now the young man turned his glance suddenly on Miss Lou, and in
her high color, parted lips and kindled eyes, saw abundant proof that
she, as he had wished, was taking to herself the deep personal
application of his words. Her guardians and Mrs. Whately observed this
truth also, and now bitterly regretted that they had invited the Union
officer. It seemed to them a sort of malign fate that he had been led,
unconsciously as they supposed, to pronounce in the presence of the
girl such vigorous condemnation of their action. Had they not that very
day sought to override the will, the conscience, the whole shrinking,
protesting womanhood of the one who had listened so eagerly as the
wrong meditated against her was explained? Scoville had not left them
even the excuse that they believed they were right, having shown the
girl that so many who believed this were wrong. Miss Lou's expression
made at least one thing clear--she was emancipated and had taken her
destiny into her own hands.
Mrs. Whately felt that she must turn the tables at once, and so
remarked, "It seems to me that the whole force of your argument tells
against the North. You are bent upon conquering the South and making it
think as you do."
"Oh, no. Here the law of self-preservation comes in. If the South can
secede, so can the East and the West. New York City can secede from the
State. We should have no country. There could be no national life.
Would England accept the doctrine of secession, and permit any part of
her dominions to set up for themselves when they chose? I know you are
about to say that is just what our fathers did. Yes, but old mother
England did not say, 'Go, my children, God bless you!' Nor would she
say it now to any other region over which floats her flag. Of course,
if you whip us, we shall have to submit, just as England did. What
government has helplessly sucked its thumbs when certain portions of
the territory over which it had jurisdiction defied its power? We are
called Goths and Vandals, but that is absurd. We are not seeking to
conquer the South in any such old-world ways. We are fighting that the
old flag may be as supreme here as in New England. The moment this is
true you will be as free as are the people of New England. The same
constitution and laws will govern all."
"And can you imagine for a moment, sir," cried Mr. Baron, "that we will
submit to a government that would be acceptable to New England?" "Yes,
sir; and years hence, when the South has become as loyal as New England
is now, if that abode of the Yankees should seek independence of the
rest of the country she would be brought back under the flag. I would
fight New England as readily as I do the South, if she sought to break
up the Union. I would fight her if every man, woman and child within
her borders believed themselves right."
Now he saw Miss Lou looking perplexed. Her quick mind detected the
spirit of coercion, of substituting wills, against which he had been
inveighing and from which she had suffered. Mrs. Whately was quick to
see the apparent weakness in his argument, for she said, "Consistency
is a jewel which I suppose is little cared for by those so ready to
appeal to force. With one breath you say we must not coerce the wills
of others, and now you say you would, even though you did violence to
universal and sacred beliefs."
"I say only that the nation MUST do this as must the individual. Some
one might say to me, 'I honestly think I should take off your right
arm.' I would not permit it if I could help it. No more can a nation
submit passively to dismemberment. The South did not expect that this
nation would do so. It promptly prepared for war. If the North had
said, 'We can do nothing, there's a blank, write out your terms and
we'll sign,' we would have been more thoroughly despised than we were,
if that were possible. There are two kinds of coercion. For instance, I
do not say to you, Mrs. Whately, representing the South, that you must
think and feel as I do and take just such steps as I dictate; but that
there are things which you must refrain from doing, because in their
performance, no matter how sincere you were, you would inflict great
and far-reaching wrong on others. There could be no government without
restriction. We would soon have anarchy if any part of a nation should
and could withdraw when it chose and how it pleased."
"Your doctrine, sir, would banish freedom from the world. All peoples
would have to submit to the central tyranny called government, even
though such government had become hateful."
"This doctrine, which all governments act upon," replied Scoville
pleasantly, "has not banished freedom from the world. In this country,
where every man has a voice, the government will be just about as good
as the majority determine it shall be."
"Well, sir, to sum up the whole matter," said Mr. Baron coldly, "two
things are clear: First, the South is determined to be free; second, if
we fail we can be held only under the heel of your Northern majority as
Poland is trodden upon."
Scoville saw that the discussion had gone far enough for his purposes,
and he said with a good-natured laugh, "I'm neither a prophet nor his
son, but I think it is a very hopeful sign that we could have this
frank interchange of views and belief. I see how perfectly sincere you
are, and if I had been brought up here no doubt I should think and act
as you do. As it is, I am only a very humble representative of the
Government which is trying to preserve its own existence--a Government
which the South helped to form as truly as the North. If I should come
directly to your side, contrary to belief and conscience, you would be
the first to despise me. I suppose we will all agree that we should
obey the supreme dictates of conscience?"
"No, sir," burst out Mr. Baron, "I cannot agree to anything of the
kind. There are multitudes who must be guided and controlled by those
who are wiser, older and more experienced. Why, sir, you would have the
very nursery children in flat rebellion."
"Indeed, Mr. Baron, I have not said one word against the authority of
parents and guardians."
"Ah! I am glad you draw the line somewhere. Half the misery in the
world results from young people's thinking themselves wiser than their
natural advisers. If they can merely say their consciences are against
what their elders know is right and best, we have anarchy in the
fountainhead of society--the family," and he glared for a moment at his
niece.
"What you say seems very true, Mr. Baron. I should be glad to know
where YOU draw the line? Independent action must begin at some period."
While Mr. Baron hesitated over this rather embarrassing question Miss
Lou startled all her kindred by saying, "I did not intend to take any
part in this conversation, but a glance from my uncle makes his last
remark personal to me. I am at least old enough to ask one or two
questions. Do you think it right, Lieutenant Scoville, that a woman
should never have any independent life of her own?"
"Why, Miss Baron, what a question! Within the received limits of good
taste a woman has as much right to independent action as a man."
"Well, then, how can she ever have any independence if she is treated
as a child up to one day of her life, and the next day is expected to
promise she will obey a man as long as he lives?"
The angry spots in Mrs. Baron's cheeks had been burning deeper and
deeper, and now she spoke promptly and freezingly, "Mr. Scoville, I
absolve you from answering one who is proving herself to be neither a
child nor a refined woman. I did not expect this additional
humiliation. If it had not occurred I would have taken no part in the
conversation. Mr. Baron, I think we have granted even more than the
most quixotic idea of courtesy could demand."
"'Granted? demand?' surely there is some mistake, madam," said Scoville
with dignity, as he rose instantly from the table. "I have asked
nothing whatever except that you should dismiss your fears as far as I
and my men are concerned."
Mrs. Whately was provoked equally at herself and all the others. She
now deeply regretted that she had not left the Union officer to obtain
his supper where and how he could, but felt that she must smooth
matters over as far as possible. "Lieutenant Scoville," she said
hurriedly, "you must make allowances for people in the deepest stress
of trouble. We did intend all the courtesy which our first remarks
defined. Of course you cannot know our circumstances, and when words
are spoken which cut to the quick it is hard to give no sign. Perhaps
our hearts are too sore and our differences too radical--" and she
hesitated.
"I understand you, madam," said Scoville, bowing. "I can only repeat my
assurances of your safety and express my regret--"
"Oh, shame!" cried Miss Lou, whose anger and indignation now passed all
bounds. "We are NOT in the deepest stress of trouble, and you, Mrs.
Whately, are the last one to say it. I saw this gentleman's sabre
poised at your son's throat long enough to have killed him twice over,
and he did not do it, even in the excitement of defending his own life.
After Mrs. Baron's words he again assures us of safety. What did you
all predict would happen immediately when Northern soldiers came?
Whether I am refined or not, I am at least grateful. Lieutenant, please
come with me. I will try to prove that I appreciate your courtesy and
forbearance," and she led the way from the room.
He bowed ceremoniously to Mr. Baron and the ladies, then followed the
girl, leaving them, almost paralyzed by their conflicting emotions.