WITH HIS OWN SWORD
“What a most wonderful letter!” cried the Major, when, after several
careful perusals, I thought it my duty to show it to him. “He calls me
a 'worthy old fool,' does he? Well, I call him something a great deal
worse--an unworthy skulk, a lunatic, a subverter of rank, and a Radical!
And because he was a bastard, is the whole world base? And to come and
live like that in a house of mine, and pay me no rent, and never even
let me see him! Your grandfather was quite right, my dear, in giving him
the cold shoulder. Of course you won't pay him a farthing.”
“You forget that he is dead,” I answered, “and his poor mother with him.
At least he behaved well to his mother. You called him a hero--when you
knew not who he was. Poor fellow, he is dead! And, in spite of all, I
can not help being very sorry for him.”
“Yes, I dare say. Women always are. But you must show a little
common-sense, Erema. Your grandfather seems to have had too much, and
your father far too little. We must keep this matter quiet. Neither the
man nor the woman must we know, or a nice stir we shall have in all the
county papers. There must be an inquest, of course, upon them both; but
none of the fellows read this direction, for the admirable reason that
they can not read. Our coming forward could do no good, and just now
Bruntsea has other things to think of; and, first and foremost, my ruin,
as they say.”
“Please not to talk of that,” I exclaimed. “I can raise any quantity of
money now, and you shall have it without paying interest. You wanted the
course of the river restored, and now you have more--you have got the
very sea. You could float the Bridal Veil itself, I do believe, at
Bruntsea.”
“You have suggested a fine idea,” the Major exclaimed, with emphasis.
“You certainly should have been an engineer. It is a thousand times
easier--as every body knows--to keep water in than to keep it out.
Having burst my barricade, the sea shall stop inside and pay for it. Far
less capital will be required. By Jove, what a fool I must have been
not to see the hand of Providence in all this! Mary, can you spare me a
minute, my dear? The noblest idea has occurred to me. Well, never mind,
if you are busy; perhaps I had better not state it crudely, though it
is not true that it happens every hour. I shall turn it over in my mind
throughout the evening service. I mean to be there, just to let them
see. They think that I am crushed, of course. They will see their
mistake; and, Erema, you may come. The gale is over, and the evening
bright. You sit by the fire, Mary, my dear; I shall not let you out
again; keep the silver kettle boiling. In church I always think more
clearly than where people talk so much. But when I come home I require
something. I see, I see. Instead of an idle, fashionable lounging-place
for nincompoops from London, instead of flirtation and novel-reading,
vulgarity, show, and indecent attire, and positively immoral bathing,
we will now have industry, commerce, wealth, triumph of mechanism, lofty
enterprise, and international good-will. A harbor has been the great
want of this coast; see what a thing it is at Newport! We will now have
a harbor and floating docks, without any muddy, malarious river--all
blue water from the sea; and our fine cliff range shall be studded with
good houses. And the whole shall be called 'Erema-port.'”
Well, Erema must be getting very near her port, although it was not at
Bruntsea. Enough for this excellent man and that still more excellent
woman that there they are, as busy and as happy as the day is
long--which imposes some limit upon happiness, perhaps, inasmuch as to
the busy every day is short. But Mrs. Hockin, though as full of fowls as
ever, gets no White Sultans nor any other rarity now from Sir Montague
Hockin. That gentleman still is alive--so far, at least, as we have
heard of; but no people owning any self-respect ever deal with him, to
their knowledge. He gambled away all his father's estates, and the
Major bought the last of them for his youngest son, a very noble Captain
Hockin (according to his mother's judgment), whom I never had the honor
of seeing. Sir Montague lives in a sad plight somewhere, and his cousin
still hopes that he may turn honest.
But as to myself and far greater persons, still there are a few words
to be said. As soon as all necessary things were done at Bruntsea and at
Castlewood, and my father's memory cleared from all stain, and by simple
truth ennobled, in a manner strictly legal and consistent with
heavy expenses, myself having made a long deposition and received
congratulations--as soon as it was possible, I left them all, and set
sail for America.
The rashness of such a plan it is more easy for one to establish than
two to deny. But what was there in it of peril or of enterprise compared
with what I had been through already? I could not keep myself now from
going, and reasoned but little about it.
Meanwhile there had been no further tidings of Colonel Gundry or Firm,
or even Martin of the Mill himself. But one thing I did which showed
some little foresight. As soon as my mind was made up, and long before
ever I could get away, I wrote to Martin Clogfast, telling him of my
intention, and begging him, if he had any idea of the armies, or the
Sawyer, or even Firm, or any thing whatever of interest, to write
(without losing a day) to me, directing his letter to a house in New
York whose address Major Hockin gave me.
So many things had to be done, and I listened so foolishly to the Major
(who did his very best to stop me), that it came to be May, 1862 (nearly
four years after my father's death), before I could settle all my plans
and start. For every body said that I was much too young to take such
a journey all by myself, and “what every body says must be right,”
whenever there is no exception to prove the rule. “Aunt Marys” are not
to be found every day, nor even Major Hockins; and this again helped
to throw me back in getting away from England. And but for his vast
engineering ideas, and another slight touch of rheumatic gout (brought
upon herself by Mrs. Hockin through setting seven hens in one evening),
the Major himself might have come with me, “to observe the new military
tactics,” as well as to look for his cousin Sampson.
In recounting this I seem to be as long as the thing itself was in
accomplishing. But at last it was done, and most kindly was I offered
the very thing to suit me--permission to join the party of a well-known
British officer, Colonel Cheriton, of the Engineers. This gentleman,
being of the highest repute as a writer upon military subjects,
had leave from the Federal government to observe the course of this
tremendous war. And perhaps he will publish some day what seems as
yet to be wholly wanting--a calm and impartial narrative of that
unparalleled conflict. At any rate, he meant to spare no trouble in a
matter so instructive, and he took his wife and two daughters--very nice
girls, who did me a world of good--to establish them in Washington, or
wherever the case might require.
Lucky as this was for me, I could not leave my dear and faithful friends
without deep sorrow; but we all agreed that it should be only for a very
little time. We landed first at New York, and there I found two letters
from Martin of the Mill. In the first he grumbled much, and told me that
nothing was yet known about Uncle Sam; in the second he grumbled (if
possible) more, but gave me some important news. To wit, he had received
a few lines from the Sawyer, who had failed as yet to find his grandson,
and sadly lamented the misery he saw, and the shocking destruction of
God's good works. He said that he could not bring himself to fight (even
if he were young enough) against his own dear countrymen, one of whom
was his own grandson; at the same time he felt that they must be put
down for trying to have things too much their own way. About slavery, he
had seen too much of niggers to take them at all for his equals, and no
white man with any self-respect would desire to be their brother. The
children of Ham were put down at the bottom, as their noses and their
lips pronounced, according to Divine revelation; and for sons of Japheth
to break up the noblest nation in the world, on their account, was
like rushing in to inherit their curse. As sure as his name was Sampson
Gundry, those who had done it would get the worst, though as yet they
were doing wonders. And there could be no doubt about one thing--which
party it was that began it. But come what would of it, here he was; and
never would Saw-mills see him again unless he brought Firm Gundry. But
he wanted news of poor Miss 'Rema; and if any came to the house, they
must please to send it to the care of Colonel Baker, headquarters of the
Army of the Potomac.
This was the very thing I wished to know, and I saw now how stupid I
must have been not to have thought of it long ago. For Colonel Baker
was, to my knowledge, an ancient friend of Uncle Sam, and had joined the
national army at the very outbreak of the war. Well known not only in
California, but throughout the States, for gallantry and conduct, this
officer had been a great accession to the Federal cause, when so many
wavered, and so he was appointed to a good command. But, alas! when I
told Colonel Cheriton my news, I learned from him (who had carefully
watched all the incidents of the struggle) that Uncle Sam's noble friend
had fallen in the battle of Ball's Bluff, while charging at the head of
his regiment.
Still, there was hope that some of the officers might know where to find
Uncle Sam, who was not at all a man to be mislaid; and being allowed
to accompany my English friends, I went on to Washington. We found
that city in a highly nervous state, and from time to time ready to be
captured. General Jackson was almost at the gates, and the President
every day was calling out for men. The Army of Virginia had been beaten
back to intrenchments before the capital, and General Lee was invading
Maryland. Battle followed battle, thick as blows upon a threshing-floor,
and though we were always said to be victorious, the enemy seemed
none the more to run away. In this confusion, what chance had I of
discovering even the Sawyer?
Colonel Cheriton (who must have found me a dreadful thorn in the flank
of his strategy) missed no opportunity of inquiry, as he went from one
valley to another. For the war seemed to run along the course of rivers,
though it also passed through the forests and lakes, and went up into
the mountains. Our wonderfully clever and kind member of the British
army was delighted with the movements of General Lee, who alone showed
scientific elegance in slaying his fellow-countrymen; and the worst of
it was that instead of going after my dear Uncle Sam, Colonel Cheriton
was always rushing about with maps, plans, and telescopes, to follow the
tracery of Lee's campaign. To treat of such matters is far beyond me,
as I am most thankful to confess. Neither will I dare to be sorry for a
great man doing what became his duty. My only complaint against him is
that he kept us in a continual fright.
However, this went by, and so did many other things, though heavily
laden with grief and death; and the one thing we learned was to
disbelieve ninety-nine out of every hundred. Letters for the Sawyer were
dispatched by me to every likely place for him, and advertisements put
into countless newspapers, but none of them seemed to go near him. Old
as he was, he avoided feather-beds, and roamed like a true Californian.
But at last I found him, in a sad, sad way.
It was after the battle of Chancellorsville, and our army had been
driven back across the Rappahannock. “Our army,” I call it, because
(although we belonged to neither party) fortune had brought us into
contact with these, and knowing more about them, we were bound to take
their side. And not only that, but to me it appeared altogether beyond
controversy that a man of large mind and long experience (such as Uncle
Sam had) should know much better than his grandson which cause was the
one to fight for. At the same time Firm was not at all to be condemned.
And if it was true, as Martin Clogfast said, that trouble of mind at my
absence had driven him into a prejudiced view, nothing could possibly be
more ungracious than for me to make light of his judgment.
Being twenty years old by this time, I was wiser than I used to be, and
now made a practice of thinking twice before rushing into peril, as I
used to do in California, and to some extent also in England. For though
my adventures might not have been as strange as many I myself have heard
of (especially from Suan Isco), nevertheless they had comprised enough
of teaching and suffering also to make me careful about having any more.
And so for a long time I kept at the furthest distance possible, in
such a war, from the vexing of the air with cannons, till even Colonel
Cheriton's daughters--perfectly soft and peaceful girls--began to
despise me as a coward. Knowing what I had been through, I indulged
their young opinions.
Therefore they were the more startled when I set forth under a sudden
impulse, or perhaps impatience, for a town very near the head-quarters
of the defeated General Hooker. As they were so brave, I asked them
whether they would come with me; but although their father was known to
be there, they turned pale at the thought of it. This pleased me, and
made me more resolute to go; and in three days' time I was at Falmouth,
a town on our side of the Rappahannock.
Here I saw most miserable sights that made me ashamed of all trifling
fear. When hundreds and thousands of gallant men were dying in crippled
agony, who or what was I to make any fuss about my paltry self? Clumsy
as I was, some kind and noble ladies taught me how to give help among
the sufferers.
At first I cried so at every body's pain, while asking why ever they
should have it, that I did some good by putting them up to bear it
rather than distress me so. And when I began to command myself (as
custom soon enabled me), I did some little good again by showing them
how I cared for them. Their poor weak eyes, perhaps never expecting
to see a nice thing in the world again, used to follow me about with a
faint, slow roll, and a feeble spark of jealousy.
That I should have had such a chance of doing good, onefold to others
and a thousandfold to self, at this turn of life, when I was full of
little me, is another of the many most clear indications of a kind hand
over me. Every day there was better than a year of ordinary life in
breaking the mind from its little selfish turns, and opening the heart
to a larger power. And all this discipline was needed.
For one afternoon, when we all were tired, with great heat upon us
suddenly, and the flies beginning to be dreadful, our chief being rather
unwell and fast asleep, the surgeons away, and our beds as full as they
could be, I was called down to reason with an applicant who would take
no denial. “A rough man, a very rough old man, and in a most terrible
state of mind,” said the girl who brought the message; “and room he
would have, or he would know the reason.”
“The reason is not far to seek,” I answered, more to myself than her, as
I ran down the stairs to discomfit that old man. At the open door, with
the hot wind tossing worn white curls and parching shriveled cheeks, now
wearily raising his battered hat, stood my dear Uncle Sam, the Sawyer.
“Lor' a massy! young lady, be you altogether daft? In my best of days,
never was I lips for kissing. And the bootifulest creatur--Come now, I
ain't saved your life, have I now?”
“Yes, fifty times over--fifty thousand times. Uncle Sam, don't you know
Erema?”
“My eyes be dashed! And dashed they be, to forget the look of yours,
my dearie. Seven days have I marched without thanking the Lord; and hot
coals of fire has He poured upon me now, for His mercy endureth forever.
To think of you--to think of you--as like my own child as could be--only
of more finer breed--here standing in front of me, like this here!
There! I never dreamed to do that again, and would scorn a young man at
the sight of it.”
The Sawyer was too honest to conceal that he was weeping. He simply
turned his tanned and weathered face toward the door-post, not to hide
his tears, but reconcile his pride by feigning it. I felt that he must
be at very low ebb, and all that I had seen of other people's sorrow had
no power to assuage me. Inside the door, to keep the hot wind out and
hide my eyes from the old man's face, I had some little quiet sobs,
until we could both express ourselves.
“It is poor Firm, the poor, poor lad!--oh, what hath happened him? That
I should see the day!”
Uncle Sam's deep voice broke into a moan, and he bowed his rough
forehead on his arm, and shook. Then I took him by the sleeve and
brought him in.
“Not dead--poor Firm, your only one--not dead?” as soon as words would
come, I asked, and trembled for the opening of his lips.
“Not dead--not quite; but ten times worse. He hath flown into the face
of the Lord, like Saul and his armor-bearer; he hath fallen on his
own sword; and the worst of it is that the darned thing won't come out
again.”
“Firm--the last person in the world to do it! Oh, Uncle Sam, surely they
have told you--”
“No lies--no lie at all, my dear. And not only that, but he wanteth now
to die--and won't be long first, I reckon. But no time to lose, my dear.
The Lord hath sent you to make him happy in his leaving of the world.
Can 'e raise a bed and a doctor here? If he would but groan, I could
bear it a bit, instead of bleeding inward. And for sartin sure, a'
would groan nicely, if only by force of habit, at first sight of a real
doctor.”
“There are half a dozen here,” I said; “or at least close by. He shall
have my own bed. But where is he?”
“We have laid 'un in the sand,” he answered, simply, “for to dry his
perspiration. That weak the poor chap is that he streameth night and
day, miss. Never would you know him for our Firm now, any more than me
for Sampson Gundry. Ah me! but the Lord is hard on us!”
Slowly and heavily he went his way to fetch poor Firm to the hospital;
while, with light feet but a heavy heart, I returned to arouse our
managers. Speedily and well were all things done; and in half an hour
Finn lay upon my bed, with two of the cleverest surgeons of New York
most carefully examining his wasted frame. These whispered and shook
their heads, as in such a case was indispensable; and listening eagerly,
I heard the senior surgeon say, “No, he could never bear it.” The
younger man seemed to think otherwise, but to give way to the longer
experience. Then dear Uncle Sam, having bought a new hat at the corner
of the street, came forward. Knowing too well what excitement is, and
how it changes every one, I lifted my hand for him to go back; but he
only put his great hot web of fingers into mine, and drew me to him
softly, and covered me up with his side. “He heareth nort, nort, nort,”
he whispered to me; and then spoke aloud:
“Gentlemen and ladies--or ladies and gentlemen, is the more correct form
nowadays--have I leave to say a word or two? Then if I have, as your
manner to me showeth, and heartily thanking you for that same, my words
shall go into an acorn-cup. This lad, laid out at your mercy here,
was as fine a young fellow as the West hath ever raised--straight and
nimble, and could tell no lie. Family reasons, as you will excoose of,
drew him to the arms of rebellion. I may have done, and overdone it
myself, in arguing cantrips and convictions, whereof to my knowledge
good never came yet. At any rate, off he went anyhow, and the force
of nature drew me after him. No matter that to you, I dare say; but it
would be, if you was in it.
“Ladies and gentlemen, here he is, and no harm can you make out of him.
Although he hath fought for the wrong side to our thinking, bravely
hath he fought, and made his way to a colonelship, worth five thousand
dollars, if ever they pay their wages. Never did I think that he would
earn so much, having never owned gifts of machinery; and concerning the
handling of the dollars, perhaps, will carry my opinion out. But where
was I wandering of a little thing like that?
“It hath pleased the Lord, who doeth all things well, when finally come
to look back upon--the Lord hath seen fit to be down on this young
man for going agin his grandfather. From Californy--a free State, mind
you--he come away to fight for slavery. And how hath he magnified his
office? By shooting the biggest man on that side, the almighty foe of
the Union, the foremost captain of Midian--the general in whom they
trusted. No bullets of ours could touch him; but by his own weapons he
hath fallen. And soon as Ephraim Gundry heard it, he did what you see
done to him.”
Uncle Sam having said his say--which must have cost him dearly--withdrew
from the bed where his grandson's body lay shrunken, lax, and grimy. To
be sure that it was Firm, I gave one glance--for Firm had always been
straight, tall, and large--and then, in a miserable mood, I stole to the
Sawyer's side to stand with him. “Am I to blame? Is this my fault? For
even this am I to blame?” I whispered; but he did not heed me, and his
hands were like hard stone.
After a long, hot, heavy time, while I was laboring vainly, the Sawyer
also (through exhaustion of excitement) weary, and afraid to begin again
with new bad news, as beaten people expect to do, the younger surgeon
came up to him, and said, “Will you authorize it?”
“To cut 'un up? To show your museums what a Western lad is? Never. By
the Blue River he shall have a good grave. So help me God, to my own, my
man!”
“You misunderstand me. We have more subjects now than we should want for
fifty years. War knocks the whole of their value on the head. We have
fifty bodies as good as this, and are simply obliged to bury them. What
I mean is, shall we pull the blade out?”
“Can he do any thing with that there blade in him? I have heard of a man
in Kentucky once--”
“Yes, yes; we know all those stories, Colonel--suit the newspapers, not
the journals. This fellow has what must kill him inside; he is worn to
a shadow already. If there it is left, die he must, and quick stick;
inflammation is set up already. If we extract it, his chance of
surviving is scarcely one in a hundred.”
“Let him have the one, then, the one in the hundred, like the ninety and
nine lost sheep. The Lord can multiply a hundredfold--some threescore,
and some an hundredfold. I will speak to Him, gentlemen, while you try
the job.”