IN THE MIDST OF WAR.
The summer of 1813 was destined to rouse the legislators at Washington
from their supineness. Some fishermen discovered a large fleet of
sail sweeping in between the royal capes and settling at anchor, as
if undetermined what course to pursue. They gave the alarm; and as
the ships sailed up the Chesapeake, Baltimore was believed to be the
objective point.
Commodore Barney's little fleet was chased up the Patuxent. General
Armstrong's orders were to burn it if there was danger of its falling
into the hands of the enemy. Then with his men he was to join General
Winder for the defense of Washington. The vessels were fired without a
single blow, and the men made a forced march across the peninsula.
There were no forts for protection, and only a few hundred regulars and
several militia companies. With fatuous obstinacy it was still believed
Baltimore would take the brunt of the attack, giving time to rally
the troops to the defense of Bladensburg if there should be an inland
march. All the adverse opinions and counsel delayed what might have
been done for the protection of the City.
But that August night, when the intentions of the enemy were beyond
all doubt, a courier spurred post-haste over the heavy, sandy roads and
through long stretches of somber pines and giant oaks, a very prophet
of evil. At the little post-towns of Nottingham and Marlborough the
stentorian tones roused the people from their sleep. "The British have
landed at Benedict and are marching inland. To arms! to arms!"
At Bladensburg he stopped at the ancient tavern, and the quiet town
was thrown into a panic. Everybody was called out for defense. Then on
to Washington, and the startled rulers looked into each other's faces
in dismay. And then Colonel Monroe admitted that though there were
no great treasures in Washington, the moral effect of capturing the
enemy's capital would be equivalent to a greater victory. There were
state papers that must be at once sent to a place of safety, and those
who had valuables had better fly with them.
General Armstrong still believed no large army would march forty miles
from its base of supplies and run the risk of being cut off, since
Admiral Cockburn could not know how well able the City was to defend
itself.
All was wildest panic. Everything in the shape of cart or wagon was
loaded with cherished possessions, and the road to Georgetown looked
like a universal moving day.
It was decided to meet the enemy at Bladensburg and oppose the march
into Washington, if that was their object. Everybody--a motley throng,
indeed--was hurried to the front, the women and children left to the
care of servants.
The Carrington household had for days been in the deepest anxiety. A
fortnight before Jaqueline's little son had been born, to the great
joy of them all. Mrs. Mason and Marian had come up to the City--the
first time Marian had visited the place since her joyous girlish winter
and its ill-fated consequences.
All had gone on well, when a sudden and utterly unexpected turn had
filled them with alarm. A fever had set in, and for several days it
had been a fierce fight between disease and skill, but there had grown
up a faint hope in the night, to be met with tidings of such terrible
import.
Mrs. Jettson had come, wild with affright.
"We are going at once," she said. "What can the wretched little army do
against four thousand trained British soldiers? And Admiral Cockburn,
it is said, has sworn to be revenged for the treatment of the English
minister, and that he will compel Mrs. Madison to entertain him and his
staff at the White House. Can Jaqueline be moved?"
"Only at the risk of her life," said Dr. Collaston. "All the news has
been kept from her, though she could not have taken it in. I have sent
Patty and the children and some valuables over to Arlington. We must
stay here."
"But Marian and--Annis--can they not join us?" entreated Jane.
"Annis will not leave her mother. Marian may be of great service. She
is a most excellent nurse. Even the servants are panic-stricken, and
cannot be depended on."
"Where is Roger?"
"At the capital. We men may be needed to defend our homes. Admiral
Cockburn is said to be ruthless. General Winder has started for
Bladensburg. Heaven grant the battle may be decided there! But you had
better go at once, for the children's sake."
"Oh, poor dear Jaqueline!"
"We can only trust the very slender reed," and the doctor's voice was
husky with emotion.
"If I could do anything----"
"No, you cannot. Thank you for all your kindness in the past."
Mrs. Madison has been handed down by history as the one serene figure
in the turmoil and danger. She moved quietly to and fro, securing
valuables and state papers and sending them away by trusty servants.
The President and several members of the Cabinet had started for the
scene of action.
Mrs. Mason and Marian watched by the bedside with minutest
instructions, while the doctor went out on some pressing business.
"A soger gemmen say he must see Miss Annis," announced the new butler,
who had been but a month in his place. "I jus' done fergit de name.
Dar's flustration in de berry air."
"To see me?" asked the child in surprise.
"He want de doctor awful much. Den he say send Miss Annis."
Annis held out her hand to Marian. "Come with me!" she exclaimed. "We
will not disturb mamma."
They went down together. The man in the hall was covered with dust and
grime, and purple-red with the heat. A soldier, sure enough; but the
first moment Annis drew back.
"Oh, little Annis, don't be afraid!" and she knew the voice.
"Marian----"
And so the two met who had just touched their lips to the cup of joy
in the spring of youth. A grave woman half a dozen years older, a man
whose life might be ended this very day. All these years he had been
bitter and resentful, but if he were dying----
"Can you not fly at once? The battle has been disgraceful, but what
could such an army do against overwhelming odds. The whole thing has
been a piece of shameful imbecility in our rulers. The British are
marching into Washington."
"Then you have not heard----"
Something in Marian's tremulous voice awed him. He wiped the sweat and
grime from his face.
"I have not been in Washington for three months."
"Mrs. Carrington is lying at the point of death."
Annis began to cry, and caught his hand.
"Then Heaven help you! No one can tell what the end will be. Now I must
away to warn all who can fly, and then do the best we can to protect
those who remain. If possible, I will send a guard. Little Annis,
good-by, if I should never see you again."
She threw her arms about his neck with a convulsive sob. He held out
his hand to Marian, but neither spoke. Then he rushed away. There was
not a moment to lose. He strode over to the White House, where all
was still uncertain, and Mrs. Madison had given orders for the dinner.
To procure wagons was a labor of love and infinite persuasion, to say
nothing of money.
Then the messenger came shouting that General Armstrong had ordered a
retreat. Daniel Carroll had sent his carriage, but Mrs. Madison refused
to go until the President arrived.
"It will not do for you to fall into the hands of the British,"
declared an officer. "That would crown the triumph."
Pale and weary from his fruitless journey, the President and his wife
stepped into the carriage to be driven across to Georgetown, where
further difficulties awaited them. The opposition journals made merry
over the undignified flight, yet there is no doubt but that it was the
aim of both the Admiral and General Ross to crown their victory by the
capture of the most conspicuous figures of the Capital.
The British marched steadily on the heels of the flying foe, leaving
their dead and wounded exposed to the pitiless sun, and proceeded
at once to the Capitol, which they ransacked and then set on fire,
striking down anyone who dared to raise a voice in its behalf. Then
they marched along Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House, chagrined
to discover only a few servants left, but gratified to find a banquet
awaiting them. There had been covers laid for forty guests. Dishes of
all kinds were ready in the kitchen to be served. Wines were in the
cooler, handsome cut-glass and silver trays of delicious fruit stood on
the sideboard. The hungry officers and men, scorning ceremony, feasted
until the place became the scene of the wildest orgie. The wine cellar
was broken open and its contents passed around, rooms were ransacked
and combustibles piled up; and as they found little worth carrying off,
the match was applied, and the house that had been the scene of so many
joyous occasions was soon in flames.
From thence to the Treasury Department, and then to the office of
the _National Intelligencer_, whose editor had denounced Cockburn
unsparingly for his acts of vandalism on the coast and among
defenseless towns; and the houses of some of the more noted citizens
were added to the conflagration. Women flying for refuge were insulted,
wagons stopped and despoiled of their goods. The few regiments could
make no stand against the wanton destruction.
Suddenly there came a strange darkness over the city. From the far-off
hills the wind began to roar like another ravening army. There were
sullen mutterings of thunder. The order was given to retreat, and
by the lurid light the ranks re-formed, though many, wearied out,
straggled behind. The red blaze was made visible a moment by the
lightning, when the town seemed in a molten glow, and then dense smoky
blackness.
As if this was not enough, a frightful tornado seemed hurled from the
hills on the doomed City.
The roar of the elements was terrific. Trees were uprooted and houses
blown from their foundations, crashing down in the general ruin.
All day they had watched between hope and fear. Jaqueline's fever had
abated, and she lay half unconscious. After the soldiers marched into
the City, and he had seen Mrs. Madison started on her perilous journey,
Roger felt he could be of no farther service. The enemy would wreak his
vengeance unopposed. He found there was a guard in citizens' clothes
keeping watch over his house in an inconspicuous manner. But when the
flames started at the Capitol his anxiety was harrowing. What if they
should continue their work of devastation in this direction?
"Oh, do you think we shall all be burned up?" cried Annis in terror,
dreading the sight and yet running from window to window.
No one could guess the power or purpose of the enemy. And no one could
measure nature's devastation.
Dr. Collaston was in and out. Jaqueline lay, unheeding the tumult and
danger.
"She does not really lose," he said. "Ross has gone over to the White
House. Oh, the poor doomed City! And relief is needed for the wounded
at Bladensburg. Half the women are crazy at their husbands being sent
to the front. And all this might have been avoided!"
Indeed, it transpired afterward that Mrs. Madison had been refused
shelter by a shrieking virago because her husband had been enrolled for
the defense of the City.
"They are going to the White House. Perhaps they may not molest us,
after all."
This proved true. The ravages were continued over eastward. They
watched one building after another. The public rope-walk was devoted
to the flames. The dockyards and arsenal and naval stores, powder
magazine, and a fine frigate just ready to be launched were fed to the
devouring element that roared in devastating hunger.
But that seemed nothing to the tornado. Annis flew to her mother's
arms, and could not be pacified. Marian and Mrs. Mason would not go to
bed, and Annis drowsed with her head on her mother's shoulder, asking
now and then if morning had come.
It dawned presently over the ruined City. Rock Creek was a rushing
torrent. The Potomac had overflowed its banks. Tiber Creek was swollen
out of bounds. Cellars were submerged, boxes and bales and furniture
floated out.
The British left their wounded behind, and when they reached
Bladensburg there were more than could be cared for. Heartlessly
trusting them to the mercy of the beaten enemy, they marched on,
striking terror to the smaller towns through which they passed, and
then attacking Baltimore, the heroic defense of which is a matter of
history. General Ross was killed in the first skirmish, and Admiral
Cockburn forced to withdraw, and was condemned even by his own
government for his ruthless vandalism, which had won nothing.
But the attack on Fort McHenry gave us one of our most beautiful and
deathless songs, and indeed seemed the turning-point of misfortunes
in a campaign that had been conducted with so little foresight and
sagacity. But even this disaster may have been needed to bring the
warring factions together, and convince them that to keep a country
intact the strength of all is the salvation of each one, of every home.
Dr. Collaston could hardly call it hope in the morning, but Jaqueline
had not lost anything through the terrible night. Roger was nearly worn
out with anxiety and the work that had devolved upon him. Wounded men
were lying in the streets, and had been brought in from Bladensburg.
"I must get a message over to Patty," the doctor said. "The end of the
bridge is burned, but there are some boats. Something must be done for
the relief of our poor men who turned out so bravely for the defense of
our homes."
Certainly it was a ruined city. Twenty years of labor and interest and
expenditure laid waste, many of the inhabitants homeless, some lying
wounded, not a few dead. A deserted place, indeed; and it was not until
the British were before Baltimore that the panic really subsided.
The President and Mrs. Madison were among the earliest to return.
Mrs. Cutts opened her house, for the White House was a charred and
blackened ruin. Everybody vied with attentions. The Tayloe mansion,
called The Octagon, on New York Avenue, and built in the latter part of
the preceding century, by a wealthy planter of Mount Airy, was chosen
for the present home. Indeed, Mrs. Madison was never to go back to the
White House as its mistress, but she made a not less notable center
elsewhere.
Slowly people returned with their goods and stores. The inhabitants of
the adjacent towns were generous with assistance. For a month or more
Washington had a continual moving-day.
Meanwhile the victories at Plattsburg and the surrender of the fleet on
Lake Champlain, as well as the signal victory at Fort Bowyer, put heart
into the Americans, and England seemed not indisposed to discuss terms
of peace, convinced perhaps a second time that here was an indomitable
people, whose friendship was possible, but whose conquest could never
be achieved.
Slowly Jaqueline Carrington came back to life. The intense heat had
given way to cooling breezes, the sun was often veiled by drifting
clouds. For a week there were alternations, then a steady improvement.
Temporary hospitals had been secured. Some of the wounded had found
shelter within their own homes or those of friends.
Louis came in one morning. He had been among the volunteers so hastily
enrolled, taken prisoner, and then allowed to go, as General Ross did
not want to be hampered.
"Collaston, has anything been heard of Ralston? He came into Washington
the morning of the battle. Now that things are cleared up a little, he
is reported missing. The British did not stop to bury their dead, and
he certainly would have been noted."
"I thought it strange we did not hear. We must make inquiries at once.
We have been most fortunate, except for pecuniary losses, and since
Jaqueline is likely to be restored to us we have no right to complain.
I must set out to find Ralston, though. The country has need of such
men."
It was true that Arthur Jettson and the doctor were likely to be
considerable losers by the misfortunes that had overtaken Washington.
But they were young, and could recover. Patty and the two babies
returned, and she declared the losses were really not worth thinking
of, since everybody had been spared.
When Jaqueline was well enough to sit up a little, she insisted on
being taken to her favorite window, which commanded a fine view of the
City.
"While you have had one trouble, you have escaped another," said her
husband gravely. "Our beautiful Washington--for it had grown beautiful
to us, partly by the eye of faith, I suppose--is no more. We have had
war and devastation of the elements, and must begin over again. We
can tell our children about Old Washington, if she was not ancient in
years; but a new one must arise on its ruins."
"War!" Jaqueline cried in amazement. And then she glanced at the
destruction, bursting into tears.
"Never mind, my darling wife. We have you and the boy, thanks to your
mother and Marian and Dr. Collaston's skill. He was faithfulness itself
through all that trying time. When you are stronger you shall hear the
whole story."
"And Louis--is everybody safe?"
"Louis shouldered a musket and marched like a trained soldier. Oh, we
have some brave men left, I assure you! The enemy came; and what we
were unable to do the storm did--forced them to retreat before we had
been laid quite in ruins."
"It is terrible!" said Annis. "I have been driving about with the
doctor. The beautiful White House is gone, and ever so many places. And
the storm was terrific. Oh, dear! what a horrible time it was! I sat up
all night long with mamma and Marian."
"Dear Marian! How good you have been to me! You and mother have taken
such excellent care of my baby."
Marian glanced up with a grave smile.
"And no dear ones are lost? I suppose Lieutenant Ralston was in the
thick of the fight?"
"Yes," answered her husband, "like many another brave man. I think we
owe him something also."
Everything was so changed. Marian often mused over it. She felt like
quite an old woman. She was hardly likely to marry now. She had put her
candle out, she remembered. But her heart gave a quick gasp when she
thought of Ralston. "Evangeline" had not yet been written, but daily
she felt moved to enact the romance, to go in search of him. Somehow
she felt sure she could find him. And if he was among the dead she
would have a right to cherish his memory, and that happy episode, the
one brief romance of her life.
Dr. Collaston came in. Yes, his patient was doing nicely. When she
could be moved with safety, the air of the old plantation, with its
rich autumnal fragrance and ripeness, would do her good. Patty should
go with her for a holiday.
Annis was hanging to the doctor's arm.
"Won't you take me out with you?" she said coaxingly. "I like so to go
with you, there are so many things to see."
"I am going to take Roger out on a little business, if everybody can
spare him. Your turn may come to-morrow."
She nodded good-humoredly.
Carrington followed his friend downstairs. "We have news about
Ralston," the doctor said. "There is a messenger here with tidings.
There is no time to lose. You can hear the story as we go along."
A pale, large-eyed young fellow with an anxious face was awaiting them;
and as they were driving over the old road that had been traversed many
a time in pleasure, and was to be historic, Carrington listened to the
young man's tale. A British soldier, he had been wounded and left on
the field, and someone had paused to give him a drink of water, when
the stranger had been struck by a stray shot and wounded in the leg.
They had made their way slowly to a deserted negro hut, where he had
fainted. His new friend had dressed his wound, which was more painful
than serious, but both were weak from exhaustion and loss of blood.
The storm coming on, they had been glad of shelter. The next day his
new-found friend could not walk, and his leg was terribly swollen. They
waited in the hope that someone would find them out. But on the third
day the American was ill and delirious. A negro woman had discovered
them, and visited them daily with food, and had attended to both their
wounds as well as she knew how. Now his companion had come to his right
mind, and he was a Lieutenant Ralston. He had begged him, Eustace
Stafford, to find his way into the City and hunt up a certain Dr.
Collaston and tell him the story.
"He is still very ill," declared Stafford. "And he must be taken out
of that wretched hole at once. Still, we have been very glad of the
shelter."
"You look ill yourself----"
"You should have seen this young fellow half an hour ago," declared
the doctor. "You would have thought him a ghost. He has a bad wound in
his shoulder that has not been properly treated, and healed up on the
outside too soon. I have a carriage here at the door. When Patty heard
the story she insisted that I should bring Ralston home at once. We
have plenty of room, and, after all, have not been so hard hit."
Young Stafford, they found, had a cousin who was a major in the English
army. He had been quite enamored of a soldier's life, had been attached
to the staff, and was a sort of private secretary to his cousin. But
the romance of war had been driven from his youthful brain by his first
battle, that of Bladensburg.
"But you must have better soldiers than those raw recruits," he
exclaimed, "when you have done such wonderful things! Still, everything
is so strange----"
He glanced furtively at the two men, not knowing how far it was safe
to confess one's feelings. The ruin at Washington had filled him with
shame and dismay, and he did not wonder that people on every hand were
execrating the British. Even the old negro woman had denounced them
bitterly.
"Most of our real soldiers were elsewhere. There is a great stretch
of country to protect. We have the Indians for enemies, the French
occasionally, but we shall come out victorious in the end," said the
doctor confidently.
"Where are the Admiral and General Ross?" asked Stafford.
"At Baltimore now, where there is a prospect of their being defeated.
We were not prepared as we should have been, to our shame be it said."
Then they lapsed into silence.
"I am afraid I have forgotten my way," the youth admitted as they
passed a partly overgrown branch road, used mostly for the convenience
of farmers. "I tried to mark it by some sign. There was a tree that had
been struck by lightning. And a clump of oaks."
"There is a clump of oaks farther on."
"You see, that day--it was horrible with the groans of the wounded and
dying. And the awful heat! I tried to crawl to a little stream, but
fainted. And this soldier came along presently, when I begged him for
a drink."
"These are the oaks, I think," said the doctor, who knew the road well.
"Then it is a little further on."
They turned into a cart-path. In a sort of opening stood a blackened
pine that had been grand in its day. After several curves they left
this road and soon found the hut.
Lieutenant Ralston was in a bad condition, indeed--emaciated to a
degree, his eyes sunken, his voice tremulous, his whole physique so
reduced that he could not stand up. Stafford had made a bed of fir
and hemlock branches, and the little place was fragrant, if otherwise
dreary.
"We will not stop for explanations!" exclaimed the doctor briskly. "The
best thing is to get you to some civilized place and attend to you."
"And the lad, too. I should have died without him and poor old Judy.
She will think the wolves have eaten us, only she won't find any
bones."
He was lifted carefully into the carriage, and they journeyed homeward
as rapidly as circumstances would permit. Patty had cleared the sitting
room on the lower floor, and a cot had been spread for Ralston. They
laid the fainting man upon it, and the doctor proceeded to examine his
injuries.
The bone in the leg had been splintered, and a jagged wound made.
Judy's simples had kept it from becoming necessarily fatal, but the
fever and the days that had elapsed rendered it very critical.
"I only hope he won't have to lose his leg," said Roger. "That would be
terrible to him."
"We will try our utmost."
It was a painful operation, but at last it was over. Then Stafford's
shoulder was looked after, and had to be probed. Roger proved an
invaluable assistant.
"We may as well have a hospital ward, and let the enemy and the patriot
lie side by side. They can't fight, and I do not believe either of them
has the vigor for a quarrel." So another cot was brought in. Patty was
quite important, and full of sympathy for Ralston.
It was mid-afternoon when Carrington returned, and they were all
anxious to hear the story. For Jaqueline's sake he made as light of
it as possible, dwelling considerably upon the heroism of both men,
"although the English lad is a mere boy, not twenty yet. What distorted
ideas they get over the water!" nodding his head. "As if we had not
been of one race in the beginning, equally courageous, equally proud
and resolute, and animated by the same love of liberty. Think how they
have waged war with tyrants and wrested rights from kings!"
Marian waylaid him in the hall.
"I was listening inwardly to what you did not say," she began
tremulously. "Does the doctor think he _will_ recover?"
"He is in a bad way, of course. But the leg is the worst feature. Oh,
let us all hope! Things have gone so well with us that I am filled with
gratitude, and cannot despair."
Marian's eyes were downcast, her face pink to the very roots of her
hair; and her lips quivered.
That evening Roger was sitting beside his wife alone, caressing the
thin hand that returned the fond pressure.
"Marian is in love with Philip Ralston," he began abruptly. "Jaqueline,
can't you think of the magic touch that will bring these two together?
You found it easy enough before."
"And bungled and made no end of trouble," she returned with a sad smile.
"It was old Mr. Floyd who made the trouble. Why couldn't he have given
his daughter to the young fellow who loved her? What I am afraid of
now is that he has ceased to care. Still, he has been a favorite with
women, and no one has captured him. An attractive man has to quite run
the gauntlet. And when he thinks a woman's love has failed----"
"Do you speak from experience?" inquired Jaqueline archly, her eyes in
a tender glow.
"Yes." There was a rising color and a half-smile hovering over his
face. "It _is_ true that hearts are caught in the rebound."
"But no one caught you."
"Because, month after month, I waited. I said at first, 'She will marry
Ralston.' Then there were other admirers--you know there were a host of
them more attractive than I, but I could have forgiven you for marrying
Ralston. If it had been someone else I should have turned bitter, and
that would have been the danger-point. I might have wanted to convince
you
"That, Miss Jacky Mason,
I care as little as ye care for me,"
paraphrasing an old ballad and substituting her own name, while she
glanced up laughingly.
"Since we found the making-up process so delightful," returned
Jaqueline, "we are anxious to pass it around. You see, now, Marian has
no interest in life but to play the part of maiden aunt. Jane will
absorb a good deal of her with the most generous intentions. She is
a lovely nurse, and I think grandpa's and Mr. Greaves' influence has
mostly died out. They were both so narrow and dogmatic about women that
they reduced her to a sort of slavery. Mamma has brought her out to a
sense of freedom. Single women may be heroic, yet, as I remember, the
Revolutionary heroines were married and mothers, most of them, and it
is the wife and mother who has the most exquisite happiness."
"What a long speech! We will try and get Ralston well, and then trust
good-fortune. There will be no one to interfere this time."
While Ralston lay tossing on a bed of pain, his leg in splints and
bandages, events moved on rapidly. The bold exploits and undying
courage that had won such brilliant successes on the seas had settled
the question of sailors' rights. England virtually admitted this while
still haggling with commissioners. And from having no position among
nations, from being considered feeble and disunited, and possessing
no innate right to establish a commerce of her own, the United States
had won the respect of the countries abroad, and to a great degree
harmonized the jarring factions at home.
The crowning battle of the war was that of New Orleans, with Jackson's
brilliant victory, though some of the preliminaries had been settled
before this.
And one day a messenger came rushing into town, swinging his
three-cornered hat in one hand and holding the bridle-rein in the
other, and cried out in stentorian tones, "Peace! peace! Peace has been
declared! Mr. Carroll, American messenger, has arrived with the Treaty
of Peace!"
In spite of blackened ruins and heaps of débris, there was a great time
in Old Washington. For, indeed, it seemed old now, since it could boast
of ruins. Flags were hung out. Neighbors called to one another. Then
a coach came thundering along the avenue, another and yet another, and
stopped at the Octagon House. Congress presented themselves, at least
all who could be gathered on a short notice, to take the news to the
President, who had suffered considerably from the exposure and fatigue,
and perhaps from the mortification of having been a fugitive flying
from the enemy.
The circular vestibule, the white winding stairway that was open to
the top, and the drawing room to the right were crowded with guests,
felicitating their chief and one another. Animosity, coldness, and
blame were forgotten. Peace! peace! like the refrain of some sweet
music, went floating around all the space, and Mrs. Madison was much
moved with emotion. Strong men thanked God with softened hearts. The
conflict was over, and now they knew the bitterness of war.
For this year young Daniel Webster was in the House, and Clay and
Calhoun and men who were to have much to do with the nation's destinies
later on.
Houses were illuminated, tar barrels were burned, and the streets
seemed fairly alive with people. Voices rang with joy.
True, the Treaty was to be discussed and signed, the British troops
were to go home, the news to be carried about on the high seas. Ports
were to be opened, and "Madison's nightcaps"--barrels that had been
hung to protect the rigging of ships--were removed with shouts of joy.
There was a lull in Europe. Prussia drew a long breath. Russia plumed
herself on giving the famous Corsican his first blow, while the Battle
of Waterloo was the last. France had a king of royal blood again. Spain
was repairing her fortunes; while England was counting up her losses
and gains, and preparing to shake hands in amity with the young country
across the ocean and grow into friendship with it.