For more than an hour after his brother’s departure Mr. George Eldon was
very busy in his office, buying and selling; then came a lull for a
short space, giving him time to think again of Ethel’s letter and what
might be done to secure a kindly welcome for the little orphans at his
own house and that of his brother.
“Albert will be back with them before night, and our wives ought to have
warning that they are coming. It would be hardly fair to take them
entirely by surprise. I promised my brother too, that I would endeavor
to prepare them for the unexpected arrival,” he mused. “Well, I think I
can spare the time now as easily as later.”
At that instant the door into the counting room opened and his eldest
son came in.
“Ah, George,” said the father, “I was just about to call you. I am going
up home to see your mother and aunt, to tell them of the contents of
this letter,” handing Ethel’s missive to him as he spoke.
George took it, glanced rapidly over the contents, then turning to his
father with flushing cheeks and flashing eyes, “The inhuman scoundrel!”
he exclaimed, “You will take the poor little things away from him as
soon as possible, I hope.”
“Yes; your Uncle Albert has gone for them and will doubtless have them
here before night. I must go up home at once with the news, leaving
matters here in your care until I get back.”
“Yes, sir, I think I can attend to them to your satisfaction,” returned
the son. “And I hope you will find mother and Aunt Augusta entirely
willing to take those poor little orphans in to share our homes. That
Coote has always seemed to me a fawning hypocrite, and I am sure of it
now.”
“I am of pretty much the same opinion, and he shall never again, with my
consent, have an opportunity to abuse those little ones, or any child
committed to my care.”
There had been some changes in Mr. George Eldon’s family in the last two
years. A fall on the icy pavement one winter day had so injured Mrs.
Eldon’s spine as to make her a cripple for life, never able to leave her
room unless carried from it. At first she felt the trial well-nigh
unendurable, but gradually she had grown submissive; gentle, patient,
and resigned; thankful too for the blessings still hers—a good home,
kind and affectionate husband, sons, and niece, a competent and
efficient housekeeper and abundant means. Also that she still had the
use of all her senses, her hands and eyes, so that she could read, sew,
and crochet, making herself useful to her family and helpful to the
needy.
In the family of Mr. Albert Eldon there had been little change except
such as time inevitably brings to all; the boys and girls were growing
up, Albert and Arabella were beginning to go into society, and the
younger ones had a governess, Miss Annie West, who also gave lessons in
music and the languages to Dorothy Dean, Mrs. George’s niece.
Mrs. Augusta still devoted much of her time to novel-reading and what
she deemed the claims of society, yet paid a little more attention to
those of household, husband, and children.
Mrs. George, in an easy-chair and propped up with cushions, was busily
crocheting when she heard the front door open and shut, then her
husband’s step on the stairs.
“Ah! I wonder what brings George home at this time of day?” was her
mental exclamation, and as he entered by the open door of her room she
turned toward him with a welcoming smile.
“A pleasant surprise, my dear!” she said.
“Yes, to me as well as yourself,” he said, returning the smile. “How are
you now? Free from pain, I hope.”
“Yes, quite comfortable, thank you. Ah, I see you have a letter,” as he
drew it from his pocket, at the same time taking possession of a chair
close at her side.
“Yes, from my little niece Ethel.” And without further preface he began
reading it aloud.
“Why, the poor little things!” she exclaimed when he had finished. “We
must send for them, George, and provide them with a better home, either
here or elsewhere. I never thought the Cootes could be so cruel.”
“No, nor I. The letter came this morning. My brother and I were roused
to indignation by its perusal, and he has gone for the children—will
have them here, I confidently expect, sometime this afternoon.”
“They shall be welcome,” she returned. “Fortunately Mrs. Wood is fond of
children, and I dare say, being two years older, and having been so
cowed and kept down, they will be much more easily managed than they
were before.”
“Yes, I hope so; and you need have no trouble whatever with them; our
good housekeeper and Dorothy can certainly do all that is needed. Will
you order the necessary preparations, or shall I?”
“I do not want to take too much of your valuable time,” she replied,
“so, if you like to trust Mrs. Wood and me, I will talk matters over
with her and get her to do what is necessary.”
“Very well, then, I will go at once to Augusta with the news, that she,
too, may have time for needed preparations.”
He found Augusta in her dressing room, the older three of her daughters
and Dorothy Dean engaged in examining fashion plates and discussing
weighty questions in regard to what materials they should purchase for
their fall dresses, and in what style they should have them made up.
“Ah, I see I am interrupting a solemn council,” said Mr. Eldon with
playful look and tone, “but do not be too much distressed; I shall take
but a very few minutes of your precious time, my own being equally
valuable.” With that he opened and read aloud Ethel’s letter.
All present seemed excited to indignation, Dorothy perhaps the most of
any.
“The poor little things!” she exclaimed. “Uncle, do have them brought
here at once, even if we must take the whole four.”
“We’ll not let you do that. We’ll do our share,” said Mrs. Augusta. “I
should never have been in favor of sending them to the Cootes if I had
dreamed they could be guilty of treating the poor little creatures with
such barbarous cruelty.”
“No, nor would any of us,” said Arabella. “Has papa gone for them, Uncle
George?”
“Yes, and will probably have them here in a few hours. I did not want
you or my wife taken by surprise, Augusta, so came up to forewarn you of
their expected arrival. And now I must hurry back to my business; so
good-morning to you all,” and with the last word he bowed himself out of
the room.
“Dear me, what a shame it is!” exclaimed Dorothy. “I’d just enjoy having
that cruel wretch of a Coote thrashed within an inch of his life.”
“I, too,” said Olive. “How I wish papa and Uncle George had found him
out long ago; still more that they had never given him a chance to abuse
those poor children.”
“I’m afraid we were none of us quite so kind to them as we might have
been,” said Arabella, “but now we are going to have a chance to make it
up to them.”
“Yes, remember that, all of you,” said their mother. “Minnie, go and
tell Miss Norris I wish to see her at once if she is at leisure.” Minnie
hastened to do the errand, the housekeeper came, listened with evident
interest to the story of the little orphan nephew and nieces expected to
arrive that afternoon, received Mrs. Eldon’s directions in regard to the
necessary preparations, and at once set to work to carry them out.
So the little party, arriving in due time, received a hearty welcome in
both families and were made very comfortable, very happy; for though
domiciled in the two houses, they were together a great deal through the
day. Also they enjoyed their studies under the tuition of the kindest
and most patient of governesses.
Mrs. Wood too was very kind to Blanche and Harry; so were their uncles,
Cousins George and William, and Dorothy Dean. They seldom saw their Aunt
Sarah, but when they did, found her far kinder than she had been when
they were with her before. So were the relatives in the other house
also, and to the four young orphans life was far more enjoyable than it
had been since the death of their parents.
Yet there were days when things went wrong with them and they longed for
a home of their own where they could all be together. Ethel in especial
looked forward to such a time, and tried to learn all she could that
would enable her to earn money to make a home and support herself and
the others; and when any one of them was in trouble, she tried to cheer
and comfort that one with the hope that some day the bright dream would
become a reality.
She still indulged a faint hope that some day they would find, or be
found by their maternal grandparents; but lest they should not, she was
careful not to slacken her exertions to prepare for self-support. She
was obliging and helpful by nature, and her older cousins soon fell into
the habit of calling upon her to do their errands about the house, then
occasionally at the stores, and to assist them in dressing for parties
and calls, at length making quite a Cinderella of her. Her dress was
simple and inexpensive, while they wore silks and rich laces and
diamonds. She bore it all without murmur or complaint, making herself as
useful as she could, never confiding her plans and wishes to them, but
using her spare moments for the beautiful needlework taught her by Mrs.
Coote, hoping that at some future time she would be able to dispose of
it for money which would help in the carrying out of her plans for the
future of herself and dear brother and sisters.
Thus two years passed, bringing no remarkable event. Then one October
day—it was in the year 1859—Ethel, who had continued to feel a great
interest in the history of the country she now esteemed her own, was
much excited by the conversation she heard going on among her older
relatives, who were discussing the exciting topic of the raid of John
Brown into Virginia, and his seizure of the United States arsenal at
Harper’s Ferry.
She was only a listener to the talk, but afterward she searched the
newspapers for information on the subject, and felt very sorry for John
Brown because he lost his life in trying to set men free, which she
thought was a noble thing to do—for to be a slave must be very dreadful,
and surely God had given everyone a right to freedom, unless he had
forfeited that right by some dreadful crime.
It was a time of great excitement among the Eldons as well as others;
the sons, who had been born in America, feeling it even more than their
fathers, who were but naturalized citizens. But they, as well as their
boys, were opposed to slavery and anxious for the preservation of the
Union.
George and William, the sons of the older Mr. Eldon, were frequently in
at their Uncle Albert’s, talking over the subject with him and his
oldest son Albert; and George at length noticed the deep interest taken
by Ethel in all they were saying.
“Well, little coz,” he said at length, “what do you think of it all?”
“Oh,” she returned excitedly, “I do hope this great, grand big Union
won’t be broken up! Do you think it will, Cousin George?”
“Oh, no,” he said with a reassuring smile. “The Southerners are only
talking, I think; they would hardly be so foolish as to begin a war when
the far greater part of the Union would be opposed to them.”
“Oh, I am glad to hear that!” she said with a sigh of relief, “for war
must be a dreadful thing.”
“Yes; especially a civil war.”
“Civil?” she returned in a tone of surprise. “I thought civil—was—was—I
understood that it was right and good manners to be civil to people.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, smiling and patting the small hand she had laid on
his knee, while gazing earnestly and enquiringly into his face; “it
sometimes means to be courteous, polite, well-bred, but when applied to
war it means a fight between people of the same race and country.”
“And a dreadful kind of war it is when brother fights against brother,”
sighed his father, sitting near. “But I can hardly think it will come to
that in this case. I think there are few besides the leaders in the
South, who would be willing to imbrue their hands in the blood of their
brethren.”
“And they are not oppressed, uncle?”
“No, not by any means; they have been having only too much, of their own
way and domineering over the rest of the nation. Slavery has had by no
means a good effect upon them; it has made them proud, haughty,
heartless, selfish, and cruel.”
“No,” said her Uncle Albert, “they have been the oppressors rather than
the oppressed; caring only for getting and keeping wealth and power for
themselves, and treating their fellow-citizens of the North as beneath
them; ‘the mud-sills of the North,’ they are calling us.”
“It is easy to call names,” remarked William; “that sort of warfare
requires neither courage nor talent; and so long as they content
themselves with that the North will, I think, let them alone severely;
but let them secede and attempt to set up a separate government and it
is at least doubtful if the loyal North will continue to let them
alone.”
Ethel listened eagerly and her fears were relieved for a time. But the
very next day came the news that South Carolina had seceded, and it
seemed no one could tell what would follow. The daily papers were read
with eager interest. The Southern leaders seemed to be crazed, and
whirled their States out of the Union one after another without pausing
to learn the wishes of the rest of the people; many of whom were
strongly opposed to their action and certainly had as indisputable a
right to remain in the Union as those leaders to go out.
Ethel hardly understood what was going on, but continued to read the
papers and listen to the talk of her elders with a dazed and confused
feeling that a great danger was drawing near.
But one Saturday evening, April 13, 1861, news came flashing over the
wires that almost struck the hearers dumb with astonishment and dismay.
This was the despatch: “Fort Sumter has fallen after a terrific
bombardment of thirty-six hours.”
People heard it with sinking of hearts. Was the Union to be destroyed?
Was it, could it be possible, that those who should have loved and
honored the dear old flag—the beautiful, starry emblem of our
liberties—had so insulted it? It was a bitter thought, and men wept as
at the loss of a dear and honored friend.
The Sunday that followed was a sad one; but by Monday morning a reaction
had come; at whatever cost the nation should live was the verdict of the
people; the President had written with his own hand a proclamation, and
the telegraph was flashing it east and west to every city and town:
“I, Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, in virtue of the
power in me vested by the Constitution and the laws, have thought fit to
call forth, and do call forth, the militia of the several States of the
Union to the aggregate number of seventy-five thousand, in order to
suppress this combination against the laws, and to cause the laws to be
duly executed.”
At the call patriotism awoke and showed itself in a furor of love to the
Union and the flag as the emblem of its power and glory, and rapid
voluntary enlistments for its defence followed, soon furnishing more
troops than the President had called for.
The young men in the Eldon families were as full of patriotic excitement
as any others, George and Albert being among the first volunteers in
their State, their fathers giving a ready consent, mothers and sisters
also, though many and bitter tears were shed over the parting, by Ethel
as well as the nearer relatives, for she had grown to love them both,
especially her cousin George.
Then the mothers and older girls joined the aid societies and busied
themselves with work for the soldiers—making shirts, knitting stockings,
scraping lint—and Ethel, full of interest for the cause and of pity for
those who must do the fighting for the Union, spent as much time as
could be spared from lessons and waiting upon her aunt and cousins, in
sharing in those labors; doing so gladly and without any urging or
solicitation; she only wished herself old enough to be a nurse, since,
being neither boy nor man, she could not enlist as a soldier.
The younger children, too, were anxious to help and took such part in
the work as their tender years permitted. It was hoped the war would not
last very long; almost everybody thought it would be over in a few
months; yet no one could be certain that his or her dear ones might not
be killed or sorely wounded in the meantime, or that the struggle might
not be prolonged far beyond the time for which enlistments were made at
the start.
Mrs. Weston and Mrs. Keith had not forgotten the Eldon children or
ceased to feel an interest in them, and occasionally Ethel had a letter
from one or the other, which she answered with great painstaking,
telling frankly such news of herself, brother, and sisters as she
thought they would care to hear.
A letter from Mrs. Weston came for her about the time that her cousins
left with the other Philadelphia troops in response to the President’s
call, and from it she learned that Mr. Keith, too, had enlisted; also
some of his brothers living in Indiana.
“And now,” continued Mrs. Weston, “we women who cannot do the fighting,
are banding together to do all in our power to add to the comfort of our
soldiers engaged in the struggle to save our dear country from being
rent in pieces. We expect to be very busy, but not too busy to be glad
to see you and your brother and sisters if you are allowed to pay us a
visit this summer. Mrs. Rupert Keith will probably be with us for a
time, perhaps all summer, but that need not interfere with a visit from
you little folks.”
That invitation Ethel and the others were allowed to accept in the
summer vacation. How much had happened meantime! the attack on the
Massachusetts troops as they passed through Baltimore in response to the
President’s call; the seizure of Harper’s Ferry and Norfolk Navy Yard,
besides several battles, some in the East and some in the West.
And the very day of their arrival at Mr. Keith’s came the sad news of
the battle of Bull Run, speedily followed by the President’s call for
three hundred thousand more men to suppress the rebellion.
It was a time full of excitement, of almost heart-breaking distress,
over the disaster, followed by the determination that the rebellion must
and should be crushed, cost what it might.
Mrs. Rupert Keith was in sore anxiety and distress till the welcome news
arrived that her husband, though in the battle, had been neither wounded
nor taken prisoner. The other ladies, though in deep distress for the
land they loved, were suffering less keenly than she, as they knew that
Mr. Donald Keith was too far West to have been in the battle.
Ethel and Blanche wept bitterly, fearing that their cousins George and
Albert had been in the fight and were killed or wounded. But in a day or
two a letter from Dorothy brought the welcome news that though among the
troops engaged, they had escaped unharmed.