"_For hearts of truest mettle
Absence doth join, and time doth settle._"
Anonymous
It were a vain endeavor to attempt the telling of what filled the heart
and soul of Surrey, as he marched away that day from New York, and
through the days and weeks and months that followed. Fired by a sublime
enthusiasm for his country; thirsting to drink of any cup her hand might
present, that thus he might display his absolute devotion to her cause;
burning with indignation at the wrongs she had suffered; thrilled with
an adoring love for the idea she embodied; eager to make manifest this
love at whatever cost of pain and sorrow and suffering to
himself,--through all this the man never once was steeped in
forgetfulness in the soldier; the divine passion of patriotism never
once dulled the ache, or satisfied the desire, or answered the prayer,
or filled the longing heart, that through the day marches and the night
watches cried, and would not be appeased, for his darling.
"Surely," he thought as he went down Broadway, as he reflected, as he
considered the matter a thousand times thereafter,--"surely I was a fool
not to have spoken to her then; not to have seen her, have devised, have
forced some way to reach her, not to have met her face to face, and told
her all the love with which she had filled my heart and possessed my
soul. And then to have been such a coward when I did write to her, to
have so said a say which was nothing"; and he groaned impatiently as he
thought of the scene in his room and the letter which was its final
result.
How he had written once, and again, and yet again, letters short and
long, letters short and burning, or lengthy and filled almost to the
final line with delicate fancies and airy sentiment, ere he ventured to
tell that of which all this was but the prelude; how, at the conclusion
of each attempt, he had watched these luminous effusions blaze and burn
as he regularly committed them to the flames; how he found it difficult
to decide which he enjoyed the most,--writing them out, or seeing them
burn; how at last he had put upon paper some such words as these:--
"After these delightful weeks and months of intercourse, I am to go away
from you, then, without a single word of parting, or a solitary sentence
of adieu. Need I tell you how this pains me? I have in vain besieged the
house that has held you; in vain made a thousand inquiries, a thousand
efforts to discover your retreat and to reach your side, that I might
once more see your face and take your hand ere I went from the sight and
touch of both, perchance forever. This I find may not be. The hour
strikes, and in a little space I shall march away from the city to which
my heart clings with infinite fondness, since it is filled with
associations of you. I have again and again striven to write that which
will be worthy the eyes that are to read, and striven in vain. 'Tis a
fine art to which I do not pretend. Then, in homely phrase, good by.
Give me thy spiritual hand, and keep me, if thou wilt, in thy gentle
remembrance. Adieu! a kind adieu, my friend; may the brighter stars
smile on thee, and the better angels guard thy footsteps wherever thou
mayst wander, keep thy heart and spirit bright, and let thy thoughts
turn kindly back to me, I pray very, very often. And so, once more,
farewell."
Remembering all this, thinking what he would do and say were the doing
and saying yet possible in an untried future, the time sped by. He
waited and waited in vain. He looked, yet was gratified by no sight for
which his eyes longed. He hoped, till hope gave place to despondency and
almost despair: not a word came to him, not a line of answer or
remembrance. This long silence was all the more intolerable, since the
time that intervened did but the more vividly stamp upon his memory the
delights of the past, and color with softer and more exquisite tints the
recollection of vanished hours,--hours spent in galloping gayly by her
side in the early morning, or idly and deliciously lounged away in
picture-galleries or concert-rooms, or in a conversation carried on in
some curious and subtle shape between two hearts and spirits with the
help of very few uttered words; hours in which he had whirled her
through many a fairy maze and turn of captivating dance-music, or in
some less heated and crowded room, or cool conservatory, listened to the
voice of the siren who walked by his side, "while the sweet wind did
gently kiss the flowers and make no noise," and the strains of "flute,
violin, bassoon," and the sounds of the "dancers dancing in tune,"
coming to them on the still air of night, seemed like the sounds from
another and a far-off world,--listened, listened, listened, while his
silver-tongued enchantress builded castles in the air, or beguiled his
thought, enthralled his heart, his soul and fancy, through many a golden
hour.
Thinking of all this, his heart well found expression for its feelings
in the half-pleasing, half-sorrowful lines which almost unconsciously
repeated themselves again and again in his brain:--
"Still o'er those scenes my memory wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care;
Time but the impression deeper makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear."
Thinking of all this, he took comfort in spite of his trouble.
"Perhaps," he said to himself, "he was mistaken. Perhaps"--O happy
thought!--it was but make-believe displeasure which had so tortured
him. Perhaps--yes, he would believe it--she had never received his
letter; they had been careless, they had failed to give it her or to
send it aright. He would write her once again, in language which would
relieve his heart, and which she must comprehend. He loved her; perhaps,
ah, perhaps she loved him a little in return: he would believe so till
he was undeceived, and be infinitely happy in the belief.
Is it not wondrous how even the tiniest grain of love will permeate the
saddest and sorest recesses of the heart, and instantly cause it to
pulsate with thoughts and emotions the sweetest and dearest in life? O
Love, thou sweet, thou young and rose lipped cherubim, how does thy
smile illuminate the universe! how does thy slightest touch electrify
the soul! how gently and tenderly dost thou lead us up to heaven!
With Surrey, to decide was to act. The second letter, full of sweetest
yet intensest love,--his heart laid bare to her,--was written; was sent,
enclosed in one to his aunt. Tom was away in another section, fighting
manfully for the dear old flag, or the precious missive would have been
intrusted to his care. He sent it thus that it might reach her sooner.
Now that he had a fresh hope, he could not wait to write for her
address, and forward it himself to her hands; he must adopt the
speediest method of putting it in her possession.
In a little space came answer from Mrs. Russell, enclosing the letter he
had sent: a kindly epistle it was. He was a sort of idol with this same
aunt, so she had put many things on paper that were steeped in
gentleness and affection ere she said at the end, "I re-enclose your
letter. I have seen Miss Ercildoune. She restores it to you; she
implores you never to write her again,--to forget her. I add my
entreaties to hers. She begs of me to beseech you not to try her by any
further appeals, as she will but return them unopened." That was all.
What could it mean? He loved her so absolutely, he had such exalted
faith in her kindness, her gentleness, her fairness and superiority,--in
_her_,--that he could not believe she would so thrust back his love,
purely and chivalrously offered, with something that seemed like
ignominy, unless she had a sufficient reason--or one she deemed
such--for treating so cruelly him and the offering he laid at her feet.
But she had spoken. It was for him, then, when she bade silence, to keep
it; when she refused his gift, to refrain from thrusting it upon her
attention and heart. But ah, the silence and the refraining! Ah, the
time--the weary, sore, intolerable time--that followed! Summer, and
autumn, and winter, and the seasons repeated once again, he tramped
across the soil of Virginia, already wet with rebel and patriot blood;
he felt the shame and agony of Bull Run; he was in the night struggle at
Ball's Bluff, where those wondrous Harvard boys found it "sweet to die
for their country," and discovered, for them, "death to be but one step
onward in life." He lay in camp, chafing with impatience and
indignation as the long months wore away, and the thousands of graves
about Washington, filled by disease and inaction, made "all quiet along
the Potomac." He went down to Yorktown; was in the sweat and fury of the
seven days' fight; away in the far South, where fever and pestilence
stood guard to seize those who were spared by the bullet and bayonet;
and on many a field well lost or won. Through it all marching or
fighting, sick, wounded thrice and again; praised, admired, heroic,
promoted,--from private soldier to general,--through two years and more
of such fiery experience, no part of the tender love was burned away,
tarnished, or dimmed.
Sometimes, indeed, he even smiled at himself for the constant thought,
and felt that he must certainly be demented on this one point at least,
since it colored every impression of his life, and, in some shape,
thrust itself upon him at the most unseemly and foreign times.
One evening, when the mail for the division came in, looking over the
pile of letters, his eye was caught by one addressed to James Given. The
name was familiar,--that of his father's old foreman, whom he knew to be
somewhere in the army; doubtless the same man. Unquestionably, he
thought, that was the reason he was so attracted to it; but why he
should take up the delicate little missive, scan it again and again,
hold it in his hand with the same touch with which he would have pressed
a rare flower, and lay it down as reluctantly as he would have yielded a
known and visible treasure,--that was the mystery. He had never seen
Francesca's writing, but he stood possessed, almost assured, of the
belief that this letter was penned by her hand; and at last parted with
it slowly and unwillingly, as though it were the dear hand of which he
mused; then took himself to task for this boyish weakness and folly.
Nevertheless, he went in pursuit of Jim, not to question him,--he was
too thorough a gentleman for that,--but led on partly by his desire to
see a familiar face, partly by this folly, as he called it with a sort
of amused disdain.
Folly, however, it was not, save in such measure as the subtle
telegraphings between spirit and spirit can be thus called. Unjustly so
called they are, constantly; it being the habit of most people to
denounce as heresy or ridicule as madness things too high for their
sight or too deep for their comprehension. As these people would say,
"oddly enough," or "by an extraordinary coincidence," this very letter
was from Miss Ercildoune,--a letter which she wrote as she purposed, and
as she well knew how to write, in behalf of Sallie. It was ostensibly on
quite another theme; asking some information in regard to a comrade, but
so cunningly devised and executed as to tell him in few words, and
unsuspiciously, some news of Sallie,--news which she knew would delight
his heart, and overthrow the little barrier which had stood between
them, making both miserable, but which he would not, and she could not,
clamber over or destroy. It did its work effectually, and made two
hearts thoroughly happy,--this letter which had so strangely bewitched
Surrey; which, in his heart, spite of the ridicule of his reason, he
was so sure was hers; and which, indeed, was hers, though he knew not
that till long afterward.
"So," he thought, as he went through the camp, "Given is here, and near.
I shall be glad to see a face from home, whatever kind of a face it may
be, and Given's is a good one; it will be a pleasant rememberance."
"Whither away?" called a voice behind him.
"To the 29th," he answered the questioner, one of his officers and
friends, who, coming up, took his arm,--"in pursuit of a man."
"What's his name?"
"Given,--christened James. What are you laughing at? do you know him?"
"No, I don't know him, but I've heard some funny stories about him; he's
a queer stick, I should think."
"Something in that way.--Helloa! Brooks, back again?" to a fine,
frank-looking young fellow,--"and were you successful?"
"Yes, to both your questions. In addition I'll say, for your rejoicing,
that I give in, cave, subside, have nothing more to say against your pet
theory,--from this moment swear myself a rank abolitionist, or anything
else you please, now and forever,--so help me all ye black gods and
goddesses!"
"Phew! what's all this?" cried Whittlesly, from the other side of his
Colonel; "what are you driving at? I'll defy anybody to make head or
tail of that answer."
"Surrey understands."
"Not I; your riddle's too much for me."
"Didn't you go in pursuit of a dead man?" queried Whittlesly.
"Just that."
"Did the dead man convert you?"
"No, Colonel, not precisely. And yet yes, too; that is, I suppose I
shouldn't have been converted if he hadn't died, and I gone in search of
him."
"I believe it; you're such an obstinate case that you need one raised
from the dead to have any effect on you."
"Obstinate! O, hear the pig-headed fellow talk! You're a beauty to
discourse on that point, aren't you!"
"Surrey laughed, and stopped at the call of one of his men, who hailed
him as he went by. Evidently a favorite here as in New York, in camp as
at home; for in a moment he was surrounded by the men, who crowded about
him, each with a question, or remark, to draw special attention to
himself, and a word or smile from his commander. Whatever complaint they
had to enter, or petition to make, or favor to beg, or wish to urge,
whatever help they wanted or information they desired, was brought to
him to solve or to grant, and--never being repulsed by their
officer--they speedily knew and loved their friend. Thus it was that the
two men standing at a little distance, watching the proceeding, were
greatly amused at the motley drafts made upon his attention in the shape
of tents, shoes, coats, letters to be sent or received, books borrowed
and lent, a man sick, or a chicken captured. They brought their
interests and cares to him,--these big, brown fellows,--as though they
were children, and he a parent well beloved.
"One might think him the father of the regiment," said Brooks, with a
smile.
"The mother, more like: it must be the woman element in him these
fellows feel and love so."
"Perhaps; but it would have another effect on them, if, for instance, he
didn't carry that sabre-slash on his hand. They've seen him under steel
and fire, and know where he's led them."
"What is this you were joking about with him, a while ago?"
"What! about turning abolitionist?"
"Precisely."
"O, you know he's rampant on the slavery question. I believe it's the
only thing he ever loses his temper over, and he has lost it with me
more than once. I've always been a rank heretic with regard to Cuffee,
and the result was, we disagreed."
"Yes, I know. But what connection has that with your expedition?"
"Just what I want to know," added Surrey, coming up at the moment.
"Ah! you're in time to hear the confession, are you?"
"'An honest confession--'You know what the wise man says."
"Come, don't flatter yourself we will think you so because you quote
him. Be quiet, both of you, and let me go on to tell my tale."
"Attention!"
"Proceed!"
"Thus, then. You understand what my errand was?"
"Not exactly; Lieutenant Hunt was drowned somewhere, wasn't he?"
"Yes: fell overboard from a tug; the men on board tried to save him, and
then to recover his body, and couldn't do either. Some of his people
came down here in pursuit of it, and I was detailed with a squad to help
them in their search.
"Well, the naval officers gave us every facility in their power; the
river was dragged twice over, and the woods along-shore ransacked,
hoping it might have been washed in and, maybe, buried; but there wasn't
sight or trace of it. While we were hunting round we stumbled on a
couple of darkies, who told us, after a bit of questioning, that darky
number three, somewhere about, had found the body of a Federal officer
on the river bank, and buried it. On that hint we acted, posted over to
the fellow's shanty, and found, not him, but his wife, who was ready
enough to tell us all she knew. She showed us some traps of the buried
officer, among them a pair of spurs, which his brother recognized
directly. When she was quite sure that we were all correct, and that the
thing had fallen into the right hands, she fished out of some safe
corner his wallet, with fifty-seven dollars in it. I confess I stared,
for they were slaves, both of them, and evidently poor as Job's turkey,
and it has always been one of my theories that a nigger invariably
steals when he gets a chance. However, I wasn't going to give in at
that."
"Of course you weren't," said the Colonel. "Did you ever read about the
man who was told that the facts did not sustain his theory, and of his
sublime answer? 'Very well,' said he, 'so much the worse for the
facts!'"
"Come, Colonel, you talk too much. How am I ever to get on with my
narrative, if you keep interrupting me in this style? Be quiet."
"Word of command. Quiet. Quiet it is. Continue."
"No, I said, of course they expect some reward,--that's it."
"What an ass you must be!" broke in Whittlesly.
"Hadn't you sense enough to see they could keep the whole of it, and
nobody the wiser? and of course they couldn't have supposed any one was
coming after it,--could they?
"How am I to know what they thought? If you don't stop your comments,
I'll stop the story; take your choice."
"All right: go ahead."
"While I was considering the case, in came the master of the mansion,--a
thin, stooped, tired-looking little fellow,--'Sam,' he told us, was his
name; then proceeded to narrate how he had found the body, and knew the
uniform, and was kind and tender with it because of its dress, 'for you
see, sah, we darkies is all Union folks'; how he had brought it up in
the night, for fear of his Secesh master, and made a coffin for it, and
buried it decently. After that he took us out to a little spot of fresh
earth, covered with leaves and twigs, and, digging down, we came to a
rough pine box made as well as the poor fellow knew how to put it
together. Opening it, we found all that was left of poor Hunt,
respectably clad in a coarse, clean white garment which Sam's wife had
made as nicely as she could out of her one pair of sheets. 'It wa'n't
much,' said the good soul, with tears in her eyes, 'it wa'n't much we's
could do for him, but I washed him, and dressed him, peart as I could,
and Sam and me, we buried him. We wished, both on us, that we could have
done heaps more for him, but we did all that we could,'--which, indeed,
was plain enough to be seen.
"Before we went away, Sam brought from a little hole, which he burrowed
in the floor of his cabin, a something, done up in dirty old rags; and
when we opened it, what under the heavens do you suppose we found?
You'll never guess. Three hundred dollars in bank-bills, and some
important papers, which he had taken and hid,--concealed them even from
his wife, because, he said, the guerillas often came round, and they
might frighten her into giving them up if she knew they were there.
"I collapsed at that, and stood with open mouth, watching for the next
proceeding. I knew there was to be some more of it, and there was.
Hunt's brother offered back half the money; _offered_ it! why, he tried
to force it on the fellow, and couldn't. His master wouldn't let him
buy himself and his wife,--I suspect, out of sheer cussedness,--and he
hadn't any other use for money, he said. Besides, he didn't want to
take, and wouldn't take, anything that looked like pay for doing aught
for a 'Linkum sojer,' alive or dead.
"'They'se going to make us all free, sometime,' he said, 'that's enough.
Don't look like it, jest yet, I knows; but I lives in faith; it'll come
byumby' When the fellow said that, I declare to you, Surrey, I felt like
hiding my face. At last I began to comprehend what your indignation
meant against the order forbidding slaves coming into our lines, and
commanding their return when they succeed in entering. Just then we all
seemed to me meaner than dirt."
"As we are; and, as dirt, deserve to be trampled underfoot, beaten,
defeated, till we're ready to stand up and fight like men in this
struggle."
"Amen to that, Colonel," added Whittlesly.
"Well, I'm pretty nearly ready to say so myself," finished Brooks, half
reluctantly.