"_When we see the dishonor of a thing, then it is time to
renounce it._"
Plutarch
A letter which Sallie wrote to Jim a few weeks after his departure tells
its own story, and hence shall be repeated here.
* * * * *
Philadelphia, October 29, 1863.
Dear Jim:--
I take my pen in hand this morning to write you a letter, and to tell
you the news, though I don't know much of the last except about Frankie
and myself. However, I suppose you will care more to hear that than any
other, so I will begin.
Maybe you will be surprised to hear that Frankie and I are at Mr.
Ercildoune's. Well, we are,--and I will tell you how it came about. Not
long after you went away, Frank began to pine, and look droopy. There
wasn't any use in giving him medicine, for it didn't do him a bit of
good. He couldn't eat, and he didn't sleep, and I was at my wits' ends
to know what to do for him.
One day Mrs. Lee,--that Mr. Ercildoune's housekeeper,--an old English
lady she is, and she's lived with him ever since he was married, and
before he came here,--a real lady, too,--came in with some sewing, some
fine shirts for Mr. Robert Ercildoune. I asked after him, and you'll be
glad to know that he's recovering. He didn't have to lose his leg, as
they feared; and his arm is healing; and the wound in his breast getting
well. Mrs. Lee says she's very sorry the stump isn't longer, so that he
could wear a Palmer arm,--but she's got no complaints to make; they're
only too glad and thankful to have him living at all, after such a
dreadful time.
While I was talking with her, Frankie called me from the next room, and
began to cry. You wouldn't have known him,--he cried at everything, and
was so fretful and cross I could scarcely get along at all. When I got
him quiet, and came back, Mrs. Lee says, "What's the matter with Frank?"
so I told her I didn't know,--but would she see him? Well, she saw him,
and shook her head in a bad sort of way that scared me awfully, and I
suppose she saw I was frightened, for she said, "All he wants is plenty
of fresh air, and good, wholesome country food and exercise." I can
tell you, spite of that, she went away, leaving me with heavy enough a
heart.
The next day Mr. Ercildoune came in. How he is changed! I haven't seen
him before since Mrs. Surrey died, and that of itself was enough to kill
him, without this dreadful time about Mr. Robert.
"Good morning, Miss Sallie," says he, "how are you? and I'm glad to see
you looking so well." So I told him I was well, and then he asked for
Frankie. "Mrs. Lee tells me," he said, "that your little brother is
quite ill, and that he needs country air and exercise. He can have them
both at The Oaks; so if you'll get him ready, the carriage will come for
you at whatever time you appoint. Mrs. Lee can find you plenty of work
as long as you care to stay." He looked as if he wanted to say something
more, but didn't; and I was just as sure as sure could be that it was
something about Miss Francesca, probably about her having me out there
so much; for his face looked so sad, and his lips trembled so, I knew
that must be in his mind. And when I thought of it, and of such an awful
fate as it was for her, so young, and handsome, and happy, like the
great baby I am, I just threw my apron over my head, and burst out
crying.
"Don't!" he said,--"don't!" in O, such a voice! It was like a knife
going through me; and he went quick out of the room, and downstairs,
without even saying good by.
Well, we came out the next day,--and I have plenty to do, and Frankie is
getting real bright and strong. I can see Mr. Ercildoune likes to have
us here, because of the connection with Miss Francesca. She was so
interested in us, and so kind to us, and he knows I loved her so very
dearly,--and if it's any comfort to him I'm sure I'm glad to be here,
without taking Frankie into the account,--for the poor gentleman looks
so bowed and heart-broken that it makes one's heart ache just to see
him. Mr. Robert isn't well enough to be about yet, but he sits up for a
while every day, and is getting on--the doctor says--nicely. They both
talk about you often; and Mr. Ercildoune, I can see, thinks everything
of you for that good, kind deed of yours, when you and Mr. Robert were
on the transport together. Dear Jim, he don't know you as well as I do,
or he'd know that you couldn't help doing such things,--not if you
tried.
I hope you'll like the box that comes with this. Mr. Robert had it
packed for you in his own room, to see that everything went in that
you'd like. Of course, as he's been a soldier himself, he knows better
what they want than anybody else can.
Dear Jim, do take care of yourself; don't go and get wounded; and don't
get sick; and, whatever you do, don't let the rebels take you prisoner,
unless you want to drive me frantic. I think about you pretty much all
the time, and pray for you, as well as I know how, every night when I go
to bed, and am always
Your own loving
Sallie.
* * * * *
"Wow!" said Jim, as he read, "she's in a good berth there." So she
was,--and so she stayed. Frankie got quite well once more, and Sallie
began to think of going, but Mr. Ercildoune evidently clung to her and
to the sunshine which the bright little fellow cast through the house.
Sallie was quite right in her supposition. Francesca had cared for this
girl, had been kind to her and helped her,--and his heart went out to
everything that reminded him of his dear, dead child. So it happened
that autumn passed, and winter, and spring,--and still they stayed. In
fact, she was domesticated in the house, and, for the first time in
years, enjoyed the delightful sense of a home. Here, then, she set up
her rest, and remained; here, when the "cruel war was over," the armies
disbanded, the last regiments discharged, and Jimmy "came marching
home," brown, handsome, and a captain, here he found her,--and from here
he married and carried her away.
It was a happy little wedding, though nobody was there beside the
essentials, save the family and a dear friend of Robert's, who was with
him at the time, as he had been before and would be often again,--none
other than William Surrey's favorite cousin and friend, Tom Russell.
The letter which Surrey had written never reached his hand till he lay
almost dying from the effects of wounds and exposure, after he had been
brought in safety to our lines by his faithful black friends, at Morris
Island. Surrey had not mistaken his temper; gay, reckless fellow, as he
was, he was a thorough gentleman, in whom could harbor no small spite,
nor petty prejudice,--and without a mean fibre in his being. At a glance
he took in the whole situation, and insisting upon being propped up in
bed, with his own hand--though slowly, and as a work of
magnitude--succeeded in writing a cordial letter of congratulation and
affection, that would have been to Surrey like the grasp of a brother's
hand in a strange and foreign country, had it ever reached his touch and
eyes.
But even while Tom lay writing his letter, occasionally muttering,
"They'll have a devilish hard time of it!" or "Poor young un!" or "She's
one in a million!" or some such sentence which marked his feeling and
care,--these two of whom he thought, to whose future he looked with such
loving anxiety, were beyond the reach of human help or hindrance,--done
alike with the sorrows and joys of time.
From a distance, with the help of a glass, and absorbing interest, he
had followed the movements of the flag and its bearer, and had cheered,
till he fainted from weakness and exhaustion, as he saw them safe at
last. It was with delight that he found himself on the same transport
with Ercildoune, and discovered in him the brother of the young girl for
whom, in the past, he had had so pleasing and deep a regard, and whose
present and future were so full of interest for him, in their new and
nearer relations.
These two young men, unlike as they were in most particulars, were drawn
together by an irresistible attraction. They had that common bond,
always felt and recognized by those who possess it, of the gentle
blood,--tastes and instincts in common, and a fine, chivalrous
sentiment which each felt and thoroughly appreciated in the other. The
friendship thus begun grew with the passing years, and was intensified a
hundred fold by a portion of the past to which they rarely referred, but
which lay always at the bottom of their hearts. They had each for those
two who had lain dead together in the streets of New York the strongest
and tenderest love,--and though it was not a tie about which they could
talk, it bound them together as with chains of steel.
Russell was with Ercildoune at the time of the wedding, and entered into
it heartily, as they all did. The result was, as has been written, the
gayest and merriest of times. Sallies dress, which Robert had given her,
was a sight to behold; and the pretty jewels, which were a part of his
gift, and the long veil, made her look, as Jim declared, "so handsome he
didn't know her,"--though that must have been one of Jim's stories, or
else he was in the habit of making love to strange ladies with
extraordinary ease and effrontery.
The breakfast was another sight to behold. As Mary the cook said to Jane
the housemaid, "If they'd been born kings and queens, Mrs. Lee couldn't
have laid herself out more; it's grand, so it is,--just you go and see;"
which Jane proceeded to do, and forthwith thereafter corroborated Mary's
enthusiastic statement.
There were plenty of presents, too: and when it was all over, and they
were in the carriage, to be sent to the station, Mr. Ercildoune,
holding Sallie's hand in farewell, left there a bit of paper, "which is
for you," he said. "God protect, and keep you happy, my child!" Then
they were gone, with many kind adieus and good wishes called and sent
after them. When they were seated in the cars, Sallie looked at her bit
of paper, and read on its outer covering, "A wedding-gift to Sallie
Howard from my dear daughter Francesca," and found within the deed of a
beautiful little home. God bless her! say we, with Mr. Ercildoune. God
bless them both, and may they live long to enjoy it!
That afternoon, as Tom and Robert were driving, Russell, noting the
unwonted look of life and activity, and the gay flags flung to the
breeze, demanded what it all meant. "Why," said he, "it is like a field
day."
"It is so," answered Robert, "or what is the same; it is election day."
"Bless my soul! so it is; and a soldier to be elected. Have you voted?"
"No!"
"No? Here's a nice state of affairs! a fellow that'll get his arm blown
off for a flag, but won't take the trouble to drop a scrap of paper for
it. Come, I'll drive you over."
"You forget, Russell!"
"Forget? Nonsense! This isn't 1860, but 1865. I don't forget; I
remember. It is after the war now,--come."
"As you please," said Robert. He knew the disappointment that awaited
his friend, but he would not thwart him now.
There was a great crowd about the polling-office, and they all looked on
with curious interest as the two young men came up. No demonstration was
made, though a half-dozen brutal fellows uttered some coarse remarks.
"Hear the damned Rebs talk!" said a man in the army blue, who, with keen
eyes, was observing the scene. "They're the same sort of stuff we licked
in Carolina."
"Ay," said another, "but with a difference; blue led there; but gray'll
come off winner here, or I'm mistaken."
Robert stood leaning upon his cane; a support which he would need for
life, one empty sleeve pinned across his breast, over the scar from a
deep and yet unhealed wound. The clear October sun shone down upon his
form and face, upon the broad folds of the flag that waved in triumph
above him, upon a country where wars and rumors of wars had ceased.
"Courage, man! what ails you?" whispered Russell, as he felt his comrade
tremble; "it's a ballot in place of a bayonet, and all for the same
cause; lay it down."
Robert put out his hand.
"Challenge the vote!" "Challenge the vote!" "No niggers here!" sounded
from all sides.
The bit of paper which Ercildoune had placed on the window-ledge
fluttered to the ground on the outer side, and, looking at Tom, Robert
said quietly, "1860 or 1865?--is the war ended?"
"No!" answered Tom, taking his arm, and walking away. "No, my friend! so
you and I will continue in the service."
"Not ended;--it is true! how and when will it be closed?"
"That is for the loyal people of America to decide," said Russell, as
they turned their faces towards home.
How and when will it be closed? a question asked by the living and the
dead,--to which America must respond.
Among the living is a vast army: black and white,--shattered and maimed,
and blind: and these say, "Here we stand, shattered and maimed, that the
body politic might be perfect! blind forever, that the glorious sun of
liberty might shine abroad throughout the land, for all people, through
all coming time."
And the dead speak too. From their crowded graves come voices of
thrilling and persistent pathos, whispering, "Finish the work that has
fallen from our nerveless hands. Let no weight of tyranny, nor taint of
oppression, nor stain of wrong, cumber the soil nor darken the land we
died to save."
NOTE
Since it is impossible for any one memory to carry the entire record of
the war, it is well to state, that almost every scene in this book is
copied from life, and that the incidents of battle and camp are part of
the history of the great contest.
The story of Fort Wagner is one that needs no such emphasis, it is too
thoroughly known; that of the Color-Sergeant, whose proper name is W.H.
Carney, is taken from a letter written by General M.S. Littlefield to
Colonel A.G. Browne, Secretary to Governor Andrew.
From the _New York Tribune_ and the _Providence Journal_ were taken the
accounts of the finding of Hunt, the coming of the slaves into a South
Carolina camp, and the voluntary carrying, by black men, ere they were
enlisted, of a schooner into the fight at Newbern. Than these two
papers, none were considered more reliable and trustworthy in their war
record.
Almost every paper in the North published the narrative of the black man
pushing off the boat, for which an official report is responsible. The
boat was a flat-boat, with a company of soldiers on board; and the
battery under the fire of which it fell was at Rodman's Point, North
Carolina. In drawing the outlines of this, as of the others, I have
necessarily used a somewhat free pencil, but the main incident of each
has been faithfully preserved.
The disabled black soldier my own eyes saw thrust from a car in
Philadelphia.
The portraits of Ercildoune and his children may seem to some
exaggerated; those who have, as I, the rare pleasure of knowing the
originals, will say, "the half has not been told."
Every leading New York paper, Democratic and Republican, was gone over,
ere the summary of the Riots was made; and I think the record will be
found historically accurate. The _Anglo-African_ gives the story of poor
Abram Franklin; and the assault on Surrey has its likeness in the death
of Colonel O'Brien.
In a conversation between Surrey and Francesca, allusion is made to an
act the existence of which I have frequently heard doubted. I therefore
copy here a part of the "Retaliatory Act," passed by the Rebel
Government at Richmond, and approved by its head, May 1, 1863:--
"Sec. 4. Every white person, being a commissioned officer, or acting as
such, who, during the present war, shall command negroes or mulattoes in
arms against the Confederate States, or who shall arm, train, organize,
or prepare negroes or mulattoes for military service against the
Confederate States, or who shall voluntarily aid negroes or mulattoes in
any military enterprise, attack, or conflict in such service, shall be
deemed as inciting servile insurrection; and shall, if captured, be put
to death."
I have written this book, and send it to the consciences and the hearts
of the American people. May God, for whose "little ones" I have here
spoken, vivify its words.