MOTHER AND SON.
FOR a time Merwyn did keep quiet, but he soon began to mutter
brokenly and unintelligibly. Marian tried to remove her hand to
aid the physician a moment, but she felt the feeble tightening of
his clasp, and he cried, "No, no!"
This, for days, was the last sign he gave of intelligent comprehension
of what was going on around him.
"We must humor him as far as we can in safety," the doctor remarked,
in a low whisper, and so began the battle for life.
Day was now dawning, and Thomas was despatched for a very skilful
surgeon, who came and gave the help of long experience.
At last Dr. Henderson joined Mr. Vosburgh in the breakfast-room, and
the latter sent a cup of coffee to his daughter by the physician,
who said, when he returned: "I think it would be well for me to
know something about Mr. Merwyn's experience during the past few
days. I shall understand his condition better if I know the causes
which led to it."
Mr. Vosburgh told him everything.
"Well," said the doctor, emphatically, "we should do all within
human effort to save such a young fellow."
"I feel that I could give my life to save him," Mr. Vosburgh added.
Hours passed, and Merwyn's delirium became more pronounced. He
released his grasp on Marian's hand, and tossed his arms as if in
the deepest trouble, his disordered mind evidently reverting to
the time when life had been so dark and hopeless.
"Chained, chained," he would mutter. "Cruel, unnatural mother, to
chain her son like a slave. My oath is eating out my very heart.
SHE despises me as a coward. Oh if she knew what I was facing!"
and such was the burden of all his broken words.
The young girl now learned the secret which had been so long
unfathomed. Vainly, with streaming eyes, she tried at first to
reassure him, but the doctor told her it was of no use, the fever
must take its course. Yet her hand upon his brow and cheek often
seemed to have a subtle, quieting spell.
Mr. Vosburgh felt that, whatever happened, he must attend to his
duties. Therefore he went to headquarters and learned that the
crisis of the insurrection had passed. The Seventh Regiment was on
duty, and other militia organizations were near at hand.
He also related briefly how he had been driven from his home on the
previous night, and was told that policemen were in charge of the
building. Having received a permit to enter it, he sent his despatch
to Washington, also a quieting telegram to his wife, assuring her
that all danger was past.
Then he went to his abandoned home and looked sadly on the havoc
that had been made. Nearly all light articles of value had been
carried away, and then, in a spirit of revenge, the rioters had
destroyed and defaced nearly everything. His desk had been broken,
but the secret drawer remained undiscovered. Having obtained his
private papers, he left the place, and, as it was a rented house,
resolved that he would not reside there again.
On his return to Merwyn's home, the first one to greet him was
Strahan, his face full of the deepest solicitude.
"I have just arrived," he said. "I first went to your house and was
overwhelmed at seeing its condition; then I drove here and have
only learned enough to make me anxious indeed. O my accursed wound
and fever! They kept the fact of the riot from me until this morning,
and then I learned of it almost by accident, and came instantly in
spite of them."
"Mr. Strahan, I entreat you to be prudent. I am overwhelmed with
trouble and fear for Merwyn, and I and mine must cause no more
mischief. Everything is being done that can be, and all must be
patient and quiet and keep their senses."
"Oh, I'm all right now. As Merwyn's friend, this is my place.
Remember what he did for me."
"Very well. If you are equal to it I shall be glad to have you
take charge here. As soon as I have learned of my daughter's and
Merwyn's welfare I shall engage rooms at the nearest hotel, and, if
the city remains quiet, telegraph for my wife;" and he sent Thomas
to Dr. Henderson with a request to see him.
"No special change, and there cannot be very soon," reported the
physician.
"But my daughter--she must not be allowed to go beyond her strength."
"I will look after her as carefully as after my other patient,"
was the reassuring reply.
"It's a strange story, Mr. Strahan," resumed Mr. Vosburgh, when
they were alone. "You are undoubtedly surprised that my daughter
should be one of Merwyn's watchers. He saved my life last night, and
my daughter and home the night before. They are virtually engaged."
"Oh that I had been here!" groaned Strahan.
"Under the circumstances it was well that you were not. It would
probably have cost you your life. Only the strongest and soundest
men could endure the strain. Merwyn came to our assistance from the
first;" and he told the young officer enough of what had occurred
to make it all intelligible to him.
Strahan drew a long breath, then said: "He has won her fairly. I
had suspected his regard for her; but I would rather have had his
opportunity and his wound than be a major-general."
"I appreciate the honor you pay my daughter, but there are some
matters beyond human control," was the kind response.
"I understand all that," said the young man, sadly; "but I can
still be her loyal friend, and that, probably, is all that I ever
could have been."
"I, at least, can assure you of our very highest esteem and respect,
Mr. Strahan;" and after a few more words the gentlemen parted.
The hours dragged on, and at last Dr. Henderson insisted that Marian
should go down to lunch. She first met Strahan in the sitting-room,
and sobbed on his shoulder: "O Arthur! I fear he will die, and if
he does I shall wish to die, too. You must stand by us both like
a loyal brother."
"Marian, I will," he faltered; and he kept his word.
He made her take food, and at last inspired her with something of
his own sanguine spirit.
"Oh, what a comfort it is to have you here!" she said, as she was
returning to her post. "You make despair impossible."
Again the hours dragged slowly on, the stillness of the house
broken only by Merwyn's delirious words. Then, for a time, there
was disquiet in bitter truth.
All through the dreadful night just described, an ocean steamer had
been ploughing its way towards the port of New York. A pilot had
boarded her off Sandy Hook, and strange and startling had been his
tidings to the homeward-bound Americans. The Battle of Gettysburg,
the capture of Vicksburg, and, above all, the riots had been the
burden of his narrations.
Among the passengers were Mrs. Merwyn and her daughters. Dwelling
on the condition of her son's mind, as revealed by his letter, she
had concluded that she must not delay her departure from England an
hour longer than was unavoidable. "It may be," she thought, "that
only my presence can restrain him in his madness; for worse than
madness it is to risk all his future prospects in the South just
when our arms are crowned with victories which will soon fulfil
our hopes. His infatuation with that horrid Miss Vosburgh is the
secret of it all."
Therefore, her heart overflowing with pride and anger, which
increased with every day of the voyage, she had taken an earlier
steamer, and was determined to hold her son to his oath if he had
a spark of sanity left.
Having become almost a monomaniac in her dream of a Southern empire,
she heard in scornful incredulity the rumor of defeat and disaster
brought to her by her daughters. All the pride and passion of her
strong nature was in arms against the bare thought. But at quarantine
papers were received on board, their parallel columns lurid with
accounts of the riot and aglow with details of Northern victories.
It appeared to her that she had sailed from well-ordered England,
with its congenial, aristocratic circles, to a world of chaos.
When the steamer arrived at the wharf, many of the passengers were
afraid to go ashore, but she, quiet, cold, silent, hiding the anger
that raged in her heart, did not hesitate a moment. She came of a
race that knew not what fear meant. At the earliest possible moment
she and her daughters entered a carriage and were driven up town.
The young girls stared in wonder at the troops and other evidences
of a vast disturbance, and when they saw Madison Square filled with
cavalry-horses they exclaimed aloud, "O mamma, see!"
"Yes," said their mother, sternly, "and mark it well. Even these
Northern people will no longer submit to the Lincoln tyranny.
He may win a few brief triumphs, but the day is near when our own
princely leaders will dictate law and order everywhere. The hour
has air passed when he will have the South only to fight;" and in
her prejudice and ignorance she believed her words to be absolutely
infallible.
Strahan met them as they entered, and received but a cold greeting
from the lady.
"Where is Willard?" she asked, hastily.
"Mrs. Merwyn, you must prepare yourself for a great shock. Your
son--"
Her mind was prepared for but one great disaster, and, her self-control
at last giving way, she almost shrieked, "What! has he taken arms
against the South?"
"Mrs. Merwyn," replied Strahan, "is that the worst that could
happen?"
A sudden and terrible dread smote the proud woman, and she sunk
into a chair, while young Estelle Merwyn rushed upon Strahan, and,
seizing his hand, faltered in a whisper, "Is--is--" but she could
proceed no further.
"No; but he soon will be unless reason and affection control your
actions and words. Your family physician is here, Mrs. Merwyn, and
I trust you will be guided by his counsel."
"Send him to me," gasped the mother.
Dr. Henderson soon came and explained in part what had occurred.
"Oh, those Vosburghs!" exclaimed Mrs. Merwyn, with a gesture
of unspeakable revolt at the state of affairs. "Well," she added,
with a stern face, "it is my place and not a stranger's to be at
my son's side."
"Pardon me, madam; you cannot go to your son at all in your present
mood. In an emergency like this a physician is autocrat, and your
son's life hangs by a hair."
"Who has a better right--who can do more for a child than a mother?"
"That should be true, but--" and he hesitated in embarrassment, for
a moment, then concluded, firmly: "Your son is not expecting you,
and agitation now might be fatal to him. There are other reasons
which you will soon understand."
"There is one thing I already understand,--a nameless stranger is
with him, and I am kept away."
"Miss Vosburgh is not a nameless stranger," said Strahan; "and she
is affianced to your son."
"O Heaven! I shall go mad!" the lady groaned, a tempest of conflicting
emotions sweeping through her heart.
"Come, Mrs. Merwyn," said Dr. Henderson, kindly, yet firmly, "take
the counsel of an old friend. Distracted as you naturally are with
all these unexpected and terrible events, you must recognize the
truth that you are in no condition to take upon you the care of
your son now. He would not know you, I fear, yet your voice might
agitate him fatally. I do not forbid you to see him, but I do forbid
that you should speak to him now, and I shall not answer for the
consequences if you do."
"Mamma, mamma, you must be patient and do as Dr. Henderson advises,"
cried Estelle. "When you are calm you will see that he is right.
If anything should happen you would never forgive yourself."
The mother's bitter protest was passing into a deadlier fear, but
she only said, coldly, "Very well; since such are your decrees
I shall go to my room and wait till I am summoned;" and she rose
and left the apartment, followed by her elder daughter, a silent,
reticent girl, whose spirit her mother had apparently quenched.
Estelle lingered until they had gone, and then she turned to Strahan,
who said, with an attempt at a smile, "I can scarcely realize that
this is the little girl whom I used to play with and tease."
But she heeded not his words. Her large, lustrous eyes were dim with
tears, as she asked, falteringly, "Tell me the truth, Mr. Strahan;
do you think my brother is very ill?"
"Yes," he replied, sadly; "and I hope I may be permitted to remain
as one of his watchers. He took care of me, last winter, in an
almost mortal illness, and I would gladly do him a like service."
"But you are hurt. Your arm is in a sling."
"My wound is healing, and I could sit by your brother's side as
well as elsewhere."
"You shall remain," said the girl, emphatically. "I have some of
mamma's spirit, if not all her prejudices. Is this Miss Vosburgh
such a fright?"
"I regard her as the noblest and most beautiful girl I ever saw."
"Oh, you do?"
"Yes."
"Well, I shall go and talk reason to mamma, for sister Berta yields
to everything without a word. You must stay, and I shall do my
share of watching as soon as the doctor permits."
Mrs. Merwyn thought she would remain in her room as she had said,
but the fountains of the great deep in her soul were breaking
up. She found that the mother in her heart was stronger than the
partisan. She MUST see her son.
At last she sent Thomas for Dr. Henderson again, and obtained
permission to look upon her child. Bitter as the physician knew
the experience would be, it might be salutary. With noiseless tread
she crossed the threshold, and saw Marian's pure, pale profile; she
drew a few steps nearer; the young girl turned and bowed gravely,
then resumed her watch.
For the moment Merwyn was silent, then in a voice all too distinct
he said: "Cruel, unnatural mother, to rob me of my manhood, to
chain me like one of her slaves. Jeff Davis and empire are more to
her than husband or son."
The conscience-stricken woman covered her face with her hands and
glided away. As by a lightning-flash the reason why she had forfeited
her place by the couch of her son was revealed.