When Irene looked out of her stateroom window early in the morning of
the twentieth of March, there was a softness and luminous quality in
the horizon clouds that prophesied spring. The steamboat, which had left
Baltimore and an arctic temperature the night before, was drawing near
the wharf at Fortress Monroe, and the passengers, most of whom were
seeking a mild climate, were crowding the guards, eagerly scanning the
long facade of the Hygeia Hotel.
“It looks more like a conservatory than a hotel,” said Irene to her
father, as she joined him.
“I expect that's about what it is. All those long corridors above and
below enclosed in glass are to protect the hothouse plants of New
York and Boston, who call it a Winter Resort, and I guess there's
considerable winter in it.”
“But how charming it is--the soft sea air, the low capes yonder, the
sails in the opening shining in the haze, and the peaceful old fort! I
think it's just enchanting.”
“I suppose it is. Get a thousand people crowded into one hotel under
glass, and let 'em buzz around--that seems to be the present notion of
enjoyment. I guess your mother'll like it.”
And she did. Mrs. Benson, who appeared at the moment, a little flurried
with her hasty toilet, a stout, matronly person, rather overdressed
for traveling, exclaimed: “What a homelike looking place! I do hope the
Stimpsons are here!”
“No doubt the Stimpsons are on hand,” said Mr. Benson. “Catch them not
knowing what's the right thing to do in March! They know just as well as
you do that the Reynoldses and the Van Peagrims are here.”
The crowd of passengers, alert to register and secure rooms, hurried
up the windy wharf. The interior of the hotel kept the promise of the
outside for comfort. Behind the glass-defended verandas, in the spacious
office and general lounging-room, sea-coal fires glowed in the wide
grates, tables were heaped with newspapers and the illustrated pamphlets
in which railways and hotels set forth the advantages of leaving home;
luxurious chairs invited the lazy and the tired, and the hotel-bureau,
telegraph-office, railway-office, and post-office showed the new-comer
that even in this resort he was still in the centre of activity and
uneasiness. The Bensons, who had fortunately secured rooms a month in
advance, sat quietly waiting while the crowd filed before the register,
and took its fate from the courteous autocrat behind the counter.
“No room,” was the nearly uniform answer, and the travelers had the
satisfaction of writing their names and going their way in search of
entertainment. “We've eight hundred people stowed away,” said the clerk,
“and not a spot left for a hen to roost.”
At the end of the file Irene noticed a gentleman, clad in a
perfectly-fitting rough traveling suit, with the inevitable crocodile
hand-bag and tightly-rolled umbrella, who made no effort to enroll ahead
of any one else, but having procured some letters from the post-office
clerk, patiently waited till the rest were turned away, and then
put down his name. He might as well have written it in his hat. The
deliberation of the man, who appeared to be an old traveler, though
probably not more than thirty years of age, attracted Irene's attention,
and she could not help hearing the dialogue that followed.
“What can you do for me?”
“Nothing,” said the clerk.
“Can't you stow me away anywhere? It is Saturday, and very inconvenient
for me to go any farther.”
“Cannot help that. We haven't an inch of room.”
“Well, where can I go?”
“You can go to Baltimore. You can go to Washington; or you can go to
Richmond this afternoon. You can go anywhere.”
“Couldn't I,” said the stranger, with the same deliberation--“wouldn't
you let me go to Charleston?”
“Why,” said the clerk, a little surprised, but disposed to
accommodate--“why, yes, you can go to Charleston. If you take at
once the boat you have just left, I guess you can catch the train at
Norfolk.”
As the traveler turned and called a porter to reship his baggage, he
was met by a lady, who greeted him with the cordiality of an old
acquaintance and a volley of questions.
“Why, Mr. King, this is good luck. When did you come? have you a good
room? What, no, not going?”
Mr. King explained that he had been a resident of Hampton Roads just
fifteen minutes, and that, having had a pretty good view of the place,
he was then making his way out of the door to Charleston, without any
breakfast, because there was no room in the inn.
“Oh, that never'll do. That cannot be permitted,” said his engaging
friend, with an air of determination. “Besides, I want you to go with us
on an excursion today up the James and help me chaperon a lot of young
ladies. No, you cannot go away.”
And before Mr. Stanhope King--for that was the name the traveler had
inscribed on the register--knew exactly what had happened, by some
mysterious power which women can exercise even in a hotel, when
they choose, he found himself in possession of a room, and was
gayly breakfasting with a merry party at a little round table in the
dining-room.
“He appears to know everybody,” was Mrs. Benson's comment to Irene, as
she observed his greeting of one and another as the guests tardily came
down to breakfast. “Anyway, he's a genteel-looking party. I wonder if he
belongs to Sotor, King and Co., of New York?”
“Oh, mother,” began Irene, with a quick glance at the people at the next
table; and then, “if he is a genteel party, very likely he's a drummer.
The drummers know everybody.”
And Irene confined her attention strictly to her breakfast, and never
looked up, although Mrs. Benson kept prattling away about the young
man's appearance, wondering if his eyes were dark blue or only dark
gray, and why he didn't part his hair exactly in the middle and done
with it, and a full, close beard was becoming, and he had a good, frank
face anyway, and why didn't the Stimpsons come down; and, “Oh, there's
the Van Peagrims,” and Mrs. Benson bowed sweetly and repeatedly to
somebody across the room.
To an angel, or even to that approach to an angel in this world, a
person who has satisfied his appetite, the spectacle of a crowd of
people feeding together in a large room must be a little humiliating.
The fact is that no animal appears at its best in this necessary
occupation. But a hotel breakfast-room is not without interest. The very
way in which people enter the room is a revelation of character. Mr.
King, who was put in good humor by falling on his feet, as it were, in
such agreeable company, amused himself by studying the guests as they
entered. There was the portly, florid man, who “swelled” in, patronizing
the entire room, followed by a meek little wife and three timid
children. There was the broad, dowager woman, preceded by a meek,
shrinking little man, whose whole appearance was an apology. There was a
modest young couple who looked exceedingly self-conscious and happy, and
another couple, not quite so young, who were not conscious of anybody,
the gentleman giving a curt order to the waiter, and falling at once
to reading a newspaper, while his wife took a listless attitude, which
seemed to have become second nature. There were two very tall, very
graceful, very high-bred girls in semi-mourning, accompanied by a
nice lad in tight clothes, a model of propriety and slender physical
resources, who perfectly reflected the gracious elevation of his
sisters. There was a preponderance of women, as is apt to be the case
in such resorts. A fact explicable not on the theory that women are more
delicate than men, but that American men are too busy to take this sort
of relaxation, and that the care of an establishment, with the demands
of society and the worry of servants, so draw upon the nervous energy of
women that they are glad to escape occasionally to the irresponsibility
of hotel life. Mr. King noticed that many of the women had the
unmistakable air of familiarity with this sort of life, both in the
dining-room and at the office, and were not nearly so timid as some of
the men. And this was very observable in the case of the girls, who were
chaperoning their mothers--shrinking women who seemed a little
confused by the bustle, and a little awed by the machinery of the great
caravansary.
At length Mr. King's eye fell upon the Benson group. Usually it is
unfortunate that a young lady should be observed for the first time
at table. The act of eating is apt to be disenchanting. It needs
considerable infatuation and perhaps true love on the part of a young
man to make him see anything agreeable in this performance. However
attractive a girl may be, the man may be sure that he is not in love
if his admiration cannot stand this test. It is saying a great deal
for Irene that she did stand this test even under the observation of
a stranger, and that she handled her fork, not to put too fine a point
upon it, in a manner to make the fastidious Mr. King desirous to see
more of her. I am aware that this is a very unromantic view to take of
one of the sweetest subjects in life, and I am free to confess that I
should prefer that Mr. King should first have seen Irene leaning on the
balustrade of the gallery, with a rose in her hand, gazing out over the
sea with “that far-away look in her eyes.” It would have made it much
easier for all of us. But it is better to tell the truth, and let
the girl appear in the heroic attitude of being superior to her
circumstances.
Presently Mr. King said to his friend, Mrs. Cortlandt, “Who is that
clever-looking, graceful girl over there?”
“That,” said Mrs. Cortlandt, looking intently in the direction
indicated--“why, so it is; that's just the thing,” and without another
word she darted across the room, and Mr. King saw her in animated
conversation with the young lady. Returning with satisfaction expressed
in her face, she continued, “Yes, she'll join our party--without her
mother. How lucky you saw her!”
“Well! Is it the Princess of Paphlagonia?”
“Oh, I forgot you were not in Washington last winter. That's Miss
Benson; just charming; you'll see. Family came from Ohio somewhere.
You'll see what they are--but Irene! Yes, you needn't ask; they've
got money, made it honestly. Began at the bottom--as if they were in
training for the presidency, you know--the mother hasn't got used to
it as much as the father. You know how it is. But Irene has had every
advantage--the best schools, masters, foreign travel, everything. Poor
girl! I'm sorry for her. Sometimes I wish there wasn't any such thing as
education in this country, except for the educated. She never shows it;
but of course she must see what her relatives are.”
The Hotel Hygeia has this advantage, which is appreciated, at least
by the young ladies. The United States fort is close at hand, with
its quota of young officers, who have the leisure in times of peace
to prepare for war, domestic or foreign; and there is a naval station
across the bay, with vessels that need fashionable inspection.
Considering the acknowledged scarcity of young men at watering-places,
it is the duty of a paternal government to place its military and naval
stations close to the fashionable resorts, so that the young women who
are studying the german [(dance) D.W.] and other branches of the life
of the period can have agreeable assistants. It is the charm of Fortress
Monroe that its heroes are kept from ennui by the company assembled
there, and that they can be of service to society.
When Mrs. Cortlandt assembled her party on the steam-tug chartered by
her for the excursion, the army was very well represented. With the
exception of the chaperons and a bronzed veteran, who was inclined to
direct the conversation to his Indian campaigns in the Black Hills, the
company was young, and of the age and temper in which everything seems
fair in love and war, and one that gave Mr. King, if he desired it, an
opportunity of studying the girl of the period--the girl who impresses
the foreigner with her extensive knowledge of life, her fearless freedom
of manner, and about whom he is apt to make the mistake of supposing
that this freedom has not perfectly well-defined limits. It was a
delightful day, such as often comes, even in winter, within the Capes
of Virginia; the sun was genial, the bay was smooth, with only a light
breeze that kept the water sparkling brilliantly, and just enough tonic
in the air to excite the spirits. The little tug, which was pretty
well packed with the merry company, was swift, and danced along in an
exhilarating manner. The bay, as everybody knows, is one of the most
commodious in the world, and would be one of the most beautiful if it
had hills to overlook it. There is, to be sure, a tranquil beauty in
its wooded headlands and long capes, and it is no wonder that the early
explorers were charmed with it, or that they lost their way in its
inlets, rivers, and bays. The company at first made a pretense of trying
to understand its geography, and asked a hundred questions about the
batteries, and whence the Merrimac appeared, and where the Congress
was sunk, and from what place the Monitor darted out upon its big
antagonist. But everything was on a scale so vast that it was difficult
to localize these petty incidents (big as they were in consequences),
and the party soon abandoned history and geography for the enjoyment of
the moment. Song began to take the place of conversation. A couple of
banjos were produced, and both the facility and the repertoire of the
young ladies who handled them astonished Irene. The songs were of love
and summer seas, chansons in French, minor melodies in Spanish, plain
declarations of affection in distinct English, flung abroad with classic
abandon, and caught up by the chorus in lilting strains that partook of
the bounding, exhilarating motion of the little steamer. Why, here is
material, thought King, for a troupe of bacchantes, lighthearted leaders
of a summer festival. What charming girls, quick of wit, dashing in
repartee, who can pick the strings, troll a song, and dance a brando!
“It's like sailing over the Bay of Naples,” Irene was saying to
Mr. King, who had found a seat beside her in the little cabin; “the
guitar-strumming and the impassioned songs, only that always seems to me
a manufactured gayety, an attempt to cheat the traveler into the belief
that all life is a holiday. This is spontaneous.”
“Yes, and I suppose the ancient Roman gayety, of which the Neapolitan
is an echo, was spontaneous once. I wonder if our society is getting to
dance and frolic along like that of old at Baiae!”
“Oh, Mr. King, this is an excursion. I assure you the American girl is a
serious and practical person most of the time. You've been away so long
that your standards are wrong. She's not nearly so knowing as she seems
to be.”
The boat was preparing to land at Newport News--a sand bank, with a
railway terminus, a big elevator, and a hotel. The party streamed along
in laughing and chatting groups, through the warehouse and over the
tracks and the sandy hillocks to the hotel. On the way they captured
a novel conveyance, a cart with an ox harnessed in the shafts, the
property of an aged negro, whose white hair and variegated raiment
proclaimed him an ancient Virginian, a survival of the war. The company
chartered this establishment, and swarmed upon it till it looked like a
Neapolitan 'calesso', and the procession might have been mistaken for a
harvest-home--the harvest of beauty and fashion. The hotel was captured
without a struggle on the part of the regular occupants, a dance
extemporized in the dining-room, and before the magnitude of the
invasion was realized by the garrison, the dancing feet and the laughing
girls were away again, and the little boat was leaping along in the
Elizabeth River towards the Portsmouth Navy-yard.
It isn't a model war establishment this Portsmouth yard, but it is
a pleasant resort, with its stately barracks and open square and
occasional trees. In nothing does the American woman better show her
patriotism than in her desire to inspect naval vessels and understand
dry-docks under the guidance of naval officers. Besides some old war
hulks at the station, there were a couple of training-ships getting
ready for a cruise, and it made one proud of his country to see the
interest shown by our party in everything on board of them, patiently
listening to the explanation of the breech-loading guns, diving down
into the between-decks, crowded with the schoolboys, where it is
impossible for a man to stand upright and difficult to avoid the stain
of paint and tar, or swarming in the cabin, eager to know the mode of
the officers' life at sea. So these are the little places where they
sleep? and here is where they dine, and here is a library--a haphazard
case of books in the saloon.
It was in running her eyes over these that a young lady discovered
that the novels of Zola were among the nautical works needed in the
navigation of a ship of war.
On the return--and the twenty miles seemed short enough--lunch was
served, and was the occasion of a good deal of hilarity and innocent
badinage. There were those who still sang, and insisted on sipping the
heel-taps of the morning gayety; but was King mistaken in supposing that
a little seriousness had stolen upon the party--a serious intention,
namely, between one and another couple? The wind had risen, for one
thing, and the little boat was so tossed about by the vigorous waves
that the skipper declared it would be imprudent to attempt to land
on the Rip-Raps. Was it the thought that the day was over, and that
underneath all chaff and hilarity there was the question of settling in
life to be met some time, which subdued a little the high spirits, and
gave an air of protection and of tenderness to a couple here and there?
Consciously, perhaps, this entered into the thought of nobody; but still
the old story will go on, and perhaps all the more rapidly under a mask
of raillery and merriment.
There was great bustling about, hunting up wraps and lost parasols and
mislaid gloves, and a chorus of agreement on the delight of the day,
upon going ashore, and Mrs. Cortlandt, who looked the youngest and
most animated of the flock, was quite overwhelmed with thanks and
congratulations upon the success of her excursion.
“Yes, it was perfect; you've given us all a great deal of pleasure, Mrs.
Cortlandt,” Mr. King was saying, as he stood beside her, watching the
exodus.
Perhaps Mrs. Cortlandt fancied his eyes were following a particular
figure, for she responded, “And how did you like her?”
“Like her--Miss Benson? Why, I didn't see much of her. I thought she was
very intelligent--seemed very much interested when Lieutenant Green was
explaining to her what made the drydock dry--but they were all that. Did
you say her eyes were gray? I couldn't make out if they were not rather
blue after all--large, changeable sort of eyes, long lashes; eyes that
look at you seriously and steadily, without the least bit of coquetry
or worldliness; eyes expressing simplicity and interest in what you are
saying--not in you, but in what you are saying. So few women know how
to listen; most women appear to be thinking of themselves and the effect
they are producing.”
Mrs. Cortlandt laughed. “Ah; I see. And a little 'sadness' in them,
wasn't there? Those are the most dangerous eyes. The sort that follow
you, that you see in the dark at night after the gas is turned off.”
“I haven't the faculty of seeing things in the dark, Mrs. Cortlandt. Oh,
there's the mother!” And the shrill voice of Mrs. Benson was heard, “We
was getting uneasy about you. Pa says a storm's coming, and that you'd
be as sick as sick.”
The weather was changing. But that evening the spacious hotel,
luxurious, perfectly warmed, and well lighted, crowded with an agreeable
if not a brilliant company--for Mr. King noted the fact that none of
the gentlemen dressed for dinner--seemed all the more pleasant for the
contrast with the weather outside. Thus housed, it was pleasant to
hear the waves dashing against the breakwater. Just by chance, in the
ballroom, Mr. King found himself seated by Mrs. Benson and a group of
elderly ladies, who had the perfunctory air of liking the mild gayety of
the place. To one of them Mr. King was presented, Mrs. Stimpson--a
stout woman with a broad red face and fishy eyes, wearing an elaborate
head-dress with purple flowers, and attired as if she were expecting
to take a prize. Mrs. Stimpson was loftily condescending, and asked
Mr. King if this was his first visit. She'd been coming here years and
years; never could get through the spring without a few weeks at the
Hygeia. Mr. King saw a good many people at this hotel who seemed to
regard it as a home.
“I hope your daughter, Mrs. Benson, was not tired out with the rather
long voyage today.”
“Not a mite. I guess she enjoyed it. She don't seem to enjoy most
things. She's got everything heart can wish at home. I don't know how it
is. I was tellin' pa, Mr. Benson, today that girls ain't what they used
to be in my time. Takes more to satisfy 'em. Now my daughter, if I say
it as shouldn't, Mr. King, there ain't a better appearin,' nor smarter,
nor more dutiful girl anywhere--well, I just couldn't live without her;
and she's had the best schools in the East and Europe; done all Europe
and Rome and Italy; and after all, somehow, she don't seem contented in
Cyrusville--that's where we live in Ohio--one of the smartest places in
the state; grown right up to be a city since we was married. She never
says anything, but I can see. And we haven't spared anything on our
house. And society--there's a great deal more society than I ever had.”
Mr. King might have been astonished at this outpouring if he had not
observed that it is precisely in hotels and to entire strangers that
some people are apt to talk with less reserve than to intimate friends.
“I've no doubt,” he said, “you have a lovely home in Cyrusville.”
“Well, I guess it's got all the improvements. Pa, Mr. Benson, said that
he didn't know of anything that had been left out, and we had a man up
from Cincinnati, who did all the furnishing before Irene came home.”
“Perhaps your daughter would have preferred to furnish it herself?”
“Mebbe so. She said it was splendid, but it looked like somebody else's
house. She says the queerest things sometimes. I told Mr. Benson that I
thought it would be a good thing to go away from home a little while and
travel round. I've never been away much except in New York, where Mr.
Benson has business a good deal. We've been in Washington this winter.”
“Are you going farther south?”
“Yes; we calculate to go down to the New Orleans Centennial. Pa wants
to see the Exposition, and Irene wants to see what the South looks like,
and so do I. I suppose it's perfectly safe now, so long after the war?”
“Oh, I should say so.”
“That's what Mr. Benson says. He says it's all nonsense the talk about
what the South 'll do now the Democrats are in. He says the South wants
to make money, and wants the country prosperous as much as anybody. Yes,
we are going to take a regular tour all summer round to the different
places where people go. Irene calls it a pilgrimage to the holy places
of America. Pa thinks we'll get enough of it, and he's determined we
shall have enough of it for once. I suppose we shall. I like to travel,
but I haven't seen any place better than Cyrusville yet.”
As Irene did not make her appearance, Mr. King tore himself away from
this interesting conversation and strolled about the parlors, made
engagements to take early coffee at the fort, to go to church with Mrs.
Cortlandt and her friends, and afterwards to drive over to Hampton and
see the copper and other colored schools, talked a little politics over
a late cigar, and then went to bed, rather curious to see if the eyes
that Mrs. Cortlandt regarded as so dangerous would appear to him in the
darkness.
When he awoke, his first faint impressions were that the Hygeia had
drifted out to sea, and then that a dense fog had drifted in and
enveloped it. But this illusion was speedily dispelled. The window-ledge
was piled high with snow. Snow filled the air, whirled about by a gale
that was banging the window-shutters and raging exactly like a Northern
tempest.
It swirled the snow about in waves and dark masses interspersed with
rifts of light, dark here and luminous there. The Rip-Raps were lost to
view. Out at sea black clouds hung in the horizon, heavy reinforcements
for the attacking storm. The ground was heaped with the still
fast-falling snow--ten inches deep he heard it said when he descended.
The Baltimore boat had not arrived, and could not get in. The waves at
the wharf rolled in, black and heavy, with a sullen beat, and the sky
shut down close to the water, except when a sudden stronger gust of wind
cleared a luminous space for an instant. Stormbound: that is what the
Hygeia was--a winter resort without any doubt.
The hotel was put to a test of its qualities. There was no getting
abroad in such a storm. But the Hygeia appeared at its best in this
emergency. The long glass corridors, where no one could venture in
the arctic temperature, gave, nevertheless, an air of brightness and
cheerfulness to the interior, where big fires blazed, and the company
were exalted into good-fellowship and gayety--a decorous Sunday
gayety--by the elemental war from which they were securely housed.
If the defenders of their country in the fortress mounted guard that
morning, the guests at the Hygeia did not see them, but a good many of
them mounted guard later at the hotel, and offered to the young
ladies there that protection which the brave like to give the fair.
Notwithstanding this, Mr. Stanhope King could not say the day was dull.
After a morning presumably spent over works of a religious character,
some of the young ladies, who had been the life of the excursion the
day before, showed their versatility by devising serious amusements
befitting the day, such as twenty questions on Scriptural subjects,
palmistry, which on another day is an aid to mild flirtation, and an
exhibition of mind-reading, not public--oh, dear, no--but with a favored
group in a private parlor. In none of these groups, however, did Mr.
King find Miss Benson, and when he encountered her after dinner in
the reading-room, she confessed that she had declined an invitation to
assist at the mind-reading, partly from a lack of interest, and partly
from a reluctance to dabble in such things.
“Surely you are not uninterested in what is now called psychical
research?” he asked.
“That depends,” said Irene. “If I were a physician, I should like to
watch the operation of the minds of 'sensitives' as a pathological
study. But the experiments I have seen are merely exciting and
unsettling, without the least good result, with a haunting notion that
you are being tricked or deluded. It is as much as I can do to try and
know my own mind, without reading the minds of others.”
“But you cannot help the endeavor to read the mind of a person with whom
you are talking.”
“Oh, that is different. That is really an encounter of wits, for you
know that the best part of a conversation is the things not said. What
they call mindreading is a vulgar business compared to this. Don't you
think so, Mr. King?”
What Mr. King was actually thinking was that Irene's eyes were the most
unfathomable blue he ever looked into, as they met his with perfect
frankness, and he was wondering if she were reading his present state of
mind; but what he said was, “I think your sort of mind-reading is a
good deal more interesting than the other,” and he might have added,
dangerous. For a man cannot attempt to find out what is in a woman's
heart without a certain disturbance of his own. He added, “So you think
our society is getting too sensitive and nervous, and inclined to make
dangerous mental excursions?”
“I'm afraid I do not think much about such things,” Irene replied,
looking out of the window into the storm. “I'm content with a very
simple faith, even if it is called ignorance.”
Mr. King was thinking, as he watched the clear, spirited profile of the
girl shown against the white tumult in the air, that he should like to
belong to the party of ignorance himself, and he thought so long about
it that the subject dropped, and the conversation fell into ordinary
channels, and Mrs. Benson appeared. She thought they would move on as
soon as the storm was over. Mr. King himself was going south in the
morning, if travel were possible. When he said good-by, Mrs. Benson
expressed the pleasure his acquaintance had given them, and hoped they
should see him in Cyrusville. Mr. King looked to see if this invitation
was seconded in Irene's eyes; but they made no sign, although she gave
him her hand frankly, and wished him a good journey.
The next morning he crossed to Norfolk, was transported through the
snow-covered streets on a sledge, and took his seat in the cars for the
most monotonous ride in the country, that down the coast-line.
When next Stanhope King saw Fortress Monroe it was in the first days of
June. The summer which he had left in the interior of the Hygeia was now
out-of-doors. The winter birds had gone north; the summer birds had not
yet come. It was the interregnum, for the Hygeia, like Venice, has two
seasons, one for the inhabitants of colder climes, and the other for
natives of the country. No spot, thought our traveler, could be more
lovely. Perhaps certain memories gave it a charm, not well defined,
but still gracious. If the house had been empty, which it was far from
being, it would still have been peopled for him. Were they all such
agreeable people whom he had seen there in March, or has one girl the
power to throw a charm over a whole watering-place? At any rate, the
place was full of delightful repose. There was movement enough upon
the water to satisfy one's lazy longing for life, the waves lapped
soothingly along the shore, and the broad bay, sparkling in the sun, was
animated with boats, which all had a holiday air. Was it not enough to
come down to breakfast and sit at the low, broad windows and watch the
shifting panorama? All about the harbor slanted the white sails; at
intervals a steamer was landing at the wharf or backing away from it;
on the wharf itself there was always a little bustle, but no noise, some
pretense of business, and much actual transaction in the way of idle
attitudinizing, the colored man in castoff clothes, and the colored
sister in sun-bonnet or turban, lending themselves readily to the
picturesque; the scene changed every minute, the sail of a tiny boat was
hoisted or lowered under the window, a dashing cutter with its uniformed
crew was pulling off to the German man-of-war, a puffing little tug
dragged along a line of barges in the distance, and on the horizon a
fleet of coasters was working out between the capes to sea. In the open
window came the fresh morning breeze, and only the softened sounds of
the life outside. The ladies came down in cool muslin dresses, and added
the needed grace to the picture as they sat breakfasting by the windows,
their figures in silhouette against the blue water.
No wonder our traveler lingered there a little! Humanity called him, for
one thing, to drive often with humanely disposed young ladies round
the beautiful shore curve to visit the schools for various colors at
Hampton. Then there was the evening promenading on the broad verandas
and out upon the miniature pier, or at sunset by the water-batteries
of the old fort--such a peaceful old fortress as it is. All the morning
there were “inspections” to be attended, and nowhere could there be
seen a more agreeable mingling of war and love than the spacious,
tree-planted interior of the fort presented on such occasions. The
shifting figures of the troops on parade; the martial and daring
manoeuvres of the regimental band; the groups of ladies seated on
benches under the trees, attended by gallants in uniform, momentarily
off duty and full of information, and by gallants not in uniform and
never off duty and desirous to learn; the ancient guns with French arms
and English arms, reminiscences of Yorktown, on one of which a pretty
girl was apt to be perched in the act of being photographed--all this
was enough to inspire any man to be a countryman and a lover. It is
beautiful to see how fearless the gentle sex is in the presence of
actual war; the prettiest girls occupied the front and most exposed
seats; and never flinched when the determined columns marched down on
them with drums beating and colors flying, nor showed much relief when
they suddenly wheeled and marched to another part of the parade in
search of glory. And the officers' quarters in the casemates--what will
not women endure to serve their country! These quarters are mere tunnels
under a dozen feet of earth, with a door on the parade side and a
casement window on the outside--a damp cellar, said to be cool in the
height of summer. The only excuse for such quarters is that the
women and children will be comparatively safe in case the fortress is
bombarded.
The hotel and the fortress at this enchanting season, to say nothing of
other attractions, with laughing eyes and slender figures, might well
have detained Mr. Stanhope King, but he had determined upon a sort of
roving summer among the resorts of fashion and pleasure. After a long
sojourn abroad, it seemed becoming that he should know something of
the floating life of his own country. His determination may have been
strengthened by the confession of Mrs. Benson that her family were
intending an extensive summer tour. It gives a zest to pleasure to have
even an indefinite object, and though the prospect of meeting Irene
again was not definite, it was nevertheless alluring. There was
something about her, he could not tell what, different from the women he
had met in France. Indeed, he went so far as to make a general formula
as to the impression the American women made on him at Fortress
Monroe--they all appeared to be innocent.