OF CLARENCE
Captain Clarence Colfax, late of the State Dragoons, awoke on Sunday
morning the chief of the many topics of the conversation of a big city.
His conduct drew forth enthusiastic praise from the gentlemen and ladies
who had thronged Beauregard and Davis avenues, and honest admiration from
the party which had broken up the camp. The boy had behaved well. There
were many doting parents, like Mr. Catherwood, whose boys had accepted
the parole, whose praise was a trifle lukewarm, to be sure. But popular
opinion, when once aroused, will draw a grunt from the most grudging.
We are not permitted, alas, to go behind these stern walls and discover
how Captain Colfax passed that eventful Sunday of the Exodus. We know
that, in his loneliness, he hoped for a visit from his cousin, and took
to pacing his room in the afternoon, when a smarting sense of injustice
crept upon him. Clarence was young. And how was he to guess, as he looked
out in astonishment upon the frightened flock of white boats swimming
southward, that his mother and his sweetheart were there?
On Monday, while the Colonel and many prominent citizens were busying
themselves about procuring the legal writ which was at once to release
Mr. Colfax, and so cleanse the whole body of Camp Jackson's defenders
from any, veiled intentions toward the Government, many well known
carriages drew up before the Carvel House in Locust Street to
congratulate the widow and the Colonel upon the possession of such a son
and nephew. There were some who slyly congratulated Virginia, whose
martyrdom it was to sit up with people all the day long. For Mrs, Colfax
kept her room, and admitted only a few of her bosom friends to cry with
her. When the last of the callers was gone, Virginia was admitted to her
aunt's presence.
"Aunt Lillian, to-morrow morning Pa and I are going to the Arsenal with a
basket for Max. Pa seems to think there is a chance that he may come back
with us. You will go, of course."
The lady smiled wearily at the proposal, and raised her hands in protest,
the lace on the sleeves of her dressing gown falling away from her white
arms.
"Go, my dear?" she exclaimed, "when I can't walk to my bureau after that
terrible Sunday. You are crazy, Jinny. No," she added, with conviction,
"I never again expect to see him alive. Comyn says they may release him,
does he? Is he turning Yankee, too?"
The girl went away, not in anger or impatience, but in sadness. Brought
up to reverence her elders, she had ignored the shallowness of her aunt's
character in happier days. But now Mrs. Colfax's conduct carried a
prophecy with it. Virginia sat down on the landing to ponder on the years
to come,--on the pain they were likely to bring with them from this
source--Clarence gone to the war; her father gone (for she felt that he
would go in the end), Virginia foresaw the lonely days of trial in
company with this vain woman whom accident made her cousin's mother. Ay,
and more, fate had made her the mother of the man she was to marry. The
girl could scarcely bear the thought--through the hurry and swing of the
events of two days she had kept it from her mind.
But now Clarence was to be released. To-morrow he would be coming home to
her joyfully for his reward, and she did not love him. She was bound to
face that again and again. She had cheated herself again and again with
other feelings. She had set up intense love of country in the shrine
where it did not belong, and it had answered--for a while. She saw
Clarence in a hero's light--until a fatal intimate knowledge made her
shudder and draw back. And yet her resolution should not be water. She
would carry it through.
Captain Lige's cheery voice roused her from below--and her father's
laugh. And as she went down to them she thanked God that this friend had
been spared to him. Never had the Captain's river yarns been better told
than at the table that evening. Virginia did not see him glance at the
Colonel when at last he had brought a smile to her face.
"I'm going to leave Jinny with you, Lige," said Mr. Carvel, presently.
"Worington has some notion that the Marshal may go to the Arsenal
to-night with the writ. I mustn't neglect the boy."
Virginia stood in front of him. "Won't you let me go?" she pleaded
The Colonel was taken aback. He stood looking down at her, stroking his
goatee, and marvelling at the ways of woman.
"The horses have been out all day, Jinny," he said, "I am going in the
cars."
"I can go in the cars, too."
The Colonel looked at Captain Lige.
"There is only a chance that we shall see Clarence," he went on,
uneasily.
"It is better than sitting still," cried Virginia, as she ran away to get
the bonnet with the red strings.
"Lige,--" said the Colonel, as the two stood awaiting her in the hall, "I
can't make her out. Can you?"
The Captain did not answer.
It was a long journey, in a bumping car with had springs that rattled
unceasingly, past the string of provost guards. The Colonel sat in the
corner, with his head bent down over his stick At length, cramped and
weary, they got out, and made their way along the Arsenal wall, past the
sentries to the entrance. The sergeant brought his rifle to a "port".
"Commandant's orders, sir. No one admitted," he said.
"Is Captain Colfax here?" asked Mr. Carver
"Captain Colfax was taken to Illinois in a skiff, quarter of an hour
since."
Captain Lige gave vent to a long, low whistle.
"A skiff!" he exclaimed, "and the river this high! A skiff!"
Virginia clasped his arm in terror. "Is there danger?"
Before he could answer came the noise of steps from the direction of the
river, and a number of people hurried up excitedly. Colonel Carvel
recognized Mr. Worington, the lawyer, and caught him by the sleeve.
"Anything happened?" he demanded.
Worington glanced at the sentry, and pulled the Colonel past the entrance
and into the street. Virginia and Captain Lige followed.
"They have started across with him in a light skiff----four men and a
captain. The young fool! We had him rescued."
"Rescued!"
"Yes. There were but five in the guard. And a lot of us, who suspected
what they were up to, were standing around. When we saw 'em come down, we
made a rush and had the guard overpowered But Colfax called out to stand
back."
"Well, sir."
"Cuss me if I understand him," said Mr. Worington. "He told us to
disperse, and that he proposed to remain a prisoner and go where they
sent him."
There was a silence. Then-- "Move on please, gentlemen," said the sentry,
and they started to walk toward the car line, the lawyer and the Colonel
together. Virginia put her hand through the Captain's arm. In the
darkness he laid his big one over it.
"Don't you be frightened, Jinny, at what I said, I reckon they'll fetch
up in Illinois all right, if I know Lyon. There, there," said Captain
Lige, soothingly. Virginia was crying softly. She had endured more in the
past few days than often falls to the lot of one-and-twenty.
"There, there, Jinny." He felt like crying himself. He thought of the
many, many times he had taken her on his knee and kissed her tears. He
might do that no more, now. There was the young Captain, a prisoner on
the great black river, who had a better right, Elijah Brent wondered, as
they waited in the silent street for the lonely car, if Clarence loved
her as well as he.
It was vary late when they reached home, and Virginia went silently up to
her room. Colonel Carvel stared grimly after her, then glanced at his
friend as he turned down the lights. The eyes of the two met, as of old,
in true understanding.
The sun was still slanting over the tops of the houses the next morning
when Virginia, a ghostly figure, crept down the stairs and withdrew the
lock and bolt on the front door. The street was still, save for the
twittering of birds and the distant rumble of a cart in its early rounds.
The chill air of the morning made her shiver as she scanned the entry for
the newspaper. Dismayed, she turned to the clock in the hall. Its hands
were at quarter past five.
She sat long behind the curtains in her father's little library, the
thoughts whirling in her brain as she watched the growing life of another
day. What would it bring forth? Once she stole softly back to the entry,
self-indulgent and ashamed, to rehearse again the bitter and the sweet of
that scene of the Sunday before. She summoned up the image of the young
man who had stood on these steps in front of the frightened servants. She
seemed to feel again the calm power and earnestness of his face, to hear
again the clear-cut tones of his voice as he advised her. Then she drew
back, frightened, into the sombre library, conscience-stricken that she
should have yielded to this temptation then, when Clarence--She dared not
follow the thought, but she saw the light skiff at the mercy of the angry
river and the dark night.
This had haunted her. If he were spared, she prayed for strength to
consecrate herself to him A book lay on the table, and Virginia took
refuge in it. And her eyes glancing over the pages, rested on this
verse:--
"Thy voice is heard thro' rolling drums,
That beat to battle where he stands;
Thy face across his fancy comes,
And gives the battle to his hands."
The paper brought no news, nor mentioned the ruse to which Captain Lyon
had resorted to elude the writ by transporting his prisoner to Illinois.
Newspapers were not as alert then as now. Colonel Carvel was off early to
the Arsenal in search of tidings. He would not hear of Virginia's going
with him. Captain Lige, with a surer instinct, went to the river. What a
morning of suspense! Twice Virginia was summoned to her aunt, and twice
she made excuse. It was the Captain who returned first, and she met him
at the door.
"Oh, what have you heard?" she cried.
"He is alive," said the Captain, tremulously, "alive and well, and
escaped South."
She took a step toward him, and swayed. The Captain caught her. For a
brief instant he held her in his arms and then he led her to the great
armchair that was the Colonel's.
"Lige," she said,--are you sure that this is not--a kindness?"
"No, Jinny," he answered quickly, "but things were mighty close. I was
afraid last night. The river was roarin'. They struck out straight
across, but they drifted and drifted like log-wood. And then she began to
fill, and all five of 'em to bail. Then---then she went down. The five
soldiers came up on that bit of an island below the Arsenal. They hunted
all night, but they didn't find Clarence. And they got taken off to the
Arsenal this morning."
"And how do you know?" she faltered.
"I knew that much this morning," he continued, "and so did your pa. But
the Andrew Jackson is just in from Memphis, and the Captain tells me that
he spoke the Memphis packet off Cape Girardeau, and that Clarence was
aboard. She picked him up by a miracle, after he had just missed a round
trip through her wheel-house."
End of Project Gutenberg's The Crisis, Volume 5, by Winston Churchill