COLONEL STANTON'S VISIT.
The Federal regiment went into camp up the road, but a short distance
from the Ruthven home. The coming of the soldiers filled the whole
neighborhood with alarm, but it was soon evident that Colonel Stanton
was a strict disciplinarian and did not countenance any pilfering, and
then the inhabitants became more quiet. In the meanwhile the Confederate
troops had departed for parts unknown. But another battle was not far
off.
Attached to Colonel Stanton's regiment was a young man named Harry
Powell, a surgeon, who was a nephew to Mrs. Ruthven, although the two
had not seen each other for years. Powell was a fine fellow, and well
liked by all who knew him, the single exception to the case being St.
John Ruthven, who was too much of a sneak to admire anybody so
free-hearted and manly.
Harry Powell had drifted to the North several years before, and
established a practice in Philadelphia. He was thoroughly opposed to
slavery, and when the war broke out lost no time in joining the Federal
troops, much to the horror of his two aunts and his cousin Marion. As
for St. John, that spendthrift said it was "just like Harry, who had no
head on his shoulders, anyway."
On the day following the arrival of the Federal troops Old Ben was
making his way to his cabin for some things, when he ran across Colonel
Stanton on his way to the Ruthven mansion. The colonel was accompanied
by Harry Powell, but the young surgeon now wore a heavy mustache, and
for the moment the old colored man did not recognize him.
"See here, my man. I want to talk to you," began Colonel Stanton, as he
held up his hand for Ben to halt.
"Yes, sah," and Old Ben touched his hat respectfully.
"Did I understand that this is the plantation of Mrs. Alice Ruthven?"
"Yes, sah."
"Why, it's Old Ben!" cried Harry Powell, striding forward. "Don't you
remember me, you old rascal?" and he slapped the colored man on the
back.
Old Ben stared in astonishment for a moment, and then his ebony face
broke out into a broad smile.
"Bless my soul, if it aint Massah Harry Powell!"
"Of course it is, Ben."
"Yo' is so changed I didn't know yo', sah."
"I suppose I am changed, Ben. Is my aunt at home?"
"Yes, sah."
"Good. I want very much to see her."
Old Ben shook his head dubiously.
"Massah Harry, yo' aint gwine an' joined de Yanks, hab yo'?" he
questioned.
"Yes, Ben; I am fighting for the old flag."
"Yo' aunt an' Miss Marion will be wery sorry to heah dat, sah."
"I presume so. But that cannot be helped. I did as my heart dictated,
Ben. I want to see all colored folks free, as you are."
"Dat would be wery nice certainly, sah, but--but----"
"It was too bad we had to fight, you mean." Harry Powell looked up. "Who
is that coming?"
"Dat am Massah Jack, sah?"
"Oh! Why, when I was here before he was nothing but a little shaver."
The young surgeon raised his voice. "Hullo, Jack! come here."
Wondering who it was who was calling him so familiarly, Jack came
forward. He started back upon seeing Harry Powell, and in a Federal
uniform.
"You!" he cried.
"Yes, Jack. Come, won't you shake hands with me?" and the young surgeon
smiled good-naturedly.
"Well--that is--I don't like to shake hands with a--a Yankee," stammered
Jack.
"Oh, so you object to my uniform?"
"I do, Harry. Why did you join the Yankees?"
"Because I thought it best. If you won't shake hands with me as a
Yankee, won't you shake hands as a cousin?"
At this our hero's face relaxed, for he had always liked Harry Powell
immensely.
"Yes, I'll do that," he said, and they shook hands warmly.
"And how is your mother these days, Jack?"
"Quite well, but a good deal alarmed."
"She need not be alarmed because of us, Jack. Is that not so, Colonel
Stanton?"
The colonel bowed. His manner was so pleasant that Jack felt more drawn
to him than ever.
"You are kind," he said. "I thought all Yankees were brutes."
"They are far from that, Jack. But I was going to ask, can I see my
aunt?"
"I suppose so. But she'll be hurt to see you in that uniform."
"Never mind, I'll risk that," rejoined Harry Powell.
Old Ben continued on his way, and Jack and the others walked toward the
Ruthven plantation. Then our hero ran ahead, to tell Mrs. Ruthven of the
visitors.
"A fine, manly young fellow, Powell," remarked Colonel Stanton, when he
and the young surgeon were left alone.
"Yes, he has turned out a first-rate lad, colonel."
"I presume, were he older, he would be at the head of a regular
Confederate command, instead of being at the head of this boyish Home
Guard."
"Undoubtedly, sir. But I am glad he is not in the regular ranks."
"Why?"
"I should hate to fight against him, sir."
"I see. Well, this war has brought brother against brother, and worse.
To tell the truth, I heartily wish it was over, myself."
In a few minutes more Mrs. Ruthven appeared, her face full of sorrow. As
she approached Harry Powell, the tears stood in her eyes.
"My dear aunt, how glad I am to see you, after this long separation!"
cried the young man impulsively.
"Oh, Harry! Harry! How can you come here in that uniform?" she returned.
"Let us speak of that later, Aunt Alice. Allow me to introduce you to my
superior, Colonel Stanton."
Mrs. Ruthven looked at the colonel steadily, and he bowed gravely. Each
saw that the other was of good blood and breeding. The lady of the
plantation dropped her eyes.
"Colonel Stanton, courtesy bids me say you are welcome, but--I beg you
to consider that I am a Southern woman," she faltered.
"I hope, Mrs. Ruthven, you will not look upon me as an enemy."
"Are you not in arms against my country?"
"Against your section, yes, but not against your country, madam. I fight
under the flag which belongs alike to the South and the North."
At this Mrs. Ruthven shook her head sadly.
"I cannot agree with you, sir. But let that drop. May I ask the news?
Have our troops been hopelessly defeated?"
"I cannot answer you, Mrs. Ruthven. Our side has won a battle and the
Confederate troops have taken to the mountain side. They may engage us
again before long."
"Your troops are encamped but a short distance from here, I believe?"
"It is true."
"Are we to consider ourselves as prisoners of war?"
"By no means, Mrs. Ruthven. I am informed that your house is something
of a hospital. Let it remain so."
"Thank you."
"You certainly did not expect ill treatment, did you?" went on the
colonel curiously.
"You seem to be a gentleman, I must admit, but I have heard such stories
of violence and rapine that I have some reasons to be apprehensive."
"The stories are in most cases baseless and without truth. I hope you
are not prejudiced enough to think that Federal officers are destitute
of honor and humanity. Every true soldier, no matter under what banner
he draws his sword, respects a lady, and would be the last to injure or
annoy her."
"I can believe that of you, sir, but you are an exception."
"I cannot accept the compliment. I know many of my brother officers, and
I am glad to say that what is true of me is true also of them."
"But your President, Mr. Lincoln, I am told is a cruel monster, intent
upon the destruction of the South."
"You are sadly misinformed, Mrs. Ruthven. There never beat a warmer,
kinder heart than that of Abraham Lincoln, I know, for I have seen him
and spoken with him, and I know that no one sorrows more over the
stricken homes and bloodshed of this unhappy strife. He is misjudged
now, but posterity will do him justice."
"I cannot believe it. If he deplores the evils of war, why does he not
end it at once, and order his hordes of Yankee invaders to throw down
their arms?"
"Because the life of the nation is at stake. I do not wish to speak
severely of your leaders. They are actuated by a mistaken sense of
right. Amid the clash of arms, Reason is silent. We are fighting, not
against the South, but for its best good."
"You plead well, Colonel Stanton, but I am not convinced," answered the
lady of the house.
At that moment Jack came up again, bringing Marion.
"Marion!" cried Harry Powell, and ran up to her.
"Harry!" she returned, and put out her hand to him.
"Will you shake hands with a Yankee?" he asked. "Jack was rather
backward about doing it."
"I am always ready to shake hands with my cousin," she returned, and
blushed.
Colonel Stanton was then introduced, and a minute later Harry Powell
asked about St. John Ruthven.
"Is he in the ranks, aunt?" he questioned.
"He is not," answered Mrs. Ruthven, and drew down her mouth.
"He cannot leave his mother," put in Marion contemptuously.
"Evidently you think he ought to go?"
"He is a strong, able-bodied man. I would go, were I in his place."
"So would I," put in Jack.
"Then he isn't very patriotic."
"Oh, yes he is--in words," returned Marion. "But in deeds----" She
shrugged her pretty shoulders, and that meant a good deal.
Colonel Stanton and Mrs. Ruthven entered the house, followed by Jack,
and presently Marion and the young surgeon found themselves alone in the
garden.