A SAD LOVER
I shall never forget the scene there under the oak of the Sheraton front
yard, which met my gaze when Miss Grace and I came about the corner of
the house.
Before us, and facing each other, stood my father and Colonel Sheraton,
the former standing straight and tall, Colonel Sheraton with tightly
clenched hand resting on his stick, his white hair thrown back, his
shaggy brows contracted. My mother sat in the low rocker which had been
brought to her, and opposite her, leaning forward, was Mrs. Sheraton,
tall, thin, her black eyes fixed upon the men. Orme, also standing, his
hands behind him, regarded the troubled men intently. Near at hand was
the Sheratons' Jim, his face also fixed upon them; and such was his own
emotion that he had tipped his silver tray and dropped one of the
Sheraton cut glass julep glasses to the sod.
It was mid-afternoon, or evening, as we call it in Virginia, and the
light was still frank and strong, though the wind was softening among
the great oaks, and the flowers were sweet all about. It was a scene of
peace; but it was not peace which occupied those who made its central
figures.
"I tell you, Cowles," said Colonel Sheraton, grinding his stick into the
turf, "you do not talk like a Virginian. If the North keeps on this
course, then we Southerners must start a country of our own. Look,
man--" He swept about him an arm which included his own wide acres and
ours, lying there shimmering clear to the thin line of the old Blue
Ridge--"We must fight for these homes!"
My mother stirred in her chair, but she made no speech, only looked at
my father.
"You forget, Colonel," said my father in his low, deep voice, "that this
man Lincoln has not yet been elected, and that even if elected he may
prove a greater figure than we think. He has not yet had chance to learn
the South."
Orme had been standing silent, his face indifferent or faintly lighted
with an habitual cynicism. Now he broke in. "He will never be elected,"
he said emphatically. "It would ruin the entire industry of the South. I
tell you Lincoln is thinking of his own political advancement and caring
nothing for this country. The South _must_ secede, gentlemen--if you
will allow me as a stranger to venture an opinion."
My mother turned her gaze to him, but it was Sheraton who spoke.
"It goes back to the old Articles of Federation, our first compact," he
said. "From the very first the makers of this country saw that by reason
of diverse industries the South was separated from the North. This
secession has been written in the sky from the beginning of the world."
"Nay, brother Sheraton," broke in my mother eagerly "it was the union of
brothership that was written first in the sky."
He turned to her with the bow of a gentleman. "It is you ladies who knit
the world together with kindness," he said. "Alas, that men must rend it
with fighting."
"Alas!" whispered she.
Sheraton's own face was sad as he went on with the old justification.
"Jefferson would turn over in his grave if he saw Virginia divided as it
is. Why, Cowles, we've all the world we need here. We can live alone
here, each on his own acres, a gentleman, and all he needs of government
is protection and fair laws. Calhoun was right. Better give us two
peaceful countries, each living happily and content, than one at war
with itself. Clay was a great man, but both he and Webster were fighting
against the inevitable."
"That is true," interrupted Orme; "unquestionably true. Texas came near
becoming a colony of England because this country would not take her.
She declared for slavery, and had that right. The Spaniards had made
California a slave state, but the gold seekers by vote declared her
free. They had that right to govern themselves. As to the new lands
coming in, it is their right also to vote upon the question of slavery,
each new state for itself."
"The war has already begun on the border," said my father. "My friend
and partner, Colonel Meriwether of Albemarle, who is with the Army in
the West, says that white men are killing white men all across the lands
west of the Missouri."
"At least, Cowles," said Colonel Sheraton, pacing a short way apart, his
hands behind his back, "we can wait until after this election."
"But if the Government takes action?" suggested Orme.
Sheraton whirled quickly, "Then war! war!" he cried, "War till each
Virginian is dead on his doorstep, and each woman starved at her
fireside. John Cowles, you and I will fight--I _know_ that you will
fight."
"Yes," said my father, "I will fight."
"And with us!"
"No," said my father, sighing; "no, my friend, against you!" I saw my
mother look at him and sink back in her chair. I saw Orme also gaze at
him sharply, with a peculiar look upon his face.
But so, at least, this argument ended for the time. The two men, old
neighbors, took each other solemnly by the hand, and presently, after
talk of more pleasant sort on lesser matters, the servants brought our
carriage and we started back for Cowles' Farms.
There had been no opportunity for me to mention to Colonel and Mrs.
Sheraton something that was upon my mind. I had small chance for
farewell to Miss Grace, and if I shall admit the truth, this pleased me
quite as well as not.
We rode in silence for a time, my father musing, my mother silent also.
It was Orme who was the first I heard to speak.
"By the way, Mr. Cowles," he said, "you spoke of Colonel Meriwether of
Albemarle County. Is he away in the West? It chances that I have letters
to him, and I was purposing going into that country before long."
"Indeed, sir?" replied my father. "I am delighted to know that you are
to meet my friend. As it chances, he is my associate in a considerable
business enterprise--a splendid man, a splendid man, Meriwether. I will,
if you do not mind, add my letter to others you may have, and I trust
you will carry him our best wishes from this side of the mountains."
That was like my father--innocent, unsuspicious, ever ready to accept
other men as worthy of his trust, and ever ready to help a stranger as
he might. For myself, I confess I was more suspicious. Something about
Orme set me on edge, I knew not what. I heard them speaking further
about Meriwether's being somewhere in the West, and heard Orme also say
carelessly that he must in any case run over to Albemarle and call upon
some men whom he was to meet at the University of Virginia. We did not
ask his errand, and none of us suspected the purpose of his systematic
visiting among the more influential centers of that country. But if you
will go now to that white-domed building planned by Thomas Jefferson at
Charlottesville, and read the names on the brazen tablets by the doors,
names of boys who left school there to enter a harder school, then you
will see the results of the visit there of Gordon Orme.
My little personal affairs were at that time so close to me that they
obscured clear vision of larger ones. I did not hear all the talk in the
carriage, but pulled my horse in behind and so rode on moodily, gazing
out across the pleasant lands to the foot of old Catoctin and the dim
Blue Ridge. A sudden discontent assailed me. Must I live here
always--must I settle down and be simply a farmer forever? I wanted to
ride over there, over the Rock Fish Gap, where once King Charles' men
broke a bottle in honor of the king, and took possession of all the
lands west of the Pacific. The West--the word in some way thrilled in my
blood--I knew not why. I was a boy. I had not learned to question any
emotion, and introspection troubled me no more than it did my pointer
dog.
Before we had separated at the door of our house, I motioned to my
mother, and we drew apart and seated ourselves beneath our own oaks in
the front yard of Cowles' Farms. Then I told her what had happened
between Miss Grace and myself, and asked her if she was pleased.
"I am very content with thee," she answered, slowly, musingly. "Thee
must think of settling, Jack, and Miss Grace is a worthy girl. I hope it
will bring peace between our families always." I saw a film cross her
clear, dark eye. "Peace!" she whispered to herself. "I wish that it
might be."
But peace was not in my heart. Leaving her presently, I once more swung
leg over saddle and rode off across our fields, as sad a lover as ever
closed the first day of his engagement to be wed.