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THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
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 DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC 
 
 SOCIETIES 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE WILMER COLLECTION 
 
 OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
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 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/twixtlovedutyOObart 
 
TwiXT 
 
 Love and Duty, 
 
 BY 
 
 Major W. C. Bartlett, U. S. A. 
 
 NEW YORK CITY : 
 LEW VANDERPOOLE PUBLISHING COMPANY. 
 
Copyright, 
 
 1890, 
 
 By W. C. Bartlett. 
 
 ]An rights reserved by the author. \ 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 It was a cold, clear night of February, 
 1 86-, years before the tide of that migratory 
 spirit which obeyed the behest of fashion 
 and interest, had obliterated the old familiar 
 landmarks of lower New York, and estab- 
 lished farther inland, upon bases of grander 
 displa}^ the alluring temples of Bacchus and 
 Terpsichore. To one unfamiliar with the 
 political history of the times, before whose 
 eyes the moving panorama of opposing hosts 
 had never passed ; upon whose ears had fal- 
 len no other sounds than those evolved in the 
 busy life of a mammoth cit}^ — the every-day 
 existence of New York would have contain- 
 ed no suggestion at variance with a precon- 
 ceived idea of a populous and opulent me- 
 tropolis. Though the exigencies of the great 
 civil war had for two years been tugging at 
 
 777133 
 
 r» -\ #«J r'i e- - . 
 
4 AN irA'L OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 the resources of men and money which, 
 open-handed, had been placed to the Nation's 
 credit, it would have taken an eye more crit- 
 ical than that of a novice, to detect any gap 
 in the living wall of humanity which crowded 
 the streets by day, and swelled the tide flow- 
 ing into restaurant or theatre at night. And 
 yet, responding to that clarion note, which 
 had through city and country tov/n — through 
 the busy marts of trade and the peaceful fields 
 of husbandry, proclaimed their country's 
 need, thousands upon thousands of voices had 
 answered — " Here ! "—the places which had 
 known them, knew them no more ; their foot- 
 steps were pressed upon unwelcoming 
 ground ; side by side, shoulder to shoulder, 
 middle age and youth., country born and city 
 bred, in espousal of a common cause, ani- 
 mated with the same desire, had dropped 
 plough-share and pen, pruning-hook and 
 ledger and filled the ranks of a grand fra- 
 ternity. 
 
 " Charity," seated upon her graceful throne 
 bathod in the reflected light of her own bene- 
 ficence, crowned with the dual blessing of 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. $ 
 
 bestowal and of gratitude, was upon this, 
 night of February, putting forth her hand 
 again in aid of the suffering wives and child- 
 ren, whom the cruelties of war had left wid- 
 owed and fatherless. The " Academy of 
 Music," whose walls might tell the tale oi 
 many a triumph ; whose spaces from pit to 
 proscenium, teem with association ; where 
 genius has received its baptism of immortal- 
 ity and munificence in the garb of Revel, dis- 
 pensed a royal charity, was to be thrown open 
 for a crowning effort. '' Delmonico's " was 
 a scene of light and animation, as, at an early 
 hour of this evening, two gentlemen seated 
 themselves at a cozy table, in a corner look- 
 ing out upon the avenue. Both of them 
 were army men and one carried, and would 
 carry to his grave a scar of honorable 
 warfare. Above the average height of men, 
 with a faultless figure, and a face singularly 
 handsome, Charlie Blaisdel might have mar- 
 ried almost any girl for the asking. He had 
 wealth, talent, a chivalric manner of address 
 — nearly every quality to please a woman, 
 except constancy. He had thought himself 
 
6 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 in love a dozen times, and had discovered in 
 the light of some new attraction that his sup- 
 posed ideal had taken wings, with promise of 
 materialization in the latest acquisition to his 
 lengthening list of fair divinities. Hugh 
 Griswold, his companion, was a man himself, 
 possessed of form and features which classed 
 him among the handsome men of his day. 
 Straight as an arrow, a soldier in all his bear- 
 ing ; modest, almost to timidity ; a born lead- 
 er of men, and with an estimate of woman 
 which took its richest coloring from the al- 
 most idolatrous love he bore his only sister 
 and widowed mother ; he was not a man to 
 confuse a transient fancy with the passion of 
 a life, and never, till a year before, when 
 sickness had brought him home, and, amidst 
 his wanderings among the mountains seeking 
 to hasten a lagging convalescence, the path- 
 way of pretty Kitty Wilmerding crossed his 
 own, had he known the potent charm which 
 lay within the hollow of a woman's hand, or 
 the glad surprise which followed in the foot- 
 steps of enthrallment. But Kitty had awak- 
 ened him out of his dreamless sleep, how, he 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 7 
 
 never could understand, any more than many 
 another to whom the revelation of an absorb- 
 ing passion comes quick as a lightning flash ; 
 its work accomplished before the senses have 
 recovered from the shock. Certain it was, 
 that when he awakened, one bright morning, 
 he made a discovery which turned the cur- 
 rent of his thoughts toward a distant goal, 
 hitherto unknown and unsuspected. 
 
 Hugh Griswold was not a man to tempor- 
 ize. If there was a duty before him he gave 
 his whole energy to its fulfilment ; if on pleas- 
 ure bent, he was gay as the rest — fertile in 
 device, hearty in co-operation. But he sud- 
 denly found himself upon a strange pathway 
 — very beautiful were its surroundings, in- 
 deed, but it was an avenue he had never 
 trodden ; and whither would it lead ? " That 
 is just what I shall find out," was his mental 
 resolve, and he saw no reason to swerve, any 
 more than when at Fredericksburg, his bat- 
 tery had been ordered to a point where he 
 kiiew the fight would be hopeless and unequal. 
 If the matter now in hand Vv^as not a positive 
 duty, it was akin to it, for what right had he, 
 
8 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 he reasoned, to love a girl and she be none 
 the wiser of his thought of her ? With his 
 strict notions of right and wrong, such a 
 course would be insult to her. He could 
 not carry about with him in his heart, the 
 image of a girl who had given hmi no patent 
 of hope at least, and beside, it was unsatis- 
 factory to him, and so in his straightforward 
 way, he had asked Kitty as they were riding 
 together the day before he took leave of the 
 autumn-tinted hills, and had reined in to ad- 
 mire a distant feature of the landscape, 
 if she would be his wife. " He v/ould ever," 
 he said, " associate the memories of this visit 
 with her. Could he not carry back with him 
 the /io/>e at least, that some day she would be 
 to him more than a memory?" But Kitty 
 was young and had admirers by the score, 
 and some very tender words Charlie Blais- 
 del had spoken to her of late, chiming in as 
 they did with other rhythmic cadences of her 
 happy life, made her loath to still the pleasant 
 poetic jingle by a surrender to dull realities; 
 she wanted unbounded space to breathe in; 
 the world for a playground, (for a while, at 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 9 
 
 least), and then, what if she did bestow her- 
 self upon this man, and the fortunes of war 
 took him from her forever, and she were left 
 widowed, even before her wedding-day — oh! 
 the thought of it was too horrible to bear, 
 and so, not to cast him off, not to kill the hope 
 he had uttered, or within herself that germ 
 which, because of her sincere respect and 
 liking for him, she knew might ripen into 
 all that he could ask of love and faithfulness, 
 she bade him wait, and he, in the nobility of 
 his soul, recognized the trouble of her spirit, 
 and pressed her no more, only, upon leaving 
 her the following day, he had said : " You 
 bade me wait, and that has kindled within 
 me the gleam of hope for which I sought. I 
 have much to thank you for in the pleasure 
 of the past few days. I shall have much more, 
 if my waiting meet with its coveted reward." 
 
 And now Hugh has returned to New York 
 for a couple of days, before starting with his 
 battery for the west, and meeting Charlie 
 Blaisdel, they had dropped in at Delmonico's 
 to dine together. 
 
 " Of course, Hugh, you'll go to the 
 
lO AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 ' Charity ' to-night — splendid luck getting 
 here in time ; it's always the swell thing 
 of the season, but to-night, they say, will 
 eclipse any previous efforts." " I hardly 
 think so," answered Griswold. " I have no 
 ticket and to-morrow I have much to do." 
 " Doesn't matter," retorted Blaisdel, " about 
 the ticket, I'll arrange that, and you must go; 
 why, everybody w411 be there, and such an 
 array of beautiful women. Why, man, do the 
 gods provide such feasts for such as we to 
 turn our backs upon ? Of course, you'll 
 go, if you have to transact your business to- 
 morrow in your dress suit." '* All right, 
 then, I suppose I must," answered Griswold. 
 " I'll straggle in some time during the night, 
 but, you know, dancing is not much in my 
 line." " Oh, you don't have to dance if you 
 don't care to, the boxes hold the special at- 
 tractions, and that is my idea of bliss ; a blaze 
 of light ; the loveliest music in the world ; 
 and a corner of a box with your divinity. 
 Ah ! Hugh, I came near losing all that, when 
 that confounded bullet made its round my 
 way." " You're loved of women more than 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. n 
 
 of the gods, Charlie, 1 suspect, and so not 
 predestined to an early grave," said Hugh. 
 
 Blaisdel raised his glass to catch the sparkle 
 of the amber-colored liquid, as the light from a 
 chandelier overhead fell into it, and bowed in 
 mute recognition of the compliment. '' You 
 know I do not go back to the field, I sup- 
 pose," he said, presently. 
 
 "No? Well, you've paid full tribute to 
 Mars, I should say, with your record and that 
 wound. What do you hope to do with your- 
 self ? " asked Griswold. " Take to the law, 
 I suppose. I've broken so many of them 
 myself I ought to be a good pleader for 
 others." "Gaining your clients on the * ex- 
 perto crede ' principle, I presume," laughed 
 Griswold. 
 
 " Perhaps so, if ever I get any, but I shall 
 not be dependent upon my practice for my 
 bread," said Blaisdel ; " a revered uncle, peace 
 to his ashes, probably foresaw my necessities, 
 and provided for them, but something I must 
 do ; a man cannot stay at home in these times 
 and be idle." "I should fancy not," said 
 Griswold, "still, I almost envy you a so- 
 
12 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 journ in New York. Look where you will, 
 New Vork is always in the lead." " Yes," 
 answered Blaisdel, " but even the gayeties of 
 this great metropolis pall after a time, and 
 I'm not so sure but that the man to whom pleas- 
 ure comes only in the intervals of hard work 
 is not the happier. Give a man an aim in 
 life, stimulate his ambition in whatever direc- 
 tion you like, set a goal for him, however dis- 
 tant, and every energy of his being becomes 
 aroused — that man sees every phase of life, 
 it is no one-sided picture to him, it's a hard 
 field to fight and conquer. Very many do 
 not conquer, you may say. True, but they 
 fall in the full rush and glory of the charge, 
 fall while the blood is up, and they are filled 
 with a noble purpose. Fate may be against 
 them, but for such men there is the Destiny of 
 immortality." * I never supposed you so in- 
 spired, Charlie," said Griswold, " but I think 
 you are right — the only serious part of the 
 business seems to be the initial step. Im- 
 primis, then, a man should place himself upon 
 the most solid footing of respectability, es- 
 tablish a base of supplies, as it were, for cour- 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 13 
 
 age, advice, sympathy, and that calm dis- 
 criminating- judgment which a woman pos- 
 sesses so pre-eminently more than a man — in 
 fact, a man should find an ally, or, in other 
 words, a wife." "To be sure," answered 
 Blaisdel, '' that is, I suppose so, but it's so 
 confounded risky." *' Risky?" interrogated 
 Hugh, over whose face an expression of 
 scorn shot for an instant. " Risky for whom, 
 pray— did you happen to mean for the woman, 
 Charlie ? If you did, I say Amen." " Well, 
 that was not the idea that I had at the time 
 I spoke," retorted Blaisdel ; '' possibly she zuas 
 included in my estimate of risk, but I sup- 
 pose I was thinking principally of myself, 
 you see, Hugh—" " Oh, yes, I see," interrupt- 
 ed Griswold, " that man is the most selfish 
 brute on earth in matters affecting his com- 
 fort, his convenience and his liberties — few 
 thoughts he ever gives to the woman in such 
 cases, except as to what he requires of her ; 
 money, good looks, amiability, obedience to 
 his sovereign will, answering all questions, 
 asking none— risky! I should say it was, espe- 
 cially in these times, and for the woman, a 
 
14 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 thousanu times more than for the man." 
 *' Quixotic nonsense, all of that," replied 
 Blaisdel, emptying his glass of Cliquot, and 
 complaisantly regarding its replenishment ; 
 " of course, marriage is a woman's natural 
 ambition, and if a man can offer her an honr 
 orable name, a comfortable home, good so- 
 ciety, what more can she desire ? " " She can 
 desire a great deal more, Charlie, but she 
 rarely gets it. She can desire companionship 
 for one thing, and how much of that precious 
 commodity would the average city man of 
 to-day be willing to give, how many nights 
 would he be willing to dock from his club or 
 lodge to turn over to her, I should like to 
 ask; courtship stops too suddenly to my 
 thinking ; the tenderness fades out of a man's 
 voice too often, when he supplants the word 
 sweetheart with that of wife, and that's what 
 kills. To my notion, a woman's worth weighs 
 considerably over sixteen ounces to every 
 pound of that commodity which a man brings 
 into the market. Yes, marriage is risky, 
 risky for the woman." '' My dear fellow," 
 replied Blaisdel, a smile flitting across his 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 15 
 
 features, as he settled himself more comfort- 
 ably in the arm-chair, and took a leisurely 
 survey of the large, brilliantly lighted room, 
 and of the pretty women it contained, " the 
 championship of woman is an earnest of no- 
 bility, and heaven forbid that the name of 
 Blaisdel should ever bear the taint of espou- 
 sal of the cause of their oppressors, so often 
 though 
 
 'The light that lies in woman's eyes 
 Has been my heart's undoing,' — 
 
 that it behoves me to approach with some 
 deliberation and respect for the voice of 
 warning, that period of a final decision, from 
 which there is no retreat possible. Besides, 
 a calm deliberation dignifies any act of a 
 man's life, and what should be embellished 
 with a greater dignity, than this all im- 
 portant one of marriage. A man wants to be 
 sure of himself and her, before he asks a wo- 
 man to take up the burden of life with him; 
 he wants to be certain that this glamour 
 which surrounds all things at such a time 
 will last. Ik Marvel expresses it beautifully: 
 * Damp will deaden the fire of a cigar, and, 
 
l6 AN IDYL OF AVAR-TIMES. 
 
 there are hellish damps, alas, too many, that 
 will deaden the early blazing of the heart.' " 
 
 " Charlie, you arc a dreamer, and I believe 
 you will go on dreaming all your life, pro- 
 vided your dreams come to you tinged with 
 the ligfht of sentimentalitv — but, life has more 
 than sentiment in its offering, and, one should 
 bar the door first, against want and hardship 
 and wrong, and sentiment will idle in on the 
 sunbeams through the windovv^ panes ; but do 
 you know what time it is ? Eleven o'clock, 
 by all that's good, and that ball still before us." 
 "Plenty of time," said Blaisdel, ''take some 
 more wine. No? So be it then, ours be the 
 intoxication which lies in a woman's smile, 
 and, if I mistake not, you will be very drunken 
 with it all before you leave the 'Academy,' 
 to-night, especially if Kitty is there, as I hope 
 she will be." " Kitty," said Hugh, "Kitty 
 who? That's rather an indefinite allusion 
 to a fair divinity." "Why, there's but one 
 Kitty in the world, man," said Blaisdel. 
 "Wait till you sec Kitty Wilmerding, and, if 
 the list of the enslaved is not greater by one, all 
 ray hope of you, Hugh, will perish on the spot." 
 
AN IDYL or WAR-TIMES. 17 
 
 Hugh Griswold had never taken any 
 special pains to mask his feelings — his emo- 
 tions, whether of joy or sorrow, had always 
 quite naturally ranged themselves behind the 
 bulwark of a quiet dignity of manner which 
 was his by inheritance ; rarely was he as out- 
 spoken as he had been to-night. People were 
 generally with him free of their own viev/s 
 of life, and men had never failed in according 
 him a similar prerogative. An impertinent 
 curiosity was as foreign to his nature as a 
 liberty toward himself would have been in- 
 tolerable. Men liked him, and respected him 
 in his quiet, undemonstrative ways, but no 
 one dared to accept the risk of attempted 
 familiarity; there was a light in his eyes 
 which told of a spirit best left dormant. It is 
 your quiet man who becomes dangerous 
 when aroused. Hugh did not know that Kitty 
 Wilmerding was in the city; he had thought 
 of her as miles away — far off among the hills 
 of New England, whither he would gladly 
 have gone to her, to ask if the period of his 
 probation had passed, but time was wanting; 
 he had run on to New York only for a couple 
 
l8 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 of days to attend to some pressing business, 
 and must return at once, and, Charlie Blais- 
 del's announcement that she was in the city, 
 while it gave him infinite pleasure, came to 
 him in a way he did not exactly like. He did 
 not like to hear her name upon Charlie Blais- 
 del's flippant tongue, and it angered him. 
 "Miss Wilmerding in New York," he said, in 
 slow tones, looking straight into Blaisdel's 
 eyes. *'I did not know that you knew her." 
 "Why, what's the matter, Hugh ? " exclaimed 
 Blaisdel, "you look as though you had seen 
 a ghost. Of course, I know Kitty Wilmer- 
 ding, and if I may judge from appearances, I 
 should say that her existence is neither a 
 matter of news or indifference to youy "In 
 both of which surmises you are correct," re- 
 plied Hugh, and not willing to let Blaisdel 
 into the knowledge of his very great interest 
 in the young lady, he added, "and I congratu- 
 late you upon j^our own apparent intimacy 
 w^ith her." "That's not the word, Hugh," 
 said Blaisdel, ''that's not the word by a long 
 shot. I don't think she has an intimate gentle- 
 man friend in the world, though there are 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 19 
 
 thousands who have striven hard enough for 
 the honor. She doesn't seem to be in any 
 hurry to relinquish her freedom, I can assure 
 you. She is not the butterfly to be caught 
 (yet at least), though many a man has thrown 
 his net," and then, as though he w^as about to 
 utter another thought he caught himself and 
 indulged the mental reflection, ''Can Hugh 
 Griswold be the man who is holding her in 
 check?" 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 Who has ever set foot within that temple of 
 the muses, **The Academy of Music," without 
 a feeling of awe, as though in the presence of 
 the masters whose inspirations, through the 
 interpretations of the most God-gifted artists 
 of the earth, have called forth the plaudits of 
 wondering millions ! It is as though one trod 
 upon hallowed ground, and, lingering upon 
 the air, dulcet memories of such voices as 
 those of Grisi, and Mario and Jenny Lind, and 
 La Grange, Parepa, Tamberlik and Brignoli 
 whisper of a triumphant past. As Griswold, 
 late in the evening, stepped into the auditor- 
 ium the scene that met his eye was one of ex- 
 ceeding beauty. All that art could accom- 
 plish, with flowers and costly draperies, with 
 paintings and priceless soul-pictures, with 
 bunting and burnished arms, with tapestries 
 and silken hangings, with light and softened 
 radiance, was there to charm the sense and 
 soul. In the boxes, ranged tier upon tier, 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 21 
 
 women looked down upon the scene in ani- 
 mated conversation, the melody of many a 
 silvery voice falling- in grateful accents upon 
 the ear. Here v/as the flash of countless 
 jewels, the rhythmic miotion of a thousand 
 fans, the power and influence of music ; the 
 subtle incense which pervades the realm of 
 woman. Amidst all these, happiness in her 
 speaking eyes, the glory of her lovely woman- 
 hood enwrapping her as in a mantle, sat she, 
 v/hom in all the earth he loved the best. She 
 was speaking, as he looked, to Blaisdel, and 
 evidently his latest remark had come to her in 
 the light of a surprise, not a disagreeable one, 
 either, if Hugh interpreted her looks aright, 
 but whether he was the subject of the con- 
 versation, of course he could not tell. He 
 stood and looked at her for a fevr moments. 
 There was a pleasure to him in even this dis- 
 tant view of the woman he loved. It pleased 
 him to see the look of happiness upon her 
 face — the light of an innocent soul looking 
 from out her large, blue eyes — the every 
 graceful movement of her body, rhythmic like 
 a willow in the swaying of a gentle breeze. 
 
22 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 Evidently Blaisdel's talk was pleasing to her, 
 as it was to most women, when he had the 
 will to make it so, and Hugh felt a pang as 
 near akin to jealousy as he had ever felt, 
 while he looked. 
 
 A few moments later he knocked at the 
 door of the box and entered, and was repaid 
 instanter, for Kitty had risen and given him 
 her hand in welcome. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Griswold, what a charming sur- 
 prise. I could scarcely credit Mr. Blaisdel 
 when he told me you would be here ; I had 
 thought of you as far away somewhere in a 
 horrid tent, undergoing no end of hardships." 
 " Thank you for the assurance that you have 
 thought of me at all. Miss Wilmerding," said 
 Hugh ; " my tent would contain no discom- 
 forts could I know that you followed me some- 
 times there in your thoughts." " Why, of 
 course, what more can we women do, than 
 think of our absent heroes," she answered ; 
 " I hope you have come to stay some time, 
 now that you are here." " Until to-morrow," 
 Hugh replied ; " but in the pleasure of seeing 
 you there is more than compensation for the 
 
AN IDYL OF V/AR-TIMES. 23 
 
 shortness of my stay." Blaisdel had turned 
 and engaged one of the other ladies in con- 
 versation, so that he did not hear when 
 Kitty remarked : '' Don't pay compliments, 
 do not deteriorate from the style of man I 
 knew a year ago. One is surfeited with com- 
 pliments here." '' Need there have been an 
 idle compliment in my words?" said Hugh. 
 "A year ago I told you what you were to me, 
 and I have not changed — is there any need 
 that I should, Kitty? — have I no right to 
 think of you as I did ? " " You have every 
 right to think of me as kindly as you will," 
 she said, " and there is no likelihood of 
 there being any one to dispute that right." 
 And with this much Hugh was constrained 
 to be satisfied, for half a dozen people 
 crowded into the box at this moment, and 
 the conversation became general nor did he 
 have an opportunity of an uninterrupted 
 talk that night, only in bidding her good- 
 bye some time later, he had looked down 
 into her eyes and said : " Good-bj^e, I am 
 happier after having seen you again. You 
 will follow me sometimes in your thoughts, 
 
24 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES, 
 
 will you not, and I may still have hope to 
 comfort me ? " "I shall think of you often — 
 pray for you — always — pray that the future 
 may have no disappointments in store for you 
 — or for me," she answered and her little hand 
 rested for an instant, passively within his 
 own, and as her eyes looked up at him, as 
 through a mist, his heart spoke to her through 
 the mysterious agency of a gentle pressure, 
 and he was gone. 
 
 Moored to the long rickety wharf at Belle 
 Plains, upon the Potomac River, one of a 
 flotilla of craft of similar construction, the 
 canal-boat *' & Ru Jaxn " awaited a cargo. 
 There w^as an easy grace and majestic bearing 
 withal about this craft, different from the for- 
 bidding lack of compromise in the black hulls 
 and straight lines of her sisters; she sat upon 
 the placid waters imbued wMth some sugges- 
 tions of a thing of life, her bows up-reared, 
 breasting the stream as though impatient of 
 testing her strength against some cresting 
 wave, her sheer line, long and graceful, and 
 her projecting ptcrn overhanging the un- 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 25 
 
 troubled waters, the material sequence of 
 some happy understanding between the ship- 
 wright and his workmen. Proud she was, 
 too, in the matter of personal adornment, a 
 broad, white stripe relieving the darkness of 
 her hull, and, in golden letters, she carried 
 upon her stern-post the emblazonry of her 
 historic name. What mattered it if that name 
 disclosed, in its orthography, departure from 
 the tenets of an established school : was not 
 the name itself sufihcient warrant of a bold 
 refusal of servile imitation and adherence to 
 anterior custom? With prescriptive right 
 she looked with scorn upon the feeble efforts 
 of such names as " Dolly" and " Alice Jane " 
 and "Phoebe S." and others of the ilk; in es- 
 tablishing a personality, j/^^ boasted of a name 
 which had been proudly upon the lips of every 
 born American, and high in the air she 
 flaunted it in the face of all beholders. Her 
 captain, a staunch old New England sailor, 
 had long since deserted the stormy seas, and 
 settled quietly aboard the ''& Ru Jaxn," content 
 with his good-tempered, worthy wife, to pass 
 his remaining days amidst scenes of a less 
 
26 AN lUYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 exciting nature. Captain Jenkins was a man 
 too wise in his generation, and with a fund 
 of anecdote and personal adventure, which 
 he was fond of sharing with an attentive audi- 
 ence, under the mollifying influences of a pipe 
 and occasional glass of grog. And now the 
 "& Ru Jaxn" had left the narrow boundaries 
 of her accustomed routes, and her owner, 
 won over by prospective gain, had yielded to 
 the requirements of a pressing governmental 
 need, and swung her into line in readiness 
 for a new and hazardous enterprise. 
 
 There was a motley assemblage of craft at 
 Belle Plains; ferry-boats, and steam-barges, 
 tugs and canal-boats awaited the coming of 
 two divisions of the Ninth Army Corps, 
 which, by special request of their old com- 
 mander, General Burnside, were being trans- 
 ferred from the Army of the Potomac to the 
 West. They were to embark at Belle Plains, 
 rendezvous and equip at Newport News at 
 the mouth of the James River, and thence 
 proceed to Baltimore, en route to their destina- 
 tion. Late one evening of early Spring, long 
 lines of infantry filed along down the winding, 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 27 
 
 corduroy road to the river bank; batteries of 
 artillery and wagon trains went into park 
 wherever the nature of the ground admitted, 
 and as rapidly as possible the work of embar- 
 kation was accomplished. The " & Ru Jaxn '* 
 and three sometime liners on the canal, fitted 
 for the reception of horses, were loaded with 
 the animals of two batteries, and as the tug 
 steamed out into the stream with its odd tow, 
 three rousing cheers from the soldiers bivou- 
 acked upon the decks bade farewell to that 
 grand army, which escaped from the jaws of 
 death, lay resting from their heroic but in- 
 effectual attempts at Fredericksburg. To 
 Captain Griswold had been assigned this 
 singular section of an odd flotilla; his battery 
 horses had been loaded, and he and his lieut- 
 enant, Clarence Olmstead, were to be pass- 
 engers on the " & Ru Jaxn," and she, bringing 
 up the rear of the procession, would give 
 them supervision of the whole. Griswold 
 rather looked forward with pleasure to the 
 trip; there would be the charm of novelty 
 about it, and dullness, with Olmstead aboard, 
 would be impossible, for he was a wild, fun- 
 
28 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 loving fellow with a fertility of resource in 
 that direction never found wanting. He, too, 
 was genuinely fond of Griswold and had 
 studied him sufficiently to know when "Old 
 Hugh," as he styled him, wanted to be left to 
 his own thoughts, and so the two got on 
 splendidly together. But Hugh's anticipa- 
 tion of a quiet time, a time for thought, and 
 the maturing of some half-formed plans for 
 the future, were destined to disappointment. 
 He had gone below into the little cabin, 
 over which Mrs. Jenkins, as tutelar deity of 
 the craft presided, and had received froni 
 that worthy dame the assignment of his berth 
 which he was making comfortable after his 
 own fashion, with the assistance of his fac- 
 totum, a small, red-headed Irishman who, as 
 a striker, had no superior, and few equals. 
 ''It's luxury you'll be havin' here, Captcn," 
 remarked the irrepressible son of Erin, "faith 
 it's loike Noah's Ark, barrin' the absence of 
 some of the animals." "Hush, Flynn," said 
 Griswold, "I am talking to Mrs. Jenkins." "I 
 beg pardin, sor, no disrespect to yourself or 
 the lady; the ark was surely a foine place 
 
AN IDYL OF V/AR-TIMES. 29 
 
 and Mistress Noah a foine woman, though 
 I'm told her temper was tried at toimes." 
 With which complimentary remark and 
 characteristic satisfaction at having the last 
 word, Flynn disappeared up the companion- 
 way to the deck. 
 
 *'I hope we are not incommoding you, Mrs. 
 Jenkins," said Griswold. 
 
 " Oh, no, sir; not in the least. I'm used to 
 having the cabin crowded; she has berths for 
 a dozen, you see, and often we have carried 
 more — me and Israel likes company." 
 
 "Naturally enough," remarked Hugh, "it 
 must be dull work upon the canal, I should 
 say." 
 
 "It is home to me now^' ansv/ered the good 
 v/oman. "I could not bear to stay alone at 
 the old place, and Israel had to have work. 
 We buried our only child, a girl of fourteen, 
 three years ago, and the house was never the 
 same to cither of us after that. It's only them 
 as has lost their children knows how dear 
 they was," and a fiood of tender memories, 
 a sudden home-coming of her sense of sad 
 bereavement dimmed the old lady's eyes, and 
 
30 AN IDYL OF WAR-IIMES. 
 
 as she removed her spectacles and wiped 
 them, she said : 
 
 "You have no family, sir ? " 
 
 "No — none, Mrs. Jenkins, some day, per- 
 haps, I may be so far blessed," said Hugh. 
 
 "Aye, I see, sir, you have your heart on 
 some nice girl, no doubt; she must be worry- 
 ing for you these sad times." 
 
 "It would make me ver}' happy to think 
 
 so, Mrs. Jenkins. What the d !" which 
 
 abrupt termination to Hugh's outspoken 
 thought and his exclamation of surprise was 
 due to the unceremonious manner of Lieu- 
 tenant Clarence Olmstead's entrance, or 
 rather descent, into the cabin. 
 
 "Hoop-la ! " shouted that impetuous young 
 man, as he sprang down the steps, touching 
 them but once in his flight; "beg pardon, Mrs. 
 Jenkins; yours, too, Captain, but we're msuch 
 luck." 
 
 "Out with it, then," exclaimed Hugh, "but 
 please remember that I am in a way respon- 
 sible for your neck, which you seem to care 
 very little for, judging from the manner of 
 your descent of those steps; now what is it? " 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 31 
 
 *' Why the steamer with the guns has just 
 gone, and an old gentleman with his two 
 daughters, who had hoped to go to Fortress 
 Monroe aboard of her, are left, and Captain 
 Jenkins has just agreed to take them down 
 with us, if you're agreeable, and you will be 
 of course — they seem to be such nice people. 
 He has something to do with the Christian 
 Commission, I believe, and is traveling with 
 his daughters through the army, and one of 
 them is fair as Aurora, sweet as Dorothy 
 Dean; the other, dark as Nourmahal and 
 handsome as Psyche." 
 
 " Strange place for ladies, it seems to me," 
 replied Hugh, '' but that is their affair ; of 
 course, I have no objection if they think 
 they can stand it. Go on deck and entertain 
 them Olmstead, while Mrs. Jenkins and I 
 consult as to ways and means," and, turning 
 to that somewhat astonished matron, Hugh 
 explained that his mess chest was well sup- 
 plied, and that Flynn was a capital cook, so 
 no doubt they should get along. Shortly 
 after, Hugh went on deck, and there met the 
 kindly old gentleman, his face fairly beaming 
 
$2 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 with benevolence, and his daughters — they 
 were, indeed, exceedingly handsome women, 
 the elder, probably twenty-five years of age, 
 tall, graceful, and with a quiet dignity of 
 manner in marked contrast with the buoyant 
 spirits of her sister, whom Olmstead had 
 monopolized quite as a matter of course, and 
 who seemed to look upon their prospective 
 voyage as no end of fun. 
 
 The descent of the river was not to be be- 
 gun till morning. The oddly freighted tow 
 had pulled out into the stream and swung 
 around in the current and come to anchor, 
 and only waited the morning light to steam 
 away toward its destination. The nights 
 were chilly yet, and the party early adjourn- 
 ed to the cabin and seated around on lockers 
 and valises, devoted themselves to becoming 
 better acquainted. Olmstead contrived to 
 get his divinity off in one corner and, dis- 
 dainful of methods of regular approach, pro- 
 ceeded to storm the citadel of that young la- 
 dy's heart after his own characteristic fashion. 
 To Griswold, the old gentleman was a fascin- 
 ation — the story of his connection w^ith the 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 33 
 
 Christian Commission ; the scenes of tragedy 
 and pathos to which he had been witness in 
 camp and hospital ; the labors of his col- 
 leagues in the field of benevolence and amel- 
 ioration of the sufferings of sick and wounded 
 possessed for him a thrilling interest, and 
 when he referred with pardonable pride to 
 his elder daughter's patient watchfulness and 
 tender nursing within the wards of the 
 Washington hospitals, there rose up before 
 Hugh's mind the sweet womanliness of that 
 inspiration of Owen Meredith's La Soeur 
 Seraphine, reproduced in the lovely woman 
 at his side, whose dark beauty shed a radi- 
 ance about her: 
 
 " Like the light upon Autumn's soft shadowy days." 
 
 But everybody was tired out and glad to 
 go to rest after the wearying day, and Hugh 
 and Olmstead soon found themselves pacing 
 the deck in the enjoyment of a pipe, while 
 the ladies took advantage of their absence to 
 creep into their berths, and give themselves 
 up to the '' god of dreams." 
 
 A gentle breeze swept over the surface of 
 
34 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 the water, throwing the tiny reflections of 
 the stars into the mazes of a merry dance, 
 while, from the blazing camp fires along the 
 shore bright gleams shot out upon the tide, 
 gilding the sides of the transports as they 
 swung gently at anchor in the moving 
 stream. There were but few tents visible. 
 Rolled in their blankets, the weary troops 
 lay down with no other covering but the 
 canopy of heaven — the soft murmur of the 
 wind, the musical lapping of the moving tide, 
 their lullaby. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 From the cabin of the *' & Ru Jaxn " a door 
 led forward into the kitchen, the special 
 province ol good Mrs. Jenkins, and here, be- 
 fore that worthy woman had opened her 
 eyes, Flynn had established himself among 
 the pots and pans with which he kept up a 
 running fire of conversation, as though sud- 
 denly brought into friendly contact with 
 friends of a by-gone day. 
 
 Nor was Flynn the only early riser aboard 
 this stately craft. Lieutenant Clarence Olm- 
 stead had impressed upon the mind of Miss 
 Marjorie Hale some idea of the extreme 
 beauty of sunrise upon the Potomac, a pic- 
 ture to which his rich gift of imagination 
 lent a coloring, pardonable possibly, in view 
 of the result which he hoped for, of stimu- 
 lating that young lady's appetite for break- 
 fast by the copious drafts of fresh morning 
 air, which a turn or two of the deck would 
 insure, and so he had said ''Good nioiht'' the 
 
3^ A\ IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 evening before, only to beinoan the fact, that 
 several hours must elapse before he could 
 say ''Good viorniug!' and in anticipation of 
 this matutinal greeting, he was now pacing 
 the deck, hummiing a little French song, 
 which had suggested itself to his impatient 
 thoughts as appropriate to the occasion : 
 
 " Le riclcan de ma voisine ; 
 Se souleve lentemem, 
 Elle va, je L' imagine, 
 Prendre I'air un moment." 
 
 And this musical reminder of her promise 
 coming to the awakening sense of the young 
 lady, she slipped quietly from her berth and 
 very soon stood before him, as sweet and 
 fresh as an early blossom of May. ** Oh, 
 Miss Marjorie, good morning," said 01m- 
 stead, " I hope you have slept well. The sun 
 lias been impatient of your coming and 
 rushes to embrace you." " He is quite im- 
 partial in his favors though," answered his 
 companion, " but I am grateful for those he 
 lavishes on me. Oh ! how lovely this i.^, I 
 must call my sister to enjoy it, too." " Real- 
 ly, I would not. Miss Marjorie, I am sure ihe 
 
AN IDYL OF V/AR-TLMES. 37 
 
 needs rest. She appeared quite fagged out 
 la^t night, and besides, gratify my selfishness 
 and carry the remembrance of this morning 
 as of one whose beauties I invoked for youT 
 ** And are your invocations always so happy 
 of result, Mr. Olmstead ? " and pretty Mar- 
 jorie Hale laughed as musically as a song 
 bird in its greeting to the day. 
 
 ** Content yourself with this one exhibition 
 of my powers, please. One should never 
 tempt the gods too far," said Olmstead. And 
 indeed, the sight was beautiful, and Marjorie 
 Hale drank it all in with a pure girlish de- 
 light. The long stretch of water before them 
 shimmered in the sunlight like a surface of 
 frosted gold ; the tall spars of sloops and 
 schooners, as they rode at anchor, cast their 
 shadows far astern. The decks were peopled 
 vrith busy throngs of men ; along the shore 
 and deep within the density of the woods, 
 the troops Vv^ere responding to the bugle 
 notes which roused them into activity ; on the 
 air were the faint odors of the morninof m.eal, 
 steaming above a hundred camp-fires; voices 
 in morning salutation and snatches of song 
 
38 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 routed the stillness which had boded over 
 the scene. Far down the river in a graceful 
 curve the waters passed from view, leaving 
 upon the horizon but a stretch of forest 
 trees, thei^- gilded tops nodding in the mov- 
 ing winds in clear reflection against the dis- 
 tant, cloudless sky. 
 
 A moment later, Flynn, the irrepressible, 
 well-schooled as to human needs, and with 
 full measure of that national characteristic 
 which esteems the service of a woman para- 
 mount to all other obligations, appeared com- 
 ing up the companion-way with a steaming 
 hot cup of coffee, which he offered to Miss 
 Marjorie, remarking: " You'd better thry this, 
 Miss ; it's a panacaer against the ills of the 
 morning air ; its tay the lieutenent takes, 
 and he's had his dra — cup, I mean, already," 
 and with a twinkle in his eye, as he looks at 
 Olmstead, he drops down again amidst the 
 pots and pans. But Marjorie is none the 
 wiser of Olmstead's matutinal tipple, which 
 Flynn had so nearly disclosed, and she only 
 laughs and says : '* What a droll fellow 
 vour servant is, Mr. Olmstead ; he must be 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 39 
 
 an unending source of entertainment to you, 
 but it was very kind of him to bring me this 
 delicious coffee." 
 
 " Yes," replied Olmstead, " he is a typical 
 Irishman, and never at a loss for a word, 
 though he handles his vocabulary with sur- 
 prising recklessness at times. You will find 
 him quite your devoted slave. Miss Marjorie, 
 as we will all be, if you will permit. You 
 have but to command to be obeyed." 
 
 ''How very nice you are, indeed," answered 
 the young girl, as she sipped her coffee, and, 
 lookinsr far over the water in the wake of 
 their singular procession (for they were mov- 
 ing now down stream), added : " Oh, how 
 happy I am ; how beautiful all this seems ! " 
 
 And Olmstead, watching her as she sat 
 there, the delicate glow of perfect health 
 upon her cheeks, the light of a happy content 
 in her speaking eyes, one dainty little hand 
 lying upon the rail of the vessel, a pretty little 
 foot peeping from beneath her gown, and seem- 
 ingly keeping time to the rhythmic cadence of 
 her thoughts, made a mental resolve, touch- 
 
40 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 ing upon a very important factor, in the 
 shaping of his future life. 
 
 Meanwhile, Captain Jenkins had been 
 busied with matters connected with his tow ; 
 looking to the adjustments of the ropes, the 
 stowing on deck of the fenders, the securing 
 of the hatches so as to admit light and air to 
 the animals, and had, finally, ensconced himself 
 upon a stool beside the tiller, and, here, with 
 his pipe in active operation, he presented a 
 picture of perfect content, and, chiming in 
 with Marjorie's expression of delight at the 
 peaceful beauty of the scene outspread before 
 them, emitted dense clouds of smoke by way 
 of preparation and preface to his remark. 
 
 ''It's pretty. Miss, enough, but it lacks the 
 life — it lacks the life." '' Why, Captain Jen- 
 kins, how can you say that, it seems full of 
 life to me, and of beauty too ; but I suppose 
 you miss the sea with all its dangers and ex- 
 citements," said ]\Iarjorie, as she looked back 
 at him and adjusted a refractory curl which 
 had escaped from beneath her broad Gains- 
 borough hat. 
 
 "Yes, yes, Miss, that's it, I suppose. It's 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 41 
 
 often dull aboard a craft like this, and we 
 don't often have a blythe young lass to cheer 
 us up," and the old sailor puffed vigorously 
 at his pipe, as though to reward himself for 
 having said just the right thing. " Now, 
 Captain Jenkins, if you are going to turn 
 flatterer, too," and she flashed with her bright 
 blue eyes a warning signal at Olmstead, who 
 was rather impatient of this disturbance of 
 his tete-a-tete, " I shall think I have not a true 
 friend on board." 
 
 " Little doubt of that, Miss ; there's the 
 lieutenant there, looks as though he'd cham- 
 pion ye and bless the chance," and with a 
 quiet little chuckle this observant man of the 
 sea lashed the tiller and moved away to the 
 forward part of the boat where something 
 seemed to need his attention. 
 
 ** Mr. Olmstead," said Marjorie, '' do men 
 ever grow too old for flattery ? " '' Never, 
 that I heard of," laughed Olmstead, *Hhey 
 recognize the fact, that it is an essential fea- 
 ture to some women's happiness ; but I can 
 scarcely conceive of your being subject to its 
 annoyance ; what would be subtle flattery to 
 
4* AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 many another woman would be but simple 
 truth to you." 
 
 " What wondrous powers of analysis you 
 have, Mr. Olmstead ; here, you have known 
 me for about twelve hours, and you have 
 assigned me an established character already: 
 thank you, sir; but, I fear you will find me 
 very commonplace and human before our 
 voyage ends," laughed the young lady, w^ho 
 secretly hoped she was not doomed to dis- 
 appointment in the handsome fellow before 
 her, for Marjorie Hale hated flattery above 
 all things, as it had to her the ring of insin- 
 cerity which she could not tolerate in any 
 human being ; her very soul spoke out 
 through her great blue eyes, and she was 
 provokingly pretty and attractive, but she 
 was a remarkably well-balanced young lady 
 withal, and knew the sound of true metal 
 when she heard it ; but, happily, Olmstead's 
 threatened confession was averted by the 
 appearance of the rest of the party on deck, 
 and a few moments later, Flynn's announce- 
 ment of breakfast. 
 
 There was one thing, which Olmstead never 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 43 
 
 parted from, and that was his guitar. Fortun- 
 ately, the facilities for transporting it were 
 ample in his battery, and many a weary in- 
 fantryman, as he trudged along with the 
 assignment of the twentieth part of a mule as 
 transportation for such of his belongings as 
 were upon his person, has looked with par- 
 donable envy upon the good-sized wagon 
 rolling by with every battery, disclosing 
 evidences of prospective comfort, nay, luxury, 
 when camp should be reached. Within this 
 wagon Olmstead had always carefully stowed 
 his guitar-box, and many a night his skillful 
 handling of it, and the accompaniment of his 
 fine mellow, tenor voice, had made those 
 within the compass of its tones forget their 
 weariness and drop off to a sweet, restful 
 sleep, peopled with the voices and faces of 
 loved ones far away. 
 
 Hugh, too, would possibly have been guilty 
 of the surreptitious expenditure of certain 
 stores not absolutely essential, rather than 
 have left Olmstcad's guitar behind, consider- 
 ing it, as he had often told that hair-brained 
 youth, " his most material claim to rational 
 
44 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 ity," and often, when he was weary and wor- 
 ried, and the world seemed out of tune, he 
 had dropped down on Ohiistead's bed with 
 the simple remark, " Play something, young- 
 ster," and would close his eyes and listen, 
 and go out after awhile, comforted. There 
 was nothing of the romantic in Hugh Gris- 
 wold's nature ; but there was, underlying 
 his quiet, undemonstrative way, a depth of 
 feeling which few people ever suspected ; his 
 sensibilities were singularly acute; life and 
 its duties and its pleasures he looked upon 
 as obligations ; but, not as obligations to be 
 fulfilled in a scornful or careless manner. To 
 him there was beneath the outer covering of 
 most things something beyond sight or touch; 
 beauties, whether of soul or sense, which it 
 was the duty of life to discover, not only to 
 one's self, but to others ; harmonies to be 
 evolved out of the seeming discords and en- 
 tanglements of life's perplexities. Hugh never 
 seemed conscious of the unsightly evidences 
 of ignorance or poverty ; his eye looked back 
 beyond effect to cause ; to the pathetic, not 
 the repulsive manifestations of what he es- 
 
AX IDYL OF AVAR-TIMES. 45 
 
 teemed a human wrong. He was no idle 
 dreamer, however — no visionary. It was a 
 manly hand with which he grasped the im- 
 plements for his life's work ; nothing could 
 swerve him when duty called, and, through 
 example, he could honestly exact a following. 
 Stern, he had been known to be, but with no 
 one more than with himself ; yet, in many 
 things, he had the delicate instincts and man- 
 ner of a woman. Upon the battlefield, men 
 looked to him as to a pillar of strength, and 
 never found him wanting ; and, in the hos- 
 pitals, his coming had brightened many an 
 eye, and, under his gentle ministrations, men 
 past help had given him a grateful look — they 
 could not speak — and closed their eyes with 
 resignation when their friend v/as near. 
 
 Breakfast over, everybody acknowledged 
 the superior attractions of the deck, except 
 good Mrs. Jenkins, and she and Flynn having 
 established a very friendly understanding 
 over the preparations for the inorntng meal, 
 organized themselves into a committee of 
 ways and means for the further relief for 
 that particular portion of hungry humanity, 
 
46 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 within the limited sphere of their little world. 
 The others paired off according to natural 
 affinity and Marjorie and Olmstead strolled 
 about in an absent sort of way till the others 
 should have comfortably settled themselves, 
 having an eye to their own subsequent es- 
 tablishment upon the basis of most probable 
 non-interruption. Captain Jenkins, having 
 secured an audience, albeit of one, fairly 
 beamed over the prospect of the exercise of 
 his conversational powers. Madelaine Hale 
 and Hugh, far aft, were comfortably enscon- 
 ced upon the acceptable substitute for a 
 steamer rug which a Navajo blanket afforded 
 and Marjorie and Olmstead, having returned 
 from an inspection of the state of the mens bi- 
 vouac and a peep down the hatches at the 
 surprised and indignant horses, dropped 
 down, a short time later on, beside the roof 
 over the companion-way. Madelaine Hale 
 was something of an artist, and Hugh had 
 managed to rig up a little awning for her, 
 under which she was sketching the distant 
 river banks, the broad, beautiful stream and 
 this odd flotilla upon its bosom, to be reserved 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 47 
 
 as a convincing proof to any unbeliever to 
 whom she might at some future day disclose 
 the history of this singular voyage. Hugh 
 watched her as she worked, watched her 
 sweet, sad face, the deft handling of her 
 pencil, the play of her mobile features upon 
 which the lights and shadows as they fell 
 told something of her thoughts and he won- 
 dered what sorrow had come to her: 
 
 "Had the pansies withered she used to know; 
 And the roses faded — of long ago," 
 
 and he thought of Balzac's comparison be- 
 tween ripe womanhood and Indian summer, 
 and, applying it to her, seemed to see how the 
 beautiful buds of promise and of hope, bereft 
 of summer's opening breath, had caught 
 within their enfoldings, the tints which are the 
 heralds of decay. Intent upon her work, she 
 was not conscious of Hugh's scrutiny. She 
 appeared enamored of the task before her, 
 only at times in the intervals of the comple- 
 tion of one and the commencement of a sec- 
 ond feature of her sketch, she would lift her 
 eyes for an instant and seem to be looking far 
 
48 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 away over the water; far beyond the blue out- 
 line of the distant hills into a land, a creation 
 of her own, whither none might follow her, 
 and, then, with a smile at Hugh, would ad- 
 dress him some simple remark and fall to 
 sketching once more. 
 
 But Hugh was content, the quiet chimed 
 in very acceptably with his mood, and loung- 
 ing here upon the deck, the soft warm breeze 
 speaking of quick advancing Spring and 
 bringing into grateful life all things upon 
 which had lain the blight of wintry weather; 
 within the compass of that atmosphere which, 
 in a distinct but subtle way, marks a lovely 
 woman's presence; with a momentary sense 
 of relief from care or the necessity of action, 
 his own thoughts back to where he had last 
 seen, in all her girlish charm, the woman 
 within whose hand lay the power of shaping 
 the course of his future journeyings, he was 
 happy as diX\y present surroundings could have 
 made him. But he and his companion are 
 suddenly recalled from their wanderings, the 
 pencil falls from the dainty hand, Hugh re- 
 moves his pipe from between his lips sending 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 49 
 
 a cloud of smoke curling away over the stern 
 of the vessel and both of them listen. For upon 
 the air in perfect harmony, two young voices, 
 low and sweet, with that accompaniment 
 which speaks of southern suns and flowers 
 and love, break upon the silence in sweet and 
 sad refrain: 
 
 " Falling leaf and fading tree, 
 Lines of white in a sullen sea. 
 Shadows rising on you and me. 
 Shadows rising on you and me," 
 
 and as she listens, Madelaine Hale has that far 
 away look again, and her cheek is ashen pale 
 and her hands are pressed upon her bosom, 
 and far across the water the sad words : 
 
 " What are we waiting for, you and I, 
 A pleading look, a stifled cry. 
 Good-bye, forever ; good-bye, forever, 
 Good-bye;" 
 
 fade away in the distance ; the song is 
 over, and she, unable to bear the strain, bur- 
 ies her face in her hands and weeps aloud. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Hugh Griswold is appalled. There was a 
 dimness of outline in the things he himself 
 looked upon due to the suspicion of moisture 
 within his own eyes, for the song brought 
 back to him, as though it had been yesterday, 
 a farewell which he had spoken, but not for- 
 ever ; oh, no. Fate had nothing so cruel in 
 store for him. But Madelaine ! To her the 
 words brought back a flood of sad, tender 
 memories, all that was left her now. He saw 
 it all. Death had robbed that trusting, faithful 
 heart of all that was most dear to it. Poor 
 girl — poor girl, he thought, I see now the 
 cause of all her sadness. What should he 
 do? He could resist a charge; could stand 
 up against the brunt of battle, but a woman 
 in tears unnerved him, unmanned him. 
 
 '' Miss Hale," he said, "for heaven's sake 
 do not cry, I'm so sorry for you ; will you 
 not be comforted. Surely this world has yet 
 much in store for vou." 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 51 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Captain Griswold. I 
 have no right to bring my troubles to oth- 
 ers," sobbed the fair girl. '' It only comes 
 back to me so cruelly. Go away, please, for 
 a little while and do not let t/ia;t know," 
 pointing to Marjorie and Olmstead, who, all 
 unconscious of the mischief they had done, 
 were evidently preparing for another burst 
 of melody. 
 
 Hugh got up and sauntered to where the 
 men were seated about in groups, playing 
 cards, smoking and telling stories. He in- 
 spected the messes, looked in at the horsse, 
 and then stood gazing out over the water 
 and watched a flock of ducks fly by, swift 
 and straight from some feeding ground ; lis- 
 tened to the soft plash of the water upon the 
 bow^s; to the labored puffing of their tug 
 drawing them along through the smooth 
 waters, away from their winter's cheerless 
 camps upon the Rappahannock ; away from 
 comrades in that grand army, which un- 
 daunted in the face of hardship and disas- 
 ter proudly unfurled its standards, confident 
 that upon their eagles would fall the ulti- 
 
52 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 mate crown of victory. They steamed on 
 past the long wooded stretches of the bluffs 
 and low lying marsh — lands and bordering 
 densities of primeval forest where are : 
 
 " The murmuring pines and the hemlock, 
 Bearded with moss and in garments green," 
 
 rounded a bold promontory upreared in 
 jealous guardianship of the tryst which the 
 river, further on, is keeping with the sea; 
 now following the wavering caprices of the 
 stream as it idles in the shadows of the land, 
 or darts away into the golden sunshine to 
 greet the breezes, which 
 
 " have been out upon the deep at play." 
 
 Lost in his own thoughts, Hugh stood 
 some time oblivious to his surroundings till, 
 at last, casting his eyes toward where Made- 
 laine sat, he saw her at her work again, and, 
 in a moment more, had dropped down be- 
 side her. 
 
 " Shall you probably be long at Fortress 
 Munroc, Miss Hale? ' he asked. 
 
 " Hardly, I think," she answered. " Papa 
 can scarcely spare much time from home. 
 He brought us away principally that I might 
 recruit my health, which has suflered some 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 53 
 
 from the confinement of the hospitals." 
 
 *' But you will not return to them, surely," 
 Hugh said, " it is a lovely sacrifice certainly 
 for a woman to make, a beautiful devotion 
 to a cause which appeals to all the noblest 
 and gentlest impulses of her nature — but 
 you owe a duty to 3'ourself and to those to 
 Avhom you are near and dear. However 
 sweet the guerdon be, following the bestowal 
 of her tender oiifices, a woman, adopting the 
 role of nurse, should be very certain that 
 she has not higher duties in another sphere, 
 and, pardon me, I believe you have." 
 
 " I am happiest in the wards of the hos- 
 pitals. Captain Griswold. I may be able to 
 do more for others than could be done for 
 me," she answered ; '' this war has brought 
 to me the legacy of sorrow and bereavement. 
 If I can spare another, through care and 
 nursing, the misery which its lack has sent 
 to me, life will not seem all in vain." 
 
 " You are a noble woman," Hugh an- 
 swered, '' happiness will come back to you 
 some day. It is, I know, waiting now at the 
 door for you to open." 
 
54 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 INIadelaine had laid aside her sketch and 
 taken up a book, a little volume of poems, 
 and began to idly turn over the leaves. The 
 wind was freshening. Tiny flecks of foam, 
 here and there, like daisies in the meadow 
 grasses, accented the green coloring of the 
 waters ; the clouds were banking in the 
 western sky ; on the shores, the tree-tops 
 nodded, and the forest voices were astir 
 upon the air. Madelaine said she would go 
 down for a shawl, and passing by where 
 Marjorie and Olmstead sat, discovered the 
 former, well protected in the latter's army 
 cape, while the latter was giving her an in- 
 sight into things military, which she seemed 
 very much to enjoy. " Why, Madelainel 
 have you and Captain Griswold been dis- 
 cussing state secrets. You have been so 
 quiet, we have been obliged to almost whis- 
 per, ourselves, for fear of disturbing you." 
 
 " Nothing very serious, Margie," replied 
 her sister. " Captain Griswold has been 
 giving me some very interesting thoughts of 
 his to ponder over. I am going now for a 
 shawl, it is getting cold." 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 55 
 
 " Yes," said Marjorie, '' and Captain Jen- 
 kins has been looking all about like a v/eath- 
 er prophet, and says he thinks there will 
 be rough weather on the bay. Think of a 
 cajta/ boat in 3. storm." And here Captain 
 Jenkins himself came by and, hearing the 
 last part of this remark, said : '' Oh, never 
 fear, we will not venture into rough Avater ; 
 we'll go to anchor somewhere till the blow 
 is over," which quite comforted the ladies 
 who had no relish for anything more agi- 
 tating than the long heaving swells which 
 already were making themselves apparent. 
 Hugh concluded to leave Madelaine to her 
 book and to write some letters. He knew 
 he should be busied with a thousand things 
 when they reached Newport News, and 
 might not lind time and, besides, here, he 
 could have all the quiet he desired, or that 
 was necessary for the framing of one letter 
 upon which he had been thinking a good 
 deal of late. It was a letter to Kitty Wil- 
 merding. He loved her and she knew it. 
 She had told him that there was none to 
 question his right to think of her as he did, 
 
56 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 and yet she had given him no promise that 
 she would ever be other than a friend to 
 him. He had respected her appeal to him 
 to wait, for more than a year now, and he 
 could stand it no longer. If there was any 
 blow to his hopes in store for him it had bet- 
 ter fall now than later on, when perhaps his 
 strength to bear it would be weakened by 
 the daily increasing passion that he felt for 
 her. So he would write and ask her, in so 
 many words, what he had asked her once 
 before and she had failed to answer, 
 
 "Dear Kitty :" he wrote, " This letter will 
 come to you in the light of a continuance of 
 an interview, short and unsatisfactory, which 
 chance afforded me when, a few days since, 
 I was in New York. Had I known of your 
 presence there before the very night of the 
 ball at the ' Academy of Music,' I should 
 have sought a meeting unembarrassed by 
 those surroundings which assured a constant 
 interruption, for I had much to say to you. 
 When I left you, over a year ago, taking with 
 me what comfort I could glean from your 
 answer to my asking that you would be my 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 57 
 
 wife, it seemed to me as though, for both our 
 sakes, waiting were the better course, and I 
 did try faithfully to carry out your wishes 
 in the matter. But many months have passed 
 since then and waiting is weary work, es- 
 pecially when one has only the distractions 
 of danger and of hardship to tide over the 
 waiting days. You are surrounded by 
 friends, pleasurable excitements and admir- 
 ers, and I rejoice that it is so. I begrudge 
 you none of them. 1 love to think of you as 
 happy and hedged about by fostering care 
 and that on your pathway fall sweet blos- 
 soms as you pass. I love to think of you as 
 I saw you last upon the hills overlooking 
 that pretty New England village where I 
 met you first, the autumn tints about you, a 
 rich, dark setting to the gentler suggestion 
 of the perfect May. But cannot you con- 
 ceive of my longing for something more than 
 a tender thought of you; my longing for pos- 
 session and the promise that will insure it to 
 me later on ? I will not press you farther. 
 You know full well that every ambition of my 
 life centres in the hope that when the war is 
 
58 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 over you will be the gentle companion of 
 my life. Kitty, you have given me hope, 
 give me more. Tell me that my patient 
 waiting has not been in vain ; let me feel that 
 life has in store for me something beyond 
 the day's allotted task. I am writing upon 
 the deck of a canal boat, one of four which 
 are being towed to Newport News with the 
 battery horses. With us is a Mr. Hale, a 
 member of the Christian Commission and, 
 will you believe it, his two daughters, lovely 
 girls, and Olmstead, of whom I have so often 
 spoken to you, if not in the toils, simulates it 
 to perfection. 
 
 We had hoped to reach our destination to- 
 morrow, but there is every indication now 
 of an enforced delay, as the wind is rising 
 and the Chesapeake will most probably be 
 in too great a state of commotion for a canal 
 boat to venture out with safety, so we shall 
 probably lie by and here will come the diffi- 
 cult problem of getting water to the horses, 
 so even life on a canal boat is not at all times 
 one of indolence and ease. I shall look for 
 your reply before we start West, and Oh ! 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 59 
 
 Kitty, let it be such as will accord to me the 
 right to come back to you when I may, in 
 nearer and dearer relationship than as 
 Your friend, 
 
 Hugh Griswold.** 
 
 When he had finished his writing, Hugh 
 put the letter in his pocket, ready for drop- 
 ping into the mail when the voyage came to 
 an end and, having accomplished that which 
 had occupied his thoughts for many days, he 
 lit his pipe and settled himself upon deck in 
 an easier, more contented frame of mind than 
 he had known since the night when, with 
 music and light and incense upon the air, he 
 had turned his back upon the bewildering 
 fascinations of the great city. 
 
 Very shortly after, Flynn again came 
 upon the scene with the welcome announce- 
 ment of dinner. The bracing air had sharp- 
 ened the appetites of the travelers, and they 
 were prepared to give evidence of their ap- 
 preciation to whatsoever was set before 
 them. Flynn, upon this occasion, too, dis- 
 played accomplishments which had evidently 
 been held in reserve for some special oppor- 
 
6o AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 tunity of expression, like the present. His 
 hair, which had hitherto been innocent of the 
 faintest suggestion of part, now fell away at 
 either side of a conspicuous line of separ- 
 ation, which acted so strongly in the nature 
 of a disguise as nearly to conceal his identity. 
 With the assistance of Mrs. Jenkins, he was 
 resplendent in a white apron of curious and 
 original design, while a red silk handkerchief, 
 which encircled his neck, lent its own rich 
 hue toward the establishment of a unique 
 and striking personality. But Flynn's metal 
 was up, and he was determined that ** The 
 Captain" should have a glimpse of the possi- 
 bilities centering in his person, not only in 
 matters pertaining to dress, but in the cuis- 
 ine, and some of the dishes he presented 
 were models of flavor and combination, and 
 the ornamental embellishments of a fowl with 
 white and red vegetable roses, which he 
 skilfully carved, proclaimed him an artist of 
 no mean pretensions. The dinner passed off 
 very pleasantly and with much merriment on 
 the part of Marjoric and Olmstead, notwith- 
 standing the solemnity with which the magni- 
 
AN IDYL OF V/AR-TLMES. 6l 
 
 ficence of Flynn was supposed to invest it, but 
 Marjorie could no more refrain from laugh- 
 ing than a bird can from singing, and the 
 funny things of life never escaped her. 
 
 Flynn, indeed, v/as a typical striker, a m.an 
 equal to any emergenc3\ The active part- 
 ner in the concern of which Griswold was 
 the head. The Army striker is a man but 
 little knov/n to the outside v/orld : he is as 
 different from ordinary humanity as man is 
 different from his Darwinian prototype. 
 Nationality has nothing to do with the com- 
 position of a striker. He is '' sui generis," 
 one of nature's happy thoughts or inspira- 
 tions, an indispensable requisite, to every 
 well-regulated military household. There 
 is something about his gait, a certain expres- 
 sion of the eye, betokening calm under all con- 
 ditions, and a disdain of mess-room frivol- 
 ties which marks the man, as the predestined 
 ruler of your household, second, indeed, in 
 command to your wife (if you have one), 
 who, by virtue of inherent right and natural 
 tendency, is Jirst, in the order of govern- 
 ment. This man is the moving spirit of the 
 
62 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 establishment, so far as its routine goes. He 
 attends to your lamps, sees that the supply 
 of oil and fuel is kept up ; milks your cow 
 and consults with your cook as to items 
 needed from the Commissary ; sees that the 
 prisoners perform their allotted tasks of split- 
 ting your wood, emptying your refuse bar- 
 rels, and policeing your yards and keeps an 
 eye meanwhile on your chicken house, to 
 guard against their yielding to temptation. 
 This is the being whom you can hear from 
 your dining-room, as the meal progresses 
 (especially if you have company), talking 
 low to your cook, giving practical evidence 
 of his approval of her talents as the various 
 courses are brought out, and who, between 
 mouthful and remark, nicks a plate in true 
 soldier fashion. He is the ever patient be- 
 ing who stands ready to receive unlimited 
 invective, when prudence suggests the in- 
 appropriateness of an in-door explosion. He 
 guards your household and your children, if 
 you are absent, awaiting your return oblivi- 
 ous of the hour, and if you are a bachelor, 
 often unites in his own person, the qualities of 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 63 
 
 valet and of chef. He is a long suffering, 
 patient, ever active being, without either 
 nerves or knowledge of fatigue, who guards 
 your interests with watch-dog fidelity, and 
 for whom, from the nature of things, you 
 have a very warm place in your heart. 
 
 To Marjorie, Flynn had appeared " no 
 end of fun," but in the light of all that 01m- 
 stead told her, of his fidelity and the various 
 functions he assumed, she came to regard 
 him as a veritable prodigy ; a man to be 
 looked up to, as possessing qualities of a 
 superior order. 
 
 ** Only think, Mr. Olmstead, if he were 
 killed, what would you do?" she asked. 
 
 *' Take an inventory of my effects and be- 
 gin life over again," replied Olmstead. ''In- 
 deed, it's a calamity I do not like to contem- 
 plate." But there was no lingering at table, 
 the swells from the bay were sensibly affect- 
 ing the stability of their craft, and the close 
 air of the cabin was undesirable, so the 
 ladies concluded to have their coffee on 
 deck, and thither the whole party repaired. 
 Before them and around them the white caps, 
 
^4 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 " Like the wings of sea birds " 
 
 dotted the surface of the water. The cloud 
 bank in the west had broken into disor- 
 dered masses, which scudded before the ris- 
 ing winds ; the river was widening in its 
 near approach to the bay ; far distant, a tow- 
 ering light-house stood out against the sky ; 
 the river bluffs had dropped behind, and low 
 wooded stretches confine the waters at 
 either hand. In the bay beyond, huge waves 
 were tumbling together in wild disorder, a 
 vessel in the offing, storm tossed, was mak- 
 ing for anchorage within the capes ; in the 
 hold, the horses were giving signs of dis- 
 tress and impatience, but the discomfiture 
 w^as short-lived, and a couple of hours before 
 dark they were drawn into the smooth 
 waters of the St. Mary's river and had come 
 to anchor. It was Saturday afternoon, and 
 the Captain informed Griswold that even in 
 the event of the wind's subsidence it would 
 not bt safe to venture out into the Chesa- 
 peake before Monday, so they had a pros- 
 pective delay of thirty-six hours at least. It 
 was well enough so far as the passengers 
 were concerned ; they were in no particular 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 65 
 
 hurry ; time was passing- pleasantly enough 
 for them, and Olmstead, in fact, had told 
 Marjorie not long before, that he wished it 
 might last for ever, but the poor horses who 
 had no water since starting were doubtless 
 contrary-minded, and Hugh's Jirst thought 
 was of them. The St. Mary's river was hardly 
 more than a good-sized stream, widening at 
 the mouth to something like a hundred 
 yards, forming a snug harbor for the small 
 flotilla, sheltering it from the wind and 
 waves, a *' perfect Sunday harbor," Marjorie 
 said. 
 
 Standing far back in a grove of beach and 
 cedars, a large house was discernible, though 
 not a human being was visible till Capt. Jen- 
 kins, with a voice calculated to awaken the 
 echoes, if nothing more, shouted a far reach- 
 ing ''halloo," which the distance had scarcely 
 swallov.-ed up, w^hen an answer came back to 
 them, " halloo-0-0," and in a moment more a 
 couple of negroes stood upon the sandy 
 shore, waving their tattered hats in saluta- 
 tion. Disappearing for an instant, they soon 
 reappeared and paddled tovv'ard the tow, in 
 
66 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 a couple of " dug-outs," somewhat cautious- 
 ly at first, for the sight of Yankee soldiers 
 was to a degree terrifying, but they were 
 soon reassured and paddled up alongside. 
 Hugh explained that they had horses aboard 
 and wished to get water. '' Yes, sah; yes, 
 sah; plenty watah, sah ; wud de gemmens go 
 show, see de priests, day five or six ob 'em 
 wen dey all home, lives in de big house yon- 
 der." The " dug-out " is neither a capacious 
 or remarkably stiff craft, and its manipula- 
 tion calls for the exercise of skill and pru- 
 dence, so Griswold and Olmstead cautiously 
 seated themselves, one in the stern of each 
 boat, and were paddled ashore by the ne- 
 groes. Approaching the house, they espied 
 a priest, an elderly, handsome man, pacing 
 up and down, evidently in deep meditation, 
 but the moment he saw his visitors his face 
 brightened, and approaching them, he ex- 
 tended his hand and bade them welcome. 
 Turning, he led them into the house, intro- 
 ducing them to a large room furnished in 
 mahogany in the most sumptuous manner. 
 Sofas of curious carving, inlaid with pre- 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 67 
 
 cious Avoods and even metals ; chairs with 
 carved legs of animals and a sideboard 
 which was a marvel of workmanship of the 
 time of the Renaissance ; the front seemed 
 to be in imitation of the facade of a cathe- 
 dral, arranged with the most curious draw- 
 ers and cabinsts, an article of furniture 
 which had come down through the ages, 
 priceless in value, dark and mellow with the 
 influences of time. 
 
 Hugh stated the business which had 
 brought them to shore, and their affable 
 host placed every convenience which the 
 place could boast at their disposal and, as 
 they turned to leave, with thanks for his 
 kindness, he approached the sideboard and 
 opening a cabinet in the left hand side, took 
 therefrom a large black bottle and some 
 glasses. '' This," he said, holding the bottle 
 up, " is never empty. The key of this cabi- 
 net hangs Aercy** pointing to a brass hook at 
 one side. ** Help yourselves ?iow, and as 
 often as 3-ou like during your stay ; so long 
 as you remain — the slender resources of our 
 house are at 3-our service." He explained to 
 
68 AN IDVL or WAR-IIMES. 
 
 them that there were a number of them hav- 
 ing their home there, that it was the head- 
 quarters of the brotherhood of St. Mary's 
 County, but that their duties kept them most 
 of the time from home ; that he had but just 
 returned himself, to hold mass in their little 
 chapel on the morrow, and would then be 
 off again, but that tlicy were to make them- 
 selves at home; the housekeeper would see 
 that they wanted nothing. With thanks for 
 his kindness and the promise to see him next 
 morning at mass, Hugh and Olmstead set 
 about getting water to the barges. With the 
 assistance of the negroes, they formed a 
 good sized raft by lashing four dug-outs to- 
 gether, and covering them with boards and 
 }, 'lacing a couple of barrels on it, which they 
 filled, they succeeded in relieving the fam- 
 ished animals. But it was a long and tedi- 
 )us task, and night had eflectuall}' closed in 
 before it was accomplished. 
 
 The wind had died out with the setting of 
 the sun. The moon was riding high in the 
 heavens, and on the waters, within the dark 
 shelter of their little harbor, the star-beams 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 69 
 
 rested like firefly lamps, and the deep, black 
 shadows of the tall beeches, following the 
 contour of the shore ; the stillness unbroken 
 save by an occasional strain of vocal music, 
 from a negro's cabin deep within the woods, 
 or the cry of a water-fowl further up the 
 stream ; the faint gleam of a light from be- 
 tween the shutter of some window in the 
 good priest's house ; the puffing of a steam- 
 er, shooting by upon the water of the broad 
 Potomac ; the neighing of a restless animal 
 in the hold, stole upon the senses in weird 
 expression of the reign of night. 
 
 Long the party sat upon the deck. Hard- 
 ly a word was spoken. The impressive 
 beauty and peacefulness of the scene, the 
 sense of security from the perils of the rest- 
 less bay beyond ; the sweet, welcome calm 
 which had settled upon the earth ; the low, 
 soft murmurs upon the evening air ; stirred 
 within the heart of each one of them, some 
 tender memory, or, in quiet, self-communing 
 they invoked fruition of a treasured hope. 
 But the shadows along the shore were deep- 
 ening ; the moon was falling lower and pre- 
 
76 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 sently would sink to rest, far beyond the 
 fringe of timber, out among the cresting 
 waves. Within the priest's house but a sin- 
 gle window let out a beam of light upon the 
 night ; the good man was perhaps deep in 
 meditation or in prayer. Softly Olmstead 
 slipped down into the cabin, reappearing 
 wuth his guitar, and presently, upon the air, 
 there stole the sounds of music. Sweetly 
 over the waters, on through the thickening 
 gloom, faintly echoed from the distant 
 reaches of the woods, chiming in, perhaps, 
 wuth the good man's own thoughts or mut- 
 tered prayer, came the sound of that sweet 
 invocation to the Virgin : 
 
 "Holy mother, guide his footsteps, guide them at a 
 moment, guide them at a moment sure." 
 
 And e'er the song is o'er the shutters are 
 thrown wide and reveal the occupant of the 
 room, his white hair streaming, his bowed 
 head glorified in the flood of golden light and, 
 as the last notes die away, he extends his 
 hands toward the little bay, and in a deep, 
 rich voice sends to the singers his blessing 
 from the distance : "Benedicite ! Amen," and 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 71 
 
 quietly, as the shutters close upon him again, 
 the party separates and night draws her cur- 
 tains closer and all is still. 
 
 The next morning the travelers were up 
 betimes intent upon attending early mass, to 
 which the circumstances surrounding them 
 lent a romantic interest. The day was warm 
 and bright, or promised to be. As yet, the 
 horizon disclosed but the tints of dawn, but 
 the air was balmy, the wind had completely 
 died away, the storm had passed and left but 
 faint suggestions of its stay. 
 
 Upon the little raft the party reached the 
 shore where they found the good priest wait- 
 ing for them, and under his guidance they 
 set out for the chapel. Standing upon a 
 gentle rise of ground beyond the fringe of 
 timber which almost hid the home of the 
 brotherhood, looking out upon the long 
 stretch of sand, washed by both the waters 
 of the river and the bay, embowered within 
 the cool shade of a clump of cedars, the little 
 building, constructed in the form of a cross, 
 stood with open doors, an invitation to the 
 weary to enter in. A little organ, long un- 
 
12 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 touched the priest told them (for the war had 
 sadly broken in upon their customs and form 
 of worship), stood at the far end of the 
 building opposite the altar. Madelaine asked 
 if she might open it and play, '' Our party is 
 a passable quartette and, perhaps, we may 
 revive the old-time impressions of the ser- 
 vice." 
 
 The priest was enchanted at the idea, and 
 very soon the low, plaintive strains of the 
 Voluntary, a selection from Chopin, fell upon 
 the air, drawing the worshippers through 
 the mystic influences of its sweet spell nearer 
 to the throne of God. Lower and lower the 
 organ's melodious voice spoke out the ac- 
 cents of adoration, then died away and left 
 its faintest echoes upon the ear and its bene- 
 diction of peace within the heart. Seldom, 
 even in its day of greatest glory, had the 
 walls of the little chapel echoed the accents 
 of sweeter voices ; never, for years to come, 
 should they know the like again. *'This day 
 will be to me a golden memory," said the 
 priest to Marjorie, " later on, I shall hear 
 your voices, even when you are far away." 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 73 
 
 Breakfast was enjoyed at the priest's house, 
 the table being laid in a large dining-room 
 facing upon the river, a room wainscoted 
 and furnished in oak, its massive appoint- 
 ments speaking of a day long gone by — the 
 imperishable monuments to a wealth and 
 glory which had yielded to the agencies and 
 exactions of relentless war. A horse and 
 chaise stood at the porch, and, consigning 
 his visitors to the care of the old woman who 
 acted as housekeeper, the venerable man 
 took his leave shortly after, wishing them 
 " God speed " upon their voyage, and a 
 blessing upon their after journeyings through 
 life. 
 
 It was still early in the day, the men from 
 the barges were busy watering the horses 
 again, and Madelaine and Marjorie wandered 
 about the roomy old house, admiring its 
 quaintly carved furniture, its pictures and 
 bric-a-brac ; wondering how so many beauti- 
 ful and costly things had found their way 
 into the possession of a band of priests who, 
 from the nature of their roving lives, had 
 little time to enjoy them. But that mystery 
 
74 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 was never solved. The old housekeeper, 
 though kind and attentive, was as a sealed 
 book concerning the traditions of the place 
 or its occupants. Seating themselves upon 
 the veranda overlooking the river, they 
 looked out upon the moving panorama with 
 a fascinated interest. Several steamers, 
 loaded with troops and bands of music, 
 passed down on their way to the rendezvous; 
 a vessel with low, rakish smoke-stacks and 
 showing some threatening guns, seemed 
 hovering about with no apparent object be- 
 yond observation ; a few white sails out upon 
 the bay flapped lazily in the fitful breeze. 
 Nothing could induce Mr. Hale and Captain 
 Jenkins to join the party in their early start 
 from the boat ; but, now, the young ladies 
 spied them coming ashore on the raft, Mr. 
 Hale not over-confident and the Captain in 
 evident enjoyment of his discomfiture. " A 
 regu'lar catamaran," he called out; ''beats any- 
 thing I have seen since I was in the South 
 seas." " Why did not Mrs. Jenkins come 
 ashore. Captain ?" asked Madelaine. 
 
 " Wal, you see. Miss, the old oomans a bit 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 75 
 
 timid like; she says she yielded a pint in step- 
 ping aboard the ' & Ru Jaxn' and she'll go no 
 further. She said this raft might do on a 
 pinch but it was no pleasure boat, so she 
 >taid behind." 
 
 ** Then I shall go back and stay with her," 
 Madelaine declared, and so indeed she did, 
 leaving Marjorie to pilot the new comers 
 about the place. But Olmstead had 
 other views regarding the occupancy of 
 Marjorie's time. He had secured a small, 
 flat-bottomed skiff from a negro some dis- 
 tance up stream, and soon appeared with an 
 invitation for that young person to accom- 
 pany him upon a voyage of discovery, so 
 these two started off and were soon lost to 
 view. To the men aboard the barges, this 
 Sunday was a day of feasting ; the negroes 
 came alongside with dug-outs filled with de- 
 licious oysters which they piled upon the 
 decks, and which the men, seated about in 
 groups, enjoyed to their heart's content, and 
 these, with some fine fish they caught, gave 
 them such a banquet as they had not enjoyed 
 for many a day. Madelaine, upon reaching 
 
76 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 the barge, brought Mrs. Jenkins upon deck, 
 and as she sketched the little harbor and its 
 surroundings, the elder woman gleaned much 
 of her companion's troubled life and her kind, 
 motherly heart went out to her, as though 
 she had been her own, and to Madelaine 
 there came a peace beyond anything she had 
 known for many a weary day, and she won- 
 dered afterward if what Mrs. Jenkins had 
 said could indeed be true. " You're going 
 to mourn so, lassie, there's a bright day com- 
 ing, poor thing, and may be not far off. God 
 seems sometimes far away when he's close 
 at hand." And the two women sat lonor to- 
 gether in silence. To them both, sorrow 
 had come out in a different form. To one, 
 the song of life was nearly ended. The 
 cadences w^hich fell upon her ear were low 
 and distant ; memories chased each other 
 down through the vista of the long years 
 past and now, passed on hand in hand with 
 the hopes her faith had given her toward the 
 end. To the other, there had been a sudden 
 stop— a rude breaking of a string which 
 stilled for the moment the rhythmic story life 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 77 
 
 was telling, but for her, the goal was distant. 
 Now, she was walking amidst the shadows ; 
 would the sunlight ever struggle through ? 
 Olmstead, having secured Marjorie to 
 himself, bent to the oars till a curve in the 
 stream hid them from view. Then he took 
 to the duties of his position more leisurely, and 
 together they idled along through the wind- 
 ings of the little river, stopping now and 
 then to land, while Marjorie gathered a 
 pretty fern or some rich and tempting 
 mosses, and once they pulled up to talk to 
 some little negro boys w^ho were fishing 
 upon the bank, and w^hose bright faces and 
 laughing eyes effectively dispelled some 
 of the gloomy ideas of slave life which 
 had haunted Marjorie ever since she had en- 
 tered this southern country. But their Ar- 
 cadian voyage was brought to an untimely 
 end by the admonitory signals of their tug's 
 whistle and the cries of human voices and 
 as they rounded the little curve which dis- 
 covered to them their anchorage, there v\^as a 
 stir and bustle aboard, betokening prepara- 
 tion for a move. Shooting alongside, they 
 
78 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 learned that the Captain had concluded to 
 push on — the sea had calmed down, and he 
 would make a night run of it to Fortress Mon- 
 roe and so, everybody being collected, the 
 tow strung out again and headed for the bay. 
 To the left of them, as they quit the river, 
 lay Point Lookout, with its many buildings 
 and tents, the site of a large hospital over 
 which gracefully floated the National colors 
 in evidence of military occupation, and in 
 their onward course the features of the land- 
 scape faded one by one away, and look- 
 ing back, the tree-tops in the little grove 
 where there had been dispensed to 
 them so gracious a hospitality, nodded to 
 them as though imbued with the spirit of the 
 good priest's words : a Godspeed upon thefr 
 voyage. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The bright morning sunlight was scatter- 
 ing the mist which, like a ghost had settled 
 upon the waters, disclosing the outlines of 
 Fortress Monroe and the shadowy forms of 
 vessels lying at anchor within the Roads, as 
 the little tug, puffing and laboring with its 
 heavy burden, steamed along towards its 
 destination. 
 
 Upon the parapet of the Fort, groups, 
 here and there of men intent upon watching 
 the strange incoming assortment of craft, 
 seemed dim and distant, and many a glass 
 was leveled at the travelers aboard the 
 " & Ru Jaxn," as they stood out on deck in 
 enjoyment of the scene. Passing near the long 
 wharf, activity was apparent everywhere — 
 boats unloading men and munitions of war ; 
 huge piles of shot and shell ; a few long, 
 threatening-looking guns, lay to one side 
 with gun carriages and field pieces — the 
 thousand and one articles entering into the 
 
8o AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 impedimenta of an army. Sentries paced 
 here and there, gangs of laborers, a babel of 
 voices, an officer or two superintending and 
 giving orders, and in the background, the 
 huge fortress, the muzzles of innumerable 
 guns visible in the embrasures ; the green of 
 its slopes in soft and pleasing contrast with 
 the grey of the stone and the white shining 
 sands at its base. The little park at one side 
 was neglected and deserted, save by a few 
 birds which skipped about through the 
 branches in the enjoyment of the sunlight ; 
 the picturesque effects of pretty women and 
 uniformed men, had passed into memory ; 
 the cosy seats were broken or in decay — the 
 only voices upon the air were laden with 
 the deeper tones of men — the pleasant 
 aspects of the place were gone — pleasure no 
 longer held its revel there. 
 
 Hugh pointed out the places of interest to 
 the ladies as they steamed along — the dis- 
 tant rip-raps — the scene of the encounter 
 between the huge and dreaded Merrimac 
 and the despised Monitor — the Norfolk 
 Navy Yard far over the waters and, as they 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 8i 
 
 looked, the little steamer ceased its strug- 
 gles — the swish of the water along its sides 
 no longer told the story of its progress ; be- 
 fore them, a long strip of white, shining 
 sand, bordering a far-reaching level plain, 
 proclaimed their journey's end. 
 
 ** Oh, Mr. Olmstead," exclaimed Marjorie, 
 *' w^e are really here. I am so sorry ; why it 
 has been a perfect dream from beginning to 
 end." • 
 
 ** Yes," said Olmstead, *' and will yet be to 
 me for many a day." 
 
 They were standing a little apart from the 
 rest, and Olmstead felt as though the end of 
 all things was at hand. Impressionable at all 
 times, he felt himself in the meshes at last ; 
 he saw no escape, nor would he have wished 
 any, but he resolved to dream his sweet dream 
 so long as he might ; if there was to be an 
 awakening he would put it off so long as 
 he could and Marjorie, seemingly uncon- 
 scious of all save the novelty of the situa- 
 tion, the busy scene before her, the influences 
 of her surroundings, gave thought to these 
 things alone; the present held enough to 
 
82 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 claim her attention, she had no need to bor- 
 row of the future. 
 
 Griswold's camp Avas established on a 
 pretty, sloping stretch of green, a quarter 
 of a mile back from the river bank and 
 between two knolls, separating it from 
 the long lines of tents at either side, 
 and hiding it away from some of the dis- 
 agreeable features of a large encampment. 
 Toward its establishment, Hugh and 01m- 
 stead had been busy since they landed. The 
 ladies had stayed aboard, getting together 
 their belongings and maturing their plans 
 for the future, but Griswold had them prom- 
 ise to stay a couple of days in camp at any 
 rate, and having plenty of canvas, prepara- 
 tions were made for them accordingly. 
 
 Toward evening, they strolled over to the 
 landing again to assemble their party, and 
 say '' good-bye " to Captain Jenkins and his 
 wife, and take a last look at the craft, upon 
 which they had passed so many pleasant 
 hours, and which was to put back immedi- 
 ately to resume its inland voyages. There 
 was a feeling of sadness crept into every 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. S$ 
 
 one's heart as the tinie came to separate, for 
 they had received much kindness at the 
 hands of the plain old salt and his good 
 spouse, and there seemed no likelihood that 
 they should ever meet again, and it seemed 
 like the beginning of the end of an agree- 
 able experience, each one of them would long 
 remember. But the *' good-byes" were 
 spoken at last, and the "& Ru Jaxn," with her 
 owners, passed, as in a moving panorama, 
 from view. 
 
 Everything which the scant resources at 
 hand admitted of, had been done to make the 
 camp comfortable, and upon the tent de- 
 signed for occupancy b}^ the young ladies, 
 Olmstead had expended all the fertility of 
 his genius. 
 
 Immediately after supper, which Flynn 
 had prepared for them, Mr. Hale, with Gris- 
 wold and Madelaine, had gone over to hunt 
 up the mail, and Olmstead and Marjorie 
 strolled about the camp, looking at the 
 horses and the guns, and admiring the in- 
 genuity with which the men were making 
 themselves comfortable in their new quar- 
 
84 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 ters. " Are you not glad to get into camp 
 again, Mr. Olmstead?" said Marjoric. " And 
 do you suppose you will ever get things 
 straightened out?" 
 
 " Glad ? No. I cannot say that I am. 
 Getting into camp means drill and hard 
 work again and besides, you had no avenue 
 of escape w^hile we were aboard the boat, 
 and 720ZU the world is before you and you 
 will be leaving us." 
 
 " Quite naturally," said Marjorie, "though 
 traveling under military escort is simply 
 fascinating, and I should love to prolong it, 
 but that seems impossible. Have you ever 
 been to Fortress Monroe, Mr. Olmstead ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but never in its days of social 
 glory," replied Olmstead. " There are tradi- 
 tions clinging to the old Fortress and its sur- 
 roundings that would fill many an interest- 
 ing page. In the olden times, before the 
 war, when it was a sort of border-land be- 
 tween the north and south, where many an 
 army man, northern born, received his first 
 impression of the influences a tropical sun 
 exerted upon the habits, customs and man- 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 85 
 
 ners of life of those born and raised beneath 
 it : where, perhaps, for the first time, he came 
 in contact with a social condition so entirely 
 different from anything he had been accus- 
 tomed to ; where the self-reliance of one sec- 
 tion, met the dependence of another, and the 
 fascinating languorous characteristics of the 
 southern women, contrasted with the ani- 
 mated, impulsive freshness of their northern 
 sisters in a charming and effective picture, it 
 probably combined more features of attrac- 
 tion than any other point on the American 
 continent; certainly it was the "Mecca "of 
 all who sought a middle ground, between the 
 extremes of climate." 
 
 " Yes," replied Marjorie, '' I have always 
 known Fortress Monroe as a place where 
 * the season ' never ended, the termination of 
 one was but the commencement of another, 
 but what is it like now ? " 
 
 " Given over to the prosaic entirely, I 
 fancy. There is little poetry centering 
 there now, except that of its traditions 
 and future possibilities. Whenever a 
 p^ace becomes a base of military supplies 
 
86 AX IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 or Operations, there is but one aspect to 
 its character ; it is full of suggestions of tlie 
 cruelties and barbarities of war. But ni}- 
 latest recollection of the place is associated 
 witli a little hospital experience which I am 
 not likely to forget." " Do you mean that you 
 were ill at the hospital?" asked Marjorie. 
 " Why, yes," said Olmstead, '' a classmate 
 and I lay upon adjoining beds for three days, 
 without recognizing each other. We both 
 had camp-fever contracted up tJiat river 
 there," pointing to the " James," which was 
 on their right, *' but we were just fresh from 
 West Point and couldn't stand much then. 
 The worst part of it was the sound of shuf- 
 fling feet at night, as they carried some poor 
 fellow out who had died — how on earth does 
 your sister stand it, Miss Marjorie? She must 
 see all kinds of sad and unnerving sights." 
 " Really, I cannot tell, but she says that all 
 she thinks of is how she can relieve suffering. 
 If she sees the horrible things it is only with 
 ejxs which are seeking for a remedy. I 
 never could do it ; I wish I were more like 
 her ; I wish I were good for something, but 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. S7 
 
 I do not believe that I am ; not in such 
 times as these, at any rate." 
 
 " To which statement 1 enter a solemn pro- 
 test," answered Olmstead, '' A 3'oung lady 
 who can win the heart of an old salt like 
 Captain Jenkins and absolutely subdue the 
 native exuberance of that savage, Flynn, 
 has not lived in vain." 
 
 ** No, the discovery that one's sphere is an 
 humble one is sufficient compensation for 
 having lived at all, if nothing more," retorted 
 Marjorie, with a suspicion of asperity in her 
 voice. " Oh, you will make me quite vain, 
 Mr. Olmstead. Is this what you are pleased 
 to call subtle flattery ? " 
 
 *' Flatter}^ ! no. I merely wished to ex- 
 press to you the fact that j^ou possess the 
 powder of humanizing even the most refrac- 
 tory subjects. I should call that a merited 
 compliment, not flattery." 
 
 " You are a person of very nice distinc- 
 tions at any rate," replied Marjorie, who 
 really had become very fond of Olmstead, 
 but who liked to invent situations for the 
 pleasure it afforded her of witnessing his 
 methods of extricating himself. 
 
88 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 " I do not think it requires extraordinary 
 discernment to discover that you are the 
 loveliest girl in all the world, and, Marjorie, 
 virhy should I not tell you now what you 
 must know already — that I love you — I have 
 loved you all along, ever since that first night 
 when we sang together, and the good old 
 priest, standing by his open window, ex- 
 tended his hands and sent us his blessing, 
 and, do 3'ou remember, that for an instant 
 the moonlight struggled through the trees 
 and rested upon us, as it is resting now ? I 
 prayed then that it might be a happy omen. 
 Has it found fruition, Marjorie ?" 
 
 Standing upon the riverbank whither they 
 had wandered, Marjorie looked out over the 
 waters. Vessels of every kind were riding 
 there at anchor, the lanterns in the rigging 
 showing plainer and plainer as the moon sank 
 lower to her rest ; far out toward the sea 
 stretched a broad white shimmering line of 
 sandy beach ; upon the plain behind them, 
 the canvas city rested peacefully, gleaming 
 in the fitful light of its thousand camp-fires; 
 the ** God of Peace " had spead his wings 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 89 
 
 athwart the scene, and in Marjorie's heart 
 there awoke an answering echo to Olmstead's 
 spoken prayer, and turning toward him she 
 gently laid her head upon his breast, and, as 
 he pressed her to his heart, the moon yielded 
 up its vigil of the night to the silent stars, 
 and 
 
 ** Sank o'er the ridge of the world." 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 After Hugh Griswold had left the '' Acad- 
 emy " there was a marked change in the 
 aspect of every accessory of the ball, from 
 Kitty Wilmerding's standpoint. Before she 
 had known of his being there, before she had 
 been so forcibly brought face to face with 
 the happenings of a year ago, and Hugh's 
 words — though pleasant to her ear at all 
 times, like distant echoes of a bygone day — 
 had suddenly overleaped the barriers of time 
 and rung out again with all the force of their 
 true significance ; the ball had seemed to her 
 a scene of fairy enchantment. The music, 
 the embellishments which gave setting to 
 the graceful beauty with which the scene 
 was peopled ; that mystic splendor with 
 which the night revealed her glories to the 
 dying day ; the subtle sense of power with 
 which she, as queen of her coterie, was in- 
 vested, had exercised the spell of forgetful- 
 ness to all beside. But he had come and 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 91 
 
 gone ; his manly voice had spoken her name ; 
 and in its tones were the accents dear to 
 every true woman's heart ; and now, before 
 her, uprose that parting scene, when he, obed- 
 ient to her will, had gone from her to brave 
 new dangers, taking with him but the shad- 
 owy substance of a hope which she had but 
 feebly sanctioned. About her was the same 
 glittering throng ; on the air, the sweet music 
 rose and fell like waves upon the ocean, in 
 soft, rhythmic, undulating measure, but to her 
 ear it was as the roar of breakers upon a rock- 
 bound shore. The words which gallant 
 men whispered to her, the laughter rippling 
 round, had lost their charm, their spell was 
 broken, she was listening for a note which 
 was upon the air no longer, and the rest were 
 out of tune. When at last she was alone 
 within the security of her own chamber, and 
 iiad divested herself of ornament and 
 gown and gently laid aside a bunch of roses 
 which Hugh had brought to her, and seated 
 herself upon the rug before the glowing coals 
 to comb out her golden hair, she dreamed the 
 sweetest dream of all her life. 
 
92 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 "Dear Hugh," she muttered, "and I let 
 him go again v.ithout a word, and I love him 
 so." And the night wore on, the coals were 
 dying in the grate ; the first beams of day 
 were creeping in through the the parting of 
 her curtain ; before rousing herself from her 
 reverie, she crept into her soft, warm bed, 
 and with the new-born joy in her heart, for- 
 got the world and all her weariness. 
 
 It was late when Kitty awoke. For some 
 time she lay, turning over in her mind the 
 events of the night past ; picking up the 
 train of her thought where she had dropped 
 it, when sleep had overtaken her. Ming- 
 ling with the outside noises of the city, there 
 seemed to come to her distant strains of 
 music, the tones of voices confused and in- 
 distinct ; a babel of sounds which sleep had 
 only stilled for the moment. The scenes of 
 the ball were before her again ; the pano- 
 rama of glad faces and bright eyes and spark- 
 ling jewels; the subtle odors; the whispered 
 compliment; the graceful undulations of the 
 dancers; the whole witchery and bewilder, 
 ment of the scene ; yet, amidst the pleasures 
 
AN IDYL OF V7AR-TIMES. 93 
 
 of the momentary retrospect ; amidst the 
 intangible memories of the night's impres- 
 sions, there came to her inmost consciousness 
 the revelation of her heart's faith and 
 yearning love, of the man vvho had hon- 
 ored her above all other women, and 
 from out of the shadow of her irreso- 
 lution and uncertainty there came at 
 last, struggling into the light, the form and 
 substance of what had before been but 
 vague and indistinct. She had only the 
 bitterness of self-reproach replying to her self- 
 questioning of why she had sent Hugh awa}^ 
 again, without the promise that he asked, 
 and, would he come again ? she kept repeat- 
 ing. It seemed all so strange to her, this feel- 
 ing that within d?/^^ being lay the power to make 
 or mar her happiness forever ; it was all so 
 sudden of discovery that she was almost in- 
 clined to doubt its truth ; but some inward 
 voice kept whispering it to her heart ; the 
 ticking of the little clock upon the mantle 
 kept repeating : " I love him, I love him, I 
 love him ;" it seemed as though at times she 
 could hear, too, her own name spoken, and 
 
94 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 that the speaker's voice, was his. Lightly 
 she sprang out of bed, and peeping between 
 the curtains looked out upon the day. The 
 sun was high above the tree-tops. A flood of 
 light gilded the cornices of the dwelling oppo- 
 site her own ; the vane of a distant church 
 steeple glistened as a ball of fire in its reflec- 
 tion against the cloudless sky ; people were 
 hurrying to and fro ; a long line of school 
 girls at regulation pace, went calmly by ; the 
 busy hum of the city's life smote upon 
 her ear. Turning from the window, she began 
 to dress, idling through the task in a dreamy 
 fashion, unlike her usual self. Standing be- 
 fore her glass, combing out the heavy braids 
 of golden hair, she looked at her reflection 
 long and critically. She had been told often 
 enough that she was beautiful, but never by 
 him did he deem her so ; she wondered. 
 Poor little Kitty ! how suddenly the knowl- 
 cdsre of her own heart had been followed bv 
 an attendant train of speculations, as to her 
 own claims to preference, before the hundreds 
 of other women, to whom she had conceded 
 charms she had never arrogated to herself. 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 95 
 
 Life had ever been to her a burst of glorious 
 sunshine ; she had been too busied with the 
 beauty of all things surrounding her to turn 
 her thoughts back upon herself ; but now it 
 was all different. She valued the loveliness 
 which spoke to her out of her mirror, as fit 
 setting to the life which she was ready to 
 place within her lover's keeping, and her 
 long scrutiny seemed happy of result, for, 
 as she turned away, her face was all alight 
 with a sweet, contented smile, as though her 
 soul stood within the open doorway of her 
 eyes, answering back the questions they had 
 asked. Kitty's was not the beauty of a girl 
 city-born and bred, nurtured amidst luxuri- 
 ous surroundings sheltered from every 
 rude blast sweeping by ; hidden from the 
 warmth of sunlight; blossoming amidst 
 night's poisonous counterfeits of day ; the 
 beauty of the " Calla " suffused in borrowed 
 glory. Hers was the beauty of the wild 
 rose, bestowing its fragrance upon the hill- 
 side; mingling its own delicate hues with the 
 heavy bloom of clover; listening to the 
 whisperings of the meadow brooks ; drinking 
 
96 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 in the freshness of the wandering winds and 
 the dews of the morning. The mountains 
 were home to her ; she knew the voices of 
 the forest, and they had often echoed back 
 her own ; she had grown up famihar with 
 summer's verdure and autumnal dyes. Often, 
 as a girl, she had climbed the mountain side 
 overshadowing her pretty home, and sat for 
 hours upon some mossy rock, or lain in the 
 grasses sweet with heather, looking out upon 
 the world beyond, whither the river, far be- 
 low, was trending ; wondering what it all was 
 like, weaving the fancies of happy girlhood, 
 while the leaves overhead, rustled soft music 
 in the breeze which tossed her hair into 
 waves of shimmering gold, and bore along 
 the seeds which sprung to roses in her cheek. 
 The v\'orId was all a beautiful playground 
 to her imagining ; the contrasts of weary toil 
 and poverty and crime were sealed books to 
 her understanding ; the waves of disappoint- 
 ment and despair had never dashed their 
 strength on the shimmering sands of her 
 Arcadian shore and, as girlhood yielded its 
 faint suggestions to the developing influ- 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 97 
 
 ences of maturer years and the dreams of 
 yesterday, became memories of to-day, there 
 shone through her eyes a sweet and gentle 
 spirit, innocent of the shock of any rude 
 awakening. 
 
 Her toilet completed ; her form enveloped 
 in the soft clinging folds of a pretty wrap- 
 per ; her hair caught with a dainty ribbon 
 and falling in a shower of curls upon her 
 shoulders , a single half-opened bud of a 
 *' Meteor " rose nestling on her bosom ; she 
 drew back the curtains of her Avindow and 
 stood looking out upon the street below, 
 when a gentle knock at her door brought her 
 thoughts back from their wandering, and the 
 next instant, her sister came into the room. 
 
 '' Good morning, dear; why, how sweet 3^ou 
 look ! one would hardly suppose you had 
 been out all night; come, now, and have some 
 breakfast and tell me about the ball." And 
 Mrs. Farnham came over to where Kitty 
 stood, and put her arm about her and drew 
 her toward her and kissed her, as she always 
 did, upon her forehead. " Was it all you 
 loc ked for, Kitty ?" 
 
98 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 " Oh, it was lovely," answered Kitty, " I 
 could never have fancied anything quite so 
 beautiful ; but I was glad when it was all 
 over." And the attentive ears of her sister 
 detected a little sigh, rather out of keeping 
 with Kitty's accustomed enthusiasm, and, 
 quick to take alarm, she asked: 
 
 ' What is it, dearest, are you tired out ? or 
 what is it makes you sigh?" and she looked 
 into her sweet, fathomless eyes and thought 
 she detected a troubled look in their liquid 
 depths ; but Kitty smiled and said that she 
 was very happy ; that perhaps she was a little 
 tired, and it would pass. 
 
 But Mrs. Farnham knew her sister too 
 well to be deceived. Something had hap- 
 pened and she must know what it was. Kitty 
 was intrusted for the time, to her keeping, 
 and she loved her beyond anything, next to 
 her own children. If she were unhappy, 
 she would try to help her. So together they 
 went to the pretty, bright breakfast-room, 
 where some blazing logs were throwing a 
 grateful warmth upon the air. In a bay win- 
 dow, revelling in the sunlight, were fuchsias 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 99 
 
 and geraniums, and a plant or two of helio- 
 trope and hibiscus, and looking down upon 
 it all, warbUng his matin greeting, a canary 
 swung upon a perch within his gilded cage. 
 It w^as as cozy a little room as heart could 
 desire and made for confidences. Its in- 
 fluences were all inspiring. The genial 
 warmth ; the shaded light ; the soft contrast- 
 ing colors; the subtle perfume. A sweet 
 nook in fairy land where two lovely women 
 might pour out to each other heart-secrets 
 which would not be out of tune with their 
 surroundings. Whatever it may be m 
 woman's intuition which quickens a suspi- 
 cion into the full flower of conviction in mat- 
 ters wherein the heart is affected ; whether 
 instinct, or drawn from education or experi- 
 ence, or the outcome of some subtle com- 
 munity of womanly thought ; or a prescience, 
 born of faint, undefined suggestions of man- 
 ner or of speech ; whether the recognition of 
 outward sign, or an inward consciousness — 
 the secret of a woman's love, guard it jeal- 
 ously as she may, will, in some moment of 
 forgetfulness, reveal itself and to Mr-s. Farn- 
 
loo AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 ham, the revelation of Kitty's new-born 
 tenderness, came quick and sudden. 
 
 Kitty talked incessantly when once they 
 had seated themselves, describing the ball ; 
 the costumes ; the accessories of every kind 
 which added to the beauty of the scene. 
 She spoke of Blaisdel and a dozen other 
 men, of every one, in fact, but Hugh, trying, 
 through volubility of talk, to hide the real 
 crowning feature of the night's development, 
 but she achieved a questionable success. She 
 had not given credit to her sister for any 
 depth of penetration ; still Mrs. Farnham let 
 her talk on, knowing full well that in due 
 time the confession would be made. Later 
 in the day some flowers were brought to 
 Kitty with Blaisdel's card and a penciled 
 hope that she '* had not succumbed to the 
 night's exactions," and while they brought 
 licr pleasure as everything beautiful did, they 
 iiad no meaning to her, beyond the graceful 
 expression of a kindly thought ; she vahicd 
 the bud resting upon her bosom far above 
 them all, albeit iJicy were sweet and fresh and 
 iJiis half withered. Kitty was hnppy in tlie 
 
AN IDYL or WAR-TIMES. loi 
 
 thought that Hugh loved her ; her happiness 
 had come to her gratefully as a perfume 
 sometimes steals upon the air before one is 
 conscious that the flower exhaling it is near — 
 sweetly as out of the stillness a strain of 
 music voices — soft accompaniment to one's 
 thought ; but a feeling came with it all which 
 she had never known before, an undefined 
 dread, a restlessness she could not control. 
 Nothing seemed quite the same ; a voice 
 seemed calling to her out of the past; the 
 dream of her hitherto happy, careless spirit 
 had passed into the awakening of reality ; 
 the wings of her fancy, which had hitherto 
 born her along, heedless of the way she took, 
 now seemed guided by some unseen hand 
 directing her toward an unknown goal. 
 ' The days passed by, one following the 
 other in uneventful procession. Men came 
 and went, performed their little graceful acts 
 of devotion, and passed by again. She 
 walked and danced and skated, but in a per- 
 functory sort of way— the zest v/as wanting. 
 She felt at times as though she must fly away 
 from it all— fly back to her beloved hills. 
 
I02 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 TJu'ir voices were ever sweet upon her ear; 
 they were tangible and immutable, not vague 
 and transitory as were the things entering 
 into the city's Ufe. At last one morning 
 Hugh's letter came, brought into the room 
 as they sat at breakfast, and Mr. Farnham 
 tossed it over to her with some remark 
 about : *' A letter from the front for Miss 
 Wilmerding," and as Kitty took it up she 
 felt the eyes of her sister upon her and the 
 warm flush upon neck and brow, which made 
 speech unnecessary, in betrayal of her secret. 
 Without a word she read her letter through. 
 Mr. Farnham had left the room and she and 
 her sister were alone, and going around to 
 where her sister sat, Kitty placed the missive 
 in her hand, and with her arm about her 
 neck, kissed her, as she said : 
 
 " Read it, dear ; you must like him for my 
 sake, for he is to be my husband." 
 
 And then closing the door gently behind 
 her, she found in her own room that 
 which caters to a woman's need, whether in 
 joy or in sorrow — solitude and tears. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The next day was a busy one at Newport 
 News. The morning light which forty-eight 
 hours before had crept over the tree-tops and 
 lain unbroken upon the broad level stretch of 
 land bordering the woods, now outlined the 
 shadows of the tents and wagon trains and of 
 the active life so suddenly settled down upon 
 it ; the tapering spars of vessels lay reflected 
 in long dark lines upon the water ; the 
 reaches of the far off, opposite shore, were 
 low and indistinct, but within the limits of 
 the camp was a scene of boisterous and ag- 
 gressive life. To the ladies of the party, the 
 camp was a source of unfailing interest — the 
 workings of the military mechanism, a matter 
 of wonder, and to Marjorie it was altogether 
 past understanding, how men, cooped up as 
 they were within the limits of their little 
 tents, gave such evidence of contentment, 
 singing and chatting with an animation sug- 
 gestive of a careless happiness, forgetful of 
 
I04 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 past and indifferent to prospective hardships 
 or dangers. Marjorie and Ohnstead strolled 
 about the place taking in all the varied scenes 
 presenting themselves, wandered over to the 
 river bank and through the booths which spec- 
 ulative traders had erected there, loitered 
 along the beach, watching the vessels at an- 
 chor or others moving through the spark- 
 ling waters ; the " men of war," tugging at 
 their cables in the moving tide ; talking of 
 their future, as they listened to the story the 
 rippling waves were telling to the sands. 
 
 Later in the day Olmstead contrived to find 
 a saddle for Marjorie and mounting her upon 
 his own horse, a handsome bay, they rode 
 out to look at what was once a lovely village 
 nestling amidst shady trees whose branches 
 moved in the soft southern breeze which 
 warmed into life flowers and fruits of many a 
 liue and flavor, and invited indulgence in that 
 languorous " far nicnte " existence, which 
 only a southron knows: — Hampton, a pretty, 
 peaceful hamlet, tlirough avIiosc shaded streets 
 fair women in accessory of dainty fabric and 
 sparkling gems were wont to pass, while on 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 105 
 
 the air, the soft music of their voices lingered 
 and around them crowded the evidences of a 
 careless and luxurious life, now lying a mass 
 of charred and shapeless ruins, a damning 
 monument to the rancorous hatred and un- 
 pardonable charlatanism of a Confederate 
 commander. Scarcely a house was standing, 
 only a few, wretched negro hovels, upreared 
 amidst the ruin which lay outspread at every 
 hand. It was a sight to make an angel weep 
 and wring a curse from every feeling heart, 
 upon the desecrations and barbarities of war. 
 Marjorie sat for a while in silence, looking 
 down upon the ruins, wondering what had 
 become of all those who had been driven 
 away — shelterless, homeless, perhaps friend- 
 less ; looked down upon the seamed and scar- 
 red roadway stretching on into the heart of the 
 once peaceful and beautiful country, which 
 now lay shorn of everything which m.ade it 
 once so fair, over which great armies had 
 marched and the din of battle thundered, 
 while many a spirit winged its flight into eter- 
 nity and many a waiting woman learned that 
 
io6 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 the footfall for which she listened had passed 
 beyond her hearing. 
 
 It was dark before they found their way 
 back again to camp. At a headquarters, 
 near by, a band was playing an inspiriting air; 
 groups of men were standing about, listening 
 to the music, smoking and chatting gaily ; 
 the lights of the vessels sparkled upon the 
 waters, a gentle breeze, coming from the sea, 
 laden with odors of sea-grasses and bordering 
 marsh-lands, stirred the canvas city into 
 shimmering, wavy undulations while the 
 shadows danced in weird array and the voices 
 of the woods beyond joined in the common 
 revelry. To Madelaine, the change of scene, 
 the separation from contact with misery 
 and suffering — the freedom of thought and 
 action — the balmy air of this warmer climate, 
 were already producing their effect. She 
 \vas more buoyant of spirit, the color was 
 coming back again into her cheeks, her eyes 
 were losing that fierce, unnatural brilliance of a 
 suffering thing which had so touched Hugh's 
 compassion ; she w^as being drawn, through 
 the agency of her surroundings more into 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 107 
 
 the current of the lives of those about her. 
 Between Hugh and herself had grown, in 
 those few days, a friendship in which each re- 
 cognized strengthening influences, and in his 
 long and earnest talks Avith her, she had 
 found material for a more hopeful scheme of 
 life than ever she had looked for. She had 
 entered upon the work to which she had of 
 late devoted herself in the frame of mind of 
 one to whom all earthly joys were at an end 
 — the iron of a bitter disappointm^ent had 
 eaten into her very soul. 
 
 The thought of any possible change, of 
 time's healing power, had never come to her 
 — but now, loyal as she was to her beloved 
 dead — treasured as was the one memory 
 which haunted her in her waking hours and 
 lay upon her heart during the long dark hours 
 of the night, fitful gleams of light fell upon 
 her pathway — here and there a star shot its 
 way through the darkness of her firmament, 
 life had other duties, she began to recognize, 
 than those of a despairing submission to a cruel 
 fate, and with light came hope, and with hope 
 the dawn of peace. It was to be their last 
 
io8 AxM IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 night in camp and it was late before the lights 
 went out in their several tents. Marjorie and 
 Olmstead had been busied with matters 
 touching their own future interests, but they 
 had kept their secret to themselves and the 
 stars looked down upon the camp that night 
 and twinkled merrily, as the soft winds mur- 
 mured a lullaby, and to the happy and the sad- 
 hearted alike came the sweet benison of sleep. 
 Several weeks have passed, Captain Gris- 
 wold's battery has long since lost its visitors; 
 the pleasant time of recreation has giv^en 
 place to the stern exactions of prosaic duty 
 and Newport News is again the scene of 
 active embarkation. Hugh has received his 
 anxiously looked-for letter and many others 
 have come to emphasize the promise Kitty 
 Wilmerding had given, and Olmstead, to 
 whom Hugh's happiness is a subject of re- 
 joicing, has not been forgotten. Hugh has 
 asked him no questions but quietly drawn his 
 own conclusions, " The youngster will tell me 
 in his own good time," he has thought, as the 
 mails came in, and side by side with his own, 
 was a delicate, perfumed missive for "the 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 109 
 
 boy " as well. A large, side-\v heeled steamer 
 has been devoted to his battery and the 
 horses are ranged in stalls upon the decks, 
 the guns occupying the inner spaces. The 
 men are quartered about as convenience sug- 
 gests and they steam out one beautiful morn- 
 ing down the Roads, skirting the long stretch 
 of sand-beach, and plunge into the deeper 
 waters of the Chesapeake ; ho ! for Baltimore. 
 Hugh and Olmstead saw little of each other 
 during the day. Each was busy getting his 
 belongings together for the longer journey 
 beyond Baltimore, which would probably be 
 a timie of separation from their trunks, and in 
 writing letters to drop into the mail when 
 the steamer landed. After supper they sat 
 together on the forward part of the steamer's 
 deck, talking over the events of the past few 
 days, speculating a little upon what kind of 
 work lay before them and often, during a 
 silence of greater or less extent, wreathing 
 fancies or dreaming dreams, as the smoke 
 from their cigars floated out in fragrant 
 clouds to mingle with the odors upon the 
 oceixn air. Between these two men a very 
 
no AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 warm friendship was established. Hugh, 
 much older than his lieutenant, a man who 
 had stood the buffetings of many years of 
 service, matured in thought, of a quiet dig- 
 nity of manner and yet a kindliness of speech 
 and action which invited and inspired confi- 
 dence while it repelled familiarity, stood in 
 " loco parentis " to the young man who had 
 only left his " Alma Mater ** a year or two 
 back, but who gave promise, with all his free, 
 impetuous ways, of a future development 
 worthy of the name he bore. Olmstead loved 
 "Old Hugh" as he spoke of, but never fo 
 him, and would have gone far to serve him 
 and farther still to have spared him trouble 
 on his account, or disappointment. He looked 
 up to him as a man who had weighed most 
 things in the balances and knew the value of 
 them. He always went to him if perplexed, 
 certain to get the key of disentanglement of 
 his troubles from his friend ; he had seen him 
 under too many circumstances not to fully 
 know and appreciate the true metal he was 
 made of. And now, as they sat in the cool eve- 
 ning air ; the waters around them brilliant in 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. m 
 
 the rushes of phosphorescence as the waves 
 upreared their crests and then broke into a 
 thousand foam-flecked, disordered masses and 
 spread out upon the sea like a fall of white 
 blossoms upon dark g-reen grasses ; the som- 
 bre outline of the distant shore a bank of 
 gloom upon the background of a cloudless 
 sky ; a shimmering band of light, far reach- 
 ing across the w^aters, heaven's dower, upon 
 the " silver flashing surges " of the deep ; the 
 weird unnatural voices from out the night as 
 the winds swept through the cordage; the 
 throbbing of the engines in their tireless mono- 
 tony, the sweet fresh odors released by the 
 night airs from the land and born to them 
 upon the breeze, the cry of the look-out break- 
 ing in upon their silence as a light flashed 
 out ahead in signal of some other vessel speed- 
 ing toward them upon the sea's highway. 
 Olmstead broke in upon the current of Hugh's 
 thought with the rather vague statement : 
 
 " Captain, I can't keep it any longer — I 
 want to tell you something." 
 
 Hugh, half turning his chair and removing 
 the cigar from his mouth, blew forth a dense 
 
112 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 cloud of smoke, slowly, as though giving 
 Olmstead time to recover from his startling 
 announcement and then helped that young 
 gentleman through the embarrassing first 
 stages of his confession, by the remark : 
 
 •' My dear boy, I thought you did, and I 
 wondered how you kept it so long." 
 
 " Why, it hasn't been very long since it 
 happened," replied Olmstead, wondering how 
 Hugh knew anything about what he was go- 
 ing to say. 
 
 " Not as time is reckoned in ordinary mat- 
 ters I admit," exasperatingly answered Hugh, 
 " but do you know you have shown more 
 pre-occupation in the past few weeks, than in 
 all the months we have been together and I 
 have suspected it all along." 
 
 "Suspected it! — suspected what f cried 
 Olmstead, who imagined his secret beyond 
 the ken, even of so shrewd an observer as 
 Hugh. 
 
 " Why, that you had something to tell me," 
 said Hugh; " you have, haven't you ? 3^ou 
 said so just now ;" and Hugh, whose first im- 
 pulse was to help him out, thought better of 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 113 
 
 it, seeing, as he did, that such a course would 
 be disappointing. 
 
 " Why, of course I have, and something 
 very important, to me, at least," replied 01m- 
 tead. " It's about Marjorie." 
 
 " Oh, about Marjorie, is it," answered Hugh. 
 " A lovely girl," he continued, as though in 
 soliloquy " and her sister, poor thing, my 
 heart has ached for her ever since " 
 
 *' Yes, so has mine," interrupted Olmstead, 
 " but I want your heart to rejoice just now ; I 
 want you to tell me that Majorie is the sweet- 
 est girl in all the world and offer me your 
 congratulations, for Marjorie and I are to be 
 married some day." 
 
 Hugh rarely yielded to an impulse, but he 
 did on this occasion and got up from his seat 
 and laid his hand on OlmiStead's shoulder and 
 looking down into the younger man's up- 
 turned face said : 
 
 '' With all my heart, boy — she is a sweet 
 girl indeed and deserving of all the love you 
 can lavish on her — may God spare 3'ou to 
 come back for her. Ever since I have sus- 
 pected it, I have felt my responsibility of you 
 
XI4 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 increase a thousand fold, but if we only do 
 our duty in life, He will take care of the rest." 
 And Hugh sauntered off and looked far away 
 across the waters over the bow of the boat 
 and, mingling with his thoughts of Olmstcad 
 and Marjorie, was one of the fond, happy 
 time, coming to himself as well : 
 
 " Some sweet day 
 Bye and bye," 
 
 and presently coming back to where Olm- 
 stead sat he said : 
 
 " Now get out the box, 3'oungster, and play 
 something, it will do us both good," and, as 
 later on, the sweet strains of soft, low music 
 fell upon the air and the pilot up above from 
 where they sat lowered his window, that the 
 monotony of his watchfulness might be brok- 
 en by some other sound than the rattle of the 
 steering chain, and the watchman out in front, 
 looked back for an instant in grateful greet- 
 ing of the melody, Hugh thought he under- 
 stood more perfectly, how the tones of " Fair- 
 thorn's " flute had fallen upon unhappy " Guy 
 Barrel's " ear and softened the disappoint- 
 ments of liis life. 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 115 
 
 Some ten days later from their camp at 
 
 Lexington, where they had arrived the day 
 
 before and settled down upon the outskirts of 
 
 the pretty town, where already the buds w^ere 
 
 bursting and the green grasses were bedecked 
 
 with the earliest flowers of spring, a letter 
 
 found its way to Marjorie, detailing some of 
 
 the happenings of their trip. 
 
 ***** 
 
 " I thought I missed you enough to have 
 of itself satisfied any demands of a retributive 
 justice upon me for the sins of my past life, 
 but it seems that I was mistaken. From the 
 moment we touched the wharf at Baltimore, 
 began a series of mishaps and adventures the 
 culmination of which I dread to contemplate. 
 In the first place, in getting the animals ashore 
 the plank broke as Duke, my beautiful bay, 
 dearer than ever to me since you rode him, 
 was being led off and he fell into the water and, 
 as he had been feeding and still had his nose- 
 bag on, he drowned before anyone could 
 reach him, though half a dozen men jumped 
 in to save him. I am afraid I must confess to 
 having shed bitter tears as I snw the lovely 
 
ii6 AX IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 fellow Stretched out upon the sand and knew 
 no power could give me back the faithful 
 creature again. He and I had stood some 
 hard knocks together and I had thought that 
 •^ome day he would be turned over to your gen- 
 ile ministrations with no other calls upon him 
 save those which yo2i should make ; but now 
 that dream is vanished, and I shall never 
 speak your name to him again as T have done 
 every day since you left, or see the intelligent 
 gleam in his eye as though he understood. 
 I had him buried away from the crows and 
 all the other vile things which make common 
 prey of the bodies of the dead and the hearts 
 of the living, and felt w^hen the train rolled 
 us away that I had turned my back forever 
 upon a friend. 
 
 " Our train was quite a large one. The 
 men and horses were placed upon box-cars, 
 but the guns, etc., had open flats. About 
 midnight one night as we were rolling along 
 through the mountains a sudden violent com- 
 motion brought us upon our feet, and the 
 train to a standstill ; I was Officer of the Day, 
 and jumped out to see what the matter was. 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 117 
 
 I found one of the poles of a caisson had come 
 loose, and had smashed against the roof of a 
 tunnel. So I went forward to have it fixed, 
 and then gave the signal to start on. When 
 our car reached me it was going at such a 
 rate I could not get aboard, and there 1 was. 
 Away the train thundered, leaving me alone 
 at dead of night, the sole inhabitant, so far as 
 I could see, of the mountain. The night was 
 very cold. I had left my overcoat aboard, 
 and had on my sabre and pistol, so I struck 
 out along the ties with only the stars to light 
 me on. After walking about an hour I spied 
 way in the distance a light which took me 
 another hour to reach. It proved to be a 
 small section house, or way station, for no 
 where in particular, simply dropped down 
 there for the accommodation of any waj^farer 
 who might happen to find himself in that be- 
 nighted region, and desired to depart from it. 
 The agent was up and looking over some 
 books as I entered, my sabre clanking, awak- 
 ening echoes which had never awakened be- 
 fore, and instinctively he reached for his shot- 
 gun. But I explained the situation to him, 
 
Ii8 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 and ascertained that an express would come 
 along just before day, but would not stop, 
 which was very comforting. I could not get 
 a train, he said, till sometime next day. But 
 I made up my mind that the express luoida 
 stop, if I could accomplish it, so I sat talking 
 with him till I heard the train coming along, 
 thundering through the mountains, shrieking 
 at the curves and the mountains resounding 
 with the noises far and near. I waited till 
 the sound got near enough and then seizing 
 the agent's lantern, I sprang out upon the 
 track and signalled " down brakes." The 
 agent swore eloquently, and the conductor 
 joined in blasphemous chorus as the train 
 came slowly to the station ; and before put- 
 ting down the lantern I signalled '' go ahead 
 again," cried out ** good night " to the agent 
 and jumped aboard. I overtook our train at 
 Grafton, and just in time, too, for a few mo- 
 ments after we were bowling along for the 
 Ohio river, at Parkersburg. 
 
 " Now we are camped on the outskirts of 
 one of the prettiest little towns anywhere, 
 with promise of lively times in a social way. 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 119 
 
 Kentucky people have always been famed for 
 their hospitality, and I doubt not, under the 
 humanizing influences surrounding us here, 
 our savage state will undergo material modi- 
 fication. 
 
 " Dear old Hugh is kind and thoughtful as 
 ever, and in his quiet way seems so happy, 
 now that his engagement with Miss Wilmer- 
 ding is an assured fact. You do not know, 
 though, that after you left she wrote him, in 
 answer to a letter of his, giving him the 
 promise he asked, and he never seems to 
 worry any more. I could not help telling 
 him of our own engagement, and felt so much 
 better when I had done so. He seemed so 
 glad, and said he felt an added responsibility 
 regarding me now, as though for yotir sake 
 he must needs look after me, which I thought 
 quite complimentary to me at any rate. I 
 have never known a man in whom selfishness 
 was so absolutely impossible as in him. 
 
 " Our destination is as yet unknown, though 
 probably we shall stay somewhere in Ken- 
 tucky for some time to come, and I think we 
 can stand it after all we have been through. 
 
120 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 " Here, at Lexington, we find a queer ad- 
 mixture of the Union and Rebel sentiment — 
 the Union predominating, however, 1 think ; 
 but there is nothing rancorous, as I have 
 seen it elsewhere, and whatever bitterness 
 exists is concealed beneath a courteous de- 
 meanor. Though we have been here only a 
 couple of days we know half the town, and 
 shall doubtless know the other half before we 
 
 go-" 
 
 •)f * * * * 
 
 There was much more in Olmstead's let- 
 ter; but let us draw the curtain before those 
 expressions of tenderness to which he yield- 
 ed, as became the existing state of things 
 between those two. There is a sacredness in 
 certain utterances which it were sacrilege to 
 look in upon. 
 
 But Captain Griswold's battery was not 
 alone upon this pleasant scene of action. 
 Troops were encamped in considerable num- 
 bers within easy distance, and the staffs of 
 one or two headquarters were there to share 
 and dispute with them their claims to the 
 generous hospitalities of the people, and so 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 121 
 
 it happened that, following- a time-honored 
 custom, the officers, desirous of returning in 
 some measure the attentions they had re- 
 ceived, made arrangements for a ball. The 
 most conspicuous talent in that direction 
 which their numbers possessed was employed 
 for a fortnight before the event was to take 
 place, in the artistic arrangements of the 
 hall and every incidental of the fete. The 
 resources of Cincinnati as well as Lexington 
 were taxed to no inconsiderable degree to 
 meet the exigencies of the occasion. The 
 products of hot-houses and the open ground 
 were levied upon to make a fit setting to the 
 bright gems of sweet womanhood which 
 should grace the scene. A famous caterer 
 had carte-blanche in his own peculiar prov- 
 ince. A military band and cotillon orchestra 
 were to alternate with inspiriting airs and 
 dreamy inspirations to rhythmic measures. 
 Light and garland, banner and festoon, shrub 
 and flower; soft shimimering drapery and 
 emblazonry of bar and star, were invoked in 
 the creation of an earthly paradise ; — a 
 neutral ground over which Euterpe and 
 
122 AX IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 Terpsichore flung the spells of their enchant- 
 ment, and the little winged god, through the 
 agency of a subtle power, disguised the bit- 
 terness of political creeds within the enfold- 
 ing of his mantle, as he whispered to willing 
 ears the story to which all the world has 
 listened. Lexington had been placed in 
 singular straits, but had borne herself with a 
 dignity and graciousness toward both the 
 opposing factions, as the fortunes of war 
 placed her in alternate possession of them. 
 There was no manifestation of exuoerant 
 sentiment for either party. It had been a 
 graceful submission to the penalty of a geo- 
 graphic position which made the people of 
 Lexington respected by North and South. 
 Personal interest was subordinate to per- 
 sonal dignity. There was no outcry against 
 fate or the rude exactions of military neces- 
 sity. However strongly men felt, they seem- 
 ed to recognize the fact that their destinies 
 were being shaped by stronger hands than 
 theirs, and bravely awaited the issue. Lex- 
 ington had given her sons to both sides in the 
 contest ; was it matter of surprise that her 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 123 
 
 daughters hearts were filled with love and 
 sympathy for the cause of the absent ones ? 
 To their credit, be it said, the gentleness and 
 modesty of woman was never disguised in 
 the bitterness of partisanship. 
 
 At length the night rolled round, a cloud- 
 less, warm delicious day, filled with the song 
 of birds and odors from fields and wooded 
 stretches ; with sunshine lurking everywhere, 
 on housetop and the reaches of the wood ; 
 coaxing the meadows into bloom and fra- 
 grancCjthrowing shadows which peered above 
 the fences or lay upon the soft blue grass- 
 patches, or in moody silence watched the 
 sunbeam's caress of some fair face, which, 
 from a casement looked out upon the fresh 
 beauty of the spring; a day wherein the 
 questioning voices of all nature sounded 
 sweetly on the ear, and the " winds set free 
 the answers of the trees and the shrubs," and 
 to which the dying sun at last lent tints of 
 purple and of gold, as fitting garb wherewith 
 to greet the night, and she, in shimmering, 
 silvered vestment, bedecked with diamond 
 stars and the glory of a softened radiance, 
 
124 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 threw the spell of her enchantment upon the 
 earth. 
 
 And now, within the ball-room, there was 
 the murmur of happy voices, mingling with 
 the soft, seductive strains of music, and a 
 flood of light from a hundred colored lamps 
 suffusing all the scene, as though in the bor- 
 rowed beauty of the " after-glow " — the rust- 
 ling of silks, like the voices of the winds 
 amidst the reeds within the marshes ; the 
 shimmer of satin and accessory of pearls ; 
 the soft tints of many clinging fabrics ; the 
 simplicity of lawn and tulle with the embel- 
 lishment of buds anM fiowers ; the undulant 
 motions of the dancers, like waves upon the 
 sea; bright uniforms, with glitter of gold and 
 the scarlet contrast of silken sash ; the delic- 
 ious abandonment to the spells the hour un- 
 loosed, were there to emphasize the revel. 
 
 Olmstead thought he had never seen any- 
 thing quite so beautiful. It was like a chap- 
 ter from a fairy book, indeed, and he almost 
 feared the coming of an evil genius to throw 
 the spell of disenchantment and awaken him 
 from a delicious dream. 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 125 
 
 He was sitting in one of those deep win- 
 dows which afforded a safe retreat from the 
 rush and whirl of the crowded room, the 
 sash was thrown open, the soft evening breeze 
 gently fanning the glowing cheeks, and stir- 
 ring a truant tress of his fair companion's 
 hair. They had been talking about the war, 
 and of how its cruelties had come home to so 
 many in the quiet tOAvn ; of how the old-time 
 traditions were being effaced in the new or- 
 der of things, following in the train of pass- 
 ing events ; of the sudden change from a life 
 of pleasure and activity, to the tedious one of 
 waiting, and Olmstead had been led from 
 generalities to talk of some personal experi- 
 ence, when the clanking of a sabre attracted 
 their attention, and looking round, they saw^ 
 an orderly approaching with a note. Olm- 
 stead took it and read : 
 
 " Come to camp for a moment. I have 
 sent your horse." H. G. 
 
 " What is it, Mr. Olmstead ? Nothing ter- 
 rible, I hope," said the young lady, as some 
 one came in at the same moment to claim a 
 dance. 
 
126 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 " I cannot imagine," he replied." " Cap- 
 tain Griswold was not feeling well to-night, 
 and so did not come to the ball ; perhaps he 
 is ill ; I must go.' 
 
 " But you will return : you promised to tell 
 me of Fortress Monroe, which has always 
 been the Mecca of my hopes. I shall look 
 for you, so do not disappoint me." 
 
 "Not if I can help it," said Olmstead? 
 " the flattering thought that you will even 
 hold me in remembrance will speed my going 
 and hasten my return." And bowing low 
 before her, Olmstead turned, and springing 
 lightly through the window, was soon lost to 
 sight amongst the shrubbery. A few mo- 
 ments later he rode into camp, and throwing 
 himself from the saddle, entered Griswold's 
 tent. 
 
 ''What is it?" he asked. 
 
 Griswold was busy packing a valise, and 
 without a word, handed a telegram to him to 
 read, and Olmstead read ; 
 
 '' Kitty very ill. Come." Farnham 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 Several days after Kitty's disclosures to 
 her sister, Blaisdel had come to take her to 
 see a famous picture then on exhibition at one 
 of the galleries of the city and together they 
 had gone out into the glory of the winter 
 afternoon, with its flood of sunlight and crisp 
 cool air, on which the pleasant jingle of sleigh- 
 bells rang as the handsome turn-outs upon the 
 avenue dashed by. They threaded their way 
 through the throngs upon the streets, meeting 
 and nodding to acquaintances here and there, 
 chatting of a hundred things just then the feat- 
 ures of attraction, looked in at the windows 
 made gorgeous with costly fabric or banks of 
 hot-house flowers or marvels of the gold- 
 smith's art and eventually passed in, through 
 the outer gallery, to an inner one where the 
 picture they had come to see was hung. Per- 
 haps a dozen people were there in wrapt at- 
 tention of the striking canvas. A woman and 
 a man were standing upon the shore of the 
 
128 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 sea. Her face was sad and full of apprehen- 
 sion. Her head rested upon his shoulder and he 
 was looking down into her upturned face upon 
 which the light fell so that it was half hid- 
 den in shadow. The lips were half parted, as 
 though she were drinking in all he was say- 
 ing. Hope seemed struggling with a dread 
 foreboding. The man's face was dark and 
 handsome and full of energy, but there was a 
 tenderness in his look that spoke all the in- 
 tensity of his passion for the woman. A ves- 
 sel lay at anchor in the offing. Upon the 
 shore the waves were tumbling in white foamy 
 masses, 
 
 " And while he kissed her fears away, 
 The gentle waters kissed the shore. 
 And sadly whispering, seemed to say ; 
 
 He'll come no more, he'll come no more." 
 
 This seemed to be the inspiration of the 
 picture. Pathetic as was the subject, the col- 
 oring was sublime and the drawing and per- 
 spective faultless, and in tJiese lay the artist's 
 power. 
 
 Kitty sat and looked at the picture for some 
 time without speaking, indeed the sound of a 
 human voice then would have seemed out of 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 129 
 
 place to her. In the study of the painting 
 she was in some way, she felt, in spiritual 
 communion with its author, for pictures to 
 her were but mirrors of the mind, as blossoms 
 are symbols of the gentle, tender thoughts of 
 woman and too, through some subtle associa- 
 ation of ideas, that parting scene spoke elo- 
 quently to her through memory of another 
 parting, wherein she was an actor, and a sad- 
 faced man another. And then she gazed, in 
 dreamy, absent fashion, as the gentle current 
 of her thought flowed on, and a tenderness 
 took possession of her heart and unconscious- 
 ly her lips and voice gave form and accent 
 to a name, which, falling on the stillness, 
 startled her out of her reverie and told Blais- 
 del the secret she had not meant to tell. For 
 an instant their eyes met and then, moved by 
 a common impulse, they strolled out into the 
 larger room — Blaisdel with full knowledge 
 that Hugh had won and that his own hopes 
 were vain and Kitty, with a tell-tale color in 
 her cheeks and a light within her eyes, which 
 told that she was not ashamed. 
 
 For a few moments they mingled with the 
 
130 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 crowd, admiring a gem as it fell beneath their 
 gaze, or mildly criticising an inferior subject 
 till, at last, Blaisdcl turned to lier and said ' 
 "May I congratulate you Kitty? or would i^ 
 be premature ? " 
 
 " Not premature, I think," she answered- 
 " Has Hugh never spoken of me to you ? " 
 
 " Yes, in a general way. Any knowledge 
 I possess, however, comes by inference, 
 rather than by any assurance of his ; certain- 
 1}^ he has not told me of his gOod fortune. 
 You will not care if I write and wish him 
 joy?" 
 
 " If so you regard it, certainly not," she 
 answered. " I had thought the more grate- 
 ful heart should have been my own." 
 
 " Charming," replied Blaisdel, " might I 
 venture an inquiry as to when Hugh's happi- 
 ness was assured to him ?' 
 
 " It was assured to him when, after return- 
 ing home from the * Charity Ball,' 1 fell upon 
 my knees and prayed to God I might be 
 worthy of so generous a heart as his. It was 
 promised to him yesterday. Do niU offend 
 my liappiness by your sarcasm, Charlie : 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 131 
 
 surely we have been too good friends for 
 that, and I have been vain enough to hope 
 that we would always be." 
 
 Blaisdel was cut deeper than he himself 
 suspected. He had gone on flirting with, 
 half-loving, first one and then another, but 
 imperceptibly, quite unknown and unsuspect- 
 ed by himself, Kitty Wilmerding had thrown 
 around him, all innocently, the influences of 
 her charming personality ; tendrils Avhich 
 had laid hold of his susceptible but fickle 
 heart more strongly than he knew. But 
 now, as the voice of duty bade him lay hold 
 of her image and tear it from him, he felt 
 how hard it was. But his was a nature not 
 devoid of good or of generosity. He never 
 would be untrue to his friendship for Hugh, 
 nor pain Kitty, by pleading a cause he plain- 
 ly saw was lost. 
 
 "Pardon me, Kitty," he said. "I would 
 be a churl indeed to withhold my congratu- 
 lations to you both, and your friendship will 
 be ever dear to me in the future, as it has 
 outrivalled any other in the past." 
 
 And so they went out through the crowd 
 
133 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 of loungers into the street again. The winter 
 day was drawing to its close. Shadows 
 lengthened across the roadway. The tide of 
 humanity was moving homeward. The air 
 was chill and the sleigh bells rang out in 
 shriller tones. There was a chrystalline bril- 
 liance in the salient points which caught the 
 last rays of the sinking sun. Footsteps fell 
 upon the stone pavements with a sharp, crisp 
 sound. High riding above the world, a cold, 
 pale moon was set in the clear vault of 
 heaven awaiting the djang of the day and 
 the hour of her own glory. Kitty drew her 
 cloak more closely about her as they were 
 born along by the irresistible living tide. 
 Once or twice she shuddered, and Blaisdel 
 asked if she were ill, but she thought not. 
 She was only chilly and her head pained a 
 little, and so they walked on till her sister's 
 home was reached and Blaisdel left her, glad 
 to be alone with his own thoughts again. 
 
 But Kitty was ill. That niglit a high fever 
 set in and the hours dragged on slowly — 
 tediously. She heard the solemn tones of 
 the city clockr* within the steeples ring cuit 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 133 
 
 the record of the time upon the frosty air. 
 The roll of a passing carriage in muffled 
 accents fell upon her ear like the muttering 
 of distant thunder. The little night-lamp 
 threw all the appointments of her room into 
 confused and uncertain prominence, and the 
 shadows rested like weird, unnatural visitors 
 across the walls and the hangings of the 
 chamber. Strange forms peopled the scenes 
 upon which her distorted fancy dwelt. Often 
 she started as though in terror, and then re- 
 lapsed into the fevered sleep of exhaustion. 
 The next day her fever had increased ; the 
 doctor's medicines were impotent to quell its 
 raging. Except a low, unintelligible m^utter- 
 ing which at times showed the struggle of 
 her mind against her malady, she lay with 
 closed eyes, waiting. Another day, and the 
 doctors shook their heads in foreboding; 
 slowly, but surely, she was yielding to the 
 deadly nature of her disease. Hugh's name 
 was upon her lips, and fell upon the listen- 
 ing ears at frequent intervals ; her thoughts 
 seemed all of him. Biaisdel had sent her 
 some handsome flowers, wliich rested near 
 
134 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 the bedside, and on them her eyes would 
 rest a moment and then upon her sister, with 
 a look of inquiry, followed by one ot plead- 
 ing and she was understood, and her sister 
 kneeling beside her and taking her little pal', 
 hand within her own, whispered : *' He is 
 coming, dear," and a glad, grateful light 
 would beam a moment in her eyes and she 
 would doze off again more peacefully, hap- 
 pier apparently, than before. All that skill 
 could do, all that tender nursing could ac- 
 complish, her faithful, loving friends be- 
 stowed, yet daily the sweet girl's life drew 
 near to its end. Realizing it, she accepted 
 her doom without a murmur. Of herself 
 she had no fear, only for Hugh was her mind 
 troubled, and only for him a sorrow lay near 
 her heart, to which the tears which coursed 
 down her cheeks at times gave mute, pathetic 
 emphasis. 
 
 And so she lingered on — she had loosed all 
 claims to earth save one, and that she could 
 not yield — her unwavering faith in God's 
 mercy made death impotent to draw the veil, 
 before her eyes should rest once more upon 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 135 
 
 the face of the iran she loved, before his 
 arm should lift lier weary head upon his 
 breast, and as life's accents faded, his voice 
 should be the last to linger upon her ear as 
 she passed beyond into the rest and beauty 
 of the spirit land. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 When Olmstead read the telegram which 
 Hugh had handed him he stood for an in- 
 stant dazed. The tidings of iUness, followed 
 so quickly on the heels of that happy, exuber- 
 ant health, which, as exemplified in Kitty, had 
 given promise, in connection with the tenor 
 of her letters, of so much future gladness, that 
 he could not reconcile the two. Hugh did 
 not speak. Speech seemed impossible, in pres- 
 ence of this dread message. Mechanically he 
 hurried his preparations for departure. A 
 train left at midnight and e'er morning he 
 should be far on his journey. 
 
 '* Hugh," said Olmstead, and the name fell 
 from his lips with an unfamiliar sound, for it 
 was the first time he had ever addressed him 
 so, " Hugh, dear old friend, how can I help 
 you?" 
 
 *' Boy," said Griswold, " there is but Ojic 
 that can help mc now — pra}- for me as you 
 never prayed before, — and for her," and his 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 137 
 
 great, sad, kind eyes had a hopeless, piteous 
 look in them as he continued : " It is hard 
 to be brave and loyal to one's faith in such a 
 presence as this, one never knows what sor- 
 row is, till it comes home to him in this wise," 
 and he wrung Olmstead's hand as he turned 
 to go. '' Take care of things till I come back," 
 he added, '* it will not be long, in any case,'' 
 and Olmstead choked down a great sob as he 
 caught him in his arms and the tears streamed 
 down his cheeks, as though a brother s crown- 
 ing sorrow cried out to him for pity and for 
 love. 
 
 The receding rattle of the ambulance 
 wheels sounded fainter and fainter as Hugh 
 was rolled away to the station. Olmstead 
 stood out in the night, beneath the quiet 
 stars, looking into the shadow of the woods 
 beyond his camp, and thought, as they laj^ 
 so close to the golden moonbeams which 
 flooded the bordering meadow-land, how 
 typical they were of the dull realities which 
 linger near life's poetry — how it was but a 
 single step from out the light of hope and 
 faith and glad anticipation, into the darkness 
 
138 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 of despair and desolation. He had no mind 
 for a continuance of the gayety, the sound of 
 which came faintly to his ear ; the undulating 
 inspirations of the orchestra, sounded hollow 
 and unnatural in their commingling with the 
 dull thud of this new-born revelation of an 
 appalling possibility. He wrapt himself in 
 his cloak and seated himself before the tent, fol- 
 lowing Hugh in his thoughts and, as Hugh's 
 words came back to him : " Pray for me as 
 you never prayed before," he fell into mute 
 communion with that great Spirit who alone 
 can save, and at whose throne he felt he was 
 now standing, a suppliant, side by side with 
 his heavy-hearted friend. 
 
 Two days later a train thundered into the 
 station, as New York was awakening from its 
 sleep. The flush of the nascent day was 
 spreading above the horizon across the river 
 and the wooded hills beyond ; the rumble of 
 the city's noises were breaking in upon the 
 stillness which had boded above the outspread 
 miles of housetops, and towering spires, first 
 to catch the summons, lit up the beacon-fires 
 as heralds of the coming golden flood. The 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 139 
 
 sharp shrill voices of the Arabs of the street 
 hawked yesterday's record of the pulsing 
 world to every passer by ; into the long, far- 
 reaching avenue the by-streets poured the 
 tribular waters of their living tides ; deep- 
 /oiced, with loud clang and quivering rever- 
 beration, iron tongues proclaimed the hour ; 
 the grey mists, like baffled ghosts, receded, 
 and the triumphant march of another day, 
 began. 
 
 Over the stony streets rattled the carriage 
 which Hu^h had hailed to take him to a 
 hotel, where he might remove the stain of 
 travel. The sharp click of the horse's hoof- 
 beats sounded unpleasantly upon his ear; 
 they seemed to him to be singing out the 
 knell of all his earthly hope, and he breathed 
 more freely when they stopped. Springing 
 out, he secured his room and made all haste 
 vith his toilet. 
 
 *' What if it be already too late," and great 
 drops stood upon his forehead as the cruel 
 thought flashed across his mind. 
 
 Presently, as he again went out, the clerk 
 noticed the pale, sad-faced man, and his 
 
I40 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 active brain began to invent the cause, and 
 he whispered to his fellow '* some trouble 
 there," and then, whistling softly, he turned 
 to his books and arranged the business for 
 the day, and forgot the misery just now 
 passed out into the street. 
 
 Hugh had not far to walk. In a few mo- 
 ments he saw the drawn curtains of the 
 house he sought. Upon the pavement in 
 the roadway, saw-dust was spread to deaden 
 the sounds of travel. '' Thank God no crape 
 is on the door-knob," he muttered, and the 
 light of a blessed hope fell upon his heart, 
 that perhaps the struggling young life within 
 had conquered. 
 
 The door swung open obedient to his light 
 summons. Evidently he was expected, for 
 Mrs. Farnham was there to receive him. 
 
 " Come," she said, '' thank God you are in 
 time." 
 
 Hugh followed her mechanically up the 
 heavily carpeted stairway noiselessly, as one 
 treads in the presence of a great calamity. 
 His heart seemed to cease its pulsing ; the 
 weakness of a terrible fear came over him ; 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 141 
 
 he felt that he stood upon the brink of a 
 sacrifice greater than he could bear. A 
 moment later he stood beside the pillow of his 
 loved one. Her eyes Avere closed — a poor, 
 wan hand la}^ upon the white spread, a thing 
 of wax, with faint tracery of blue, as a 
 thread shows in the petal of a flower — the 
 long lashes of her lustrous eyes rested un- 
 easily upon the sweet pale face; the dim 
 light of the room shaded the lines which 
 illness had carved on brow and cheek, hiding 
 the cruel contrast to her erstwhile radiant 
 beauty. 
 
 Hugh dropped upon his knees beside the 
 bed, and tenderly took the little hand in his, 
 and bending over the prostrate form, spoke 
 her name. A quivering of the eyelids, a 
 little twitching of the sensitive mouth, a 
 sigh, faint as a distant woodland echo, and 
 the sweet eyes opened; a smile of happy 
 welcome, a whisper of his name, and as the 
 curtain for an instant gently parted, a ray of 
 glory fell upon them— heaven's golden em- 
 blem of the pledge of love, registered be- 
 yond the skies. 
 
142 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 ** Dear Hugh," she whispered, '* lift me, let 
 me look out into the sunshine once more, 
 there let my head lie upon your breast. I 
 am happy now ; kiss me, dear. See, Hugh, 
 the great white doors are opening ; do you 
 not hear the music, dear Hugh?" and her 
 head rested more heavily upon his breast ; 
 the dear eyes closed ; a smile, as though in 
 glad answer to a happy summons parted her 
 lips and her spirit was gone — flown back 
 again to the God who had loaned it to make 
 beautiful an earthly tabernacle 
 
 All that was left of sweet Kitty Wilmer- 
 ding was laid away to rest amidst the shadows 
 of her beloved hills, but their voices would 
 no more answer back her cry, or glad birds 
 voice the chorus of her song. The strings 
 were broken ; the harp was stilled ; faded 
 flowers la}^ upon the pathway which the agile 
 feet had trod ; there was a sigh among the 
 mountain pines for 
 
 " The eyes that smile no more 
 The unreturning feet." 
 
 Hugh Griswold stood alone upon the 
 mossy slope. Beneath the waving branches 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 143 
 
 which overshadowed her resting place, the 
 last rays of the setting sun lay slanting 
 across the peaceful scene, and along the 
 silent streets where the grasses grew, which 
 harbored blue-bells and daisies and sweet 
 violets in the summer time. Now, the blight 
 of winter lay upon the earth, but its mutter- 
 ings were growing feeble ; there was a pres- 
 ence in the air which was herald of the 
 spring. Far down below, the shining river 
 rolled its tide onward along the valley. 
 Faint sounds of life struggled up the steep 
 incline in profanation of the quiet of this 
 city of the dead. Silent and sad, looking 
 far off beyond the limits of the gathering 
 gloom, the sunlight faded from off the earth, 
 as every joy had faded from out his heart. 
 Struggling with the cruel thoughts of God's 
 injustice he stood and, as 
 
 " Through his heart the tremor ran 
 Of grief that cannot weep," 
 
 he reverently knelt beside the new-made 
 grave and peering down, as though the 
 hidden upturned face were revealed to him 
 again, softly spoke her name, feeling that in 
 
144 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 some way slie would hear, and, as at last, in 
 infinite relief to his pent-up agony, the tears 
 streamed down his manly face, he spoke 
 aloud ; 
 
 " My love was wear}' ; — 
 God bless her, she's asleep," 
 
 and turning toward the world again, he took 
 up the burden of his life and sadlv and 
 silently passed on. 
 
 Griswold returned immediately to his bat- 
 tery, arriving at Lexington in the early after- 
 noon of a warm sunny da3\ There was noth- 
 ing now to have kept him in the east ; he 
 could not have born the idleness which an 
 extended leave would have imposed. He 
 wanted activity and hard work ; the harder 
 the better, anything to take him away from 
 himself. He carried with him a memory 
 which was dearer than anything the world 
 had in its offering. But he felt that it must 
 have its place, he could not keep it be- 
 fore his mental vision, hour after hour, day 
 after day. Only when the day's work was 
 done, and the stars were set in the sky estab- 
 lishing the reign of night, did he give himself 
 over wholly to his thoughls of what might 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 145 
 
 have been, and the cruel reflection of what 
 was. 
 
 On his westward journey he had stopped 
 for a day at Mr. Hale's home, more for 01m- 
 stead's sake than his own ; even in the midst 
 of his own bitter sorrow, he did not forget 
 "the boy" he had left behind, He would be 
 glad to hear of Marjorie from one who had 
 seen her face to face ; for himself, he desired 
 to bespeak for them a happier outcome to 
 their hopes, than had been vouchsafed to him ; 
 there was that in the man's nature which 
 never made it possible for him to yield 
 wholly to consideration of self. 
 
 Madelaine he had found better in every 
 way. Change of scene, contact with brighter 
 things, had softened the cruelties of her dis- 
 appointment ; she looked upon life more hope- 
 fully, but nothing could swerve her from her 
 determination to go again to the hospitals 
 v/hen she was a little stronger ; therein lay 
 the V70rk she had assigned herself ; therein 
 she v^rould labor, so long as woman's nursing 
 could avail. 
 
 " I am so sorry for you," she had said to 
 
146 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 Griswold, " but I know how feeble woras are 
 in such a case as yours. Try not to live too 
 much in the past ; loolc ahead, as you bade me 
 do. Thank God that at least you have a 
 noble work to do, and from out the future, as 
 3'ou enter it upon the path of duty, there will 
 come to meet you, inspired, perhaps by her, 
 not Lethe's tide, but the gentle, rippling 
 stream, within whose depths are the waters 
 of Nepenthe." 
 
 With ''the boy " his meeting had been an 
 almost silent one. There was an eloquence 
 in the way Olmstead thre\v his arms about 
 him and whispered : " Dear old Hugh," be- 
 yond anything else he could have spoken, 
 and Hugh was grateful to him for it, and so 
 together they took up the routine of their 
 duties, and often, as they sat before their 
 tents, in the soft light of the fading day, their 
 thoughts traveled back together and hovered 
 in tenderest memory above a little grave, 
 across which lay the lengthening shadows; but 
 they rarely spoke Kittie's name — it seemed 
 like a profanation of the silence, in which her 
 spirit dwelt. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Griswold's battery was not destined for a 
 long sojourn in Kentucky's garden spot. The 
 sweet spring weather had wrought a won- 
 drous change upon the landscape and, enriched 
 with leaf and blossom and the many shades 
 of soft carpeting which lay unrolled, stretch- 
 ing far as the eye could reach, the whole 
 country side was beautiful in the extreme. 
 But other changes, which they were called 
 upon to watch more closely, were occurring 
 upon less peaceful and inviting scenes of ac- 
 tion, and Griswold had not long returned 
 from his sad journey to the East, before they 
 were off again, for Vicksburg. But of their 
 participation in that campaign, the struggle 
 against hardship, and exposure and oppres- 
 sive heat, and the low fevers of the baj^ous 
 and the marsh-lands, the gradual investment 
 of the city, its resistance, and ultimate sur- 
 render, this narrative has nothing to do. 
 Midsummer had passed, and September 
 
14S AX IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 suns were tempered to the husbandman and 
 the dwellers in canvas cities as well. Ken- 
 tucky's harvest time was drawing to its close, 
 and already the night airs were chill, and 
 tints of royal gold and purple were showing 
 upon the hill-sides and within the meadows. 
 
 Lexington had awakened from her sleep of 
 summer ; the quiet of her streets v.-as invaded 
 by cavalcade and market caravan. On stated 
 days, the Court House Square, a scene of bar- 
 ter and of sale, revealed the varied products 
 of the soil and beasts of noble pedigree ; the 
 denizens of countr3'-side and citv, fraternized 
 upon the common plane of reciprocal depen- 
 dence. 
 
 Gris wold's battery was a daily scene of ac- 
 tivity ; it was getting into shape again, after 
 the ordeals of its recent campaign. New men 
 and horses were being drilled ; needed re- 
 pairs and replenishment of ammunition and 
 supplies were being attended to ; preparations 
 for yet another campaign were being pushed 
 to completion. 
 
 In a quiet wa}^ Hugh mingled with the 
 hospitable people of the city, and to 01m- 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. I49 
 
 stead there was a never-ending whirl of ex- 
 citement : lawn and riding parties, dinners 
 and dances, excursions to various suburban 
 places of attraction, music and sweet dalli- 
 tince, the poetry of life, after contact vrith its 
 more m.aterial aspects, and it was little vron- 
 der, that when the morning of that dull day, 
 late in Septem.ber dawned, which saw the 
 battery strung out upon the road, headed for 
 the Cumberland mountains and Knoxville 
 beyond as their objective point, that his brain 
 grew dizzy in the effort to locate the exac^ 
 abiding place of his susceptible heart. 
 
 But they filed along, out past the awaken- 
 ing town, past the outlying pretty residences 
 with their groves of historic oaks and neatly 
 kept lawns ; out beyond that atmosphere up- 
 on which lay the incense of beauty and of 
 bloom and around which would ever cling 
 bright memories, till a turn in the road shut 
 away the city from their view, and closed an- 
 other chapter of experience. 
 
 Their line of march lay along the rich, 
 cultivated fields of the Blue Grass region ; 
 out through Nicholasville and Crab-Orchard, 
 
T50 AX IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 and here, leaving the smooth macadamized 
 roads, they plunged into the intricacies of 
 the mountain passes, the rumbling wheels of 
 caisson and gun-carriage awakening echoes 
 amidst the shadows of the virgin forest, 
 which rolled along the mountain sides like 
 mutterings of distant thunder. 
 
 At last, after days of hard marching and 
 struggling] with nearly impassable roads, the 
 heights beyond Knoxville loomed up before 
 them — gaunt, staid sentinels, above the peace- 
 ful valley, w^hich followed the curving of the 
 Holston river far as the eye could reach. 
 Long afterward, looking back over the 
 scene in the light of his memory of it, as 
 first it was unfolded before him, Hugh felt 
 the cruelty of war's curse upon the land. 
 The smiling landscape of his memory re- 
 vealed the pretty town, built upon rolling 
 hills, at whose base the Holston, in broad 
 sweeping curve, freighted with the legends 
 of the far up-country districts, vrhich, dark 
 in their deep, impenetrable vesture of wild 
 laurel, lost form and contour in the purpling 
 distance, lav like a burnished silver beam 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 151 
 
 in the southern sunshine. High mountain 
 peaks, in abrupt upheaval, dominated the 
 fertile valley, which, in graceful, wooded un- 
 dulations, stretched east and west through 
 miles of farm-land and walnut groves. Out- 
 lying the city's limits, here and there up- 
 reared upon some salient point, stood low, 
 rambling southern homes within the shadows 
 of pines and cedars and the embowerment of 
 clematis and honeysuckle and Virginia 
 creeper, with stretch of lawn, and contrast 
 of a thousand tints of bloom. Centrally, 
 throughout the valley, the railroad wound 
 its sinuous length along, annihilating dis- 
 tance. Now, the hills were bared of cover- 
 ings. Scarred and seamed they lay, their 
 peaceful, smiling aspect hidden in the rude 
 transformations which marked the trail of 
 war. A girdle of breastworks, yellow and 
 forbidding, gave abrupt and ugly termina- 
 tion to the graceful slopes leading to the 
 city's heart; the peaceful, outlying houses 
 lay in smoked and shattered ruins, here and 
 there a vine-covered wall, standing in 
 ghostly mockery of a whilom scene of beauty 
 
152 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 and of thrift. Even God's acre, in its ruined 
 aspect; its fences gone ; its marbles broken ; 
 its pathways deep with furrow of screaming 
 shell, looked up to heaven in mute appeal, 
 from the cruelties and irreverence of man. 
 
 On the night of the 12th of November, 
 Griswold, Olmstead and the battery surgeon 
 were grouped about the little Sibley stove 
 in their mess-tent, smoking their pipes and 
 listening to the pattering rain as it fell, 
 driven by the chill Avinds, upon the canvas. 
 Until that very day the weather had been 
 beautiful, but, at last, the much-dreaded rain 
 had come and all knew what tJiat meant 
 should an order come to move. The Doctor, 
 apart from his qualifications as a professional 
 man, was a public benefactor to their mess. 
 A German ''jusqu'au bout des ongles," he 
 possessed all the characteristics of his race — 
 an indefatigable worker — an excellent cook, 
 and one, too, who could evolve from nothing 
 the most satisfying and savory dishes, good- 
 natured and with a fund of anecdote, upon 
 which he always drew liberally, when the 
 spirits of his comrades lagged. On this 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 153 
 
 particular night, he was busy with a '' brew " 
 of his own invention, a " Sphirit varmer," 
 as he called it (and it was no misnomer), and 
 had just delivered himself of the remark, 
 *' Veil, poys, I hope ve don't get ordered oud 
 in dot rain," when the clattering of a horse's 
 hoof-beats caused them all to exchange hur- 
 ried glances. A moment more and a tap 
 on the canvas settled the matter in their 
 minds. 
 
 " General wishes to see Captain 
 
 Griswold at headquarters at once." 
 
 " All right," said Hugh, and calling to 
 Flynn for his horse, he vras riding, a few mo- 
 ments later, up the road toward the town. 
 
 It transpired that a large Confederate force 
 was moving up from the vicinity of Chatta- 
 nooga, evidently with the intention of re-occu- 
 pying East Tennessee and all the troops avail- 
 able were ordered post haste to Loudon, 
 thirty miles distant and at the railroad cross- 
 ing of the Tennessee river to oppose it. 
 
 Griswold was told to get on the road as 
 soon as possible, and to march with all dis- 
 patch, and report to the General again, when 
 
154 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 he should reach Loudon. The rain was fall- 
 ing now in torrents, the night was pitch dark 
 and the lanterns of the sergeants as they 
 moved about superintending the prepara- 
 tions, threw a dim spectral light about the 
 camp. At last, as the first suspicion of day- 
 light made the road visible, the battery rolled 
 out of park and headed down the road. 
 There was no abatement of the storm, the 
 wind blew in furious gusts driving the cold 
 rain peltingly into the eyes of rider and 
 horse, there was not a dry garment in the 
 entire command, but they dragged along, 
 over the slippery hills, through the deep, 
 boggy lanes, making cut-offs through the 
 fields where the roads were too heavy. On, 
 on, animated with but one desire, to be in 
 time. With short intervals of rest, they plod- 
 ded on during all the day, and into the night, 
 till the utter darkness made further progress 
 impossible ; then, they filed into a neighbor- 
 ing field and halted. It was with the utmost 
 difficulty that tents could be pitched at all ; 
 the wind whistled and whirled about as 
 though bent upon destruction. At last, 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 155 
 
 after much hard work, their tent was up : 
 they pitched but one, it was no time for lux- 
 ury, some place to lie down and rest was all 
 they wanted. An hour or so later, they had 
 just ranged themselves round a mess-pan of a 
 hot and tempting evidence of the Doctor's 
 skill, when a sudden, mighty rush and whirl 
 of wind lifted their tent completely from the 
 ground and hurled it fifty feet from where 
 they sat ; their supper was overturned and, 
 looking about them, the whole battery was a 
 scene of desolation. Not a piece of canvas 
 standing ; the poor horses with heads lowered 
 and backs to the storm ; men running here 
 and there, intent upon the recovery of some 
 missing article of apparel, and confusion every- 
 where. Tired out, dispirited, seeing the use. 
 lessness of essaying to pitch the camp again 
 in the yielding soil, they one and all wrapped 
 themselves in their blankets (albeit they were 
 heavy and wet), and lay down to sleep beneath 
 the sodden sky, the shrieking winds for their 
 lullaby. 
 
 At daylight they moved on again; the 
 roads now were well nigh impassable, and 
 
156 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 the pitiless storm showed no signs of abate- 
 ment. Whip and spur were needed now to 
 rouse the tired horses to a last effort. The 
 fringe of timber marking the river's course 
 was dimly defined in the distance. Columns 
 of infantry were laboring along, now under 
 the partial shelter of the bordering woods ; 
 now in the open of a cleared and furrowed 
 field ; distant shots told of the enemy's pres- 
 ence ; here and there a horse lay .dead, a 
 victim of the urgent necessity of the hour ; 
 a stragghng soldier, taxed beyond endur- 
 ance, an abandoned wagon, a lost spur, a 
 broken wheel, a watchful vulture, sailing 
 amidst the scudding clouds, filled up the 
 spaces in the speaking picture. 
 
 At last, exhausted, utterly unable to much 
 farther drag their weary feet along, they 
 toiled to the summit of a little hill and saw, 
 outstretched before them, the plateau bord- 
 ering the river bank, and, as they gathered 
 themselves together for the short home- 
 stretch, a band, by the roadside, stationed 
 there by the Colonel of an Ohio Regiment, 
 struck up *' Rally round the Flag." The 
 
AN IDYL OF \YAR-TIiMES. 157 
 
 effect was marvelous — men and horses seem- 
 ed imbued with a new and vigorous life, and 
 sprang forward as though the hard struggles 
 of the past forty-eight hours had dropped 
 from out the scale— the wheels rumbled 
 along as though impelled by unseen hands — 
 a shout, as though of victory, rang out upon 
 the air, and Griswold's battery rolled into 
 park — on time. 
 
 Griswold hurried off for orders to a group 
 of ofBcers standing round a camp-fire not far 
 distant. 
 
 ''Unhitch, but do not unharness your 
 horses," the General said, "we cannot tell 
 what m.ay happen," and as he spoke, a shout, 
 short and shrill, which every Union man had 
 learned to couple with a dash against their 
 front, broke out; a rattle of musketry, the 
 answered yell as the attacking force receded, 
 and then the stillness of the grave. The 
 enemy was making a dash for cover on the 
 river bank. 
 
 Returning to the battery, Griswold gave 
 orders — first, for the horses' care ; then, for 
 his men. " Get what rest you can," he said ; 
 
153 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 " pitch no tents ; give the horses double 
 rations ; unlimber and reverse the pieces." 
 
 Flynn and the Doctor were grand that 
 afternoon, and within an hour, a savory mess 
 was ready for the starving party, which they 
 dispatched with a relish that only a soldier 
 can appreciate. 
 
 The rain had ceased to fall ; the clouds 
 broke away little by little ; the distant hori- 
 zon grew vague and purple ; outlines lost 
 their sharpness ; stealthily the shadows set- 
 tled on the wooded heights and crept down 
 into the valley ; the camp-fire's blaze was 
 brighter; a few stars studded the darkling 
 vault of heaven ; night's reign had begun, 
 and over the watchful hosts a stillness rested, 
 ominous — oppressive. 
 
 Slowly the hours dragged on ; men when 
 they spoke, did so with voices which were 
 low and unnatural ; every sound that broke 
 upon the air carried its impressions of signi- 
 ficance. Roused from a restless sleep, men 
 sat up and listened ; from out the quiet belt 
 of impenetrable shadow hanging above the 
 river bank, none knew what might come ; 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. I59 
 
 the weariness, the suspense ; the benumbing 
 cold; the uncertain possibilities which lay 
 concealed within the coming hour; the 
 majesty of death foreshadowed in the mental 
 tableau of tlie impending struggle, precluded 
 restful sleep or needed rehabilitation. Mid- 
 night passed; the moon was coming up 
 above the hills, and through the valley the 
 silvery light painted grotesque images upon 
 the ground. A cricket chirped from a pro- 
 tecting thicket; the distant voices of tree- 
 toads, like mimic sleigh-bells, filled the air 
 with christalline reverberations; a specula- 
 tive owl hooted from a neighboring tree; 
 weariness had gained the mastery over the 
 restless host. 
 
 Olmstead, stretched out upon a board which, 
 he had picked up from a neighboring deserted 
 house, was back again with Marjorie, the 
 accents of her sweet voice were on his ear ; 
 he was drawing with her the plan of her 
 future life ; he felt the pressure of her hand ; 
 over his senses stole the influences of sweet 
 communion ; when, like a lightning flash, the 
 dream vanished. He found himself upon his 
 
i6o AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 feet, instinctively running to his guns. 
 The air was laden with the deafening roar of 
 musketry ; the yell and shout of men in herce 
 engagement. Like a roar of mighty thunder, 
 without a moment's premonition ; sudden, 
 fierce, terrible, the din of conflict broke upon 
 the stillness ; rolled over the valky ; hurled 
 back in deafening echoes from the distant 
 hill-sides, startling into active life the sleep- 
 ing thousands, and then, suddenly, as it had 
 come, the tumult ended ; and, as the smoke 
 clouds rolled away, the stars looked down 
 from heaven in merry, twinkling mood, and 
 the moon set her silent, painted shadows 
 once more upon the earth. And so the night 
 Vv^ore on, a weary watching and waiting for 
 the day, with alternate attack and oppression 
 of silence. At last, about three o'clock, the 
 shrill notes of a hundred bugles rang out 
 upon the air ; there was a stir and bustle, a 
 hurried breakfast, and long lines of infantry 
 crept over the hills, back on the same road 
 they had toiled over only a few hours before. 
 Wagon trains also took up the weary route 
 again, and batteries here and there dispu- 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. i6l 
 
 ted with them the right of way. So wretched 
 had the roads become, so deep and heavy in 
 the red, clinging- clay, that trains were 
 doubled and scores of wagons, deprived of 
 locomotive force, were drawn close together 
 and with their contents given over to the 
 flames. High above the tree-tops the lurid 
 iiames shot into the air, the artificial light 
 converting the dark hours before davrn into 
 the searching brilliance of noon. Projected 
 against the hill-side, the flashes of reflected 
 light from rifle-barrel and brazen field-piece 
 shimmered as gleaming moonbeams upon a 
 ruffled sea, and the creeping sliadovv's length- 
 ening as they receded into the distance, 
 formed a spectral panorama of night shapes 
 flying from the day. 
 
 And now the whole army is in route, only 
 a strong rear-guard checks the impetus of 
 the enemy's advance ; mile after n:iile of 
 weary marching, the roadv/ays lined with 
 stores deserted, to lighten the loads of the 
 tired animals; here, a wagon hopelessly 
 abandoned in some deep quagmire ; further 
 on, teams quadrupled to drag a sunken gun 
 
i62 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 from the deep, bottomless mud. Solid col- 
 umns and knots of stragglers ; loose animals 
 and rejected harness ; cries of teamsters and 
 crack of whip ; curse and laughter ; the occa- 
 sional ping of a bullet speeding over head ; 
 the g-iven and answered shot and challeng-e 
 of the rear and advance guards of the con- 
 tending legions. 
 
 Hour succeeded to hour — the sun had 
 crept on, steadily to the zenith — the morn- 
 ing mists had been long since dissipated and 
 a clear and cloudless sky over-arched the sod- 
 den earth. Steadily the enemy advanced ; as 
 steadily the Union troops retreated, the des- 
 ultory firing of the skirmishers ringing out 
 upon the air voiced menace and defiance — 
 now and then a yell and deafening rattle of 
 musketry told of a charge to recover the 
 body of a fallen comrade ; then the occasional 
 shot, proclaimed the slow advance and re- 
 treat- again. But the triumphal march of 
 battle is not the glittering pageant which 
 sweeps athwart the scene leaving its impres- 
 sions of martial bearing and burnished arms 
 and waving standards and patriotic music. 
 
AN IDYL OF V/AR-TIMES. 163 
 
 The pasans of victory flash out upon the air 
 and mingle with the voices of requiem ; the 
 laurels which crown the brow, give no token 
 of the pall which enshrines the heart ; the 
 crimson blood which stains the earth voices 
 the mighty sacrifice a nation makes, in honor's 
 maintenance. But the reception tendered 
 the aggressive visitors had lacked many of 
 the elements of formality. The dispute of 
 the river's passage had been made by a 
 strengthened picket line, the forces of the 
 opposing factions had had no test of their re- 
 spective strength or metal. Surprise had not 
 assumed the dignity of indignation, and now, 
 through fifteen miles, with feebly muttered 
 protest, the Union troops had retired and the 
 moment had come wherein to check the fiery 
 onset and double the advancing ranks back 
 upon themselves. About tv/o o'clock of the 
 afternoon of this November day, the line of 
 battle of the Federals was formed. The in- 
 fantry following for the most part the line 
 of a fence which ran perpendicular to the 
 roadway curving backward toward the right; 
 the artillery on the higher ground, behind. 
 
i64 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 Nearer and nearer came the sounds of the 
 skirmishers firing — now they are nearly 
 through the woods— a few more yards and 
 the open, rolling ground in rear, discloses to 
 our men the line of battle — waiting. Halt- 
 ing for a moment, they open a murderous 
 fire upon their pursuers and then, with a yell 
 and dash, reach the lines in safety. Quickly 
 the opposing lines are formed. From the 
 edge of the timber, guns protrude their muz- 
 zles; right and left the columns of infantry 
 deploy, a struggling shot breaks in upon the 
 stillness hovering above this scene of deadly 
 preparation ; a flutter of musketry, the occa- 
 sional boom of a field-piece experimenting 
 with the range, and now, a line of grey-coated 
 men appears and with a bound and yell they 
 have cleared the limit of the woods; down 
 the slopes they come, their banners waving, 
 the earth trembling beneath their heavy 
 tread, the air resounding with the defiant 
 iterating of that short, sharp cry, which was 
 peculiarly their own, their cannon behind 
 them hurling shot and shell into the Union 
 ranks heralding their approach. But the blue- 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 165 
 
 coats hold their fire ; nearer and nearer comes 
 the fierce human tide ; our men can see their 
 features ; now the whites of their eyes; and 
 an instant later, the groans of the dying, the 
 shriek of the wounded, the din of a murder- 
 ous melting fire commingle, as the grey line 
 falters, halts and finally seeks refuge whence 
 it came. 
 
 The opening ceremonies had been per- 
 formed ; men of opposite creeds were strang- 
 ers to each other no longer ; the battle of 
 Campbell's Station was inaugurated. 
 
 With varying fortune to either side the 
 conflict raged during that whole afternoon. 
 Once the Union lines retreated, but only a 
 few hundred yards, to a point of better van- 
 tage, and here they held their ground till 
 night closed down upon the scene and the 
 startled echoes sank to rest and the pitying 
 e3^es of heaven looked down on friend and 
 foe alike. 
 
 But the night brought no rest to the tired 
 feet or wearied body or heavy eyes ; the 
 Confederate lines were lapping over the 
 Union flanks and iJiey must retire, or every 
 
i66 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES, 
 
 avenue of escape will soon be closed. Si- 
 lently the worn out troops file into the road 
 once more ; horse and foot ; battery and bag- 
 gage-train ; ambulance and ammunition wag- 
 on ; the stars of heaven to light them on their 
 way ; the voices of woodland sprites, dis- 
 tinct above the whispered words of cheer, 
 which pass from mouth to mouth ; the groan 
 of a wounded man, as a rough place in the 
 roadway shakes his shattered body ; the cling- 
 ing mud adding extra strain to muscles al- 
 most overtaxed ; no song to cheer; no shout 
 of victory to linger on the ear and quicken 
 the lagging pulse. 
 
 Late in the afternoon, Griswold had re- 
 ceived orders to detach a section of his bat- 
 tery to report to the general, who was to 
 command the rear-guard that night, and he 
 had sent 01m stead, and the latter, crowded 
 well to the side of the road, watched the re- 
 treating army as it filed along, a grim pro- 
 cession, through the shadowy forest; a weary, 
 dispirited look in the eyes which had been 
 innocent of sleep for forty-eight long hours ; 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 167 
 
 half blinded by the smoke of battle, as the 
 ears were half deafened by its din. 
 
 The pickets had begun their senseless fir- 
 ing again ; even the boon of silence was 
 denied to the weary hosts, and Oimstead, see- 
 ing the last regiment pass by, filed into his 
 own appointed place, with a low word of 
 command set his own little band in motion. 
 
 About midnight, the moon showed her face 
 above the distant hills and peered in through 
 the thick branches of the trees at the ghostly 
 pageant. 
 
 A halt was ordered for ten minutes' rest ; 
 a regiment thrown back to strengthen the 
 picket line and keep the enemy in check while 
 this scant respite was enjoyed. The word 
 was passed along the column in low tones 
 scarce above a whisper and every soul of that 
 v/eary column and every animal as well, 
 dropped fast asleep before they had fairly 
 settled down upon the ground. Oimstead 
 threw himself from his horse and into a crotch 
 formed by two displaced rails of a fence hard 
 by and knew no more till aroused by the 
 nearness of the firing and then, springing up, 
 
i68 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 he took in his little squad at a glance. The 
 horses nodded where they stood — the drivers 
 had fallen forward on the necks of their faith- 
 ful beasts and were far away, unconscious of 
 their danger or the warning rattle so steadily 
 creeping up upon them. The cannoneers lay 
 wherever they had fallen — launched far amain 
 beyond the sea of thought, upon the pleasant 
 waters of a happy dream. No human voice 
 could have roused those sleepers — yet, they 
 must be up and doing. Seizing his orderly's 
 bugle he shrilled upon the air the " For- 
 ward " signal and without a Vv'ord of exclama- 
 tion, a question or a protest, the fetters of 
 sleep dropped off ; each man and horse was 
 alive again and moved, as though from out 
 the shadow of the night, into the silver)^ 
 shimmer of the moonbeams which lay across 
 their path. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 By noon of the following day, the invest- / 
 ment of the city was completed and Burnside's 
 little army cut off from communication with 
 the outer world and now, the work of des- 
 ecration began. Breastworks and redoubts, 
 batteries and abattis sprang up as though by 
 magic, and woe to lawn and grassy slope or 
 pretty dooryard which came in the pathway 
 of the line of defence ; the exigencies of mili- 
 tary necessity have little regard for nice dis- 
 tinctions and so the peaceful labor of years 
 in many cases faded before a single night's 
 preparation for war. 
 
 Griswold and Olmstead were located upon 
 the brow of a pretty little hill, the end of a 
 city street, which looked out over the country 
 through which they had first made acquaint- 
 ance with the natural beauties of the place. 
 Beneath them lay the railroad, with its neat 
 little depot beyond and near which had 
 sprung up a little village — an outlying feat- 
 
I70 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 ure of the city. Behind them, a small stone 
 Catholic church stood — its spire reared mod- 
 estly above the surrounding house-tops, its 
 gilded cross flashing in the sunlight, its sym- 
 bolized promise, far over the outspread scene. 
 A little school-house, deserted now of its 
 whilom occupants, graced a corner of the 
 churchyard. Far as eye could reach, to 
 right and left, lay the lines of the investing 
 army — closer and closer each dawning day dis- 
 closed their picket's rifle pits and few were 
 the intervals of rest ; few the moments when, 
 upon the air, the ping of bullet or hoarse 
 scream of shell brought not a message of 
 menace or of death. 
 
 The November days were mostly bright 
 with sunshine, but the nights were chilly and 
 dispiriting. With insufficiency of clothing 
 and rations of the scantiest, with the moun- 
 tain passes toward the east blocked with 
 snow, and sources of supply cut off, with suc- 
 cor nowhere visible, and the possibility of 
 capture looming up like a ghostly contingen- 
 cy upon the enemy's ability to keep closed 
 the gates to freedom but a little longer, men 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 171 
 
 with less of the true fire of patriotic spirit, 
 less self-reliance and faith in their invincibil- 
 ity, might have found at Knoxville a speedy 
 solution of the question of sovereignty over 
 east Tennessee ; but the troops throughout 
 were cheerful. There was but little sickness, 
 and an indomitable spirit of energy and de- 
 termination supplied the place of numbers 
 and resources. And so the time passed on, 
 and the morning of the 29th dawned crisp 
 and bright, besiegers and besieged quietly 
 watching each other, and with little thought 
 of the ghastly work in hand to darken 
 the coming of another day. Early in the 
 night the moon disappeared below the west- 
 ern hills, and impenetrable darkness settled 
 down upon the earth. Somehow it was 
 noised about that the enemy would attack 
 sometime during the night, and preparations 
 were made for his reception. Brush heaps, 
 here and there, were fired before the Union 
 lines to illumine the space over which the 
 enemy would have to cross. At regular in- 
 tervals of the night a shot went screaming 
 down the railrgad track, ploughing through 
 
172 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 the air with voice of warning ; men lay down 
 to rest with their rifles loaded and near at 
 hand — there was a portentous, mysterious 
 something upon the air, a sudden hush and 
 oppressive silence, a faint low murmur borne 
 at intervals upon the bosom of the gentle 
 breeze, pregnant with suggestion — and still 
 the night wore on — the pickets gave no sign 
 or token, the stars twinkled merrily in their 
 spheres, as though peace and rest were en- 
 throned upon the earth. But the storm was 
 gathering. A picket far in advance saw mov- 
 ing objects in the distance — now they drew 
 nearer — he could hear the low word of com- 
 mand — from the earth there seemed to rise a 
 surging on-coming ocean of humanity. Crack 
 went the warning rifle — another followed, 
 and others still, and then a yell, fierce, long, 
 determined — the yell of men who^ had left 
 behind them every thought save the single 
 one of grim determination " to do or die," 
 and with a mighty rush they gallantly came 
 onward to their doom. And now the scene 
 was a lurid glare of light, the roll of musketry 
 trebled to the deep bass accompaniment of 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 173 
 
 cannon's roar; exultant shout and defiant 
 yell blended with groan and shriek of agon3\ 
 Over the slope, past the ditch filling with the 
 dead, well up the parapet, to the very muz- 
 zle of the guns, cheering each other on, vic- 
 tory seemingly within their grasp— the brave 
 Confederates came, but only to recoil before 
 the withering storm which made Fort San- 
 ders a wall of deadly fire, an impregnable 
 stronghold. Again and again they breasted 
 that terrific storm. It was a repetition of the 
 heroism and undaunted courage of Gettys- 
 burg—but it was as hopeless, and as the day- 
 light crept above the eastern hills the shattered 
 columns withdrew and eternity's gates closed 
 upon the silent throng which had entered in 
 beyond sight or sound of earthly passions. 
 
 Griswold, lying beside his guns — a ghastly 
 wound upon the head— another in his side, was 
 to all seeming, dead. They had drawn him 
 aside from the mouth of an embrazure where 
 he had fallen — out of the wa}^ of the struggling 
 mass of fierce humanity. There was no time 
 for nursing or asking questions— a Nation's 
 credit — an army's life was in the scale. When 
 
174 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 the conflict ceased Olmstead knelt beside him 
 and looked down into the upturned white and 
 silentface — he bent his head to listen — ''Thank 
 God he breathes " — but Hugh knew nothing 
 of the tenderness which bore him away from 
 the ghastly scene ; knew nothing of the gen- 
 tle ministrations of those who loved him. 
 His low short breathing told that life was 
 not extinct, but the thread which bound him 
 to it was very slender — how long could it 
 stand the strain ? 
 
 Some weeks have passed. The siege is 
 raised and about Knoxville the blue skies 
 overarch a desolate landscape, but the city 
 streets show signs of resurrection from the 
 commercial inactivity and gloom which had 
 for so long enshrouded them. The white 
 coverings of wagon trains are discernible 
 creeping toward the town, winding among 
 the hills and valleys, bringing relief and nu- 
 cleus of trade ; from their hiding places wo- 
 men and children have sought the shelter of 
 the houses which the cruelties of the state of 
 siege have spared. Energies palsied through 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 175 
 
 a mighty fear are redirected in reopened 
 channels ; every shoulder is pressed to the 
 wheel ; hope and thankfulness for the few- 
 things left, illumine every eye ; Knoxville has 
 shaken off her lethargy and taken up again 
 the struggle for life. 
 
 In a private ward of a city hospital, Gris- 
 wold lies hovering between life and death. 
 
 His wounds are slowly, very slowly heal- 
 ing. Nothing but his splendid constitution 
 and indomitable will, have kept him from 
 passing to the silent majority. Olmstead is 
 up country, with the battery, but Griswold 
 has good nurses and able doctors who are 
 fighting for him step by step toward recovery. 
 
 One night, the train from Chattanooga 
 brought to the shell-riddled town half-a- 
 dozen nurses of the gentler sex ; nurses whose 
 presence within the wards raised hopes which 
 were well nigh flagging ; women whose patient 
 gentle ministrations found means of soothing 
 many a restless sufferer, whose skill and train- 
 ing supplied the niceties of that art to which 
 men never can attain. 
 
 For a day or two Griswold had seemed 
 
176 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 to fall back, rather than advance upon 
 the road to convalescence. At times, his 
 mind had wandered — Kitty's name had been 
 often upon his lips and scalding tears had 
 slowly coursed down his wan, pale cheeks. 
 Starting- from a restless dream one night, a 
 woman responded to his call and held the 
 glass to his fevered lips as he quenched his 
 thirst — then gently smoothed his pillow and 
 placed her hand upon his brow and pushed 
 back the disordered hair. 
 
 Hugh looked at her long, then turned his 
 eyes away, and then sought hers again — his 
 mind was struggling v/ith some image her 
 face brought back to him. Quietly as she 
 had come, she moved away again — she read 
 his trouble but could not answer then, and 
 her presence only kept him from the sleep he 
 needed — but the simple gracious act of her 
 ministration to his need had done its part — 
 and a few moments later Hugh slept as he 
 had not slept for days. Night after night 
 the same noiseless foot-steps moved about the 
 sick room, supplying the sick man's needs — 
 little by little the bod}' regained its strength 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 177 
 
 — little by little the wandering mind fas- 
 tened its hold upon familiar things. At last, 
 one night, as the doctor left the ward and 
 those preparations for the long hours before 
 day — the shaded light, the smoothing of the 
 pillows, the sleeping draught, the hundred 
 little things a woman's tact suggests — were 
 all completed, Hugh beckoned the nurse to 
 his bedside. For a moment he looked up 
 into her face as though doubtful of himself, 
 but only for an instant. 
 
 " Madelaine," he said, " you here ? '* 
 *' Yes, and glad to be here ; but you must 
 not talk ; there wall be time enough by and 
 by — sleep now," she answered, and she moved 
 away a little and ^vatched him as his eyes 
 slowly closed and a look of quiet content 
 spread over his face and the sleep of rejuven- 
 ation took possession of him, and seating her- 
 self beside the table, upon which a little clock 
 ticked busily, the sweet gentle Avoman 
 thanked God in her heart that her coming 
 had borne good fruit, and began the lonely 
 vigil of the night. 
 Days had passed into weeks ; Griswold is 
 
178 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 up and about again. The chill has melted 
 from out the sky and the soft Southern air 
 is astir and busied with its work of bedeck- 
 ing the hill-sides with fragrant bloom— ever}-- 
 where the unsightly evidences of hostile- 
 presence are fading before the march of re- 
 generation — the city is taking on its old life 
 again — the farmer is busy with his fields. 
 Madelaine and Griswold, sitting upon the 
 verandah outside the latter's room, looking 
 out into the light of the dying da}', watching 
 the pretty river in its fiow, on past the city, 
 through the distant meadows and the 
 stretches of pines and walnut which hemmed 
 them in ; below them a little steamer, busy 
 with preparations for departure, and the 
 murmur of the city's life borne faintly to 
 their ears, 
 
 Conscious that between them, now that 
 Hugh is beyond the need of nursing, has 
 arisen a singular sense of embarrassment, 
 and Hugh, who to-morrow will be starting 
 for the East, feels that he cannot go before 
 pouring out to Madelaine the full measure 
 of his heartfelt gratitude for that care and 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 179 
 
 tenderness which he had so sadly needed 
 and she so willingly had bestowed. Turn- 
 ing to her he took her hand in his and pressed 
 it to his lips as he said : 
 
 " Madelaine, how can I speak to a heart so 
 kind and true as yours in words which shall 
 tell you all the gratitude which moves my 
 own. You have given me my life, jNIade- 
 laine, for I doubt if less careful nursing could 
 have availed against what seemed the herald 
 of the end, but what can I return to 3'ou ? 
 The iron of bitterness has eaten into my soul, 
 passion is dead within me ; I but stand above 
 the grave which has swallowed up that 
 which, in its birth, its beauty, and its sweet- 
 ness, brought my earthly heritage of joy, and 
 in its death left me the legacy of loneliness 
 and despair. You and I, Madelaine, have 
 both had rude and hard awakenings ; let us, 
 in our sorrow, join the hands of friendship, 
 and as down life's vista we move, seeking for 
 that avenue whose sign-post shall mark the 
 turning-point from our earthly pilgrimage, 
 pause, and say there the last farewell which 
 life allows, proud in our loyalty to our be- 
 
iSo AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 loved dead, true in our friendship for each 
 other." 
 
 And so they parted, and Madelaine from 
 her window that night looked out upon the 
 silver thread of water on which she could 
 licar the beat oi the little steamer's life, and 
 thougfht how sweet it was to feel that be- 
 neath God's skies there beat so true a heart 
 as Hugh's, and that she could proudly call 
 him — friend. But some things yield to 
 Time's conquering power, and so at last the 
 signs of w^ar faded from the land, and the 
 healing influences of purer thought and 
 kindlier impulse developed fairer scenes, and 
 where before ten thousand men had stood in 
 angr}^ mood, now flowed the peaceful tide of 
 husbandry, and flowers blossomed and song 
 birds caroled their sweetest la3's, and ugly 
 scars w^ere smoothed away and the song of 
 " Peace " was afloat upon the air. 
 
 " And the stars heard and from their wandering aisles 
 Dropped down the blessing of their golden smiles." 
 
 Marjorie and Olmstead were married a 
 year later, as the purpling vineyards told 
 
AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. i8i 
 
 that the new wine was ready for the gather- 
 ing. Within sight and sound of the restless 
 waves which washed the v/hite sands border- 
 ing a stretch of meadow-land ; within the 
 shade of fruit-trees and shelter of vine-clad 
 hills, stood a pretty cottage home, and here 
 one woman was returning — beautiful with 
 the influence of a chastening sorrow and the 
 consciousness of sweet charity's work well 
 done — and another was departing, the world 
 before her, the star of promise bright in its 
 sphere above ; her life aglow, and innocent 
 of the ashes which triumph over hope and 
 follow in the train of disappointment. The 
 sun had hidden his last rays within the en- 
 gulfing depths of the sea beyond. The 
 sound of " Curfew " came faintly from a dis- 
 tant spire and mingled with the low sweet 
 murmurs of the deep; the shadows deep- 
 ened — one by one in the vault above, the 
 stars peeped out in emphasis of the reign of 
 night. The bride had said the last farewells 
 to the score of pretty village girls and their 
 lovers, who had flocked in with " God- 
 speeds " and words of gratulation, and then 
 
i82 AN IDYL OF WAR-TIMES. 
 
 Marjorie threw herself into her sister's arms, 
 and wept the bitter tears which ever fall 
 upon the last sweet blossoms growing upon 
 the border-land of girlhood; and Hugh, 
 looking on, took Olmstead by the arm and 
 said to him : " God bless you, boy, and good- 
 by — see to it that the flood of tears which 
 Marjorie is shedding now, followmg 'the 
 rich, full bound of her heart,' never flows 
 again to the dull accompaniment of a thud." 
 And Hugh Griswold passed out alone into 
 the night, wending his homeward way along 
 the sands, with which the sea was holding 
 tryst and colloquy and two names the rippling 
 waves kept whispering as he went — Kitty — 
 Madelaine — Kitty — Madelaine — in unwearied 
 iteration till he turned to leave the shore and 
 then, one name fell faintly on his ear as some 
 sweet memory of music lingers when the 
 hand has ceased to stir the pulsing string — 
 but the otJicr spoke to him from its dwelling 
 place in his heart and on the wind it came to 
 him borne from //arresting place upon the hill 
 above the rushing river. 
 
 THE END. 
 
RARE BOOK 
 COLLECTION 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 AT 
 
 CHAPEL HILL 
 
 Wilmer 
 90 
 
RARE BOOK 
 COLLECTION 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 LIBRARY