THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE WILMER COLLECTION 
 
 OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. 
 
}lijUtmi(JOULt 
 
THE COLOR GUARD 
 
 A CORPORAL'S NOTP:S OF MILITARY SERVICE 
 m THE NINETEENTH ARMY CORPS. 
 
 BY REV. JAMES K. EOSMEE, 
 
 WTlo vUvtUetred at Private in Uie Fift<j-iiet:ond Massachusetts, and tcerU througlitht campaign. 
 
 13mo. $1.50. 
 
 It is undoubtedly the most piquant and readable sketch ever made of the interior 
 iife of a great army u» active service, and made frotn the inside, by a hand entirely 
 competent. 
 
 "His story," says the Daily Ailcertiser, "is written in a delightfully graphic 
 epistolary style, and is really one of the most sterling books that the war has called 
 into existence. It will be read with great interest by soldiers everywhere, and by 
 civilians with equal interest. It forms the counterpart of Dana'8 ' Two ^ears before 
 the Mast,' and ought to become as popular." 
 
 Extract from a letter from Hon. John Bright, M.P. : — 
 
 " I have read it with great interest. I think it admirably written, and its descrip- 
 tions of the soldier's life, his sufferings and risks, are the most graphic I have ever 
 read." 
 
 " In all our reading of the literature which this war has called into existence, 
 we have met with no work so loyal, tender, courageous, and devout For the sake of 
 the good cause, we hope it may have the widest circulation. We say to our friends 
 who are sending to soldiers in field or hospital, reading matter, include in your list 
 * The CoRr Guard.' " — Worcester Daily Spy. 
 
 " There has not appeared since the war began to show its influence on literature, 
 a book which gives us so vivid a sketch of the soldier's life, so sharp and yet gracefully 
 outUned a drawing of the tran.sport, the camp, the march, the hospital, the fight . . . 
 There are few things in our literature more tenderly pathetic than the author's 
 account of the death of his brother Ned, whom all readers leam to love and admire 
 before even a shade of illness falls upon him. The hospital scenes, too, are dreadfully 
 painful, though it is there that we find bright patriotism and the soundest pluck. And 
 wc have here and there, as must needs be when we consider the subject, passages 
 which will bring an involuntary t«ar to eyes long dry. The prevailing tone of the 
 book, however, is cheerful, hopeful, candid, and altogether Christian. It is most 
 heartily to be commended." — Tiie New York Evening Post. 
 
THE 
 
 THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 JAMES K. HOSMEE, 
 
 AUTHOK OP THE " COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 " I know that armies of to-day are not the brutish hirelings of old. I know that 
 the light has spread, and even bayonets think.'''' — KOSSUTH. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 WALKER, FULLER, AXD COMPANY, 
 
 245, "WASHi3fGTo:y Street. 
 
 1865. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by 
 
 WALKER, FULLER, AND COMPANY, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusettg. 
 
 boston: 
 stereottped asd printed bt john wilsok akd sos, 
 
 No. 15, Water Street. 
 
TO MY FATHER, 
 
 UNDERTAKEN THROUGH HIS LOVING EXCOUBAGEMENT, 
 
 Is affectionately Inscribed. 
 
 602961 
 
You tell me doubt is devil bom ; 
 
 I know not: one, indeed, I knew. 
 In many a subtile question Tcrsed, 
 Who touched a jarring lyre at first, 
 
 But ever stroTe to make it true. 
 
 Perplexed in faith, but pure in deeds, 
 
 At last he beat his music out. 
 
 There lives more faith in honest doubt, 
 Believe me, than in half the creeds. 
 
 He fought his doubts and gathered strength ; 
 
 He would not make his judgment blind ; 
 
 He faced the spectres of the mind. 
 And laid them : thus he came at length 
 
 To find a stronger faith his own ; 
 And Power was with him in the night. 
 
 IX Memoriam. 
 
NOTE. 
 
 A LITTLE more than a year ago, the writer published 
 some portions of a diary of military life, under the title 
 of "The Color-Guard," — a little book which met with 
 unexpected favor. There remained in his hands many 
 pages of his journal, which, according to good author- 
 ity, were, in interest, not much behind the parts given 
 to the public. 
 
 The writer had at hand, moreover, certain records of 
 observations made in South Carolina and Georgia, at an 
 important time, and under unusual advantages ; and, in 
 addition to this, he retained a recollection of personal 
 experience at localities in the West, close upon the 
 " front," and of some note in the war. 
 
 With this material in his possession, a series of literal 
 sketches was at first projected; but, finally, a work of 
 fiction was decided upon, in which the fact derived from 
 actual observation and experience should be incorpo- 
 rated. 
 
VI NOTE. 
 
 This plan has been carried forward in intervals of 
 leisure among professional engagements, and now the 
 result is given to the world. The present volume, 
 therefore, though a work of fiction, contains throughout, 
 a large element of fact. The writer hopes that his 
 book will not be thought untimely, and that it will 
 serve, in some degree, to instruct and interest. • 
 
 Deerfield, Feb., 1865. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Pack 
 
 Chapteb 
 
 L Havenbridge 
 
 24 
 n. Doubt and Deed • • • 
 
 m. "The Everlasting No" ^^ 
 
 48 
 IV. Leonora • 
 
 71 
 V. The Abyss 
 
 VI. Cannon Thunder ^'^ 
 
 Vn. Chevrons 
 
 197 
 
 VIII. Fire Baptism ^■'' 
 
 1 OQ 
 
 IX. The Candidate 
 
 X. The Old Wol^^d ^^^ 
 
 1 fi7 
 
 XI. Meadowboro' 
 
 Xn. Ebonht ^^^ 
 
 1Q4 
 XIII. Cypress Bayou 
 
 91fi 
 
 XIV. The Xurse "^" 
 
 XV. Claiborne "^"^ 
 
 ,^.^T A ..... 255 
 XVI. April 
 
 277 
 XVn. Broken Down 
 
 XVIII. The Clew ^^^ 
 
 299 
 XIX. Restored 
 
 XX. United ^^^ 
 
THE 
 
 THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HAVENBRIDGE. 
 
 An old minister, Mr. Wells, lives in Meadowboro', a 
 pure and good old man. It was the custom to send to 
 him wild boys that were suspended from the University 
 at Havenbridge ; and one such boy, that came up to 
 Meadowboro' in the year 185—, was Herbert Lee. In 
 the midst of some college uproar, a force of officials 
 had appeared. Herbert, while running, had tripped, 
 and the next moment been seized by some one in au- 
 thority. His sins were many ; and this affair was no 
 straw upon the camel's back in addition to the others : 
 so he was sent to Meadowboro'. He gave his impres- 
 sions, after reaching Meadowboro', to his classmate, 
 Claiborne De Treville, as follows : — 
 
 " Dear Claib, — I told you I would write you from 
 the country : so here goes. Meadowboro' is a mighty 
 quiet kind of a place, though now in summer time it 
 
 1* [9] 
 
10 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 will do pretty well. There are big hills about, and 
 considerable game around, — squirrels, rabbits, wood- 
 chucks, and that sort : so I mean to have my gun up 
 here, and try hunting some. 
 
 "Rather hard luck, wasn't it, to have * Bandy' so 
 close that night? If I had put out, as you did, into 
 the grass instead of toward the road, it would have 
 been all right : but I feel, sir, like a martyr ; and I am 
 glad, though I have to suffer for it, that we made so 
 glorious an attempt to observe the ancient custom, in 
 spite of our natural enemies, the Faculty. Who would 
 have thought old ' Bandy ' could run like that ! Some 
 night, when I come back, we will break his windows if 
 you say so. 
 
 "Mr. Wells, who hears me recite, is a quiet, clever 
 sort of man, — looks something like that big minister 
 (don't you remember) who preached in the chapel the 
 Sunday after the ' Cymothoe ' beat the ' Cymodoce,' 
 because she was so big that the wind helped her, — the 
 preacher, you know, wbo read the hymn, — 
 
 ' But oars alone can ne'er prevail 
 
 To reach the distant coast : 
 The breath of Heaven must swell the sail, 
 Or all their toil is lost.' 
 
 " I don't mean to dig more than I can help ; but I 
 suppose I must do something, or I shall never get 
 back. How is Gordon Holyoake ? I didn't think he 
 would be so roused up as I hear he was, just because I 
 felt it to be my duty to chop him up a little in a comic 
 song, because he turned out slow. But he is a proud 
 
HAVENBRIDGE . 1 1 
 
 fellow, bound to stand on his dignity, — so mighty old 
 for his years ! I slept with him one night, early last 
 term ; and we had quite an intimate talk. Generally, 
 he is rather cold and distant ; but that night I was in a 
 sober streak, and perhaps that led him to open out his 
 mind more fully. He said what he wanted was power, 
 — power over men such as a general wields, — such 
 power and fame as Napoleon's. He is smart, but I 
 never could like him much. 
 
 " Don't you want to come up here in the May recess ? 
 We can get good horses at the stable, and I can borrow 
 a gun for you." 
 
 Claiborne De Treville, to whom Herbert Lee writes, 
 is son of Judge De Treville, of Cypress Bayou, at the 
 South, — lord of a thousand or more acres of fine 
 cotton land, and four hundred slaves. Both are boys 
 of seventeen, full of animal spirits, that effervesce in a 
 manner not quite becoming. Dr. Prince, President at 
 Havenbridge, writes to Judge De Treville, that his son 
 needs an admonition from home. Thereupon, the 
 judge, sitting in his library, with the ripe oranges nod- 
 ding in at his window, and the negro groom holding 
 his horse at the door, writes to Claiborne in such terms, 
 that he becomes less giddy. 
 
 The influence of a pure and earnest man makes itself 
 felt too upon Herbert ; so that some months after the 
 letter to Claiborne, when he is ready to return to 
 Havenbridge, Mr. Wells writes to the president as 
 follows : — 
 
12 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 "My DEAR Sir, — You are faithful indeed in your 
 friendship (though we grow old), insomuch as you 
 continue mindful of me in my seclusion. I am occa- 
 sionally made glad by a letter from you ; and through 
 you at times have the opportunity to refresh my old 
 knowledge, by imparting instruction to some of the 
 youth under your charge. I continue here in my work, 
 trusting that, as I near the bound of life, I ripen as I 
 ought for the change ; helping my fellows here mean- 
 time, some little, in the same direction. But this letter 
 should refer rather to matters of business than to such 
 topics as we might incline to open in a friendly inter- 
 view. I will not therefore dwell upon myself, but pass 
 onward to other subjects. 
 
 " Herbert Lee, the youth recently under my charge, 
 yesterday concluded liis sojourn in this place, with the 
 mind to return to Havenbridge at the commencement 
 of the approaching college year. It pleases me to 
 have it in my power to certify to an improvement in 
 this youth. At first, through an over-fulness of * ani- 
 mal spii'its,' he was inclined to neglect unduly his liter- 
 ary tasks, showing much zest in field sports, and so 
 fond of the horse, that I found myself in niind invol- 
 untarily applying to him the epithet bestowed, you 
 remember, by Xenophon upon the youthful Cyrus, 
 tpi/uTTTzoTarog. Of late, however, I have had pleasure in 
 taking note of a favorable and becoming change, through 
 which his natural force, without suffering abatement, 
 has yet taken a more profitable direction, expending 
 itself in the overcoming of such obverse influences as 
 
HAVENBKIDGE . 1 3 
 
 bar the path of the tyro to generous scholarship. In- 
 deed, I almost hope now for the persistent and rapid 
 progress of my late pupil to the higher prizes of erudi- 
 tion. Doubtless, hereafter, there may be ebullitions of 
 his force in unbecoming directions ; but I incline to 
 think it will be seldom. 
 
 "We, in whose veins the blood runs with more tem- 
 pered flow, must not forget that true observation of 
 Aristotle, which, I remember, you and I perused a half- 
 century ago, — that to live moderately and patiently is 
 not a sweet thing to the multitude, especially to the 
 
 youno"." (Td yap aufpovug kcu KopTepuctoc ^/v ovx V^ Tolg TToKMg^ 
 aKku^ re Kal xeoi^. Eth. Mcom,, X. ix. 8.) IconfcSS 
 
 that while I have hailed the approaches of wise modera- 
 tion among the fresh impulses of the youth, I have also 
 found a charm in his abounding gayety and life. I 
 indulge the hope, that this fact may indicate, that, al- 
 though my hair has long been gray, some part of the 
 sentiments of my younger prime yet remain to me. 
 Truly it is with me as with the wise Roman, — 'As I 
 like a young man, in whom there is something of the 
 old, so I like an old man, in whom there is something 
 of the young ; and he who follows this maxim, in^body 
 will possibly be an old man, but he will never be an 
 old man in mind.' ('Ut enim adolescentem, in quo 
 senile aliquid ; sic senem, in quo est adolescentis ali- 
 quid, probo; quod qui sequitur, corpore senex esse 
 poterit, animo numquam erit.' — Cic. de Senec, xi.) 
 
 "Will it be an impropriety for me here to include my 
 charge for young Lee's instruction, and " ask you to 
 
14 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 enclose it to the young man's friends, with whose 
 address I am unacquainted?" 
 
 Two or three years after Herbert's suspension, Put- 
 nam May, a Junior at Havenbridge, wrote to his sister 
 as follows : — 
 
 " Dear Lou, — It is grand enough to have a person 
 like you to whom to write, — a person you are sure will 
 be glad to read any thing you are likely to put down. 
 I have got Class-day to write about this time, — the 
 most brilliant of the College festivals. It was last week 
 Friday, in the sweet June weather, and I wish I could 
 have had you down from the country to enjoy it ; but 
 you shall come next year, when your brother will be 
 full-fledged, and ready to fly from this old nest. There 
 is always a great display of beauty and dress. The 
 young belles of all this neighborhood — in the first bud 
 and bloom, on the eve of their entrance into society — 
 make a sort of trial trip Class-day, with every thing 
 fresh and rosy. But you need not be afraid. I will 
 match my dear Lou's curls and country bloom against 
 the best of them. 
 
 " Lee was the orator, and De Treville the chief-mar- 
 shal. Lee and De Treville I have often mentioned in 
 my letters. Bert Lee's suspension did great things for 
 him. He has studied hard ever since, and used his 
 great force and influence in a good direction. His 
 tastes, I think, are strangely contemplative ; though the 
 studies of the course have so absorbed him, that he has 
 not had much chance to indulge his bent toward philo- 
 
H ATHENE RIDGE. 15 
 
 sophical reading and thinking. He has not neglected 
 exercise, however ; so that now, with his stature, he has 
 the shoulders of a young Saul. He has a bright blue 
 eye, and good brow. To me he is grand. I think we 
 always hke what we do not have ourselves. I admire 
 him as a scholar, though there, perhaps, I am not so 
 very far behind him ; but when he towers over me — 
 little, puny fellow, that I am ! When I hear his strong, 
 rich voice, and see him, in a boat-race, pull till his oar 
 bends like a whip-stock, and the people shout, my feel- 
 ing is almost a hero-worship. 
 
 "There was much trouble at the election. Bert Lee's 
 principal opponent for the oratorship was Gordon Hol- 
 voake, another prominent man in the class, with whom 
 Bert has not, for some time, been on very good terms. 
 The fault, I know, has not been Bert's; but it tried 
 Holyoake terribly that Bert was the man to defeat him. 
 De Treville, too, was made chief-marshal in spite of the^ 
 intriguing against him. I must tell you something 
 about him. 
 
 " Four years ago, there was much in his manner turbu- 
 lent and haughty. He had his whole class against him 
 once, for striking the man who took care of his room, 
 on some small provocation. But afterwards he showed 
 so much genuine sorrow for it, and treated the poor 
 man so generously, that the class came around. That 
 was before I came. But, since I have known him, he 
 has come near being involved in a duel. But his 
 training here has done him a vast deal of good. He has 
 imperiousness enough yet, but it is tempered by a very 
 
16 THE THINKING BAYOXET. 
 
 elegant courtesy. "What was rather offensive hauteur 
 has become a spirited dignity that is picturesque and 
 fascinating enough, — quite irresistible by the girls. 
 He used to talk and write with an uncouth, redundant 
 fluency ; but he has been laughed out of liis blaze and 
 thunder, to a great extent. His rhetoric now, though 
 still warm and flowing, is well chastened and controlled. 
 We have enough here from the South, — lank and long- 
 haired, insolent in manner, dissipated in life, careless 
 in dress. I think one can see the kinship of De Tre- 
 ville with these, though in him the coarseness- is refined 
 away. There is enough that is volcanic about him 
 still, and there always seems to be danger of a break- 
 ing-out of the lava. He has given away somewhat to 
 dissipation, through some incontrollable impulse of 
 which I really believe he is ashamed. A kind of a 
 young mediaeval lord he is ; with a lip susceptible of 
 a haughty curl, and a nose above it whose curve is like 
 what I have seen in some fine profiles of Plenri Quatre ; 
 dark-eyed, dark-haired, lithe, and nervous. It would 
 hardly seem out of character to see him with falcon on 
 -wrist ; or, still less, wearing helmet and plume. 
 
 " De Treville appeared finely at the meeting for elec- 
 tion. The feeling had become very bad. He declared 
 he would not serve in the office of marshal ; then 
 wound up, 'Perish these wretched cliques ! They have 
 been a nuisance from the first ; an encouragement to 
 folly, and fatal to all true class-feeling I ' This he 
 said with every nerve on a quiver. He carries great 
 weight, and this flash of lightning seemed to clear up 
 
HAVENBRIDGE. 17 
 
 and make more pure the air. In the better feehng that 
 came to prevail, Claiborne was induced to withdraw his 
 resignation. 
 
 " Last week came the occasion for which there had 
 been such preparation. It was a great day, but rather 
 sad for me; for, Lou, I have known this class well, 
 and I hate to have them go. The procession was 
 imposing. First came De Treville, with his elegant 
 baton and bouquet, — spirited, imperial, self-centred ; 
 then the band ; then Herbert, in Oxford gown and cap, 
 stately and tall ; then the class two by two, a hundred 
 young scholars. The animosity was entirely healed. 
 Even the one who had held out longer than any of his 
 faction — one who had been heard to say he would be 
 buried alive, rather than be at the occasion — walked 
 forth ; his costume a specimen of the most extraordinary 
 tailoring. So profuse, moreover, were his floral decora- 
 tions, one might have thought that his dire vow had 
 really been performed ; that he had been buried, and 
 then had sprouted and come up in the form of a 
 locomotive nosegay to give glory and perfume to the 
 festival. 
 
 " At last in the chapel, they sat upon the stage ; 
 Herbert blue-eyed, fair-haired, muscular, a thorough 
 Saxon. He spoke, at last ; an unusually thoughtful 
 and earnest oration, with a merry dash of humor, too, 
 now and then ; and, once or twice, a touch of real bril- 
 liancy. I will not quote any of the graver parts. 
 Once, stepping for a moment into the province of the 
 poet, he gave these few stanzas, — the whole thing 
 
18 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 done with, inimitable archness and grace. I wish I 
 could send, with the words, the glance -of the eye, the 
 animated wave of the hand, the play of the features. 
 
 * Ye thronging fair, whose presence bright 
 
 Our hohdaj has blest, 
 We guessed each maid Avould take delight : 
 
 So each was asked as guest. 
 They'll ask you, if you liked the day : 
 
 Now when you all confess, 
 To do our best if we essay. 
 
 Why, surely you'll say, yes ! 
 But yet should any thing come out 
 
 Your happmess to cloud, 
 True, you're allowed to speak it out ; 
 
 But please don't speak aloud. 
 For if o'er pleasure lies a shade, 
 
 'Twould grieve us, hapless boys ! 
 If aught like gloom annoys a maid, 
 
 Or if it made a noise.' 
 
 "It does not seem so much to read, but, at the time, it 
 was wonderfully taking ; and I saw even old Dr. Prince, 
 with his face all beaming, clapping away in his seat in 
 the pulpit, as much pleased as any one. But this only 
 came in by way of relief among much that was very 
 serious. 
 
 "Lee's father was pointed out to me in the audience, — 
 the first time I ever saw him ; a large, rather hard- 
 faced man ; well dressed, and kept in good repair by 
 dentist and wig-maker. I have heard it was never any 
 plan of his to have Herbert go to college ; and, although 
 he has done so well, the father hardly thinks it is 
 success worth making account of. He had the ex- 
 pression of a man who thought he was wasting time. 
 
HAVENBRIDGE. 19 
 
 I do not see what Herbert . gets from him, except per- 
 haps his physique. 
 
 " All the afternoon they danced in the Hall ; a place 
 most grarely and decorously garnished with portraits of 
 Puritan ministers in skull-caps and bands, rich old 
 colonial merchants in flowery dressing-gowns, and a few 
 old dames in wonderfully well-painted satin and bro- 
 cade. I saw Holyoake embarrassed by a bright, wilful 
 girl, daughter of Otis, the radical orator. They say 
 he has a fondness for her. She persisted in beings 
 introduced to Herbert Lee. Holyoake was forced into 
 it at last, performing the ceremony with cool but most 
 gentlemanly stateliness. You should see him too, Lou. 
 He, Bert Lee, and De Treville are the three Dii Majo- 
 res of the Seniors. He has an imposing manner and 
 look, dark and tall, and every inch of him — as many 
 as there are — the patrician. 
 
 " At sunset came the dancing around the tree. Lou, 
 I must have a metaphor, though old Poseycrusher, 
 Professor of Belles-lettres, would send his red pencil 
 ruthlessly through it, I know, like Vandal charger that it 
 is, trampling out the blossoms with a blood-stained hoof! 
 From the rippling grass below, the great elm rises like 
 Aphrodite from the sea, flinging abroad to the air a 
 wonderfully fine head of hair, I assure you. And, like 
 the old Paphian goddess again, the elm that day was 
 begirt. with a cestus. The waist of this queen was sur- 
 rounded with flowers ; a handflil for each one of the 
 hundred young men. I sat in a window, looking down 
 upon the crowd. They made the ring, and danced 
 
20 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 around the tree. Then came the hand-shakinof. I 
 watched Lee and Holyoake, who stood not far apart. 
 * There, ' said De Trevllle, coming forward to the tree, 
 — 'there are flowers for you to press.' I saw that 
 Holyoake dropped his in an indifferent way, but Lee and 
 De Treville held theirs. Then Herbert and Claiborne 
 MTung one another's hands. I believe they have a love 
 for one another, almost surpassing the love of women. 
 Holyoake gave his hand to each coolly, and with patri- 
 cian grace. So they stood together as the west grew 
 crimson at the close of the day, — at the close of their 
 youth. Where will fate carry them ? I wonder ; and 
 when will they meet again ? They stood a moment ; 
 then Claiborne hurried away to make preparations for 
 his long journey homeward, — he being obliged to go 
 at once. Herbert and Holyoake sought each his friends 
 in the t\vilio:ht to conduct them from the colleore 
 grounds." 
 
 Herbert Lee travelled in Europe for some months, 
 then came back to Havenbridge for further study. 
 This was against his father's wish. The father was an 
 energetic, unsensitive man, who had pushed his way 
 to fortune from nothing, and had come to hold in 
 esteem only the qualities which help men to this prize. 
 Herbert's mother, probably, was a person of finer 
 mould ; for in his nature there was marked refinement 
 and thoughtfulness, rather veiled in early youth by his 
 abounding spirits, but deepening with the approach of 
 manhood. 
 
HAVENBRIDGE. 21 
 
 With the calmer and higher tastes which came to 
 him at his majority, Herbert read the " Sartor Re- 
 sartus ; " the book so grotesque, yet so terribly solemn, 
 — so smoky and lurid with sulphurous images and the 
 mention of diabolical personages, yet so fervidly earnest 
 and tenderly pathetic, — where a deep solid meaning lies 
 enveloped in a glare of burning simile, here and there 
 showing out from beneath, like the body of the sun 
 through its atmosphere of fire. Herbert, Kke many a 
 young man, blinded by the flame, and only indistinctly 
 catching the meaning, so hot from the almost fierce 
 heart of the thinker, yet felt almost as if the solid 
 ground had sunk away from beneath his feet, and he 
 were swinging in the infinite abyss. In the tumult of 
 his soul, and his hatred of the insincere and superficial, 
 he felt that, before beginning hfe, he must firmly estab- 
 lish the great bases of knowledge. He begged for a 
 year or two for general study, before taking up actual 
 work, promising at the end of that time to enter his 
 father's counting-room, or undertake some profession. 
 Leave was granted, but unwillingly. Herbert, strong 
 in body and mind, and earnest in heart, returned to 
 "Havenbridge," and took a room near to that occupied by 
 his friend Putnam May, then a student in theology. 
 
 In those days, the students of Havenbridge had great 
 boating fame ; and allusion cannot be made to Herbert, 
 in that time, without recalling the noble jay and vigor 
 of those champions and athletes, — the drinking-in of 
 the fresh sea-breeze, which inspired to laughter like a 
 jolly friend, and the tingle of cool, salt spray upon 
 
22 THE THINKIXG BAYONET. 
 
 sweaty face and bared arms, touching up the strength 
 like a whip ! 
 
 Glorious it was to rush along the sides of Liverpool 
 packets, and sharp clippers just from China ; the hulls, 
 which a few months before had slid along the tranquil 
 leagues of lacquered sea, dotted by the islands of Japan ! 
 to steer up to the open ports of men-of-war at anchor, 
 — many a one since known to fame ! Glorious it was, 
 too, to go farther down, when the east wind slept, and 
 the tide was brimming ; to lie on the oars in the calm ; 
 the heaven, beautiful with summer clouds, watching its 
 own reflection like Narcissus, blue touching blue in the 
 horizon to seaward, Narcissus falling to embrace. 
 
 And the champions of those days, — and to what uses 
 have the vigor and boldness then developed, since come ! 
 Sitting in the boat-house, looking out of the window, 
 one evening, Herbert heard the "thud, thud," down the 
 river, of a coming boat ; then a vigorous " trail oars ! " 
 then the rush of the "Cymothoe" through the last draw. 
 It was the cry of one, afterward a famous General of 
 the rebels, in training even then to order his battalions. 
 There was one, too, with full chest, showing plain 
 through the thin knit shirt, with arms knotting hugely 
 at the end of each stroke, and throat like a well-but- 
 tressed tower upon the shoulders, — a famous stroke, — 
 a Federal General slain in fight. . How many there 
 were ! Brothers then from North and South ! Then 
 they sat side by side upon the thwarts, — no rivalry but 
 "starboard" against "port," that each might hold his 
 side. In a few years, it was to be breast to breast ; and 
 
HAVENBRIDGE. 23 
 
 they lie to-day — this and this and this — in bloody 
 graves, brought low in their young might, those cham- 
 pions of the oar, "by sabre-cut and bullet-wound. 
 
 And, among all these, Herbert was unsurpassed. 
 Stroke of the " Havenbridge," he was in the senior year 
 at the Riverton race, when the six-oared shell made very 
 remarkable time. After his training, on the evening 
 of the race, he was gaunt as a steed in trim for the 
 course, — face dark with tan, and frame like steel and 
 harness-leather. Afterward he was a famed dory-puller, 
 out in storm and calm, in his little frame-work of ve- 
 neering and canvas ; on leisure days, out along the 
 coast, balancing over the waves in his egg-shell, which 
 the touch of a finger might almost upset. 
 
 Herbert w^as merry and bright at first ; but a shadow 
 was creeping toward him, which it is not hard to under- 
 stand. Soon it began to fall, and we shall see how 
 deep it grew. Herbert was now free to read and think 
 as he chose. Only hints of deep things, so far, had come 
 into his thoughts. His mental energy, so far, had ex- 
 pended itself in the mastery of rudiments ; grammars, 
 and vocabularies of languages ; principles of science. 
 Now came the step beyond ; and a benumbing influence 
 began to touch the warm heart, the cultured mind, the 
 abounding energies. BQs mind was coming upon the 
 threshold of " The Everlasting No." 
 
24 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 DOUBT AND DEED. 
 
 " I HAVE wanted to do something in the world," Herbert 
 writes in his journal, — "some noble, honorable, manly 
 work ; but what does it amount to ? and what do we 
 amount to ? Of what account is any human work ? 
 
 " Once in the senior year, we went off* with Professor 
 Muschelkalk to see the rocks at the ^Devil's Knuckles.' 
 
 " I asked the Professor a question. * Sir, we see that, 
 as the world has gone on, race has succeeded race 
 throughout the geologic ages ; the newer races being 
 higher in the scale than the older. ' The old and inferior 
 die out in great part, leaving room for the new and 
 superior, — so 'you have taught us. Now, how wUl it 
 be henceforth ? Ought we not to believe that this will 
 continue also through ages to come? The human race 
 is the last. Is it not likely that we, too, are to take our 
 turn, — come upon times when the conditions necessary 
 to our life will not be answered, — be superseded by a 
 better set of creatures, be petrified into fossils, laid up 
 with trilobites and cephalopods in museums, a link in 
 the chain of being, liigher than some, lower than 
 others ? * 
 
DOUBT AND DEED. 25 
 
 " The Professor slowly removed his cigar, and turned 
 his round face and handsome eyes toward me, replying, 
 *That is a great subject : I cannot enter upon it now. 
 I will only say, that there is reason to believe that it 
 cannot be so : there can be nothing higher than man. 
 He is the end to which all other animal creations tend, 
 from the old palaeozoic fishes.' Here the Professor 
 turned himself around on the metamorphic rock on 
 which he sat, and resumed his cigar. 
 
 "I respect the Professor, and know the talk of his 
 school ; but there are other naturalists who think so 
 differently ! I am almost crushed as I look back. 
 The epochs that have elapsed, the enormous agencies, 
 the multitudes of creatures ! — what difference will it 
 make whether I do or die, with my life an inconceivable 
 instant in these mighty aeons ! It is so appalling, — the 
 sweep of forces, the stupendous lapse of ages ! Here, 
 on my table, lie expositions of that wonderful develop- 
 ment theory.' If it is true, and I cannot say that it is 
 not true, when and where and what the monad from 
 which the forms of life have been developed ! It bursts 
 the mind almost to think of tracing the series down, 
 layer after layer, through the fossils to living forms. 
 Sponge to shell, and shell to fish and reptile ; on then 
 through insect and bird and beast, nerve and muscle 
 and bone becoming more and more delicate and highly 
 organized; the duU instinct of creeping and flying 
 things becoming all but reason at last, — all tending to 
 the complex symmetry of the human frame, to our 
 supreme mind. It is solenm to awfulness. 
 
 2 
 
26 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 " And to think of what may be before ! Where is the 
 series climbing, and into what heights in the unim- 
 aginable future is it to reach ? I say to myself, ' Poor 
 ephemeral ! of what account are you, and what do you 
 know? Better creep off, and be soon entombed with 
 the multitudes of multitudes that have been gathered 
 before you into the universar sepulchre. Go you, — 
 the individual. Ere a moment is gone of these terri- 
 ble lapses, your race will be with you ; and purer and 
 higher beings will arise from your bones, to tread in 
 your steps. Death consumes each race ; and continually 
 from the ashes comes the ever more glorious Phoenix, 
 its strength and beauty more than renewed ; succeed- 
 ing forms, like and yet more wonderful, growing for- 
 ward through repose and agitation and ingulfing cata- 
 clysm into perfection inconceivable ! Of what account 
 is my life and labor, my devotion, my virtue or vice, 
 effort or idleness, sin or saintliness? Pish ! little fool, it 
 makes no difference.'" 
 
 One would hardly say, judging from this very ex- 
 traordinary language, that Herbert was in a fair way to 
 get ready for taking hold of life. His father is not at 
 all of that opinion ; but in solemn thinkings, which he 
 undertakes in his counting-house, he considers his son 
 to be a young gentleman very much befogged; and, 
 in his interviews with Herbert, " pshaws " in a very 
 contemptuous and dissatisfied way, if he gets a hint 
 from his son of what is passing in his mind. 
 
 Something comes up now and then, in these first 
 stages of his doubting, to take him out of his specula- 
 
DOUBT AND DEED. 27 
 
 tions ; like this matter, for instance, which Herbert teUs 
 Claiborne all about in the foUowmg letter :— 
 
 "I have had no sleep since night before last. I am 
 etiU excited from the events which I want to give you 
 an account of. Before I take any rest, or take off my 
 rou-b dress, I want to write to you. Kow, Claiborne, 
 be lure of my love for you. In times past, it went 
 beyond any love I ever have felt, - perhaps that I 
 ever can feel. It has been happiness to me, dear tel- 
 low, to put my arm around your neck ; and yet 1 
 cannot bear your views. If a time comes when we 
 must stand breast to breast with your section, I shaU be 
 one to resist ; even though I must meet you, who have 
 been my friend, as a foe. 
 
 " This whole matter of Kansas, and the bitter feelmg 
 that grows more bitter every day between your side 
 and ours, has not touched me much lately. _ I am 
 studyino- hard, and have had some notions that have 
 'rather stood in the way of my feeling any thing very 
 vividly. The other day, when a fugitive slave was 
 arrested, and everybody was in a passion, on one side 
 or the other, my feeling in the matter was quite 
 Ustless. It so happened, however, that I was at the 
 great meeting. I had rowed in in my dory, with no 
 particular purpose in view ; and, leaving it at the ratt, 
 I went up in mv boat-shirt into the streets. A crowd 
 was going toward the square, where a bonfire was 
 burnincr, and I fell in with them. At the square, I 
 found a multitude of excited people, and speakers were 
 talking from a platform in the midst. O, Claiborne ! 
 
28 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 then I heard Otis, — wonderfully powerful, and so 
 brave ! I had been cold, I say ; but he threw fire into 
 every vein, and made me pant and tremble. He tow- 
 ered there, in the fitful light, like some gi-eat Michael 
 Angelo figure. Oh, his wrathful voice, and passionate 
 hands, and the stamp of his foot ! He moved me, till 
 I laughed and wept and shouted. I would not have 
 believed that it was in the power of man. 
 
 " I hurried away when he had finished, not waiting to 
 hear others. I went at a quick pace out of the square 
 into the streets, where the air came more cool, and 
 the sound of the crowd grew indistinct. I tell you, 
 Claiborne, I thought of you. I shrink from any thing 
 that will drive us apart ; but I will let you know what 
 1 have done. 
 
 "I turned two or three corners without any special 
 aim. Then, in my heat, I set out to see the prison 
 where the fugitive lay. I ran for several squares, — ^ 
 then turned into the street in which it stands. A man 
 just before me blew out a gas-light near ; and I saw, as 
 I hun'ied forward, that others were being blown out. 
 All was quiet, except the sound of my own feet upon 
 the pavement. Those who were putting out the lights 
 moved quietly and rapidly. I fell into a walk to gain 
 breath, wondering what these movements could mean ; 
 when suddenly, just as I came under the great shadow 
 of the prison-wall, up a court, from one side, came a 
 heavy crash, then a confused tumult, and cries. 
 
 " I sprang forward again. I could see only a little ; 
 for there was nothing but starlight. I could make out 
 
DOUBl? AND DEED. 29 
 
 a throng of men on the steps leading to a door in the 
 wall. Over their heads was a huge uplifted timber, 
 which went with a thundering crash against the panels. 
 I saw that the bolts gave way. I was full of passion. 
 I rushed ahead ; making my way, right and left, through 
 those who appeared to be thrown out to keep back the 
 approach of strangers. You know, few men can 'stand 
 before me when I choose to put them to one side. As 
 one man went reeling from before my push, he dropped 
 a club, which J stooped and seized. In a moment I 
 was at the foot of the steps. I saw the flashing of an 
 axe in the light which came now from the doorway. 
 * Crack, crack,' went the reports of pistols ; and I heard 
 a ball go past my own head. There were guards inside 
 who fought hard. By the dim light, I saw one man 
 fall, and another staggered away with a cut upon his 
 face. 
 
 ^ "Just here, there was a cry from behind. Turning 
 round, a military company was silently marching into 
 the street, at a short distance. The rescuers gave over 
 their effort at once, and scattered. I did not choose to 
 run, but went leisurely on, until the soldiers came near. 
 It was plain that they had come with no knowledge of 
 the disturbance. I got from their talk, that they had 
 just come home from target-shooting. They were 
 bewildered, and probably would not have taken much 
 active part in stopping the rescue, 
 
 " But the city now was in an uproar. The alarm- 
 bells rang. The crowd in the square came surging 
 throuo-h the street. I knew soldiers would soon be in 
 
30 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 from the forts, and marines from the ships of war in 
 the harbor. I knew, too, that as soon as word got 
 abroad of an abolition disturbance, mobs of roughs 
 would be likely to gather at once. Hurrying along, 
 with club in hand, and my blood afire, I thought it 
 quite likely, that a mob, finding nobody to fight, might 
 sack • the houses of some of the speakers at the 
 meeting. I thought of the noble Otis. I could not 
 bear, that indignity should fall on that grand head, or 
 rude insult smite that mouth of gold. ' To-night, I 
 will watch at his door, and keep guard,' I said to my- 
 self. 
 
 " I passed through the streets in which excited men 
 were gathering ; then into a more remote region, where 
 the alarm had not penetrated ; and presently reached 
 the steps of the Otis mansion. In my excitement, I 
 entered with but little ceremony, forgetful of my rough 
 dress. He himself confronted me in the hall, not 
 knowing whether I was friend or foe. His cheek was 
 still aflame, his dress disarranged, his limbs and voice 
 trembling from exhaustion. He hardly appeared like 
 the same person, — so much had his form seemed to 
 dilate before me, in his speech, with his outbursting 
 soul. His frame is really delicate. *Mr. Otis, my 
 name is Herbert Lee : I am a student at Haven- 
 bridge, — a friend to you. The city is wild to-night. 
 An armed party have made an attempt at a rescue, 
 and failed. I ^m just from the prison. The alarm- 
 bells are ringing, ; troops are on their way from the 
 forts ; mobs of roughs are gathering fast. We fear 
 
DOUBT AJs'D DEED. 31 
 
 that violence may be offered to you. I am strong. 
 Let me be your guard to-night.' 
 
 "Just here came forward Miss Otis, that Holyoake 
 had among his company Class-day, you remember. I 
 had no idea she was the daughter of the orator. I knew 
 her at once. She came forward in a cool, determined 
 way, in spite of her father's gesture of disapproval, — 
 •wdth what at another time would have been almost 
 wilfulness, but which, as it was, was only a manner, it 
 seemed to me, nobly resolute. ' Father, I have seen 
 Mr. Lee before. He is what he represents himself to 
 be.' I became conscious now, for the first time, of my 
 rough appearance, and explained it. My offer of guard 
 was accepted. Mr. Otis was exhausted and fevered, 
 and forced to go away. 
 
 "I shut close the windows and blinds about the lower 
 story, making free to enter the rooms. Then I waited 
 in the hall, once in a while reconnoitring through slats 
 at the window. I felt that one determined man, if he 
 were wise and cool, could do something against a mul- 
 titude. I had not been deceived in my apprehension. 
 Before long, I could hear the hooting of an excited 
 party, who at last, with loud threats, came before the 
 house : 'Down with the house ! — break in the door !' — 
 and presently, crash against the panels, a brick was 
 hurled. I grasped my club more tightly, wishing that 
 I had a pistol. I heard a door open above. Then 
 Miss Otis came do^^ii stairs. I saw that she had a 
 pistol in her hand. ' Father is completely overcome 
 with his work to-night, and we must defend him.' 
 
32 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 Perfectly calm and cool. * We ! ' I offered to take the 
 pistol, saying I could do better with it perhaps than 
 with my club ; but she drew back her hand . The 
 rioters were 'swearing and turbulent; but policemen, 
 who each moment be^came more numerous, did their 
 duty well. I stood prepared close upon the threshold ; 
 but the mob dispersed at last, leaving the street empty. 
 Policemen came in, offering to stay ; but some of them 
 ill-naturedly muttering that Otis was the cause of it all, 
 and they'd like to arrest him the next day. I sent them 
 off. Miss Otis withdrew. I kept at my post in the 
 hall ; and, at daybreak, all being quiet, I came away. 
 I went to the raft, and have just rowed myself back. 
 
 "There, Claiborne! are we friends still? I have 
 gone far, you see ; had a hand in an abolition riot ; 
 and stood ready to protect Otis, who, I fear, would be 
 lynched without ceremony in your neighborhood. I 
 tell you, old fellow, my eyes fill to think we must stand 
 apart. I love you still, believe me ; but I am going 
 far." 
 
33 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "the everlasting no 
 
 » 
 
 Herbert's enthusiasm was only transient; for, not 
 long after this letter, he wrote in his journal again as 
 follows : . — 
 
 "Father grows impatient. *A perfect shame,' he 
 says, 'to throw away so good a chance. Never shall 
 be good for a profession. Come into the wool busi- 
 ness. Our firm can control the market, — a fortune 
 sure in ten years.' He is hard with me, and narrow- 
 souled. I would not be undutiful ; but I can write it 
 here, where no man will see it. Perhaps, after all, 
 there is reason enough for his disappointment. Cer- 
 tainly I am fit for no profession or occupation. 
 
 "I read and think, and am where I am. Is it fog? 
 or do I see things more profoundly than the men about 
 me? I am bound down now with Fatalism. I am 
 not a FataUst ; but the thought haunts me, that very 
 possibly I may have no free will, until all my power is 
 chilled. I know the couplet, — where God is apostro- 
 phized, — 
 
 * Our wills are ours, we know not how : 
 Our wills are ours to make them thine/ 
 2* 
 
34 THE THIXKIXG BAYONET. 
 
 But are they ours ? If I believe in an Infinite Being, 
 I must believe that he knows every thing. If he 
 knows every thing, he knows the future as well as the 
 past. In his mind, therefore, the future course of 
 every living creature is marked out. There is my 
 course laid down through the years to come as through 
 past years. I cannot alter it, any more than I can my 
 deeds already done. Each moment I can do but one 
 thing; and that one thing God has known from all 
 eternity. It was down in the Infinite ^lind, that, an 
 hour ago, I was to take my seat at my study table ; 
 that, a few minutes after, I was to rise to put more 
 coal upon the fire (even these trivial things) ; that 
 presently I was to open my diary, letting the book 
 upon the edge of the table fall upon the floor ; that I 
 was to hear the peddler rap at the door, and send him 
 away with a short re2)ly ; that these reflections were 
 to pass through my mind. So it is marked out now, 
 down to the smallest thing, at what time after mid- 
 night I am to go to bed ; how long I am to lie awake 
 brooding over these thoughts, as it has become my 
 habit to do, until I grow weary and fevered ; at what 
 time I am to arise to-morrow ; and so on until death. 
 
 " The lio^ht bums low, for it fjrows late. I am almost 
 alone in the hall ; for it is vacation, and the law and 
 theological students have, for the most part, gone home. 
 Only Todle, a light trifler, who, I fancy, is in love some- 
 where, lingers about ; and poor Bands, with his pale 
 face and w^eak voice. Todle is very dapper, and goes 
 much into society ; I meet him sometimes in my solitary 
 
"the everlasting no." 35 
 
 • 
 walks, — kid-gloved and silk-hatted, — on his way into 
 the city. Bands is a ' theolog ' of the last class, not yet 
 settled. He goes off Saturday afternoons, in black to 
 his satchel and gloves, except his white bosom and 
 clean-shaved face, to do his Sundays' candidating ; to 
 little purpose, I fancy, poor fellow ! for he is the last 
 one left of his class, and I suppose there is not much to 
 hope for him. What could poor weak Bands ever say, 
 to do any good? 
 
 Yet why do I pity him? It is fated, very likely, 
 that Bands shall suffer his misery, and grow leaner and 
 smaller with his wretchedness of mind and his penury. 
 Or why do I despise Todle? fated, probably, to flirt, 
 and wear his kids ! Ah, Herbert Lee ! you were a 
 fool to be vexed the other day when Todle said, ' Ah 
 would be glad to have honor of a closer acquaintance. 
 Understood I was a little of a hero, ha ! ha ! did'nt 
 know it; had no idea, — but Miss Otis,' — &c. So 
 she has told him: can she enjoy him, — the shallow 
 fool! But which is the fool, after all, he or I? — he 
 finding satisfaction in life, I only perplexity ! (I fancy 
 I grow somewhat better.) He thinks he is somebody 
 of account in the world; but I, — oh, how am I 
 bound down by fate, crushed before this stupendous 
 creation ! Which is the fool? the frivolous, superficial, 
 shallow dandy; or the stunned, powerless, perplexed 
 man, who tries to think ! " 
 
 Is the reader losing all patience with this very ex- 
 traordinary and absurd young man? You will not 
 
36 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 think it strange, that Herbert's friends found him now 
 to be a most unaccountable person, and that some even 
 began to fear for his wits. Meantime, Claiborne De 
 Treville, galloping home, had read Herbert's letter 
 containing the account of the riot. He flung it upon 
 the floor, then stamped on it in his anger ; but, when 
 he became cooler, he picked it up again, and laid it 
 away. When he wrote at last, though it was after an 
 interval, his pen moved hurriedly and his cheek flushed 
 angrily. 
 
 "You have gone too far. I am not personally in- 
 censed against you. I presume it is from your notions 
 of duty that you take the stand that you do, though 
 indeed you hint that it was the words of an eloquent 
 fanatic that hurried you beyond yourself, into action to 
 which you felt no inclination in your cooler moments. 
 
 "I have just come in from a ride over the estate. I 
 do not fear that you will think me boastful, — I care 
 not whether you do, — when I say there is something 
 baronial, as is fitting, about our mansion, in its ample 
 size, and surroundings of park and woodland. Behind 
 us is the village of cabins, — as the vassals lived close 
 at hand, but in strict subordination, about the mediae- 
 val castle. Only here, the vassalage is more definite 
 and beneficent ; for the world moves forward. In 
 the mansion is intelligence, wealth, refinement ; in the 
 cabins, peace, a reasonable degree of comfort, content, 
 order, and obedience. My father's books and my own 
 are a large library. The furnishing of halls and draw- 
 
37 
 
 ing-rooms is sumptuous. We have rich paintings and 
 fine carving, music, — all the appliances of a high 
 refinement. It is as it should be. I am moulded of 
 better material ; with mind more lofty, and gifted with 
 more power, than belongs to these black dependents 
 (I say it without arrogance) ; and to me belong of 
 right these fine suiToundings. 
 
 " ^hold the people well in hand, but I do not ill-treat 
 them. We whip them when they disobey, but at the 
 North you whip your school-children ; and it will be 
 time for the civilized world to condemn the use of the 
 lash, when the soldier and sailor cease to feel it. We 
 whip our help, upon occasion, because they are like 
 children, and not to be reached by more refined punish- 
 ment. My old ' Aunties ' here dote upon me ; and, 
 when I came home from Havenbridge in vacations, my 
 first visits were always to their cabins. The old 
 'Uncles, 'whose day has gone by, doze, well clothed 
 and warm, about the doors of the cabins, until they 
 drop away with tkeir "age. The men and women go 
 daily to their work under reliable overseers. They do 
 none too much, and are not ill-treated. 
 
 " I study to fit myself for the power I am some day 
 likely to possess. We are the leading family of the 
 district, — more ancient, more rich, than any house for 
 many miles. I am the hope of this house, and am 
 looked upon as fore-ordained for pviblic life. Undoubt- 
 edly I shall be the foremost man of this section. From 
 Aristotle to Machiavelli, thence on to De Tocqueville, 
 it is my especial taste to master the great political writers 
 
38 THE THIXKING BAYONET. 
 
 of the world, taking such truth as I may find, practis- 
 ing my mind in overthrowing their errors. I dedicate 
 myself to the work of establishing upon a firmer basis 
 in the world our beneficent system, so far as it is in the 
 power of one man to do it. We seem to be entering 
 upon a daring innovation upon the social constitutions 
 of civilized countries as they stand to-day ; but it is 
 only a reverting to the truer and healthier principle of 
 antiquity, which have been rashly superseded. 
 
 " Do you not know that this reprobation of slavery is 
 the merest novelty? The most profound minds of 
 Greece and Rome held it to be in the natural order 
 of things. It was something, they thought, that must 
 always exist. So thought even those who had been 
 slaves themselves ; but perhaps you will set down 
 Cicero, Plato, Aristotle, as mere antiquated fools. I 
 hold that Christianity does not array itself against it ; 
 but, I forgot, you have gone beyond that, too, in your 
 section. I would point you to old Hugo Grotius, — 
 than whom I know not what more venerable figure 
 there is in the literary history of Europe, — to his 
 sanction of the legitimacy of slavery ; and to John 
 Locke, providing for it in the constitution he drew up 
 for th^ Carolinas : but, of course, these are authorities 
 of only the most indifferent weight. You would rather 
 go to that third-rate tragedy of Southern's, ' Oronooko,' 
 — third rate in the third-rate age of Charles 11. , — the 
 first piece of English literature which hints at the con- 
 demnation of slavery : that is good authority for you. 
 
 " Oh ! this wretched condemnation of slavery is a 
 
" THE* EVERLASTING NO." 39 
 
 thing of recent growth,— the toadstool of a night, as 
 worthless, rootless, and useless as such a growth ! 
 The older people of your New-England communities 
 can remember when slaves were held among you. It 
 is almost within the memory of living men, that the 
 first very noteworthy protest against slaveholding was 
 anywhere made. It is all a thing of recent growth, — 
 as sudden as it is absurd ; as short-lived it will be, 
 as it is unfounded : for slavery is destined to stand 
 aloft, erect, unquestioned. The superiority of our well- 
 ordered system, where the rule is with the head of 
 society, and not with the heels, as with you, will be vin- 
 dicated over your turbulent democracy, where property, 
 intelligence, and virtue have but little voice. All gen- 
 erous and magnanimous traits it will foster among the 
 masters. Patience, content, and comfort, will belong 
 to the servile class. And this unfounded mushroom 
 reprobation of your shallow enthusiasts will pass away, 
 as the world grows more wise ; as the condemnation of 
 the practice of taking interest has passed away, — a 
 feeling as vain and silly as this to which you are yield- 
 ing. It is for the superior race to control and direct. 
 To labor belongs to the inferior. Let each show pa- 
 tience and content in the lot which Providence has 
 assigned. 
 
 " I read deeply, nor do I neglect other matters. I 
 have my blooded horses. With rifle or pistol I am a 
 good shot ; and he must be a skilful swordsman who can 
 overpass my parry or resist my thrust. I am fitting 
 myself for field or forum. Not many things like the 
 
40 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 adventure in which you have been engaged, are needed 
 to precipitate matters. I see no reason to believe that 
 your fanaticism will speedily abate. Certainly there 
 will be no change in us. Against you, personally, Bert, 
 I have no animosity. Indeed, I love you still, and 
 know of no more honorable heart than yours ; but how 
 blind are you becoming with your folly ! I respect 
 and esteem you, and yet it may be that I must fight 
 you. My fortune, my powers, my life, belong to our 
 cause. I am as devoted as if I had been sworn by the 
 most solemn of oaths. You, Bert, have attacked us. 
 You have taken part with the chief assailants of our 
 system. You may have followed your convictions. I 
 have no idea that you are trying to be otherwise than 
 true and honorable. I hope it will prove that you only 
 yield to momentary frenzy. But I cannot separate 
 you from the error which you embrace. You are now 
 my enemy, and I am yours, 
 
 "C. De Treville.'' 
 
 '\Yhat is the effect of this letter upon Herbert ? He 
 feels it, to be sure ; but a change is taking place in him 
 which makes him in a degree indifferent, even to such 
 a thing as this. The gloom grows deeper about him, 
 week by week. For a moment, the enthusiasm roused 
 in him by the eloquence of Otis bore him away from him- 
 self ; and he felt no misgivings, when, on the night of 
 the tumult, he put out his hand toward the great beam 
 to batter down the door of the jail. ' But the enthusi- 
 asm subsided ; the shadow closed about him ao^ain. 
 
"the everlasting no." 41 
 
 He read Claiborne's letter with a sigh ; but he was 
 tending toward a condition when human friendship, 
 or any thing human, seemed hardly worth a moment's 
 care. One form of doubt after another seized hold of 
 his mind. Referring again to his journal, the follow- 
 ing passage occurs : — 
 
 "^I remember once, when I was a very little fellow, — 
 I could not have been more than six years old, — I had 
 just climbed the stairs at home, and entered the cham- 
 ber which was used as the spare-chamber for company. 
 The question came into my mind, whether the world 
 about me was real and genuine. Thought I, 'Now 
 possibly the angels or fairies (I knew something about 
 both from Bible and fairy-tales) deceive me. There 
 may be no real things about me, after all. This bed 
 with mother's best white counterpane upon it may be 
 only an appearance, shoved up before my eyes quietly 
 by a sprite, just in time for me to see it, as I turn 
 toward it : so the window there, with the view of the 
 school-house on the street behind ; the dressing-table ; 
 the wash-stand, with its white bowl and pitcher.* I 
 thought about it ; then wheeled round quickly as I 
 could toward the bed, to see if I could not surprise the 
 sprite before he pushed up his screen, — then toward, 
 the window, — then toward the table; half-expecting 
 to catch the angels and fairies unawares, and behold 
 the nothingness which I was half-inclined to believe lay 
 all about me except when I was directly looking. But 
 I only made myself dizzy. 
 
42 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 '* Sometimes, as I grew up, a similar fancy would come 
 into my brain, and hold vague possession ; but now, 
 as I come to study Idealism, how strange it is to find 
 these childish dreams come back to my mind, and with 
 more power than ever before ! I find, that, although I 
 am older, I am still puzzled by the same or a similar 
 uncertainty. I am no more sure of the reahty of the 
 outside world, than I was when I was five years old. 
 
 " Lajst night I dreamed that I was again in the haU of 
 Mr. Otis. The crowd came up about the house, as they 
 did before : only in my dream they made an attack. I 
 had a revolver, which I fired among them ; shooting the 
 foremost, at which the crowd fell back. Then Miss 
 Otis and I unbolted the door, and drew the body of the 
 man into the house. We stood together by the side of 
 it. Suddenly Miss Otis seemed to have been the person 
 who killed the man, and to have done it with a dagger, 
 there in the haU, instead of upon the door-stone. 
 Presently she became Charlotte Corday, and the man 
 was Marat. There it ended. Now, it was only an 
 incoherent dream, an unhealthy one; for I know I am 
 not well, and my fancy at night is apt to run wild : but 
 I remember that, during the dream, there was no inco- 
 herence that I was conscious of. Indeed I remember 
 that I thought to myself, ' Now, perhaps this is only a 
 dream. But no,' I thought, ' it cannot be : it is too 
 real for that.' The body of the man was as distinct 
 to me as my inkstand here now, into which I dip my 
 pen ; and her face was as distinct as the back of 
 Berkeley's 'Dialogues of Hylas and Philonous,' upon 
 
"the everlasting no.*' ^ 
 
 which my eye falls as I look up. A shudder ran 
 through me as I fired the shot ; a falntness came over 
 ras we lifted the limbs, and the blood poured out of 
 the wound. When I awoke, the sweat ^tood "p- -y 
 forehead, and my limbs were tremblmg as if it had aU 
 W rea ity. -How do I know that in another moment 
 I may noT awake from this, and find the books the 
 bust of Dante on the mantel-piece, the oars o my doj 
 in the corner, the white light from my PO-1- ^ 
 here, - find them all unsubstantial visions I th^nlcl 
 .ee them. I do not think I can be dreammg ; bu the 
 Ob ects in the dream last night were as distuict as these 
 are to me now. How can I be sure that I may not 
 ::ke up at any moment, and find myself somewhere m 
 bed ; and this, mere phantasm and mist . 
 
 "kere on my table lie Colebrooke's Essays and a 
 volume o. two of Sir William Jones. I have been 
 
 Tabbling some in ^l^^^J^^^f^ 
 fellows, in their way, the Hindoos are . 
 Lelves so infinitely superior to them, because we do 
 so much in this outside ^vorld of uncertamtie . But 
 this world they despise, a. having no substance , and 1 
 • 1 not sure that they are not right in despising - as 
 shallow fools, for not seeing deeper than we do^ 
 ieavens! how they plunge beneath the surface of 
 SL; ! They only act with their minds ; but into wha 
 a terrible grapple with deep matters do they fall 
 Thl doctrine of 'Maya'-that the outside world is 
 only appearance; that men, trees, hills, -ers a.e no 
 „.ore red than the figures of a dream, or the objects m 
 
44 THE TIIDfKING BAYONET. 
 
 a camera-obscura ! What have I to assure me that 
 objects are what they seem to me, or, indeed, that they 
 exist at all? " I have read what Emerson says on Ideal- 
 ism, in the * Nature,' who seems rather to encourage 
 one to accept it ; but, as I question thus, it makes me 
 hesitate about takfng hold of life. If it i%all * seeming,' 
 who can want to do any thing? I may as well sit still, 
 looking at the end of my nose, with my soul withdrawn, 
 while *Maya' rushes by, like a true devotee. It may 
 be that this appearance is indeed but * the frail and 
 weary w^eed in -^hich God dresses the soul, which 
 lie has' called into time.' I turn round quickly in 
 my chair ; but I cannot catch the powers napping, any 
 more than I could in the spare -chamber when I was 
 a child. I cannot see the nothingness. The appear- 
 ance is pushed up in due time. Here are the door, 
 and the red glow of the fire before me. I may be 
 dreaming, or I may not." 
 
 Herbert's father, about this time, seated in his private 
 office, after some moments spent in thought, came to a 
 certain conclusion. "The boy goes deeper and deeper 
 into the most utter nonsense. When I undertake to 
 talk with him and find out what he is about, his con- 
 versation is mixed up with such absurdity, that I can 
 make nothing out of it. His health is breaking down, 
 through his close confinement, in body, and in mind 
 too, I believe. I am half-inclined to think he wants a 
 doctor." This very judicious parent thought a few 
 moments longer, then rose with the air of a man whose 
 
"the everlasting no." 45 
 
 mind Is made up. He went to the office of a certain 
 popular physician ; with what result is made kno\vn in 
 the following extract from a letter of Putnam May to 
 his sister : — 
 
 "Dear Lou, — I must tell you something about 
 Herbert Lee. Such hard fortune as he has met with ! 
 Lee, you know, is my cynosure and ideal, — the fine 
 athlete ! I have seen him in the university boat, — he 
 at the stroke, with the eight stalwart fellows behind ; 
 they might have stood, as Caryatides do, in a row be- 
 neath the entablature of some great temple, so colum- 
 nar were they in theu- stately strength, — these picked 
 men ! and Herbert's v^as the figure to put at the cor- 
 ner, as the stateliest of them all. He used often to be 
 in his dory on the river ; but, for months now, he has 
 pretty much given it up. From being a cheerful social 
 person, he has become almost a recluse. I am as inti- 
 mate with him as any one, and I know the reason of 
 the change. He has been passing through a phase 
 of thought that I know something about myself, though 
 I never became so deeply involved as Herbert. 
 
 " A young man who sets out to think deeply is apt to 
 get into trouble. A shallow person may get on easily ; 
 but a strong, earnest mind, that can plunge a little be- 
 low the surface, finds there a terrible under-current that 
 may sweep him helplessly down. I never have known 
 a student who grappled so closely and almost despe- 
 rately with these mental perplexities as Herbert. It has 
 seemed like a life-and-death struggle. In his sincerity, 
 
46 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 it has been impossible for him to take hold of any work 
 or profession, until these difficulties which he finds 
 lipon the threshold are overcome. He has gro\v3i pale 
 and haggard with his seclusion and thought. As I 
 have sat in his room, he has talked lately in this way : 
 * How do I know that you have any existence except in 
 my fancy ? How shall I know that I am talking with 
 a real flesh-and-blood man, and not with some phantom 
 of my brain ? ' It does not startle me to hear this ; for 
 I know something about it myself. 1[ have cast it aside, 
 content to believe my instinct, which tells me that the 
 world of sense is a genuine reality, — a method which 
 Herbert has often told me is very shallow. But ima- 
 gine the effect of such talk upon a man like Herbert's 
 father, a person so rough and money-getting, living in 
 and for this outside world. 
 
 " A week or two ago, Mr. Lee came to hi» son's room 
 with a man of imposing appearance, who, I now hear, 
 is a popular physician in the city. I cannot believe 
 that his skill equals his fame or appearance. After 
 this, the gentleman came alone two or three times, and 
 once took Herbert to ride. It appears that Mr. Lee 
 introduced this Dr. TLIlenbaugh simply as a friend 
 whose business brought him to Havenbridge, and to 
 whom he was anxious to have his son polite. Herbert 
 makes no secret of his perplexity, and the doctor drew 
 him on to speak freely of his embarrassments. I 
 believe he is a shallow man, unworthy of his fame and 
 place. I do not know that Mr. Lee can be much 
 blamed. This pale haggard figure stands before him, 
 
*^THE EVERLASTING NO." 47 
 
 and tells his father that he is not siire whether he is real 
 flesh and blood, or some phantom of his brain. 
 
 One day last week, a carriage drove up with Mr. Lee. 
 I heard him come up stairs, and open his son's door. 
 * Come, Herbert,' I heard him say kindly enough, 'I 
 want to drive you out.' They went away together ; 
 and I was immeasurably shocked, the next day, to learn 
 that Mr. Lee drove straight to the Shepherd Asylum 
 and delivered Herbert over to Dr. Benton as insane. 
 His health has suflTered, I know, from want of relaxation 
 and exercise ; and if his mind should be kept on the 
 strain, as it has been for some months past, I do not 
 know how it might result : but now, Lou, he is no 
 more insane than you and I. He has a strong contem- 
 plative mind, that is grappling with unusual earnest- 
 ness with these knotty matters. I should say he 
 needed a change, and open-air life, and something to 
 turn his mind to new subjects ; but to shut him up in 
 a hospital is folly and cruelty." 
 
48 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 LEONORA. 
 
 In these times, Herbert Lee was dismal. Part of his 
 friends he had neglected, part he had given up, and 
 part had given him up. Really, Putnam May was 
 almost the only person with whom he maintained an 
 intimacy ; such a barrier of cobwebs had the fellow 
 spun between himself and human interest. Now re- 
 mark, that, if he had been consistent, it would have 
 made no difference. The walls of the Shepherd Asy- 
 lum were just as likely to be " Maya " as the walls at 
 Havenbridge. If he was the sport of Fate, it was 
 nothing that he could help that he was there under 
 lock and key. If he was of no account, of course he 
 might as well be there as anj-^vhere else. But Herbert 
 found any comfort of this sort poor dependence enough ; 
 and he wofuUy feared, that, of all his old friends, Put- 
 nam was the only one who would care at all about his 
 fate. 
 
 Besides, he was not so sure that there was not some- 
 thing wrong. Ordinarily, he knew young men did not 
 get into so deep a maze. He was not at all sure him- 
 self, that there was not something morbid about him. 
 And so he looked anxiously enough into Dr. Benton's 
 
LEONOKA. 49 
 
 steady eyes and sensible features, as he came to him 
 every day. The doctor talked with him every day 
 about this thing and that, — his studies, his ideas, his 
 student life. It was, as friend might talk with friend. 
 The doctor himself was well-informed ; enough so, at 
 any rate, to understand his patient. Herbert knew 
 that he was sounding and trying him all the time, and 
 judged it best to be perfectly plain and frank : so he 
 told every thing ; and the doctor, on his part, found it 
 all very interesting. It went on for a month or two ; 
 for the doctor was cautious, and unwilling to pronounce 
 upon a case in a hurry. But at length he settled down 
 upon this opinion, — that Herbert's general health had 
 suffered from too close application to study ; that his 
 mind was not at all diseased, though it had been in- 
 tensely active in a somewhat unusual direction ; that 
 a change of habits would be the best thing for him, for 
 the present at all events. " No wonder, " thought the 
 doctor, " that he startled his father. That soct of man 
 has very little idea of these things ; but I shall tell the 
 old gentleman, that air and exercise are all his son needs 
 to bring him out of his perplexities, and make him 
 tough once more. Indeed, if the young fellow should 
 go on with his thinking, and maintain the same habits 
 of seclusion, I am not so sure that we might not want 
 him here ; but now he is sound enough, — sound 
 enough. Indeed, there is unusual vigor about the 
 fellow every way. How well he met me there, this 
 morning, when I brought up Reid to him ! and what a 
 physique he has ! " 
 
50 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 So, one morning, Dr. Benton shook Herbert smilingly 
 by the hand, after a talk, and said he was satisfied. 
 " You are healthy enougli, my good fellow ; but if you 
 ever want to do any thing in this Yankee world, into 
 which you are born, my advice to you is to pitch over- 
 board your metaphysics. Try sea-air, and take to 
 pulling again. You need it, to give you tone in body 
 and mind. Pity to let this good, hard brawn of yours 
 run down so ; " and the good doctor kneaded Herbert's 
 chest with his knuckles. 
 
 So Herbert was free again. ]\L\ Lee was glad to 
 hear that his son "was not crazy; supposed it must 
 be so if the doctor said so, — had a great name; but, 
 for his part, couldn't see, for the life of him, how a 
 chap could have notions like those, and not be crazy. 
 At any rate," he told Herbert, " I must be plain. Ten 
 years or more now, you have been at your books, and 
 seemed to go farther and farther from making yourself 
 good for. any thing. This nonsense must stop. Go, 
 and spend the summer somewhere, and get built up. 
 Then you must begin. Either come into the warehouse, 
 or take up some practical work, or sliift for yom'self. 
 I have borne all I can." 
 
 Herbert saw that his time was short : so he brought 
 out his disused doiy ; had it well calked where the 
 seams had opened through its long drying ; then gave 
 it a fresh coat of paint ; got new sculls ; had trunk and 
 dory put aboard a steamer ; and went to Honomok 
 Island for the summer, — a place on the coast, quite 
 out of the way, very quiet and retired. Here also 
 
LEONORA. 51 
 
 came Putnam May, to be a companion to Herbert. 
 There were a few other summer guests ; among whom 
 it so happened that Leonora Otis appeared, with her 
 friend Alice Granger. Soon after they came, Gordon 
 Holyoake followed, who, according to report, was in 
 love with Leonora. He was held to be a young man 
 full of power and promise. 
 
 In a day or two, there appeared, anchored off the 
 island, a little yacht, dainty in its paint and arrange- 
 ments. This was Leonora's vessel, built for her espe- 
 cial use. In this she cruised about with Alice Granger, 
 occasionally inviting Holyoake to sail. Her acquaint- 
 ance with Herbert and Putnam was, at first, too slight 
 to make her w4sh to extend her invitation to them. 
 Herbert was gloomy, too, and Putnam shy; so they 
 made their excursions together, without any other 
 companion. 
 
 Putnam, standing on ledges above the surf, played 
 Demosthenes by the hour together; while Herbert 
 rowed near in his dory, or sat silent, listless, and un- 
 happy. About the ledges hung the great tangles of 
 sea-weed, sometimes like the cordage of stranded ships, 
 sometimes pulpy and bloated ; sometimes, beneath the 
 water, branching into fine and yet more fine reticula- 
 tions, filling up with their red interlacing little water- 
 filled hollows in the granite, as if the little pools had a 
 circulatory system. "Ah, Putnam!" Herbert would 
 say, " sometimes I swing my oars up on to the outrig- 
 gers, and study the polypes over the side of my dory, — 
 the strange, floating, pulsating, amorphous creatures, 
 
52 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 that come sliding in with tlie tide, pale sometimes and 
 translucent, sometimes a little flushed and iridescent, 
 among the wavy and spotted tangles of sea-weed. I 
 regard them kindly ; for are they not possibly brethren ? 
 Trace back their stock and mine, and it might be found 
 that we had a common progenitor, far back somewhere 
 in the infinite ages. You shapeless, languid polypes, is 
 it better to stand at the end of your series, or mine? 
 Or perhaps it is all unreal phantasm, — the sea and 
 sky, the white beach, the island with its grove." 
 
 This would be said as a sort of melancholy pleas- 
 antry, as near as Herbert could come to cheerfulness in 
 his sad frame of mind. Then his countenance would 
 become grave, the little smile upon it fading. "But, 
 Putnam, it is so serious and solemn a matter to me ! 
 Thank God that you have faith ! AYhat would I not 
 give to have stable belief, to know what was reality, 
 what work in the w^orld I could best do ! I try to be 
 sincere. I want to find rock upon w^hich I can securely 
 rest my feet. I do not believe any of these notions 
 about which I talk. It only seems to me possible that 
 they may be true ; and until I am sii7^e I am master of 
 myself, that I live in a real world, and am capable 
 of noble eflPort, I seem to be unable to work wuth the 
 glow and zeal ^vhich I desire. I must follow out these 
 questionings. I will not blind my judgment, nor un- 
 dertake life with any shallow -philosophy. Deep as my 
 soul can dive, I wdll go after truth. If I gain ever a 
 noble faith, you shall see that I will live it out." Then 
 Putnam would try to make Herbert feel the faith which 
 
LEONORA. 06 
 
 he felt himself; telling him, that, at any rate, his bodily 
 and mental health required that he should dismiss his 
 ponderings ; that he ought to have regard to this. 
 Then Herbert would say, "I ought, I know, to give it 
 up." Then, in a moment, the fine, thoughtful, melan- 
 choly dignity in which he had poured out his unrest and 
 disappointment passing from his countenance, and a 
 look of bitterness coming into its place which was 
 hardly natural on the face, a gentle and manly face, — 
 ^^ Ought! what sense is there in a human being's using 
 that word, or feeling responsibility? Very likely it is 
 marked down what we are to do, and where we are to 
 go. What is the use?" And Herbert went on, from 
 day to day, listless and thin, and with a heavy spirit to 
 be seen in his eyes. 
 
 But now there came a change. A bright shape 
 suddenly stood at the portals of Herbert's spirit, which 
 administered U sleep-giving draught to the dark doubt 
 that had sat there for so long, barring out every cheer- 
 ful thing ; then entered to possess it. The spell of 
 doubt was not yet broken ; but, for a time, its power 
 was intermitted. Herbert fell in love with Leonora ; 
 and forthwith light came to the eye, and haggardness 
 left the face. His form began to fill out to something 
 of its old robustness, and a good deal of merriment 
 came back to voice and manner. 
 
 Leonora's brow was broad and intellectual ; her eyes 
 were dark and deep. There was power af Avill and of 
 mind in brow and eyes, and power of will in her firm 
 mouth. Her dark hair was" abundant ; her figure, erect 
 
54 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 and resolute. She was accomplished and familiar with 
 society ; could be elegant in manner when she chose, 
 but did not always choose. She often trod upon con- 
 ventionalities ; not apparently witli the purpose of 
 shocking people, but in pure indifference. Constantly 
 restless, she appeared like a person who had not found 
 her place : yet there was nothing like unhappiness ; for 
 she had abundant cheerfulness and vivacity. There 
 was a freedom of movement about her, such as might 
 have belonged to an Indian huntress. For several 
 seasons, now, she had had at Honomok her little boat, 
 which she managed herself, sitting at the stern, with 
 tiller in one hand, and the sheet in the other ; beating 
 out against the east wind with the oldest fishermen ; 
 runnino^ in ao^ain before the breeze, if it tlu-eatened to 
 blow too heavily ; dropping her anchor w^hen she chose, 
 and furling her sail : strong and bold, a suitable mate 
 for a Viking ; but at small parties, or for summer chat- 
 ter, not quite congenial. The boatmen shook their 
 heads, and called it rash business; but Leonora only 
 laughed at them : and really her little boat had floated 
 season after season without accident, saucily showing 
 the name upon its stern-board to almost every craft in 
 that neighborhood as it slid past them ; an operation 
 productive of much bad language on the part of the 
 more ambitious vouns: fishermen there. There was 
 often an utter wilfulness about her ; and yet, to strong 
 natures, a great charm : and here were Holyoake and 
 Herbert both at her feet. Putnam, on the other hand, 
 was cowed, and never felt that he could do himself any 
 
LEONORA. ' 55 
 
 sort of justice with her : not that she meant to be cruel, 
 but she was so heedless ! Or, rather, it was not in her 
 to show the fine tact and dainty management which so 
 many women have; so, time and again, when Putnam 
 had ventured to come out a little, she rode rough-shod 
 over him in an Amazonian manner ; and it was no 
 wonder that he wished he was away, and that Herbert 
 nd Gordon had the field to themselves. He had come 
 fjr the summer however. There was no good excuse 
 to leave ; and there was really in him a good deal of 
 the quality that is to a man like rosin to a fiddle-bow, 
 which made him want to stick to his purpose, even 
 though it were merely recreation, whether the circum- 
 stances were entirely agreeable or not. Besides (let 
 the entire truth be told) , although Leonora was hardly 
 agreeable, Putnam w^as much better pleased with Alice 
 Granger, who was quiet and cultivated, with modest 
 eyes fldl of sense. 
 
 Herbert, now that he was in love, was so changed, 
 that Putnam occasionally ventured to rally him. 
 
 " A silly fool ! " he told him, " driven by Fate into a 
 world of mere phantasms ; deceived by the delusive 
 Maya." Herbert would laugh back, shake his head, 
 and insist that the old questions were not yet set- 
 tled. He owned, though, that they were in the back- 
 ground. "This air and exercise," he would say; the 
 transparent cheat ! Could not Putnam see what it was ? 
 But you know the invariable and very simple conduct 
 of persons in this condition. Herbert was like all the 
 rest ; innocently thinking no one knew what the matter 
 
56 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 was but himself, when there it was, plain on his face to 
 everybody. Of course, this state of things brought 
 them all close together. 
 
 As the tide came in one morning, by Leonora's invi- 
 tation three of them took their seats on the thwarts of 
 the little boat. There were Gordon Holyoake, Put- 
 nam, and Alice, with the lady captain; while Herbert, 
 in his dory, sat ready to keep them company. Leonora 
 trained her crew like a boatswain, merry and wilfid. 
 Up the mast, rattling on its rings, went the sail ; and 
 off they moved with the light breeze. Herbert's dory, 
 brilliant crimson, with white canvas on top, except 
 where he sat, was just at the side. He could easily 
 drasr it down alone alono^ the beach from its shed ; 
 taking one of the sharp ends under his arm. With 
 Herbert in his place, only five or six inches of the 
 crimson side showed out of the water. Herbert sat 
 with his poised oars, cheerful as he had not been for 
 many months. With the aid of a few strokes of an oar, 
 strongly given by Holyoake, the little boat presently 
 was out from behind the shelter of the land, and caught 
 more of the breeze in her sail. Holyoake laid the oar 
 away, and stood on the deck in front, with a boat-hook. 
 The tide was just coming in. The winding channel 
 was beset with shallows ; and it was quite likely the 
 boat might touch, and need to be pushed off. Alice 
 held the loose sheet in her hand ; and, when they came 
 about on the other tack, it was her part to haul over 
 the little boom. Putnam was set to bailing, first with 
 a cup, and then with a sponge ; for, in a sail by moon- 
 
LEONORA. 57 
 
 light the evening before, some water had been shipped. 
 Round and round the party, swept Herbert in his dory ; 
 for the wind was light ; and, trim the sail as Leonora 
 would, the boat did little more than slide with tide. 
 His hair blew free from under the chip hat he wore ; 
 his eye was bright again ; the vigorous " thud " of his 
 oars in* the rowlocks sounded far over the water. As 
 lie pulled, a fine strength clothed his neck, and the 
 fore-arms knotted up like the arms of a victor in the 
 Olympic games. 
 
 There was plenty of sprightly talk. "Ah! Mr. 
 Holyoake," said Leonora, with assumed pettishness, 
 " do have the goodness to whistle for a wind. You are 
 before the mast now ; and I assure you it is entirely in 
 character. We have no idea that you commonly whis- 
 tle ; but the reputation of my ship is at stake, — a 
 desperate time, and we must resort to desperate expedi- 
 ents." Holyoake pursed his mouth, and sent forth a 
 few long drawn, most unskilful whistles, at which there 
 was a laugh ; and Herbert, settling back with feet firm 
 ao-ainst the stretchers, Avent whirling around the others 
 with the speed of a gull. "What a sail it was last 
 nio-ht ! " said Leonora ; " that little half-moon ; one in 
 the sky, and one in the water : I do believe the sky 
 was so much in love, tliat it split its silver sixpence, and 
 o-ave half of it to the sea to keep." Then again, look- 
 in o* toward a double-towered light-house, kept by a 
 certain " Windy Haines," once, by report, a pirate, it 
 was, " There is Windy Haines's light-house. Do you 
 know, those two towers, sloping from base to top, and 
 
58 THE THINKIXG BAYONET. 
 
 SO white, make me think of an ivory-mounted opera- 
 glass? The old pirate, whom nobody ever sees or 
 knows, I believe sets his glass down there all day ; but 
 at night he is looking at us over on Honomok with his 
 two red eyes. They flame out as a pirate's eyes 
 should." So, again and again, with a nimbleness of 
 fancy and vivacity that it is hard to render; 'with a 
 ready laugh and free glance which put Holyoake and 
 Herbert into high spirits, but which rather had the 
 effect to subdue Putnam, who bent to his bailing in a 
 diligent manner, glad to have something to do with his 
 hands. 
 
 Herbert drove his dory ahead ; striking out to sand- 
 bars and isolated rocks, free and swift ; then returning 
 in a sort of triumph to the others, who were nearly 
 becalmed. " O philosopher ! " at length broke out 
 Leonora, " how can you take such pleasure in torment- 
 ing a parcel of poor phantoms ! It is only the ' Maya,' 
 O my Pundit ! We are only poor creatures of your 
 fancy, painted on your brain ! " This was quite sig- 
 nificant. Herbert, it was plain, had been very confi- 
 dential with Leonora. He would never have said any 
 thing to her about matters that had moved his mind so 
 profoundly, and brought him so much trouble, if he 
 had not been pretty deeply in love. That is the way 
 with young fellows. In the first blush, they pour 
 every thing they know into the ears of their favorites 
 without any reserve ; and sometimes it comes out very 
 uncomfortably, as in the present case. It was plain 
 that Herbert did not like this sudden introduction of 
 
LEOXORA. 59 
 
 such things. He bent nervously to his oars, without 
 making any reply, and soon was far out to seaw^ard; 
 not coming back until the party were approaching, at 
 last, the cove in the rocks, to w^hich they were bound. 
 " Ah ! " thought Putnam, " it is plain enough now, if I 
 had not known it before ; w^hat a ruthless person she 
 is ! How Httle tact ! Does she not see that she gives 
 liim pain ? or is she utterly careless ? " 
 
 Leonora kept up her gayety. They looked now over 
 the side, through the transparent w^ater, at the planta- 
 tions of dark sea-weed upon the shallows over which 
 they slid, — channelled, here and there, with broad pas- 
 sages, — the white sand at the bottom showing up, with 
 crabs and horse-shoes crawling and swimming about ; 
 and sometimes it was ahead, where the water w as in a 
 flutter, as if giving off electricity ; the dart of silver 
 sparks and flakes seen among the flying drops ; shoals 
 of mackerel moving here and there. Finally, the keel 
 grated upon the little beach near the cove ; Holyoake 
 taking care, with "the boat-hook, that it should not 
 strike too heavily. Herbert, who had arrived before 
 them, and whose dory w^as drawn far up above the 
 reach of the tide, took the kedge as Holyoke threw it 
 out, and drew them high up upon the sand. They took 
 their lunch ; then, to vary matters, went apart. Hol- 
 yoake remained near the ladies ; while Herbert and 
 Putnam strolled off over the rocks : the latter admiring 
 the sea-view, w^ith Windy Haines's opera-glass and the 
 ships beyond ; the former moody and abstracted, sitting 
 upon the peaks of ledges, throwing fragments of rock 
 
60 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 through water-worn chasms into the sea. Every now 
 and then, he cast an eye toward the other group ; or, 
 if they happened to be out of sight, he would make an 
 errand to gain some point from which he could see 
 them ; hoping he should find Leonora going off by her- 
 self in such a way that it would do for him to join her ; 
 and making all these little subterfuges to throw dust 
 into Putnam's eyes, — Putnam's eyes all the time, of 
 course, being wide open as could be to all that was 
 o^oinor on. 
 
 Toward the end of the afternoon, Herbert and Put- 
 nam made their way back to the others. They found 
 them seated in a picturesque chasm, beneath a huge 
 sea-beaten ledge. Leonora w^as higher than her com- 
 panions. She had been reading, and sat with her book 
 open in her hand, talking very earnestly with Holyoake. 
 Her face was full of excitement. Holyoake's counte- 
 nance showed, too, that something had occurred to 
 kindle him ; while Alice Granger, who ordinarily was 
 a social person, sat very grave and quiet. Leonora 
 had in her hands the "Athaliah" of Racine, — the 
 powerful tragedy founded upon the story of the wicked 
 daughter of Jezebel, who sought to usurp the throne of 
 Judah ; and only failed of reducing the nation under 
 her idolatrous tyranny, through the address and cour- 
 age of those who at last succeeded in arousing the 
 people against her. Generally, Leonora's, mood was 
 \\dlful, and her mirth almost rough ; but this was some- 
 thing different. As she sat now, there was so much 
 power in every feature and gesture, that one could see 
 
LEONORA. 61 
 
 how, upon occasion, she might tower and flame, as her 
 father did in his times of inspiration before vast audi- 
 ences. 
 
 As Herbert and Putnam came near, there was a 
 pause, and the silence became awkward. To break the 
 awkwardness, Putnam asked what thej had been read- 
 ing. "A story, Mr. May," she began slowly to reply, 
 " of a nation noble in its gifts ; glorious in its memories 
 of heroic men ; glorious through the memory of a great 
 past, when there were mighty and manly struggles out 
 of servitude, and against those who sought to enslave : 
 a nation which at last, in an evil day (and here her 
 voice grew deep and tremulous), through degeneracy 
 stooped toward the dust, so that a haughty, sin-branded 
 queen, of alien blood, set her foot upon their necks, and 
 polluted their shrines. But this was long, long ago, 
 and such things never happen now." The satiric curl 
 which here contracted the lines of her firm lips, was 
 something superb. The allusion to the Slave-Power 
 was plain enough. It was known to all where lay 
 Leonora's sympathies ; but her present mood was some- 
 thing novel to them. It was evident that she was a 
 true daughter of her sire, with soul full of the same h(ft 
 wrath and zeal. 
 
 Putnam said no more ; but Holyoake, here resuming 
 a discussion in which they were engaged before the 
 coming of the others, uttered a few sentences which 
 showed that he was inclined to take different views. 
 He spoke earnestly, but with much deference toward 
 Leonora, as if unwilling to give her offence. Leonora 
 
62 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 interrupted him, casting her eyes down, and reading 
 from the play ; the rich voice, so strong with excite- 
 ment, giving, with an effect which Rachel could hardly 
 have caught, the resounding verse. "If there were 
 only now, as of old, some grand figure," at length she 
 said, " to confront this bitterly raging Athaliah of to- 
 day ! " She rose in her emotion, full of most tragic 
 power, and read the denunciation which Joad, the great 
 high-priest, pours out upon the bloody child of Jeze- 
 bel, "At last thou art cast into our hands. Give 
 account of the blood thou hast poured out." Then she 
 went on with hot, rapid words : " So guilty are we in 
 allowing our credit to be compromised, and right to 
 suffer ! — such apathy as to Duty ; such guilt on the 
 part of those who stand for us at the rudder-lines ! 
 The very earth ought to flush red-hot under us ! " 
 
 The impetuous power with which it came cannot be 
 given. Her hat flew ofi", and her black hair blew out 
 abundant. The simple and loose attire in which she 
 was dressed for the excursion huni? about her dUatino^ 
 figure with a sort of imposing gi-ace. The jagged, 
 wave-beaten leds^e was a suitable backorround to so 
 giiftnd a figure. Mingling with her tones was the low 
 roar of the northern sea, stretching about her. She 
 stood like passion-kindled Xorma sending out a stormy 
 summons, through bleak air and over wild fields, to the 
 Druids, — a figure to tower before Athaliah herself, — 
 indignant, panting ; her passionate soul leaping with 
 torches into her dark eyes ; a mien like her father's 
 when he stood before the people. Holyoake rose, and 
 
LEONORA. ^^ 
 
 strode away with rapid steps. Herbert sat motionless, 
 with eyes fixed upon her. 
 
 Holyoake, in someway, had come to know about 
 Herbert's reported insanity, and confinement at the bhep- 
 herd Asyh.m« He was glad to hear of it. They were 
 rivals a^ain, and in a bitterer manner than ever before ; 
 and he could not help feeling exultation at knowmg a 
 fact with which he might so fatally injure Herbert if he 
 chose Of selfish nature, his passion blunted his moral 
 sense. But, as yet, Holyoake had no reason to suppose 
 that Leonora preferred Herbert. She appeared to treat 
 both with perfect impartiality, giving to neither encour- 
 agement ; going on in her wilful, unconstrained way ; 
 ..enerally merry, not often showing the sterner mood; 
 receiving the attentions of the young men frankly and 
 cordially, — to all appearance, herself entu-ely heart- 
 whole. T 
 
 A morning came at last, which opened fair. Leo- 
 nora, in spite of the advice of the fishermen, persisted in 
 goin- alone upon a long water excursion. Upon be- 
 ha-un Head, a promontory near, there was a house for 
 - the" entertainment of summer guests, where were friends 
 of Leonora ; and these, on this morning, she set out to 
 visit An old boatman of Honomok stood, ready at 
 the wharf by her vessel, - a man who had been won to 
 her by some kindness ; but she refused his offer of 
 company. The day looked so fair and calm at the 
 start, it was hard to believe there was any danger. Put- 
 nam went to the end of the pier. Holyoake came stroU- 
 ino- along the beach, picking up shells, as if by chance, 
 
64 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 in time to wave his hand, and catch an inclination from 
 Leonora's resolute figure, as she glided away from the 
 island. Herbert was not to be seen, but lay before a 
 high, soutliward-looking window, from which he could 
 watch the little boat until she became a iHere speck. 
 
 Every thing seemed fair. The sun shone red through 
 the canvas as it filled ; and the vessel bore away from 
 the landing to the eastward, to give the " Shrouded 
 Castaways," a dangerous reef near the island, a good 
 berth. Then the course was southward, and at last 
 there was nothing upon the blue water. Ilulyoake 
 spent the morning in his room. Herbert went listlessly 
 about the island, or sat abstracted under the trees. 
 Toward noon the wind came in fresher from the east, 
 and, by three o'clock, it was quite a strong breeze. The 
 sun was bright and clear ; the sea in the offing, fidl of 
 leaping life ; the cool brisk air, so salt and tonic, sweep- 
 ing against the body till one could hardly be conscious 
 of the impediment of flesh and bones. 
 
 Naturally, our party at Honomok would have been 
 in high spirits ; but now there was occasion for anxiety. 
 It was hardly safe outside, under such a breeze, for a 
 boat like Leonora's, under the most skilful management ; 
 and though her lady captain was fearless, and reason- 
 ably expert, all knew that, if she ventured alone from 
 Sehagun Head, she would be in great danger. After 
 dinner, Herbert and Putnam looked southward over 
 the sea. Putnam, of course, had no further interest 
 that it was natural for one to feel in such a person. She 
 was hardly agreeable to him, or comfortable as a com- 
 
LEONORA. 65 
 
 panion ; but he had become aware of her power. Her- 
 bert, however, worked his lip nervously, and kept liis 
 eye upon the water. 
 
 It seemed impossible that she should start ; for the 
 breeze grew fresher, and Putnam began to rally Her- 
 bert upon his fears, which were so grave that he made 
 no effort to conceal them. " It is only appearance and 
 phantasm, my dear sage," he began ; but Herbert 
 twitched nervously, and shook his head. It was plain, 
 the reality of things had caught hold of him. Just 
 here he exclaimed, and caught the glass, looked 
 through it, then passed it quickly to Putnam. A sail 
 from the direction of the Head was just coming into 
 view. Through the glass, it soon became plain that the 
 canvas had the somewhat peculiar shape of the can^ as 
 of Leonora's vessel. The old boatman was summoned 
 from liis work near by with a quick call, who shook his 
 head doubtfully. " She ain't standin' out near far 
 enough. With this wind, and as the tide runs, she'U 
 fetch sure on to the ' Castaways ; ' then the Lord help 
 her ! She's comin' kitin,' too. No use in tryin' to get 
 out to her in my old craft. We'd have to beat well out, 
 and the breath 'd be out of her pretty carcass afore we 
 could get anywhere near, grantin' we could do much 
 when we got to her." 
 
 Herbert rushed toward the beach. Putnam and the 
 boatman hurried after him, finding on the ground his 
 coat, cap, and vest, which he threw away as he ran. 
 The boatman thought it useless ; but Putnam knew Her- 
 bert's skill better, and felt more confident. The risk was 
 
6& THE THLNKING BAYONET. 
 
 great, but the case seemed desperate. Before they had 
 reached the beach, the dory had been launched, and was 
 shooting swiftly out to where it would meet the full 
 force of the sea. Putnam and the boatman sprang into 
 the island-boat, followed by Ilolyoake, who came hur- 
 rying down from a point of the island, where he also 
 had been looking out. As the dory rose on the sea, 
 they could sec Herbert's face ; the hair blowing wildly 
 about, and the compressed lips. He kept the dory 
 nearly head on to the sea, while gradually edging out 
 toward the " Shrouded Castaways." As he rose, they 
 could see his body sway from side to side to keep the dory 
 in trim. Meantime, — catching sometimes in the crests, 
 sometimes in the trough, sometimes in the dark, swell- 
 ing side of the waves, — quickly worked the oars. Tlie 
 breeze w^as fresh ; but it had little hold except against 
 Herbert's back, and he forced his way against it. 
 
 The island-boat, meantime, steered a different course. 
 Herbert, it was plain, would soon be outside the " Cast- 
 aways ; " but the others bore away, so that they were soon 
 in the smooth water, between the shallows and the shore 
 behind. It was only the ordinary breezy of a summer 
 afternoon. There would have been nothing to fear, if 
 there had been plenty of sea-room ; for Leonora was a 
 person to keep careful watch of the sail, and turn the 
 tiller with a steady hand. But, as it was, the wind and 
 flood were forcing her dangerously near the shallows, 
 over which the roarino^ surf was foaminij hi^^h. Toward 
 the northern end of the shoal, where the bar tapered 
 into a narrow line, the surf was not so high ; and, after 
 
LEONORA. 67 
 
 a yard or two of white agitated water, came the deeper 
 sea again. 
 
 From the island-boat, now, Leonora's vessel was 
 plainly in sight, careening to the wind. The solitary 
 figure sat at the stern. The hat was gone ; the long 
 locks blew free ; her garments, as she rose for a mo- 
 ment, the better to tighten the sheet about its cleat, 
 blew out heavily. She was drenched with the wet that 
 dashed about her. " She might clear 'em yet," said the 
 boatman, " ef she could sail a pint or two closer to the 
 wind ; " but, as it was, the sail would bear no more. 
 The island-boat was now inside. Leonora, though on 
 the very edge of the white water, had not yet struck, 
 and was now close to the extreme end : a minute more, 
 and she would have been safe. Herbert, in the dory, 
 was close at hand. The little boat struck. " A few 
 fathoms more, and she'd have cleared it," said the boat- 
 man. In an instant, .the white sail had disappeared in 
 the surf. Herbert, with a few rapid strokes, swept after 
 into the foam ; then, for a few minutes, all was hidden ; 
 and Putnam sadly began to wonder, whether they would 
 be able to get the bodies. Presently, however, the 
 dory, bottom up, A\dth its crimson showing plain through 
 the white foam, came drifting out. Herbert was cling- 
 ing with one arm to the iron outrigger, and, with the 
 other, supporting Leonora. In another minute, they 
 were pulled over the gunwale into safety, — Herbert, 
 exhausted and panting ; Leonora, fainting, with dripping 
 garments clinging close about her. But they were 
 saved. 
 
68 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 For a few days, Leonora was seriously ill. Her father 
 was summoned at once. At length slie appeared again, 
 pallid and weak, for an hour or two each day ; but not in 
 a condition to bear much society. Holyoake, day by day, 
 grew more reserved and gloomy. It was plain that it 
 troubled him, as was natural, that Herbert had been 
 able to render so important a service ; but he was too 
 proud and persistent to regard obstacles. Herbert, on 
 the other hand, grew to be more and more the joyous 
 man he had been in previous years. He was far too 
 delicate to make capital out of the obligation under 
 which Miss Otis lay to him, or to render any but the 
 most cautious and guarded attentions to her in her 
 weakness ; but he knew, through some sign or look, that 
 he might hope. He thought that now he could please 
 his father. He had something to live for, and began to 
 seem like the aspiring, able, cultivated man, fitted to be 
 useful, and to achieve distinction. 
 
 The weeks went past. Leonora gradually grew 
 better; and her preference at length was decidedly 
 shown. From time to time, Mr. Otis came down to 
 spend a day or two. Herbert drew in new strength 
 with every week, and grew happy and vigorous. Sud- 
 denly Holyoake departed. On the morning of his 
 leaving, as Herbert stood a little apart from the group 
 of guests who had come down to say good-by, Hol- 
 yoake came toward him, bending his haughty head as 
 if in courtesy ; but he muttered at the sane time, so 
 that no one but Herbert caught the words, "I will 
 defeat you vet." 
 
LEvOxor.A. 69 
 
 In a few days, Mr. Otis came down for one of his 
 brief visits. He was grateful in his manner to Herbert, 
 as he had always been : perhaps even more tenderly so 
 than ever before : but, from that time, he seemed to take 
 great care to seclude Leonora. It began to be whis- 
 pered about among the guests, that Mr. Lee was insane. 
 The story was, that he had been confined in the Shepherd 
 Asylum ; that the physician in charge had not compre- 
 hended his case, and had discharged him too soon. If 
 any doubted, it was said that the noted Dr. Tillenbaugh 
 was very decided in the matter. Mr. Lee had been his 
 patient ; and it was by his advice that he had been sent 
 to the asylum. Dr. Benton was thought to have used 
 so little judgment in the case, as to be in some danger 
 of losing his position. Herbert noticed a change in the 
 manner in which he was treated by the guests. That 
 Leonora held herself aloof from him, he understood to 
 be her own free act. Putnam battled his oause stoutly ; 
 but what was he against such an authority as Dr. Til- 
 lenbaugh ? Every one now had " remarked something 
 strange in Mr. Lee's conduct;" a "moodiness," or an 
 " excitability." Some thought it was hardly safe that 
 he should be there, smelt fire in the night, and noticed 
 a "wild light" in his eyes. Herbert, of course, heai*d 
 it all, and imagined the case to be far worse than it really 
 was. At length, one afternoon, who should appear but 
 his father and Dr. Tillenbaugh. Mr. Lee looked per- 
 plexed and harassed. Tillenbaugh deported himself in 
 his usual gracious manner. Herbert knew they had 
 come for him. 
 
70 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 That night, the wind blew hard. AVindows and doors 
 were barred ; and hoarse, about tlie ledges and the 
 " Shrouded Castaways," roared the surf. In-bound 
 ships stood out to sea again, to be away from the lee- 
 shore ; coasters made port at sundown, fearing the gale 
 at night. That night, Herbert Lee disappeared. In the 
 morning, pieces of the crimson sides of his dory were 
 found on the shore opposite the island. There was no 
 other trace. It was conjectured, that, in a mad freak, 
 he had got up in the storm, gone out to row, and been 
 drowned. The body was not found ; but the tide miglit 
 have drifted that to sea, it was said. 
 
THE ABYSS. 71 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 THE ABYSS. 
 
 Herbert's father did all that could be done to find 
 some trace of his son. It was in vain ; and he came to 
 believe that he must have been drowned. To launch 
 out in such a storm seemed to him a plainer proof than 
 any of Herbert's insanity. Through this madness, the 
 father beheved that Herbert had come to his death ; and 
 he mourned over him with genuine sorrow. It was the 
 general belief, that Herbert had been drowned. Leo- 
 nora lay for many weeks seriously ill. Holyoake stood 
 aghast before the serious consequences of the action he 
 had taken. It was through a bribe, held out by him to 
 Tillenbaugh, that that person had taken the course he 
 did, in proclaiming the unsoundness of Herbert's mind. 
 Holyoake was haughty and unscrupulous, and had 
 meant, by every means he could use, to separate Her- 
 bert and Leonora : but the result of his plotting alarmed 
 him. His passion for Leonora remained unabated how- 
 ever, and he only waited for opportunity to renew his 
 suit. 
 
 At this time the world was in turmoil with great 
 public agitations. Holyoake had been, at one time, 
 
72 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 thought cold. Suddenly his manner changed, and he 
 appeared to throw himself with enthusiasm into the 
 discussions and measures which preceded the outbreak 
 of the war. It was, in great part, because he knew that 
 Leonora would look with favor upon no one who did 
 not show this spirit. To win her became his ruling 
 purpose. There was in his heart, beside, selfish desire 
 for glory and power. He foresaw, to some extent, the 
 course of events, and felt that the surest path to fame 
 was, at the stime time, the only possible path to the 
 woman he loved. Putnam alone felt entirely hopeful 
 that Herbert still survived. Now that Herbert and Clai- 
 borne were estranged, he knew that he stood closer to 
 Herbert than any male friend ; and he faithfully played 
 the part of a friend. He fought with ardor in Her- 
 bert's cause. He tried to disabuse Mr. Lee of his 
 impression that Herbert was insane, without much 
 success. He talked with Mr. Otis, and only waited for 
 Leonora to gain strength, to approach her upon the 
 same topic. Dr. Benton alone said confidently, that 
 Herbert " was as fine a young fellow as he ever saw. 
 There was no adequate proof of his death. Such a 
 frame ! A doctor, you know, ]\Ir. May, notices such 
 things. Then such a thoughtful mind, and so athirst 
 after truth ! There is no insanity there, you may be 
 sure ; and this escapade of his is not strange. Let his 
 friends bear with him, and I am sure they will be proud 
 of him in the end." 
 
 After a considerable interval, the following letter 
 came to Putnam. Bitterly cynical as it was, Putnam 
 
THE ABYSS. 
 
 73 
 
 yet read it with joy. His friend, at any rate, was 
 living ; and, knowing as he did Herbert's true nature, 
 he felt sure that his spirit could not long remain in this 
 unhappy frame. 
 
 From Herbert Lee to Putnam May. 
 
 " I must do something to kill Time ; and I have got 
 myself into such habits, that I can stab him better with 
 the nib of a pen than in any other way. It is easier to 
 write what somebody will read, than to write only for 
 yourself; so I shall write to you. Once I should have 
 written to Claiborne De Treville, whom in old times I 
 loved — in the days when I could love. What miserable 
 folly ! I write to you, because you, more than any one 
 I know, will take an interest in what I say about my- 
 self. Perhaps you will not care. Oh, well ! it makes 
 no difierence. I only write to kill the time. It will 
 do no good for you to try to find out where I am, as I 
 do not choose now to be discovered. This letter will 
 be mailed at a point hundreds of miles from where I 
 am. I have been silent some months ; and now it is 
 the mere whim of a moment which makes me feel like 
 sending these lines back to the world which I have for- 
 saken, and for which I care so little. 
 
 " I had come to love Leonora Otis ; fool, O pitiful 
 fool that I was, to let that miserable warmth come 
 into my heart toward any human thing ! They called 
 me insane, and turned against me because I was. It 
 was well enough. I needed to be waked up from my 
 wretched folly. Insane! I know my thinking has 
 
 4 
 
74 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 taken deeper hold of me than it does of most men. I 
 will not think it betokens any thing unhealthy. At the 
 island, first the recreation, then my foolish love, were 
 bringing me back into the insanity in which most of this 
 shallow human race exist. My thinking was all going 
 into the background ; and I began to believe, fool that 
 I was, that I could live as men do, take some part in 
 life, feel ambition. Pish ! I am well over that. 
 
 " I will write down something as to what I have 
 done. Read it or not, as you choose. If you burn it, 
 it will make no difference. I do not write to please 
 anybody, — only to kill time. I left the island in the 
 storm. As I stood on the beach, just before launching 
 my dory, the rain beat down, and the gale thundered 
 fiercely about. The surf outside I could hear, roaring 
 hoarsely ; but behind the island, with the wind astern, I 
 was not afraid but what I could make the boat live. 
 I did not care much whether she went down or not. I 
 do not care now. For all I care, they might have 
 drawn my body ashore the next morning, and given me 
 a grave in the bleak burying-ground there. I tell you 
 I had the heart of old Lear ; and through the roar of 
 the storm, out on the waters, I screamed to the winds 
 as he did. It has become second nature to me to 
 balance along on the top of waves. I am sure the will 
 had not much to do with my reaching the mainland in 
 safety that night. I would about as lief have gone 
 down as not, and I feel so now. I suppose the dory 
 was found next day, and perhaps you concluded I was 
 drowned. As she touched the beach, I left her ; and I 
 
THE ABYSS. "^^ 
 
 dare say she ^vas well hammered up before morning. 
 I did not want it any more. 
 
 " I took the train which went through the town near, 
 at two o'clock in the morning, and came to the city. I 
 did not care where I went : only I was determmed to 
 get away. In the city I went to a Jew's shop, and 
 bouc^ht a stout, coarse laborer's suit ; then started agam. 
 So long as I cared to hve, I meant that the bread 
 should come through my hands. I could do it weU 
 enough. My face was brown from tan caught upon 
 the sea ; my'palms, calloused from the oar, could carry 
 burdens, or handle pick or shovel. My coarse blue 
 flannel shirt suited me well. I was in the trim of a 
 boxer, after his training. I cared not whether I broke 
 stones, or went before the mast. I rode in a second- 
 class car, with emigrants, and people of the class into 
 which I had come. 
 
 "I travelled for days, coming at last to a dreary 
 place, where, from mere whim, I stopped. What do 
 I care for dreariness ! I want no better comfort than 
 a sentence now and then from Epictetus, which comes 
 into my mind. These are all < externals,' - things of 
 ' indifferent' moment. Then, do I not remember what 
 the wise old Phrygian freedman wrote : 'Is the house 
 in a smoke? If it be a moderate one, I will stay ; if a 
 very great one, I will go out: for you must always 
 remember and hold to this, that the door is open. 
 Th'ink Fate ! I know the door is open. I am master 
 of my own Ufe; and, when I am utterly sick of the 
 world, this deep, swift-flowing stream, on whose bank 
 
76 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 I sit as I write, will soon quench my agony. For now 
 I can bear the smoke, I think. 
 
 " I was strong and well. I could hold my own well, 
 with men brought up to labor. Strolling westward 
 alono^ the river bank, I crossed a bridore over a little 
 run, — came to a bend, where the river, with mighty 
 shoulders, went heaving hard against the bank, putting 
 into peril, as I could see, the road, which was in danger 
 of caving off into the water. Then I came to a piece of 
 bottom land, evidently covered in freshets, now a tract 
 of bare, grassless mud, dided by the heat, and with its 
 surface cracked everywhere. The road passed on from 
 this toward a low hill, at the base of which rose a scaf- 
 folding, which I found was erected over the mouth of a 
 coal-mine. Here a deep well was sunk, descending 
 straight into the earth. From the mouth of the pit, a 
 railway ran a few rods to the bank of the river, along 
 which went cars, conveying coal to the barges, which lay 
 fastened at the shore. The scaffolding was a frame- 
 work of strong timbers, and contained the machinery 
 for hoisting, which was worked by an engine in a shed 
 close by. Up from the pit also came the great pump, 
 which kept the mine free from water. I leaned upon 
 one of the horizontal beams of the frame-work, and 
 looked down the shaft into the earth. First the drift, 
 then limestone, then a layer dark with the drip of water, 
 then it was black. ' Look out for your head, man.' 
 I drew it back, just as a platform began to descend 
 from the top of the frame into the earth. It nearly 
 filled the area of the shaft, and held five or six black- 
 
THE ABYSS. 77 
 
 ened miners, with their tools, whom the engine rapidly 
 lowered. ^ Go down, if you like,' said the man who 
 had warned me, — a man of intelligent face, in a dress 
 gracefully made, but serviceable. I judged he might 
 be the superintendent. 
 
 " The platform soon came up, heavily laden with coal, 
 which was turned into cars that waited, and hurried 
 down to the river. I stepped on to the platform with 
 the man and two or three miners, each with his tools ; 
 and a tin lamp hung in the front of his greasy cap. 
 We descended at once. The shaft was two hundred 
 feet deep. As we went rapidly down, the hole at the 
 top grew more and more narrow. Upon reaching the 
 bottom, we stepped off into an underground room. 
 The rock was close overhead ; and beams of oak were 
 put here and there, to prop the roof. The flaring lamps 
 in the caps of the miners shone out, showing passages 
 stretching here and there into the darkness. In one 
 corner was a litter of straw ; plainly a stable for animals, 
 A rumbling noise we heard, which grew louder ; and 
 presently a mule came, drawing along a tramway from 
 one of the passages a load of coal, to be taken up the 
 shaft, driven by a dust-covered gnome of a boy, with 
 the lamp in his cap almost brushing with its flame the 
 roof of the mine. 
 
 " The man who had warned me w^as going through 
 part of the mine, and offered to take me. I followed 
 him into one of the passages. We could only walk 
 with stooping. Putting out the hands on either side, I 
 could touch the posts which supported the shaly slate 
 
78 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 above. Behind the posts, I could see, by the lamp 
 which my guide carried, the coal. Through the passage 
 ^tent. the track. Occasionally, rooms opened out into 
 the vein, where men, half sitting, half lying, dug out 
 the coal, placing props here and there, as it was 
 removed. * Here it is dangerous,' said my guide, as 
 we came to a company of men who were roofing, with 
 stout plank, part of the passage, beneath the stone. 
 Large fragments had fallen there, and this was to pre- 
 vent further caving-in. AYe went deep into the earth. 
 The air was dry and good, in spite of the smoke of the 
 lamps, the breaths of the workmen, and the fumes and 
 dust from the blasts of powder, which occasionally I 
 could hear discharged, — a dull rumbling coming to us 
 along the gallery. 
 
 " At length a group of half a dozen men came, run- 
 ning from in front of us : 'A blast I a blast ! ' They 
 had just lighted one, and were flying from it. We 
 turned with them, and were hastening back, when we 
 met a similar company coming from the opposite di- 
 rection, shouting also, 'A blast! a blast ! ' We were 
 between the two fires : but my guide only laughed, and 
 shrusTired his shoulders ; at the same time crouching 
 down on the rock beneath, as did also the other miners, 
 huddling into as dense a group as possible. We were 
 packed together in the narrow passage, as close as we 
 could be crowded. The light of a lamp fell full upon 
 the face of a man whose body lay partly over mine. It 
 was smutty from working in the coal ; but, for some 
 reason or other, I fancied the fellow's expression. With 
 
THE ABYSS. 79 
 
 a shuddering boom, the blast before us exploded, and, 
 almost at the same instant, the blast behind ; scattering 
 coal-dust and small fragments all about and over us, but 
 no pieces of considerable size. The danger was over. 
 The man I had noticed, maintained through it all the 
 same look of recklessness, blended with good-humor; 
 and, as we rose, with a strong brogue uttered some 
 Tjugh expression in keeping with the countenance. 
 Somethinjy about the fellow — call it mao^netism or 
 what you will — attracted me. I was tired of wander- 
 ing. I might as well stay here, I thought, as be any- 
 where ; and might make a friend of this miner as well 
 as any one. In place of Claiborne and Leonora, I 
 took this rouo:h Pat Flanao-an. Will he cast me off as 
 they have done? 
 
 " As we returned toward the bottom of the shaft, my 
 guide, who announced himself as the superintendent, 
 proposed to me to work here in the mine. ^ I did not 
 like to ask you, until I had taken you down ; for some 
 men are rather afraid of it, till they know about it. 
 But, you see, there's good air, not hard work, and good 
 pay. We are short-handed, and would like a stout 
 hand like you. I took up with the offer, and became 
 what I still remain, — a coal miner, two hundred feet 
 under ground, only coming up to sleep. 
 
 " There ! I dare say you have not read thus far. I 
 do not care. It has filled up a little time to write to 
 you, and that is all I wanted. I am as well off here as 
 anywhere. This world I find a smoky house to live in. 
 When it smokes too much, I shall leave it; but, for 
 a while, I choose to hold on." 
 
80 THE TinNKIXG BAYONET. 
 
 After an interval, Herbert wrote to Putnam again. 
 The bitterness had gone ; but the doubt, from the sway 
 of whicli his new-born love had well nigh rescued him, 
 resumed its power, now that his love seemed to come to 
 nought. 
 
 " Months have gone by, Putnam ; and to-night I feel 
 the impulse to write again to you. I do not choose yet 
 to have you know where I am. I am afraid to have 
 you write to me, — afraid to see you. You might over- 
 throw me with some argument; and, as I reflect delib- 
 erately, I am clear that it is better for me to remain as ] 
 am. God keep me from making my judgment blind ! 
 I pray and hope for a faith that will serve me to live 
 by ; standing upon which, I can feel enthusiasm, and do 
 earnest work. I do not find it yet, but doubt and 
 doubt. I cannot follow the aims which men generally 
 follow. I would be true to myself. To live is so 
 deeply earnest. Oh that I could find a place on which 
 to stand ! When I tried sincerely to look dark things 
 in the face, they misunderstood me. I do not know 
 now that I could do diflferently, were I among my old 
 surroundings. I suffer here with my questionings as 1 
 did there. Here, I am free : there, I might perhaps be 
 confined as I have been. It is better for me to be here. 
 The outside of things here is rough and hard ; but what 
 of that ? I care not a straw for any daintiness or pret- 
 tiness to which I have been used. To me, my coarse 
 shirt is as good as broadcloth, and the oaken handle of 
 a pick more congenial than a dainty cane. 
 
 *' I have little idea what I wrote to you months ago. 
 
THE ABYSS. 81 
 
 I presume it was something harsh and desperate. Per- 
 haps it may have alienated you from me ; yet I will not 
 say that. If I was bitter, you know it was because 
 my wretchedness was deep. I fancied such glorious 
 light was breaking upon my shadows ; then to have it 
 go out, and find my darkness deeper than ever, — with- 
 out a purpose, without a faith, without hope ! I shall 
 not write to you harshly now, — never fear it ; but 
 you will not blame me if I show unhappiness. How 
 those deep words of Tennyson, in the 'Two Voices,' 
 come home to me I — 
 
 ' Thou art so full of misery, 
 Were it not better not to be 1 ' 
 
 That dull and bitter voice is so constant to me ! I 
 wonder when I shall hear the other, — 
 
 * The little whisper, silrer clear ; 
 The murmur, " Be of better cheer." ' 
 
 A sentence of Antoninus comes to my mind, '"^Yould 
 you understand yourself and the world? Pray, then, 
 let your library alone. Why need you puzzle your 
 thoughts, and overgrasp yourself?' — something like 
 that. Perhaps it would have been better to let books 
 alone; and yet, I believe, I have ^seldom come upon 
 any form of doubt, the hint of which had not suggested 
 itself previously in my mind. Of myself, I might have 
 come into as deep perplexity as I have reached with the 
 help of others. The old questions lie unanswered. 
 
 " I am a miner still, meantime ; working to feed my- 
 self, and to give myself the desire for sleep, the sweet 
 
 4* 
 
82 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 oblivion ! I wish I could always sleep. Now (remem- 
 ber I have not your faith), if death were only sleep! 
 but the ^ thought of something after death puzzles the 
 will.' I find that I can makc^ comfortable living by 
 half-a-day's work. Pat and I belong to a company of 
 miners, who go down tlie shaft at seven in the morning, 
 with lamps, picks, and powder, to our work. I am not 
 mistaken in Pat. He is uncouth, but has a royal 
 heart. His gratitude is warm toward me for some 
 little favors I have done him. He has been a roving 
 fellow ; turning from one thing to another, keeping to 
 each but a little while ; and, I fancy, not always careful 
 about the innocence of his employment. He has nevei 
 remained so long at one thing as he has now at this 
 business of mining ; in good part, I know, through his 
 
 ^-attachment to me. Rough old fellow that he is ! He 
 is my friend now ; and, if we remain together, I think 
 I may enjoy sometime getting my arms about hif 
 neck, as I used to with Claiborne. Pat has a handi- 
 ness which has given him a position as a workman. I, 
 too, am thought by the superintendent to have showc 
 some judgment and skill. Therefore Pat and I have 
 been set to work with a gang of Cornishmen, brought 
 up, and I do not know but born, in subterranean 
 regions. There are parts of this mine rich in coal, and 
 yet which require judgment and care in the w^orking. 
 
 * The stratum of slate overhead is loose and rotten. 
 Often we are obliged to roof the passages with plank •. 
 and in blasting, and using the pick, great care must be 
 taken against jarring the crumbling stone. The dan- 
 
THE ABYSS. 83 
 
 gerous service of working in these places, Pat and these 
 others like, because it brings more pay. I am indiffer- 
 ent to the peril, and am somewhat soothed and helped 
 by the excitement I sometimes feel. I lie on my side, 
 or stoop, on a pile of fragments, as we are obliged to 
 do, with the smoking light in the front of my greasy 
 cap, and pick away at the vein. 
 
 " Overhead, I have sometimes seen a beautiful fres- 
 coing ; ferns and reeds printed on the flat surface of 
 the slate, showing out as the coal falls away, — painted 
 there so long ago. Poor creatures that we are ! Lit- 
 tle ephemeral flies and beetles ! Slight difference would 
 it make, if we were crushed, — we who supersede races 
 gone, to be superseded by higher and better forms. 
 How it would puzzle some future geologist, my long- 
 fossilized carcass here in the carboniferous ! I am half- 
 tempted, sometimes, to bring the roof down upon my- 
 self, and run my chance of setting wrong the natural- 
 ists of a billion years hence. Fancy some fellow in 
 spectacles, describing me from occiput to heel-bone, 
 and arguing thence the existence of the human race in 
 the time of the coal formations. At noon, I grope my 
 way to the bottom of the pit, and go winking up into 
 the daylight once more; blacker, of course, than an 
 Egyptian, and sour with sweat. 
 
 " These are rough fellows that I live among, but not 
 unkind. At first there was antagonism toward me ; for 
 I could not throw away my breeding and cultivation so 
 far as to appear like one of them. But, when they 
 found I made no assumption, antagonism gave way to 
 
84 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 deference. Pat, too, is my fiist friend. Rough as he 
 is, he is too delicate to press me curiously. The super- 
 intendent here is a good fellow ; one of those men, not 
 uncommon, with a TV^orld of sense and ability in some 
 directions, yet with defects in others. He is a fine 
 geologist ; and detected, through indications on the sur- 
 face, the existence of this coal here. He had some 
 capital, and set to work to open the mine. Others 
 became associated with him. He did the work like a 
 good engineer, — digging the shaft, and running the 
 passages in the best manner ; but the financial part 
 was badly managed. The work cost too much. He 
 failed at last, with his company. Those into whose 
 hands the mine fell, employ him now to oversee. He 
 is very much of a gentleman. ' Bates,' said he, the 
 other day (that is my assumed name) , ' I see through 
 you in part. In your air, yoiu- face, your bearing, you 
 carry the marks of a man of education and gentlemanly 
 habits. I do not know who you are, and do not try to 
 penetrate your secret; for secret you certainly have. 
 You are no rascal who is hiding : that I am sure of. 
 Call me your friend. Live as you like. You take a 
 strange course, but I will not ^ay it is a wrong one. I 
 can think of things that might bring a man down to 
 this, without any fault of his. Call me your friend.' " 
 So wrote Herbert. 
 
 In outward mien, this strong, deep-eyed man was 
 grave and silent, but kind ; and though there was noth- 
 ing in his dress to mark him among the others, it was 
 
THE ABYSS. 85 
 
 very plain that he had sometime been in a different 
 condition. He lived on from week to week ; and, some- 
 how or other, the rumor went out, that there was a 
 strange and romantic mystery about him. One day, 
 there was a little accident at the mine, in which it so 
 happened that he rendered Pat Flanagan an essential 
 service, news of which soon found its way to the town 
 near, where the newspaper put it into a very melo- 
 dramatic dress. The superintendent of the mine 
 became more than kind to him. Herbert liked Pat, 
 and would have been ready to help him for that. In- 
 deed, he would have helped any one ; because there 
 was something in him which made him want to live a 
 brave and good life, although he was so much per- 
 plexed. No doubt, however, the recklessness which he 
 had come to feel made him more ready than he would 
 otherwise have been, to take risks. He began to think, 
 that, if he meant to avoid embarrassment, he. must 
 wander again ; but now the days of his gloom were 
 accomplished. 
 
 When great excitements jar a soul in the condition 
 of Herbert's, the doubt and anguish in the deep places 
 seem to be loosened; yet sometimes, if the excitement 
 is too light, or too suddenly ceases, they settle down 
 again into their old places, as dead and heavy as before. 
 Whfen the doubt and anguish were just sinking within the 
 soul of Herbert, we saw how they were shaken, and 
 almost dispossessed, by the power of eloquence. Again 
 we saw, that, through love for Leonora, the spirit was 
 thrilled through and through, until the dark and dead 
 
SQ THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 things were nearly dispossessed ; but the influence too 
 suddenly ceased, and back they fell into their old places. 
 But now came the solemn, far-reverberating thunder of 
 cannon ! and as, at the booming of cannon, the corpses 
 of drowned men come floating to the surface of water, 
 when the current begins to bear off the pollution, so it 
 happened that under this deep-penetrating, far-thun- 
 dering jar and throb, the doubt and anguish in the 
 deep places of Herbert's soul rose at last, and floated 
 away. 
 
CANNON THUNDER. 87 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CANNON THUNDER. 
 
 From Putnam May to Louisa May. 
 
 " Dear Lou, — I have much to write to you about 
 those whom I am sure you have come to care for in 
 something the way that I do ; and first of Leonora. I 
 have seen her ; and though things have turned far difFer- 
 "ently from what I hoped, yet I am so impressed with 
 what I have seen and heard, as to have almost a new 
 sense of human power. I have beheld a creature level 
 with this great time, I believe. 
 
 " I went to see Leonora about Herbert. As soon as 
 I could learn that she was well enough to bear conver- 
 sation upon a matter which I thought must move her 
 profoundly, I sent her a note, asking for an interview^ 
 She appointed an hour, and I went to her father's 
 house. As I entered the hall, I thought of the time 
 when Herbert stood there in his boat-shirt, and Leo- 
 nora came down the stairs to him, when the rioters 
 were about making their attack. 
 
 " I found her pale and calm. I have told you much 
 about her, but she is changed. The sparkle and life 
 and mirthfulness are gone ; or, if she shows them now, 
 
88 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 it is all intensified and deepened and dignified, so tliat 
 you only think of grand, impetuous power. The mood 
 in which she stood when she held the 'Athaliah' in her 
 hand (I have told you, you remember) — transient in 
 those days, I judge — has become more constant with 
 her. I had hinted to her in my note the subject upon 
 which I wished to speak to her, so that her mind 
 might be prepared. ' I am Herbert Lee's friend,' I 
 began, * and, until his disappearance, was his confi- 
 dant.' She sat like marble. I hesitated, abashed by 
 her calm manner. At length she said coldly, ^ These 
 matters we will adjourn, sir.' There was nothing 
 more to be done. She pushed it all thus quietly 
 aside. 
 
 " My situation was awkward, and I rose as if to go.' 
 She detained me however, saying, in a difl'erent tone, 
 that she saw few people, and her heart was so full she 
 was glad of an opportunity to talk. She spoke of 
 public matters — at first calmly — saying she felt an 
 earnestness she could hardly understand ; an earnest- 
 ness imusual in her age and sex, that perhaps needed 
 apology. ' But you know my parentage,' she said. 
 ' It was in part born with me, I suppose, and in part 
 comes from my nurture. I am my father's true child, 
 I think : Heaven forbid that I should lay claim to his 
 gifts. I hold liim to be nobly eloquent, as are great 
 reformers and martyrs, and kindled by a God-sent 
 power. I claim no part of his gifts, but only a share of 
 his zeal.' As she spoke, she grew more and more 
 earnest, and I could see that the God was beginning to 
 
CANNON THUNDER. 89 
 
 touch the Pythoness. ' What have you come to me to 
 talk of ? a matter suited for a time of ease and peace ; 
 but I tell you my mind is in no condition to think of 
 things fitted for ease and peace. You speak to me 
 of this, when it is as if the crimson light of beacons were 
 streaming about me wide and far, and, wherever I turn, 
 the heavens were cut with the sharp sparkle of signal 
 rockets! — these matters, when such sleep is coming 
 upon so many living eyes ! ' She paused, and paced 
 strongly to and fro, until she became more quiet. 
 * You will think,' she said at last, * that this is strange 
 passion in me, poor woman that I am ! But such days 
 as these are for sacrifice and heroism ! ' She kindled 
 again. * Such noble duty as there is to be done ! Oh, 
 why are not they the times when queens went forth to 
 strive, and weapons were held by the hands of maids !' 
 I can give you little idea of the energy with which all 
 this was spoken, and of the hot flush with which her 
 passion supplanted the pallor of her feebleness. I think 
 I understand her now, — the almost rudeness and wil- 
 fulness which seemed so out of place when I first knew 
 her. That was before the fiery time came. She is not 
 fitted for quiet, e very-day life. It is like trying to make 
 a toy-drum of a hero's corslet, or a plaything of Ex- 
 calibur, for Leonora to try to descend into the coquetry 
 and frivolity of the life of so many young women. 
 The stern sound of the armor would terrify, the sword 
 would wound and pierce ; and so Leonora, in an or- 
 dinary time, and among light chatter, continually 
 shocked. 
 
90 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 " I tell you I pitied her. Above her broad brow it 
 was meant that a helmet should sit, if it was ever so. 
 She has the power to lead an army corps, or rule a 
 state ; and there is no sphere for her ! As I looked 
 upon her, so thrilled with her passion, the pallor gone, 
 the black hair, through her energetic walk, sliaken 
 down upon her slioulders, I thought of the old Spartan 
 nurture. I could well fancy, too, that in some such 
 guise as that, Boadicea in her scythe-armed chariot 
 swept down upon London. And yet there was nothing 
 barbarian in the power. It was force, combined with 
 the highest refinement. Leonora seemed to me there 
 to embody the genius, the aspiration, the noble ire, of 
 the time : fierce, but with a hallowed and justifiable 
 rage ; a grand soul kindled into heat, all consuming, 
 and yet sanctified. * At least,' said she, with bitter- 
 ness and a curl of sarcasm, ' I will do with my poor 
 woman's strength what I may. I will be where they 
 do battle, if I may not join. I will go to the front, and 
 bind up wounds.' And that is what she has done. 
 
 " That is Leonora in these times ; and now here is 
 Herbert. I send you his last letter to me, which came 
 a few days ago ; most cheerful, you see, full of new- 
 born hope and faith : — 
 
 From Herheii Lee to Putnam May. 
 
 " ^ Joy, joy, dear friend. I think I can do something. 
 I am at last, I believe, carried out of myself. I feel a 
 vigor and purpose within me, which I pray God is 
 nothing transient, which I believe will prove enduring. 
 
CANNON THUNDER. 91 
 
 I trust that ray souL at last stands with firm feet on 
 eternal rock. Let me hurry to tell you all. 
 
 " ' The other clay, after work was done, a steamer, on 
 its way southward, stopped at the mine to coal. I 
 went down to the boat, as I often do ; and, under the 
 sunset, took my seat on the bow, which was well 
 heaped up with freight, watching the bustle of the 
 hands, and sometimes looking up to the deck in front 
 of the cabin, to see the faces of the well-dressed world, 
 of which I no longer count myself a member. The 
 river was high, and, as always is the case at such times, 
 full of drift-wood. Uprooted trees, logs, sawn timbers, 
 — every thing which gathers on the bank of a great 
 river goes rushing down with the flood, covering the 
 stream so thickly sometimes as to impede the progress 
 of the steamers. It goes from these Western forests to 
 the Gulf. Much of it finds its way into the Gulf 
 Stream ; and after months, sometimes years, it is cast 
 ashore in strange regions. 
 
 "'What voyages, I thought, these beeches and oaks, 
 this refuse from American saws, may be embarked 
 upon ! - They will be bleached under the dash of seas 
 in far-away climates ; the shell-fish will cling to them ; 
 the seal and the sea-bird, make them a temporary perch. 
 Perhaps, some day, these trees that float by me now, 
 whitened and riven beneath the maces of the storm, 
 may be stranded on the North Cape, or furnish fuel for 
 the pot of some Russian whaleman in Spitzbergen. So 
 they sweep through strange experiences to strange des- 
 tinations, the sport of currents and tempests ; and so 
 
92 THE TIIESTCING BAYONET. 
 
 (you know that I moralize inveterately) , waif that 1 
 am I I have been torn from the spots where I rooted 
 and grew, and have come to strange shores. 
 
 " ' While I sat thinking, upon a box of freight, in 
 the hubbub, a disturbance took place upon the upper 
 deck, in front of the cabin. Some of the passengers 
 had been gambling, and a black waiter came flying out 
 with loud cries. I looked up, and saw that he was 
 pursued by a white man with clenched fists. Others 
 of the passengers came out ; and I gathered from the 
 talk that came do^vn to me from the deck, that the negro, 
 going from the bar, through some carelessness had 
 spilled liquor upon this person, who at once flew into a 
 violent rage, struck the servant, and was flying after 
 him to strike him again. I cared little for the brawl, 
 and was turning my face again toward the river, when 
 my eye fell upon the face of the man who had shown 
 this violence. It was now growing dark ; but the torch 
 of cannel coal by which the hands were working, shed a 
 light full upon him. Do you anticipate me? It was 
 Claiborne De Treville ! 
 
 "*My first impulse brought me at once to my feet, 
 and I had nearly called his name. Then, remembering 
 my situation, — the estrangement which would have 
 remained between us, even w^ere I in the position in 
 life in which I had known him, — my next impulse was 
 to hurry away, lest I might be observed. What I did 
 at last was this. The stage just here was being drawn 
 in, and the hands had gone out to unmoor the cable 
 that held the boat to the shore. It was high time for 
 
CANNON THUNT)ER. 
 
 93 
 
 me to go. I stayed, however, in my place ; resolving, 
 to go down the river to the next landing, and retiu:n 
 during the night upon some upward-bound boat. 
 Something of my old feeling toward him came rushing 
 to my he^rt. It brought up careless, happy memories. 
 " I will," I thought, " at least be near him, if we must 
 not meet." 
 
 " ' The evening went on as the boat rushed rapidly 
 forward. The air was warm ; and Claiborne, soon re- 
 covering from his anger, — as used to be the case, you 
 remember, in old times, — sat with a gentleman close 
 upon the edge of the deck, with the arm of his chair 
 against the rail. The freight was piled high upon the 
 bow ; and only from the desire to be near him, and hear 
 his voice, I climbed over the hogsheads and barrels, 
 and found a place, where, sitting with my back agamst 
 one of the great timbers supporting the deck, I was 
 directly under him. I had no idea of eavesdropping, 
 but thought there would be no harm in my hearing 
 conversation which others, who sat as near him on the 
 deck as I was, covdd also hear perfectly weU. I was 
 surprised to find him there. I knew he went abroad 
 some time ago, but supposed that he had returned'. 
 From a sentence or two that he let di'op, I gathered 
 that he had just arrived ; and, though he was silent 
 about his destination, I knew it was right to suppose 
 that he was on his way to the South. 
 
 " ' As he talked, he became excited. " Slavery," said 
 he, " Good Heavens ! why cannot these shallow fellows 
 see, that no more beneficent institution has ever been 
 
94 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 seen on the face of the earth ! What is it but this that 
 brings the barbarian into civilization ! Look at the 
 savage. He will only expend his energy in fighting. 
 He will not work himself, — makes his women, and the 
 captives he takes in war, do his work for him. In 
 antiquity it was so. Nation after nation, at one time 
 or another, passed under the yoke, and were made to 
 work. What was the effect of it all? Why this, — 
 that, through this beneficent means, they gained a habit 
 of industry, saw what things could be done by work. 
 The disposition to sluggishness and fighting was weak- 
 ened, and a way prepared for an industrial civilization. 
 Slavery ! I believe in it from my soul, though my 
 views are different from those generally held, perhaps, 
 by pro-slavery men. These Northern men, — work- 
 men, and proud of being workmen, — why are they 
 workmen but for this ? that Norman conquerors, eight 
 centuries ago, subdued them, and made them serfs. 
 Mere hunters and fighters they were : but these Nor- 
 mans put them to the soil, and to the arts ; made them 
 labor until they got the habit of labor. I am of this 
 Norman stock, and would do here, in this new world 
 and with this other race, what was done in the old by 
 my ancestors. I do not set these negroes down as 
 mere brutes. The stock is as good, perhaps, as were 
 those Saxon boors whom William and his followers put 
 under foot. They are indolent barbarians ; that is all. 
 I shall do them a service by holding them under my 
 mastery. Under this mastery, they will, in time, learn 
 to' work, become industrious, and reach the level of 
 
CANNON THUNDER. 95 
 
 these Northern people, who were once as low down as 
 they. I belong to these Normans — tamers we are ! 
 We have tamed these Saxon boors ; we will tame these 
 negroes, and some day tame still other races." And so 
 he went on. 
 
 "^As he spoke, he rose, seized with one hand the 
 light pillar that rose from the deck, and gesticulated 
 nervously with the other. In the moonlight, I could 
 see the working of his lips, and the clutching of his 
 hands. 
 
 " ' The negro whom Claiborne had struck, here came 
 out of the cabin, with his head bandaged. As Clai- 
 borne caught sight of him, he stopped in his talk, and 
 went toward him at once. " Well, boy, I did more 
 than I meant to. I did not expect to make a bruise 
 like that." And, taking off the bandage, he went into 
 the cabin, returning presently with it wet with some 
 healing application. Then he put something into the 
 negro's hand, which I could not see ; but I judged from 
 the black's expression, that he thought the affair had not 
 turned out so badly for him after all. Then Clai- 
 borne came back, and renewed his talk. It was in a 
 lower tone ; but he grew more vehement, then broke 
 out at last, "I hate the North;" — then paused, and 
 said, in a tone full of tenderness, " and yet the only 
 man I ever loved was a Northerner." Think of that 
 coming in, Putnam ! It thrilled me through and 
 through. It woke up the old affection ; and he was to 
 me then the same dear warm heart that he was when 
 we slept together when w^e were boys. .Here the 
 
96 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 steamer whistled, swept off into the river, rounded to 
 with bow up stream, and came to a stop before a 
 town. I climbed down from the pile of freight. 
 Standing on shore, I gazed upon Claiborne's face, lit 
 up by the red, wavering light of the torches. 
 
 " * Suddenly, from the darkness that rested upon the 
 town behind, tolled a quick, deep bell ; and a man, with 
 head uncovered, and face working eagerly in the light 
 of the torch, rushed with mad leaps down from the 
 bank, and on to the boat. He brought news, Putnam, 
 of the outbreak of the war ; and, while the people were 
 in tumult, the boat was unmoored, and Claiborne was 
 borne away from me. 
 
 " ^ Before long, an upward-bound steamer touched at 
 the town, and I had the opportunity to go back. I sat 
 alone under the night, thrilled and panting as I have 
 not been for. many weary days. 
 
 "'I thought to myself, and I was astonished, even 
 while I thought, at the earnestness with which the 
 reflections rushed through my mind, " O, Claiborne ! I 
 will not argue whether or not the barbarian is raised by 
 his servitude, as you claim ; yet how is it with the 
 masters ? Do we not know how in antiquity the mas- 
 ter races rotted, and came to nought, through the cor- 
 rupting effects of this servitude which they forced upon 
 others? and cannot we see, in your class to-day, that 
 you, too, sink deeper, year by year, toward the savage? 
 You yourself, — man of culture though you are, observer 
 of the world, and thinker, with kindness of the heart 
 which I know, oh how well ! — what is this ungoverna- 
 
CANNON THUNDER. 
 
 97 
 
 ble fury about a trifle, into which you fell, not an hour 
 ago, but a wild, foolish wrath truly barbarian? O 
 Claiborne ! your enslaving of these men is only crime, 
 — crime for which you are bitterly punished ; and, this 
 very hour, you bear upon yourself the marks of your 
 punishment. This terrible rage, and the other furious 
 passions that go with it, and which I know so weU 
 dwell in your heart, —it is barbarism coming fast upon 
 you ; the great red wale upon your soul, where the un- 
 sparing lash of eternal Justice is falling [ " 
 
 "'These were the hot thoughts that charged my 
 breast ; and, as I say, I was amazed to find my mind, for 
 60 long utterly cold and listless, glowing now with such 
 vivid fire. And now what came of it ? Will you think 
 it inconsistent that I made up my mind, in that hour, 
 to enlist ; to go right into deadly fight with Claiborne, 
 toward whom my old friendship was just kindling anew? 
 I -concluded to enlist, and for this reason : But for this 
 barbarian taint, ha would Jiave the noblest of all the 
 natures of men that I have known. Because he has it, 
 for a useful purpose in the world he is almost worth- 
 less ; liis virtues cancelled in their action by this ruth- 
 less violence and untempered appetite. I say it while 
 I love him. I will do what I can to overthrow what 
 brmgs upon noble men this unholy curse. If I know 
 myself, it is not from any narrow motive that I go : not 
 for a class ; not for country, indeed ; but for mankind. 
 I tell you, this fire of mine is a sudden thing, and may 
 not be lasting. But no : I will not say that. It will 
 endure. It is sent of God ; and, on my knees, I have 
 
98 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 solemnly given thanks to God for the kindling of my 
 soul.' 
 
 Putnam, here resuming, goes on to say, — 
 "That is Herbert in these times; and now, Lou, 
 rejoice with me, that, as the gloom within his mind 
 begins to break, he is at last found. My trunk is 
 packed ; and to-morrow I take the early train. I shall 
 not dissuade him from going as a soldier ; but I would 
 have him go in some position where he can do better 
 service than in the ranks. No doubt he feels, that, if 
 he should return to his friends, there would be only 
 delay and embarrassment ; and his fresh and warm 
 enthusiasm impels him to go forward at once by the 
 first path which opens. I will tell you, in a moment, 
 how I found him ; but, first, have you heard that Hol- 
 yoake too, like Leonora and Herbert, has gone to the 
 war? He has gone as colonel of the regiment the 
 * Guards ' formed ; the organization, of which both Her- 
 bert and he were members in their youth, — both con- 
 spicuous for their soldierly bearing and proficiency. 
 Holyoake has gone for personal glory, and to win 
 Leonora, I believe, — not from interest in the cause; 
 for I hold it to be proved, that he is false and selfish : 
 and yet he rode nobly, with the silver eagles on his 
 shoulders, at the head of his full battalions, down 
 through the multitudes ! His are eyes as fitted to 
 beam through a helmet's bars as were ever those of 
 ancient knight, and never shape more martial bestrode 
 war-horse. But he is false, false ! 
 
 " Have I ever told you, that Herbert's father came to 
 
CANNON THUNDER. 99 
 
 his death some three months ago ? He received a 
 severe injury at his warehouse, which soon brought him 
 to his end. A healthy, active man of fifty-five he was, 
 who might have lived until ninety. He left no will ; 
 and there is no heir but Herbert, who comes into pos- 
 session of a large estate. It has been known that I 
 have received letters from him once or twice ; and ap- 
 plication was made to me for information. The letters, 
 however, give but little clue. He is buried in a coal- 
 mine upon some western river ; but, in his description 
 of his surroundings, he has always been careful to 
 speak very generally, — saying only what would apply 
 to many places. I have felt, that, if we could find 
 him, we could induce him now to come back. Tillen- 
 baugh has turned out a miserable impostor. Not long 
 ago, he was found guilty of a very gross case of mal- 
 practice, and would have been imprisoned if he had not 
 escaped. It was he, you know, who pronounced Her- 
 bert insane ; and he also was at the bottom of the 
 censure which many were inclined to pass upon Dr. 
 Benton for refusing to keep Herbert at the Shepherd 
 Asylum Dr. Benton has been active in befriending 
 Herbert ; and, now that Tillenbaugh is unveiled, every 
 one is willing to believe that Herbert has been perse- 
 cuted. The case has attracted considerable notice ; 
 and now that Mr. Lee has so suddenly died, and the 
 heir is wanted, there are numbers of persons who are 
 interested. 
 
 "You see, Herbert gives very little more clue than 
 he has done heretofore to his whereabouts. Insane ! 
 
100 THE THIXEXNG BAYONET. 
 
 Why, my blood bums to think of the charge, and what 
 the poor fellow has been made to suffer through it ! I 
 can hardly believe — and yet, I suppose, it must be the 
 case — that it was through some inducement held out 
 by Holyoake, that Tillenbaugh so suddenly began to 
 take the active part that he did, in influencing Mr. Otis 
 and others against Herbert. So haughty, so selfish ! 
 Yet he is the man, forsooth, admired and feasted ! 
 Indeed, he will be a brave soldier ; but his bravery 
 is alloyed with a miserable baseness, if my suspicion is 
 correct. It is his love for Leonora, perhaps, whioh 
 carries him beyond all bounds. I know she does not 
 love him. She is outwardly polite to him, as a lady 
 should be to her father's friend, and to one who is, in 
 manner, a thorough gentleman. I think she may have 
 some admiration for him, as one who will, in terrible 
 dangers, uphold the cause to which she is so thor- 
 oughly devoted ; but Leonora will never give him 
 her hand. 
 
 "Well, this letter came. I had just finished reading 
 it when it came to be time for me to go to town, as I 
 do on Saturdays, to dine, you know, with Mr. Blancard 
 and his family, — the gentleman w^ho is so polite to me. 
 After dinner, said he, ^ By the way, Mr. May, I have 
 something here a little in your line. To-day, I have 
 heard of quite a hero out West. I will read you the 
 facts. You can make out an address for a Sunday- 
 school from them, or perhaps point a sermon with 
 them.' With that, he took out a letter. It seems Mr. 
 Blancard is President of the Castleton Mining Com- 
 
CANNON THUNDER. 101 
 
 pany ; and this letter was from the superintendent of 
 the mine, giving a report of affairs. The business 
 details, which took up most of the letter, were omitted, 
 of course, as ^Ir. Blancard read ; but here is the end. 
 I got Mr. Blancard to tear off the page which contains 
 it ; and I send it to you : — 
 
 TJie Superintendenfs Letter. 
 
 " * Yesterday, we came near having a serious catas- 
 trophe at the mine. A portion of the mine, I have 
 considered, for some time, to be in rather a dangerous 
 condition. The stratum of shale which roofs the pas- 
 sage is unusually brittle ; and, in taking out the coal, 
 great care is necessary. We have employed, in the 
 passages and rooms in this part of the mine, only our 
 best men, — Cornishmen, and our most careful hands. 
 Although there has been this weakness of the roof, I 
 have judged, that, with caution, it was safe to send the 
 men there. The vein in that direction is very rich; 
 and perhaps that has made me overbold in working 
 there. Yesterday, however, the roof cracked with a 
 sound like thunder, and several large fragments fell. I 
 hurried to the spot, or as near as I dared venture ; for 
 I happened, at that time, to be in the mine. The fear- 
 ful cracking continued. The hands were hurrying out ; 
 and, though every moment we felt almost sure that the 
 whole roof woukl fall, — as it was, the falling frag- 
 ments began to choke the passage, — yet still the rock 
 did not give way entirely. All were safely out at last 
 at the foot of the shaft, as we thought ; but, on calling 
 
102 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 the roll, I found that one was missing, — a man named 
 Patrick Flanagan. 
 
 "* A Cornishman, who had been working near him, 
 spoke up, saying that a large fragment fell, after which 
 he heard Flanagan cry out. The probability was, that 
 he had been struck by the falling piece, disabled from 
 escaping with the rest, and left behind in the panic to 
 be crushed, as seemed probable. As this became 
 known, a hand named Bates sprang forward ; and, 
 though some sought to hold him, was presently rushing 
 back, as fast as the obstructed passage allowed, into 
 the danger. We watched the flare of his lamp as he 
 went farther and farther ; the mine, meantime, echoing 
 every minute with the cracking roof. We never ex- 
 pected to see him again alive. Flanagan had been 
 working at the very end of the passage. It was some 
 minutes before the glare of the light appeared again ; 
 but it came at last. Bates had Flanagan upon liis 
 back. He is a man of great strength. Flanagan was 
 wedged in by a heavy fragment, which few men could 
 have removed. Bates, however, lifted it off. None 
 of Flanagan's bones were broken, though he was badly 
 bruised. 
 
 It was a very heroic act on Bates's part ; but 
 no one was surprised. This Bates is a remarkable 
 character. He appeared at the mine a year or more 
 ago. I found him, one day, looking into the mouth 
 of the shaft, — a tall, broad-shouldered man, in > a 
 rpugh, dirty dress ; well tanned, and hard-handed like 
 a laboring man ; and yet with an uncommon look of 
 
CANNON THUNDER. 103 
 
 intelligence, I thought then, in his blue eyes and about 
 his face. His expression was stern, and rather sad ; his 
 carriage was that of a gentleman. We were short for 
 help, then, and I engaged him at once; and he has 
 worked ever since. He worked well, for he is strong 
 and tough beyond most men ; and his intelligence 
 soon gave him a position. I put him with our first- 
 class hands. He came to be much looked up to among 
 the men. He is very reserved ; but, in spite of the 
 soot and dirt, you can see that he is a gentleman. 
 There Is some mystery about him. Certainly he is no 
 scoundrel who is hiding here. Respectfully yours, 
 
 "'Peel Egberts, 
 
 " '■Superintendent of Castleton Coal Mines.'' 
 
 (Putnam resumes :) "You may imagine my condition 
 at this. Here was my friend ; the man whom, above 
 all others almost, I have held In honor, and whom, 
 now that he seems to be coming out into this faith and 
 trust, I should prefer, most of all men, to resemble ; 
 the lono^ lost at last found. I shook with mv easfcr- 
 ness ; and, knowing my tendency to palpitation, I was 
 really alarmed. Mrs. Blancard, in her silks, looked 
 amazeci ; and Mr. Blancard waited for an explanation. 
 When I was a little recovered, I accounted for my 
 agitation. Mr. Blancard kncAv" something about the 
 circumstances. Herbert's father was widely known in 
 business circles ; and his death, the condition of his 
 property, and the disappearance of his only son, were 
 familiar to them. 
 
104 THE THmKIXG BAYONET. 
 
 "I start to-morrow for Castleton, to bring Herbert 
 back to his friends. If he goes to the war, it will be 
 easy for him to go in a position where his abilities can 
 be more valuable than in the rank». I must go quick ; 
 for, as you see, he is about to leave Castleton. I 
 hardly think it possible he can go, and leave no trace 
 of himself." 
 
CHEVRONS. 
 
 105 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CHEVRONS. 
 
 Herbert Lee is a sergeant; for his bearing, and 
 familiarity with drill, give him some position at once 
 among the men with whom he takes his place. Let us 
 call the regiment which he has joined, the Lowell Regi- 
 ment, after noble men. They are to re-enforce a post 
 lately taken. At length comes tfie morning of arrival. 
 The pilot and captain of their steamer are in the fore- 
 top ; and word comes down to the men crowding on 
 deck, that they can see the sails of the frigates hanging 
 loose within the harbor to which the vessel is bound. 
 Now a pilot-boat is met off the bar of the harbor. 
 Soon there is no lack of excitement ; for the ship is in 
 the channel, and every minute the ground upon which 
 a famous action has lately been fought comes more 
 plainly into view. In a few months, the Lowell Regi- 
 ment will look upon such a scene with indifference ; but 
 now it is new. The pilot-boat brings word, that th^ 
 gun-boats to-day have steamed away to engage a rebel 
 . fort not far off; and that, any moment, the sound of 
 their guns may be heard. A sailor, with the lead, 
 each moment sings out his monotonous, long-drawn cry, 
 
 5* 
 
106 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 as the vessel goes slowly forward. Now the captured 
 fort is in plain sight, — a low embankment on a low 
 shore. Herbert can see behind it the tents of a great 
 camp ; trees, in full leaf, of shapes strange to him ; 
 glistening bayonets, and the long lines of regiments at 
 drill. 
 
 As he stands near the pilot-house, he sees the 
 steamer's captain, who is talking with the colonel, 
 point ahead to a black buoy upon the water. " There 
 was our position during the fight, — just inside that 
 buoy : hardly out of range ; but they liad no shots to 
 spare for the transports." The steamer had been pres- 
 ent at the fight. A few turns of the paddles, and the 
 vessel is at the anchorage. Then, with a crash, over- 
 board goes the anchor, dragging after the great chain ; 
 and, in due time, the regiment sets foot upon the sandy 
 shore. 
 
 Long rows of unpainted extempore warehouses 
 stretch inland from an unfinished pier. The regi- 
 ment forms its line near piled-up barrels, spars, and 
 ordnance-stores ; then camps as it may. Herbert, alive 
 with the novelty of every thing, fortunately enough 
 is ordered upon duty which gives him an opportunity 
 to look about. He passes near the quarters of the 
 general commanding the post, — a room at one end of 
 a temporary building, — within -which, looking past the 
 sentry, he can see a camp-bedstead ; a military saddle ; 
 an unpainted pine case, standing on an elegant tapestry 
 carpet ; a marble-topped table and a rough stove, — a 
 mixture of plain camp-furniture, and elegant articles 
 
CHEVEOXS. 
 
 107 
 
 saved from the wholesale pillage to which the negroes 
 had subjected the deserted plantation-houses. Herbert 
 finds a guide in a soldier off duty, who was present at 
 the action ; and, together, they go to see the fort. The 
 sentries, on drawbridge and rampart, are good-natured ; 
 asking the news by the steamer, and allowing the ser- 
 geant to pass. Here is the old palisade, — here the 
 embankment ; and soon they are within the low parapet 
 which runs about the enclosure, turning into angles and 
 bastions. These are Union guns ; but those tremendous 
 fellows were taken from the rebels. This one is splen- 
 didly sighted ; and a skilful gunner can draw a bead 
 with it on a ship's side two miles away, as surely as a 
 hunter upon a squirrel. This piece was struck by 
 a bolt right here at the muzzle, where a deep dent in 
 the solid metal shows the force of the blow. This had 
 a trunnion knocked off by a shot, and is worthless. 
 That pile of wooden fragments, so splintered, is made 
 up of the enemy's gun-carriages, split to pieces by shot 
 from our fleet : so says Herbert's guide. Here is an 
 underground passage through the parapet to the outer 
 rifle-pits, where a sheU penetrated, which slew a sur- 
 geon. On this traverse ran the gun which, of all the 
 rebel pieces, was best handled. Here was a certain 
 red-shirted fellow, very brave and skilful, who won 
 admiration from the whole Union fleet, until at length, 
 as Herbert's guide saw himself, a shot struck the para- 
 pet close at his side. He was seen no more, nor was 
 the gun again fired ; but, when our forces landed, it 
 was found hurled from its carriage ; while a corse or 
 
108 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 two, — one in a red shirt, — and a mangled limb here 
 and there, made known the deadly effect of the shell. 
 This is the magazine. Herbert cannot enter, but looks 
 with curiosity at the piles of grape-shot bound together 
 by iron rings ; at the huge balls and shells, and the 
 furnaces for heating shot, whose iron has been burned 
 by intense fire, — all materials captured with the for- 
 tress. " Only a few weeks ago ! " Herbert thinks. He 
 leaps on to the low parapet, with the ditch and stockade 
 in front. The sea is beautifully smooth, and over him 
 breathes a summer breeze. In the distance behind, are 
 the camps ; and softly, from a mile away, comes the 
 music of a fine band. Herbert's face is grave, as he 
 sits in the midst of the wreck, and listens to the story 
 of his companion ; but he has chosen his path. " God 
 knows," he thinks, "I have no love for this work of 
 strife. God knows that I wish well to my race, — 
 intelligence, -vdrtue, joy, to all human kind. In the 
 way of all this, stands a terrible power, not to be 
 beaten down or driven off, but by cannon-missile and 
 sword-thrust. With my life in my hand, I come to 
 walk in bitter and desperate paths, trusting that my 
 suffering, perhaps sacrifice, may tend to make the world 
 more holy and peaceful at tlie last." 
 
 Then Herbert goes out to new fortifications, which 
 the Union general has thrown up. Soldiers every- 
 where ; sentries at every few rods. A regiment at 
 review marches past ; a picket from an out-post, just 
 relieved ; then a company of axemen from the woods. 
 Here now are the new intrenchments ; a swarm of 
 
CHEVKONS. 109 
 
 soldiers at work; a long, irregular line, re-entering 
 constantly in angles and bastions, with cannon and 
 mortars mounted on the platform behind. Herbert 
 surveys the inside ; then the outside, where the strength 
 of the work is more apparent, — frowning everywhere 
 with embrasures, — a huge cannon -mouth guarding 
 every possible approach. Then Herbert passes negro 
 cabins, and the deserted mansions of planters. He 
 turns in the dusk at last, — his progress lit up by the 
 glare of camp-fires, and the new moon. He goes full 
 of thought. Side by side with the destruction, he has 
 seen the liberated slave. " A bitter price to pay ; but 
 is not the freeing of these millions worth it ? It is • the 
 only way." 
 
 Herbert's introduction to real danger takes place the 
 very next day. His company is detailed to go as 
 escort to a colonel, who is despatched on a gun-boat, 
 through dangerous waters, to carry certain orders. 
 
 The water is blue and beautiful ; the shores, finely 
 w^ooded. All is green, sweet, peaceful ; with every 
 little while a plantation-house, backed by its rows of 
 negro -cabins, appearing on the bank through palm 
 and cypress. All is innocent. Arcadian ; the sweetest 
 rural peace. Now, the broader stream — an arm of 
 the sea — in which they have been advancing is aban- 
 doned, and the steamer takes a narrower channel. 
 The men on board could almost jump ashore in many 
 places ; but the water is deep. Here is a planter's 
 landing, where vessels from the North are unloading 
 coal, and one is taking on horses. A few rods back, 
 
110 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 Herbert sees the deserted mansion. The orange-groves 
 about the place are green. Sweet is the wind in the 
 branches of the live-oaks ; grotesque, the palmetto and 
 cane. A score of nooks, one can see on either shore ; 
 delicious arbors within arching boughs ; vistas stretch- 
 ing away into fields of cotton and cane. The blue 
 coats of a picket-guard are in the garden. A sentry 
 paces here in a pretty retreat. Korthern coal is being 
 cast, ton after ton, into the bowers and along the ave- 
 nues ; for this is to be a depot. 
 
 A pilot is taken on, and the gunboat steams forward. 
 Contrabands come down from their cabins to look at 
 the passing boat. Herbert can see the tottling chil- 
 dren raise their arms, and hear them call. "There is 
 devastation," Herbert thinks; "but, little innocents, 
 you shall come up through it all into better opportuni- 
 ties." The frequent sentinels along the shore pause in 
 their beat. Ducks and cranes swarm alons: the stream. 
 A smoke is seen ahead. What can it be ? They are 
 on dangerous ground here ; passing points where no 
 ti*oops have been stationed. Who can say what dan- 
 gers lurk in those unpenetrated thickets ! Herbert and 
 his comrades are eager ; for danger is not yet their 
 familiar. They look at their rifles, to have them ready 
 in case a volley is required. What can the smoke be? 
 The pilot and commander of the gunboat confer. Can 
 it be that a hostile gunboat has ventured so near to the 
 Federal force? It is only a false alarm ; for, as a bend 
 is cautiously turned, a Federal transport is seen carry- 
 ing a picket-force to a distant island. 
 
CHEVRONS. Ill 
 
 Herbert talks with the crew, who have been in these 
 waters before. They point out a fine mansion, with a 
 colony of neat white cabins close at hand ; deserted 
 now by its former owner and his family, as are all 
 the plantations for leagues. The sailors tell Herbert, 
 that there lived the lady who sent a present of coffin- 
 handles to their captain, who had known her in for- 
 mer days. They were brought by a fine black boy, 
 who liked his new company too well ever to go back to 
 his mistress. They are close in to beautiful shores : 
 a summer sea, a summer air, a summer landscape. A 
 hazy mist, almost like August, hangs over the distant 
 clumps of trees. Arbors and glades open on the shore, 
 where one would love to lie for hours to breathe in the 
 beauty and balmy air. A sweet languor hangs over 
 every thing, as if these were the retreats of the lotos- 
 eaters. Through yonder leafy dell, Herbert thinks, 
 might come the " mild-eyed, melancholy company," that 
 met Ulysses and his crew coming from the far-resound- 
 ing sea. If it were not for du|y, he feels as if he " had 
 had enough of action and of motion," and would like 
 to live with the contrabands in those fragrant groves. 
 
 The crane, startled by the wheels of the gunboats, 
 draws her long legs under her body, and flies away, — 
 a huge, strange bird to the soldiers. Turkey-buzzards 
 wheel over Herbert's head, making him wonder what 
 impurities these scavengers of the air can find in such 
 perfumed retreats. Boom ! far away to the southward. 
 Boom ! again. They feel it, ^rather than hear it, — a 
 long, deep jar that shakes the air. What is it? Where 
 
112 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 is it? From the city that is beleaguered forty miles 
 away? or in the sound, through which steal the swift 
 blockade-runners ? They see distant smoke arise ; again 
 the discharge of heavy ordnance. "Eleven-inch," say 
 the sailors familiar with the sound. Report after re- 
 port. "It is sharp firing," say the sailors. "There 
 must be an engagement somewhere." Two or three 
 columns of dense black smoke rise behind a headland. 
 "There," says the commander of the gunboat to the 
 colonel, — " there are rebel gunboats. We always 
 know them by their smoke. They bum here pitch-pine 
 for fuel. They are surely coming down." It has the 
 effect to make crew and soldiers even more on the alert. 
 A headland is passed ; then, across a broad reach of 
 water far away, right in the sun - gleam, a rebel 
 strong-hold lies in view. Now it is only a black dash 
 lying low on the marsh, just above the water, with the 
 flag-staff, visible through the spy-glasses, near one end. 
 On the left is a point of land, with a strong battery. 
 Two large armed boat*, full of^Federal troops, row 
 past. Boom ! again the distant reverberation. The 
 gimboat goes nearer ; and, with a glass, Herbert can 
 see the rebel flag, as yet a mere dot at the top of the 
 staff. The sandy bar now lies just before the vessel, 
 upon which the party are to land. On the beach is 
 an old martello-tower, — Spanish, or pe.rhaps Nor^, — 
 dating back far beyond the memory of this generation. 
 Two rakish gunboats, on the watch for blockade-run- 
 ners, pulling at their anchors like hounds in leash, lie 
 close in shore. Back are the tents of the force which 
 
CHEVRONS. , 113 
 
 is thrown forward here ; and the stars and stripes pushed 
 up into the very fire of the rebel fort. The fresher 
 breeze comes from seaward, inspiring all with buoy- 
 ancy and heartiness. 
 
 The gunboat is within long-range of the fort, whose 
 casemates and pointed guns Herbert can very plainly 
 see. A word from an officer, and the great pivot 
 amidships is manned ; each sailor in his place. A lan- 
 yard is jerked ; a deafening burst ; a shiver and settling 
 of the little vessel's hull under the recoil ; then the 
 hoarse hurtle of the great projectile towards the fort. 
 Three times they fire ; and at the last shot, in a little 
 jet of flame and smoke, the shell explodes on the edge 
 of the parapet. 
 
 A knot of soldiers stands on the beach. The gun- 
 boat passes the stem of one of the anchored vessels, — 
 the officers at the stern, in gold-banded caps, saluting 
 the colonel and his companions ; then steams on still 
 nearer the fort. They are now less than two miles dis- 
 tant ; and such a spaccf over water in a clear air, seems 
 very short. "If we go any nearer, we shall surely 
 have a shot," a sailor says. They all watch the dark 
 fort ; expecting, every instant, to see the spirt of smoke 
 from a casemate ; then hear the whistling, flapping roar 
 of the coming shell. But no shot comes. The gim- 
 boat dances about on the swells, — a hard mark to hit, 
 probably the rebel gunners think. 
 
 The colonel and his party land ; the officer going 
 forward, conducted bv an aide of the g^eneral in com- 
 mand ; the escort, a little in the rear. They go up 
 
114 THE THIXKING BAYONET. 
 
 through the sand, past the old martello-tower, — a con- 
 crete of shells and mortar. "Very tough, that," says 
 a sergeant, fraternizing with Herbert. " A shell from 
 the fort struck it the other day, and only made ardent." 
 " Do they fire often now ? " inquires Herbert. " Yes : 
 two shells have just been thrown in. One struck the 
 beach, just opposite the tower there ; we are passing 
 the spot now : the other struck near our general's 
 tent." 
 
 Several good regiments are posted here. There are 
 sentries on every knoll ; pickets in every clump of 
 bushes. Good-natured they seem, in their wholesome, 
 breezy cantonment ; laughing, talking, not seldom 
 swearing. Here is the tent of the general in command, 
 
 — a little withdrawn from the others, in a grove of 
 stunted, weather-beaten trees. The general appears 
 from a reconnoissance ; a fine, frank man, Herbert 
 thinks, as he stands among the escort in the background, 
 
 — a major of engineers the other day ; now, just made 
 a brigadier ; a man in his prime, and esteemed prom- 
 ising ; erect, cheerful, vigorous, no doubt a good sol- 
 dier. He greets the colonel just arrived, — an old 
 friend, — and shows the new-comer the shell just fired 
 from the rebel fort, which lies near his tent-door. It is 
 handled somewhat tenderly, for it has not exploded. 
 " How well it took the grooA^e ! " says the general ; and 
 one can see how the iron projections near the base of 
 the bolt are polished and deeply scratched, as the pro- 
 jectile was whirled out by the gun two miles away. 
 The general thinks they would fire oftener, if they only 
 
CHEVRONS. 115 
 
 knew how well they did it. They are probably obliged 
 to be economical with ammunition. 
 
 The colonel wishes to see the fort nearer. The gen- 
 eral says he has a battery of rifled guns close at hand ; 
 but it is masked from the fort. The escort must be 
 cautioned ; for, if too many figures should appear, the 
 fort would become suspicious. The officers go for- 
 ward, the escort following behind. They pass over 
 and around sandy knolls, through thickets and brush, 
 through dense, dry reeds, for a considerable distance. 
 They emerge from the bushes, at last, just under a 
 6teep, sandy ridge ; on whose sharp top, out in bold 
 relief against the sky as they look up at him from be- 
 low, a German boy is standing sentry. Close at hand 
 are the half-dozen guns of the battery, in position, but 
 with the crest of the hill undisturbed in front of their 
 muzzles. An hour or two of brisk work with the shovel, 
 by an enterprising party, would take away the obstruc- 
 tion. The officers go to the highest point ; the escort 
 look cautiously over, a little below. Plain as the sun 
 of noon-day can make it, lies the fort. The casemates 
 yawn and threaten. The guns, en barbette, can be 
 seen ; the flag-staff, flag, and the sentry pacing the 
 rampart. A rash civilian visitor who stands with 
 the officers jumps out in front, and shakes his fist 
 toward the sentry. The general, speaking quickly, 
 calls him back. " You put us in unnecessary peril," he 
 says. "They see you very plainly, and possibly may 
 fire. In their single sliots at us," continues the gen- 
 eral, " they usually fire the gun to the right of the flag- 
 
116 THE TIIINBING BAYONET. 
 
 staflP, en harhette ; but this morning it was the one to the 
 left." The escort are so near that Herbert can hear 
 the conversation. He can see the two guns perfectly 
 well, and watches to see if they will be fired ; but the 
 puff of smoke does not come. The officers descend at 
 last, leaving the lonely sentinel to resume his beat. 
 The errand is accomplished : the party re-embark, and 
 are immediately underway ; while the grim stronghold 
 behind persists in being dumb. 
 
 Soon after this, the Lowell Regiment marches inland, 
 to take post on the banks of a broad stream guarded by 
 men-of-war, in a town once rebel, but out of which the 
 foe have been driven. They lie, however, close at 
 hand. The regiment takes position within a line of old 
 intrenchments, and sleeps all night upon its arms. 
 Lay down the rubber blanket upon the earth ; put a 
 log for the pillow, accoutrements over the overcoat ; 
 lie now with the bayonet in its sheath at the side, — 
 the point piercing the ground, the socket pressing into 
 the ribs, — the most uncomfortable of bed-fellows; 
 now the rifle across the breast ; draw the blanket over 
 all, — only let the soldier be more particular to keep 
 the dew from the rifle than himself: so Herbert sleeps 
 on his arms. 
 
 This was once a pretty town ; but now it is almost 
 deserted, and is, in great part, in ruins. Herbert finds 
 the view a desolate one, looking out from the angle in 
 the earth-works where his company is stationed. The 
 line of intrenchments runs in zigzag ; here just in- 
 cluding a comfortable mansion, in which the commis- 
 
CIIEVKONS. 117 
 
 sioned officers take their quarters. In front, on the 
 opposite side of the ditch, runs the street of the town, 
 once lined with buildings. These have been torn 
 down, so as to aflPord no shelter to an advancing foe : 
 the chimneys often, however, have been left standing. 
 At the end of a street running southward, Herbert can 
 see the walls of a tall public edifice. Now a picket on 
 horseback turns a corner in sight, followed by a troop 
 of negroes. Their garb is a mixtm-e of the coarse 
 negro plantation-dress, with the cast-off finery of mas- 
 ters and mistresses : the coarse shirt and an old silk 
 hat ; a skirt of rough sacking, a waist of rusty silk. 
 They have brought the rough plantation - carts with 
 them, drawn by the mules, heaped up with an assort- 
 ment of articles; coftee-pots and \4olins ; axes and 
 porcelain ; their own effects from their cabins, and the 
 plunder of their masters' houses. These have just come 
 within the lines, and go wonderingly behind the cavalry- 
 man to the depot. 
 
 Just behind the position of the regiment is a large 
 foundry : its furnaces cold ; its blasts silent ; castings, 
 large and small, rusting in the yard; the spiders spin- 
 ning their webs among the patterns in the pattern-room 
 up stairs ; the soldiers rifling the office-desks of leger- 
 leaves and handsome billheads, to replenish their stock 
 of stationery. 
 
 Food! — beef, red, tough, and salt; hard bread, 
 tough white squares : they might have been quarried 
 somewhere out of a ledge. What will they do for a 
 soldier ? Locks might be built of them for the alimen- 
 
118 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 tary canal, if that important thoroughfare needs such 
 appendages ; or they would make a good pavement for 
 some of the internal passages : but that their design is 
 merely nourishment is not patent to the cursory ob- 
 server. 
 
 Pat Flanagan, now bound to Herbert by the strong- 
 est ties, has enlisted with him, — a rough and rosy 
 face ; a short neck rising upon heavy shoulders ; callous 
 hands and warty fingers ; the whole uncouth figure alive 
 with good-humor. Often his conversation is striped, 
 as a sergeant's arm is striped, with the bluest blasphemy 
 in streaks : yet he is thoroughly tender-hearted and 
 well-disposed ; with unwashed fingers, handy beyond 
 account in all sorts of work; with rude, untrained 
 brain, full of resource. 
 
 Day by day, Pat shows his knack. He adapts him- 
 self, jovial and rosy, to his circumstances, and bends his 
 surroundings to suit his convenience. AVithin half an 
 hour after the landing, he has a comfortable seat for 
 himself and Herbert, out of the foundry pattern-shop. 
 With a skilful chip of a hatchet, another pattern is 
 changed into a comfortable wash-bowl. He takes 
 bricks from a ruined building, river mud for mortar, 
 a parcel of old boiler plates and rusty flue, and, in a 
 forenoon, has a convenient cooking range, which the 
 cooks of the whole regiment take for a pattern. Among 
 the scrap iron, he finds half a potash-kettle. He rights 
 it up, braces it, and it becomes the regimental boiler 
 for clothes. A pork-barrel, stolen (Pat is an old 
 marauder) from the commissary, is sawed into a pair 
 
CHEVEONS. 119 
 
 of convenient tubs. A broom is wanted to swe©p clean 
 the rough tent-floor, made of planks from the ruins. 
 Pat finds a handful of old husks among the litter, 
 where the horses of the field-officers are kept. It is 
 short work to whittle out a handle ; and short work, 
 after that, with a string and a borrowed bodkin, to 
 complete the thing. With a piece of old waffle-iron, 
 fixed by wires to a broken coal-stove, Pat soon has an 
 arrangement for cooking hoe-cakes. He finds the old 
 foundry, with its scrap-iron and patterns, a perfect 
 depot of conveniences. " If iver I have the bad luck 
 to be wr-r-acked in an unthrodden desert, give ould 
 Pat a foondhry, wid its convaynient hapes ; and, bedad ! 
 he'd live." He is unspeakably handy; and Herbert, 
 though willing enough, sits in a maze in an emergency, 
 while Pat, with his resources, contrives some remedy. 
 The scholar and gentleman almost feels humiliated 
 before his rough friend. 
 
 Pat teaches Herbert to wash. Rash business to 
 represent one's hero at a wash-tub, — an operation so 
 moist and steamy, that the romance leaches out of it as- 
 the strength is leached out of ashes ; and yet did not 
 Nausicaa overcome the wandering Odysseus from her 
 wash-tubs, and a pretty Norman maiden leave a heap 
 of dirty clothes to be the mother of William the Con- 
 queror? Let us be bold then. The sergeant duly 
 builds a fire under the kettle, draws water out of the 
 old foundry-tank, — then the tub and the soap, and 
 the sleeves stripped to the elbow. Pat, full of benignity 
 and brogue, rosily superintends, until he loses the com- 
 
120 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 pany's iron mess-pail in the cistern, rendering beans 
 that day at dinner an impossibility ; whereat there is 
 fiercely burning wrath, and Pat has no heart to advise 
 further. 
 
 With drill and other duty, Herbert's time and mind 
 are fully taken up. Thoughts, however, occasionally 
 occur to him, which he feels like recording. At length, 
 he is sergeant of the guard. At night he must 
 watch. 
 
 It is chill and^ ghostly. Under his direction, the 
 reliefs must be formed and stationed. " Fall in, men," 
 — take arms from the stacks, — the steel sheaves in 
 front of the tents ; now right face, and forward. 
 This corporal is a private just promoted ; and the ser- 
 geant, to make sure that all is done right, must walk 
 round with the relief, — first, down the disused road, 
 into the old foundry, scorched and blackened by fires 
 now extinguished. Stand there, Harker, sentry No. 1, 
 in the moulding-sand, just under the arched door, by 
 the rusting crank of the disused engine. Now, No. 2, 
 at the gate by the river bank. File left, now, relief, 
 here to the water side; and, No. 3, take your »tand 
 among these boxes and casks, — stores of a regiment 
 which is just arriving. Good-natured Philip Munn, 
 farmer from a little nook under Chepstow mountain, 
 yours is the first beat here in the street of the to\vn. 
 Yours, Epinetus Low, here under the rampart. Now, 
 the relief marches along what was once a sidewalk 
 before pleasant dwellings. It has become a sentry 
 beat ; is crushed by cannon wheels, stained with 
 
CHEVEOXS. 121 
 
 blood, where the slain fell the other day, — with shriv- 
 elled trees on one side, and the forlorn chimneys on the 
 other. 
 
 While the sergeant who shares with Herbert the 
 duty is on, Herbert spreads his blanket on the floor 
 behind the stairway of the officers' quarters. Close by 
 is the surgeon's room. The doctor opens his door ; and 
 the light from within falls full on the sergeant's strong 
 face, and well-moulded limbs. He good-naturedly 
 arouses Herbert, and prescribes an agi-eeable dose of 
 punch, to keep out the damp. Herbert is coming into 
 notice. He drinks the punch. The doctor wonders 
 at the gentlemanly accent with which he is thanked ; 
 but the sergeant rolls over, with face to the wall, as if 
 indifferent to further talk. He sleeps until the lieuten* 
 ant of the guard, at midnight, calls him up. Then it 
 is watching through the long dark hours, until, through 
 the fog, glows at last the morning, lighting up the 
 damp, soiled tents, the ruins and the rubbish, and 
 the great shot-hole through the foundry roof. Charley 
 Ross, company drummer, comes out coughing, to beat 
 surgeon's call. At eight o'clock, the new guard is 
 mounted, and duty is done. 
 
 After doing this night-duty, Herbert has the day to 
 himself. 
 
 What does he think at these times ? He has cleaned 
 his gun, — laid it up against the canvas of the tent 
 which he occupies with the four other sergeants of his 
 company, — takes out his paper, and writes to Putnam 
 May. 
 
122 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 Herbert Lee to Putnam May. 
 
 " I find great relief in writing. It is a resource to 
 me ; but it is hard to write, if no one is to see it but 
 yourself: so what I write I mean to send to you, as I 
 have done heretofore. I know of a sutler who goes to 
 New York from the point where I am, who will mail 
 my letter for me there. So you will have no clue to 
 the department or regiment in which I serve. I prefer 
 to remain aloof, as before, from the w^orld which I have 
 known. 
 
 " I have come at last to feel earnest faith ; faith in 
 humanity as something worth saving ; faith in myself, 
 as endowed with some power of extending good among 
 men. I have come at last to entertain a purpose. I 
 devote myself to the w^ork of freeing man from fetters, 
 whether he be master or slave. In me at last are hope 
 and earnestness, and I joyfully give my life and 
 strength to danger and hardship. If it w^ould help me 
 in any w^ay to come into contact again with the world 
 I have known, I would seek it again ; but I do not see 
 that it would. I think I am fit for something higher 
 than this place in the ranks. I am mature, — with 
 mind and body well trained, — with some military 
 knowledge. I could help the cause more efficiently in 
 a higher place. I would like a higher place ; not from 
 ambition, God knows, but to do more efficient service. 
 If I could be helped to this, I would unveil myself. 
 But it would do no good. My soundness of mind is 
 questioned. Since my flight, there has been no less of 
 
CHEVRONS, 
 
 123 
 
 eccentricity in my life than before. It would be said, 
 that I was unfit for responsibility. It would not help 
 me to see or hear from any one of you. It might 
 embarrass me. I will push on with my life as I may, 
 — full of my new peace and faith, — doing, I trust, 
 the duty of a man. 
 
 " Do you know that I saw you the other day, — 
 touched you, — that you spoke to me, indeed? What 
 brought you West, I wonder ! You remember the 
 depot that was so crowded, and the man who stood 
 in the way, when you were in a hurry to buy your 
 ticket. Your train was about leaving ; and the conven- 
 tion, which had just adjourned in the town, caused the 
 depot to be unusually full. I heard you say, behind 
 me, 'Be so good as to let me pass here.' I knew 
 your voice in a moment; and, as I stepped aside, I 
 pulled my cap down over my eyes. No wonder you 
 did not know me, though you looked at me deliber- 
 ately ; for my dress was rough, and my beard is so full 
 and heavy, that my face is disguised. I was half 
 tempted to speak to you. But 'what will be the use?' 
 I thought. * He can tell me nothing to alter my plans. 
 He cannot help me. He may urge me to give up my 
 purpose, and return to my old life. He might persuade 
 me to do it in spite of myself, when, in my deliberate 
 thought, I am very sure it is as well or better for me 
 to remain as I am. I am as satisfied, perhaps, as I 
 can be under any circumstances. What would Leo- 
 nora care? (Though why do I speak of that which 
 should be all deeply buried ?) I would rather live as I 
 
124 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 am. What do I care for the prettiness and daintiness 
 which I have forsaken ! ' So I thought, and I watched 
 you therefore from a distance, as yoii took your seat ; 
 and your train moved off in the direction from which I 
 had just come. Of my old friends, it is with you 
 alone, Putnam, that I maintain any intercourse ; and 
 with you it is infrequent. 
 
 ". It would be easier to wear shoulder-straps than to 
 be a simple sergeant ; but I am contented. I want to 
 serve the cause as best I can. Some day, I think I 
 shall be good for something better than to scour this 
 musket, and, if battle comes, fire it off. I am vain 
 enough to believe that I have a head that could take 
 some responsibility ; but I will work up. 
 
 " For now, Pat and I, having changed our names, 
 live here together in the mud ; with little beneath to 
 keep us from the damp, and little overhead to keep off 
 the rain. The air is misty ; and your bright gun-barrel 
 freckles over "svith rust at short notice, like a Yankee 
 girl's face, out without her sun-bonnet, in a warm 
 wind. 
 
 " I write just what comes uppermost, — desultory, I 
 know, — for I have not much to say. O Claiborne, 
 Claiborne ! still my friend ; my heart goes out to him, 
 lonely as I am, as it used to long ago. One thing 
 troubles me, Putnam ; that there is so abominably 
 little of truly chivalrous feeling in these times. I know 
 you may say the South has a miserable cause ; I be- 
 lieve so myself. I hate their principles, from my 
 heai-t ; but do tell me what is plainer than that grand 
 
CHEVRONS. 125 
 
 men sometimes are misled to embrace a foul cause ! 
 But just read our papers, and hear the talk of people. 
 ' Thief,' ' cut-throat,' ' bandit,' — the whole of them, — 
 not one of these Southern men that has in him any 
 thing to respect. You know, that is too often the tone. 
 I hate their principles and institutions. I believe they 
 barbarize men ; and therefore I am here, and in this 
 dress : but I will not believe they are all so far bar- 
 barized, that nothing noble is left. In Claiborne there 
 is something glorious still. My love for him may blind 
 me, you may think ; or — no, you will not, for you 
 have known him too ; and I will not believe he is 
 alone. I have no doubt he is in arras on the other 
 side; yet I have no doubt, with all his passion and 
 violence, in many ways he is the same true gentle- 
 man, with the old heroie traits for which I have 
 loved him. 
 
 " Do you know what I mean when I burst out so 
 about this want of chivalry? Just take your Shak- 
 speare, and in ' Henry TV." turn to that challenge of the 
 Prince to Hotspur (I am glad now that my memory 
 holds my old reading so well) ; if I remember right, 
 it is something like this. I always admired the gener- 
 ous chivalry of the passage : — 
 
 < The Prince of Wales doth join with all the world 
 In praise of Henry Percy. By ray hopes, — 
 This present enterprise set off his head, — 
 I do not think a braver gentleman. 
 More active valiant, or more valiant young, 
 More daring, or more bold, is now alive 
 To grace this latter age with noble deeds.' 
 
126 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 " Is it not superb ! So he talks, — the fieiy, mag- 
 nanimous young soul, while he challenges him. Then, 
 in the same spirit, he fights with him, you know, and 
 slays him ; and over his body, says something like 
 
 this : — . 
 
 ' Brave Percy ! Fare thee well, great heart ! 
 . . . This earth, that bears thee dead, 
 Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. 
 Adieu ! and take thy praise with thee to heaven ! 
 Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave, 
 But not remembered in thy epitaph ! ' 
 
 " Now what is there unnatural or fantastic in that ? 
 He is a grand young prince ; and I believe in his spirit. 
 How sad it is, and yet how frequent in history, for men 
 equally conscientious to be ranged on opposing sides ! 
 I suppose there is no way but for each to follow out his 
 id^a of right, to the death if need be. I do not claim 
 that there is much of the * Prince ' in me ; but there is 
 much of ' Hotspur' in Claiborne, — violent, imperious, 
 but brave and magnanimous, I believe, — hot, frank, 
 and bold, with swift, masculine fire in his haughty, 
 headstrong soul. If Ave meet, we shall fight ; for I 
 hate his cause, as he does mine : but while I defy him 
 now, I hope I do it with something of the spirit of 
 that superb Prince Hal." 
 
FIRE BAPTISM. 127 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 FIRE BAPTISM. 
 
 The Lowell Regiment is working hard at drill. For 
 Herbert especially, the work is hard ; for, in a green 
 ret^iment, any one who may have some knowledge of 
 tactics must teach others. The captain of Herbert's 
 company is weak and sick ; the first lieutenant, igno- 
 rant and inefficient ; the second willing, but not posted. 
 Herbert's drill with the " Guards," in old times, makes 
 him the most accomplished man in that way, among all 
 these hundred. It comes out httle by little, that this 
 is so ; and the work of the drilling is given over pretty 
 much to the sergeant. They form in line just in rear 
 of the bank of earth, — their protection, — that they 
 may know their exact positions in case of an assault ; 
 then, by the hour, it is from the "shoulder" to the 
 "present," from the "order" to "ground;" until, by 
 night, as well as by day, in their double rank, the men 
 grow handy with their pieces. Herbert comes to know 
 the feel of a minie-ball, as he did once the handle of 
 his oar; and powder is as familiar as writing sand. 
 Herbert stands on the rampart in front of the men, 
 his figure relieved against the sky behind. Prompt 
 
128 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 and skilful he is, with his shining piece. The short 
 blouse, coming to the hips, fitting close, shows the 
 figure well. The bright "U.S." burns on the clasp at 
 the waist ; the eagle is on his breast. He is eager and 
 animated in these days ; full of health and vigor, — as 
 fine and manly a soldier as the nation has. 
 
 Herbert is faithful, even in the small drudgery of 
 soldiers' life. Brasses are polished. No stitch is want- 
 ing in the knapsack ; no rust or blur, from butt to 
 muzzle, on plate or band, on sight or ring, is visible 
 upon his rifle. At inspection, the colonel holds his 
 gloved hand for Herbert's piece. The sergeant flings 
 it up from the " order," into his left hand, and passes 
 it. It rings clear as silver, as the colonel thrusts the 
 rammer into the barrel ; and the white glove comes 
 away spotless from the contact. " Sergeant, yours 
 will do," — and the colonel gives him a frank smile ; 
 for it is coming to be generally known in the regiment, 
 that it is a fine specimen of manhood that wears the 
 chevrons there, so well-formed and active, straight and 
 strong, bearing easily his pack. 
 
 One night, in his tent, — boom, boom, fifteen 
 miles away, — Herbert hears a distant cannonade. 
 He comes from his place beside the sleepers, and, stand- 
 ing at the door, can see through the night the far-flash- 
 ing of the guns. In an hour or two, a lead-colored 
 gunboat — watchman at masthead, eleven-inch gun 
 sleeping dark under the moon amidships — speeds up 
 in silence with pressing despatch. In a few minutes, a 
 step through the lines of tents : it is the sergeant- 
 
FIRE BAPTISM. 129 
 
 major, — " more force wanted on the pickets ; " from 
 this company a sergeant and six men must go out at 
 once. Stowell is sick, Sanderson is just off duty, Sikes 
 is to go on to-morrow. Herbert must go. His can- 
 teen is already filled. There are beef and bread in the 
 haversack for breakfast. The two blankets are speedily 
 strapped into a roll, and hung at the side. Guns are 
 loaded; and the sergeant, with his men, reports for 
 duty. They go silently ; for to-night all know that it 
 is a service of some hazard. The enemy are close at 
 hand ; and, in case of attack, these receive the first 
 onset, while the army behind rallies at the long roll. 
 A lieutenant-colonel rides at the head of the column : 
 silently on, through a gap in the parapet, — the sentry 
 on each side saluting, — presently to the left, by a 
 ruined building, and the suburbs of the town are 
 reached. Here is encamped the brigade farthest out. 
 Beyond this, the detachment moving comes into the 
 region of pickets. A few steps more now, and they 
 will come into the belt of neutral territory, — visited 
 by reconnoitring parties from both sides, — extending 
 out five or six miles, to where it is believed the rebel 
 videttes are posted. 
 
 " Silent, men," — it is the order. Open fields now 
 are on each side, and in front a tall forest, which looms 
 dim at first, but becomes more plain, — tall magnolias, 
 the gum-tree, and live-oak, hung with gray moss. 
 The liijht is faint : and the sections in advance stumble 
 over a telegraph wire, stretched across the road at 
 about the height of a man's knees. At the same time, 
 
 6* 
 
130 THE THr^KIXG BAYONET. 
 
 sounds out the hail of a sentry. The column halts, 
 comes to a front, uith the arms at the order. The 
 moon is down ; but, by the starliglit, Herbert can just 
 see his position. It is a point where the street of the 
 town becomes a country road. A rough barricade is 
 built across the roadway, in the middle of which is an 
 open gate. At the gate are two sentries, silent, and 
 sharply on the watch ; and a strong guard standing in 
 the rear. For half a mile or so beyond here, pickets 
 are stationed, — two or three men, — silent, without 
 fire ; motionless, with gun in hand. A rod or two 
 beyond the outmost of these posts, is a solitary cavalry 
 vidette ; then the enemy. Herbert and his comrades 
 crouch down for the time being, under a fence near. 
 He spreads his rubber blanket, puts his back against 
 the fence, shares his woollen blanket with an Irish 
 soldier who happens to be next to him, and is ready for 
 the night : not much prospect of sleep, even suppos- 
 ing there were no apprehension ; for now and then 
 comes a gust of rain. 
 
 A sergeant off duty comes up from the gate, rtnd 
 talks low among the men. During the day, a strong, 
 hostile cavalry fofce has approached within a short mile 
 of where Herbert is now lying. They crowded the 
 road close before the vidette, within easy cannon range ; 
 all in gray and butternut, restless, with slouched hats, 
 and carbines. Moreover, the distant cannonading is 
 thought to betoken activity on the part of the foe. 
 This is why the extra reserve is called out. The ser- 
 geant goes back; and soon comes a stout, tall captain, 
 
FIRE BAPTISM. 131 
 
 — officer of the grand guard. He chats sociably; has 
 been cutting trees, magnohas, just along there in the 
 road, — "tougher'n torment" they are, — this is to 
 impede the rebel advance, in case of an attack. Pre- 
 sently, he goes too. Herbert cannot sleep. If he 
 nods, a poke from his bayonet-sheath sets his eyes open 
 again, or his gun slips out of the hollow of his arm, 
 into the wet. He hears the sword of a dragoon hitting 
 the steps in succession, as he comes out of a house 
 near ; then sees him mount his horse, and gallop out to 
 relieve a vidette, sabre jingling at his side, right hand 
 upon the lock of his Sharpe's rifle. Presently, the 
 vidette relieved comes trotting in, splashed, and sleepy 
 from his vigil. 
 
 The night is passing. The insects pipe, dogs in the 
 distance bark, now and then comes the distant firing 
 of a gun. The outposts are quiet out there in the dim 
 wood ; so are the foe, no one knows how near, but not 
 far beyond. Herbert at last falls into a drowse. 
 
 Suddenly a volley rattles close at hand. Herbert 
 starts to his feet, to find every thing in activity. On 
 the double-quick, the outer pickets, with pieces just 
 discharged, rally in upon the reserve. The drums of 
 the outer brigade are beating just behind. The post is 
 attacked. "We must have more light here," says the 
 colonel commanding the outpost. "Set the house afire 
 there, captain ; we must get sight of their advance : " 
 and he gallops off to form his reserves in line, to resist 
 the rush, as well as possible, while the army behind 
 springs to arms. The captain turns to Herbert ; and 
 
132 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 he, with his squad, leaps up the steps of the house. 
 Upon the hearth, in one of the rooms, smoulder a few- 
 brands. There is a litter of straw in the corner; and, 
 in a moment, the room is in a blaze. They hurry out, 
 to find that the pickets are already falling back. Quick 
 about their heads, as they run, fly bullets from behind. 
 The flames are streaming out of the windows, and 
 catching the clapboards outside ; so that Herbert and his 
 party can be seen. They keep close in the shadow of 
 the fence, and hurry forward. 
 
 In the camp, the men sleep on their arms, as they 
 often do. Spies have brought in word of suspicious 
 signs ; so, at retreat, at seven o'clock the evening be- 
 fore, the men had been ordered to make sure of their 
 pieces. "Are your cartridges right? Thornton, you 
 who are sick must give your cartridges to stout Mike 
 Flaherty. Load the guns well to-night." So, all 
 night, at the head of each soldier stood his trusty gun. 
 At three o'clock, — now clear from the southward, then 
 fast through the camp northward, — sweeps the rattling 
 alarm, rolling hot and sharp ; now throbbing faint, now 
 thundering harsh, through the mist. The colonel com- 
 manding the brigade, with his staff" behind, comes at a 
 sweeping gallop along the tents. To the commander 
 of the Lowell Regiment, " Colonel, do you hear the 
 long roll?" Then, with his sw^ord drawn, and point- 
 ing, " To your post at the parapet instantly ! " Where 
 before have we heard that voice, now an energetic 
 shout? Where have we seen that dark and patrician 
 face? 
 
FIRE BAPTISM. 133 
 
 In another minute, the regiment, a little lagging at 
 first, responds to the sonorous " battalion ! " of the col- 
 onel ; and, full armed, have manned the lines. Drop- 
 ping, far-away volleys. The brigade thrown out, as it 
 falls back within the lines, now from an angle of the 
 road, now from the summit of the hill, pour volleys 
 behind them, where the rebel infantry, plainly seen in 
 the light of the burning buildings, which are now nu- 
 merous, hurry on in pursuit. It is dark, cold, and damp. 
 •Herbert regains the regiment, to find them' standing 
 ankle-deep in mud and wet, with the chill, deadly air 
 of the night beginning to penetrate to their very mar- 
 row as they wait. Two or three fall, and are carried 
 fainting back to their damp blankets. A week from 
 now, when the dead from the coming battle have been 
 buried, the soldiers must go also to the funerals of 
 these ; for already they are struck with death. 
 
 The brigadier is again galloping this way. Muffled 
 in his cloak, he plunges on ; his horse's feet splashing in 
 the soil ; then, as he comes down into a walk, sucking 
 moist as they are lifted out of the sloppy clay. He 
 draws rein at last ; and his horse's head, it so happens, 
 is close at the stout shoulder of Herbert, third ser- 
 geant, as he stands in his place, a pace or two in the 
 rear of the files. How dark and raw it is ! The glare 
 from the front now shines back upon the shivering line 
 of men ; upon the sergeant, with his musket aport, and 
 hand on the lock, as he stands in the mud ; upon the 
 face of the horseman, looking out into the night; over 
 the caps of the men ; over the ridge of earth ; out to 
 
134 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 where the rifles are cracking, now singly, now in a 
 long volley. Do we know the face, dark and hand- 
 some, haughty and cold? It is Holyoake again, rising 
 through the influence of friends, and through his own 
 merit ; and his horse's mouth, as it champs the bit, 
 almost drops the foam upon Herbert's shoulder. 
 
 A young aide, just from college, rides up shrugging 
 in his cloak under the chilly air. "Ah, well!" says 
 Holyoake, for a moment taking his eye from the front, 
 and smiling at the young lieutenant : "it is raw." Then 
 he goes on to give the fiimiliar Latin phrase, meaning 
 that it will be something pleasant to remember here- 
 after. The young aide laughs, and says nothing. 
 Herbert has recognized Holyoake, and stands bewil- 
 dered in his surprise. Holyoake, in giving the quota- 
 tion, has omitted a word or two of the Latin ; and, 
 without thinking, Herbert completes the sentence by 
 putting in the omitted words. They are in his mind ; 
 and in his bewilderment, without intending it, he gives 
 them voice. He does not speak much above his breath ; 
 but it reaches Holyoake's ear. Herbert stands without 
 turning ; fearing that he has betrayed himself. Hol- 
 yoake starts ; either recognizing the voice, or receiving 
 from it an unpleasant suggestion. The sergeant stands 
 in his place, still and tall, with blue overcoat-collar 
 turned up about the face, and broad-vizored cap dra\^^l 
 down to meet it. Perhaps the colonel is afraid to fol- 
 low up his suspicion, or perhaps he does not care to. 
 At any rate, he shakes the rein upon his horse's neck, 
 and rides rapidly off" in the rear of his regiments, — one 
 
FinE BAPTISM. 1^^ 
 
 beyond another in the red glare, -drawn up in solemn 
 
 line of battle. 
 
 The crash of artillery has already sounded, iirst a 
 solitary -un ; then roar upon roar from the impatient 
 batteries: Now it is from the parapet; now the rebel 
 guns, sweeping up on the gallop to the little hill half a 
 mile away, have unlimbered and opened. Splash m 
 the mud I a shell falls near the sergeant. He is be- 
 spattered, and two men out of the line a^e carried back 
 bleedino-. Presently, through the night, among the 
 tall chimneys left standing; out from behind the heaps 
 of rubbish where houses have stood ; creeping and run- 
 nino- ; a knot of two or three now tumbling into the old 
 wells of the houses, left uncovered for pitfalls ; a com- 
 pany in line now wavering and breaking a little, as one 
 flank or the other strikes an obstruction, then dressing 
 up manfully as they come to a clear and open space; 
 advancing irregularly, and yet in as good order as the 
 obstructed ground will allow, -the hostile storming- 
 party hurry forward. The line is open, that the 
 volleys from the Federal earth - work may be less 
 deadly. From covert to covert ; now and then taking 
 breath; they creep and run, — at first, dark, almost in- 
 distinguishable shapes in the quivering glare ; then, as 
 they Tome nearer, showing the slouched hat above the 
 fierce face, and the loose gray suit. Herbert can see 
 as he peers above the parapet, —meantime shells hum- 
 mino- sharp about his ears from the rebel batteries, and 
 rifle-bullets singing, as the enemy try to sweep clear 
 the brow of the intrenchment, —Herbert can see, here 
 
136 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 and there, an officer, and one brave field-officer, whose 
 duty it is to keep straiglit and watchful in the charge, 
 while his men o^o crouchinji:. 
 
 Meantime Herbert's regiment has for^jotten the chill 
 of the morning. Careless of the wet, they lie with 
 breasts against the sloping ridge ; and, fast as they can 
 load, they fire. Twist the ball out of the tough paper 
 of the cartridge; pour the powder down the barrel, 
 letting the cone of lead slide in afterward ; tap it with 
 your ramrod, and take aim. 
 
 Of this company, now, there is no commissioned 
 officer on duty. The first and second sergeants, un- 
 trained and bewildered, can do nothing ; and all look 
 to Herbert. He is calm and confident, and gives 
 orders in a deep, strong tone. A bullet tears through 
 his sleeve into the muscle of the fore-arm, just above 
 the wrist ; but he twists his handkerchief about the 
 wound, and does not go from his place. It is doubt- 
 ful. They come nearer and nearer, until the shouts of 
 the rebel captains, and cries of the men, sound over 
 through the roar and rattle. At last a party have 
 gained the very ditch at the foot of the earth- work, and 
 a bold head or two are actually thrust up on the otlier 
 side. It is critical ; but, through the darkness and red 
 glare, the light of day begins to break. 
 
 Hark I so heavy, deep, and long-drawn ; so bitterly 
 thunderous ! It is the ordnance of the men-of-war ; 
 and the shells begin to groan and hurtle now into the 
 battle like planetary bodies diverted from their orbits, 
 and come to blast the earth. Close at hand, it crashes 
 
FIRE BAPTISM. 
 
 137 
 
 like doom ; and, fifty miles away, listening villages are 
 wondering at the sullen rumble. It is too much. 
 With the increasing light, the ships see how to plant 
 the shells. The batteries on the hill limber up. and 
 gallop away, while the bombs explode around and among 
 them. The rebel reserves at the edge of the woods 
 fall back into the forest. The storming-party returns 
 routed, leaving dead and wounded along its track ; sad 
 swaths of them close in front of the intrenchment ; 
 two here behind a bush ; three here in a well ; a little 
 pile in front of a chimney ; one there on the broken 
 pavement. The men in the ditch outside, within arm's 
 length of the defenders, call for quarter, and presently 
 come climbing over : bearded and brown ; smeared with 
 mud, and wet with sweat ; some supporting wounded 
 comrades ; some sullen ; some good-natured, glad that 
 they are out of it and alive. Then Herbert goes with 
 his wounded arm to the surgeons. 
 
138 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE CANDIDATE. 
 
 From Putnam May to Louisa May. 
 
 "Dear Lou, — I can write more fully to you than to 
 any one I know. I am blue to-day. It comes rather 
 hard, this first taking hold of preaching. I am inclined 
 to be sorry that my course of study is ended, and that 
 my quiet life here must close. Not that I would shrink 
 from my work. I desire to play my part well ; but I 
 find I must meet with some rubs, harder than I ever 
 believed were in store for me. 
 
 *' Sunday I preached as a candidate for the first time. 
 They want a minister at Slocumville, and are hearing 
 our class. It is a village which has sprung up within 
 ten or twelve years, within one of the old townships of 
 the State, in consequence of the shoe -trade. It is 
 named after its founder, — Epaphras Slocum, — who 
 began life when the shoe-manufacture, on a large scale, 
 was just engaging attention, and who has been very 
 prosperous. I believe I went to Slocumville with the 
 sincere desire to do good. I had taken great pains 
 with my sermons. I dreaded it ; for I knew I was to 
 be pulled to pieces. Few would come with any other 
 
THE CANDIDATE. 139 
 
 design than to criticise. My praying, as well as my 
 preaching, voice, appearance, garments even, I knew, 
 were to be submitted for judgment. There is no other 
 way, I suppose ; but, oh ! if one has any delicacy, he 
 would almost rather be flayed. 
 
 " I kept this view of the matter out of mind as much 
 as I could, trying to feel that I was going out simply 
 to do people good. During the preceding week, I tried 
 to entertain devout thoughts in a greater degree than 
 usual ; for I was about to take an important step. I 
 read much in those old poems of Wither, George Her- 
 bert, Southwell, and the others, — which you know I 
 love so well ; trying to steep my soul in their piety, 
 so sweetly and quaintly put. I desire to have Sunday 
 seem to me, as it did to old Yaughan, — 
 
 * Heaven once a week ; 
 The next world's gladnesse prepossest in this.' 
 
 I tried to arm myself against disappointment by cher- 
 ishing a true humility. I read again and again South-' 
 well's rhyme, — 
 
 * Silk sails of largest size 
 
 The storm doth soonest tear : 
 I bear so low and small a sail 
 As freeth me iQrom fear.' 
 
 That and the verses near it ; trying so to humble my- 
 self that nothing should affect me. 
 
 "It was a damp, dreary afternoon at last, when I left 
 the hall ; a quiet place under its trees. It has become 
 now like home to me : cool in summer, cozy in winter ; 
 
140 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 the library below, the chapel above ; the entries like 
 cloisters. The train was crowded with brusque people 
 of business on their way home to spend Sunday ; full 
 of rough, robust health for the most part ; loud-voiced, 
 burly, fresh-colored. I am small at the best ; and my 
 student-life makes me pale and slender. As I walked 
 in to find my seat, with black satchel and clothes, and 
 felt the unsympathetic stare of people, I fancied they 
 could see at once, that I was a young candidate. You 
 may say, ' What if they did ? ' and I said to myself 
 then, ' What if they do ? what is there to be ashamed 
 of ? * but I could not help shrinking. . I know I am 
 unduly sensitive about my personal appearance. What 
 would I not give for the muscle and fine height of some 
 of my friends ! I am puny, and have so little voice I 
 I know I rank well as a scholar, and have a name really 
 worth having as a writer, even among men who know ; 
 but how I covet, sometimes, these grand physical gifts, 
 — this superb vigor and masculine beauty ! (These 
 ' confessions and boastings to you alone, Lou, my other 
 self!) 
 
 " It was late in the afternoon when we reached Slo- 
 cumville. The village has sprung up on a bare, bleak, 
 uncultivated tract. The soil is mere sand ; yellow and 
 arid along the streets, except where, in front of the 
 shops, scraps of refuse leather have been thrown out to 
 rot and mould. Slocum's shop, the principal one in 
 the villaore, was kroner than those about it. All were 
 built on the same general plan : long, with the win- 
 dows set close on the sides, having a most ugly, staring 
 
THE CANDIDATE. 141 
 
 effect. Generally, the shops were painted white ; but, 
 through the damp, they seemed to me to have a most 
 unclean look about the doors and windows, wherever 
 dirty fingers could come in contact with them. The 
 streets were lined with cheap and tasteless houses. 
 There were numbers of children, and, at the windows, 
 women binding shoes. There were no trees of any 
 size ; though in front of some cottages of more preten- 
 sion, belonging probably to bosses and proprietors of 
 shops, trees had been set out. Slocum's house, large 
 and square, with a cupola and projecting roof, hung 
 thick with knobs and points, — a pimple, then a stalac- 
 tite, — stood at the end of one of the streets. There are 
 really tasteful places a mile- or so beyond, by a beauti- 
 ful river, occupied by most agreeable families, who 
 attend church at Slocumville ; but these I did not see 
 till the next day. 
 
 " I came at last to the church ; in planning and 
 building which, there had plainly been a serious con- 
 flict between ambition and economy. It was in Gothic 
 style, with a tower at the corner. About the doors 
 and windows were luxuriant mouldings. It was quite 
 small, however, and built of lath and boards. Down 
 over the wooden buttresses and pinnacles, the dampness 
 of the day fell drearily ; washing off, little by little, the 
 thin painting, till the hue of the wood beneath appeared. 
 The door stood open, and I looked in. Spindling joists 
 and beams supported the spire. Passing from the ves- 
 tibule into the church, I found the walls frescoed, in 
 the most florid manner, into arches and recesses ; the 
 
142 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 ceiling tasselated with great intersecting beams, — all 
 in cheap water-colors, and stained in many places where 
 the rain had leaked through the roof. 
 
 "I was to stop with Mr. Simon Tarbell, and pres- 
 ently found his house. It was bran-new ; close upon 
 the road. Mr. Tarbell answered my ring, — a lame 
 man between fifty and sixty, — in his shirt sleeves, with 
 hat on, and very dirty hands. His hair was scanty and 
 white ; his forehead wrinkled ; his eye gray, sharp, 
 and good-natured. His son, it seems, has risen to be 
 partner here in one of the shops. The father sold his 
 farm as his son's prospects brightened, put his money 
 into this house, and now works in the shop of his son ; 
 for labor is so divided in this business, that an inex- 
 perienced person, after a day or two, becomes a tolera- 
 ble hand. The son, I heard, had just enlisted. The 
 family, besides the head and the son, consists of ]\Irs. 
 Tarbell, and a daughter who was introduced as ' Mal- 
 viny.' 
 
 "Now, believe me, Lou, I have no desire to hold up 
 this family to ridicule, or to speak with disrespect of 
 them in any way. They are worthy people, and were 
 hospitable to me ; but I can write to you as I could 
 to another self. Of course, this letter will not be 
 seen. No doubt I am too delicate and fastidious ; 
 but the tastes and ways of these people ! What shall 
 I do, if this is the world that I must come into contact 
 with? 
 
 "Mrs. Tarbell appeared at tea, — a matron silent 
 and serious, wearing a front of brown hair, with a cap 
 
THE CANDIDATE. 143 
 
 behind. She was a fleshy person. Take a bright 
 spoon ; hold it horizontally ; then look at your face in 
 the back of the bowl. You will find that your nose 
 becomes very fat, and that your cheeks distend. The 
 space between the eyes becomes very wide, and the 
 mouth enlarges ; while the forehead above is reduced to 
 the smallest dimensions ; and so the chin below. The 
 countenance of ]Mrs. Tarbell was as a lady's face re- 
 flected in the bo^vl of a spoon. At supper also ap- 
 peared *Malviny,' — a very plain young woman, w4th 
 bad teeth. I did my best to be agreeable ; but Mrs. 
 Tarbell refused to be interested. The father now and 
 then put in a remark in broad Yankee ; and once I 
 made ' Malviny ' smile ; but the spectacle was so mel- 
 ancholy, that I preferred, after that, to confine myself 
 to serious topics. 
 
 " When tea was over, we sat in the parlor, where 
 every thing was new and very cheap. Miss Minerva 
 Jones's Poems lay upon the table, among the daguer- 
 ro types ; violently red in its sheepskin, and so brassy 
 with its gilding, that I am sure the volume must have 
 pushed its way to fame, though unknown to me. In 
 the pictures, 'Malviny ' was given in pink, with elabor- 
 ately-gilded brooch, ear -pendants, and rings. The 
 gilding lay upon the plate in masses, standing out dis- 
 tinct, with the likeness, which was faint, in the back- 
 ground. 
 
 "I accidentally discovered that Mrs. Tarbell, whom 
 I had come to consider as impregnable, had her vulner- 
 able spot. Happening to allude to a case of small-pox 
 
144 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 which had come under my notice shortly before, while 
 busy with missionary- work, I noticed that her features, 
 from their rigidity, smoothed out into a pleased and 
 benevolent expression. Noticing this, I went a little 
 more fully into diseases ; Mrs. Tarbell's delight appear- 
 ing to become more intense in proportion as the par- 
 ticulars of the disorder were horrible. At length, 
 she fairly beamed with joy, and fluently reciprocated, 
 with an account of a most mysterious and novel disease, 
 in which the subjects were curled up backwards, until 
 the heels and head nearly touched. She followed this 
 with a catalogue of the ailments of which herself and 
 family were the victims ; the period at which Malviny 
 and Pharcellus had had the measles ; winding up at 
 last with a complete account, from first to last, of a 
 fever-sore which had deprived Mr. Tarbell of a portion 
 of his shin-bone, — appearance, treatment and all, — 
 producing at last the very piece of bone that had 
 finally come out. 
 
 " I withdrew at length to my room, a little homesick. 
 I had no reason at all to feel . that these people did not 
 wish to be kind to me. They did their best, I am 
 sure, to treat their guest well. Mrs. Tarbell's house- 
 keeping seemed to me excellent. The table was as 
 neat as could be ; and nothing could be fresher and 
 whiter than the bed in which I slept. I hope you will 
 not think I mean to ridicule them, even in this private 
 letter to you ; but I could not help thinking, Saturday 
 night, that if this were a specimen of the Slocumville 
 congregation, of what earthly use would be my elabo- 
 
THE CANDIDATE. 145 
 
 rate and rather subtle sermon upon the * co-existence 
 of the qualities of activity and rest in the nature of the 
 Deity ! ' It was rather bitterly that I thought of the 
 morrow. 
 
 " After breakfast in the morning, I should have pre- 
 ferred privacy. . The air was quite raw, however ; and, 
 there being no way of warming my room, I was 
 obliged to go into the parlor with the family. Here 
 I saw Pharcellus for the first time, — a man whom I 
 thoroughly respect. He has left his business, in which 
 his prospects were excellent, to enlist. At this time, 
 he was at home on furlough from the camp of his regi- 
 ment, which will soon march. I talked enough with 
 him to discover, beneath his uncouth exterior and 
 Yankee accent, grand patriotism and stubborn courage. 
 There was something very heroic in his rough figure, 
 — when I came to understand his temper, — clothed in 
 the soldier's blue, dusty and stained already, from the 
 overcrowded tents. His self-sacrifice is really grand. 
 Poor fellow ! he has little sympathy from his parents, I 
 fancy. The father bewailed his son's foolishness, and 
 made much of the grievance which he himself was to 
 suffer, in having ' Pharcie go now, jest when he'd broke 
 up, and come to stay with him. Pharcie'd find t'want 
 a payin' thing ; he might jest count on that.' The 
 mother was silent ; but I could see that Pharcie was 
 sustained by the sympathy of his plain sister. The 
 young man was obliged to return to camp before ser- 
 vice ; and it was with real reverence that I shook his 
 rough hand when he rose to go. 
 
 7 
 
146 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 " Before church, there came in a great dog, which 
 smelt of my boots, then jumped with his dirty paws 
 right upon my black suit. ' Ah ! that's Nap,' said ]Mr. 
 Tarbell. 'My dog, you see, Mr. May, can tell a 
 preacher, I b'lieve, far as he can smell him. Sence 
 the meetin-'us was built, you see, we've had forty-one 
 different ministers down here to Slocumville, and 
 he's got used to 'em. T'other Sunday, a young chap 
 come down, and fetched his cousin along, — a lawyer, 
 — and old Nap, he nosed round both their shins ; and 
 blessed if I don't believe he could tell which was the 
 preacher. He snapped and growled at that ar lawyer, 
 till Pharcie here had to turn himr out. Never you 
 mind if he does kind o' make himself free. It's all 
 well meant.' I could not help protesting here, that I 
 was fond of dogs ; and that Nap, in particular, was* a 
 splendid fellow. After this, I hardly dared to resist 
 his blandishments, whatever the consequences might be. 
 An hour's work with the clothes-brush has hardly 
 obliterated the marks of his embraces from my shoul- 
 ders down. 
 
 " I asked a few questions about the church, — dodg- 
 ing the nose of the dog, who persisted in trying to lay 
 his cheek against mine ; lamenting inwardly my rash- 
 ness, which made it impossible for me to seem 
 otherwise then pleased. ' Well, the pulpit was kind o' 
 queer : had a door underneath, and the stairs was in 
 under, out of sight. ISIr. Jones, he come once to 
 preach, and had a kind o' funny time. He went up 
 the aisle to one side of the pulpit, and the stairs wasn't 
 
THE CANDIDATE, 147 
 
 there. Then he went round to the other side, and they 
 wasn't there. Then he came round in front, kind o' 
 flustered, and looked up, so it sort of seemed to the 
 folks that he was goin' to climb up. The folks \yas all 
 come ; for it was gettin' late, and Bijah Nevers, he'd 
 got through some time playin' 'eija in on the organ : 
 but Sam Trull, he sets jest at the side, he come out 
 and showed where the door was, underneath. After 
 he got up, it didn't go all smooth. You see, inside it 
 ain't a first-rate arrangement, and the committee are 
 goin' to see to it. You have to go up two or three 
 staii's from the seat, before you git to the standin' place. 
 That's a block not very wide, and a leetle onsteady. 
 TVell, ]\Ir. Jones, he was a bashful feller, and was 
 flustered yet; and I van, if he didn't step on the edge 
 of the block, so it tumbled over, and he fell with it. 
 Some on 'em laughed, but I felt mighty sorry ; for he 
 was that kind of man to take it hard.' 
 
 " Then jVIr. Tarbell spoke of !Mr. Claptrap ; a man 
 whom I know about well, and who passes for rather 
 a rude, unrefined person, in the circle to which I am 
 accustomed. ^Ir. Tarbell, however, appeared to hold 
 him in high appreciation ; expressing himself in these 
 pithy terms : ' He's a good one, though, I swan ! there 
 don't no one go. to sleep while he's a preachin'. Of 
 all the young fellers that's been to Slocumville, he's 
 took the rag.' So Mr. Tarbell beguiled the time, until 
 the hour for service. As the bell bes^an to rine:, he 
 called Nap, and withdrew, saying, * He'd been to work 
 kind o' hard, and guessed he'd go and snooze awhile.' 
 
148 TiiE Thinking bayonet. 
 
 O Lou ! I did suffer. He is sordid, but I think meant 
 well enough, and wanted to entertain me agreeably; 
 but what had we in common ! 
 
 "I -went to church oppressed and desperate. I 
 avoided the errors of the unfortunate IVIr. Jones. Mr. 
 Tarbell, by the way, had said, at the end of his remarks, 
 that ' he wa'n't no great shakes ; ' an estimate which I 
 felt inwardly sure he would- pass upon me, when he 
 was reciting my experiences to some future guest. I 
 entered duly at the door, passed fiercely by Sam Trull, 
 who sat there, all ready to repeat his kindness if neces- 
 sary. I climbed the stairs ; and when I rose, although 
 the block was miserably narrow, I balanced myself 
 with care. I did not dare to look into the faces of the 
 congi-egation, imagining it was Mr. Tarbell repeated in 
 every pew. 
 
 " I got through the day ; but it was hard. I have 
 studied faithfully nearly eight years, perhaps too faith- 
 fully ; for it certainly seems as if I had done little in 
 the way of preparing myself to meet the world, if this 
 is the world. I have written essays, that scholars and 
 men of taste commend, and tried to be helpful to the 
 poor and ignorant. I have such a high ideal of my 
 profession ; have dreamed so of Chrysostom, the golden- 
 mouthed ; of Burnet, and his audience spontaneously 
 bursting into admiration ; of Bossuet and Whitefield. 
 Far be it from me to think I can approach these, — or 
 even lights far less than these, — yet these I have 
 thought of as ideals ; and this was the actual ! In the 
 midst of the best passage of my morning sermon. 
 
THE CANDIDATE. 149 
 
 the organ boy tipped over his stool ; and I knew by the 
 rustle, that every head went round. 
 
 " I hardly know how I came to select my afternoon 
 sermon as I did. It was something which I had pre- 
 pared for the audience at the mission-chapel ; in which 
 I had tried to be very plain and simple, choosing such 
 language and illustrations as very plain people would 
 understand. It is a sermon I think very little of. 
 After church, a pleasant-faced gentleman spoke to me 
 in the porch, and invited me home to tea. He intro- 
 duced me to his wife, — a refined lady; and we drove 
 together to his cottage, which stands near the old vil- 
 lage, at some distance from Slocumville. These people 
 were very pleasant ; though, I own, I can hardly un- 
 derstand how it is, that a man of so much intelligence 
 as this Mr. Harwood seemed to be could pass the judg- 
 ment he did upon my discourses. He* spoke of my 
 afternoon sermon with very cordial approval, as inter- 
 esting, and likely to do good. Of the morning sermon 
 he said nothing ; and I construed his silence to mean 
 that it hardly pleased him. I am surprised ; for that 
 cost me double the labor. Though I say it myself, it 
 had considerable rare learning in it, and, I flatter my- 
 self, showed some metaphysical ability. Mr. Harwood 
 said nothing about this, although I set him down as a 
 very intelligent man. 
 
 " I should have enjoyed Mr. and Mrs. Harwood more, 
 if I had been well ; but my head ached severely, and I 
 was forced to ask Mr. Harwood to drive me to jMr. 
 Tarbell's, very soon after tea. He did not express any 
 
150 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 commiseration ;• but I thought I could judge from his 
 kind manner, that he appreciated the trial I had gone 
 through in the candidating. I felt full of gratitude to 
 him when he left me ; for he put out his hand, and told 
 me to keep up good courage ; that I would come out 
 right in the end. 
 
 " During the evening, I became fairly ill. ]\Irs. 
 Tarbell, I am bound to say, nursed me like a mother. 
 Sage-tea was provided by the pint ; and bottles innu- 
 merable, filled with hot water, were put to bed with 
 me, until, in my heat and perspiration, I almost ex- 
 pected to sing like a tea-kettle. 
 
 "In the morning, on my departure, 'Malviny'was 
 ready at the door with a bouquet. This she gave me 
 with a smile, whose revelations were so dismal, that I 
 precipitately buried my face to the eyes among the 
 flowers. So very plain ! and yet there is nobleness 
 about her ! Mr. Tarbell carried my carpet-bag to the 
 depot ; asked me to visit them again ; then gave me my 
 pay with a munificent air, as if it were charity, and not 
 something fairly earned. 'If there ain't Slocum him- 
 self! ' said he, as a large, rough-faced man came down 
 the street. 'Now, he don't go to church, and don't 
 pay much,' continued ]Mr. Tarbell ; ' but our folks want 
 to be perlite to him, and fetch him round. He oughter 
 give a good tax. Couldn't you kind o' be agreeable on 
 the way dowTi?' As the magnate came up, I was in- 
 troduced with much ceremony ; ]Mr. Tarbell taking care 
 to emphasize the 'reverend' before my name, for fear, 
 I suspected, that Mr. Slocum would begin to swear, 
 unless he received a hint. 
 
THE CANDIDATE. 151 
 
 " We took our seats together in the car ; he taking 
 up about two-thirds of the seat with his teavy, burly 
 frame : but there was room enough for me. It was 
 some few minutes before the train left, and unspeakably 
 awkward when Slocum, with, a * haw ! haw ! ' and in a 
 voice audible everywhere, remarked, 'Well, had a good 
 preach ? ' I had hardly replied suitably, as I thought, 
 ti this, when this other inquiry was abruptly launched : 
 Ain't your doctrine rather goln' down?' I know I 
 was pale in my despair. The whole car-full hung upon 
 the words of the maoTiate ; and I lonored to sink throuo^h 
 upon the track below, and run nay risk of getting out 
 from under the wheels as the train moved off. I sum- 
 moned all my courage ; but I know it was with the 
 feeblest flicker of a smile that I said, that * it went down 
 remarkably well with some people.' Slocum then said 
 there was talk of 'puttin' up a new gospel-shop, but he 
 thought one ought to do. *Why,' said he, *I never 
 went but once to this one ! That was in the afternoon. 
 There was a mighty sparse sprinklin' of folks. Fact, 
 the congregation that time looked hke a rat's tail in a 
 quart-pot ! ' Here the train went forward to my great 
 relief. Soon after, the great Mr" Slocum went to talk 
 with a brother manufacturer upon some question of 
 welts and shoemakers' wax. 
 
 "Do you not pity me? Yet do not think, for a 
 moment, that I believe the faiJt to be anywhere but in 
 myself; at any rate, in great part. Mr. Tarbell, no 
 doubt, has his merits. I wish I knew how to meet him 
 properly ; and I know it is over-sensitiveness, in great 
 
152 THE THINKDsG BAYONET. 
 
 part, that makes me shrink from him. Even Slocum, 
 probably, has something to like in him. But these 
 men of the world I know almost nothing about. In 
 our seclusion, I have grown more and more delicate, 
 until such a rough touch of the atmosphere of the world 
 as I have just had has almost thrown me into fever. 
 
 "As I write, I hear steps, and Mr. Tarbell's voice, 
 in the hall : * Yes, sir! we shall do a right straight-out 
 good thing to get him.' It is a committee of the Slo- 
 cumville Parish sent up to wait upon Claptrap, and 
 give him a call to settle. I do not think he can have 
 had Mr. Harwood's vote. 
 
 "I resume my pen now, after an interview with 
 Mr. Tarbell. Claptrap, it seems, holds the matter in 
 consideration ; and, meantime, Mr. Tarbell and his asso- 
 ciates would hke to have me come next Sunday to sup- 
 ply : *Xothin' serious, you know; only just to amuse 
 us.' Well, I shall go, and face it. I shall -vvi'ite two 
 new sermons on purpose, and try to have them of the 
 kind that Mr. Harwood approved, though my judgment 
 suggests something different. I shall carry up some 
 suitable gift to ]Mrs. Tarbell. I hope I am being dis- 
 ciplined into such shape that I shall be useful. Well 
 says old Henry Yaughan, — 
 
 * Thus doth God key disordered man. 
 Which none else can, 
 Tuning his brest to rise or fall ; 
 And, by a sacred, needfull art, 
 Like strings stretch every part, 
 Making the whole most musicall.' " 
 
THE OLD WOUND. 1^3 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE OLD WOUND. 
 
 Months go by, —for Herbert, months of strife and 
 hard marching. The fortune of war carries his regi- 
 ment hither and thither. Fully restored from his 
 wound, the rough, out-of-door life only confirms his 
 vio-or. The active service gives an abundance of ad- 
 venture. The military enterprises in which the regi- 
 ment takes part meet with a fair measure of success. 
 Herbert finds something to enjoy in the excitement of 
 the life, in spite of the hardships, and feels that he has 
 a share in accomphshing good. He is too conscious 
 of his power not to be restless in his subordinate posi- 
 tion, too refined to be congenially placed among the 
 rude men into whose society he is often forced ; but he 
 has resolution enough, for the time, to make hght of 
 such things. Although, in great part, his comrades 
 are rough, Herbert finds in the ranks at his side num- 
 bers of men of fine sense and admirable intelligence, — 
 some even of refinement. 
 
 Why is not Herbert promoted? We see that he has 
 attracted attention by his soldierly bearing, and won 
 the regard of officers : yet he does not get forward ; 
 
154 THE THINKIXG BAYONET. 
 
 and this is the iipison : He has come to have the name 
 of being insubordinate, and in this way. Generally- 
 mild and genial the sergeant is ; but this narrative gives 
 poor account of him, if it leads you to infer that there 
 was in him no fire upon occasion. 
 
 There is an amazing want of fortitude among part 
 of the men. What was expected when they enlisted, 
 it is hard to tell ; but, too commonly in the regiment, it 
 is a long-continued, ceaseless grumble against the food, 
 the officers, the duty. Certainly there are things which 
 are hard to bear. There is much ill-health, and, any 
 day, there is the liability of being ordered again under 
 fire ; but many, instead of making the best, make the 
 worst of it. 
 
 Ih the tent of the sergeants, one evening, sits a 
 party grumbling over their hardships ; unusually de- 
 pressed, through bad news just received from a much- 
 talked -of expedition, which has ended in disaster; 
 wishing they were at home ; betraying the most selfish 
 disposition to consult their own comfort. In this talk, 
 the pitiful first-lieutenant, who is passing near, stops 
 to join. Herbert sits cleaning his piece. He has re- 
 moved the bands, and taken the barrel from its bed. 
 Suddenly he dashes fiercely down the iron and the im- 
 plement, and springs to his feet, every feature glowing, 
 the loose planks with which the tent is floored cracking 
 beneath the indignant stamp of the powerful man : 
 " Miserable weakness ! " he cries : " and what are you 
 to foster this spirit of discontent and wretched cowardice 
 among those whom you command ? " Under the fiery 
 
THE OLD WOUND. 155 
 
 glow upon his strong face, and the deep wrath that 
 burns in his powerful tones, the group is cowed and 
 silent. Two or three of the better ones among them 
 catch his fervor. " Where should we have been with- 
 out the sergeant ?" says one. "Yes," says another; 
 " and if we only had you to lead us ! " The lieutenant 
 goes away to report Herbert as mutinous and danger- 
 ous. EUs prospects for promotion are destroyed, and 
 he is only saved from punishment by the essential 
 service which he has rendered. 
 
 As we have seen, Herbert has come into contact 
 with one personage whom he had known before his 
 flight. The morning of the rebel assault, suddenly he 
 had encountered Holyoake ; and at length it has so 
 happened that the Lowell Regiment becomes attached 
 to the brigade that the rising young officer now com- 
 mands. Herbert can look upon his face, and not be 
 moved from equanimity ; but there is another meeting 
 for him, the ^ect of which is to stir his soul in the 
 profoundest deeps. 
 
 A finely-officered veteran regiment has come out in 
 the afternoon for battalion-drill. In upon the parade 
 they come bravely marching, the band at the head. 
 The men are dark, through exposure to sun, in face 
 and hands ; but the muskets glitter, the thousand of 
 them, as if they were fresh from the arsenal. This 
 regiment knows what it is to be decimated ; to march 
 many leagues ; to lie in rifle-pits, when all the pomp 
 and circumstance fade, and fade ; with not a solitary 
 drum to sound a call; with the colors tattered and 
 
156 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 drenched under rain ; feather and tinsel all thrown aside 
 for terribly stern grappling with bloodiest death. But 
 to-day all is bright. Ranks are recruited to the full 
 number. New battle -flags are in the hands of the 
 color -guard ; the musicians, dropping the stretcher- 
 handle, resume the horn and bugle. Rapidly they 
 form in their line of battle ; their brown, stern-faced 
 colonel galloping upon his stallion from wing to wing. 
 A sonorous order, and all- is motion. On the run, but 
 with the even line preserved, they wheel in sweeping 
 blue radii ; they concentrate into squares ; then roll out 
 again into solid column. Meantime, for a soul to the 
 whole, the full band at the edge of the ground is peal- 
 ing out its quick, inspiriting sound. , Over all thrills 
 the shout of the colonel ; then the call of the captains ; 
 then the tumult of the foot-beats of the thousand men, 
 and the clash of their arms : combining to dissolve, 
 assembling to separate ; now a long array, now com- 
 pact order. Upon the hill above the paiade is gathered 
 a crowd of spectators, beneath whose eyes the regiment 
 gleams and changes, from formation to formation, like 
 the pieces in a great kaleidoscope, with rattle and clash, 
 and yet with perfect regularity ; falling into new, and 
 again new combinations. 
 
 Herbert looks at the drill from the hill, and feels the 
 excitement from the splendid rush and glitter, and from 
 the pealing of the instruments. Hoof-beats sound near 
 at hand. He turns ; and lo ! Holyoake, now a general, 
 through brave conduct, trots up the sand, with a lady in 
 his company. The lady is veiled, mounted on a spir- 
 
THE OLD WOUND. 157 
 
 ited horse, which she manages with grace. Once or 
 twice, too, upon the flank of the animal, as it shows 
 restiveness, prompt and firm the gloved hand brings 
 down the whip, — a fearless, confident horsewoman. 
 As they go past, the wind blows out the skirt of the 
 habit, and lifts the veil from before her face. Pale 
 cheeks ; earnest eyes ; a broad brow ; dark, thick, clus- 
 tering hair, — at sight of which, Herbert shrinks to one 
 side, and averts his face ; then seats himself in the sand, 
 as they pass on, with his head in his hand. "I know 
 her," says a Maine soldier near, so far well of a wound 
 as to be out at the drill : "the nurse in our ward, — and 
 a good, smart one ; clear stuflf right through ; nary 
 knot or crack ! She keeps too close. I'm glad she's 
 out awhile for the air." 
 
 Face to face with her ! he full of generous, manly 
 love that will not die ; for, as he looks upon her face, 
 the fountains he had sought to seal within him deluge 
 his heart with a hot flood, till it is nigh to burst. 
 " Fool ! fool that I am ! " mutters Herbert to himself. 
 "So hopeless! Work, work! give me something to 
 fill my thoughts. It must not be." Toward dusk the 
 camp is reached. The company -cook comes out to 
 meet him. "The boys, sergeant, growl at the cook- 
 ing ; and there's need of convayniences." Herbert 
 hurries together half a dozen men, who wonder at his 
 impetuosity, and sets to work with mud, and bricks 
 from a destroyed building, to repair the cook's arrange- 
 ments. In an old wheelbarrow, he himself carries 
 material ; tten, in an empty box, brings mud, like a 
 
158 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 hodman, or an enslaved Israelite under Cheops and 
 Rameses, setting up sphinxes by the Nile. He is fierce 
 almost in his eagerness. "Kill it! kill it ! " he mut- 
 ters. " Any thing to crush it out ! Why is it, my 
 God, that I must sufFeV so?" So he struggles and 
 prays, until he grows pale with exhaustion ; then 
 thanks God as his eyes close in sleep. 
 
 Herbert Lee to Putnam May. 
 
 "A soldier of our regiment, discharged from sick- 
 ness, is going home. I have rendered him some ser- 
 vice ; and he is willing to take a letter for me to some 
 northern city, and there mail it. So I can write to you 
 again, and still give no clue. And yet I hardly 
 know why I care so much that you should not know 
 where I am. Perhaps I have been hiding so long, that 
 the habit has gi'own upon me. I Avould love to see 
 you, or hear from you ; and yet what good would it do 
 to you or to me? If it would help me to be more 
 manly in my life, you should know at once : but I do 
 not see that it will ; and I might hear what will perplex 
 and harass me. I try now to do good. I try to enjoy 
 this present companionship, and endure it well when 
 my vigor is firm. ' So long as a man is good-natured 
 and well-meaning, why make account of his rough- 
 ness ? ' I say : and there is no need to make account of 
 it, and I do not, when I am well ; but privation some- 
 what lowers the physical tone. It must be that that 
 often makes me pine and thirst for what I have once 
 
THE OLD WOUND. 159 
 
 kno>vn : cultivated friends ; the voices of ladies ; books ; 
 refinements. 
 
 "Ah, well ! let me tell it all. I did not mean to at 
 first ; but perhaps it will ease me to confess to you. 
 You see, from the few words that I have written, that 
 I am not happy. Yet, Putnam, I was trying to hide 
 my misery in writing that. It would come through 
 some, you see, into the words. Oh ! I am wretched 
 beyond words. Here it is ; all, all. An old wound is 
 bleeding that I thought I had cauterized with bitter fire ; 
 but it is freshly opened ; how, I do not care to tell. 
 Agony, that, under different circumstances, might be 
 such sweetness ! O my queen ! glory of womanhood, 
 steadfast and great and calm Leonora ! There ! no 
 more. You know it. It is folly to be thus wretched. 
 I think of past heroism and sainthood ; after which, I 
 sometimes hope to follow, feebly and far away ; but 
 I know of no precedent for such breaking-down as this 
 into foolish misery. I am unworthy of the faith and 
 purpose that have been given to me. Life, — in which 
 I hoped to do so much, — now, O friend, is so utterly, 
 utterly a burden ! We go here with our lives in our 
 hands ; and blessed to me would be the hostile bullet 
 that should take away my weak, irresolute soul. But 
 this is not right or honorable, and you shall hear no 
 more of it. I believe it, has done me good to write it. 
 I will write on to occupy my mind now, trying to feel 
 as if the suffering were not. 
 
 " I have fought and fought ; and I am almost shaken 
 in my opi'hions as to the justice of war, under any cir- 
 
160 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 cumstances, by what I have seen. The battle-field is 
 so terrible ! — dreadful at the time, so ghastly at the 
 end ! Once, after a battle, I had gone back upon the 
 field. I saw two of our men, each with a pipe in his 
 mouth, burying the dead. They took one, a rebel, with 
 whom, indeed, they had fought the evening before. One 
 at the head, the other at the feet, they carried him to 
 the trench. They tried to pilfer his watch and money ; 
 but I saw their purpose, and thwarted them. But they 
 laughed, and insulted the corse they bore as so much 
 carrion. Do you remember when we read Plato's 
 " Republic " together ? One passage we noted as being 
 generous, — and it rose then into my mind, — where 
 it says, you know, that it is 'mean and forbidden to 
 plunder a corse, and the mark of a weak, small mind 
 to deem the body of the deceased an enemy.' These 
 men seem so mean and low ! 
 
 " Once, on a march, I was one of the guard in the 
 rear, whose duty it was to arrest stragglers. You 
 must know, that always, if the roads are at all heavy, 
 and the sun hot, men leave their regiments by dozens ; 
 some really overcome, — too much exhausted to go 
 farther ; others only feigning exhaustion, thinking, that, 
 by loitering, they may find opportunities for plunder. 
 I marched with the guard, some distance in the rear, 
 along the trampled road. We came to a house, — a 
 poor, mean dwelling ; the shelter of poverty. In 
 front, there had been a skirmish. Three rebel dead lay 
 unburied, in the hot sun, gory and distorted. O 
 Putnam ! do you make it real to yourself what gore is ? 
 
THE OLD WOUND. 161 
 
 a familiar word enough, but such a dreadful sight in 
 
 reality; that clotted, gelatinous purple, oozing from 
 mortal wounds ! 
 
 "On the piazza about the poor house, sat the in- 
 mates, — a bowed old man, amid a group of squalid 
 children; bare-footed, bare-headed, anxious, weeping. 
 He was the grandparent. The father was in the rebel 
 army somewhere ; the mother sat rocking with an infant 
 in her arms, thin and sickly. The house and the yard 
 were full of straggling soldiers. The garden had been 
 rifled of every vegetable w^hich could be eaten, and 
 what was left was trampled down. The cow in the 
 wretched shed had been shot, a little meat cut from 
 the carcass, and the rest left to waste. The guns of 
 the men were cracking about the yard, and every fowl 
 was being killed. A number of men were coming out 
 of the door with haversacks full of meal. The whole 
 substance of these poor people w^as being devoured. 
 As I came up, a drunken soldier — of our army, Put- 
 nam — had just torn the brooch away which the woman 
 with the child in her arms wore at her neck, — a cheap 
 thing, which, how^ever, had attracted his drunken greed ; 
 and (I can hardly bear to write the terribly ruffianly 
 thing) he w^as • rudely taking from one of her ears the 
 ear-ring, making the blood flow in his heedless brutality. 
 I rushed upon him, and saved her further pain ; and, 
 the officer in command of the guard being close at 
 hand, we had the fellow arrested. We tried to restore 
 order : but, while we were there, flames burst out from 
 the barn, which sj)eedily caught the house ; and the 
 
162 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 guard passed on, leaving the old man, the woman, and 
 the company of little children, shelterless and foodless, 
 looking in tears uj^on their blazing home. My heart 
 bled for them so ! Yet I could do nothing. We were 
 pursuing the enemy. Duty forced me forward. 
 
 " On another day, I was engaged in similar duty. 
 The guard came to a solitary church, standing in the 
 midst of a burial-ground. It was a sweet and solemn 
 spot. Trees — some of them familiar, some of strange 
 tropical form and foliage — grew about it. In front 
 was a grove of pines, whispering as if with oracular 
 breathings ; behind, a clump of live-oaks, with small 
 glossy leaves set in dense clusters upon the far-reaching 
 branches. Over some of the trees crept vines, making 
 their srreen still more thick and o;raceful. Still farther 
 behind, in the still burial-ground, were trunks and 
 branches, hung with the funereal gray moss, which 
 swayed slowly back and forth like coffin-plumes. I 
 stt>od in the porch of the little church, and saw how the 
 door had been wrenched from its hinges, and lay broken 
 on the ground. The pews were split and torn down. 
 In the chancel, rail, desk, and pulpit were scored and 
 dinted, and the walls scrawled with soldiers' names. 
 Doors and windows, flung rudely open, gave free ingress 
 into the violated shrine to rain and winds. The army 
 had gone forward ; but I went round the building, in 
 discharge of my duty, to see if any straggler might be 
 lurking there. T'he church was somewhat venerable, 
 and not ungraceful in its architecture. 
 
 "Passing among tlie graves, I saw that it had been 
 
THE OLD WOUXD. 163 
 
 the burial-place of families of wealth and consequence. 
 Some lots were elegantly inclosed, and contained taste- 
 ful and costly monuments. One stone bore, ' God 
 be merciful to me, a sinner !' for a motto. Another 
 had a verse from a touching poem. The inscriptions 
 were mostly simple, humble, appropriate ; indicating 
 refinement and piety in those who had erected the 
 stones. Some inclosures were moss-grown; having 
 stood, evidently, for many years. The vines, the cac- 
 tus, and prickly pear, grew thick within them. Here 
 were the stones of grandfathers, placed a half-century 
 ago ; and, by the side of them, white tablets to their 
 grandchildren, babies dead within the year. 
 
 " On one side, at length, I saw a very handsome and 
 costly sepulchre, with the name of the family by which 
 it had been erected cut in deep relief upon it. It was 
 built of stone, brought, evidently, a long distance ; 
 elegantly inclosed ; the massive blocks carved with in- 
 verted torches and other appropriate funereal emblems. 
 ' Integrity and uprightness ' was the legend cut in deep 
 relief above the door. It was plainly the mausoleum 
 of an ancient and honorable house. 
 
 " It was sad indeed to see how the butts of Northern 
 muskets had dashed in the marble doors, and shocked 
 the solemn interior repose with impious violation. I 
 bent over the threshold, and looked in through the 
 broken portal. There lay, in their niches, the burial- 
 cases of adults and children ; the wreaths which the 
 bereaved had left there at the funerals still lying over 
 the lids ! 
 
164 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 " Do not think that the terrible ruffianism that these 
 things indicate is universal, or indeed general, in our 
 armies. There are some, who, away from restraint, 
 and often in drunkenness, do these things ; the worst 
 among our roughs and rascals. You would hardly 
 believe they can be men ; and yet, too, they have a 
 bright and human side to them, when they are them- 
 selves, as I have sometimes been surprised to ob- 
 serve. As an offset to this class, I know numbers 
 here at my side, undistinguished by any badge, of 
 fine sense, with many grand qualities and much intelli- 
 gence ; freemen of the class who give to our land its 
 character. 
 
 " You will say all this is terrible ; and yet these 
 things are happening everywhere, where war comes. 
 They almost unman me, — shake me in the belief I 
 have felt that war is sometimes just. It is the cause, 
 the cause alone, that justifies it. This dreadful thing 
 of war I hope solemnly is to last at furthest but a few 
 years. Then it will be past, and the evils we are 
 battling will have passed with it, I solemnly trust ; 
 evils which, if not thus met, would cause, through long 
 decades, — through centuries probably, — an amount 
 of suffering and sin enormously greater in the aggre- 
 gate than all that follows in the train of war now. 
 We do not do evil, that good may come. We do the 
 less evil, — bring this bloody strife, with its attendant 
 horrors, upon the land, — as the only way to avoid 
 doing the greater evil, suffering a dreadful power to 
 triumph. 
 
THE OLD WOUND. 165 
 
 "As I left the old man, the haggard mother, the 
 frightened little ones, behind me there, in the instance 
 I have just related, mj heart was hot with pity, with 
 rage, with grief. ' What can extenuate it?' I thought. 
 Then, as I became calmer, this passage came into my 
 mind, which I fell upon somewhere years ago, and 
 learned by heart. 
 
 " You know my memory is retentive ; yet I forget 
 whether these are words of Milton himself, or words 
 which some one has put into his mouth. It seems to 
 me they are wise enough to be ]\Iilton's own. With 
 scarcely a change, I apply them now : — 
 
 "^For civil war, that it is an evil, I dispute not; 
 but that it is the greatest of evils, I stoutly deny. It 
 doth indeed appear to the misjudging to be a worse 
 calamity than slavery ; because its miseries are collected 
 together within a short space and time, and may easily, 
 at one view, be taken in and perceived. But the mis- 
 fortunes of nations cursed by slavery, being distributed 
 over many centm'ies and many places, as they are of 
 greater weight and number, so are they of less display. 
 When the devil of slavery hath gone into the body 
 politic, he departs not but with struggles and foaming, 
 and great convulsions. Shall he, therefore, vex it for 
 ever, lest, in going out, he may for a moment tear and 
 rend it ? ' * 
 
 " Is it not grand wisdom ? I am carrying that sen- 
 
 * This passage which Herbert gives is Macaulay's. It is put into the 
 mouth of Milton in an imaginar}' conversation betsveen Cowley and Milton, 
 to be found in the " Later Essays and Poems." 
 
166 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 tence, which years ago I learned by heart, in my mind ; 
 and it is the staff upon which I go forward now, in my 
 fighting. Terrible the misfortune and suffering ; but 
 how much more terrible if this devil of slavery had 
 been suffered to remain, and vex us ! though indeed, 
 the woe, in that case, might have made less show than 
 that of the war, through being so distributed. 
 
 " These are words of an unhappy man, — unhap- 
 py, I fear, in an unmanly way ; but let me, for once, 
 pour myself out. So lonely as I am to-night ! Once 
 in a fortnight comes the mail. *What, said a good- 
 hearted corporal, the other day, ' never letters for you ; 
 no sweetheart nor any one to send you a word ! Now 
 we chaps grab our letters, I tell you. I van ! I be- 
 lieve there is a kind o' mileage about them, and each 
 letter comes in here like a Californy Congressman, — 
 mighty rich, — though when it started, praps 'twamt 
 worth nary red.' 
 
 " What a mileage the poorest scrap you could send 
 me would gain, before it reached me ! But would it 
 help me forward ? " 
 
MEADOWBOBO 
 
 167 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 M E A D O W B O E O'. 
 
 After Herbert Lee's disappearance, Mr. Wells, the 
 minister of Meadowboro', hearing of Putnam's friend- 
 ship and active interest in his old pupil, sent for 
 him to make him a visit. Putnam went, and it was 
 the beginning of an intimacy between the two. When 
 Putnam had completed his regular course, he resolved 
 to spend a few months in Meadowboro', that he might 
 read under the direction of Mr. Wells. During this 
 time, the infirmities of the latter increased so rapidly, 
 that it became necessary for him to have an associate. 
 His own preferences were strongly for Putnam ; and the 
 Meadowboro' Parish, after duly passing judgment, in- 
 vited him to the position. Thither he went, therefore, 
 as the colleague of Mr. Wells. 
 
 At this time, too, he became married; concerning 
 which, this is all that will be said. Putnam was mar- 
 ried and settled ; and his wife is that Alice Granger, 
 who was at Honomok with Leonora. The prelimina- 
 ries were gone through with at Honomok, for the most 
 part ; and, if any one is curious in the matter, he is 
 referred to old Windy Haines, whose red eyes were 
 glaring over at the pair from his opera-glass, regularly, 
 
168 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 every evening of the wooing ; and who is probably 
 familiar with every particular of the courtship. 
 
 This is the way Putnam writes to Lou, just after 
 they have gone to housekeeping. 
 
 Putnam May to Louisa May. 
 
 " This flower-set cottage, in which Alice and I, sweet 
 wife, are laid away ! Now all is done. We have 
 driven home the last carpet-tack. The vases, even, 
 stand upon the mantel-piece, — each with its flowers, 
 — and every picture hangs true upon the wall. Such 
 an eye as Alice has got ! It is as good as a spirit-level, 
 to ^ the bottom of the frame exactly with the horizon^ 
 tal. So, now that all is done, and we are not so very 
 tired, Alice is playing some sweet thing from Men- 
 delssohn, while I come here to dedicate my fresh, new 
 study, by seeing how I can write. The music comes 
 in to me softly through the closed door, as I love to 
 have it. I do not listen to it. As I write, I forget 
 about it ; but still it comes in, to mould the feelings, I 
 believe. So, if I blossom out into a posy here and 
 there, think it is my poor pen trying to dress up her 
 pretty arpeggios in ink. 
 
 " I am certain, that I know what is the prettiest thing 
 in the world, — a half-blown tea-rose, in a plain, small 
 Parian vase. Alice has put this prettiest thing in the 
 world just before my eyes, here on my desk. It is a 
 little translucent urn of Parian : not marred by any 
 vain embossment, nor wrought over with any painful 
 counterfeit of twining vines and leaves ; but perfectly 
 
169 
 
 plain. It rises so, in this chaste, unfretted symmetry, 
 only some three or four inches. Below, it is a slender 
 stem, that midway swells into pearly fulness ; then, 
 white and smooth and round, it tapers up, holding at 
 the top this one tea-rose, half-blown. It is pretty as 
 the arm of some young fairy. This rose did not grow 
 in our garden. It is one of the house-plants. They 
 have just been moved here ; and what should come out 
 but this little bud at once, — the first thing born in our 
 new home ? The hue of the petals is exactly what we 
 see in the west sometimes, very late in the twilight , 
 and I am half- sure those sad, sweet -throated whip- 
 poorwills, that we hear bemoaning the approach of 
 evening, on the mountain, would wail out that triple, 
 melancholy note of theirs, if they could catch sight of 
 it, — it is such a perfect match to that twilight hue ! 
 
 " Of course, there is a fly in my pot of ointment. 
 A little hard, is it not, that my poor little inheritance 
 — all I have, you know, except my salary — should 
 be so utterly sunk ! But, Lou, no picture was ever 
 more brilliant than that painted before me by the agent 
 of the South Goose -Creek Coal -Mining Company. 
 Upon the banks of that agreeable stream, the company 
 owned a wide tract of territory, their fee simple ; as 
 the agent expressed it, with an approach to sublimity, 
 extending ^ from the surface to the centre of the earth.' 
 Shafts had been sunk in a profuse manner, into beds of 
 the richest character, which lay one beneath the other. 
 Such wealth as was sandwiched there among the strata 
 by South Goose-Creek ! So fairly honey-combed was 
 
 8 
 
170 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 the earth above it and around it, with shafts, adits, pits, 
 and drifts, by which it was to be brought to light, to 
 feed by the multitude the forges of industry; and, 
 properly transmuted, to make heavy the pockets of 
 poor me, would I but invest ! All of this was in due 
 form set forth by the smiling and gentlemanly agent. 
 To be sure, just then, operations were at a stand-still ; 
 but I was that very capitalist, (just think, with my few 
 hundreds !) whose emetic finger, as it were, inserted 
 within the throat of the mine, would forthwith cause it 
 to belch up its most hidden deposits. It was urged 
 upon me to be wise in time. The streets -were jammed 
 with an excited crowd ; steamers were that moment 
 making port ; trains thronged were whistling into the 
 depots ; and all these were large capitalists, with their 
 means in their pockets, hurrying to the city to buy 
 this famous stock. Would I linger ? I went out pre- 
 sently, with a certificate of stock to the entire amount 
 of my little funds, — walking, I was conscious, with 
 something of a strut, as became the nabob to replenish 
 whose coffers even the haunts of the gnome and the 
 kobold were invaded. But either because the goblins 
 at South Goose-Creek are a swindling, light-fingered 
 race, who swallow fortunes into their caverns, and give 
 no return, or because the managers, bold in their con- 
 sciousness of owning to the centre of the earth, ran 
 shafts so deep that the investments dropped through to 
 the hidden fires, — for one or both of these, or for 
 some other reason, the money went, and gave no sign, 
 while I, poor victim, droop and mourn. 
 
IIEADOWBORO'. 171 
 
 " Of course, you will want to know something about 
 Mr. Wells, whose colleague I am. He is so simple 
 and sincere ! The burying-ground at Meadowboro' is 
 upon the brow of a terrace, looking down upon the 
 meadow. The oldest stone is mossy and leaning ; the 
 inscription badly blurred by the clinging lichens, — 
 *To Mistress Mindwell Pumry, who was captivated by 
 an Indian salvage, and by ye salvage tragically toma- 
 hawked,' in Eang Philip's war. The newest stone is 
 small, and very plain, — 'Leonard Wells, aet. four.' 
 Now here is the story of this little fellow's death and 
 burial, that will show the pure and high old man as 
 he is. 
 
 " Leonard, or Lenny, was his only grandchild. He 
 died last month, leaving the poor man alone. His 
 wife died long years ago. His only daughter grew to 
 a lovely womanhood, only to marry ill, and be deserted 
 by her husband. Shortly after this, Lenny, her only 
 child, was born ; the throes of the mother's travail 
 being at the same time her death-pangs. A fair, lov- 
 ing boy he was coming to be, in the current of whose 
 sweet young life, as it flowed freshly on in the parson- 
 age, the grandfather bathed his soul, and grew young, 
 as in a rill from some fountain of youth. Lenny sick- 
 ened and died, when scarcely four. I went up to see 
 the old man, as he sat alone with his broken heart 
 in the still chamber, — a little cold heap of white upon 
 the table at his side, — cloth and napkin, and the dead 
 boy. ' Gone from me !' he broke out ; and then, with 
 his gray head upon the table, he poured out his grief in 
 
172 THE TmXKING BAYONET. 
 
 the words of David above the coi'pse of Absalom, 
 ' Would God I had died for thee, my child, — my 
 child!' 
 
 " What could I do or say ? Before such a bereave- 
 ment, I felt powerless. Every thing I tried to say 
 seemed cold, and almost harsh ; and I could only take 
 the old man's hand, to clasp and bend over it. Mr. 
 Wells grew calmer, as I sat with him. * At least, Mr. 
 May,' he said, sitting upright, and becoming collected, 
 — ^ at least his burial shall be worthy. This clay, so 
 sweet to me, must lie in a casket of the costliest ; the 
 little shroud must be of the choicest ; the memorial in 
 the burying-ground shall be rich as chisel can carve. I 
 must have it so, sir. All that is fine and delicate must 
 wrap these little limbs. Upon the small, plaited 
 shroud, must lie rare flowers, — softest silk under this 
 damp, white cheek. Help me to these, Mr. May. Oh, 
 it is little, — little enough! but, through these poor sym- 
 bols, I would speak the precious love I bore the child.' 
 I promised to give my help, and took my leave. 
 
 " It so happened that John Burns, a poor laborer of 
 the parish, had also lost a child in the same night in 
 which Lenny Wells had died. I went from the par- 
 sonaoe to Burns's house, and found there as much orrief 
 as I had left behind. Little Eoddy lay under white 
 cloths, like the old minister's grandchild. Ah'eady 
 the two little fellows had begun to be playmates ; and 
 together they had thrown aside their toy drums and 
 horses, and drooped away. I naturally talked to Burns 
 and liis wife about Mr. Wells; and, rather thought- 
 
MEADOWBORO*. 173 
 
 lesslj, in speaking of his grief, alluded to the arrange- 
 ments which the minister wished to have made. 'Yes/ 
 said Burns's wife, 'a brave little chap;' then, after a 
 moment, with a sort of fierceness, 'but no braver 
 than our Roddy. They'll be buried the same day. 
 They played together down here on our slope ; and 
 pity 'twould be they should not be buried alike. AVhat 
 say ye, Burns? We'll go even with the minister, 
 won't we ? Surely Roddy shall have only the brightest 
 and best about him.' 
 
 " Burns is poor, and in debt. They could not make 
 such an outlay without stinting the other children and 
 themselves in clothing and food. I was sorry enough 
 I had said any thing. I hinted at the expense as deli- 
 cately as I could ; but it was almost with passion that 
 the woman spoke up, 'It's not at such a time, sir, 
 that we'd be countino^ dollars.' I took the charo^e with 
 great reluctance, ' When I was ordering for the minis- 
 ter, to order just the same for them.' With jSIr. 
 Wells again in the evening, I told about my call at the 
 Burns's. I feared ao^ain I had not been oruarded enouo^h ; 
 for I saw that Mr. Wells was moved, when he heard 
 what Burns had done. He walked thoughtfully across 
 the room. He turned down the cloth from the dead 
 boy's brow, kissed it, and hung over it; then replaced 
 it, and was thoughtful again. Sensitive as he was, I 
 knew there would be positive solace to him in having 
 the circumstances of the burial and the grave rich and 
 tasteful ; and could not feel that it was right, in such a 
 time of agony, that he should give them up. 
 
174 THE THIXKING BAYONET. 
 
 " Early the following morning, he sent for me. lie 
 was with the body, as before. ' Let the order be can- 
 celled,' said he, Uf not too late. God forbid, that, in 
 the midst of my chastening, I should set an example 
 of luxury, or lead my poor neighbors into ex^>enditure 
 that must come out of tlieir bread ! ' 
 
 " So Lenny and Roddy were buried ; the sexton fas- 
 tening a plain, walnut board down into a plain coffin, 
 above each little wasted face. Each lay in a snow- 
 white night-dress, with wild-flowers upon his bosom 
 and in his hand ; and each has, for a gravestone, an 
 inexpensive slab from our quarry under the mountain. 
 
 '* Now, Lou, perhaps I see more in this . than I 
 ought, or than you will ; but do you think every one 
 would be so self-sacrificing and thoughtful at such a 
 time? 
 
 " It is a great bond between Mr. AYells and me, that 
 we both feel such an interest in Herbert. I show him 
 the letters which come from Herbert ; always guarded 
 so carefully, that I may get no idea of his where- 
 abouts. You remember the one I sent to you, telling 
 of his new-born faith, and enlistment. That I showed 
 to Mr. Wells ; and, shortly after, he sent me this ac- 
 knowledgment. It was before I came to Meadowboro' 
 to live. It is so characteristic of the old man, that I 
 will send it to you. I dare say you may call him 
 pedantic ; but really, it is from perfect simpleness of 
 heart, that he strews his letters and conversation with 
 these scraps of learning. He has lived in seclusion, 
 and is full of old-fashioned habits. In his quiet, he 
 
MEADOWBORO'. 175 
 
 studies much; and his retentive memory keeps every 
 thing at hand for him. These sentences from his read- 
 ing come unbidden almost upon his pen and Hps. I 
 am sure that he has no desire for display. The giving 
 of place and page is part of the accuracy into which he 
 has disciplined himself. 
 
 Mr. WeUs to Putnam May. 
 
 " * My dear young Friend, — Indeed, I am much 
 beholden to you, in that you so promptly have put into 
 my hand these good tidings respecting Herbert Lee. 
 I am much overjoyed, that thus, at length, through his 
 doubt btegins to dawn the hght of hope and trust : in 
 part, perhaps, from some little vanity I feel, that my 
 judgment in the matter, often pronounced, will be at 
 length justified, namely, — that the young man's ques- 
 tioning was but preliminary to a fair and sweet faith ; 
 but principally because, when a youth, he endeared 
 himself to me by many admirable traits of which he 
 gave sign, — merits which needed indeed direction and 
 restraint, but nevertheless noteworthy. Therefore it is 
 that I hail this coming of peace into his mind. 
 
 " ' My study, as you know, is for the most part con- 
 fined to those ancients, so venerable through their own 
 wisdom, and through the respect which has been so long 
 accorded to them ; yet I do not abstain altogether from 
 the writings of our own time, though I am sometimes 
 brought to think, that mere froth and air, rather than 
 the sober substance of wisdom, are pleasing to our 
 cotemporaries. I have only praise, however, for De 
 
176 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 Tocquevilie. He, I remember, puts well, in a pregnant 
 sentence, a thought germane to this present case, name- 
 ly : " that strong convictions are found only at the two 
 ends of knowledge, and that doubt lies in the middle." 
 {^Dem. in Am. ch. xi.) 
 
 " * Certainly this is a wise man's language. Herbert 
 Lee, when under my charge, was little versed in men 
 or books ; and, moreover, showed no doubting tendency. 
 Though impetuous, he had much aspiration and abun- 
 dant behef. As his knowledge began to gain, the 
 questioning came, — deep, as was natural, the strength 
 of his mind and his sincerity being taken into account. 
 However, in his full maturity, — becoming anf[3ly fur- 
 nished, through study and experience, with wisdom, — 
 he comes anew into assured conviction. 
 
 " ' I like the letter of the young man. I like his 
 account of the old friend with whom fortune so strange- 
 ly brings him face to face. There is solid substance in 
 hearts that can maintain so long the fire of friendship, 
 through separation, and diversity of feeling. jNIisled and 
 intemperate that young Claiborne may be ; but who 
 can say there is no excellence in him? For my part, 
 I incline to the sentiment put into the mouth of the 
 wise Lfelius in the dialogue: "I am of opinion, that, 
 except among the virtuous, friendship cannot exist." 
 (" Sed hoc primum sentio, nisi in bonis amicitiam esse 
 non posse." De jLmicitia, Y. ) The sentiments of the 
 young man I loathe ; and his rage, in the instance 
 related, is unpardonable. Well indeed may we know 
 whence the taint is dra\vn. As re^^ards master, as well 
 
ME ADO^VBORO' . 177 
 
 as reofards slave, is that sentiment of Homer true : 
 " The half of his nobleness does far-sounding Zeus take 
 away from a man, when the day of slavery seizes hold 
 of liim." 
 
 ["HfiiGv /up T'uperjj^ unoaivvTai evpioira Zevg 
 'Avepog, evr'av (iiv Kara dovXiov rj/iap eXi^Giv.) 
 
 Odys. xvii. 322-323. 
 
 Yet there is nobility in a nature, which, through every 
 thing, is mindful of a friend. 
 
 " ^ But the point in Herbert's letter which strikes me 
 most is the conclusion ; in which he declares, that, in 
 laying liis hand upon weapons, it is for mankind. We 
 may, I think, take the young man as representing the 
 spirit of pur nobler and higher toned youth to-day, 
 who go forth to fight, and who will sway the nation 
 when the times of our peace return. Remark the 
 breadth — the Christian breadth, I may say — of the 
 spirit ; and I am much at fault if it be not something 
 new in the world. I go to Greece ; but among her 
 heroes I find not one, who, when he gave himself to 
 sword or spear, had a thought beyond Greece. Bapiiapot 
 were all others : not precious, and worthy to die for. 
 I go to Rome : it is simply for Rome that her heroes 
 die. It is for country ; but there is no thought beyond 
 country. To die for that was the last refinement of the 
 Roman virtus, — the sublimest limit of honor. If 
 the country were wrong, — if it stood as a curse in the 
 world, rather than a benefit, it was the same. So 
 the semi-barbarian, mediaeval prince, for his first virtue, 
 held loyalty to the great stock, Orsini or Colonna, 
 
 8* 
 
178 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 York or Lancaster, Guise or Navarre, — the great 
 stock from which he sprung; loyalty to that, or at 
 farthest, to his king. I know not where, in the past, 
 we shall turn for heroes who rise to the great Christian 
 thought, — who lay clown their lives, not for any nar- 
 row idea, but for their kind. But to-day, when our 
 nobler youths, upon bloody fields breathe up their 
 spirits (efflare a^iimam), how is their dying agony 
 glorified, when the benumbing lips tremble with that 
 sentence, the utterance of nobler chivalry, "I die for 
 my kind." They seem to say from their holy sepul- 
 chres, " "We fight, we fall, for country indeed, but not 
 for that alone ; for that, because it secures everywhere 
 weal for mankind ; because it means freedom to them 
 in bonds, and assures honor and faith in all parts." So 
 seem they to call to us from their hallowed tombs ; and, 
 in so calling, do these their young voices transcend 
 even the sublimer utterances of antique heroism. Le- 
 onidas and Epaminondas, ye were lower than this ! 
 farther down than theirs in glory are your pedestals, O 
 Brutus and Scipio ! In this latter day hath arisen a 
 race nobler than the old chivalry ; weaponed and hel- 
 meted now, that mankind may be blest ! 
 
 " ' But whither does my too inconsiderate pen lead 
 me ? I fear I am betrayed beyond prudence into the 
 heat of rhapsody ; and even you, my young friend, in- 
 dulgent though I have ever found you to the talk of a 
 poor old man (garrulous often, I doubt not, and per- 
 haps evidencing the approach of the time of doting 
 folly, — " Senectus e.st natura loquacior") , will scarcely 
 
MEADOWBOIIO 
 
 179 
 
 bear with me. Yet so it is, that the spectacle of vehe- 
 ment and generous youth inflames me with an ardor 
 which perhaps is hardly timely, — adm6nished as I am 
 by the whiteness of my head to court cooler and graver 
 impressions, — until in a manner I am so stirred .as to 
 fancy almost that I might box with Dares or run with 
 Phidippides ; and, in my fever to undertake some 
 acliieveraent, I am like the youth in the poem, — 
 
 ' Spumantemque dari pecora inter inertia votis, 
 Optat aprum aut fulvum descendere monte leonem.' " 
 
180 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 EBONY. 
 
 Herbert's meeting with Leonora proved a serious 
 matter for him. His love for her had onlj shimbered ; 
 and when aroused, the circumstances being so hopeless, 
 Herbert was plunged into the wretchedness indicated in 
 the letter which he sent to Putnam. For the time, the 
 elasticity of his spirit had departed ; and when it be- 
 came necessary to endure hardship, his frame sank 
 beneath it, the power of resistance being in great part 
 gone. He became ill, and was sent back fi-om the 
 front to a town on the border, as a hospital patient. 
 He grew better at last ; and, while recovering, found 
 work which brought him a degree of peace. Here is 
 the record of it which he ,sent to Putnam, careful, as 
 before, to give no indication of his whereabouts, — 
 
 From ^erhert Lee to Putnam May. 
 
 " I have been ill ; but, my boy, I have got it under 
 foot, I think. I wanted something to kill time, while 
 recovering. Whittling, you know, is the great resource 
 in rebel prisons, and the convalescent wards of hos- 
 
EBOXY. . 181 
 
 pitals ; but I could not manage a knife, and doubt 
 whether I could be easy making fans and jackstraws. 
 The fact was, Putnam, I was uneasy not to be doing 
 some one good. I think I shall never be satisfied to do 
 any thing that will not have a pretty direct bearing 
 upon the welfare of men. I hope I never shall be. I 
 mean to tell you now what I have found to do here. 
 
 " I managed early to get the surgeon's good will, 
 who has given me a little freer range than is generally 
 allowed. There is, here in this town where my hospital 
 is situated, quite a population of free negroes. In a 
 slaveholding community, of course, their position has 
 always been that of outcasts. Since the outbreak of 
 the war, their condition has been even worse than it 
 was before. Their life has been more precarious ; and, 
 though they are frill of hope about their future, the 
 upturning brings them much temporary suffering. Too 
 often, now, they are marks for kicks and cuffs, even 
 with men from the North. The women are often aban- 
 doned, the men cowed and cringing. The children 
 grow up neglected, in hovels ; for no systematic effort, 
 in the way of instruction and relief, has been made 
 here as yet. They are eager for instruction, and have 
 waited impatiently for the time, which they have felt 
 was close at hand, when they were to obtain it. Now, 
 the work I have laid out for part of the day is to turn 
 schoolmaster, and teach these poor things. 
 
 " The black laundresses are here every day. I asked 
 one, — Phillis, a very tidy, respectable body, — if 
 there was any school for her people. 'No.' 'Would 
 
182 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 her people like a school?' She rather thought they 
 would. ' Well, who are some of your principal folks, 
 that I can speak: to about it ? I have half a day, five 
 days in the week, that I can give for it ; and I will keep 
 a school for you, and you need not pay any tiling.' 
 Phillis referred me to a certain Aunt Filey, who lived 
 on the river-bank, as having influence, and as likely to 
 put me in the way of getting at the black people ; so I 
 went with Phillis to see Aunt Filey. I found her in a 
 more decent house than belongs to most of her race 
 here, — a tall, large woman, of quite dignified bearing, 
 plainly with some white blood in her veins. She re- 
 ceived me gravely and courteously, and I sat down in 
 a chair by the side of her ironing-table. A colored 
 Methodist preacher, at that time, I found, was staying 
 in her house. He was employed as a hand aboard a 
 river transport, usually ; but had been sick, and had 
 stopped a few days among the negroes here. The work 
 of examining me was given over to him. 
 
 " It was a tough piece of business for the poor fellow. 
 He belonged to the down-trodden class, I to the 
 whites ; and apparently, so far as my dress was an 
 indication, to those from whom he was too often accus- 
 tomed to receive insult and abuse, and before whom he 
 was used to bowing and submission. Yet, I think, 
 the man honestly felt his responsibility. 'The child'n,' 
 he said, hesitatingly, ' ought'n to be given to any one 
 who might offer. He hoped de cap'n would'n take no 
 offence. He spoke for de folks ; and he reckoned dey 
 was some skeered.' I made it as easy for him as I 
 
EBONY. 183 
 
 could; put on a genial face, and told him to ask any 
 questions he chose. There was really need of his cau- 
 tion. But to question me was a hard thing for that 
 poor, ignorant deck-hand to do. I looked at him with 
 pity, — dull and ignorant, with little self-respect, and 
 hardly the pluck to look me in the face ; yet with the 
 sense of responsibility in his breast, a dim recognition 
 of what was proper in the case, and a faithful effort to 
 do his duty. 
 
 " He was shy of giving his entire approval. He 
 said, at last, that that night he was going to preach. 
 If I chose, I might go with him to the church. There 
 I should see a number of the people ; and, when he had 
 finished, I might say to them what I chose. 
 
 " I was punctually at Aunt Filey's in the evening, 
 in a. shirt fresh from the hands of Phillis. In the twi- 
 light, we set out in procession. Aunt Filey led the 
 way, — with her large, dignified figure, and arms 
 crossed under her shawl. Then came the minister, — 
 heavy-shouldered and slouching, with an awkward, 
 shambling gait. Then Phillis, my washerwoman, be- 
 hind whom I followed. Two young women brought 
 up the rear. jNIost of the time, we had to go in single 
 file. The unpaved streets were deep with mud ; the 
 ,wooden sidewalks out of repair, leaving in some places 
 obly a single plank. At length, the sidewalks disap- 
 peared entirely, and there was nothing for it but to 
 wade through the abysses of black mud. The air was 
 damp, and full of drizzle ; the evening grew dark. 
 We came at last to a distant quarter of the town, 
 
184 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 where stood the church, — a poor, slight building, sur- 
 rounded by miserable houses, — a little back from the 
 mud of the street. The gable end faced us. It had 
 no windows ; only a door in the centre. We passed 
 in. Every thing was cheap and coarse, to the last 
 degree. A large, rusty stove stood near the door. 
 Rude, unpainted benches faced an unpainted desk. The 
 only lights were two poor candles, which stood upon 
 the desk. Although the light was so dim, I could see 
 marks of violence. The panels of tlie door had been 
 broken ; the window-sashes at the side smashed, and a 
 sill badly split : but an attempt had been made to patch 
 up the injury, and make the building decent again. I 
 afterward learned, that, a few evenings before, there had 
 been a rowdy attack. Upon the benches sat a company 
 of men, women, and children, who rather shrank from 
 me as I came in ; probably fearing that I had come to 
 make some disturbance. I took my seat upon the front 
 bench, and was glad to see that the little congregation 
 were somewhat re-assured, after Aunt Filey and Phillis 
 had whispered a few sentences about among them. 
 
 " The service went forward. There were some things 
 plaintive, some things grotesque. They sang a hymn, 
 which was unintelligible, for the most part, to me. 
 Then came an impassioned, incoherent prayer ; then 
 the sermon. The minister spoke an hour. When he 
 had finished, he said, ^ There was some one there who 
 had something to say to the people ; ' and, bowing, said 
 * that now I could have the chance.' Thus introduced, 
 I rose, and made my speech. I tried to speak very 
 
EBOXY. 185 
 
 kindly ; said I had time to give to teaching them, and 
 wished to employ it so. I assured them I would faith- 
 fully give them help. The minister had never been 
 entirely satisfied. When I had finished, he had some 
 questions to put to me. He was considerably bolder 
 now, poor fellow, than he had been at Aunt Filey's ; 
 the congregation giving him confidence. I had my 
 fears that I could not satisfy him when he began to 
 propose a aeries of questions as to my theological belief. 
 My heresies have been grave enough, as you know. I 
 tried to couch my answers in such terms as would not 
 shock them, and felt that I was doing tolerably well. 
 At length, however, he took out his prayer-book, and 
 turned over a few pages. I saw that his face bright- 
 ened. I knew that the crisis had come. He had found 
 a question that would reveal me fully. If I could 
 answer it in a satisfactory way, I might hope to have 
 the confidence of him and his flock from that time 
 forth. I waited with anxiety. About the room, you 
 might have heard a pin drop. Every mouth was open, 
 every eye fixed on the minister and me. It came at 
 last. 'Does you believe dat God is God, and dat 
 Christ is Christ?' That, truly, was the question. The 
 suspense, for a moment, was painful. I stated that I 
 could say, without reserve, I did believe it. I avowed, 
 that, in my mind, there was no doubt upon the subject. 
 There was a general sigh of relief. The minister 
 bowed, and said he was satisfied. The doubtful faces 
 about began to look cheerful and confiding ; and I 
 have no doubt now about having the full confidence of 
 
186 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 these poor, simple souls. It is pitiful, and yet gro- 
 tesque too, — is it not? 
 
 " The school opened, the day after this examination. 
 Young and old were there, — gray-haired men and 
 women, and little children, that could hardly toddle. 
 I have enjoyed it. I took hold of it solemnly, as I 
 shall always, I trust, take hold of every thing hereafter. 
 Still, there was a humorous side to the experience, 
 which I came to enjoy at last. Strength returned, and 
 with it came buoyancy of heart; so that, while I 
 worked for the good of these poor souls, I found my- 
 self laughing with and at them ; so droll, yet so 
 melancholy, — always in kindness, I trust. Perhaps, 
 during these two or three months, when I have gone 
 daily to the poor little church, I have lifted them a 
 little. I have tried ; and they too have lifted me with 
 the clasp of their dark hands and trustful faces : so that 
 again I am buoyant, and I fancy you will see that my 
 pen floats buoyantly through the account I write. 
 
 " The women would put off their washing, the men 
 give up their chance of finding 'jobs,' to come to 'de 
 scule.' Among them, they contributed a load of wood. 
 They patched up the broken windows, and tried to 
 make things comfortable. Phillis came, gay with rib- 
 bons. A family of pretty, hazel-eyed, cream-colored 
 quadroons, came in similar attire. The men, too, put 
 on their Sunday finery. There were decayed dress- 
 coats, fancy-figured vests, flounces and soiled velvets. 
 I tried to make them feel, that neatness was rather the 
 thing to be desked, and not all this display. 
 
EBONY. 187 
 
 " So, for four hours a day, I taught them. The first 
 enthusiasm died away, and the school dwindled a little ; 
 but that was natural. It was the novelty that had 
 attracted many. When it became an old story, and 
 they found there was hard work in learning, the more 
 indolent and capricious drew off; but a fair number 
 remained to the end. In the little room, the air would 
 often grow^ bad with the crowd; and I would throw 
 open doors and windows. 
 
 "When I bent down close by my gi'imy pupils, in 
 the writing lesson, — cheek by jowl with them, — 
 taking their hands into mine, as I guided them in the 
 formation of the letters, there was no peculiar African 
 smell, that I could discover. There was dirt enough. 
 1 object to it ; but, when I am put to it, I can endure 
 dirt ; for what is dirt ? I fall back on my chemistry. 
 Analyze it, my boy, and it is nothing but carbon, 
 oleine, salts, alkalies, the very substances which, in 
 almost the same proportions, go to make up the most 
 savory food and the choicest perfume. 
 
 " My school did well in reading and Avriting, and in 
 all things requiring merely exercise of memory ; but, 
 with arithmetic, many of my pupils came to sad grief. 
 I spent many days trying to teach a class to count on 
 their fingers. Every day, they stood before me in a 
 despairing row, their wits as hopelessly snarled together 
 as the kinks in their wool ; extending, in a melancholy 
 \A'ay, their dark and dirty digits, with the fore-finger of 
 the right touching, one by one, the fingers of the left 
 hand, following the operation with vacant eyes. AVith 
 
188 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 some of them, it was of no use. Sometimes I would 
 strike up the multiplicatiou-table to a favorite tune. 
 For that, they were all sufficient. It was learned, 
 from twice one to twelve times twelve, in a very little 
 while ; and they would roll it off with a strength of 
 lungs that was inspiring ; black Nancy Bugg and the 
 cream -colored Flowers girls handsomely carrying the 
 treble, while old gray-headed Jim boomed away from 
 the back bench in a mighty bass. 
 
 " In due time, I had a visit from my poor friend, the 
 minister. The 'Bald Eagle Xo. 2,' his boat, had 
 injured one of its cylinders ; and, being laid up for a 
 week for repairs, he was at liberty again to visit his 
 flock. The'scule' was, for the time being, the lion 
 among the blacks ; an^ the minister, who had so con- 
 spicuous a hand in putting it into operation, naturally 
 would want to examine into its progress. His coars6 
 shirt, — worn by bales and tobacco hogsheads, — ■' and 
 his cotton-hook, for the time were laid aside. He wore 
 a threadbare, cast-off dress-coat, of an ancient fashion, 
 very shabby ; and, below, pants of the coarse material 
 they sell at the South for slave clothing. In this in- 
 congruous attire, he was vastly less respectable than 
 when I saw him once on the deck of the * Bald Ea^-le 
 
 c 
 
 No. 2,' as she stopped at the wharf to coal. Then he 
 was in his rough shirt, in which he seemed at home ; 
 and which set not ungracefully across his broad and 
 brawny shoulders. 
 
 " He is a good man, who tried manfully, according 
 to his %ht and o^Ifts, to do his dutv m the first in- 
 
EBONY. 189 
 
 stance, when I made my proposal to teach, as I have 
 told you; but I know that he was not altogether 
 pleased. I know I have done his flock good; and 
 really it is a matter of positive sorrow to me to think 
 that honest, simple soul should suffer any disappoint- 
 ment. I think of his visit, and examination of 'de 
 scule,' with regret, and at the same time with a smile. 
 In my university, the- curriculum had not embraced 
 much biblical instruction ; whereas I saw that the 
 preacher thought that should be a main thing, as was 
 natural indeed. I wanted to please my visitor; but 
 you know the perversity of things. Of course, the 
 blunders and levities were more outrageous than ever 
 before. 
 
 " I gave the school into the preacher's hands. A 
 class was called upon to read. On the board, I chalked 
 the sentence, ' God is kind, and shows mercy.' Tom- 
 my, a black little chap, was called upon to spell it out. 
 He stood on tip-toe, wriggling in his intellectual spasm. 
 At length, with ^ shows,' he was fairly ashore. So was 
 the entire class, all but Nancy, — a little girl of eight, 
 — who waved her hands in a frantic manner, in token 
 of her abihty to master the difficulty. ' Well, Nancy, 
 what is it? God is kind, and — what?' 'Skittish!' 
 shouted Nancy, — to my dismay, and that of the 
 preacher, who, I saw, found it painful. 
 
 " Meantime Tommy, discharged from the questioning, 
 was giving certain instructions, on his own account, to 
 a pupil near by. In front of his seat sat a very dingy 
 and kinky little darkey, into whose young mind Tom- 
 
190 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 my had managed, I believe, to infuse the notion that 
 every thing great and good centred in him. Before 
 the distended eyes of this wonder-struck young man, 
 Tommy was displaying a large number of accomplish- 
 ments. First, he looked cross-eyed Steadily at the end 
 of his nose. Then, holding up his hands, he put both 
 thumbs out of joint. Then he exhibited a surprising 
 suppleness of his forefingers. - Then he lifted up his 
 leg, and put his heel behind his head ; all of which ex- 
 hibitions, produced within the soul of his admirer, 
 apparently, the most profound awe ; and they certainly 
 were noticeable, as showing the extent to which the 
 institution of bones and joints in the human frame may 
 be abrogated by genius and persevering effort. For a 
 crowning feat. Tommy, straightening up, patted his 
 belly with one hand, while with the other he rubbed the 
 wool on the top of his head, — an art which Tommy had 
 mastered only after the most patient labor, and which 
 so overcame the little boy, his rapt disciple, that he 
 groaned aloud. I had seen it all, but had not interfered ; 
 but here the preacher turned toward him suddenly, and 
 surprised him in the midst of his iniquity. -Brother 
 Jones told him he was a bad boy, — ^he'd seen how 
 much he knowed ; ' and asked him who killed Abel. 
 ' Didn' know he was dead,' said Tommy, in his shame 
 and confusion. Brother Jones's countenance expressed 
 still further dismay. He began to tell the school the 
 story of the prophet, and the children, who, for their 
 insolence, were eaten up by the bears, with an implied 
 reference to the discomfited Tommy, as if he had been 
 
EBOxy. 191 
 
 guilty of a similar offence. Then he sought to draw 
 from Nancy an opinion, that it was suitable retribution 
 for the sin. 
 
 "Xance, who was wayward and independent, and not 
 without sympathy for poor Tommy, said, 'Dunno, 
 'spose 'twas kind o' mean in them young uns to sass 
 the prophet ; ' then paused, leaving it to be inferred 
 by the reticence in her reply, that Nance thought 
 the bears rather overdid the matter of punishment. 
 When Brother Jones bade farewell, though externally 
 he was polite, it was plain he felt, that, after all, " de 
 scule " was not an entire success. I saw it, and was 
 grieved ; for I would have preferred to have him 
 pleased. 
 
 " This work is done ; satisfactory in the circumstances. 
 But now for the sterner duties. My business for now, 
 Putnam, must be with the gun-lock, rather than with 
 the pen and pencil. First, let us free these poor souls ; 
 then we will lift them up, and the others, who have 
 been sinking themselves while keeping these down. 
 Right enough for any, who see it to be their plainest 
 duty, to do this teaching ; but it is borne in upon my 
 spirit, — fervent now and dutiful, I trust, — that to-day 
 my proper equipment is the warrior's harness ; my 
 place, among the choking battery-smoke, and the dust 
 of charging men. I clinch my hand, as I used to 
 about my oar, and the muscles knot hard into the old 
 ridges. So they shall knot to-morrow, when I catch 
 my good musket-stock. I go forth again with joy, in 
 my deepest soul bidden thus forward." 
 
192 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 Herbert returned to his regiment, and, in a few 
 weeks, received the following letter from one of his 
 black pupils, by the hands of a soldier, returning from 
 hosjiital : — 
 
 " Dear Sir, i hope you enjoyed teaching us and will 
 be rewared for it in a day to come. I have sawall the 
 scolars they aire all glad to hear from you and wold 
 like to see you and wold like to have you to teach them 
 again. Nancy Bugg is dead and Mrs Henderson 
 have had much troubel since you left she has lost her 
 husband he got drowed. Mary ballard is married 
 and also Eliza flowers, all the cholars old and young 
 sends there compliments to you and wold like to see 
 you very much — the weather is pleasant hear you 
 must excuse Mee fornot riting sooner i am very sor- 
 row to have say that wee have no school now you don't 
 thought no often of us than wee do of you i wold 
 like to see you very much indeed pleas answer this 
 letter as i am ankious to hear from you nowmore at 
 at present, yours very truely particular. 
 
 EuTH T. Lofton." 
 
 Pretty good for Ruth, — is it not? a young yellow 
 woman she is, with blue eyes, and hair neither very 
 dark nor curly. She knew her letters, and a little more, 
 when the school began ; but her penmanship and spell- 
 ins came durino: the few months when she was imder 
 Herbert's tuition. JNIany times had he bent down beside 
 her to guide her hand in writing ! That letter cost her 
 a good two or three days' work, there is no doubt. One 
 
EBONY. 
 
 193 
 
 can see poor Ruth, hurrying through at her wash-tub ; 
 putting on a clean, dry dress, and taking a pen into her 
 scarred, parboiled hands, to make another and then an- 
 other copy. This comes with only three blots. Imagine 
 how her tongue must have stuck out with the pains she 
 took. 
 
194 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 CYPRESS BAYOU. 
 
 It is a forward movement : cool in the morning ; blaz- 
 ing hot at noon ; cold and damp again through the dew 
 at night. Pat is accoutred like a practised old cam- 
 paigner. Gun and belts, of course, are part of him. 
 Next to the bayonet-sheath, hangs a hatchet ; from the 
 cross-belt in front hangs a crocky little kettle ; and, 
 strapped on to the outside of the knapsack behind, is a 
 spider. Pat and Herbert carry each the half of a shel- 
 ter-tent. At night they button them together ; and the 
 gentleman, and this rude familiar of his, lie down close 
 side by side in their sweaty, dusty clothes, to keep warm 
 under the coolness and mist. 
 
 The great army tramps and rumbles forward. There 
 are cavalry in a bustling swarm, captain at the head; 
 jingling troopers galloping behind, buzzing, humming 
 everywhere ; gathering, dispersing, restless like bees, 
 and banded and belted with yellow bars and welts 
 against the darker uniform, like bees ; searching sus- 
 picious patches of woods ; streaming out from the road 
 to farm-houses ; hurrying over and around little knolls, 
 behind which danger may be. Now and then, from a 
 
CYPRESS BAYOU. 195 
 
 group across a field, comes the crack of rifles ; and 
 you see the light smoke and dust where a party of 
 hostile scouts is making off. 
 
 Heavily rolls the artillery along the roads : the siege- 
 piece with its team of eight tugging horses ; the lighter 
 fiel4-piece, with its spirited horses prancing before it ; 
 cannon now polished, cannon now dull and tarnished, 
 iridescent about the muzzle, smutched at the breech, 
 from the heat and smoke of discharges during the 
 night, when there was an alarm ; gunners, sitting with 
 folded arms, in front ; gunners behind, on the dark 
 green iron-banded caissons ; finely mounted oflBcers, 
 decked with red, riding at the side ; and the red-barred 
 bugler, side by side with the pennon-bearer, at the head 
 of each battery. These roll and rumble along the road, 
 except in case of an alarm. Then, in a moment, the 
 fence is down, or a way slashed with axes through the 
 hedge. Off into the fields the galloping horses hurry 
 the guns ; through the mire, over the knolls, gunners 
 holding hard upon theu' rocking seats, — then halt ! the 
 horses are in the rear ; each piece braces back upon 
 its limber ; the ready mouth is toward the danger ; a 
 brawny fellow, at the caisson behind, stands ready with 
 a loaded shell. 
 
 Forward toils the infantry. In the morning they 
 are fresh and cheerful. The blistered feet of the day 
 before are less sensitive ; the strained sinews are supple 
 again. At the call, each regiment packs away its camp 
 upon the back ; for a moment, a long double line upon 
 the trampled, rubbish-strewn field, — then face to the 
 
196 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 right, and file into the road. Far over the land sound 
 out the drums at the start ; jolly are the faces, loud the 
 joke, and long the laugh ; colonel at the head of the 
 column, surgeon in the rear ; captain, with neat haver- 
 sack and pistol-belt, and sword over shoulder, at the 
 head of each hundred ; guns at the right shoulder 
 shift ; in each company the line sloping back from the 
 big fellows on the right to the little fellows in the rear. 
 Woe to the poor fellows detailed for flankers ! who must 
 carry all that the others carry, but forsake the smooth 
 and beaten path ; climbing fences in a long line, pushing 
 through brakes, wading through morasses, searching 
 behind plantation buildings, out from the road, just 
 within hail to guard the line from rebs in ambush. 
 Then, toward noon, how the heat comes down ! the lag- 
 ging and the limping ! Heads that were up begin to 
 droop ; the man who sang begins to curse ; the joker is 
 silent and sad ; the man who kindly laughs when the 
 joke is made is deeply rueful. No sign of energy ex- 
 cept at a halt : then the desperate rush for good places 
 in the shade, — a forest, a fence, a group of farm-build- 
 ings ; your most amiable and long-suffering friend, 
 snarling through his perspiration in the bitterest man- 
 ner, if, in the jumble, your elbow or musket-butt come 
 into a position to give him inconvenience. 
 
 Pat Flanagan — short, broad Irishman, with soles 
 broad as his shoulder-blades, and pants tucked into his 
 russet army stockings, to keep the dust out of his legs ; 
 flinging himself back upon his haversack, until its 
 unyielding bowels of hard tack crack, sucking gur- 
 
CYPRESS BAYOU. 
 
 197 
 
 glingly at his Q^ni^Qn — loquitur : " AYhoosh ! wheere 
 was^the morils he shwore to Biddy that he'd kape? he'd 
 been contint his Hfe long wid mere innicint whishkey ; 
 but, begorra ! he was conthracting a curse of a taste 
 for that" liquor of the ould divil, — could wather." 
 Pat's "Biddy" was purely, mythical, but often al- 
 luded to. 
 
 In the rear of all roll the great wagons, with sub- 
 sistence and reserve ammunition; grinding through 
 dust and ruts, behind the awkward heels of the mules, 
 — compounds of iron and the toughest hide. What to 
 another animal would be roughest abuse, is only gentle 
 and agreeable cosseting to them. Their drivers feed 
 them or not, as they like ; it not seeming to make any 
 particular difference. But laud not the merits of the 
 mule. Herbert thinks, when once he has had his hair 
 raised to the stiflPest perpendicular by its discordant, 
 diabolical bray, that it is indeed a very terrible and dis- 
 agreeable fly that is contained in this piece of amber. 
 °Gen. Holyoake, the officer of growing fome, — 
 freshly laurelled now, for certain skilful manoeuvres in 
 face of the enemy, — now and then gallops, with his 
 staff, by the side of the great moving column under his 
 command; he in the advance, the colonels and cap- 
 tains of his staff streaming a few rods behind ; and, at 
 the rear of all, the mounted orderly, with the red, 
 white, and blue flag of the division. The hoofs of his 
 horse fling the dust over Herbert, as he moves to one 
 side out of his place at the side of the column. Her- 
 bert is sweating and footsore, the drops cutting channels 
 
108 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 through the grimy coating that comes to cover over his 
 face ; quiet but resolute, where scores curse and grum- 
 ble ; and often with room upon his back for the gun or 
 the blanket of a comrade. 
 
 They enter towns deserted by their former popula- 
 tion. One night, it is ^ town lying upon the bank 
 of a navigable stream. Herbert, wandering alone, goes 
 into deserted streets, with something the feeling which 
 he had years before in Pompeii. There are stores with 
 the old signs ; workshops, tenements of all dimensions ; 
 but, of the former white population, hardly one re- 
 mains. Herbert comes upon the church, which is 
 old enough to be venerable, with a mossy tower and 
 time-stained walls, clad with vines which reach to the 
 eaves. The church-yard is deeply shadowed ; and in it 
 are numerous tombs and stones, many of them dating 
 back more than a century. He passes within the por- 
 tals of the church, removing his hat as he comes within 
 the shadow of the aisles. A large, plain interior, with 
 a gallery running about three sides, an organ at the 
 end ; and, opposite, the chancel, with pulpit and read- 
 ing-desk. Here came to worship the more prominent 
 families of the neighborhood. " Proud eyes," Herbert 
 thinks, " have glanced here, when the minister, in 
 surplice, has given thanks for rebel successes. Earnest 
 responses have rung here from haughty dames and 
 gentlemen, when the Litany, specially provided, be- 
 souofht our destruction." Herbert o^oes into the minis- 
 ter's room. The floor still has its carpet, worn by the 
 feet of the clergyman. In one comer lies in confusion 
 
CYPRESS BAYOU. 199 
 
 a theological library. It is well selected, made up of 
 works of standard value. There are Burnet, and 
 volumes of Tillotson, and Jeremy Taylor in the very 
 edition which Herbert has known. 
 
 The sergeant comes out, and goes slowly onward. 
 He approaches a fine mansion. He goes up the step, 
 hesitates a minute before the open door, but enters ; for 
 there is no master or mistress to forbid the stranger's 
 raneinor from room to room. It is a scene of destruc- 
 tion ; done in part by negroes, who, finding the weight 
 of subjection suddenly removed, have bounded up 
 sometimes into mid license ; done in part by the ruder 
 soldiery. In the parlor stands a richly-carved piano, 
 with the top dashed off. A litter of fine furniture, 
 more or less broken, strews every apartment. Herbert 
 goes forward to another mansion. A gate admits him 
 to the handsome garden and grounds. Orange and 
 lemon trees there are, with a variety of vines and luxu- 
 riant shrubs. Roses bloom in the beds ; the cactus 
 and oleander, and other flowers, that elsewhere demand 
 the shelter of a green-house, push up large and vigor- 
 ous on every side. Here, on a trellis, Herbert sees a 
 vine whose flowers have a gorgeous tint ; delicate it 
 is in perfume and hue, as a tea-rose, yet larger than 
 the peony. The lord of the deserted garden, it flings 
 largesses of beauty and fragrance over the paths of 
 white shell, and the beds of humbler blossoms, — rich 
 gifts, gathered eagerly by the senses of the march-worn 
 Northern stranger. The mansion, like the others, has 
 been rifled ; but Herbert finds the wreck of its former 
 
200 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 elegance strewn on every floor. The rich cornices re- 
 main, the costly wainscot, elegant chimney-ornaments 
 of Parian and alabaster, tables, divans, side-boards. 
 One room is the library. The books have been mostly 
 removed ; but a litter of pamphlets and letters cumbers 
 the floor. Herbert takes up one, whose cover and 
 leaves are partially gone. It is a copy of Froissart, — 
 an appropriate souvenir of a haughty family. There 
 are periodicals in various languages, sermons, poems, 
 speeches, classics in Latin, standards from our own 
 literature. " The dispossessed master of all this," 
 thinks Herbert, " surely was a man of refinement and 
 piety." In the upper rooms are heaped up the school- 
 books and playthings of children, and heaps of letters, 
 in female hands. 
 
 Herbert <2:oes on down the street. Here lived a rebel 
 general ; so he learns from 'a guard near. Herbert 
 ascends the marble steps, and looks in upon the table 
 of the commander ; heaped, as lie left it, with blank 
 muster-rolls, prepared for the hostile force. Doors and 
 windows are thrown open, or dashed in, to the damp of 
 night and the sun of day. In one house, the huge pier- 
 glasses remain yet unbroken. A quartermaster has 
 established himself there ; and pork, flour, and cloth- 
 ing are distributed in the drawing-room, amidst the 
 unshattered elegance. The feet of sentinels tread a 
 marble pavement, and orderlies in rough uniforms 
 brush against rosewood. Through the streets, here 
 and there, clatter companies of cavalry ; and batteries 
 bivouac in the public squares. 
 
CYPRESS BAYOU. 201 
 
 Now the dusk Mis upon these sacked and deserted 
 mansions ; in the midst of their gardens, the box fring- 
 ing the beds, the rose blooming in the bower, the ivy 
 mantling the lattice. Herbert climbs a staircase, and 
 stands alone in a deserted chamber. The evening star 
 — shinino^ as it does nowhere else than in the clear 
 deeps of the Southern heavens — is so bright as to 
 cast a shadow. Herbert follows its beam out upon a 
 balcony, and looks upon the river near, rippling in its 
 light. The moon rises at last; and, with its wand of 
 light, turns every sign of roughness and dilapidation 
 (for such appear with the signs of taste and elegance, 
 in almost all these Southern homes) into splendor. 
 The hour and the circumstances are most touching. 
 " On such a night, in times past," Herbert thinks, " gay 
 boating parties have put out from the water stairs there 
 below ; or the host and his guests come spurring in 
 from a moonlight ride." Herbert goes back through the 
 dusk, over the wreck. He feels as if he had committed 
 an indelicacy, in penetrating into these spacious halls ; 
 and, were he confronted now, in the gloom, by some 
 indignant figure, stepping out from an unsearched re- 
 treat, he feels that his apology would be stammering 
 and unsatisfactory. 
 
 Pausing on the steps, again he gives way to reflec- 
 tion. " How can I do otherwise than entertain sympa- 
 thy and pity toward the old masters of these devastated 
 homes ? Their piety, their evident refinement, — what 
 proofs I have seen of these in this sad excursion ! works 
 of devotion, of the choicest poetry, the most refining 
 
 9* 
 
202 THE THINKIXG BAYONET. 
 
 literature in various tongues, music, and art ! " But 
 there comes into his mind, too, the thought of the 
 negro, who, making his way through the country, that 
 very morning has joined the federal line of march, near 
 their regiment ; whose back, from neck to haunch, is 
 scored and cut by whippings frequently given, so that 
 he cannot bend his body, through fear of tearing open 
 the wales and ridges. The thought, too, of what he 
 has also seen, — the examination by surgeons of strong 
 young blacks needed as soldiers, — when, often and 
 often, as they stripped, there came to light upon the 
 frame some deep unsoundness, an ill-set fracture, pro- 
 duced by a heavy blow of the paddle ; a stiffened arm, 
 where the sinews had been cut by the knife, in the 
 hands of some angry overseer ; or a thigh, lacerated by 
 the teeth of hounds. Even while he stands, the ne- 
 groes pass to and fro in the street, singly, or in little 
 knots ; the other day, slaves in these rich houses, 
 now their own masters. It is only moonlight ; and yet 
 Herbert can see how seldom it is among these family 
 and house servants, that any are of the pure African 
 color or feature. Nubian and Saxon are blended in 
 many a face and figure. Here, beneath the flat nose, 
 lies the mouth whose lines are Caucasian. Above 
 brows almost white, the hair hangs with an Ethiopian 
 curl. What a tale of corruption can be read there ! 
 this hybrid product, the two races thus adulterously 
 blending ! 
 
 Herbert remembers what he has heard at New Or- 
 leans, about the great, granite Custom-House which 
 
CYPRESS BAYOU. 
 
 203 
 
 they have sought to raise. The walls have been built 
 high, and made beautiful with mouldings and carved 
 stones; but the work has ceased in the middle, —no 
 cornice above the pHlars, no roof above the whole. 
 They said it was out of the question that these should 
 be added ; for the builders found that the structure was 
 beginning to sink into the soil upon which it stood, so 
 sapped, and, as it were, emasculated was the earth, by 
 the penetration of water from the Mississippi. The 
 building is a type, Herbert thinks, of the civilization 
 that flourished about it, —in some degree beautiful, 
 Christian indeed, but utterly incomplete; necessarily 
 incomplete, from the corruption and weakness in the 
 society where it stood. 
 
 Herbert's purpose is not broken, though he mourns 
 over the rapine. The words put into the mouth of 
 Milton come into his mind, which he had quoted in his 
 letter to Putnam : " War doth indeed appear to the 
 misjudging to be a worse calamity than slavery ; be 
 cause its miseries are collected together within a short 
 space and time, and may easily, at one view, be taken 
 in and perceived. But the misfortunes of nations 
 cursed by slavery, being distributed over many centu- 
 ries and many places, are of greater weight and 
 number." 
 
 "Infinitely of greater weight and number," thinks 
 Herbert. " This devastation is but for the time. In a 
 decade, probably, it will be fast disappearing ; and, by 
 the time a score of years has passed, with God's help, 
 we shall have something far nobler than this imperfect 
 
204 THE THINKIXG BAYONET. 
 
 social order, here in its place. But slavery unopposed 
 would curse for ages, — the curse constantly becoming 
 deeper and more irremediable." 
 
 Herbert makes his way to where the tired army 
 sleeps. Fatigued himself, it is only the interesting 
 locality that has called him out. On the bare earth, 
 side by side with Pat, he closes his eyes upon the 
 heavens overhead ; the only tent he needs. 
 
 Here is another of Herbert's excursions, when, once 
 after a halt in the country, he has life enough to leave the 
 camp, and look about. For a furlong perhaps, straight 
 from the road, canopied above, turfy beneath, a stately 
 avenue leads up to the portals of a mansion. He goes 
 up the avenue. The portico commands a vista, col- 
 umned by stately trunks, overhung by live-oak foliage, 
 and on either side lie beds of flowers. It is most beau- 
 tiful as he leaves the road, and walks slowly up the path 
 of shells within the turfy border, the green arch over- 
 head groined by the great branches ; the southern sky, 
 where it shows through, lined and dotted with cloud, lit 
 up with sunset light : the ceiling of some great temple, 
 by some mighty hand frescoed with arabesques. From 
 a distance, the house looks most tasteful and elegant ; 
 white, with green blinds and a noble portico : but, as 
 Herbert comes nearer, he finds that, as usual, roughness 
 and dilapidation lie together with richness and finish. 
 Broad to the outward air and light are flung the portals 
 of the mansion. Negro cliildren swarm on the stair- 
 case, in the basement, beneath the shrubs in front ; and 
 Herbert finds a colony of happy blacks established in 
 
CYPRESS BAYOU. 205 
 
 every saloon and parlor. Echo and Pomp dance the 
 juba in their late master's quiet library, and Phillis 
 cooks hoe-cake in the boudoir. Negroes from the 
 country about have come here in considerable numbers, 
 so that the original force of the plantation is largely 
 increased. 
 
 Passing from end to end of the house, finding affable 
 blacks perfectly at home, and hospitable everywhere, 
 Herbert descends a stairway in the rear, into a grove 
 of orange-trees, whose glossy living emerald ought to 
 be set off by the golden fruit ; but that has just been 
 taken by a party of foragers. A foot-path winds west- 
 ward under stately trees again, over a swell, then 
 through a little quiet valley ; a picturesque, secluded walk 
 leading to a group of negro huts. Herbert follows the 
 path, and mingles with the negroes. The men touch 
 their tattered hats with painful cringing, and make no 
 protest against Herbert's entering the huts, if he chooses, 
 or counting the poultry, or leaning over the sty to look 
 at the pigs ; though, for all they know, he may be no 
 better than the lawless men, who, a few minutes before, 
 coming from the camp, levied rough contributions upon 
 their possessions. 
 
 Herbert looks about him, but with the delicacy 'of a 
 gentleman ; talking good-naturedly with men and wo- 
 men ; making note of the want of self-respect betrayed 
 in the manner of so many. At length he returns to- 
 ward the house. An old gray-headed man stands on 
 the steps. "Uncle, where did you come fi'om?" 
 " Come from Africa, massa ; " then he pours out a 
 
206 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 stream of half-intelligible sounds, out of which Herbert 
 can only gather, that this old man, in his childhood, 
 knew the tiger and serpent haunted jungles of Soudan 
 or Guinea ; underwent the middle passage ; has be- 
 come crooked and rheumatic with heavy enforced labor, 
 but survived to receive his freedom again before he 
 dies. 
 
 Herbert looks off, through the afternoon light, at a 
 bayou not far away, and the tall cypresses on the shore 
 beyond. The branches of some of them, putting out 
 from the trunk, bend upward. The tops of the encir- 
 cling boughs, in many cases, surround the central tuft, 
 as the branches of a candlestick are ranged on either 
 side of the central socket. In these dark candelabra of 
 the fen, however, no light ever shines, except perhaps 
 some ghastly will-o'-the-wisp. Herbert, at length, re- 
 enters the house, and ascends to an upper room. It is 
 vacant. It is plain, that once it has been used as a 
 library. Book-cases are fitted into the walls, and the 
 floor is strewn with the books, heaped up in utter dis- 
 order. . Among the rubbish lies an elegant desk, whose 
 lock has been rudely broken. It lies open. Within it, 
 too, is a little case, open, — such as might be used for 
 preserving jewels or valuable relics. It so happens 
 that Herbert's eye falls upon this, and a little handful 
 of withered flowers which the case contains. He stoops 
 t* see what is vrritten upon the slip of paper bound 
 around their stems. Lo ! this is the inscription, — 
 " Class-day at Havenbridge ; " then follows the year in 
 which Herbert himself had graduated. Becoming eager 
 
CYPRESS BAYOU. 207 
 
 now, he seizes the case, causing the lid to fall. There, 
 stamped in gilt upon the leather, is the name " Claiborne 
 De Treville." 
 
 Claiborne's flowers ! those which he held in his hand 
 when they parted at the end of their youth ! As Her- 
 bert's eye again falls upon the desk, he sees his own 
 handwriting ; and, hastily taking up the paper, he finds 
 that this is indeed his last letter to Claiborne, narrating 
 the share he had taken in the riot, and his meeting with 
 Leonora in her father's hall. Bewildered with his sur- 
 prise, he turns toward the window, looking out upon 
 the yellow stagnant stream, with the tall dark trees, — 
 Cypress Bayou ! Herbert takes up books. Upon the 
 fly-leaf of each is Claiborne's name. In this strange 
 way, uninvited, he has come to the home of his friend. 
 With heart full of melancholy, he stands among these 
 memorials ; holding in his hands the books which bear 
 evidence of Claiborne's study ; looking at the broken 
 desk, with velvet worn, and wood- work blotted with ink 
 from his pen. It is dusk when he turns away at last. 
 
 Passing along the hall outside the room, he reaches a 
 door which stands ajar. Looking in, he sees a female 
 figure, sitting quietly upon the hearth, with face turned 
 towards a fire. Her hands are upon her knees, her 
 eyes fixed upon the coals ; her head does not move. 
 She sits motionless as an effigy or a corpse propped 
 into a sitting posture. Herbert pushes the door open, 
 and steps inside. There is no movement at the noise, 
 and he stands awed at the fixedness of the attitude, and 
 the perfect stillness. The thought passes through his 
 
208 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 miild, that he may be disturbing some act of devotion ; 
 "or, perhaps," he thinks, "it is an attitude assumed by 
 some broken-hearted, desperate person, as she broods 
 over her miseries." There is something most weird and 
 witch-like in the figure, soUtary in tlie room, in the 
 gathering gloom, and so motionless ; just touched, by 
 the faint flush from the embers in front, along the fea- 
 tures and arms. After a few moments' hesitation, 
 Herbert goes forward to the fire, and seats himself near 
 the woman. He is burning to know more of Claiborne, 
 and would rather hear about him in quiet, than from the 
 crowd of negroes below. As he comes to see the wo- 
 man's face, it appears that her skin is quite light, and 
 features Caucasian. She says nothing, as Herbert takes 
 his place opposite ; only moves her seat to be at a greater 
 distance. He tries to re-assure her in a few words ; 
 then tells of his interest in Claiborne, of his former 
 acquaintance and friendship, and desire to know of 
 Claiborne's present whereabouts. As Herbert tells his 
 story, the rigidity of the woman's face relaxes. When 
 she speaks at last, it is with the accent and language of 
 a person of some refinement. Claiborne has been in 
 the Southern army ever since his return. His father 
 has died. The agent forsook the place, on the approach 
 of the Federal troops ; and the negroes have had their 
 own way since. 
 
 As she tells the story, the door again opens, and a 
 young boy enters. At sight of the stranger, the child 
 draws close to the side of the woman. His skin is as 
 light as that of a white child. Herbert starts as he 
 
CYPRESS BAYOU. 209 
 
 looks at the eyes,, and the curve of the nose, already 
 giving sign of spirit and power. The woman notices 
 the movement, and says, with the rigid look of despair 
 again settling upon her face, " My boy ; mine and Clai- 
 borne's I " Then Claiborne's mistress, while the gloom 
 grows deeper, tells her story : that she herself is the 
 child of a De Treville, — a brother of Claiborne's father ; 
 that her mother was a slave ; that she had lived a 
 slave, in the family of her kindred, full of the pride and 
 sense of honor of her paternal stock, — yet there had 
 been no refuge for her, when her young master and 
 kinsman had looked upon her with ungoverned eyes. 
 Her past was full of wretchedness ; she had no hope for 
 the future. Herbert's gentle tone and interest in those, 
 who, while they had wronged her, were yet of her own 
 blood, had won her confidence. Darkness comes apace. 
 Throuo:h the loose windows comes the sound of tKe 
 evening drums from the camps not far oiF. It is time 
 for the soldier to return ; so, through the dark, with 
 heart full of sorrow he slowly walks, and, on the mor- 
 row, has left far behind this pathos and despair. 
 
 Battle at last. 'Tis a great army ; and, at nightfall, 
 it camps in ploughed fields. The soldier, under his 
 shelter-tent, or stretched without cover along the ridge 
 of a furrow to be on the highest and dryest ground in 
 case of a rain, shouts a joke through the dark ; then ad- 
 justs his piece in the hollow of his arm before he goes 
 to sleep. The army camps there, and upon the summits 
 of ridges, among trees, — rude roads being hastily cut, 
 and artillery wheeled up to positions through the stumps, 
 
210 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 the axles hardly clearing the obstructions. The battery- 
 men in their shirt-sleeves, after smoking their pipes, 
 lie down by the horses, tall and stout, in their red blan- 
 kets. The army camps, too, in ravines ; tired men, lying 
 in long rows in the sand, in the dried-up bed of a tor- 
 rent, getting up with limps and growls to let a body of 
 cavalry go past, who rattle by at the heels of a colonel. 
 The capes and braidings upon the officer's dark overcoat 
 show out when he trots past a little gap, through which 
 the starlight comes down into the gulf. " Boom," from 
 far away ; " boom," now and then, from near at hand ; 
 "crack, crack," from the rifles of the pickets. So it is 
 at night ; for friend and foe, on the opposite sides of 
 hills, at the opposite ends of fields, just across the brook 
 from one another, alike belted and weaponed, soiled and 
 wearied, lie under the same canopy, waiting for day- 
 break. 
 
 Now, it is nearly time. Enoch Felt, Yankee black- 
 smith, now corporal of cavalry, hears a rustle in the 
 woods in front ; then a sudden crack and whiz past his 
 ear. Five carbines flash in return their sudden spouts 
 of sparkling fire from his squad ; then the videttes 
 canter back with word that the enemy is in mo- 
 tion. 
 
 A sound of galloping hoofs, far away, coming nearer : 
 so remarks Manly Wilde, on picket under the gum- 
 tree. With gun aport, starting up from leaning with 
 back to the tree, he calls low to the two sleeping men, 
 lying snoring, with heads pillowed on gnarled roots. 
 Now the tramp of a line of men ; three guns, one after 
 
CYPRESS BAYOU. 211 
 
 the other, sharp and clear in the night ; then back upon 
 the reserve. Forward the enemy come, here too ; the 
 woods snapping and rustling before the lines, as they 
 pour after ; the foot of an Arkansas rifleman sinking 
 into the ashes where Manly last night made his coffee. 
 
 A sudden deep boom, then the whish-whish of a shell, 
 a burst overhead ; then a pause, while crash through the 
 limbs come the fragments of iron. " Whisht, Biddy ! 
 what mad ye spake so airly," says Pat Flanagan, rising 
 from sleep on to one elbow, and rubbing his eyes. 
 " Och ! it's at the bloudy war-r I am," as he pretends to 
 recover his senses. "Hurry up ! " says Zur Hanscom, 
 whose turn it is on guard, " they're comin' sure ; I 
 heern a captain, just now, dressin' up his company." 
 " Bedad ! " says Pat, " but afore I lave, I'll fill me ould 
 kittle here at the spring in the hollow beyant. iSTiver a 
 rib '11 kape me from that now! " So Pat climbs out in 
 front of the post, slipping down the bank among the 
 moss and dry leaves to the flat stones by the spring. 
 " Click ! " among the bushes above. It is gray now, and 
 the rebel skirmish line is hurrying forward. A Missis- 
 sippi corporal cocks his piece, and, in a moment, poor 
 Pat has the bullet. He tumbles his leno^th alonor the 
 rocks, badly wounded. 
 
 And so comes forward the enemy's line. For miles 
 and miles, in woods and fields, along slopes and the 
 banks of solitary creeks, through the smouldering vil- 
 lage, obscure, now destroyed, but about to leave its 
 name to history as the designation of this battle just 
 beginning; out of the woods, and quickly over the 
 
212 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 cleared plain by the plantation, — for miles and miles, 
 hoof-beats, rumbling wheels, the tearing of shell, the 
 rattling staccato of the fusillade. Little beyond the 
 situation of his own division, knows Gen. Holyoake. 
 Last night, the corps commander, grave and quiet, with 
 no sword or pistol ; only a field-glass slung over his 
 shoulder, the strap passing among the buttons (buttons 
 in groups of three, the insignia of the Major-General, 
 — upon which Holyoake looks with some envy, even 
 while he receives the orders for the following day, and 
 reports concerning his own brave brigades) , — last night, 
 the corps commander, grave and quiet, assigned him his 
 duty and place. These regiments, therefore, maintain 
 this slope behind the breastwork thrown up in the night ; 
 these lie here unseen, amonof the leaves at the edofe of 
 the wood. Here batteries sweep forward into your ter- 
 rible line before the gap between those opposing ridges, 
 through which, no doubt, the foe must pour ; and these 
 regiments for a support to the guns. Throughout the 
 day, Holyoake knows only vaguely what happens be- 
 yond the space in which his four or five thousand are 
 posted. In the lull, now and then, of his own can- 
 nonading, comes in the roar from one side and the other ; 
 but he sits upon his horse, intent upon his special work. 
 Still less knows Herbert Lee, at his place in the 
 battle-line. He only knows what happens in the little 
 acre upon which he stands of that great field. As day 
 breaks, in come pickets and videttes. The regiment 
 springs from sleep into hne of battle, as across the fields 
 in its front, beyond the deep furrows where cotton has 
 
CYPRESS BAYOU. 213 
 
 once been planted, — the dry stalks standing here and 
 there, — they see the advancing line of rebels. Then 
 the vapor from the battery shuts it out ; shuts out the 
 distant, shuts out at last the near view on that side, so 
 rapidly discharging ; until, at last, all Herbert can see 
 close by is the man, who, every few moments, behind 
 the nearest gun, jerks the lanyard; but he knows the 
 enemy are there, from the scream and hiss of shells, 
 and the drone and " isp " of the balls. A puff of wind, 
 and the smoke lifts. Still there, and coming nearer, 
 brown and gray clad men in a line, with many gaps in 
 it, but holding forward. 
 
 Musketry is in order; so five hundred minie-balls 
 presently from the regiment break out of rifle-muzzles, 
 and sing across the field toward the enemy's line ; and 
 again and again, and it is take as well as give. Her- 
 bert feels the rush of something passing his head incon- 
 ceivably quick, with a sharp, bitter sound. Down upon 
 neck and shirt, trickles the blood ; but he feels no weak- 
 ness, and gives it no heed for a time. It is only part 
 of his ear that is gone. 
 
 Forward toward the spot comes Gen. Holyoake. His 
 horse leaps into the air, and falls with a bullet in his 
 neck ; but his rider> has disentangled himself, and comes 
 forward on foot. " Steady, men, with your volleys. 
 Colonel, the fate of these pieces is in your keeping. It 
 is bravely done ; " and the general goes forward to a 
 hard-pushed brigade still beyond. A puff of wind 
 spreads out the silk of the great flag. A shell takes 
 out part of the stars, and the stripes are perforated here 
 
214 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 and there by the balls. Carefully, Herbert, as your 
 piece comes down to be loaded ! A dead man, see, is 
 at your side ; and one with a bleeding thigh tries to 
 stand, but cripples down presently just behind. "Save 
 the battery ; maintain the line ! when we have rolled 
 them back, then for the wounded." 
 
 Hear the shouts of the rebel captains, trying to hold 
 the men to the charge ; but now they fall back hurriedly, 
 — first wavering ; then a straggler or two, who rush 
 past the file-closers ; then more, then more still, until 
 here and there are brave ones almost by themselves ; 
 and, at last, all have sought the woods. Herbert stands 
 hot with the exertion, black from burnt powder, 
 bloody with his wounded ear, upon the trampled field ; 
 leaning upon his hot gun, and inhaling with deep 
 breaths the purer air, which comes, now that the smoke 
 has blo.wn away. 
 
 Toward nightfall, unwashed and hardly fed, Herbert 
 stands again on the field. Holyoake's division has not 
 gone forward in the pursuit. The ambulance-men have 
 done their work. All day, since the morning, upon 
 bloody stretchers they have carried the wounded to the 
 hospitals close at hand, where surgeons, in their shirt- 
 sleeves, bloody to the elbows, go from man to man. 
 Pat, about whom the enemy poured in their advance, 
 then again in their retreat, leaving him wounded and 
 helpless, is brought in at last among his friends. The 
 dead are gathered in heaps from among the furrows 
 where they have fallen ; leaving the ground trodden, 
 strewn with bloody shreds of garments, and broken 
 
CYPRESS BAYOU. 215 
 
 arms. A pit has been dug by negroes, to be the grave 
 of some seventy rebels, just collected from the field, 
 and lying together in a row upon the brown earth freshly 
 turned. Upon the brink of the pit stands the sergeant ; 
 upon the other side stands Gordon Holyoake, his horse 
 held by an orderly some paces behind, a young captain 
 of his stafi* in his company. They stand opposite one 
 another while the sun is setting, face to face ; the corses 
 already blackening close at hand. Holyoake looks 
 toward Herbert with earnest, searching eyes, which 
 presently fall as the look is calmly returned. Does he 
 know or suspect? Certainly, in the figure so broad 
 and bearded, disguised still more by the bandage in 
 which the wounded ear is wrapped, and the torn and 
 bloody uniform, it would be hard for any one to recognize 
 the scholar of Havenbridge. " Sergeant," says the Gen- 
 eral, " will you attend to the burial of these men ? Here 
 are prisoners, who, perhaps, can help you to their names. 
 We desire to preserve the names, if we can." Herbert 
 gives the military salute, and takes his post by the row 
 of corpses. Holyoake turns away quickly, wraps his 
 cloak about him, — for the damps of the evening begin 
 to arise cool and penetrating, — then turns away. 
 Through the hot, tainted air, by and by comes the moon- 
 light, and Herbert is still at his work. 
 
216 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 From Putnam May to Miss Louisa May. 
 
 " Once more at home, — sad, because the errand 
 on which I have been absent has failed. Herbert is 
 still lost; and though I give time and means to find 
 him out, — though I am ready to drop every thing, to go 
 to him with the good cheer I know I can carry to him, 
 yet I know not where to go. If a clew is put into my 
 hands, as sure as I begin to follow it, it comes to noth- 
 ing. I do not know what I can do but keep trying, 
 with the hope of coming upon him at last. There was 
 my sudden expedition to Castleton. It was sad enough 
 to be so close upon him, and yet find him gone. The 
 superintendent of the mine, and the miners themselves, 
 all stood around me silent, to hear my account ; but 
 Herbert had gone, leaving behind him no trace. So 
 far as I could discover, there was no soul to whom he 
 had dropped a hint of his plans. Pat Flanagan and 
 he had suddenly disappeared together : that was all 
 that any one knew. The letters that I have received 
 from Herbei't since, have been mailed in Northern 
 cities. One, received not long ago, was sad enough. 
 
THE NUKSE. 217 
 
 The poor fellow now yearns for diiferent companion- 
 ship, and tells me very plainly how his heart is 
 suffering over Leonora. He would make his where- 
 abouts known, if only * it would help him in any way 
 to be manly.' Oh ! it would help him. No one 
 would doubt about him now ; but all true and noble 
 men would be ready to take him to their hearts. When 
 you have read this letter, you will see how quickly I 
 could dispel the chief cause of his misery, if I could 
 only see him. 
 
 " A fortnight or so ago, there came to my door 
 here one of our honest farmers. When I first knew 
 him, he was a bright, cheerful man, living on a pleas- 
 ant terrace, lifted up a few yards above the meadow, 
 with the river in front, and his sugar-orchard and 
 pastures on the hills behind. He had then three sons ; 
 all of whom I knew, and all of whom enlisted. One 
 went from our high school, where he was nearly ready 
 for college ; one went from the farm ; the other 
 went from the West, where he had gone to live. The 
 eldest received a bullet through the heart, while on 
 picket in Virginia ; the youngest was blown in pieces 
 by a shell. He belonged to a battery, — a laughing 
 boy. They say, in the midst of the battle he was jok- 
 ing, with a laugh on his face, when the missile came 
 which annihilated him. The third son now has been 
 badly wounded, and lies in a critical condition. The 
 father is almost broken-hearted ; and a *more pathetic 
 object you can hardly find, than that poor man when 
 he touched my bell the other day, and came in to tell 
 
 10 
 
218 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 me the news «ibout Eldred. His cheek was thin and 
 sallow. He spoke mournfully of these dead sons ; 
 and, as he talked, his eyes filled with tears. Gone 
 entirely was the smile which was always upon his face, 
 when I first knew him. He had grown careless in his 
 dress ; his coat was out at the elbows ; the hat was 
 faded, — band and crown, — and the brim was limp. 
 'I am old,' he said. ^I only tried to keep up the place 
 for the boys ; now two are gone, and the third likely to 
 go. What is there for me to care for? I am going 
 to see Eldred. If he dies too, my heart will break.' 
 
 " I could say nothing to him. I silently took the 
 letter which he handed me, and read. Eldred had 
 written the few lines -vUiich it contained, evidently with 
 great difficulty. It was simply that he had received a 
 bad hurt in the chest. He suffered much pain, and the 
 doctor was doubtful how it might turn. Then came 
 the passage that enchained me. 'Did his father re- 
 member Herbert Lee, that was wild, and sent up to 
 Meadowboro' to be witli old IVIr. Wells ? — the one that 
 used to like to have his company so often in hunting ? ' 
 Eldred went on to say, that as he lay on the field, after 
 the battle was over, neglected by the ambulance-men 
 who were carrying off" the wounded, a sergeant came 
 and helped him ; that he thought it Avas Herbert Lee, 
 although he was much changed in looks ; that he gave 
 him care, and had him brought off" the field, thereby 
 perhaps saving his life. Eldred went on to say, that 
 Herbert went now by another name ; * for he hushed 
 him up, when he called him Herbert.' Tlie letter was 
 
THE NUKSE. 219 
 
 very brief; Eldred saying at the end, that he was badly 
 off, but that he could not be easy without sending a few 
 words to his father. 
 
 " I jumped to my feet, and called Alice. I told her 
 briefly, that I had come upon another trace of Herbert, 
 and must follow it up. Probably Eldred could give 
 me Herbert's assumed name, and perhaps the organiza- 
 tion to whicji he belonged. Alice urged my poor 
 health, the severity of the weather, and the danger of 
 exposure among crowded hospitals ; but I could not 
 wait : so, in the afternoon, this poor friend of mine and 
 I set out on our Southern journey. I will tell you, 
 sometime, all that I saw ; but now I will pass over 
 every thing not connected with this special matter. 
 
 " We found Eldred still living, but scarcely rational ; 
 stretched on his comfortable pallet, in the long, high, 
 many- windowed room. Yery pale he Avas from loss of 
 blood, very thin from suffering, — the stout young 
 farmer I had known. The black hair was wet upon 
 his })illow, — sopped with cold water, to give his head 
 comfort in the days and nights.; and drops, coming 
 down upon his face, lay side by side with the beads of 
 clammy sweat that oozed from the emaciated forehead, 
 and the hollows where had been the cheeks. He was 
 near to death. There was not a moment to lose, in 
 making my inquiry ; but, pressing as I felt the case to 
 be, I could not thrust aside the father, who knelt with 
 his face buried in the pillow of this his last son, hold- 
 ing in his hand the hand of the young man, even now 
 unnaturally cold. When, at last, I did speak, it was 
 
220 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 too late. I bent over liim ; called him by uanie ; briefly 
 as I could, asked my question ; tried to make it plain 
 to his fast-departing mind. ' He took care' of you, you 
 know, poor boy, — your old mate, — what do they 
 call him?' But it was too late. The fihny eyps 
 opened at my voice ; but there was no mtelligence in 
 their ghastly stare. Hard through the white, wasted 
 nostrils, rattled the breath, and the shaking lips shriv- 
 elled away above the teeth, as if there were terrible 
 heat there that burnt them. He could not tell. I said 
 no more; for it seemed hardly proper to harass a 
 departing soul with queries, even when I felt that the 
 happiness of a living being was so concerned. 
 
 " I sat by his pallet, liolding his hands, and adjusting 
 the sheet. In an hour he died. It was terrible to me. 
 It was the first time I had ever come face to face with 
 any such scene. The father sat pale almost as the 
 wasted young man, — so stony and stolid by the corse. 
 I tried to care for him, and then went out into the 
 streets. The city was full of stir. Wet regiments 
 were tramping over the snowy pavements. Squads of 
 troops sat upon the curbstone at the side of the street, 
 where the wet snow was cleared away during some 
 momentary halt. I searched through many ranks with 
 my eye to find tall, athletic men : then I searched 
 their faces ; but I saw no Herbert. Far and near, 
 through the stir, came the sound of drums. I passed 
 them by brigades and divisions. Perhap* he was one 
 among all these thousands. How hopeless was my 
 search ! 
 
THE ^UilSE. 
 
 221 
 
 " You know, Leonora is nurse in a hospital. I be- 
 lieve I have not said, that she was in this very city. 
 Herbert must have been near her many times. If he 
 could only know what it is in my power now to reveal 
 to him ! I hardly knew whether Leonora would take 
 an interest or not in the object for which I had come so 
 far. You are aware how once, when I had resolved to 
 approach her upon the subject of Herbert, through her 
 mao-nificent fire I was turned aside from my purpose. 
 I resolved, however, to go to see her. It was only 
 friendly for me to do so, now that I was so near her. 
 Tired and discouraged, I made my way to the great 
 building to which I knew she was assigned. It was a 
 scene similar to what I had already witnessed, although 
 there was more order and neatness. I passed between 
 the crowded rows of cots, with the clean bedding, the 
 screens, and the long, prostrate shapes. Sweet and 
 airy it was ; quiet too, except a groan now and then 
 from a pallet which a surgeon was visiting, or where 
 an attendant was moving a patient. In a moment, I 
 caught sight of her. She Is younger than she should 
 be, according to the regulation as to nurses ; but so 
 intense was her eagerness, that her application could 
 not be resisted. Xot beautiful, — young I say still; 
 but, nevertheless, with the first bloom and freshness a 
 little gone by ; a queenly woman ; her old imperial 
 spirit, so out of relation and ill assorted in the midst 
 of trivial circumstances, more congenially placed now, 
 in the midst of all this tragedy. I used to think her 
 harsh, wilful, and rude. So she was where flirtation 
 
222 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 and light talk were the order of the day. It was not 
 her 2:)lace ; and she was rough, as an eagle might be in 
 a flock of twittering, chattering sparrows. Now she 
 was more at home, — calm and grand, — her unbroken 
 power toned down from its old, hot impetuousness, in 
 the midst of labors and groans ; a noble gravity upon 
 her broad forehead and in her deep eyes, a dignity 
 in her mien as she moved. I can see how such disci- 
 plined and consecrated power as hers can help a whole 
 hospital. A subduing might, from her imperial, unself- 
 ish womanhood, goes out ; so that, as I heard after- 
 ward, there is, within the circle of her influence, far less 
 of levity among attendants, and far less of petulance 
 among patients, — the lightest souled learning earnest- 
 ness, the sufferers learning fortitude. 
 
 " Putting one hand beneath the bandaged head of a 
 patient, to raise it while she held a cooling draught to 
 his lips, she bent forward. As she rose again, after 
 the head had fallen back to its place, her eyes met 
 mine. I had stopped at the foot of the bed. She 
 came toward me quietly, — speaking in a low tone, — 
 with a manner grave, but cordial. I was determined 
 that she should know all. Briefly, I stated that the 
 errand which had brought me so far from home had 
 reference to Herbert Lee. I meant to have seen her 
 face clearly, when I spoke his name ; but the man on 
 the pallet called querulously at the very moment, and, 
 through her quick turning, I could not see whether 
 there was any trace of agitation or not. Her hands 
 quietly smoothed the pillow ; and, when she turned 
 
THE NUKSE. 
 
 223 
 
 toward me again, the countenance was calm as before. 
 It was very quietly that she spoke at last. ' It was a 
 strange matter,' she said,— 'a thing to sadden one. 
 Had he been heard from?' I said that he had, and 
 she might perhaps be interested to see the letters. 
 Then I gave her, in a packet, the letters which I have 
 received°from him, from first to last. She looked a 
 little surprised, as I handed them to her ; but did not 
 refuse to take them. Then she said, 'I believe we 
 were friends. I am interested to know about him.' 
 Then I asked if there was not some hour later in tlie 
 day, when she would be more at leisure. She men- 
 tioned an hour in the evening, and I took my leave. 
 
 " I went to my old friend, who had come with me 
 from Meadowboro'. He sat by the body of his son, 
 broken by grief. I made the arrangements necessary 
 for bringing the body home. This one, at least, of the 
 three, should rest in the little village burying-ground. 
 AYe lifted the frame, once so stalwart, now with the 
 skeleton within hardly veiled by the wasted flesh, and 
 laid him reverently in his coffin. At the hour ap- 
 pointed, I returned to Leonora. I found her sitting in 
 the httle room adjoining her ward, which belonged to 
 lier as the superintending nurse. She met me as 
 gravely and calmly as in the morning. On the table 
 lay my packet of letters. They had evidently been 
 opened, and, I judged, read. 
 
 "In my interview with her, before she went as nurse, 
 she had refused, you know, to let me speak of him to 
 her ; but I had clung to the behef, that she might, after 
 
224 THE TIIINKIXG BAYONET. 
 
 all, love liim still. 1 feared now tlmt I was wrong. 
 If she loved him, how could she stand so calm, when 
 she knew his sufferings and the depth of his love? I 
 sat opposite to her, studying the figure eagerly for some 
 trace of agitation. But there was no tremor of the un- 
 ringed fingers, that I could see ; no wave of the plain 
 gray garb to betoken inward agitation. The light fell 
 upon her face, so that I saw every feature, and the dark 
 abundant hair, knotted away under the plain cap that 
 she wore. I began earnestly tor speak of Herbert, — 
 the persecution under which he had fallen, which had 
 led to his flight. I told the circumstances, which made 
 it so clear that he had been deeply wronged ; the bad 
 character of Tillenbaugh ; the earnest and unsolicited 
 testimony of Dr. Benton ; the interest of our wise* old 
 minister. I told of the letter of the superintendent at 
 Castleton, which sent me on my first search ; the proofs 
 I found there of his manly life, in spite of the bitter 
 sadness and doubt by which he was oppressed. I 
 spoke of the letters she had just read, — the evidence 
 they gave of a chivalrous nature, so manful and reso- 
 lute. Then I spoke of the letter of Eldred to his father, 
 the mention in it of Herbert, and my hurrying at once 
 to the spot. I spoke v.ith deliberation ; but the depth 
 of my feeling was plain, I know, in my words. 
 
 " She sat before me in perfect quiet, with lids hang- 
 ing dark down upon her check, so that I could not see 
 the eyes. I watched her with painful earnestness, — 
 the passionless features, the calm hands folded within 
 her gray robe. Would she give no sign? I spoke of 
 
THE NURSE. 225 
 
 coming at last to Eldred's bedside ; stillno sign. I had 
 almost finished, and now it was the last sentence, ' but 
 he died, without leaving me any clew ! ' Thank God ! 
 she started, and breathed a long sigh; and then there 
 was quick, convulsive Iieaving of the breast, that could 
 not be controlled. I rose from my chair in joy. I 
 hardly know myself, why it is that I am so much ab- 
 sorbed for Herbert ; but so it is. I think I have hardly 
 been so happy, since I read in the eyes of Alice that she 
 would be my wife. It was unreasonable enough ; but I 
 could not help feeling, that in some way a great diffi- 
 culty was cleared out of the path. Of course, this -will 
 not help me in finding him ; and yet, when we do find 
 him, as I know we shall, what sweet intelligence it will 
 be with which we can welcome him ! 
 
 "'You see it, — you see it all,' she breathed low. 
 * I did not mean to show it ; but I could not keep it 
 back.' She covered her face with her hands, and sobbed 
 convulsively. Now that the heart of Leonora was re- 
 vealed to me, I was filled with hope more than ever. 
 ' Courage — have courage ! ' . I said : 'find him we 
 surely shall.' She grew calm, and told me all quite 
 unreservedly. She had begun to love Herbert at the 
 island. Her father was fully persuaded of the unsound- 
 ness of Herbert's mind ; and, in her prostration, she had 
 had no force to withstand him; Indeed, she had feared 
 herself it might be true, the opinion seemed so general. 
 This fear had had much to do with her continued illness. 
 Then, at the outbreak of the war, as she began to grow 
 better, her mighty, passionate force had swept her away 
 
 10* 
 
226 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 into a tumult of patriotic fervor ; so that, for a time, her 
 personal affections were overwhelmed. It was at this 
 time that I approached her first, and w^as repelled. 
 Afterward, however, this all-engrossing zeal had some- 
 what subsided. I think her devotedness is as earnest 
 as ever, but it is f^ir calmer ; and now, in this calmer 
 time, the deep-seated affection, eclipsed but not obliter- 
 ated, began to appear again, far down within her soul. 
 She knew, indeed, that there were those who thought 
 Herbert was misunderstood. She knew little, however, 
 about their reasons for the opinion. Slie judged it idle 
 to inquire ; for he had fled. If he had loved her, she 
 thought, she would have heard some word. Her love 
 lay in her soul ; but she had rejected it, and souglit to 
 cast it out as a hopeless thing. Still, from day to day, 
 it possessed her; and yet none have known, of all 
 those whose lips she has moistened, whose pillows she 
 has smoothed, how wrought the agonized heart, behind 
 that calm, still, white face. Now I know it, and I have 
 given her comfort and hope. 
 
 " As we talked, she became comj^osed as ever. At 
 length there came a knock at the door of the room. 
 She rose and opened it, and tliere entered a tall figure, 
 with heavy military coat, and boots splashed, as if with 
 riding through mire. He removed his cap, and I knew 
 the face at once, — Holyoake, grown so noted these last 
 years ; browner than of old, with a form somewhat 
 heavier, and shoulders more square. His face had lost 
 nothing of its old masculine beauty ; indeed, there was 
 more. Resolution in the eye ; strength in the mouth 
 
THE XtJRSE. 
 
 227 
 
 and on the brow, won amid danger and hardship; 
 caiio-ht when the batteries have flamed, and rung the 
 hoofs of chargers ; indeed an Agamemnon, uva^ av6pC)v, — 
 a king of men ! He was not glad to see me, though 
 sufficiently polite. He threw back his hea\y coat, show- 
 ino- th^ insignia of a general officer. In old times, he 
 subdued me by his prestige and superb personal gifts ; 
 and even now, at another time, I might have been op- 
 pressed, puny, and undistinguished there, before one 
 whom the world calls a hero : but my soul was roused 
 bv the previous events of the evening, and, I believe, I 
 sat before him then, possessed and confident as if I had 
 been his equal. Herbert must be found : that was my 
 thought. No stone must be left unturned. Even this 
 man, — rival though he was, — author though I had 
 good reason to suppose he was of Herbert's wretched- 
 ness, — even this man might be made to help me ; and 
 help me he should, if it was in his power. 
 
 " I soon found the opportunity to tell Holyoake my 
 errand to the army, — ' to find Herbert Lee : what 
 could be done ? As a college friend of Lee, no doubt he 
 would be ready to give advice, — to help in anyway that 
 he could to bring his friends to him.' He started as 
 if stung. I almost fancied he had seen him ; and yet, 
 I suppose, his repugnance to Lee was enough to explain 
 his movement. Still it was a little strange, that a man 
 so exposed to the fiercest excitements should have so 
 lost his self-possession. He recovered himself in a mo- 
 ment. ' Lee, — yes, it was a sad case. He had been 
 heard from then ? Supposed he was drowned. AVas I 
 
228 THE THENKING BAYONET. 
 
 sure he was in the army? Difficult matter to find a 
 man who chose to hide himself; — would do what he 
 could to help, he was sure, but feared there was little 
 hope.' 
 
 "I rose presently, and took my leave. The next 
 morning, before departing, I saw Leonora again. She 
 keeps nothing from me now. She told me of Hol- 
 yoake's de-votedness, persisted in year after year, though 
 she gave him no hope. She believed him to be brave 
 and noble, and desired to retain his friendship. Occa- 
 sionally they met, — when Holyoake for a day or so 
 could leave his division ; and once or twice, when she 
 had needed the relaxation, he had accompanied her in 
 riding. I did not tell her, that this noble friend I sus- 
 pected of base treachery ; that probably he was at the 
 bottom of the misery of both Herbert and herself. 
 
 " There, that is all. I write from Meadowboro' again. 
 Eldred is buried close at hand to the broad mead alonor 
 
 o 
 
 which he went shouting to his cattle, and the mountain 
 grove that heard his holiday singing. 
 
 " And now, to end the sorrowful story, word comes 
 to me that the father died last night. He came home, 
 to sit shrivelled and sad within his house, thinking of 
 his dead sons, — the husbandman once so hale ! I knew 
 he must go, but did not look for the end so soon. To- 
 morrow, we shall lower his dust into the dust, among 
 the graves of his line, reaching back to the foundation 
 of the town. I think the soil will embrace him there in 
 liis silent sleep, more tenderly than if it were the clay of 
 a stranger. I am glad, too, that Eldred is buried here ; 
 
THE NUKSE. 229 
 
 SO tliat one child, at least, of those who knew so well 
 the clasp of his hearty arms, and the heave of the hale 
 knees, when he tossed their baby figures years ago in his 
 play with them, — that one child now again may nestle 
 at his side. His joy is fled, and he sleeps well. And 
 now the line is closed. There are none left of his 
 household to join the honorable farmer and his kindred, 
 there in their solemn sleep. He lies dead within his 
 house to-night ; and without, in the bare trees, there is 
 a weight of white snow in their branches, — ghost-like, 
 as if the leaves that died there in the autumn came like 
 spirits to haunt the branches in white shrouds. 
 
 " Never more than now have I lamented my weak 
 frame and uncertain health. I should not dare to ex- 
 pose myself to the sights and labors \^hich even a nurse 
 must bear. Or, if I could do it myself, how can I ask 
 Alice to undergo separation from one whom she has 
 come to love, — to live upon the little pittance that 
 woukl be my portion should I go, or bear the hard- 
 ship that would be her lot should I die ? But I avow 
 to you, that any work I can do in the way of my 
 profession now seems utter trifling and waste of time, 
 before the work that might be done in the scenes that I 
 have beheld. I try to be faithful here, — to wife, to 
 parish, to duty in general ; but to live here, in quiet 
 and comfort, amid flowery ease ! " 
 
230 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 CLAIBORNE. 
 
 For weeks and weeks it had been alternate battle and 
 march, and now the enemy had turned again ; lying 
 low behind a long ridge, thrown up in a night on the 
 brow of a slope, with a swampy forest at the base. 
 Here came crowding their Federal pursuers, — cutting 
 roads through the thick vegetation ; hastily bridging 
 with the felled trees dark pools ; cutting in twain the 
 knottino^ vines that had woven the wood into a tancrle : 
 so that the horseman could ride, and not hold his hand 
 above his head to guard himself from the branches ; and 
 the white-covered wagons, with bread and beef, and 
 powder, could go to and fro, with no solid trunk to hit 
 their hubs, and no slough to swallow them to the axle. 
 Herbert lay in his place, — a little booth of boughs be- 
 hind a heavy fallen trunk, his habitation; but, in day- 
 times, or at night when he was on duty, he crouched with 
 silent men in the edge of the woods, where trees were 
 pitted and leaves torn with bullets from the rebel sharp- 
 shooters. Smeared was their dress with the slime of the 
 mire in which they crouched. Ague rose at nightfall 
 with exhalations, and fastened upon their bones. Lying 
 under his low shelter-tent, drowsing once, after a night 
 
CLAIBORNE. 231 
 
 on picket, something drew itself slowly up upon Her- 
 bert's shoulder, then over his breast : he opened his 
 eyes upon a poisonous snake. 
 
 An order came for a force of infantry to move back. 
 Herbert was in the detail. Pat was in hospital again, 
 wounded in the last battle. Herbert did not know — 
 how should a sergeant ever know?— where they were to 
 go. Out they moved from the thickets one morning, 
 just before day, — at the time when it is most dark, and 
 men sleep soundest, — stepping carefully, so as not to 
 break the dried limbs in their path ; so as not to slip on. 
 the damp curve of the logs of the bridges, and send out 
 on the stillness the rattle of their arms : for the alarm 
 would have gone over to the rebel line, and a hot bat- 
 tery-fire have come hissing after them through the dark- 
 ness. Soon they could march, taking less care. They 
 were on the bank of the creek, where, in booths and 
 shanties, the cooking was done for the division, in ad- 
 vance. Here they stayed till the day broke, and saw, 
 from each booth, two stout men go out with iron kettles 
 of smoking food slung between them, to creep and crawl 
 to the companies ahead there under fire. " Look out 
 for the kettle, cooks," said a soldier: "the boys would 
 rather have a bullet go through you, than that crocky 
 old iron-side." Here the force took rations, cramming 
 haversacks with beef and bread, with coftee and sugar. 
 Then came the drum-tap ; and, before the day was hot, 
 they halted before head-quarters, — a large wall-tent 
 for the general, with a sentry in front, and shelter about 
 for aides and escort. 
 
232 THE TIIIXKING BAYONET. 
 
 The general came out in undress, smoking ; and the 
 soldiers looked at the man, whose name was on their 
 lips every hour almost, whom they had sometimes seen 
 on the gallop with a cavalcade of aides and orderlies, but 
 upon whose brown , resolute face many of them had never 
 before looked steadily. AYord went from man to man, 
 that the present duty was likely to be neither dangerous 
 nor severe. They were simply to guard a wagon-train 
 which was to go out for forage ten miles or so beyond 
 the videttes. A few companies of infantry, with a sec- 
 tion of a battery and a small squad of cavalry, were to 
 be the guard. The wagons were to go out empty, or 
 with only sacks : so, for once, the infantry were to go 
 royally, half a dozen in each wagon. Rough coaches ; but 
 as the men laid their guns on the broken and splintered 
 boards at the bottom, the broad-soled, well-worn shoes 
 on quiet feet, instead of crunching through dust or 
 sucking through mire, it seemed so much better than to 
 tramp. Forward went the rusty caravan, — like some 
 great articulated creature, the successive joints along 
 whose trailing body were the white wagon-tops, ribbed 
 and curving like shell ; whose antennas were the squads 
 of cavalry thrown out in lines from the front, thrust 
 on suddenly toward any thing suspicious, and then 
 withdrawn. 
 
 Then they gained the mills from which the forage was 
 to be taken ; and the soldiers, forsaking the wagons, the 
 groups of lialf a dozen re-assembling, stood in line, 
 fresh through their ride ; then were marched to an ele- 
 where arms w^ere stacked. Close at the 
 
CLAIBORNE. 233 
 
 mnsket-butts the men lay, and opened their haversacks, 
 while the wagons were loaded. It was a pleasant change 
 from the dismal life at the front ; for, out in the fields 
 there, the w^ind sw^ept free. Herbert lay at ease, glad 
 to be able to stretch out arms and feet without fear of 
 their affording a mark to a sharpshooter ; watching the 
 artillery-men sleeping in the shadow of their caissons, 
 with backs braced against the w^heels, and the cavalry 
 horses eating their corn. It was peaceful enough ; for 
 in his ears sounded the little river gurgling past the 
 mills. Its w^aterfall sent spray over the rough un- 
 painted clapboards, to w^hich clung mosses ; and the 
 sky was full of such clouds as cover the heavens above 
 harvest-fields. 
 
 Presently a solitary rifle cracked out from the brow 
 of a hill above them ; then an intermittent volley came 
 sharply upon the air ; and a mule or tw^o, bleeding in 
 the neck or back, kicked madly in their traces there by 
 the door of the mill. Each man is instantly on foot ; for 
 this is hostile territory, and here is a force strong enough 
 to venture upon attack. The cavalry are in saddle, and 
 clatter over the crazy bridge across the stream, whose 
 planks bound under the galloping hoofs. Startled 
 drivers, to whose teams the bullets are whistling so that 
 they do not need to shout, rush headlong back along 
 the road by which they have come. The major in com- 
 mand hopes it is only a guerilla force. The brow of 
 the hill is wdthin artillery range ; and the battery-officer, 
 with red cord daintily twisted into an artillery-lieuten- 
 ant's badge upon each shoulder, presently has his pieces 
 
234 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 pointed. The infantry close by snufF the sulphurous 
 air, and feel the jar at the discharge ; then far ahead, a 
 moment after, see the jet of smoke against the trees, 
 where the shell explodes. Now, from a wood at the 
 side, comes an unexpected volley. Suddenly a rebel 
 battery opens from the hill where the first volleys were 
 heard. Shells whiz here and there ; arid, one falling 
 beneath the axle of a cannon, Herbert sees it thrown 
 from its carriage by the explosion, a heavy dent in its 
 brass, and two strong, red-trimmed artillery-men on 
 their backs by its side. The infantry, hastily facing to 
 the rio:ht and doublin^:, hurrv back in the direction of 
 the army ; and the remaining federal gun, after sending 
 a parting shell, limbers up, and goes off on the gallop, 
 with three horses, — the fourth being left behind, kick- 
 ing, and on his back, with the blood coming from a 
 bullet-wound in the side. 
 
 So they begin to retreat ; but a panic-stricken wag- 
 oner, hatless, and lashing his frantic mules, who heads 
 the disorderly caravan that is rushing back toward the 
 army, suddenly fulls from his saddle, shot ; and the next 
 moment his team, coming round a turn, run bolt against 
 a large tree, felled across the road since the expedition 
 passed two hours ago. " Cut off, by Heaven ! " says 
 the major, a young officer of little experience, who is 
 not equal to the occasion. Teams and men are huddled 
 together in confusion ; horses kicking, men shouting ; 
 now and then an exploding shell dashing a wagon in 
 splinters, or killing a number of men. Now from be- 
 hind comes a heavy rumbling. Do\nti the road sweeps 
 
CLAIBORNE. 235 
 
 in disorder the Federal cavalry, left behind to protect 
 the rear ; and immediately on their heels, filling the road, 
 rushes, a force of rebel horsemen, on steeds lean but 
 active ; with bridles of rope, and saddles sometimes of 
 bagging ; gaunt and fierce-eyed ; some in shirt-sleeves, 
 some in butternut; often shoeless, and with slouched 
 hats, — all on the run, with sabre and pistol and curse, 
 into the midst of the confusion. 
 
 Surrender is the only thing. It is done, and the 
 firing ceases. A strong column of the enemy, it ap- 
 pears, has suddenly been thrown into the neighborhood ; 
 and it is this which has been encountered. The wild- 
 looking horsemen wheel and trot back. Up comes a 
 line of infantry as uncouth, with as little approach to 
 uniform ; and hastily the captives are made to lay down 
 their arms, and take off equipments. The wagons are 
 quickly collected, and sent back toward the main rebel 
 force. The prisoners follow, a strong guard marching 
 behind ; for the cannonade has been heard, no doubt, 
 by the Federal general, and a relieving force may be 
 sent out. They hurry past the mills, brightly blazing 
 now through exploding shells ; then go onward. Her- 
 bert wonders whether it would be better to be lying 
 with those just fiillen, — left unburied there behind, — or 
 to meet the fate which is before him. But he is well ; 
 thinks he is in the way of his duty, at any rate ; and 
 nerves himself to bear it all as well as he can. 
 
 They march till nightfall, quickly forward, with but 
 few halts ; then forward, for most of the night, unarmed 
 and desponding. Their captors make them carry pretty 
 
236 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 heavily ; so it is tough work, with but little to hope at 
 the end of it. jMornino^ briiif'S them to a town which 
 the rebels hold in force, and here they stop for rest. 
 Pretty much every thing has beeil taken but the uni- 
 forms they wear ; arms first, then shelter-tents and 
 blankets : for their captors want them. They fling 
 themselves down by the roadside, so tired, that, for the 
 moment, there is nothing to ask for but a chance to rest. 
 With heads resting on timbers, and on the edge of the 
 dry gutter, they go to sleep at once. 
 
 Toward noon, Herbert is awake again. His com- 
 rades in captivity, most of them, sleep ; one or two are 
 bathing blistered feet in a spring near. Herbert washes 
 face and hands, beats the dust out of his clothing, then 
 surveys his surroundings. His position overlooks a field 
 upon which lies a strong force of the rebel army ; men 
 lately from besieged strongholds, where they have lived 
 in ovens hollowed out within the steep sides of ravines, 
 or lain on backs and faces in shallow rifle-pits ; now and 
 then raising their heads for a shot at the beleaguering 
 Federals. From this they have lately come, — to this 
 they are speedily going ; their life, in great part, a 
 crawling and crouching upon and within the earth ; with 
 tramps across the country thrown in, through dust and 
 swamp and wood ; and now and then a day amid thun- 
 der and fire and blood. In garb and complexion, they 
 seem, like the little chameleons of that same region, to be 
 taking on the hue of the substance upon which they li\e ; 
 faces and clothing in hue brown and dull as the dusty 
 clay where it is their life to burrow and creep. For 
 
CLAIBORXE. 237 
 
 knapsacks and haversacks, there are simply bags of 
 wliite canvas, — through soiling, very soon as brown as 
 their coarse dress ; for canteens, two broad disks of red 
 cedar, with a narrow space between, belted about by 
 an iron-bound curb of little staves. From these Her- 
 bert can see them sucking their beer, — the drink wliich 
 the rebel soldier knows how to make from steeped herbs,' 
 and which, in some regions, stands to him as coffee 
 stands to his Federal opponent ; his regular beverage, 
 more palatable and healthful than the water of swamps 
 or stao^natino; streams. 
 
 Herbert sees the Arkansas backwoodsmen (a regi- 
 ment have arrived within a day or two, and are to 
 remain) framing rude cabins of logs out of the forest 
 trees, making them tight by cementing the cracks with 
 mud, building their chimneys of sticks piled up cob- 
 house fashion, then heavily smeared over and joined 
 together with wet clay from the banks of a creek near, 
 until they are tight and serviceable, — tenements as 
 elaborate and comfortable, probably, as those in the 
 backwoods, where they were born and nurtured. Her- 
 bert sees, too, the batteries, — sometimes of shining 
 brass. If he were nearer, he could see, in some cases, 
 the stamp of Northern founderies oh the breech, — 
 captured guns ; batteries of guns brought over by 
 blockade-runners ; and some cast in their own roaring, 
 hard-pushed founderies. The horses drag them by 
 traces of rope. The caissons are unpainted, the but- 
 ternut drivers whip their gaunt teams mth switches of 
 hickory. No gloss or finish ; but the guns will be well 
 
238 THE THINKING BAYOXET. 
 
 gerved in time of battle. He sees officers riding here 
 and tliere ; gray-liaired men, and tall, dark-faced 
 youths, with black hair streaming from under their 
 caps, — sometimes richly dressed ; tasselled and braided 
 finery from Paris or London, by way of Wilmington 
 and Nassau ; but more often in plain homespun, with 
 no embroidery but the badge of rank upon sleeve or 
 collar. 
 
 At last, there comes by a division on the march, — 
 veterans, Herbert imagines, of twenty battles perhaps ; 
 inured to wearying tramp and death-haunted trench. 
 It is like what he has seen on the other side : only, in 
 place of blue, the dress of the infantry matches the 
 road where they move. Dust has lodged upon hair 
 and beard, and the brims of their tattered hats. As 
 they pass near him, Herbert hears a huge, heavy- 
 bearded sergeant, — ragged at the knee, feet protruding 
 through worn-out shoes, — in a voice hoarse as if 
 through shouting challenges, or screaming amid the din 
 of batteries, singing the solo to " Stonewall Jackson's 
 way : " — 
 
 " He's in the saddle now. Fall in ! 
 
 Steady ! the whole brigade. 
 Hill's at the ford, cut oflP — we'll win 
 
 His way out, ball and blade ! 
 What matter if our shoes are worn ! 
 What matter if our feet are torn ! 
 Quick step ! we're witli him before dawn : 
 
 That's Stonewall Jackson's way." 
 
 At the end of each verse, the ranks take up the 
 refrain from the Sergeant's heavy bass, and peal it out, 
 
CLAIBOKXE. 239 
 
 " That's Stonewall Jackson's way ; " ragged, poorly 
 shod men, but with elastic tread ; with their brown 
 hands holding sometimes light-colored butts, — rifles of 
 Belgian make ; sometimes the darker Enfield pattern; 
 
 Herbert talks with those who approach. The sol- 
 diers who come are, for the most part, good-natured; 
 avoid every thing like insult ; and compare notes as to 
 battles in whicli, on both sides, they have been con- 
 cerned. Reb and Yankee both have had experience 
 of one another's courage ; so the man in blue, and the 
 man in butternut, mutually respectful, confer affably 
 about these past combats. " We thought we were 
 gone for it one time," says Reb, " when you made that 
 charge." " But you met us with such a fire ! " says 
 the Yankee. " I'll be dosr on it, ef I ain't sorrv for 
 ye. Xow, stranger, ef I could come across ye in the 
 old Arkansas bottoms, you'd get a right good dish of 
 pork and hoe-cake up to my clearin' ! " It is the ordi- 
 nary thing for soldiers to meet with hostile intent ; and, 
 when two sides come together with hostility laid away, 
 there is at first a grand novelty about it, which makes 
 it a most interesting meeting. For cordiality, com- 
 mend me to the meeting of hostile pickets under flag 
 of truce ; or the coming together of prisoners and 
 those who have taken them, after a bitter piece of cam- 
 paigning, when both sides have shown soldiership. 
 
 As the prisoners lay in the streets, the soldiers were 
 friendly, though citizens, as they went by, now and 
 then said a bitter thing, and sometimes sharp-tongued 
 women heaped reproaches upon them. Herbert bore it 
 
240 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 grave and unmoved, when a woman shook her fist in 
 his face, thinking of scenes he had witnessed ; among 
 others, of the poor woman who bled, while a ruffianly 
 soldier clutched at her ornaments, with the food of her 
 children wasted and consumed, and the home on fire. 
 Perhaps this woman had suffered in that way. 
 
 So they -lay, with no shelter, and but little food; 
 and, in a day or two, went oif under a hot sun, upon 
 open cars, through leagues of country where there 
 was scarcely a house ; stopping now and then at little 
 dingy villages, in whose streets were only women, 
 children, and old men : until, at last, they came to the 
 city where they were to remain. 
 
 Here, within a comfortless space, fenced in by a 
 guarded stockade, were Federal prisoners by the thou- 
 sand ; some broken in spirit through long confinement, 
 in every way foul, with clothing unrenewed filling to 
 pieces about their emaciated limbs ; some like Herbert 
 and his companions, just arrived, with the mark of 
 good Federal bread and beef — wholesome if coarse 
 — in healthy faces and firm limbs. 
 
 Fever began to prevail ; and to fall sick was almost 
 to die : for-the conditions of the life were to the last 
 degree unhealthy, and there was little or no attendance 
 of physicians. Herbert became a nurse of the sick, 
 who lay beneath a miserable shed. This, although 
 poor shelter enough, was yet the best that the prison- 
 ers' camp afforded. He gave such poor comforts as 
 there were, and the few remedies that were provided ; 
 soothed the men, softening his heavy tones ; wiped 
 
OLAIBORNE. 241 
 
 away the death-damps, as the eyes were becoming 
 fixed ; then decently composed the thin limbs for the 
 rough burial. How many there were of these un- 
 knelled, uncoffined dead ! From man to man among 
 the sick, by day, — by night with the candle he could 
 sometimes get, or by the stars, — he moved faithfully 
 and aifectionately to where one called for water ; to 
 where one in delirium had got up from the boards where 
 he lay, and with trembling limbs, and ghastly, idiotic 
 smile and gibber, staggered off; or to where there was 
 one to be bathed. Herbert's health remained firm ; and 
 he rejoiced that he could do brave duty there, where 
 there was weary groaning, and the frequent breathing 
 up of life. 
 
 One day, there came among the prisoners a rebel 
 colonel. Herbert saw him first, at some distance, with 
 his face turned away. His gray coat was worn with 
 rough service ; but Herbert knew his rank by the 
 badges embroidered upon the collar. Though slight, 
 and not tall in figure, he stood erect and firm ; and his 
 bearing was altogether martial. The left sleeve hung 
 limp and loose. It was plain, that the member which 
 should have filled it had been shot or hewn away. 
 Now and then, as he moved among the prisoners, he 
 stopped and talked. At fii'st, Herbert's attention was 
 not much drawn ; for it was an ordinary circumstance 
 for officers of some rank to visit the camp. Presently, 
 however, happening to look when the face of the visitor 
 was turned fully toward him, how was he startled to 
 recognize Claiborne ! Beneath its bronze, it wore all 
 
 11 
 
242 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 the old, high-born, haughty look. As he walked, the 
 step was full of pride, — an imposing carriage ! Her- 
 bert's heart went out to him ; and yet he shrunk from 
 recognition. He knew that in his wretched plight as a 
 prisoner, — stained, too, as his clothing was from hard 
 work in the hospital, — he was more than ever dis- 
 guised. He was debating whether to address him or 
 not, when circumstances determined his course- for him. 
 
 He sat still, while Claiborne approached, stopping 
 now and then to talk. He was trying to induce the 
 prisoners to forswear their allegiance ; to join the rebel 
 army, or take positions elsewhere. He came at length 
 to a soldier near Herbert, — a young teacher just from 
 college, a pure, dutiful youth, in soldier's garb from the 
 noblest of motives. He was taken with Herbert, when 
 they were cut off. He had begun to languish, and had 
 come under the poor protection of the hospital-shed. 
 He was Herbert's friend. Claiborne addressed him as 
 he had done others. Hubbard (that was his name) 
 raised himself on his elbow, pale and weak though he 
 was, and sent a hot " No " right into Claiborne's face, 
 then poured out a spirited rebuke to him for so address- 
 ing him. Claiborne grew white beneath his tan, with 
 sudden anger. His teeth were clenched. In a mo- 
 ment, his hand was at his belt, and his pistol drawn. 
 In another, it was discharged, and poor Hubbard fell 
 back, shot through the heart. " Take off this carrion ! " 
 said Claiborne to tlie guards near, kicking the body 
 with his foot as he put back the pistol. 
 
 Beside himself, Herbert leaped to his feet. " Cow- 
 
CLAIBORNE. 243 
 
 ard, — coward and murderer, Claiborne ! " he said : 
 " unarmed, and your prisoner ; it is the deed of a 
 coward ! " Claiborne sprang, at the voice, and at being 
 called by name ; at first defiant and angry ; then, as 
 he saw and recognized Herbert, the wrathful light faded 
 from his eye. " It is Herbert Lee," he said ; then he 
 stepped forward, as if to speak to him ; but, changing 
 his purpose, grew confused, and hurried away. 
 
 Herbert went to Hubbard's body. They made room 
 for him ; for he had acquired some ascendancy among . 
 the men. As he stooped over him, he saw where the 
 ball had entered. Hubbard still gasped, and despe- 
 rately tried to say something, as his friend took his 
 head in his arms ; but he could not articulate. He 
 knew Herbert ; and, as he gave over the efl:brt with a 
 mournfid look in his eyes, the sergeant kissed his brow 
 and cheeks, letting him know that he went not unla- 
 mented. Then the features fixed. Herbert straightened 
 the body, made it decent for burial, simply brushing the 
 dirt from the clothing, and buttoning the blouse over 
 the bloody breast. Then he sat and thought. The 
 men around him talked low about the incident, — the 
 cruel killing, the sergeant's anger and calling of the of- 
 ficer by name, and the confusion of Claiborne at sight 
 of him : but no one questioned him ; for they had 
 come to treat him with some deference. His heart 
 fairly ached. Hubbard was his friend, and the man for 
 whom he still felt love had slain him before his face. 
 " So cruel and cowardly," Herbert thought to himself; 
 " how deeply is he cursed ! " 
 
244 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 The day went on as usual. There was sickness in 
 the hospital ; the usual round of lamentation among the 
 men ; the devouring of the scanty ration of bad corn- 
 bread and repulsive meat. When night came, the 
 camp was still ; and Herbert sat alone by a sick man, 
 with no light but the stars. Then Claiborne came 
 again ; and, standing with his feet almost where the 
 blood had flowed which he had so cruelly poured out, 
 he called Herbert low by his own name. The sergeant 
 rose ; and they stood together, while the prisoners slept 
 about them. " Come, let us walk," said Claiborne ; 
 and they went forward. 
 
 They passed the guard at the gate, who made no 
 remonstrance, only saluting with precision ; for Clai- 
 borne, Herbert found, was now in command of the 
 camp. He was recovering from the loss of liis arm, 
 not yet able to take the field again ; but, while he was 
 recovering, appointed to this duty. "When they were 
 by themselves at last, they sat in the edge of a wood, 
 — they two, who had been separated for so long. " I 
 could have met him with so much joy, if it had not 
 been for the terrible incident of the morninor ! " thous^ht 
 Herbert. As it was, he found himself almost forgetting 
 it ; for Claiborne seemed now like another man. His 
 tones were full of the old tenderness. He pressed 
 Herbert, with most friendly interest, about his own 
 affairs ; how he came there, and in that garb. " I 
 should expect to find you high in rank," he said : 
 " tell me your story." Herbert had thought he could 
 never meet him again on friendly terms ; but his mood 
 
CLAIBORNE. 245 
 
 was so changed, his better nature that he had known 
 so well in old times was so manifest, that he could not 
 do otherwise than treat him as the Claiborne he had 
 known. So Herbert told him all, — the whole history 
 of his doubt and persecution, his love and flight ; then 
 the revelation of duty to him, and the inspiration. 
 When Herbert had begun, he could not help going 
 forward. He needed so to make confession of every 
 thing, that he told him all ; yet, at the same time, he 
 maintained a resolve that he formed when they walked 
 out of the camp together, — that they should not part 
 before he had told Claiborne the abhorrence with which 
 he looked upon his deed of the morning. 
 
 Claiborne sat silent while Herbert gave his story. 
 "You see your duty so strangely," said he, at last; 
 " yet I believe you to have a most honorable heart, and 
 to be faithful to what you hold as right. It would* be 
 amazing to me, that a man of your discernment should 
 be so far gone in error, if I did not know that whole 
 populations were in similar error and madness. Such 
 world-wide differences ! I am as set in the belief that 
 we have justice and right on our side, as you are that it 
 is on yours. Let us talk temperately. I have spent 
 years at the North, you know, among the democratic 
 institutions which you are so desirous to maintain. It 
 was at a young and giddy age ; but I remember the 
 life well. Now that I am old enough to reflect, — to 
 go down to principles, — I can recall fact upon fact, 
 to buttress me in my hostility to such democracy as 
 yours. 
 
246 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 " In your Northern communities, a certain turbulence 
 and discord reign everywhere. You cannot go into a 
 town, where there is not jarring among the different dis- 
 tricts. If a river divides tlie territory, tliose who hve 
 on one side are sure to be more or less at feud with those 
 who live on the other. If there are two villages within 
 the to^vnship, there is jealousy as to which shall have 
 most influence in to^vn-affairs. In the smallest divisions 
 there is tumult. Attend a district meeting, even, and 
 it is inharmonious ; and often the strife will lead to harsh 
 quarrelling. At town-meetings it is the same thing on 
 a larger scale. There is always abundance of strife 
 and division. Heated discussions always come up as to 
 what shall be done with roads, with schools, with town- 
 buildings. This angry heat and jealousy is a bad thing 
 itself, and it is plain enough that the deliberations are 
 mtfch affected by it. Sometimes, through it, votes are 
 passed involving extravagant expenditure ; sometimes, 
 crying abuses go unremedied. The effect of democratic 
 institutions is to give occasion for confusion, debate, 
 jealousy, between man and man. The men, too, are 
 your masses, — men of the ordinary sort. Of course, 
 affairs cannot be wisely or justly administered. 
 
 " Going up from the townsliips, you see it all, on a 
 larger scale, in the government of the States ; disputes 
 between sections and counties ; clashing and injustice ; 
 and want of economy everywhere. Your legislators 
 are very ordinary men, and under the influence of bad 
 passions. Go from these to the central government. 
 I need not take up the consideration of the confusion, 
 
CLAIBORXE. 247 
 
 the jealousies and sectional rivalry which rage among 
 the very ordinary men whom the undiscriminating peo- 
 ple send as representatives ; the extravagance, abuse, 
 injustice, which come to prevail, in consequence, in 
 their deliberations. I do not see, Herbert, how you 
 can be the friend of this disorder. 
 
 " We' desire a far different state of things. The 
 power will be in the hands of a few, and those few the 
 rich and cultivated. We shall manage affairs for the 
 laboring masses, whose ignorance will not disturb, 
 whose unreasonable bickering will not influence, public 
 affairs. The reins of power will be with the head of 
 society, and not with the heels. When we have gained 
 our freedom, we shall set up our beneficent aristocracy ; 
 with the labor done by the enslaved and contented 
 masses, and the thinking done by the free and intelli- 
 gent few. For an example of the order which will 
 prevail, take France. Not that her institutions through- 
 out — or indeed for the most part — are like ours ; but 
 in some respects they are similar ; in this, for Instance, 
 that the masses, though not enslaved, have but little 
 political power. The government, though more con- 
 centrated than we should desire, being almost in the 
 hands of a single autocrat, is yet placed where there 
 is intelligence and ability ; as it will be with us. You 
 have been abroad, and you know how every thing moves 
 forward like clockwork. The intelligent governing 
 man, through his agents, does every thing; the people 
 are allowed to do nothing. All goes smoothly, eco- 
 nomically, without jar or noise. In Paris the intelli- 
 
248 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 gent governing man cleans the streets even ; keeps 
 poverty in great measure out of sight ; regulates the 
 matter of building ; keeps order Avith the police. I 
 lost my handkerchief one day in a hack ; but, the next 
 day, found it at the office of the prefect. If it had 
 been a sum of money, it would have been the same. 
 These small matters the superior wisdom conducts as 
 well as the making of peace or war with foreign powers, 
 and the other most important concerns. All is there- 
 fore orderly, all beautifully and smoothly managed, 
 from the affairs of the communes up to the great 
 concerns of the nation. All this neatness, economy, 
 smoothness, is due to the fact that the people have no 
 part in the management of public affairs. It is all 
 done for them by those who are wiser, who see farther, 
 and can do better, than the people. 
 
 " That is France. When we have gained our free- 
 dom, and established institutions to suit ourselves, to be 
 sure they will not be those of France ; and yet, as it is 
 tliere, the masses will have no share in public business. 
 Indeed, they will have but little share in the man- 
 agement of private affairs ; for they will be our slaves, 
 and every thing will be conducted for them by outside 
 power. As it is there, however, the power with us, 
 too, will be with intelligence and ability j not c-on- 
 centrated into the hands of one, — for we shall not 
 tolerate an autocracy, — but in the hands of a limited 
 class, whose entire harmony among themselves will 
 be secured from the unity of interest which there ■will be 
 among them ; a class with leisure to becoske thoroughly 
 
CLAIBORNE. 249 
 
 intelligent. The result will be, that the world will 
 behold such a spectacle of political peace and order as 
 it never has seen ; a state well-knit, and powerful be- 
 yond compare, based, as never state has heretofore 
 been, upon a wise understanding of the nature of man, 
 and his condition in the earth. 
 
 " But I did not mean to talk so long. I have spun 
 an oration here for you, Herbert. These are my 
 convictions. To found this state, I am giving my- 
 self." 
 
 Claiborne spoke earnestly, but temperately. They 
 still sat there in the edge of the wood. When he had 
 ceased, Herbert began : " I have been abroad, and I 
 admit what you say as to the existence of a certain tur- 
 bulence and disorder in a democratic state, — quite in 
 contrast with the peace, neatness, economy, Avith which 
 public affairs seem to go forward in a well-administered 
 despotism. I admit there is this drawback to the in- 
 stitutions to which I am attached, — I am not disposed 
 to keep it out of sight ; we do great harm, I believe, 
 by the indiscriminate buncombe which we too often 
 prefer to pour out about our popular system. But in 
 France, which you instance, I noticed this : a wretched 
 apathy and ignorance in the masses of the nation. As 
 you say, every thing is done for them, even almost to 
 the allotting of daily tasks. They are seldom obliged 
 to feel the weight of responsibility, — seldom allowed 
 to feel it ; and therefore there is but little incentive to 
 acquire intelligence, — little to develop in them self- 
 reliant manhood. In the Xorthern United States, on 
 
 11* 
 
250 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 the other hand, with all the confusion, did you make no 
 note of the sturdy life and independence that prevailed? 
 Taking even the poorest citizens, did you not see that 
 there was no cringing, no apathy? Every one is in 
 some measure intelligent, — forced to be so, by his 
 position and the responsibilities that come upon him. 
 Every one is self-reliant, — forced to be so ; for he 
 must take care of himself and his public affairs. There 
 is no power above him to take the responsibility out of 
 his hands. The democratic citizen is rousrh often, no 
 doubt, in manner ; too sturdy and self-reliant to be 
 always pleasant to meet ; not thoroughly wise, for he 
 has to work with his hands, and can only think and 
 study at intervals ; somewhat under the sway of pas- 
 sion, and not always sagacious in his plans: but still 
 how full of manly power ! how much nobler as a 
 human creature, than a peasant under a despotism ! 
 how vastly more noble than a slave ! There, Clai- 
 borne, I place the value of our institutions. IS govern- 
 ing were the only thing, — if an unbroken public order 
 and quiet were all, institutions where the entire power 
 is lodged in the hands of the wise few might be j^ref- 
 erable. Then it might be the case, that there would 
 be little clashing, turbulence, or jealousy. Where 
 affairs are managed by the masses, — for the most part 
 possessed of only tolerable good sense and ordinary 
 intelligence, — I admit there will often be injustice, 
 extravagance, the selection of improper persons for 
 offices of trust. The matter oi governing goes forward 
 haltingly ; but, because the people have to take care of 
 
CLAIBORXE. 251 
 
 themselves, take note of the grand education which 
 comes out of it all to them. It makes men of them. 
 It forces them into self-reliance, independence, knovvl- 
 edofc. All this marks the institutions of the North as 
 being especially grand, and fitted for human beings. 
 Through these, manhood — sturdy, self-reliant, self- 
 providing, weU- informed — is developed in the indi- 
 vidual citizen, as it can be developed through no other 
 system ; and I hold to the belief, that it is ^ not high- 
 raised battlements,' nor apparatus of powder or splendor, 
 that constitute a noble state, but men''' 
 
 So Herbert argued the matter ; remembering, as he 
 talked, the town-meetings of Meadowboro', when he was 
 there in his wild days, to which he went for curiosity. 
 He remembered well how coarse the clothing often was, 
 how muddy the boots of those sovereigns ; and rough 
 as the attire was often the speech. Claiborne had 
 visited Herbert while the latter was at Meadowboro', 
 and had come to know something about the localities, 
 and some of the more striking characters of the town. 
 "There was a quarrel," said Herbert, bringing up his 
 Meadowboro' experience, " between the old village and 
 the one at the east ford. There was harsh feeling 
 enough, I own ; and I could see then, young as I was, 
 the jealousy and prejudice, and how often it was these 
 qualities, rather than any desire for what was really 
 justice, that influenced proceedings. But what a school 
 it was for those men ! There was old Bill Smith. In 
 well-ordered France, he would have been a stolid, apa- 
 thetic peasant, with no self-reliance ; uninterested, with 
 
252 THE THINKIXG BAYONET. 
 
 every thing managed for him. In your government, he 
 would be a cringing serf or slave. Town-meeting day, 
 however, Bill got up and made a speech about the 
 highways, giving his plan for keeping them in order. 
 It was not the best. Bill is not very wise, and is very 
 uncouth ; but the fact that he could stand up there and 
 give his opinion, and have the matter put to vote, did 
 no one can say how much toward making him feel 
 'self-reliant and manly. Better, a great deal, that the 
 roads should be a little out of repair, — that matters 
 generally should go a little haltingly, — than that Bill, 
 and such as he, should be denied these influences ! So, 
 too, Elnathan Swift, the small farmer on Morse's 
 Mountain, had his rough say in the matter of schools ; 
 and I have no doubt that when he unhitched his old 
 mare, at the end of the meeting, and drove home, he 
 felt like vastly more of a man because he had taken his 
 part in the speaking and voting, — felt more self-respect, 
 more obligation to post himself, more patriotism, be- 
 cause he had a hand in public aflPairs." 
 
 Herbert was not sorry to argue the matter with 
 Claiborne. Claiborne had spoken, and so far he had 
 only spoken, of the effect of their respective systems 
 upon the masses. "But," Herbert said, "there is an- 
 other matter. You want power, absolute power, to 
 be in the hands of a few, — the limited class to which 
 you belong. Do you dare to take such power into 
 your hands? Do you not fear the consequences to 
 yourselves ? A wiser than you or I has written how it 
 is that — 
 
CLAIBORNE. 253 
 
 " ' Man, proud man, 
 Dressed in a little brief authority, 
 Plays such fantastic tricks before high Heaven, 
 As make the angels weep.' 
 
 You would have your authority neither little nor brief. 
 Is it not dangerous to yourselves? I. speak plainly, 
 Claiborne. I hold you to be of noble soul, in many 
 ways ; but I see upon your nature, plain as the black- 
 ness upon the white beauty of the moon, the foul blot 
 which has come to He there, from this very cause. As 
 I recall our past association, I remember this. It was 
 this which brought me here, and in a soldier's garb, to 
 do what I might to prevent the establishing of so con- 
 taminating a system. This blot I have seen upon you 
 this very day ; so terrible, that I feared, at first, I 
 could henceforth only think of you with loathing. 
 Such terrible, intemperate wrath ! to slay in cold blood 
 a sick, unarmed man; helpless, in your power, — and 
 then kick the corse ! " 
 
 Claiborne started, crying, "No more, — no more!" 
 Herbert could see by the starlight that he was full of 
 anger. " We shall lay hands on one another if we go 
 further," he said. Already his hand was on his pistol- 
 handle, falhng there, as if by habit, almost without 
 his knowledge. " Come, let us go back," he said, after 
 a struggle, " and stop the talk." 
 
 As they walked on in silence, Herbert thought as 
 follows : " I have seen barbarity enough committed by 
 men in the Federal uniform, — deeds perhaps as ter- 
 rible as this of which Claiborne is guilty ; but they 
 
254 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 were committed by men but lately come to our shores, 
 with their ignorance unbroken, or by those who, in 
 a peaceful time, would be felons ; men whom we can 
 in no way admit as representing the Northern temper 
 and spirit. This shooting of Hubbard is a barbarity 
 committed by one educated under the choicest influences 
 of Southern civilization, — by one, in breeding and 
 culture, to be classed among the first gentlemen of the 
 South ; a brave, generous-spirited soul, in many ways ; 
 one whom the South would be proud to have stand as 
 her representative." 
 
APRIL. 255 
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 APRIL. 
 
 By day often, Claiborne was in the camp ; yet never 
 recognizing Herbert by any sign which others noticed. 
 By night, however, it often happened that he came 
 silently ; and the two went forth together as they had 
 done at first. Sometimes they spoke of Holyoake ; 
 "one of your most promising generals," said Clai- 
 borne : " you have few that we fear more than we fear 
 him." — "Give me your parole, Herbert," Claiborne 
 said, soon after their intercourse began, "and you shall 
 be free ; you shall be at ease, and fare as well as we 
 do; which, indeed, at* another time, would be prison 
 fare." But Herbert steadfastly refused. " My place 
 now is in the Federal ranks, with arms in my hands," 
 he said: "if there is opportunity, I shall escape. 
 Then can I be easy to fare better than my comrades ? 
 I can do something, by remaining among them, to 
 maintain their fortitude perhaps, and soothe the sick." 
 So Herbert stayed in his place. Claiborne gave to him 
 lavishly from his scanty purse. " My father is dead," 
 said he ; " your forces have utterly ravaged my plan- 
 tation, and hold it in their hands ; my private resources 
 
256 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 are entirely destroyed. I have only my pay as colonel, 
 which, in our deteriorated currency, is a scanty pittance 
 enough ; but I will share it with you. Help your 
 fellows here : I wish I could do more for them, but I 
 am under orders." 
 
 So Claiborne, wdth real tenderness, gave help ; and 
 Herbert was the almoner of this bounty to the prisoners 
 around him : a coat for one, taken in his shirt- 
 sleeves, who went shivering through the cold, damp 
 nights ; delicate food, here and there, for the sick ; a 
 dearly-bought fragment of carpet, by way of blanket, 
 to cover one who had fever. At length, one evening, 
 as often before, Claiborne came to Herbert ; and the two 
 went together past the guard, and walked alone. "I 
 am well enough at last to take the field again," said 
 Claiborne, " and am ordered back to my regiment at 
 the front. To-morrow I transfer my command to an 
 invalid' officer, in the situation in which I was when I 
 assumed this command. I do not want to leave you 
 here to sicken and die ; I cannot take you with me ; I 
 cannot be easy to think of you as languishing here : 
 give me your parole, and I can put you in a situation 
 where you can be more comfortable." But Herbert 
 refused as before : " My place now is in the Federal 
 ranks ; and, if I have opportunity, I shall escape." 
 
 The stars were clouded now, as Herbert walked by 
 Claiborne's side, with mind and heart full. He thought : 
 '' He is what he has always been, — magnanimous, brave, 
 lavish ; with the same barbarian fierceness, which does 
 .not stop at terrible cruelty ; the same obtuseness, which 
 
APEIL. 257 
 
 prevents his recognizing his cruelty as something de- 
 testable : only now, these characteristics seem to have 
 struck deeper into his nature with advancing life ; or 
 perhaps it is, that these grave times give opportunity 
 for their more remarkable exhibition. He gives me 
 succor ; shows me tender friendship : he is noble, 
 after all ! " But with the thought came the memory 
 of Hubbard, — shot there in cold blood, defenceless 
 and sick ; and the insult to the corse of the brave, 
 defiant youth. The same man had done these things. 
 "So inconsistent ! " Herbert thought ; " so fantastic, 
 unsatisfactory ! " He believed that the foulness all 
 came from the circumstances under which Claiborne 
 had been nurtured, and felt stronger than ever in his 
 purpose to do what one man might to crush out the 
 things that brought such ruin upon noble men. So 
 Herbert thought as they walked, brushing with his 
 arm, as it swung to and fro, Claiborne's gray, empty 
 sleeve. And now they had crossed the line of the 
 sentries, and were on the edge of the prisoners' camp. 
 "Farewell, Herbert."— "Fare weU." Hands for a mo- 
 ment on one another's shoulders ; bearded faces, damp 
 with the rain now falling, coming 'together under the 
 dark in a kiss ; then Claiborne went back. 
 
 Herbert stood for a moment in his place ; then sud- 
 (ianly thought of some comfort needed by a sick soldier 
 in his charge, — something which he might obtain from 
 Claiborne, but which probably could not be got when 
 he had gone. Theii' parting bad taken place within a 
 few paces of the sentries' beat. " Claiborne can hardly 
 
258 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 have crossed the line," thought Herbert ; and he stepped 
 hurriedly forward in the gloom, believing that he could 
 lay his hand on Claiborne's shoulder in a moment. A 
 few steps brought him upon the guard, marching watch- 
 fully to and fro. Claiborne's retreating figure was visible 
 here, just beyond the line, in the dim light of a fire 
 that smouldered near in spite of the falling rain. The 
 sentinel had seen Herbert pass in, just before, in com- 
 pany with his commander; and, as the sergeant motioned 
 toward Claiborne, his face took on a look of hesitation, 
 and he made no resistance as Herbert passed his beat. 
 Claiborne was moving rapidly ; and the sergeant, fol- 
 lowing, tripped suddenly, and fell. "When he rose, the 
 figure had gone. He went a few steps ; but there was 
 no trace. He did not like to call. The mist was thick 
 about him as he stood wondering what direction to take. 
 After movins: to and fro, he concluded that he had lost 
 him, and turned to go toward the camp. Suddenly the 
 thought occurred to his mind, "Why return? have I 
 not here the very opportunity to escape for which I have 
 longed ? " He gave one thought to his languisliing 
 comrades ; to the sick, over whose clammy brows he 
 was wont to pass Ins palms, — to whose hps, fluttering 
 in delirium, he held the cup. He questioned whether 
 it were not ignoble desertion; but, "No," he said, in 
 his mind ; " I only seek release, to go anew into hard- 
 ship and peril." 
 
 Herbert hurried forward by the path which had 
 become familiar to him in his walks with Claiborne. 
 He knew the ground so well, that he easily avoided all 
 
APRIL. 259 
 
 dangers until he came upon the outer line of pickets 
 which environed the town. As he approached this line, 
 he crept cautiously forward until he was close upon a 
 sentinel,, who, wrapped up against the inclemency of the 
 night, marched back and forth. Watching his chance, 
 when the soldier's back was turned, Herbert sprang 
 lightly across the track beaten by his footsteps, and 
 hurried silently forward. He was fairly out of prison. 
 
 Though fortunate thus far, Herbert felt that his 
 difficulties had only begun ; he knew that he must go 
 far before he could reach any Federal camp. Probably 
 columns of hostile troops moved to and fro through the 
 territory he must cross; and, of course, the whites would 
 be unfriendly. He felt, however, that he could trust 
 the negroes. He went forward, — by day lurking in 
 concealment; by night pressing on as he could, di- 
 recting his course by the stars,* and now and then 
 assuring himself by appealing to some negro. In two 
 or three days he had accomplished some scores of 
 miles on his way forward ; but there was still a con- 
 siderable distance to go. His road, too, was now more 
 likely to be beset with perils ; for a rebel army was 
 posted opposite the Federal force he was trying to 
 reach, whose scouts were everywhere ; and wanderers 
 were more likely to be sharply questioned, than farther 
 back in the interior. 
 
 One day, Herbert lay concealed not far from a plan- 
 tation. He marked carefully the location of the negro- 
 cabins in the rear ; and, when darkness had fallen, made 
 his way cautiously toward those most remote from the 
 
260 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 mansion. As he came near, he heard loud sinixino: 
 from a hut in which there was a light; and, looking 
 through a chink between the logs, where the cement of 
 clay had fallen out, he saw what was going forward. 
 A company of negroes sat crowded together upon rough 
 seats, of boards ; a poor candle gave the light. It was 
 plainly a religious meeting. At first, every thing went 
 on with decorum. The prayer, by a burly ,negro, was 
 reverent and proper, though incoherent ; the singing, 
 not without melody. From a tattered hymn-book, the 
 negro gave a couplet of lines, which the crowd then 
 sang. The notes were but few, and long drawn out ; 
 but the voices often were rich and strong. An address 
 was then given, brief and rude ; after which, a wild 
 ceremony took place. The conductor of the meeting, in 
 the centre, — supported by two or three others whose 
 office seemed to be 'to keep up the strength and excite- 
 ment of their principal, — led off in a hymn of brisker 
 movement. It was, for the most part, unintelligible ; 
 though, every line or two, the words occurred, " O 
 brothers ! " or " O sisters ! ain't you goin' to meet me 
 on Canaan's happy shore?" The audience had risen, 
 and, thronging about their leader, were vigorously 
 shaking hands, keeping time with the movement of the 
 song; and, little by little, coming to use feet as well as 
 arms. The song grew wilder and louder ; and the 
 forms, from gently swaying in time Avith the music, 
 became more energetically active ; the simple rhythmic 
 movement gradually became an excited dance. The 
 company was crowded together into a circle, one close 
 
APRIL. 261 
 
 behind another, — men and women, with a beat and 
 shuffle of the feet in time with the air, which each 
 minute became more and more excited. A black boy, 
 on one side, standing on a bench, held up the unsnuffed 
 candle. For the most part, the room was in gloom ; 
 and, out of the dim spaces into the faint ray, the 
 shouting figures came dancing in their turn ; the candle, 
 as Herbert could see, shining now upon the grizzled 
 head and beard of an old man ; now, upon the squat, 
 broad form of a woman ; now, on a muscular boy : 
 all square- shouldered, thick-lipped, flat-nosed, with 
 complexions of the sootiest black. They were, plainly, 
 plantation hands, — negroes of the more ignorant class. 
 The negro in the centre, at length becoming quite 
 frenzied, almost shouted ; now singing, now with a 
 scream inciting the crowd. Perspiration poured from 
 his face ; his eyes stared ; his whole figure was in violent 
 action. 
 
 It was plain, that most of the hands were collected 
 at the meeting ; and Herbert judged, that the time was 
 favorable for him to procure what he needed. Some 
 few, probably, would be left in the cabins, and he 
 might approach them with no danger of attracting a 
 crowd. One hut stood away from the rest, ^ill farther 
 remote from the mansion than the one which was so 
 thronged. This he cautiously approached. The door 
 was open ; upon the hearth within burned a few embers, 
 which cast a dim, red light upon the log walls and the 
 coarse, scanty furniture ; it revealed, also, the figure of 
 a female, couched motionless on the hearth before the 
 
262 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 coals, with head wrapped in a turban. "Herbert looked 
 warily, to be sure that she was alone in the hut. At 
 length, he quietly stepped in, and accosted her; he asked 
 for food. As he ceased, she sprung up suddenly, — a 
 tall mulattress, — looked into his face a moment, then 
 hurried out of the hut, beckoning to him to follow. He 
 obeyed her gesture, walking fast to keep up with the 
 rapid pace of his conductress. They left the neigh- 
 borhood of tlie huts, and plunged into the wood 
 near by. * 
 
 At length the woman paused. " I know what you 
 are," she said, speaking rapidly, with but little of the 
 negro peculiarity. " You are a prisoner trying to get 
 away. You don't show it in your clothes, but you do 
 in your face and. voice, that you are from the North." 
 Herbert had happened to come upon a woman whose 
 position had been that of a house-servant, once some- 
 what trusted. She had been- Xorth with her owner at 
 some time in her life. For some disobedience, she had 
 been sold, to work as a plantation hand. " I took you 
 away," she said, " because it is quite likely there may be 
 overseers on the watch, and the blacks themselves are 
 not all trusty. Stay here a minute, and I will be 
 back." Herbert remained in the bushes, and presently 
 heard her footsteps again. She brought him an abun- 
 dant meal of hoecake and pork, and sat by him while 
 he satisfied his hunger. "I will help you all I can," 
 she said, " for the sake of the flag you fight under." 
 Then she told him that they were closely watched, but 
 that two negro men had resolved to try to escape to the 
 
APRIL. 263 
 
 Federal lines. • They had fixed upon the night following 
 for the attempt. " They know the country," said the 
 woman, " and will take you with them if you choose to 
 go. I will bring them to you." 
 
 The woman went away again, and, after an interval, 
 returned, bringing two men. The younger, apparently 
 about twenty-six, Herbert could see, dark though it 
 was, had features not of the pure negro type, and a' 
 light skin. He was dressed in a coat, roughly made 
 from a piece of bright-colored ingrain . carpeting ; and, 
 it was plain, was very conceited. He had been his 
 master's hunter, professed familiarity with weapons and 
 woodcraft, and said he was " his massa's brag man." 
 He gave an account of an appeal which had been 
 made to him to hunt for Yankee prisoners, w^hen, once 
 before, a considerable number had escaped. "Massa 
 Huguenin ask his boys if dey will fight de Yankees. 
 Bey say dey will, but dey all say dat Joe mus' be de 
 leader ; for he be de mos' smartes' nigger of de lot." 
 Huguenin, Joe says, told them he would give twenty 
 dollars for each right ear of a Yankee they w^ould bring 
 in. Joe told his master he was good for ten a day; 
 and, " All de time," he said, " I was boun' to run de 
 fust chance." Joe seemed smart, but conceited and 
 tricky. Herbert doubted his trustworthiness, but was 
 much more pleased with April, his companion ; a man 
 not tall, but of prodigious muscular power, thoroughly 
 black, reticent, but with an air of manliness and self- 
 respect. Unlike Joe, he was no braggart ; but Joe, in 
 an aside to Herbert, found opportunity to let him know 
 
264 THE THIXKING BAYONET. 
 
 that Aj^ril had been a kind of outlaw, intractable as a 
 laborer, and often a fugitive. " De slave-hunters say, 
 ole April be de schemiest nigger dey eber chase." He 
 was dressed in the loose dress of a field hand, the shirt 
 tattered about his heavy breast. Herbert asked him 
 why he chose to run the risk of trying to escape. 
 With dignity, he straightened himself, put out his hand 
 in an emphatic manner, and with firmness said : " I tell 
 you what, massa ; dis boy he work, but he no work 
 under de whip ; and when dey bring de lash to ole 
 April, he take to de woods." Herbert was wUling to 
 cast his lot with April, but distrusted Joe. The two, 
 however, had determined to go together ; and there 
 seemed no other way but to go with them. 
 
 These men were familiar with the road they must 
 follow, and professed to have some knowledge of the 
 disposition of the rebel forces. Joe, indeed, drew upon 
 the ground a rough chart of the country, its creeks, 
 swamps, and hills ; then marked the location of differ- 
 ent bodies of men, told the number at diflferent points, 
 their character as to discipline and general morale, as 
 if he were fully in the confidence of the rebel com- 
 mander. 
 
 The following night was the time fixed upon. Her- 
 bert lay concealed during the day, in the woods, liberally 
 supplied with food by the negroes, and getting rest, 
 which he needed much. Soon after nightfall, with Joe 
 and April, he began to make his way forward. April 
 had obtained a double-barrelled gun in some way. 
 Herbert found that the great fear of his companions 
 
APriL. 265 
 
 was lest they should be tracked by a certain " ole Ket- 
 tle," whom he discovered to be the professional slave- 
 hunter of that region, letting his services, and those of 
 a pack of hounds which he kept, to chase fugitives. 
 For days now, their life was one of watching by day, 
 and tramping by night ; swimming the creek, and lurk- 
 ing in the marsh ; dodging the serpent, only to fall 
 into the path of the alligator ; and escaping both, only 
 to hear the near gallop of white pursuers. At night- 
 fall, sometimes they scouted cautiously up to negro 
 cabins, and were invariably supplied with such fc^od as 
 the negroes had to give. Night after night, in the dis- 
 tance, they heard the baying of bloodhounds, — a sound 
 at which April would shudder ; he had already upon 
 him deep scars made by their teeth, when overtaken 
 once in a previous attempt ta escape. 
 
 But, by turning and winding in damp morasses, 
 wading long through the muddy margins of streams, 
 and sometimes smearing themselves with turpentine, — 
 a little stock of which the negroes carried, and which 
 they appeared to consider invaluable as a means of 
 destroying the scent, — the fugitives, day after day, 
 puzzled " ole Kettle," and made progress toward free- 
 dom. The " cotton mouth " and " moccason " almost 
 became their familiar friends, deadly miasma was the 
 air they breathed, the poisonous vine was their canopy. 
 Joe lost his spirits, and became repentant. April 
 however, silent and stern, maintained a resolute mind. 
 Herbert submitted all to him, following obediently 
 every direction of his black guide. April was worthy 
 
 12 
 
266 THE THIXKIXG BAYOXET. 
 
 of the confidence. For every difficulty he had a re- 
 source. Fatigue never seemed to touch his great 
 limbs. He shuddered indeed at the baying of the 
 hounds, but it was not fear ; for, when they seemed to 
 come close, April would go back toward the danger, 
 his gun cocked and aslant in his hands, across his 
 breast, showing so powerful through the tatters of 
 his shirt, eagerly listening, with face bent forward, and 
 ready to shoot. 
 
 One morning, Herbert suddenly was startled from 
 sleep at the root of a huge log, by the terrible baying, 
 close at hand. April, too, sprang up at the same time. 
 The faithless Joe, left to watch, had also slumbered ; 
 and the hounds, following the scent, were suddenly 
 close upon them. Before they could fly, the creatures, 
 w^ith long ears and deep chests, sending far their heavy 
 baying, came bounding toward them. " Shoot, April !" 
 said Herbert ; but April waited for a more favorable 
 time. The three fugitives stood at the end of the log. 
 On came the pack, several hounds together mounting 
 the log. April, with cautious aim, sent the charge 
 from both barrels into the midst, killing two, and 
 wounding others, so that they lay kicking and yelping 
 among the leaves. " Dat make de rest scairt, I 
 reckon," said April, with a laugh : then the three has- 
 tened into the woods ; for they knew that horsemen 
 must be close at hand. Reaching a stream, they plunged 
 to the shoulders into the water, putting up their heads 
 for breath, among thick-growing reeds, at some dis- 
 tance from the shore. 
 
APRIL. 267 
 
 Presently, riding along the bank, came a group of 
 horsemen, — the slave-hunter, and a squad of guerilla 
 cavalry ; for it had become known in some way, that 
 an escaped prisoner was with the negroes. The slave- 
 hunter was in a rage over the loss of his hounds, — 
 " worth a hundred dollars apiece." They beat the 
 woods and bank everywhere, but in vain. The hounds, 
 cowed for the time by the fate of those that April had 
 shot, were of no service. Often they were within a 
 few yards of where the three men, with shoulders just 
 above water, scarcely breathed. At length, they 
 turned and rode away ; when April, with a broad grin 
 on his face, usually so grave, waded with his party to 
 the shore, the three dripping with wet and mud. Her- 
 bert turning, saw on the opposite bank of the stream, a 
 few rods off, a huge alligator fourteen feet long, wallow- 
 ing through the mud to the water, while another came 
 swiftly swimming through the river, the ripples flowing 
 out behind the horse- Uke head. April had managed 
 to keep his powder dry, by holding the pouch in his 
 teeth. He set to work at once to dry and clean his gun. 
 
 But the pursuit was not given over. Joe was more 
 than ever cast down ; April remained stern, wary, 
 reticent; Herbert, though he felt his strength failing 
 through the exposure and anxiety, still held firm, — 
 obedient as a child to the dusky Ulysses, whose courage 
 and wiles and resources were bringing them every day 
 nearer and nearer to freedom. Sometimes now, along 
 the roads, they heard the gallop of cavalry ; and, one 
 morning, low and deep through the air, came throbbing 
 
268 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 the intermittent beat ; then, the long-draA'STi roll of far- 
 away drums, — felt rather than heard; now, a throb; 
 now, a pause ; now, a roll. It struck intermittently 
 upon the ear, as strikes the pulse of a man near to 
 death upon the palm of a watcher. April's face glowed. 
 It was from the camp of a rebel force, and they knew 
 it must be posted near the front. The last dangers 
 were at hand : these once passed, and there was safety 
 and freedom. 
 
 Although Joe had nearly brought destruction upon 
 them through unfaithfulness, there was no way but to 
 allow him still to take his turn in watching ; if it was 
 done by April and Herbert entirely, they could not get 
 the sleep which the exhausting experience required. 
 Once Herbert finished his watch, and aroused Joe for 
 his turn ; he himself lay down near April. He awoke 
 at last through hearing Joe talking in a menacing voice. 
 Making the effort to start up, he found himself bound 
 hand and foot. The treacherous negro had cut his coat 
 into strij^s, which he had twisted, and with these Her- 
 bert found his legs and arms closely confined ; he could 
 only turn his head toward April. He saw with sinking 
 heart that April was in a similar plight; while Joe 
 stood over him with the gun. 
 
 Joe had become discouraged, and resolved to turn 
 back. To make his peace with their pursuers, he had 
 hit upon this expedient : he meant to force April back 
 with him, and deliver him up ; then conduct a party to 
 find Herbert. The negro coolly announced his deter- 
 mination. Herbert found that he was too securely 
 
APRIL. 269 
 
 bound to free himself; his sleep had been so deep, that 
 Joe had been able to do his work thoroughly. April's 
 legs were free, the arms only being pinioned. Joe put 
 the muzzle of the piece to April's temple, and ordered 
 him to rise. He was in Joe's power, so he stood upon 
 his feet. Joe with care bound the wrists in front and 
 the elbows behind more stoutly ; then came to Herbert, 
 and tightened the cords until they were painful. Her- 
 bert's heart was full of agony for April as well as for 
 himself. Joe imagined he could go forward more 
 speedily with one than with both, so Herbert was left. 
 Herbert sent a sad farewell after April, as Joe, with 
 gun cocked, drove him before him through the woods : 
 death was the only thing the brave fellow could expect. 
 He said himself, quietly, for the last thing : " Dey'll say 
 now, deygot no use for ole April, alive : only make de 
 rest oneasy." Herbert saw them go : his tattered, mud- 
 smeared friend disappearing among the trees, and the 
 traitor behind ; then the crackling of twigs, fainter and 
 fainter, and silence at last. He lay for hours, hopeless, 
 wondering when he should hear the hoof-beats of the 
 party that Joe would bring back. At length, he did 
 hear a sound, — not a hoof-beat, but a human footfall, 
 — nearer and nearer, coming cautiously, as if some one. 
 were following a trail that he was not quite sure of. In 
 a moment, April himself, gun in hand, and unbound, 
 came toward him. Herbert's cords were cut in an 
 instant; and, with a bounding heart, he listened to 
 April's story. Joe, it seemed, as they marched along, 
 became careless in his feeling of security. At last, he 
 
270 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 went in front, having confidence in the cords, with 
 April following behind. April, patiently working, 
 contrived to pick apart the coarse fibre of the strips at 
 the wrists, so that his hands were free ; then, throwing 
 his elbows forcibly back, the bands behind fell to the 
 ground. In an instant, with his poVverful fists clenched, 
 Joe was felled to the earth, the gun seized and pointed at 
 his head. "Lor, how dat feller beg ! " said April, with 
 a grim smile. Foully as he had behaved, April, with no 
 little magnanimity, spared his life ; only making him 
 promise, "dat he'd never trap anoder nigger." He 
 simply bound him in the same cords from which he had 
 freed himself, and left him to be found by those who 
 should follow with the hounds. It was a great risk ; 
 for he might be found at once, and would no doubt set 
 the hunters on the track of Herbert and April. April, 
 however, thought they could gain start enough to avoid 
 them. Herbert, while he felt anxious, appreciated, 
 with all the force of an honorable soul, this knightly 
 nobleness in his dark, untutored comrade. 
 
 AVhile April had been giving his account, they were 
 hurrying forward. It was not much farther now, 
 April said, hopefully. One more day they lay quiet ; 
 then, pushing forward through the night, before dawn 
 they came to the bank of a stream. April stood joy- 
 fully upon the shore, telling Herbert that, not far 
 onward, it emptied into an arm of the sea, — a branch 
 of a harbor in which lay a powerful Federal fleet. 
 They slept again ; and, in the midst of their slumber, 
 the air aroimd them shook, pervaded with a deep, 
 
APRIL. 271 
 
 roar, — a jar rather than a sound, — felt 
 rather than heard : it was the thunder of the Federal 
 cannon, from the sea. 
 
 At night again, Herbert and April went plunging 
 through the thickets that bordered the stream ; until at 
 length they heard the splash of oars. They stood quiet 
 in the darkness. They could see, at last, a boat 
 approaching from above, with a solitary figure. It 
 hugged the shore closely : the figure seeming to wish 
 the screen of its heavy foliage. April crept noise- 
 lessly out upon the trunk of a great live-oak, that 
 stretched far over the stream ; the boat came slowly 
 down, — the oars dipping with caution. As it came 
 within the shadow of the live-oak, the gunwale was 
 suddenly grasped by April's powerful hand, and pulled 
 shoreward. Before the oarsman could rise, Herbert, 
 rushing waist-deep into the stream, had pinioned his 
 arms, throwing his own arms about his body. The 
 boat was drawn ashore, and the captive examined; he 
 proved to be a fugitive, like themselves, — a mulatto 
 of about fifty ; Adam by name. He told his story in 
 a few words : he was the son of a Scotchman, owned 
 by his own half-brother ; he was a carpenter ; he had 
 escaped from a populous town some distance back, and 
 made his way thus far in safety. He was startled 
 enough by his sudden arrest, and overjoyed when he 
 found into whose hands he had fallen. The boat was 
 large enough for all ; so, presently, the three were 
 embarked again, and slipping rapidly and quietly for- 
 ward under the night. 
 
272 THE THENKING BAYONET. 
 
 One more danger was to be passed. As day broke, 
 they hauled the boat ashore, under what seemed secure 
 shelter. Adam remained in the boat, while Herbert 
 and April Went on shore. Fatigued, and thinking now 
 that they were so far on their way they need hardly 
 fear, they all slept; when, suddenly, close at hand, 
 they heard the crackling of brush and the shouts of 
 men. Adam pushed out at once, and was shot from 
 the shore. April and Herbert, thinking they might 
 possibly gain the opposite bank, left gun and every 
 thing, and plunged into the stream. Another dis- 
 charge, and April sinks, a bloody stain floating over the 
 place ; Herbert, too, feels the wind of bullets past his 
 ears, and sinks with a loud splash, as if he were hit, 
 and struggling ; but, striking out powerfully, manages 
 to swim under water ; until at length, among reeds that 
 fringe thickly the opposite bank, he puts up his head. 
 The stream is not broad, and he can distinctly hear the 
 conversation of the party, — half a dozen rebel scouts, 
 — who seem to think, that an end of the fugitives has 
 been made, without doubt. Herbert can see no trace 
 of April ; but the boat, with the dead body of Adam, 
 has been carried among the sedges on the same side of 
 the stream on which he lies hidden. " Let it float do\vn 
 to the Yankees, with the old nigger's carcass," a scout 
 says : " we don't want it." So they cook a meal for 
 themselves ; and, at length, move onward. 
 
 Herbert came cautiously out, sadly imagining that he 
 must now go alone ; when, suddenly, as he approached 
 the boat, he saw a black arm stretched toward it from 
 
APRIL. 273 
 
 the reeds ; and^ in a moment more, April's head, as 
 he pulled himself from the water, and climbed over the 
 side. April caught sight of Herbert at the same mo- 
 ment : " Golly, Massa ! t'ought you's done gone, 
 shure." — ''April, old boy ! I thought it was the last of 
 you." He had indeed been struck ; but it was only a 
 flesh wound in the muscular shoulder. It had bled ; 
 but April had sheltered himself among the reeds, as 
 Herbert had done, and stopped the flowing with his 
 shirt before he grew weak. Herbert took ofl" the 
 saturated rags, and bound what remained of his own 
 shirt about the wound. 
 
 Through the day they remained concealed, taking 
 care also to hide the little boat ; then, at dusk, they 
 launched out again : April, with his wound, being forced 
 to keep still ; while Herbert, exhausted though he was, 
 rowed cautiously on down the current of the sluggish 
 stream. It grew broader at length ; the shores became 
 swampy ; the salt breath of the sea became plain to 
 them. They snuffed in the briny scent with delight ; 
 for on the sea was freedom. They came at last to the 
 end of the forest ; then went forward beneath the 
 shadow of lofty sedges : coarse, high grasses, partly 
 submerged at high tide, standing out, green and rough- 
 edged, from dark, briny mud, when the tide was down. 
 Quietly and smoothly forward, — and, with each mile, 
 hope rose higher. In yonder bend, would there be no 
 vidette to catch the sound of the dipping blades, and 
 stop them, close upon freedom, with his challenge? or, 
 on the point there, was it certain there would be no 
 
 12* 
 
274 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 picket-fire? But bend and point went behind, lying 
 silent under the calm night, — voiceless, except when 
 the scream of some marsh-bird, or the roar of an alli- 
 gator, or the clash and whisper of the reeds under the 
 night-wind, sounded upon the shadowy air. And now, 
 at length, from the shelter of the stream, Herbert and 
 April floated out upon the wide, smooth waters of a 
 bay, whose surface, though unbroken, heaved and sank 
 beneath them. It was the ground-swell of the welcome 
 sea ; and never beneath a weary child were the swaying 
 arms of its mother, come to it at last, so sweet and 
 soothing, as was the heaving of the sea beneath those 
 weary men. 
 
 Under the stars, their boat could be seen afar ; and 
 now, with a heavy stroke and a sounding rush across 
 the bay, with eight bending oars on a side, a howitzer 
 at the bow, men in arms, and a gold-banded officer 
 muffled up from the night air sitting by the coxswain 
 behind, the picket boat came onward, sent from the 
 flag-ship of the Federal fleet to guard the mouth of 
 the stream. A loud hail, and Herbert rests on his 
 oars. He tries to call ; but his voice is too weak to go 
 far. A moment more, and the stout sailors are holding 
 water to keep the heavy launch from running down the 
 little boat, and arms put out catch it by its gunwale. 
 " An escaped prisoner, and a runaway negro," — the 
 story is told in a moment. " A hard time enough you 
 have had, poor fellow, half-naked and wasted ! " So 
 the kind young officer at the stem. He puts a spirit 
 flask to Herbert's lips, then covers him up, and keeps 
 
APRIL. • 275 
 
 him at his side ; nor is April forgotten. Then, when 
 soon after, across the law-shored bay comes pouring 
 the grayer light, and tlie stars grow pale, quickly down 
 the bay the boat goes with the fugitives. 
 
 Herbert, with heart full of prayers, and exhausted 
 eyes, sees once more the dear blue and crimson em- 
 blem, damp from the night air, high upon its halliards, 
 above the cannon - cumbered decks of gunboat and 
 frigate. Straight on through the fleet, under the deep- 
 ening dawn, — the watchmen in the tops looking down 
 upon them from bullet-proof enclosures to see what 
 has been found in the night, the men on deck polishing 
 the back of the great varnished eleven-inch amidships. 
 Straight on through the fleet, until now at last the 
 flag-ship is before them. Herbert, through faint, half- 
 closed eyes, can see the great yards, rods in length, 
 one above another lying against the sky, like the long 
 rulings of a broad, blue page. Then, as they come 
 nearer, and the east behind reddens, from truck to deck 
 are spun the interlacing webs of cordage across the 
 glow; from deck to deep, black upon the sea, lies 
 the great broad-side, eyed with its unlidded ports, 
 within which, like unshrinking pupils, the black bores 
 of cannon darkly glower and frown upon the distant, 
 rebel main. Nearer still ; and now Herbert, lying 
 weary, with dim, thankful eyes, sees the marines, white 
 belted, pacing their beats, and sailors looking throuo-h 
 the ports to see them come. Now rounding the stern, 
 with limbs in which the sinews seem to grate and 
 scrape, as if they were rusty wires, Herbert steps upon 
 
276 • THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 the comfortable stairs ; and, with arm upon the shoulder 
 of a sailor, goes up past the dark, varnished mouth of 
 a cannon, and stands unsteadily upon the deck. Her- 
 bert sees a stately, gray-haired figure standing near 
 him, — limping a little, as he changes his position, from 
 an old wound received in an old war, — looking at him 
 with steady, pitying eyes, and talking low with the 
 officer of the deck. " A sergeant, you say, just 
 escaped, and brought up by the launch? A hard, 
 hard time he has had. Feed him, and let him sleep. 
 When he is rested, bring him to me." It is the admi- 
 ral. Herbert, half-naked, and haggard with hardship, 
 his thick hair matted, his arms and limbs scored and 
 scraped by venomous thorns that have torn off his 
 clothing and then pierced the skin, pinched with 
 famine, with ashy fever caught from miasma and 
 damp beginning to appear upon the lips, feels himself 
 washed and fed by friendly hands, then folded up for 
 sleep. 
 
BROKEN DOWN. 277 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 BROKEN DOWN. 
 
 Herbert slept for hours. He awoke at last at a 
 drum-beat. The ship was populous as a town ; and he 
 found the crew removing railings, lowering away ham- 
 mocks, barrels, capstans, sweeping off bulkheads and 
 great piles of cordage, while the drum went on beating, 
 and the piping of boatswains rang from deck to deck. 
 Each crew went to its particular gun, and each man to 
 his post, — one to lanyard, another to ramrod, another 
 to pulleys and wheels ; and the movements of a battle 
 were rehearsed. So Herbert saw the ship cleared for 
 action, and the practice gone through with, that made 
 these hundreds of men cool and efficient in times of 
 danger. 
 
 Herbert, much refreshed, but very weak, stood un- 
 steadily upon the deck. Hundreds of sailors, young, 
 athletic men, in loose garments of dark blue, and 
 tufted, unvisored caps above their brown faces, crowded 
 the planks, that shone in their neatness. One beyond 
 another crouched the cannon, each on its carriage, black 
 and shining in the sun, like a row of Titan contra- 
 bands, drawn up in line for fight. Each brazen rail. 
 
278 THE THIXKIXG BAYONET. 
 
 each nail-head, the copper of capstan, the steel beams 
 of the machinery, were polished with a holiday gloss ; 
 and each blue tar, about tattered, half-naked Herbert 
 there, was neat and well-combed as a merman. Clear, 
 above him towered the masts, the tops peopled with 
 men ; solitary watchmen in the cross-trees far aloft, 
 who, one might think, could light their pipes at the 
 handy stars. The main-mast was bound with strips of 
 timber, where a solid shot, in the battle by which the 
 harbor was won, pierced it through and through. At 
 the bow was the huge, pivot chaser ; at the stern, one 
 still larger. It was all there for Herbert to see, and 
 so April there at his side. 
 
 Then Herbert w\as taken to see the admiral. He 
 was weak, but clear in mind, much helped by peaceful 
 sleep and comfortable food. He went, led by his con- 
 ductor, past racks where were cutlasses for boarding, 
 and revolvers by the hundred ; past culprits manacled 
 to posts, and one in a straiglit jacket with "Thief" 
 painted in broad letters on the- back; past the hospital, 
 where sick sailors swung in their hammocks, with the 
 blue, cool sea plain to them through the wide-open 
 ports. Everywhere, except in the case of the sick and 
 the culprits, the crew looked healthy and happy; for, 
 numerous as they were, the men were comfortable in 
 the light and airy spaces of the great ship. At last, 
 Herbert went into the admiral's cabin, richly furnished, 
 softly carpeted, set off with handsome woods. He had 
 not been amono^ such surroundiniT-s since he fled from 
 Honomok. Herbert waited while the captain of a 
 
BPwOKEX DOWN. 279 
 
 blockader, tall and well-knit, gave his report of a late 
 capture. Then came in the officer who commanded the 
 flag-ship, as the admiral did the squadron, mild in 
 manners, with a thoughtful face. He would pass for a 
 student, were it not for the brown upon his face, and 
 that he wore the broad, gold stripes of a captain. 
 Herbert looked at the mild, courteous gentleman, won- 
 derinof if that was the mien he wore when he man- 
 ceuvred and fought his great ship, in the battle* of 
 which the sailor who brought him to the admkal's 
 cabin had just given him an account. The admiral at 
 last turned to Herbert, courteous but prompt, inquired 
 where he was taken, where confined, how he escaped, 
 and what he could tell about the enemy's movements 
 and forces. It was but little ; for the prison was in 
 the interior, and, through April's generalship, the troops 
 were, for the most part, avoided, as they made their 
 escape. The admiral was, throughout, kind ; and, dur- 
 ing the conversation, as one and another interrupted 
 him, Herbert could see how he knew each block and 
 spar, every arm, from cutlass to ten-inch pivot, as a 
 farmer knows his plough, or a carpenter his plane. 
 " Get your strength again, and you shall go to your 
 regiment," said the admiral at length, at the end of the 
 interview. In a day or two, April went ashore in one 
 of the ship's boats to enlist in a colored regiment; 
 Herbert wringing the fine fellow's hands, as they bade 
 one another good-by. 
 
 Rest and comfortable food and the reviving" breath 
 of the sea seemed on the point of bringing back to 
 
280 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 Herbert his old vigor ; but, before health had fairly 
 come, impatient to be in his place, he went round by 
 sea to the department in which his regiment w^as serv- 
 ing. He went too soon into hardship. He fell ill ; and 
 Pat Flanagan, who had welcomed him on his return 
 with profuse and genuine joy, was his faithful nurse. 
 
 Herbert is sick in a large wall-tent. The roof is 
 slit to give ventilation ; and in one corner is a hole in 
 the earth, covered by a plate of tin, communicating by 
 a little covered ditch with barrels outside, — three, one 
 above another. The barrels have their heads knocked 
 out, and are the chimney. This hole is the stove, in 
 which, on the damp night when w^e look in, there is 
 burning a fire. At the back of the tent, there is a 
 rough arrangement of shelves, with partially devoured 
 loaves of bread, now musty, canteens, and clothing. 
 On an old keg stands a brandy-flask. At the same 
 end with the door is a rude rack, holding weapons and 
 equipments. Outside it is raining, and things are 
 pretty well diluted : it is almost a question, whether 
 one ought to walk or swim. The world looks hardly 
 ripe enough for human habitation ; but, rather, like a 
 good place for ichthyosauri. The surroundings are so 
 palaeozoic, it is certainly to be expected that Pat, whose 
 power of adaptation has been noticed, will some how 
 or other develop fins and web-feet, or become some- 
 thing of the tadpole order. The tent pitched thus in 
 the mire has a rough floor, and on the floor lies a 
 mattress, and on the mattress lies Herbert, sick with 
 fever. 
 
BROKEN DOWX. 281 
 
 There are other sick men ; but no one is so well off 
 as Herbert. Ask not where Pat got the mattress. 
 Herbert lies with no sheet above or below, in his usual 
 dress-; for there is nothing else to put on. At the edge 
 of the mattress, which his feet overlie, the floor is thick 
 and slimy with mud; the flap of the tent, hangino- 
 damp, is dirty from dirty hands. He takes quinine 
 from a broken iron spoon. His soiled blanket is his 
 only covering; his overcoat, folded, is his pillow; a 
 towel is wrapped about his head like a cowl, to keep 
 off" the damp. In his emaciation, the skin draws tight 
 across the white brow, and the face shows white and • 
 tliin through the beard. The surgeon is at the hospital 
 tent a mile oif. 
 
 Last night, Herbert was in a strait for medicine, and 
 none was to be had. The earth was afloat ; the air, 
 thick with vapor blinding as snow, damp as the wave 
 itself. Pat set out for the hospital. There was no 
 path out of the wood that could be traced ; a few feet 
 off", the trunks of laro^e trees were drowned out of sio-ht. 
 Suddenly, a sentry threw his piece aport : " Who goes 
 there ? " Pat gave answer to the challenge, that he was 
 a private, on hospital service ; that he had a pass from 
 the surgeon, and was on his way to the hospital for 
 medicine for a sick man. A man wandering about at « 
 this time is a suspicious thing ; and the sentry is not to 
 be blamed for looking at Pat's uniform, and questioning 
 him pretty closely. Pat gets past at last, but only to 
 find his pathway thorny with bayonets. The foot of a 
 patrol splashes in the wet every few rods ; from every 
 
282 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 thicket comes the rattle of a giin, and a challenge. 
 But Pat goes and comes ; and Herbert, groaning, grows 
 easier, and sleeps under the influence of the medicine. 
 
 His sick-room is dirty and damp enougli, poor fellow I 
 whom the tenderest hands and hearts long to soothe and 
 fold; but his trouble is contagious, and he must be 
 kept apart in a place still more dreary than the crowded 
 wards where lie the less dangerously ill. One surgeon 
 is ill himself; the other, overworked, — with sick to 
 tend, here and there and everywhere ; moreover, there 
 is bother unspeakable in drawing the necessary things, 
 — the whiskey, the wood, the food, and all proper 
 comforts, — bother coming from the multitude of the 
 sick, making a weight beyond the power of red tape to 
 pull. Herbert lies very low, with a flutter in his 
 hands and upon his clammy lips, as if the flickering 
 life made the whole frame tremulous : stupor or 
 delirium with its ghastly laughter it is, most of the 
 time. 
 
 Next to Herbert, lies Francois, a young Frenchman, 
 less badly off, with a sweet, broken accent, who longs 
 after kindness, and is waiting for "nex' mons'," when 
 " mine broder is comin'," — brother now absent with 
 a detachment. Pat faithfully washes Francois' delicate 
 but dirty face, and cools the fever in his head by 
 sopping his black mat of curly hair. There are, 
 beside, a convalescent corporal, and a private even 
 more low than Herbert ; over whom Life and Death 
 have been locked, for some days, in a fierce struggle : 
 but Death is getting the mastery. 
 
BROKEN DOWN. 283 
 
 Pat is one of the purest, if he be also one of the 
 roughest, of diamonds. Go along the camp-street at 
 almost any time, and Pat will be filling the air witK 
 his brogue and blasphemy ; he would be set down by 
 nine-tenths of the world, at first sight, as a most 
 dangerous old marauder ; yet the fellow is a perfect 
 jewel in his way : good-hearted, unselfish, as ready to 
 give himself for another, body and soul, as if he were 
 of the elect. It is hard to get water ; Pat goes, loaded 
 down with canteens, — whose whke strings wind round 
 his body in a perfect maze, — to the house of a citizen, 
 secretly rebel, who objects. " Whurroo ! mon," says 
 Pat ; " do you see that house ? " pointing oiF to one 
 that the regiment is tearing down for firewood, as is 
 their sweet and peaceful habit just now. The rebel 
 allows that he sees it. " An' it's this ould shanty that'll 
 go next ! " after which terse declaration, Pat fills his 
 canteens without flirther remonstrance. 
 
 He is grand -hearted, and handy as he is good- 
 hearted. 'Tis great to see him head ofi" a cow one 
 night, in the bushes behind the tent, to steal milk for 
 the sick men ; cow especially consigned to the care of 
 the guard, as giving an officer high in rank the luxury 
 of milk. Marvellous, too, is the cooking done upon 
 the old tin plate, over the hole in the ground that 
 answers for a stove. He brews whiskey -punches ; 
 and, from under the very nose of the commissary, he 
 steals, in behalf of his sick men, all sorts of dainty 
 things. Herbert is his friend, and to him he gives his 
 tenderest care. From a mile away, he brings a huge 
 
284 THE THIXKIXG BAYONET. 
 
 arm-cliair, to have it ready for Herbert if he begins to 
 grow better; another time, it is a soft and clean woollen 
 tlanket (the less said about his manner of getting 
 them the better) ; and in the blanket are wrapped up 
 oranges, lemons, farina for gruel, and spirit. 
 
 Pat's eyes lately have given him trouble ; and, more- 
 over, he is rather badly off with jaundice. This gives 
 him respite from guard and picket-duty ; and that is 
 why he is at liberty to do nursing. He is fit to be 
 nursed himself; but -within that rude outside, in the^ 
 soul that utters itself so roughly, there is a hankering 
 after self-sacrifice that would do a saint honor. One 
 morning, Pat appears before his colonel more blear- 
 eyed than ever, to ask for help. For five nights 
 running, and daytimes too, he has been at his hospital ; 
 having little spells of sleep when one or another has 
 come in for part of tlie night, or a little while during 
 the day ; but taking the brunt of the work in nursing 
 five men, sick of contagious disease. The colonel 
 goes up wuth Pat to the tent. Britton, the dying 
 private, who has intervals of sanity in his delirium, 
 turns his glazing eyes toward the two as they stoop 
 down by him : '' Pat, I'm glad to see you again ; " and 
 the corporal, who is well enough to sit braced up 
 against the tent-pole, tells the colonel how "he allers 
 kind o' took to Pat ; and he was the best-hearted feller 
 goin'." Pat and the colonel stand by Herbert's couch. 
 His fever runs high ; a flush burns over his features, — 
 unnatural, yet less deathly than the pallor that lies 
 upon them at times, — and somewhat disguising the 
 
BROKEN DOWX. 285 
 
 emaciation, so that the face approaches to its old look. 
 "A fine head, by Jove !" says the colonel to himself; 
 " and a o:rand fio^ure of a man. I more than half believe 
 justice hasn't been done this sergeant. If he lives, I 
 will see to it." Herbert smiles in his fever as they 
 speak, and asks them if Leonora got safely out of 
 the surf. They shake their heads, and Pat dashes 
 his rough fists into his eyes ; he so much the worse for 
 wear, outlaw and rough, there by the couch of the 
 gentleman, bis friend. He is rusty as the old pocket- 
 knife with which he goes to work to slice up a loaf of 
 soft-bread; dusty cap, short blouse, short, stubbed 
 figure ; pants wrinkled, and shrunk away from the 
 boots ; from top to toe, crocked and spotted with all 
 sorts of stains ; face, dull yellow from the jaundice ; 
 beard rough and uneven, as if trimmed by the same 
 tool with which he cuts the bread, as is probably the 
 case : a hard outside for a hero. 
 
 But Herbert's life was saved. How sharp and white 
 showed the bone through the skin around the hollows 
 of his eyes ! how the stately neck had shrivelled, with 
 the wounded ear above ; and, beyond the scar upon the 
 right fore-arm, how plain were the bones of the hand ! 
 How tottered his limbs, in place of their old manly 
 walk, as he crept on pleasant days out to the door of 
 the tent I Pat watched his convalescence, helping him 
 to strength with many a nourishing, palatable mess, 
 made from almost nothing over the hole in the comer, 
 and cheering him with uncouth kindness. Little by 
 little, Herbert grew better ; though, under those heats 
 
286 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 and damps, it was as if a strong man held him down, 
 with his knee upon his chest. Pat encouraged his pa- 
 tient like a true and tender nurse. " Hi ! I'll be afther 
 enterin' ye for a fut-race. The legs uv ye was Hke 
 hickory whip-stocks a for-rt-night by, — but whoosh ! 
 the way the fat packs about tliim knays ! " Pat, in the 
 overflow of his heart and in the effort to cheer, imparted 
 a variety of knowledge ; so that Herbert, as he sat 
 amused by his sense and wit, thought he should become 
 an accomplished man. Pat, for instance, was learned 
 in mule-driving. A long rope was all that was wanted, 
 he explained, with a rich expenditure of brogue. A 
 long pull meant " haw I " a jerk meant " gee ! " — " thim 
 lane, gray craythurs, is all br-r-oke to it." Pat's com- 
 ments, moreover, upon officers and men were most 
 instructive. Speaking of a captatn so over-thorough 
 in Pat's idea, that neither he nor his men had any res- 
 pite from drill and cleaning, it was, "His sowl knows 
 no pace. Be-gor-r-ra, an' ef he'd ne'er another job, 
 he'd tak' hould and put shingles on the roof uv his 
 mouth." 
 
 One day, as Herbert was growing better, an officer 
 died. A fine band, whose music was all the finer com- 
 ing strained through half a mile of moss-hung, broad- 
 leaved magnolia forest, marched before the coffin to the 
 grave. How sublime was that march of death ! The 
 finer instruments sobbed with wailing, and the deeper 
 bass, passed on rod by rod. Herbert could hear it 
 down, — the forest, — saddening the air with groaning : 
 then far away by the open grave, he heard the dirge die. 
 
BROKEN DOWN. 287 
 
 In his weakness, it touched him in the deep places of his 
 soul. Then, after a pause, at first low from the far 
 distance ; then nearer, with the returning escort, pealed 
 that sweet old familiar march, adopted as the air of the 
 University, and known as " Old Havenbrldge." Well 
 did Herbert remember when he heard it first. He was 
 brimming with all the uncooled new-gushing loyalty of 
 his Freshman year. He stood with his class, — Clai- 
 borne and all, under the waving elms ; for the students 
 were going in procession at a great festival. Along the 
 line, the banner of the University was borne by a scho- 
 lastic group of gowned seniors, the Latin legend rolling 
 out Avithin the heavy fringe, as the breeze came cool 
 from the blue water where lay the boats. Then sud- 
 denly, as they marched on with the streaming banner, 
 those straight, chosen youths, whose grave and plaited 
 silk betokened the dignity of their Alma Mater, as 
 their bright faces and firm limbs betokened her per- 
 petual youth, (how it all came back to Herbert !) — 
 suddenly, from the end of the line, with crash of cym- 
 bal, and melodious outgush from brazen throat, and tone 
 of drum, that made the blood throb in the veins, broke 
 out the ancient University march. That was the first 
 time. Then how he had sung it ! by moonlight, upon 
 lawns in the serenade ; through the resounding entries 
 of college-halls ; afar o'er the water frOm the thwart, as 
 he gave time with his quick, feathering blade to the crew 
 and to the tune. It woke all those old memories within 
 him, so that they came in his weakness there, into his 
 mind almost hot and fierce, — those happy, sweet old 
 
288 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 days ! — until he wept and wept. Those old memories, 
 — the peace, the refinement, his library, the faces of 
 lovely ladies, the amenities of pleasant living ! So he 
 sat, weak and weeping ; no nerve now to choke back the 
 tears ; in the mud and wet, in soiled and ragged attire, 
 so haggard and weary I 
 
 From Herbert to Pidnam, 
 
 "Dear Putnam, — I shall write only a little. I 
 have been sick almost unto death, and am too weak to 
 do much. I sit in the sun, on an empty cartridge-box, 
 at the door of the hospital-tent, about which I totter on 
 warm days, wan and hollow-eyed. This sickness is 
 such a desperate matter, enfeebling to the hmbs, en- 
 feebling, alas ! to the soul. Fortitude ! only give me 
 vigor, and I can encounter any thing, — do it cheerful- 
 ly ; but sickness throttles the manhood of a man. I try 
 now to play a manly part ; I try to do honorable duty 
 well. I believe I have been a faithful soldier ; I have 
 wounds to show : this gashed arm, the scar more plain 
 now that the flesh is somewhat shrivelled ; and part of 
 the ear above, too, was carried away by a ball. I can 
 follow duty with heart so high, let me only be strong, 
 though my members perish ; "^^ea, though the whole 
 frame go down in death : but before sickness, in spite 
 of myself, my heart withers ; and through this the sol- 
 dier must almost certainly pass. ]Malaria and privation ; 
 a couch of the damp clay, when the sweat pours off; 
 no food, when hard work is being done, — these will 
 bring one down. But I am too weak to write more. 
 
BROKEN DOWN. 289 
 
 Will it help me to be manly and high to come into con- 
 nection with old friends? In sickness, I say, 'It will 
 be unmanly weakness to be overborne now, and with- 
 draw the veil.' So, although my heart yearns to hear 
 from old friends, I think, 'I will wait, until I am well 
 before I do it ; ' but, when I am well again, I go for- 
 ward with less trouble, and postpone it. I will not tell 
 you now, though I suffer. I can send you the letter, 
 and give you no clew." 
 
290 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 CHAPTER XVin. 
 
 THE CLEW. 
 
 Herbeet does grow better, and soon it is time to 
 march again. Pale and emaciated, the sergeant persists 
 in taking his place at the earliest moment. The limbs 
 totter yet, but any thing is more tolerable than hospital 
 life. When the load is packed, with musket again at 
 the right-shoulder-shift, Herbert does not feel light as a 
 feather. That hot southern air ! Herbert feels as if the 
 stout fellow had him down still, with knee on his chest ; 
 and as if the little he had gained had only come through 
 terrible struggle. If he could only lie on the wet, salt 
 rocks at Honomok once more, or in the deep grass be- 
 fore the old room at Havenbridge ! Those blue, breezy 
 heavens stretched along above him would give him new 
 life with their breath, as the prophet of i^ld gave new 
 life to the dead boy of the Shunamite. Pat is at hand, 
 and faithful, scarred all over, with a hurt to show for 
 every battle in which he has fought. Rolls and groans 
 and curses forward the great army. Burning hot is the 
 sun at noon over Herbert, stooping and hobbling for- 
 ward with an unconquerable spu'it. He thinks of the 
 Jesuit Father Jogues, in Canada, two hundred years 
 
THE CLEW. 291 
 
 ago, so brave and patient at the stake ; and the dying 
 Xavier, praying " More, O my God, yet more ! " He 
 has no more to bear than they ; not as much ; so, al- 
 though there is gasping and faltering of the knees, it is 
 not of):en that the sergeant is among the stragglers. 
 
 Once it was too much to be borne. Ground, as by 
 millstones, was the road, — under hoofs, under foot- 
 beats, under the wheels of cannon ; and the dust was 
 flung thick through the air by the galloping squadrons 
 that passed along the line. Wearily toiled the platoons 
 with red, sweltering faces, and saturated clothes, with 
 every half-hour or so the halt, so unspeakably welcome. 
 Herbert sank once to the ground, as the word came ; 
 the mist gathering before his eyes, and the blood throb- 
 bing hard into the reeling brain. Pat supports him by 
 the shoulders. " Bear a hand here wid the saro-int ! " 
 and Pat and two others drag him to the side of the 
 road under the trees. They put the roll of blankets un- 
 der his head for a pillow, unloose the clasp of the belts, 
 and fling ofl* the weights. A little water, sparingly 
 taken from a canteen, falls cool on Herbert's forehead ; 
 then Pat brings out from his blouse a flask, with a few 
 drops of carefully hoarded whiskey, — a pious theft from 
 the hospital stores, that he might be ready for just such 
 an emergency. 
 
 "Battalion ! " the cheerful, sonorous voice of the col- 
 onel, from the head of the regiment. Herbert tries to 
 rise, but sinks backward. " Hurroo, me by ! niver 
 hurry. Eist aisy now." So they lie side by side, 
 through the heat of the noon and afternoon ; Herbert's 
 
292 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 wasted face and weakness winning the pity of the guard 
 behind, whose duty it is to arrest the loiterers. Pat, 
 meanwhile, has left the line of the army, and is hunting 
 through the woods for water. He strikes the bed of a 
 torrent, but it is parched and dry. Pat, however, is 
 too old a campaigner to be discouraged ; so he follows 
 the channel down among the dry gullied ravines. About 
 the trees on either hand are knotted the great vines; 
 the snake hisses or rattles, then makes way for him, as 
 he goes mile after mile into the solitude. It seems al- 
 most a desperate chance ; but Herbert is parched with 
 returning fever, and has called for water. Here it is at 
 last ; a little pool, left in a densely-shaded spot, stag- 
 nant, and with a green scum on part of the surface : 
 but Pat joyfully gets do^vn upon his knees, Avith his 
 cracked and battered cup, to scoop it out little by little ; 
 then hurries back to Herbert. 
 
 A strong dose of quinine now : then as the sun be- 
 comes low, cannot Herbert go forward? "Hi ! Stout 
 ould chap, we'll rache the camp in a jiffey." Herbert 
 staggers to his feet, Pat taking his gun and equip- 
 ments. A little way forward, and the sun sets. How 
 hot and hard the march has been ! Everywhere there 
 are abandoned blankets and coats : every few rods, 
 little hobbling groups of men, who fell out in the heat, 
 and are going on toward the camp. The road goes up 
 a hill ; then, in the dusk, Pat and Herbert see before 
 them a wide, trackless plain, almost herbless : the earth 
 baked hard with the heat. Night is falling, and there 
 is no trace of the army. Herbert sinks again. Pat 
 
THE CLEW. 293 
 
 decides that they must stop for the night ; so the rubber- 
 blanket is spread, and they lie down together ; fever- 
 wasted Herbert, one would say it was a Imrd chance 
 for you ! Through the heavens look down the clear, 
 large stars of the southern sky. Far away, now and 
 then, from thirty miles across the country, rumbles the 
 low roar of heavy cannonading. Back to his old quiet 
 life, to his books and sports, and, more than all, to the 
 woman whom he loves, his mind goes wandering. Will 
 he ever see them again ? There is a weakness almost 
 of death in his frame, but heroic life in his soul, as he 
 thus lies. "Nevertheless, I trust I play a manly part. 
 Through my wretchedness and death may the world 
 rejoice." Not yet, Herbert. 
 
 The quinine and some sound sleep do their work. 
 Next morning comes rumbling up a subsistence wagon, 
 lightened somewhat the night before by the distribution 
 of rations from it. " Dhriver dear, for God's sake," 
 pleads Pat; and the pallor of Herbert's face is elo- 
 quent : but the driver refuses. Pat here produces a 
 quantity of rebel paper-money, got from a prisoner. 
 These are his only funds. " I'll pay me way like a gin- 
 tleman ; " and then, when the fellow objects to the 
 money, as not being " worth a rag," — " Good as gould, 
 good as gould," cries Pat, in his extremity, — "bedad ! 
 an' if iver again I git sight uv a dintist, he's the ould 
 by that I'll have fill me tathe wid 'em. I'd have it, be- 
 dad ! as soon as I would the r-raal tin." The driver is 
 won over at last. No springs ; rough boards only to 
 ride on, cracked and broken by heavy weights, so that 
 
294 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 they can look through to the gi'ound below. Every 
 now and then, the mules are put at a gallop along the 
 rough road ; for the wagon has fallen behind its place in 
 the line. But the canvas top keeps out the sun, and 
 they go forward rapidly. 
 
 Let us change now to Putnam May, who is writing a 
 joyful letter, to tell of good news. 
 
 From Putnam May to Louisa May, 
 
 " Deak Lou, — Another trace of him ! and I am full 
 of joy. To be sure, this may fail me like the others ; 
 and yet, I think not ; for it is more clear and decided, 
 and I think we have him now. It so happened in the 
 city, the other day, at Mr. Blancard's, that I was look- 
 ing at their photographs. Among their stereoscopic 
 views is a large collection of battle-scenes, which I 
 glanced over : they were good pictures. There was the 
 review, and the impending battle, and the field at the 
 end of the fight. Then the fight itself: regiments sta- 
 tionary ; then the blur where men were rushing, and the 
 air was full of battery-smoke. There were the block- 
 ader and the Iron-clad ; the general on his steed, and 
 the soldier just out of fire, with the sweat and powder- 
 stains upon his face and garments. 
 
 " I looked them over, until I came to one which made 
 me stop at once. At first, it was only the tragic pic- 
 turesqueness of the scene. Upon the ground, much 
 ploughed and trampled, lay a huge siege-piece, dis- 
 mounted by a shot that had struck near the muzzle. A 
 large piece of metal was torn oflP along the bore, expos- 
 
THE CLEW. 295 
 
 ing for several feet the hollow within. Under it lay- 
 part of its carriage, badly splintered. Against it leaned 
 one of the wheels, its felloe cracked, and spokes broken 
 here and there, while behind was the limber. About 
 were gabions, the basket work broken by balls. Jagged 
 fragments of shell lay upon the ground. Here and 
 there were dark spots upon the earth ; the color, of 
 course, not given : but I judged it would be red. It 
 was a view of the inside of a rebel battery, the day after 
 it had been stormed and taken. Upon the line of earth- 
 work? behind, stood a sentry. Upon the splintered 
 cannon sat a tall figure, with the chevrons of a sergeant 
 plain upon his arm. The picture was finely taken. The 
 gun, and the figure sitting upon it in particular, were 
 in the focus of the instrument, and given with perfect 
 distinctness. The face of the sergeant was a little 
 turned away : he sat leaning with liis head upon his 
 right hand. The cap-visor came low, so that I could 
 not plainly get the features. I say, the picturesqueness 
 of the photograph attracted me : there was a fine 
 masculine grace in the figure and attitude. He was 
 evidently some veteran, who had been surprised by the 
 artist, and taken without his knowledge. His pants 
 were torn ; - 1 thought it might be with forcing his way 
 through the abattis in the storming. The broad stripe 
 down the leg which I could see, was partly gone. The 
 shoes were worn by marching ; the blouse was out at 
 elbows. The face, as I said, rested upon the hand ; 
 the hand was clenched, and lay just under the ear. The 
 sleeve of the blouse had slipped down upon the fore- 
 
296 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 arm, showing the lean muscles very plainly. With the 
 other hand, the soldier held his bayonet, with which he 
 was listlessly marking in the sand. He appeared to be 
 absorbed in thought, and wholly unconscious that he 
 was sitting for his portrait. And now comes the strange 
 thing. 
 
 " I stood looking at it for a moment or two ; there 
 was such a story in the picture, such a suggestion of ter- 
 rible force and strife and hardship ; the ploughed and 
 seared earth ; the splintered cannon ; the riven timbers ; 
 the gaunt and tattered soldier ! — when, lo ! I noticed, 
 that across the soldier's arm there ran a deep scar ; and 
 the ear, just above it too, I could see, among the hair, 
 had been partly carried away, I studied what could be 
 seen of the face, with all my power of vision. It was 
 shaded by the visor, and partly hidden by a heavy beard ; 
 but I could see enough of it to make me sure it was 
 Herbert Lee ! 
 
 " The Blancards started at my exclamation. It was 
 in that same parlor, you know, that I came upon the 
 trace of Herbert at Castleton. They heard my explana- 
 tion with great interest, as we studied the picture 
 to^rether. The views had come from an establishment 
 in the city ; and I went at once to the place to make 
 some inquiries. I was not very sanguine, when I began 
 to ask the proprietor, if he could tell where and by 
 whom the picture was taken. He gave the name of his 
 employee, however, at once, by whom it was done ; ad- 
 ding that he was now at home and in the establishment. 
 I began to feel more hopeful, and asked to see the man. 
 
THE CLEW. 297 
 
 He remembered, at once, all the circumstances of taking 
 the picture. He named the place, and the day when it 
 was done. He remembered the soldier, as a manly- 
 looking fellow, with a very grave and thoughtful face. 
 He was so absorbed, that the photographist knew Bfe had 
 no idea of what was being done, when he arranged his 
 instrument. 
 
 "'Now,' said I, and I shrank at the thought of 
 another disappointment, *have you any recollection 
 of the troops who were holding this position at the 
 time when the picture was taken ? ' He fortunately re- 
 membered that it was the famous Lowell Regiment. 
 You know that that regiment is in Gen. Holyoake's 
 division. Of course, my association with Holyoake in 
 past years causes me to watch his course with much 
 interest. I eagerly read every newspaper mention of 
 him, and the achievements of his division. You know 
 how noted this -Lowell Regiment has been, and how 
 often it has received distinguished notice. So the two 
 old rivals have been close together all this time. How 
 my suspicions that I wrote to you about are confirmed ! 
 When Holyoake stood that night before Leonora and 
 me, in the hospital, he had been face to face with Her- 
 bert ; I am as sure of it now as I am that I sit here. 
 
 " I am so situated, that I cannot start at once for the 
 army ; but I shall go as soon as it Is possible. I should 
 feel much confidence, but twice before we have been so 
 sadly disappointed. Meantime, I have already written 
 to Leonora. Herbert has been in her immediate neigh- 
 borhood again and again. Very possibly, he has seen 
 
 13* 
 
298 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 her ; for she has been no stranger in the camps. Even 
 now, I think it will be an easy matter for her to get to 
 the front, and make inquiries. An ordinary woman 
 would hardly do it. I suppose it is entirely uncon- 
 ventional for a woman to go searching for her lover 
 through an army : but Leonora is not bound by such 
 rules ; and, I have no doubt, as soon as she receives 
 my note, will go out to find this noble knight of hers, 
 — so high and true, and so suffering." 
 
KESTORED. 299 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 RESTORED. 
 
 With the two great armies, it is manoeuvre upon ma- 
 noeuvre. Breaking camp at nightfall, a division, with 
 careful and silent tread, creeps toward a forest. The 
 crack of rifles in front, and the galloping back of the 
 cavalry in the rear ; then the rapid rattle and sud- 
 den sputtering from under the trees. So the enemy 
 is felt. 
 
 Break camp again, and ford a stream ; the water 
 swashing about the thousand knees and thighs, while 
 the brown hands hold up the cartridge-boxes above the 
 wet, and keep up the guns. They climb the ridge op- 
 posite. A puff of smoke now, from a mile away, as 
 the federal infantry moves out upon the plain ; then 
 the roar of an approaching rifle-shell, and the dull dis- 
 charge. The enemy are there too, and awake. 
 
 Out in a broad plain. The fences that marked the 
 boundaries of farms have gone for firewood ; the man- 
 sion is burned ; an old shed or two only are standing 
 near the charred timbers , where gather soldiers and ne- 
 groes about the old well ; the horses of videttes tied 
 
300 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 near the solitary chimney. A mile away, the woods are 
 blue ; and, within their shadow, where all is so quiet, a 
 gun is thrice discharged ; then a volley. Then come out 
 pickets, and their reserves ; and now is heard the Jong 
 roll throbbing along the drums of a whole corps. 
 Meanwhile, in the edge of the woods, a long, gray hne 
 is seen slowly moving. It looks like a train of gray- 
 bodied cars, slowly drawn from north to south ; but the 
 general, on the little knoll here, can see through his 
 field-glass that they are the thick, crowding sections of 
 a great hostile column. But keep cool and wary. It 
 is only a feint or a demonstration. The danger is in 
 another quarter. 
 
 And so two chiefs, as it were, with mighty steel- 
 armed knuckles, — with bosses and spikes, such as 
 never the cestus of ancient boxer knew, — feint and 
 parry and guard, over many a league of weary coun- 
 try, where the homesteads are burned, the crops 
 trampled into the earth, and the substance of the land 
 devoured. 
 
 Herbert has tried to march too soon ; and broken 
 do\\Ti, as we saw. But there is solid pith in those thews 
 and muscles of his that have come to show so plain ; and 
 a little time of rest, under circumstances when he can 
 get rather better fare and care than is usual, begins to 
 bring fulness again to his pale face. It is morning, 
 when at last he resumes his place, and takes his gun 
 in hand. The Lowell Kegiment is in camp on the bank 
 of a stream : there are pebbles in the bottom of it. 
 The stream flows clear, and wdth a rush and gurgle, 
 
RESTORED. 301 
 
 like the voice of a northern brook. Herbert leaves his 
 blankets under the stack, and equipments hanging from 
 his bayonet, and goes down to bathe. Soldiers in the 
 water laugh, and dash water at each other ; their hands 
 and faces of bronze, contrasting with the Saxon fairness 
 of their sinewy bodies ; and cavalry horses at the ford 
 plunge and whinny, as they did when they were colts 
 by mountain brooks in Vermont. The brook sweeps 
 and swirls, and the soldiers tread among the rounded 
 pebbles, and roll and swim and laugh, — the luxury of 
 such a bath not to be enjoyed oftener than once in the 
 course of a long campaign. The brook Avashes the 
 gloom out of Herbert's soul almost, as well as the sweat 
 and grime of sickness from his hmbs. So he thinks, 
 as he feels a glowing health once more pervading his 
 frame, and looks out upon life with a more cheerful 
 glance. 
 
 He sees an aide come galloping to the tent of the col- 
 onel. In another moment, the sergeant-major is on the 
 run ; and presently a drum is beating the sudden call 
 to fall in, from the end of the line of stacks. A battle 
 is beginning. Now and then, for some time, from not 
 far away, have come in the crash of cannon, and the 
 sound of musketry ; but these are ordinary sounds > and 
 attract no attention. The enemy lie not far in front. 
 There is a low, brown, dusty heap, bent into curves and 
 angles, running along the soil, with a shallow ditch be- 
 hind ; and within this lies a strong line of their infantry. 
 These works are to be stormed, and Holyoake is to 
 lead the stormers, — the vehement soldier, whose vehe- 
 
302 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 mence, however, is tempered with judgment ; the hope 
 of the department in which he serves. 
 
 In column stands the Lowell Regiment now, — com- 
 pany behind company, with no excitement, but cool and 
 calm as befits veterans so brown and gashed : sturdy 
 men, standing in long blue rows, as if planted on the 
 soil, and coming up there like natural growths. Death, 
 like a gardener, more than once, has gone down those 
 rows, thinning them out, here and there ; and to-day 
 he is to thin them out again. While they wait, Herbert 
 rests his rifle in the hollow of his arm, and tightens, by 
 another hole, the belt at his waist. Gen. Holyoake is 
 dressed like a common soldier for the work of this day. 
 His men know well his face, and he does not need his 
 star. He walks his horse slowly through the ranks of 
 the storming party, with his aides behind him. 
 
 In a moment, the order comes to go forward. They 
 are to move on to a ravine, within which, after taking 
 breath, they are to form for the assault. There is no 
 sound of drum, only the tramp, tramp, and the click 
 of muskets, as one barrel happens to touch another. 
 Drums and fifes to-day are pushed aside ; those who 
 play them sitting close upon the field, behind a little 
 rise, silently ready with the stretchers. Already, these 
 are dark from blood, that has soaked them on previous 
 battle-days. Pat goes, his steady foot falling close upon 
 the heel of his file-leader ; his eye glancing to the side 
 now and then, that he may keep the dress. His cheek 
 is gashed ; two fingers are gone ; and, through his shirt 
 front, open down his breast, you can see a great furrow, 
 
RESTORED. 303 
 
 a heavy piece of subsoiling, done by one of those quick 
 driven leaden ploughs, just where the shoulder rises into 
 "the neck. "Bedad! they fetch me i very time," whis- 
 pers Pat jovially to his neighbor, their elbows touching 
 as they dress ; and Herbert, on the flank, who is in a 
 cheerful mood, says, that he believes they make a tally- 
 stick of Pat, to notch the battles of the campaign on. 
 Pat is cheerful, and so Herbert, — who, though still 
 haggard, marches buoyantly. 
 
 Bodies of troops move to one side, making way for 
 the stormers. They would cheer as they look after 
 them, only it is ordered that no unnecessary sound be 
 made which might attract the enemy's attention, — 
 though cheering, were it done by stentors, could never 
 be heard through the cannonade which begins to roar 
 more and more wildly. The leaves quiver in the agi- 
 tated air ; and, in the concussion, Herbert almost feels 
 the hair blow out from under his cap. At last, they stand 
 in the narrow ravine, into which, now and then, a shell 
 comes tossing ; bursting on the ground, with a throwing 
 up of dust, and the fall of a few men ; or in th6 au-, 
 leaving a beautiful ring of wreathing smoke to float 
 above the heads of those who are slain by the falling 
 frao-ments, — a nimbus of Mars sent down to decorate 
 the brows of those who bravely die. 
 
 Settle the cap firmly upon the head, with strap be- 
 neath the chin. Tighten the belt each one. Take the 
 old cap from the nipple of the gun, and make sure with 
 the wire, that the pathway of the spark is clear down 
 to the powder. Cap it afresh. Did you load? Make 
 
304 THE THINKIXG BAYONET. 
 
 sure with the ramrod that the pointed ball rests on top 
 of the charge. Fix the bayonet firm, so that it will not 
 turn. Now, piece at the order, and wait. 
 
 Holjoake has dismounted ; his horse is led to the 
 rear. The corps-commander dismounts ; and the two 
 figures, one with hair of iron-gray, the other in his young 
 prime, climb the slope of the ravine and reconnoitre, 
 while the line below silently watch. " It is a service of 
 danger, Holyoake," says the elder general, putting away 
 his field-glas^, after peering through the thicket which 
 screens the two figures, " but I trust you will go through 
 safely." "Is there no danger in that grove?" says Hol- 
 yoake, pointing to the right, where, on one side of the 
 clearing before the rebel position, rises a forest of tall 
 trees and thick underbrush. "How can there be?" 
 says the other : " Col. Hanley's scouts searched through 
 there this morning, to within ten rods of tlie rebel earth- 
 work. They could not send out a considerable body 
 without our knowledge. If I thought there was danger, 
 I would shell the place from a battery or two ; but there 
 can be none." 
 
 Holyoake goes down to his men, and walks along 
 his line. " It is not far," he says to a colonel : " rough 
 ground at first, but smoother, as we go nearer, and at 
 last, we can double quick." And now, the line climbs 
 silently to the top of the sheltering ravine. For a mo- 
 ment, they halt; then, with a report in unison, and a 
 burst of fire, forth goes as the sudden harbinger of 
 their approach, a rain of balls. They are out of the 
 ditch, and upon the field in solemn battle order. In the 
 
RESTORED. 305 
 
 Lowell Regiment, the tall color-bearer, holding out the 
 flag, is out a few paces in advance : a guard on each 
 side. Behind him, in the line, goes the brown and 
 sturdy corporal, whose duty it is to walk straight in 
 his sergeant's tracks ; and toward his broad shoulders, 
 as leans an arch toward the sides of the keystone, from 
 right to left the line presses. Through them now tear 
 the shot of cannon, and the volleys of infantry. "Close 
 up ! " call the captains, and the gaps are closed. In the 
 charging force, is a regiment of negroes, with limbs 
 marred sometimes, and backs rldo^inQ^ into huo^e wales, 
 where the whip has taken hold ; men w^ho have thrown 
 off the loose, hang-dog shuffle of the slave, for the erect 
 head and steady tread of the soldier. The blacks rush 
 side by side with the Saxons, who are tanned and har- 
 dened, till, in hue and vigor, they are like men of iron. 
 So they go in line, the two races, like carbon and iron 
 blending together into a blade of terrible steel, sweeping 
 on, to cut its way through the foe. 
 
 Now it is smooth for a few yards ; now there is the 
 trunk of a felled tree for a company to climb over ; now 
 a pool, through which the line must splash. " Keep the 
 line, — keep the line ! " the colonels shoiit ; and swaying 
 and swinging from wing to wing, but forward ever, the 
 line sweeps on. It is a desperate piece of work. They 
 fall thick and fast. For a moment, in a little depres- 
 sion, Herbert stoops, while the opposite wing, hindered 
 by a deep guUey, is coming up again into line, to fix 
 firm again in its socket the bayonet, turned a little in 
 its place by a blow against a branch. Then, again, it 
 
306 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 is forward. Now they are far on their way. Holyoake, 
 whose blouse is pierced, and hand slightly wounded, 
 wonders, as he turns his eye backward, why he can see 
 no trace of his supports, which should be emerging from 
 the ravine behind ; then, occasionally, gives an uneasy 
 glance at the woods to his right. There are not many 
 yards to gain ; but the air, all about, whistles with hos- 
 tile projectiles, and thick behind lie the fallen. 
 
 And now, what is this cry from the right? the yell, 
 and the sudden enfilading fire ; then an outburst of gray, 
 quick-moving multitudes, in a long line, stretching from 
 the rebel earthwork far down, and now sweeping round 
 like a great arm, to hurry the storming column captive 
 right into the fortress of their foes ! " Charged on 
 the flank ! " cries Gen. ^Holyoake. In a moment his 
 party is halted, now becoming more and more confused 
 in the terrible cross-fire ; but a new formation to resist 
 the charge is impossible. Onward they come, and who 
 is the bare-headed leader who heads them ? Do we not 
 know the face, pale and eager ; the fierce eye ; the 
 slight, straight figure? Claiborne is buttoned in his 
 gray garb to the chin, with the badges of a colonel em- 
 broidered heavily in gold braid upon the collar. When 
 last those three men stood together, it was in the sun- 
 set, under the old Havenbridge elm, taking from one 
 another's hands flowers. Herbert knows the voice and 
 fiice. In the confusion, he has sought his general's 
 side ; his powerful arm ready with the bayonet, and a 
 flush upon his brow ; for there is no weakness now in his 
 frame. A moment more, and a shot has gone into Her- 
 
RESTORED. 307 
 
 bert's groin. He falls fainting ; but as the rebel colonel 
 in the rush comes close upon him, " I know you, Clai- 
 borne ! " and he sinks. " God forgive me, Herbert ! is 
 it you?" then Claiborne passes on. Holyoake, with a 
 badly wounded thigh, totters and faints, with a shout 
 upon his lips. 
 
 Now the tardy supports are advancing with cheers 
 from the ravine behind, but too late to save the storming 
 party. They dare not fire as they approach, for friend 
 and foe are intermingled ; and soon those that are left 
 alive, swept oiF by the unexpected rush, hot and pant- 
 ing, are hurried as captives over the earthwork, which 
 they had hoped to enter as victors. It is done in a mo- 
 ment ; the cry, the swift rush, the crashing volley, the 
 driving: forward of the confused and routed mass. All 
 are soon behind the shelter of the ridge ; and upon the 
 space in front, only remain those, "who ne'er shall fight 
 again." A few of the storming party, Pat for one, get 
 back anions: their friends. 
 
 Herbert's pain is great, but he does not bleed pro- 
 fusely. From Holyoake's wound, on the contrary, 
 comes the intermittent gush, which is drawing hard 
 right upon the heart. Herbert drinks from his canteen 
 until it is nearly emptied ; then, somewhat revived, 
 looks about liim. It is only a rod or two to the gen- 
 eral, and toward him Herbert slowly drags himself; 
 then falls, dizzy with the effort, at his side. The long 
 ffternoon is before them. The unbroken rage of the 
 sun beats down upon them. They lie within easy rifle 
 range of the rebel work ; but no foe can come to them, 
 
308 THE TIIINKIXG BAYONET. 
 
 through fear of the regiments in the ravine, — and no 
 help can come from the ravine until nightfall, for fear of 
 the foe. Side by side they lie again, as they did when 
 they were boys in the room at Ilavenbridge, when Hol- 
 yoake poured out in the night his ambitious longings. 
 A fallen tree lies Upon the ground just in front of them, 
 and, when lying flat, they are screened from the rebel 
 bullets. Holyoake still bleeds profusely. Herbert is 
 weak and deathly sick, but he manages to knot a hand- 
 kerchief about Holyoake's thigh; then, with a ramrod 
 near, with the extemporized tourniquet, the dangerous" 
 leaping of the stream is at length stayed. But Herbert 
 faints asrain. When he revives, it is with a most bitter 
 and unrelenting heat that the sun beats down, and as 
 bitter and unrelenting, a few feet above their bodies, 
 hurtle the bullets from friend and foe. Holyoake, 
 hardly conscious, with pale lips, is moaning "water, — 
 water." Herbert, too, has emptied his store ; and in his 
 pain, feels the terrible thirst. 
 
 Now it is the hot noon. Pat, the " old tally-stick," 
 lies in the ravine, among his friends, — well shaded, 
 with a cool spring at hand ; restless and sad. Can Pat 
 bear it, that Herbert should lie there so parched? 
 Pat was close by when he fell, and saw that the hurt 
 did not bring death. Pat will get a canteen to him, if 
 he dies for it. Perhaps it can be done : but it is a des- 
 perate venture. Rough is old Pat, profane, and some- 
 times a thief; out and in rude and uncouth; but, if 
 gratitude, and fearlessness, and devotion of self for an- 
 other make up a man, then, surely, is Pat one; yet, 
 
RESTORED. 309 
 
 one wonders what will be done with him in heaven, 
 when he gets there. Pat takes a canteen, fills it care- 
 fully, so that no grit shall mingle with the pure water ; 
 then wets the felt covering, that the evaporation may- 
 increase the coolness. Out of the ravine, — then from a 
 stump through the high grass to a thicket. Pretty safe 
 so far. But now more carefully, Pat. That has taken 
 a good fifteen minutes. He is wary as a fox, eluding, 
 through the stubble, watching hunters. Rest now a mo- 
 ment, and reconnoitre. Farther on is the long, prostrate 
 trunk of a tree ; but between Pat and the tree are 
 twenty rods of bare, exposed ground. Pat springs out, 
 and crosses it at a nm, falling flat on his face at the 
 end. "Thud — thud," two bullets knock to pieces the 
 hard, baked earth, which his feet have just passed. They 
 have marked him from the ridge. "What a quare 
 place they thought to mak' ould Pat's nist, thim thaives 
 o' the wur-r-ld ! " this with a shrug, and a jovial glance 
 backward at the red unsheltered ground, upon which ifc 
 is only good fortune that his lifeless body is not lying. 
 Flat upon his back, the little trunk rising just above his 
 breast, Pat lies quiet for a time ; then draws his body to 
 the end, and looks cautiously out through a tuft of 
 weeds. Another run will bring him to a depression in 
 the ground, where, by lying down, he may be again 
 shielded. Out he springs ; in an instant a bullet has 
 torn through his cap, — but Pat is safe again at the little 
 hollow. On the edge above lies the body of a slain 
 soldier. He crawls cautiously up. The soldier lies on 
 his back, with his knee bent ; and Pat, peering beneath, 
 
310 THE THINKIXG BAYONET. 
 
 — the rosy face close at the blue, patched pant of the sol- 
 dier, — can see now Herbert and the general : Holyoake 
 still, outstretched, with death- pale face and feebly mut- 
 tering lips ; Herbert, with the corner of his blouse 
 thro\\Ti over his face to keep off the sun. 
 
 Perhaps, from here, the canteen can be thrown. 
 " Whist, sar-r-mnt ! " No siorn from Herbert. Then 
 Pat tosses a small piece of earth. Herbert moves a 
 hand, and, putting down the blouse, slowly turns his 
 head. Pat starts up upon his knees, to give his arm 
 full swing; then throws the canteen, — not less noble 
 than the knight in song, who threw the heart of the 
 Bruce^ in its silver casket, far forward among the foe, 
 — then followed to die upon it. It falls within Her- 
 bert's reach. "H'm — s'p," above the ground, and Pat 
 falls heavily forward. " Bedad ! it's the last notch ! " 
 and the soul looks out,. for the last time, from the fast 
 glazing eye of this uncombed ]\Iercutio, with a merry 
 glance, — a spirit as gallant and happy as that which 
 the sword of Tybalt puts to flight. 
 
 Through Herbert's mind, as he lies gasping, with 
 eyes upon this dear dead friend, passes the solemn re- 
 membrance of an old legend, — • how a king was in an 
 hold and garrison of the Philistines, and how he longed 
 and said, " Oh that one would give me a ckink of the 
 water of the well of Bethlehem, which is by the gate ! " 
 then three mighty men, Adino, Eleazar, and Shammah, 
 brake through the host of the Philistines, and drew water 
 out of the well of Bethlehem that was by the gate, and 
 took it and brought it to David. Then the king, would 
 
RESTORED. 311 
 
 not drink thereof, but poured it out unto the Lprd, say- 
 ing, "Be it far from me, O Lord, that I should do 
 this : is not this as it were the blood of the men that 
 went in jeopardy of their lives ? " It was an old story 
 that his mother had read him long years ago, and it 
 came into his dim mind as he lay there in his extremity. 
 "It is, indeed," he thought, "as it were the blood of 
 him who w^ent in jeopardy of his life, and laid it 
 down." 
 
 " Water, — water," muttered Holyoake : " will no 
 one bring me water ? " Then Herbert poured it out unto 
 the Lord. Dashing from his eyes the faintness and 
 blur, he raised the handsome head, turned the cool drops 
 about the temples, and into the thick, curling hair, then 
 put the canteen to the lips. The dark eyes slowly 
 opened. " O, Herbert Lee, may God forgive me ! Is 
 it you that gives me this ? " But Herbert's conscious- 
 ness was gone. 
 
 Throus^h the heat of afternoon, and now the sun sank 
 red, and the firing ceased. A frightened bird or two 
 dared to flutter, and pipe tremblingly in the little bushes 
 here and there ; and the little chameleons, in coats of 
 fairy velvet, with tapering heads turned on one side, 
 peered curiously down upon the rough veteran there, 
 60 scarred and stained and still, and upon the motion- 
 less forms of the young leader whose life was going, 
 and of him who lay at his side. Under the cool, 
 damp night, Herbert revived, but a heavy faintness 
 lay upon his mind ; gray and dark, within his conscious- 
 ness, like heavy mist coming fast on the horizon to 
 
312 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 blot out, a clear day, a faintness that seemed to come 
 nearer, and he thought it was death. But he lay full 
 of peace. 
 
 Now it is night. Stars above ; in the horizon, low- 
 ering clouds, muttering and luminous ; and now and 
 then the sullen, distant boom of artillery. Cautiously 
 creeping out comes a party with stretchers, headed by a 
 surgeon. "Do you say it was near here?" "Near 
 here," says the guide, "I saw him fall, and remember 
 the tree." — "Found," says the other, as they turn Hol- 
 yoake's face into the light of the dim lantern. "Here 
 with the spirit. Chafe his temples. There is — yes — 
 I am sure — there is a pulse." The general revives a 
 little, and they lift him on to a stretcher. " The ser- 
 geant there, — bring him," he says, feebly; so Herbert 
 is raised, and borne away too. " Odd," says the surgeon ; 
 " a colonel and two majors certainly on the field, and 
 yet we take off this sergeant." Slow go the bearers, 
 with broken step, that they may not jar their burden. 
 They come to the road, where there are torches and 
 ambulances, and a crowd of armed men. The hght 
 falls on great trees at the side, upon the brass of a can- 
 non, upon a pool in the road. "The general, — the 
 general," goes low from mouth to mouth. The stretch- 
 ers are fitted to slide into grooves within the ambulances. 
 "Here, driver, lift up the head gently now, and slide it 
 forward. Turn up the tarpaulin, to give him all the air 
 he needs. The brandy here ! I'll ride in front, and 
 keep the bandages wet till we get to the hospital." So 
 speaks the surgeon. Holyoake revives again ; and, turn- 
 
EESTOEED. 313 
 
 ing his dim eyes from side to side, under the glare of the 
 torches, sees Herbert. "Put him here, by the side of 
 me." So four stout soldiers lift Herbert, and they are 
 side by side once more. "He gave him water on the 
 field, and kept him alive," says one. That is all they 
 know. 
 
 By and by, from where the ambulance had stood, 
 goes out a burial party to the field. Low, in the east, 
 — it is late at night, — floats the old moon. From the 
 woods hoots the dismal owl. Out of the mist, lying heavy 
 and gray above the rebel rifle-pits, now and then darts 
 a tongue of flame, with a sharp report. A long, shallow 
 trench ; a long row of blue-clad corpses at the bottom. 
 " Pete, this is the man that tried to carry out the water. 
 I'll lift him here by the shoulders, where the old wound 
 is, and you take him at the knees. How sharp they 
 shoot to-night ! " So they bear him away to the soldier's 
 burial, — his rugged hand dragging along the ground, 
 hitting a canteen in the grass where Holyoake and Her- 
 bert had lain. 
 
 The road before the ambulance is rough. Holyoake 
 at first breathes heavily, then grows more quiet. The 
 surojeon touches the bandao^es about the wound. " Ah ! 
 very wet." He is bleeding stiU. "He would never 
 have lived until now, sergeant, but for you; and you 
 must have brandy. You would not have held out much 
 longer." So onward they go slowly. Now they meet 
 a sentry or two, then squads of men; then regiments, 
 going silent under the dark to re-enforce the advance. 
 Yonder is a great tent, whose sides are open to the air. 
 
 14 
 
314 THE THINKIXG BAYONET. 
 
 Within it are moving lights, and on the grouna are 
 rows regular and close, — the wounded, just from the 
 field, and above go men, stooping to wet hurts with cold 
 water, and bringing lint, and holding cool drink to 
 stiffening lips. Torches flare at the door. At one side 
 is the horseman, who has ridden forward with word to 
 make ready for the general ; and who is it that stands 
 in the front of the tent, — so calm and grave, with arms 
 bared? It is Leonora, stately in the torchlight, by the 
 surgeon in charge. Slide out the general, ready hands 
 of men. Softly to the ground. How pale and still ! 
 "Does the heart beat, surgeon?" "Gone, I fear." 
 The beauty lay upon the face as Leonora knelt beside 
 him ; upon the lip and the arching brow and the aquiline 
 curve below. So, often, on many a field he had ridden, 
 like Agamemnon amono: his crested Greeks on the old 
 Trojan plain; with Olympian might and beauty upon 
 head and chest and stately limbs ! " Farewell, — fare- 
 well ! " she said, " heart that once loved me ! " 
 
 " Well, let us have the sergeant ; " and the surgeon 
 tells the story, how the general, though dying, persisted 
 in keeping the sergeant at his side. " The man would 
 have died, except for that. He was all but gone when 
 we brought him off; but I tliink we can save him." 
 The stretcher slides out. "A good figure of a man, at 
 any rate. Take him at the feet there ; another catch 
 him at the hips, carefully : the hurt is in the groin. I 
 will hold the head. By Jove, a manly face ! Will the 
 lady bring the spirit ? He is faint again." So the sur- 
 geon. 
 
RESTORED. 315 
 
 Leonora brings the cup, and stoops down, kneeling 
 with her plain gray garb upon the earth ; with the dark 
 abundant hair trained away from the brow ; with deep 
 and tender eyes. A low cry, and the cup falls from her 
 grasp. She sinks, pale as the face upon which she has 
 looked. " She has worked herself to death here, and no 
 wonder she faints," says the surgeon of the hospital. 
 So they bear her away. 
 
316 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 CHAPTER XX, 
 
 UNITED. 
 
 From Putnam May to Miss Louisa May, 
 
 "Dear Lou, — I have arrived here in this southern 
 city, and really found him at last. Thankful, — thank- 
 ful to God I am, with my whole heart, that he has per- 
 mitted me to look again into his face, and bring him 
 hope. Hero that he is-, he is badly hurt, but now re- 
 covering ; and has a future before him^ I trust, as bright 
 and happy, as his past for these last years has been full 
 of anguish. 
 
 " I went straight to the Seminary Hospital on my 
 arrival, and found, as I had supposed would be the case, 
 that Leonora, immediately upon the receipt of my let- 
 ter, had started for the front. Nothing had been heard 
 from her since. She was greatly needed at the hospi- 
 tal ; for that terrible battle had just taken place, in 
 one movement of which Holyoake fell, — you know the 
 particulars from the papers ; and large numbers of 
 wounded were daily expected. I left my address with 
 the matron'; asking that word might be sent to me, if 
 any news came from Leonora. The next day, I re- 
 ceived a note in Leonora's hand. It was very brief, 
 
UNITED. 317 
 
 simply saying that she had just returned, and wished to 
 see me. How I am bound down, that I have this phy- 
 sical weakness ! My anxiety, as I read the note, was 
 so great, that it brought on a palpitation, from the 
 effects of which it was some time before I recovered. 
 Had she found Herbert, or had the clew failed us again? 
 I feared the last, for we have been so often disap- 
 pointed ; and would she not have given some hint, or 
 shown a little joy, if she had been successful? 
 
 "When I felt strong enough, I went at once to the 
 hospital, though in a state of suspense which hardly 
 left me any strength. I found, that, during the night, 
 there had been large arrivals of wounded, who lay quiet 
 and w4iite in the cool, shaded wards. The matron con- 
 ducted me to Leonora at once. I dared not ask if she 
 had come back cast down, or otherwise. I thought, in- 
 deed, that it would do no good ; for Leonora is so thor- 
 oughly disciplined, I know it is not often that the 
 secrets of that deep spirit appear in the countenance. 
 Pale faces lay everywhere upon the pillows. I caught 
 sight of her figure, in her plain nurse's costume. Her 
 back was toward me ; so that I could only see the dark, 
 simply-dressed masses of her hair, and not the face, 
 which was bent upon the cot in front. 
 
 "Oh Lou, indeed, — indeed, Herbert was there! 
 There, on the white pillow, lay the face I know so well, 
 — very white, for the bronze of his exposures had, for 
 the most part, worn from the skin, — with the old genial 
 look, and the deep contemplativeness within the eyes ; 
 and with it all, an added dignity, that lay noble upon 
 
318 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 the lips and about the brow. I bent down, and kissed 
 him. * God bless you^ Putnam,' he said, * I was hoping 
 for this, but it comes sooner than I thought,' the old 
 deep tones, though weak now through his prostration ! 
 Leonora stood by his pillow, like one whose place it was 
 by right. ' O friend,' she said, * we owe it all to you ! ' 
 Then we all fell to weeping. There was so much soft- 
 ness, now, upon her imperial face, and so much joy, 
 even while the tears were falling ! ' I will tell him all, 
 Herbert ; ' then she spoke low, and told me how she 
 had hastened to the front ; how Herbert's regiment was 
 in action when she arrived, with great difficulty, close 
 upon the field ; how she waited, — the solitary woman, 
 — while the roar of the battle sounded about her ; how 
 she helped, through the long day, and far into the night ; 
 how word came that Holyoake had fallen ; how they 
 brought him in by the light of torches ; how she bent 
 over his dead face until they laid by his side on the 
 ground, suddenly, Herbert Wmself, scarcely living, — 
 restored to her by him who had riven them apart. 
 
 "Her voice was very low and calm and sweet. 
 Then we sat in silence, until Herbert spoke. 'Is it 
 folly that I have done as I have done, or will you call 
 it something less harsh? By God's will, it has been 
 my lot to struggle. In life, I have sought to be pure, 
 though, for weary years, there was in me little enough 
 of the faith from w^hich pure actions flow. It broke 
 upon my soul at last ; I have sought to cherish it, to 
 live from it. I have sought to put into my deeds some 
 strength, tenderness, resolution, loving-kindness, — la- 
 
UNITED. 319 
 
 • 
 
 boring for the welfare of men. The actual is far, far 
 short of the aspiration ; but I have tried. I have known 
 the deeps of misery. Such solemn and salutary chas- 
 tening ! Were I of more tractable spirit, I might know 
 what it is to be perfect through suffering.' 
 
 " Leonora glanced down the apartment ; ^ It is time 
 for him,' she said : then went on to tell me the rest, 
 of the strange story ; how it was that Herbert had re- 
 ceived his wound, in the charge led by Claiborne. A 
 few days after, Claiborne was taken, fighting bravely. 
 After being taken, he inquired for Holyoake, then for 
 the sergeant who fell near him ; and now, from his 
 prisoner's quarters, he had written to Herbert a note, 
 that he should be allowed, on his parole, to come to see 
 him on his pallet, — that he was sad at heart to think 
 his friend was hurt. ' You see your duty, so strangely, 
 Herbert,' he said, ' and yet, I believe you are sincere. 
 We have rushed once, breast against breast. It may be 
 so again, when I am exchanged, and if you are not 
 hopelessly maimed. Still, old friend, I hold you in 
 honor.' 
 
 " It was the hour which he had appointed, but he 
 came not. When I left Herbert and Leonora, an hour 
 after, I stood for a moment on the broad balcony be- 
 fore the hospital, with the orange-trees in front, to think 
 over, in the quiet, what had taken place. The two sen- 
 tries at the gate were talking together, and I heard 
 their conversation. ' They clinched, so I was told ; then 
 the North Carolinian threw the colonel back, with all 
 his force. He hit the rail, and fell over backward. It 
 
320 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 • 
 
 was the third story ; and when he was taken up, his neck 
 was broken. They say he was a smart officer. He 
 headed that flank movement, the other day, when Gen. 
 Holyoake was killed.' I went down to the man, and 
 got from him the story. It seems, that Claiborne had 
 been quartered with other rebel officers, among whom 
 was a North Carolinian. They fell into a violent politi- 
 cal discussion, when Claiborne at last flew into an un- 
 governable rage, and made a sudden attack upon the 
 other. Claiborne's opponent was a powerful man, and 
 the brawl resulted as the soldier had related. 
 
 " Then I went to see this other old friend. He lay 
 in his gray uniform, -—the dead face more mature and 
 full of power than of old, — the marks of terrible pas- 
 sion, I thought, still visible in the features; a noble 
 nature, upon which had fallen the curse." 
 
 The mountain at Meadowboro' is a steep and narrow 
 elevation, wooded near the base, bare and precipitous 
 toward the summit, where the red, naked ledges refuse 
 forever to be clad. Just at the top, coming forward 
 to the brow of the crag, are white, thick-standing 
 trunks of birches, like white hairs there above a rugged 
 sun-burnt brow ; and so the mountain stands, looking 
 southward down the rejoicing valley, as the old desert- 
 wearied Moses looked upon the promised land. 
 
 On a terrace above the village, part way up the moun- 
 tain slope, stands Putnam May's cottage. Two miles 
 
UNITED. 321 
 
 away, you can see where the river comes into the valley, 
 — a great silver curve of calm water touching the hills 
 on one side ; then lying smooth and glistening upon the 
 green of the western meadows. A city visitor said 
 once, that the farms that way were sleepy places. Let 
 it be so : and so did Endymion sleep at the base of the 
 Latmian peak, when Selene, the crescent moon, flung 
 herself into his lap. 
 
 If you would see the view from Putnam's cottage, 
 look late in the afternoon ; for, sweet though the valley 
 is, it is like a beauty a little past her first freshness, 
 who needs the shade of a hat-brim, or the draping of a 
 veil, to hide here and there a defect. In one place, 
 there is an unsightly, barren hole, where they dig out 
 gravel ; in another, runs the railroad embankment ; in 
 another still, wood was cut off in the winter, and the 
 acres hold up their poor stiuups, melancholy as veterans 
 with amputated limbs. At noon, it is all too plain ; 
 but toward sunset, the western hills and the towering 
 forests fling back their deep, rich shadows. The rays of 
 afternoon spin along slope and nook and bending ridge 
 a gossamer of haze, and all is sweetly dim and rounded. 
 The meadows are bossy with little pine-covered hills, 
 about which grow billowing wheat and broom-corn. 
 There is no break and leap of white surf; but in the 
 meadows, the air will be sweetened by a sound as gentle 
 and melancholy as the plash, of little waves. From 
 Putnam's terrace, looking one way, the meadows are 
 smooth, and variously striped and checkered ; a blue 
 patch of flax blossoms ; a green strip of wheat ; the 
 
 14* 
 
322 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 russet, or umber of a square left fallow. Sumptuous 
 are these farmers of Meadowboro', paving over their 
 meadows with such gay mosaic and fine tesselation, for 
 their o>vii feet, and the hoofs of their cattle. In the dis- 
 tance are blue hills, range behind range, more and more 
 faint. Just underneath, the village roofs show up 
 among the trees, with the pretty spire springing from 
 the midst, — a spire altogether graceful, and in keeping 
 with the riural scene about it, — tapering smooth to 
 
 where it becomes the surmountino: cross. It mlsrht al- 
 es o 
 
 most be taken for some natural growth, which sucked 
 sweet juices from those quiet homes at its root, then 
 grew upward to blossom at last into the holy symbol. 
 
 The reader will be rejoiced to learn, that Putnam's 
 investments have, after all, turned out well. A capi- 
 talist was at last caught by the agents of the South 
 Goose-Creek Company, whose means, cast into those 
 inert recesses, were regurgitated at last in the form of an 
 abundance of the desirable black product. To such a 
 degree was this the case, that not he alone, but that 
 whole sad company of share-owners, began to find the 
 stock remunerative. Putnam and Alice throve, there- 
 fore ; and one day they threw open the chambers, so 
 that the perfume of the garden-beds, the hum of honey- 
 bees, and the notes of all sweet-throated birds went 
 through. It was in honor of the coming of Herbert 
 and Leonora, and there he breathed in strength. Then, 
 one day, the two stood before the old minister, — she 
 so high and wide-browed, and yet so pale, and chas- 
 tened, and meek ; he, wasted, and halting yet, but 
 
ms^iTED. 323 
 
 serene, and true, and brave, — and gave themselves to 
 one another. 
 
 These were there, and besides these, Louisa May, 
 sunny and intelligent, with hair a little thin, and cheek 
 a little faded, as is natural in a woman of thirty, — but 
 full of joy, as all were full of joy, — for had she not 
 gone over it all with Putnam, although now, for the first 
 time, she met them face to face ! 
 
 Meantime, Herbert's old colonel had not forgotten his 
 resolve ; and, as Herbert grew stronger, one day there 
 came a document from a person high in authority, giv- 
 ing him a field position in his old regiment, — "a tardy 
 recognition of his merits and services," said the accom- 
 panying note, " but at last the country should have the 
 benefit of his courage and skill in a suitable position ; 
 and yet, this would only be a step to something higher." 
 Herbert was to go once more, and Leonora was to be 
 again in her old place ; and, while his full strength was 
 returning, for a few weeks they all went to familiar 
 Honomok, and, while they were there, the old minister 
 wrote to Putnam as follows : — 
 
 Mr. Wells to Putnam May. 
 
 " My Dear youxg Friexd, — During the late visit 
 of your and my friends at Meadowboro', it was far less 
 often than suited my desires, that I, oppressed by my 
 infirmities, could come under your roof. Now, that 
 you are some distance removed, these long' summer 
 days, I am sensibly oppressed at the privation of your 
 society, and must needs resort to pen and paper, 
 
324 THE THmKING BAYONET. 
 
 « 
 
 whereas, my preference would be to meet you face to 
 face. 
 
 "With a certain obstinacy, our instinct bespeaks 
 temporal reward for them that live uprightly. Not 
 that always, under the appointments of Providence, 
 such reward is bestowed ; but, in instances of that sort, 
 however submissive we may desire to be, we incline to 
 repugn against the allotment, and think, that, in some 
 way, justice has been overslid. That phrase of Euri- 
 pides, as I think, fits most aptly the general human dis- 
 position in this regard, — ^ To whomsoever it happens, 
 that his house is beset with calamities, him it behooves, 
 worshipping the Divine powers, to take courage : for in 
 the end the deserving obtain their due.' 
 
 'oT(f) (T kTuavvercu 
 cvfKpopcuc oIkoc, aE(3ovTa daifiovac dapaelv XP^(^' 
 dg Ti}joq yap ol fuv tad^jol Tvyxavovoiv uftuv,' 
 
 luv. 
 
 "In the case of my former pupil, Herbert Lee, (of 
 a truth to him k?MvveTac Gvu<popai^ olKoq,) my confident heart 
 from the first has presaged for him (forsooth, in a tem- 
 per hardly meek I fear) , a fortunate conclusion to his 
 woes ; and now that he is safely come through to as fair 
 a measure of earthly bliss as man may perhaps attain, 
 — indeed, indeed, it seems most fit. 
 
 "Now, presently he goes forth again, happy, I doubt 
 not, in following out his duty ; and yet, I doubt not, it 
 is with effort that he turns away again from the books 
 and contemplations, toward which his tastes incline him. 
 To these at last may he revert is my prayer for him. 
 
UNITED. 
 
 325 
 
 Yet for now, I would not have him tarry ; and, I doubt 
 not, that now there burns within him such fine fire as 
 glowed in the ancient patriot. ' Who is so eager in ex- 
 amining into the nature of things, that if, while he is 
 handling the worthiest objects of knowledge, the danger 
 and crisis of his country is made known to him, he will 
 not cast from him all those things, even if he thinks he 
 can number the stars, or measure the greatness of the 
 world ! CQuis est tam cupidus in perspicienda rerum 
 natura, ut, si ei, tractanti res cognitione dignissimas sit 
 allatum periculum discrimenque patriae, non ilia omnia 
 abjiciat, etiam si dinumerare se Stellas, aut metiri mundi 
 magnitudinem posse arbitretur ! ' — De Offic. I. xhii.) 
 " Is it vanity that I now incline to call up to your 
 thought my conviction, made known, I remember, to 
 you some time since, though after Herbert Lee had so 
 rashly betaken himself from the society of his friends ; 
 or is it pardonable, that I hold a degree of complacency 
 that my thought in the matter has proved just? As in 
 our vale, we esteem the thick fog of a summer's mom 
 to forerun, most surely, a transparent sky and unclouded 
 sunshine ; so I hold that doubt, be it only reverently and 
 sincerely met, though it may encumber the mind long, 
 will at last yield, and faith of glorious clearness shine in 
 its place. This truth I hold to be made plain in the case 
 of this our hero friend, whom, when during those fair 
 moon-lit nights, within the sweetness of your garden, I 
 heard discourse with such high hope, and thought, too, 
 of the woes and buffetings, in the midst of which that 
 hope had been preserved, — I became fired, old though 
 
326 THE THINKING BAYONET. 
 
 I am, with the nobleness of his speech. At sight of his 
 stately figure, which went forward so halt through his 
 honorable wounds, and his face so high and joyous 
 (though pallid), through well earned peace and faith, 
 in my glow, methought such eulogy consorted, as in 
 chivalric ages was rung out by the loud singing harjDcrs, 
 in arching halls, to prince and chief, about the most hon- 
 ored knights ; and through my spirit, though my lips 
 were mute, poured an old rhapsody of ancient min- 
 strels, who sang in praise of Lancelot, ' Thou art the 
 courteousest knight that ever bare shield ; and thou art 
 the truest friend to thy lover ; and thou art the truest 
 lover of a sinful man that ever loved woman ; and thou 
 art the kindest man that ever struck with a sword, — 
 and thou art the goodliest person whoever came among 
 press of knights.' Even these tributes, methought, be- 
 seemed him, — so smitten and peril-beset in body and 
 soul ! " 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Boston : Printed by John Wilson and Son. 
 
RARE BOOK 
 COLLECTION 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 AT 
 
 CHAPEL HILL 
 
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