C6e JLitirarp 
 
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 William Inland l^tnan 
 
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 DEVOTED TO THE HISTORY OF THE SOUTH 
 Q j O IN THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 V^ t ^_, 
 

 
 
 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 
 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 
 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 THE WILMER COLLECTION 
 
 
 
 
 OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS 
 
 
 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 
 
 
 RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. 
 
 
 
Digitized by the Internet Arcliive 
 
 in 2010 witli funding from 
 
 University of Nortli Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/belhaventalescroOOharr 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 CROW'S NEST 
 
 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
"I HAVE COME TO CLAIM MY DEAD." 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 CROW'S NEST 
 
 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. BURTON HARRISON 
 
 Author of" THE ANCLOMANIACS." " FLOIFER DE HUN- 
 DRED." "SIVEET BELLS OUT OF TUNE," ETC., ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THE CENTURY CO. 
 
 1892 
 
Col'VUlGHT, 1885, 1S87, 1889, 1S91, 1892, 
 i!Y THE Century Co. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The DeVinne Press 
 
To B. H. 
 
 Sl5 
 
 580499 yi^i'ok^u 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Belhaven Tales 
 
 L'Envoi 1 
 
 I When the Century Came In 14 
 
 II Penelope's Swains 41 
 
 III Monsieur Alcibiade 65 
 
 IV Gay's Romance 89 
 
 Crow's Nest 118 
 
 Una and King David 157 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTEATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "I HAVE Come to Claim my Dead" frontispiece 
 
 The Caelyle Mansion, Alexandria 8 
 
 In the Hall Window-seat 44 
 
 In the Old Market 54 
 
 "You will Please hand Miss Hunter in to 
 
 Supper" 127 
 
BELHAYEN TALES 
 
 L'ENVOI 
 
 TNthe quiet grass-grown town 
 
 of Alexandria, first named 
 Belhaven, situated upon the 
 lower bank of the Potomac in 
 ^- Virginia, might have been per- 
 ceived, just before the outbreak 
 of the war between the States, 
 a faint flavor of early colonial 
 days lingering like the scent of 
 rose-leaves in an old-time China jar. 
 
 To begin with the streets — what a Tory smack in 
 their names! — King, Prince, Duke, Royal, Queen, Prin- 
 
 1 
 
2 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 cess, Duchess. Odd enough in the neighborhood of 
 Mount Vernon — nay, under the very shadow, as it 
 were, of the great dome of the National Capitol ! At 
 the time referred to, enjojrment for the greater part 
 of a century of the blessings of political enfranchise- 
 ment had not deprived some Alexandrians of a cer- 
 tain relish for the affairs of the English Court. They 
 liked to read the " Illustrated London News," and to 
 obtain correct information about the Queen's walks 
 with the youthful Royalties, and the Queen's drives 
 attended by Ladies X, Y, and Z. Had they not been 
 fed upon the traditions of an English ancestry, as upon 
 the toothsome hams, the appetizing roe-herrings, of 
 their famous market-place? The Georgian era of 
 tea-drinking and tambour, of spangles and snuff- 
 boxes, of high play and hair-powder, represented to 
 them the Golden Age in the fortunes of their families, 
 of which every vestige must be guarded jealously. 
 As children they had stood on tiptoe to study the 
 lineaments of great-grandaunt Betty, hanging in 
 her fly-specked frame somewhere near the ceiling, 
 and had been eager to hear how she had been toasted 
 at Mayfair supper-tables or had danced the gavotte 
 at a Ranelagh ball. Yonder beetle-browed warrior in 
 a voluminous wig was a general in Queen Anne's time, 
 before he condescended to his present station above 
 the sideboard. The beautiful youth in armor, slender 
 and graceful, with the fiery eyes, fought for King 
 Charles against the Roundheads, never dreaming that 
 he would come across the seas to find his niche in 
 a staid Virginian sitting-room ! In this wainscoted 
 parlor, where the light comes through small greenish 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 3 
 
 panes of glass half veiled with ivy branching from 
 stems knit in a fibrous mass upon the outer wall, had 
 great-grandmamma, dressed in her satin paduasoy 
 {"■ You may see a piece of it upon your Aunt Prunel- 
 la's pincushion, my dear!"), her hose with silver 
 clocks, stood to receive General Brad dock, on the 
 occasion of his first visit to the town. On the land- 
 ing of yonder stairway little greataunt Nancy, the 
 shy member of the family, while taking flight to 
 avoid a sudden arrival of guests, had come into 
 violent collision with Colonel Aaron Burr, who met 
 her apologies with a smile and a bow treasured in 
 the stronghold of her maiden heart through many 
 a year to come. 
 
 In these echoing rooms had, from time to time, 
 gathered all the celebrities of the day, coming to visit 
 the haunts of "Washington and to taste Virginian 
 courtesy. And here, at a much later date, upon the 
 occasion of his fourth visit to America, in 1824, was 
 domiciled the gallant Lafayette. The tale of a famous 
 reception tendered to that fortunate Frenchman is 
 still told in the town. Escorted by citizens and mili- 
 tiamen, freemasons and Revolutionary survivors, the 
 ''Nation's Guest" passed along streets strewn with 
 roses by the children of the place, beneath a trium- 
 phal arch the like of which in grandeur had never 
 been seen. At the moment when the hero paused 
 beneath the arch, a "real" eagle (politely furnished 
 for the occasion by the proprietor of a museum) was 
 seen to flap its wings, and heard to utter a scream of 
 victory. This climax, it was afterward ascertained, 
 was secured by a boy who, at the critical moment, 
 
4 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 stuck a pin in the bird of liberty. Bands played, 
 flags and handkerchiefs were waved, salutes were 
 fired. In the evening a banquet was spread at Clag- 
 ett's tavern, followed by a levee. The market-place 
 and many private houses were illuminated. Nothing 
 was heard but honor to Lafayette. The wave of 
 popular enthusiasm, overflowing to the rural districts 
 of the interior, left inscribed upon more than one 
 baptismal register the name and title of "Marquis 
 de Lafayette," bestowed in a blaze of patriotic fer- 
 vor, and in all innocence, upon the latest arrival 
 in the family ! At this day "Marcus D. Lafayette " 
 remains guilelessly prefixed to not a few Virginian 
 patronymics. 
 
 Then it was that Lafayette, before passing south- 
 ward upon his pious pilgrimage to the tomb of his 
 illustrious brother in arms at Mount Vernon, offered 
 the toast : " The city of Alexandria ! May her pros- 
 perity and happiness more and more realize the fond- 
 est wishes of our venerated Washington." 
 
 Even so early in the century the good old town 
 seems to have been overtaken by the spirit of drow- 
 siness from which the march of national progress has 
 not yet aroused her. Long years ago, before the 
 coquetry of fortune began to push poor Alexandria 
 to her place among the wall-flowers, she had known 
 better days. Founded upon the site of a trading- 
 post by the Washingtons, the Fah-faxes, the Alexan- 
 ders and other men of note, many prophecies were 
 made as to her future greatness. Because of her 
 natural position, her remarkable river-front, her 
 dignity as one of the leading municipalities in Vir- 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 5 
 
 ginia, her connection with prominent families, all 
 eyes were turned upon the favored spot. From 
 countries oversea many settlers were tempted to 
 cast in their lot with the future metropolis. Mer- 
 chants of divers nationalities took up their abode and 
 displayed their wares in her aristocratic thorough- 
 fares. Every sign foretold that Alexandria would 
 be quickly built up. Among the settlers was a com- 
 pany of Scotch traders ; a band of Jacobite soldiers, 
 scattered after the battle of Culloden, also became 
 her active citizens. Soon the wharves were crowded 
 with shipping. Many a white-winged messenger 
 sailed down the broad bosom of the Potomac to 
 carry the products of bountiful Virginia to the 
 mother-land, fetching, on the return voyage, bricks 
 with which to construct the substantial mansions of 
 Alexandrian burghers, as well as carpets, porcelain, 
 furniture, carriages and wines. Inspired by the con- 
 tinual zeal and wisdom of George "Washington, the 
 prosperity of Alexandria did not flag until the war 
 of the Revolution. Until Washington, unwilling to 
 be thought influenced in such a matter by his own 
 individual interest, selected the opposite bank of the 
 Potomac as the site of the National Capital, the little 
 Virginian town had every right to expect the distinc- 
 tion for herself. With this act of characteristic un- 
 selfishness on the part of the great Republican, her 
 dream of greatness came abruptly to an end, and at 
 Washington's death her mainspring seemed to snap. 
 What growth there has been since has been like 
 growth in sleep. To visit Alexandria, to-day, is to 
 see a wholesome brake set upon the rushing wheels 
 
6 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 of nineteenth-century progress. Around her ancient 
 homes and churches hangs a haze of dignified tra- 
 dition. The cobblestones of her streets prate of 
 figures famed in history. 
 
 In the treasure-house of the Washington Lodge of 
 Freemasons may be seen many carefully preserved 
 relics of the greatest of Alexandrians — notably, the 
 clock taken from his chamber at Mount Vernon, its 
 hands still pointing to the hour when he breathed his 
 last. Here, also, are displayed portraits of Washing- 
 ton, of Jefferson, of Lafayette, and of Thomas, Lord 
 Fairfax, the recluse of Green way Court — this latter 
 being the only known picture of a most picturesque 
 figure upon the canvas of early Virginian days. Of 
 this venerable lodge, a chapter of exceptional interest 
 to antiquarians might be separately written. Un- 
 fortunately, the museum attached to the lodge and 
 founded in 1811 was, after sixty years of existence, 
 recently consumed by fire. Among the treasures it 
 contained, then reduced to ashes or scattered to the 
 four corners of our country, were flags carried by 
 local companies in the war of the Revolution; the 
 flag of Washington's life-guard; a collection of In- 
 dian relics of authenticated history; a number of 
 portraits, including one of Martha, wife of Washing- 
 ton, in her girlhood; sundry Washington letters; 
 card-tables and a settee from Mount Vernon; and 
 various objects of minor value. The bier upon which 
 Washington was carried to his tomb, the crape that 
 hung upon the door at Mount Vernon to announce 
 his death, and the military saddle habitually used by 
 the great commander, h)ng carefully enshrined in the 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 7 
 
 museum, also disappeared on the occasion of tlie fire, 
 but are believed by the authorities to have been 
 stolen. Of the relics of Washington still remaining 
 in possession of the lodge, now sealed behind glass 
 in a niche of the main hall, are seen an apron and 
 sash "worked by the hands of Fairly Fair'' — the 
 Marquise de Lafayette — and worn by Washington 
 at the laying of the southeast corner-stone of the 
 United States Capitol in 1793 ; fragments of the tent 
 he occupied at the time of the surrender at York- 
 town, and of the one he used on Dorchester Heights ; 
 his field-compass, farm-spurs and bits of clothing, etc. 
 Another landmark of old Alexandria is the house 
 on Fairfax street, occupied for a time, through the 
 courtesy of its owner, Major John Carlyle, by the 
 British general Braddock, and since popularly known 
 as Braddock's Headquarters. This square and sub- 
 stantial stone abode, where the chief scene of the 
 " Belhaven Tales " is placed, once surrounded by a 
 lawn stretching to the river-bank, is full of associ- 
 ations with colonial days. In its panelc\l drawing- 
 room, early in April of the year 1755, General Brad- 
 dock and Admiral Keppel held conference with the 
 executive representatives of various colonies con- 
 cerning plans for the proposed hostilities of the Eng- 
 lish against the French and Indian allies along the 
 Ohio and St. Lawrence rivers. There were present 
 five governors : * Dinwiddle of Virginia, De Lancey 
 
 * "Alexandria has been honored with five governors in con- 
 sultation; a favorable presage, I hope, not only of the success 
 of this expedition, but of the future greatness of the town ; for 
 surely such a meeting must have been occasioned by the com- 
 
8 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 of New York, Morris of Pennsylvania, Sharpe of 
 Maryland, Shirley of Massachusetts. To meet this 
 honorable council, and to give them the benefit of 
 his knowledge of Indian warfare, Major Washington 
 was summoned from Mount Vernon. In spite of the 
 marked impression made upon the council as a body 
 by the young soldier's wise and moderate opinions, 
 Braddock declined to act upon Washington's advice 
 as to the best method of dealing with the Indians, 
 and the expedition against Fort Duquesne (from 
 which Washington did not withhold his own services 
 as an aid on the staff of the commander), setting forth 
 within the ensuing week, ended shortly in the fierce 
 battle of Monongahela, when Braddock fell, to be 
 buried near the field. It was in this bloody conflict, 
 it may be recalled, that an Indian chief, pointing 
 to Washington, cried to his braves, "Fire at him no 
 more. See ye not that the Great Spirit protects that 
 chief. He cannot die in battle ! " 
 
 The Carlyle Mansion, miscalled by various writers 
 the "Jonathan Carey House," where the disastrous 
 campaign was planned, stands to this day, although 
 hemmed in and half shut from sight by the encom- 
 passing walls of an hotel. A pleasant picture has 
 been drawn of sundry occasions when Major and 
 Mrs. Carlyle received here their good friends General 
 and Mrs. Washington, who drove up from Mount 
 Vernon to "dine and lie" at Alexandria. The writer 
 retains, together with a bit of puce brocade flowered 
 
 modious and pleasant situation of the place, which prognosti- 
 cates population, and increase of a flourishing trade." — \_JVash- 
 ington's letter to JV. Fairfax, 23d April, 1755.] 
 

 .^ \ k^*.jdi^ ' <vC 
 
 
 
 
 THE CARLYLE HOUSE, ALEXANDRIA. 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 9 
 
 in crimson, green, and tarnished silver, representing 
 the glories of Mrs. Carlyle's gown assumed for a 
 Bii'thnight ball, a vivid impression of a scene pre- 
 served in family chronicle. The group of ladies in 
 the paneled parlor gather, splendid in trains carried 
 over the arm, lappets and pinners of antique mechlin, 
 powdered locks and superincumbent feathers. They 
 laugh and chatter, rally the general as to who shall 
 first claim him as her partner in the dance, and sip 
 their coffee from cups of jasper spode. The general 
 declares that his dancing days are over, but that he 
 must have one minuet with little Sally Fairfax of 
 Towlston, who is to go to her first ball under her 
 Aunt Carlyle's wiug that night. Sally pirouettes, 
 laughs, warns her beloved general that her comrade 
 must be light of foot and tireless, then ends by chal- 
 lenging him to a trial of skill. Somebody sits down 
 to the spinet, and straightway the quaint measure of 
 the old-time dance is heard. The general lays his 
 hand upon his heart and bows. Sally curtsies de- 
 murely, her eyes full of merriment. They dance; the 
 others applaud. Suddenly, Major Carlyle looks in to 
 tell them that the hour has passed when everybody 
 was expecting the guest of the occasion to make his 
 entry into the baR-room ; and the party scatters 
 hurriedly ! 
 
 All good Americans should have, as all good Alex- 
 andrians have, a warm sentiment of reverence for 
 Old Christ Church. Ivy-clad and substantial, it 
 stands, save for the addition of a bell-tower, pretty 
 much as it was finished in 1773, at a cost of many 
 thousands of pounds of tobacco to the pious burgh- 
 
10 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 ers, under a special contract guaranteeing to them 
 the best of English brick ; mortar reversing the pro- 
 portion of meaner modern days, two thirds of lime, 
 one third of sandj and a roof of juniper shingles 
 three quarters of an inch in thickness. For so our 
 fathers builded better than we know ! 
 
 Among the first pews of Christ Church sold in per- 
 petuity, was that for which George Washington paid 
 the highest price given. Thereafter, this pew was 
 a constant object of interest to the congregations 
 of the place, as indeed it is yet, being still care- 
 fully preserved and inscribed with the name of its 
 original owner. A treat to early Christ Church goers 
 was the arrival of the family from Mount Vernon, 
 sometimes a little delayed beyond the opening of 
 the service by the tenacity of Fairfax County mud. 
 Seated near her husband in the square, high-backed 
 pew was a gentle lady, still styled by the gossips of 
 the congregation "the widow Custis that was." That 
 same period, too, was made memorably sad by the 
 death, at sixteen, of the pretty, frail creature the 
 townspeople had been accustomed to see sitting on 
 the front seat of the chariot from Mount Vernon, 
 blushing like a rose in her coal-scuttle bonnet, and 
 like a rose, too, destined to endure but the " space of 
 a morning." Miss Custis, Mrs.Washington's daughter 
 of her first marriage, died in June, 1773, a short time 
 before the marriage of her brother John Parke Custis 
 to Miss Nellie Calvert. When Washington attended 
 service at Christ Church, in the pews around him 
 were gathered the Fairfaxes, Carlyles, Paynes, Alex- 
 anders, Herberts, Muirs, Flemings, Ramsays, and 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 11 
 
 others of the gentry of the region. It was the custom 
 of these good neighbors to assemble in the church- 
 yard, after service, to exchange greetings ; and from 
 group to group went Washington, shaking hands and 
 answering inquiries till the patience of his wife and 
 that of the well-bred horses champing at their bits in 
 the street adjoining were alike exhausted. In this 
 quiet spot not a few of the friends then wont to as- 
 semble have laid them down to everlasting rest, their 
 names and virtues written upon gray slabs carved 
 with cherub heads and weeping willows, now blurred 
 with lichen and dark with weather-stains; and thither 
 have their children's children come to sleep beside 
 them. In the days when Christ Church was still sub- 
 ject to the jurisdiction of the Bishop of London, the 
 vestry had civil power to levy taxes, to bind out 
 apprentices, to make surveys, to receive fines for 
 broken game-laws. The rector's salary was paid in 
 tobacco, although we find recorded an award of eight 
 pounds (of money, not the staple weed) to one Wil- 
 liam Shakespeare for his care of a parish foundling. 
 Stories are still told of the two female sextons of this 
 church — one Susanna Edwards, and her successor, 
 Mistress Cook, Imagine a congregation of to-day 
 under the rule of an awe-inspiring dame who marches 
 up and down the tiled aisles, locking the pew doors 
 upon late arrivals, supplying prayer-books to the non- 
 devotional, and darting looks of ire upon hapless 
 Eutychus ! 
 
 In walking through the streets of Alexandria, to- 
 day, one sees residences keeping up the traditions of 
 prosperous hospitality. Inclosed within high-walled 
 
12 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 gardens, where the Southern sun coaxes from mellow 
 soil jasmines yellow and white, roses in prodigal vari- 
 ety, honeysuckle and all other sweet-smelling things, 
 the owners of these homes dwell year after year, un- 
 ambitious of change, gazing contentedly from afar 
 upon that " microcosm on stilts, yclept the great 
 world." It is the business quarters of the town that 
 strike most forcibly the visitor from one of the pres- 
 ent centers of American commerce. From this old- 
 time seat of Virginian custom, the *' fret and fever of 
 speculation" have forever fled. In the line of ware- 
 houses along the wharves, the quick " pulse of gain " 
 has ceased to beat. The vessels l3dng at anchor must 
 be haunted by ghostly crews; they give no sign of 
 life. The steamboat that plies her way between 
 Washington and Alexandria seems to approach the 
 wharf cautiously, as if fearing to awake a slumberer. 
 Even the fishing industry — for the beautiful river 
 has not ceased to yield her tribute — appears to move 
 but languidly. All this has its delightful aspect; and 
 he who would view a lotus-eater in his paradise should 
 watch an Alexandrian darky dangling his legs over 
 the worn beams of the dock under pretense of fish- 
 ing, — listening to the lap of water against the green 
 and shiny piles, and droning away the livelong after- 
 noon until the level sun, which gleams fiery red upon 
 the broken windows of the warehouse at his back, 
 begins to stir in him vague thoughts of corn-pone 
 browning on the cabin hearth at home. 
 
 Upon this background have been sketched the 
 stories following. Some of the incidents recalled in 
 them will be remembered by old Alexandrians. But 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 13 
 
 I have preferred so to blend my history with fiction 
 that of the characters drawn none may be absolutely 
 fitted to actual personages. A bundle of old letters, 
 depicting the social life of Alexandria "when the 
 century came in/' was found, by a descendant of the 
 young matron to whom they had been addressed, in 
 a "huswife" of faded silk in a garret not long ago. 
 These I have used in the first of my tales here follow- 
 ing; and with the story they tell I have, while chang- 
 ing the names and suppressing many details, but 
 retaining the general features, interwoven the love- 
 episode suggested — a fact mentioned here to point 
 what historical value the sketches may possess as 
 a contribution to the sociology of earlier Vu'ginian 
 days. 
 New York, May, 1892. 
 
WHEN THE CENTURY CAME IN 
 
 From Mrs. Ferdinando Berkeley, of Princess Royal 
 street, Belhaven, near Washington, to her married 
 daughter, Mrs. F. Faulkland, of Mount Eagle, near 
 Charlestown, Virginia. 
 
 3rd February, 1803. 
 
 My dearest girl will, I know, acquit me of inten- 
 tional neglect in missing the last post. At length, I 
 have an opportunity to sit down and devote an even- 
 ing to telling you our news; and, by good luck, the 
 waggoner who is to take the bundle of linen and 
 fustian I chose for you, will leave Clagett's Tavern 
 to-morrow morning. Indeed, I could hardly rest last 
 night for thinking my dearest Peggy might worry a 
 little at not hearing from home, which would be bad 
 for her and for my sweet precious new grandson — 
 little rogue that keeps his mamma away from us, 
 when her brother Billy is about to present his family 
 with a Bride. To think, my dear, that your Brother's 
 day is set, the seventh, next Tuesday! Oh! may the 
 Almighty shower his blessings on the Pair. We — 
 our entire household, except the little ones — are (if 
 we are spared) to go over to Maryland to the wedding 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 15 
 
 — wliiciL is all very well; but, after a week's frolick- 
 ing, the bridal party comes here ; and then, Peggy, 
 pity me. Such nice managers the Stuarts are, and 
 
 old Mrs. S , who will of course accompany her 
 
 daughter, famed far and wide for her housekeeping! 
 I shall be in a terrible pucker with them, and no 
 Peggy to help me with the whipt creams and drest 
 dishes. Ah ! my dear, I owe your goodman a grudge 
 for taking you — the flower of my flock — away; but 
 there, I am not in earnest. I never think of your 
 match but with gratitude to God, and love to your 
 Partner. One thing only is wanting — were you but 
 near me — but the thought then strikes me that you 
 might have been as far removed and with an In- 
 different Husband; this reflection hushes all my 
 present regret. I am content, more than content, I 
 am happy — thankfull. Old Mrs. Stuart is vaunted 
 all over her State for her turtle-soup, and I need not 
 tell you, child — you have seen your good father pish 
 and pshaw over ours and push away his plate, often 
 enough — poor Penny is not at her best in turtle- 
 soup. However, if I have to sit up all the night be- 
 fore, and make some pretext to run out of the room 
 just before the dinner is announced, I will (if I live) 
 see ours rightly flavoured when old Mrs. Stuart 
 comes. Your sister Finetta, for a wonder, has come 
 down off her high horse and offered to make the 
 custards and jelly-cake. Little Jack says : " I wish 
 it were sister Peggy's jelly-cake," and I bid the child 
 run and play, for if Finetta heard that, away would 
 fly all our chances of a helping hand from her ! 
 I almost wish I could stay away from the wedding 
 
16 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 and have my mind at Ease for preparations. Billy 
 makes a point of my going, tho'; and, with Lucilla 
 and Finetta on the front seat of the chariot, and Tom 
 a-horseback, we are (if we are spared) to set out on 
 Monday next. But here am I, forgetting to tell you 
 why the affair is at the last so hurried up. You have 
 not forgotten that your future sister Juliana has en- 
 joyed a fine name as a flirt, and has been blowing hot 
 and cold on Billy's flame for many months, & even 
 after she wore his Ring, wou'd never name the Day. 
 Poor Billy was too proud to let me know his suff'ring ; 
 but who can deceive a mother's fond eyes? I saw 
 him mope at home, and then ride away to Maryland, 
 return more cheerful, & again fall into the Blues. 
 This was repeated, till I must needs take a tuck in 
 the back of his waistcoats, every one, and his coats 
 hung as if upon a rack. His beautiful hair went 
 rough, and his cheeks lost their roseate bloom. 
 Finetta gibed her brother, you may be sure, and 
 advised him to give up Prince George's County, and 
 look about him in Belhaven for a Fair. Next came 
 the rumour, just before Christmas, that Miss Juliana 
 Stuart was to wed with her neighbor, Colonel Cres- 
 pigny, whom you have heard of as a great fortune, 
 the match of the county. 
 
 'Twill be never known what a time I had with Billy 
 then. Shut up in his room staring at the wall, or on 
 horseback riding so hard that he lamed the gray filly 
 which is not yet cured (and a pretty scolding he got 
 from your papa, who, Finetta says, in his heart thinks 
 the filly worth two Miss Juliana Stuarts !). At last. 
 Master Billy got the invitation to spend Christmas 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 17 
 
 week with Cousin Jolin Thornton at Buck Ridge near 
 Annapolis, and fine doings they had. (I 'd warrant 
 Jack Thornton, for all his fifty years, to foot it with 
 the youngest beau in the party !) Pretty Miss Juliana 
 being one of the belles present, she and Billy made it 
 up; and Billy now vows Colonel Crespigny was never 
 more than a well wisher to his sweetheart, and that 
 it was ridiculous for any one to say otherwise. (He 
 forgets his own jealousy, my dear.) I must remark 
 to you, Peggy, that I did not think the Stuarts would 
 consent to the speedy marriage that Billy — methinks 
 wisely — insisted on. My son, although as everybody 
 knows the handsomest, sweetest, dearest young fellow, 
 the best rider and dancer in the town, has little be- 
 yond a genteel competency and his prospects from 
 your fathei^'s sister Ariana, now residing in the city of 
 Bath, England ; & Miss Ariana Berkeley, it is equally 
 well known, is of a captious temper and apt to take 
 fits of changing her mind when least expected. Col: 
 Crespigny, on the other hand, has a fine old place and 
 manor-house, and his crops and negroes are prodi- 
 giously valuable, they say. Little Juliana, who is so 
 soon to be gathered to my Maternal arms, has, how- 
 ever, led her parents quite a Dance; and perhaps they 
 are pleased to see her safely settled. Little puss ! She 
 has written to me a vastly pretty note, that makes 
 me forgive her coquetting with my Billy. And after 
 all, do we not every day see the greatest toasts and 
 flirts around us marry and make the best of wives 
 to those whom they have kept in suspense until the 
 very Nuptial Hour! You, Peggy, were not of that 
 sort. Never shall I forget your coming to me after 
 
18 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 Mr. Faulkland carried off the ring for you at the Cul- 
 pepper Tournament and courted you the same even- 
 ing, saying "He is the only man I ever could have 
 chosen to be my lord ! " Finetta is so sharp with her 
 would-be suitors, that I doubt me she will ever make 
 any selection ; and little Lucilla is too young to 
 talk about beaux and weddings, yet a while, thank 
 goodness! I must tell you, child, that Lucilla, at 
 fifteen turned, is beginning to improve mightily, in 
 shape and complexion. Billy and Tom declare she 
 will beat Sister Finetta hollow, but that none can 
 come up to Sister Peggy. If it were not for her un- 
 fortunate red hair, which alas ! nothing can remedy ! 
 I have kept Susan's Sally combing it for hours with 
 the lead comb; it has been wash't in medicated 
 waters; and yet it remains the same — brown in the 
 shade, but, when the sun strikes it, as red as the sor- 
 rel's mane. Cousin Priscilla Randolph, who has just 
 returned from Baltimore, brought us word that the 
 latest style there, is to wear the hair close and glossy 
 like a Sattin cap. Those Ladies whose locks will not 
 yield to smoothing with the brush, oil and pomade 
 them freely. Finetta, who always seeks the latest 
 mode, wore hers so to a party, last week, and I have 
 tried to persuade Lucilla that this is her chance to 
 hide the defects of yiature at the wedding. I coaxed 
 her into the Chamber, recently; and made her stand 
 still, while I put onguents on her hair, and forced it 
 to lie smooth. At last 'twas of a rich, dark colour 
 that nobody would dream of calling by that odious 
 word red; and, for once, I breathed free about my 
 poor dear's appearance, when in came Tom from 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 19 
 
 riding, and laugli't at her, and cried out, '' Little Lu's 
 head looks like the mahogany knob on your chest 
 of drawers, nwther." Out ran Lucilla in a passion, 
 wash't her hair in hartshorn, & when she came down 
 tossing her locks like a Shetland poney, I '11 own to 
 you, child, I gave her a smart scolding and bid her 
 take her own stubborn way. When my precious 
 grandsons (bless their hearts — I keep little Urban's 
 curl, till I can get a locket fit to put it in. You will 
 find a nice batch of horse-cakes and sugar-candy in 
 the bundle for him, with grandma's love) get big 
 enough to have their own way, you will understand 
 some of the trials of a mother's lot ! 
 
 Here I am wand'ring away from the wedding, 
 which is to be a grand affair, the Stuart house full, 
 and every house in the neighborhood crowded with 
 guests. My Billy is in such a state, I hardly think 
 he knows whether he walks or flies, & Mother must 
 always be ready to hear his raptures. He has given 
 Juliana a set of pearls, necklace, brooch and spray, 
 and has bought the tiniest little ring, I protest 
 't would fit a fairy. 
 
 Oh! Peggy, what with ordering dainties and drill- 
 ing the servants, and keeping your dear father in 
 good humor about our large expenses, my hands 
 have been full. Of course you will want to hear first 
 about our dresses. I have got me a grave colored 
 Sattin, nearly puce, I will enclose a scrap to let you 
 see the colour — and with the old lace, it will have 
 to be first day's and second day's best, too, I reckon, 
 for there are Finetta & little Lu to fit out. Finetta 
 has bought herself a new White Lutestring — a lav- 
 
20 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 ender gauze, a cross-barr'd Blue Lutestring, and two 
 new dimity frocks for morning. She has a beautiful 
 Rideding-dress near the colour of your Great Coat, 
 but a Casimer. She has some notion of getting a 
 plain muslin; she has made up her worked one 
 fashionably, & it is very pretty. The Ladies now 
 wear a Lace Veil and two Long White feathers in the 
 hair, the veil pinned up — a handsome head dress, and 
 the newest; so of course Finetta has one, besides a 
 wreath and bunch of flowers, & you see she is smartly 
 fixt. Tom vext her by saying she was going to set 
 her cap for Col: Crespigny, and Finetta bridled and 
 coloured furiously. Then saucy Tom said if Col. C. 
 knows what is good for him he will chuse little Lu, 
 who is so good natured she will let you pull her hair; 
 and I said '^ no more nonsence like that, Tom. I '11 not 
 have Lu snatched up and carried off by a husband 
 like Peggy was, at sixteen ! " Which I tell you, my dear, 
 repenting it, for if ever girl was blessed in a kind, 
 generous spouse 't is you ; and well may old Penny 
 say: ''Husbands like Marse Frank Faulkland don't 
 grow on bushes by de way." Lu is vastly set up with 
 two new white muslins over blue and pink silk slips, 
 and a white dimity with bird's eye dots of cherry. I 
 wanted a new pelisse for her, but the bills this year 
 will be so large I dare n't propose it, even to your 
 dear generous papa. You know he has taken a lease 
 of Clairemont for Billy and his wife. Since old Mr. 
 Mason died, the place has been in the market to rent. 
 Mr. George William Carter, who married Mary Turber- 
 ville, writ up from Westmoreland to have it pur- 
 chas'd for him ; but the executors would not consent. 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 21 
 
 and Mr. Carter, 'tis said, is too Ai-istocratic to live on 
 rented laud. My poor Billy, unless his aunt Ariana 
 helps him, cannot be so choice. There is a good 
 house, good water, gardens, ice-house, stable, poultry- 
 j^ard; I doubt if Miss Juliana, although she did not, 
 like you, have the bar of a town education, will raise 
 many fowls. Your papa kindly promises to do their 
 marketing for them, and you know what a fine hand 
 he is. They need only send a servant twice a week 
 to town, and Billy will keep up the farm, which is 
 small but in fair condition. I am gossiping on, my 
 Peggy, as if you were in the Chamber with your little 
 mother chattering in your ear. I must thank you, 
 love, for the pickles, the best I ever ate, and I am 
 proud of your getting over that trick of over-spicing. 
 I could always trust my Peggy to conquer her worst 
 faults. Oh! my dear, I drop into bed this night 
 weary but thanking the Almighty for my two chil- 
 dren's blest lots. If I were to chuse through the world 
 I 'd have selected dear Mr. Faulkland, and Billy's 
 happiness is mine. If Finetta could only curb her 
 tongue and temper a little bit (I know her heart is 
 right) I should have nothing else to ask. Tom and 
 Lu and the little ones are so well grown and good, 
 and no woman, not even you, Peggy, had ever such a 
 Partner as mine is. Kiss my babys for me. Finetta 
 will write directly after The Event. God bless all my 
 dear ones, prays their affect'te 
 
 S. Berkeley. 
 
 P. S. Pray tell Harriet from me that her children 
 are well and in good places, and that she may trust 
 
22 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 me to take care of them. My servants have been un- 
 commonly well this winter, except old Dilsey, and a 
 Doctor the old Avoman called on in my absence at 
 your house, bled, blistered and salivated her so that 
 when I returned she had hardly any pulse. I was 
 obliged to give her a quantity of Madeira wine, and 
 take great care of her & she is now hearty. Cousin 
 Potts is about to try Electricity for her rheumatism, 
 having exhausted all other remedies. It frights me 
 to think of such a daring thing. Do, my dear, keep 
 using the bark powder for your teeth — they were 
 always extreamely delicate. Pray do not omit my 
 affect'e Compts to your husband's Aunt GrifiSn, should 
 she come to visit you, although, fortunately, the roads 
 between you are so bad. I must not Cloase without 
 telling you that poor old Mrs. Giddy died of a Con- 
 sumption, and we have Lost our neighbor Mrs. Jones, 
 who hanged herself, while deranged, by tyeiug a 
 handkerchief to a Tester of the Bedstead. Mrs. Rose 
 has a Beautifull Boy, and would like the pattern of 
 your darling nurseling's caps. 
 
 II 
 
 From Miss Berkeley, of Princess Royal street, Bel- 
 haven, to her sister, Mrs. F. Faulkland, of Mount 
 
 Eagle. 
 
 23rd February, 1803. 
 
 Well, my dear Peggy, as we wrote you, the great 
 Affair is over, and I take pen in hand to give you 
 fuller particulars of an Occasion where you were 
 sensibly mis't, and often reverted to, by Enquiring 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 23 
 
 Friends. The Stuarts gave a splendid entertainment, 
 all the rooms open and drest with laurel and crow's 
 foot garlands, wax-candles by hundreds, on the sup- 
 per-tables a profusion of pine apples, oranges, cocoa- 
 nuts and other rare West Indian fruits, besides sweets 
 & oysters, crabs, salads, turkeys, wines and punches. 
 The greatest display of Glass and Plate I ever beheld, 
 (I wonder if any of it was borrow'd or hir'd for the 
 occasion!) The bride came down the stairs and joined 
 with Brother Billy at the foot, and the bridesmaids 
 followed, among them Lu and I, and walked in to the 
 big saloon and stood before the parson in a semi- 
 circle. They call our new sister a beauty, and beauty 
 she may be in Prince George's, but she is not up to 
 Belhaven standard, in my opinion ! She has a little 
 pale face, and big dark eyes, and so much brown hair 
 it is too heavy for her head. Billy's pearl spray was 
 its only ornament, except a camellia behind one ear ; 
 and she wore a plain square of Blond for a veil. Her 
 dress was white Sattin, of course — not as good a qual- 
 ity as 3^ours, my dear, if that will comfort you — & 
 her figure is like thread-paper. We danced till morn- 
 ing, Brother Billy leading in the reel with his Bride 
 — my partner, Colonel Crespigny, whom you may 
 have heard of, a neighbor of the Stuarts, and a 
 monstrous fine young man. He asked little Lu, to 
 dance a minuet with him, to the child's great discom- 
 fiture, and I fancied her head would be quite turned. 
 Next day, there was a dinner for all the gentry of 
 the neighborhood. We sat down at three o'clock & 
 did not rise till six; the same profusion ; & I thought 
 our little mother would feel put out of countenance 
 
24 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 by Mrs. Stuart's table. But Lord ! when you came 
 to taste the calf's foot jelly, it was poor stuff, I'll 
 warrant you! And the Blanc Mange eggs in the hen's 
 nest hardly seasoned, & half melted ! The bride's- 
 cake was fine to look at, iced by the Confectioner in 
 Washington with a sugar Cupid in a Cage on top, 
 and a sugar couple standing before Hymen's altar, 
 under it. I took a bit to sleep on (they teased me 
 next day to know if I dreamed of any Colonel, but of 
 course that 's nonsense, child) ; and I broke off a 
 crumb or two to see what Prince George's could do 
 in the way of black cake. Bless me, Peggy, it was 
 not a patch on yours ! The icing had no orange-fioiver 
 water in it — no blanched- almonds — conceive of such 
 a thing ! And this they call the model hotiseJceeping of 
 Maryland ! 
 
 Juliana's second day's dress was pinkish lavender 
 brocade with pigeon bertha and ruffles of white silk 
 muslin. I wore my cross-barred lustring, and Lu 
 wore her other muslin. Papa, who, all the way driv- 
 ing over in the chariot, had fretted, vowing and pro- 
 testing he would leave for home the next morning 
 after the wedding early, as he could not abide jun- 
 keting among a lot of idle people, jok'd and told 
 stories, touch'd glasses with all the gentlemen, & 
 was the life of the party. Between ourselves and the 
 Church clock, he was in no hurry to get home ! You 
 won't believe it, Peggy, our papa danced the reel with 
 fat Mrs. Stuart, and cut the pigeon wing — yes! and 
 a lively one. He skipped into the air ! 
 
 Thursday, our Papa and Mama returned to Bel- 
 haven, but I was prevaiPd on to stay, and they kept 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 25 
 
 little Lu because, forsooth, I suppose they feared me 
 being homesick. Col: Crespigny brought his horses 
 for me to ride ; & on Friday gave us a dining at his 
 Mansion which is truly elegant. He is a tall dark 
 man, a little reserved in manner, a bachelor of two- 
 and-thirty. Any one can see 'twas merest folly to 
 talk of his caring for Billy's Juliana. Well, my dear, 
 to make a long story short, we stayed out the week, 
 and then bride and groom and wedding party came 
 over to Belhaven, our chariot sent again for us, tl^e 
 rest riding or driving as they fancied. Col. Cres- 
 pigny would have little Lu and me mounted on his 
 horses, while some of the elders took our places in the 
 chariot. It was clear, mild weather, a touch of Spring 
 in the air, and our ride delightful. (You must know 
 the Colonel, Peggy. He is about Mr. Faulkland's 
 hight and build, but less gay and off-hand than your 
 spouse.) Now, for the celebrations of the week. The 
 town is very gay, and I tell you we have no cause to 
 blush for Belhaven entertainments. A party every 
 night, abundance of costly viands, Mrs. Swann's sup- 
 per being set forth on a new service of glass that cost 
 her three hundred dollars in Philadelphia ; and Mrs. 
 Tyler's old English plate all on her table at once. 
 Oh ! my dear, such an odd affair. Miss Kitt}^ Dick- 
 son's wedding, of which so much has been said — the 
 town is in a Hubbub over it. A Thursday was the 
 day set, hut the hridegroom did not cotne ! The cakes 
 were made, the supper drest ; everything ready but 
 the Gent'n, a very important part of it, at Miss Kittifs 
 age, especially. You may guess the gossip this occa- 
 sioned. Such ridicule — such triumph in the Mali- 
 
26 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 cious ! Though that family are not my first favourites, 
 it put me out of conceit with Human Nature. The 
 bridegroom, Mr. Pearse, neither came nor sent word, 
 and for days the Dieksons were in the uttermost per- 
 plexity. At last, on the folloiving Thursday, he came, 
 and with him his Sisters. It seems they mistook the 
 day! And now, everybody flocks again to the house 
 and the nuptials take place duly, Miss Kitty in — 1st 
 day — White Sattin & crape; 2nd. day — White Lute- 
 string and muslin. At the 1st day's entertainment 
 a prodigious company of married gents & Ladies. 
 2nd. day, all the young genteel people in the town. 
 Both suppers were superb — pyramids three hands 
 high, and everything renewed for the second supper. 
 Mr. Pearse, about whom the Dieksons had so much 
 pother, is, now they have got him, homely enough to 
 scare the crows in his own cornfields. Rumor hath 
 it that your old friend Louisa Beck with is to marry 
 Johnny Boyd, the little broken-backed man; there is 
 no doubt husbands are scarce when little Johnny 
 gets picked up. Almost every family of our ac- 
 quaintance has called upon Mrs. Billy, and we have 
 had four large dinner companies for them, and even- 
 ing entertainments too, & they have been much in- 
 vited out. Mama is on her feet greatly, but keeps in 
 good health, and old Penny has done wonders in the 
 cooking. Brother Tom was a subscriber to this 
 year's Birth-night Ball, and he came off with great 
 applause, every one seem'd pleased with his Gayety 
 and Candour, though he speaks his mind so freely. 
 Little Lu has contrived to see a good deal of the 
 goings-on, spite of our intentions to keep her in. I 
 confess the girl is much improved in looks. Peggy, 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 27 
 
 don't you — Honour bright — child, never feel that 
 you 'd give your ears to be back in all our gayeties, 
 instead of away off there mewed up with your hus- 
 band and Babys in the country 1 You that was 
 lately so full of life and animation? Ah! well, child, 
 perhaps you 're right — (for I can hear you answer 
 '^iVo") — Methinks I can sometimes understand it — 
 But enough of this — I have promised Col. Cres- 
 pigny to ride with him tomorrow to Washington to 
 call on Mrs. Law. She is in the midst of the fash- 
 ionable whirl, and I have seen her little. That city 
 was never so gay since the Government was fixt 
 there, but, for reasons you know of, we prefer Bel- 
 haven society. Our Papa, spite of his kinship with 
 the President, hath so strong a dislike to what he 
 calls Mr. Jefferson's scandalous low notions about 
 putting us all on a par with the lower classes, he will 
 not hear of our waiting on the Ladies at The Palace. 
 He and the other Federalists in town still feel deeply 
 the slight put upon the British Ambassador's lady at 
 the banquet in December, when the Presid'nt gave 
 his right and left to Mrs. Madison and Mme. Yrujo, 
 and forsook Mistress Merry to shift for herself ! No- 
 thing is heard discust in Washington, but the ques- 
 tion of this or that official lady's precedence, and the 
 turmoil is fatiguing to us who hiow our places, and 
 fret not at Imaginarij Slights. 
 
 Oh, my dear! Col. Crespigny is a Republican, the 
 friend and Crony of Mr. Madison, the Secretary of 
 State, and also of Genl. Smith, and M. Jerome Bona- 
 parte, whose young wife, late the beautiful Miss 
 Patterson of Baltimore, is producing such a sensa- 
 tion, politically and otherwise, in Court circles this 
 
28 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 season. Imagine my fear lest the subject of Politics 
 should come up at our Board when Papa might not 
 be in a mood to keep the Peace. Tho' the Col. is 
 most kind and considerate, he can not know, nor can 
 we always warn him, that certain questions of States- 
 manship are to our Parent like a red Rag to the Bull. 
 I gave him a hint of this in telling him that our 
 Papa's Sister Ariana had removed to take up her 
 abode in England because of her objection to the 
 "filthy Democrats," as she is pleased to style certain 
 of our President's supporters, and he laught saying 
 the Ladies were ever virulent in Party warfare, though 
 not always certain as to their Premises. 
 
 And now, my child, Adieu. If I have succeeded in 
 amusing you by my talk, I shall not regret the time 
 thus spent. We have twenty people to sup here to- 
 night, and the card-tables out afterwards. Our papa's 
 friend, the good Chief-Justice Marshall, hath prom- 
 ised to ride down from Washington and lie in Prin- 
 cess Royal Street. I must hasten to assist mama, 
 who with the family, including our new sister, desires 
 to be warmly remembered to Mr. Faulkland and 
 yourself. I remain your Ever Attach'd 
 
 FiNETTA Berkeley. 
 
 P. S. Do not think I mean anything by my talk 
 about the Colonel. And pray, for Mercy's sake, don't 
 let Mr. Faulkland see this scrawl. Mama desires me 
 to add that, should little Urban catch the Mumps 
 (which, she says, may Heaven forfend), she hath a 
 wonderful new remedy of Dr. Dick's. Do not cut 
 your short gown by the pattern yon took away, I 
 have a newer fash'n'd one for you. Little Lu hath 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 29 
 
 just run in to show me a nosegay of Cape jasmines 
 and geranium leaves that Col. Crespigny hath fetched 
 her from his glass-houses. You will say perchance 
 that he is most anxious to please even this little one, 
 but indeed, it is all in the fancy of the Gossips from 
 whom our Society is not altogether Free. 
 
 HI 
 
 From Miss Lucilla Berkeley, of Princess Royal 
 Street, to Mrs. F. Faulkland, at Mount Eagle. 
 
 6th March, 1803. 
 Dear Sister Peggy: I have been crying my eyes 
 out, so that I can scarce see to dip my quill into the 
 ink-pot; and yet I must write you, this post, because 
 even our dearest little mama is not let into my room 
 till I give up, and Susan's Sally has promised to get 
 this letter to you someway, and oh! my Hart aches 
 for you. Sister Peggy. Cou'd you but sit beside me 
 on the sopha, and let me rest my head upon your 
 breast, and tell you all, it would ease my pain I think. 
 But, you will be wond'ring what has happen'd, unless 
 (which is not likely) Mama has writ to you ere this. 
 How shall I tell you. Sister, that I, your little Lu, the 
 tomboy, the Red Headed Woodpecker as Bro. Tom 
 calls me, have got a Suitor — a grand gentleman who 
 has the ill-luck to displease our Papa in Pollyticks. 
 (Mama says I am not careful in my Spelling, & I tried 
 that word two ways but it does not yet seem right.) 
 Ever since Bro. Billy's and Sis. Juliana's Wedding, I 
 have known that the great Colonel Crespigny, who 
 I danced with in the minuet, has been coming over 
 
30 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 here to Belhaven to see poor little Me, for he told me 
 so, & I dar'd not tell Sister Finetta nor yet Mama, 
 for I fear'd their laughter. He is so big and kind. 
 Sister, and his dark eyes made my Hart go pit-a-pat, 
 and it seem'd so great a thing to have a Suitor — and 
 such an one — before I was sixteen, that I kept the 
 secret close. One day, when I met him on the Stairs, 
 and he whisper'd something in my ear, I went straight- 
 way to the old nursery, and put away my London doll 
 Aunt Ariana sent me (and which I nurst and drest 
 only a sennight since) till Baby Pen can be trusted to 
 handle it. A week later, he came again, and when we 
 went from the Blue Parlour in to tea he slipped (in 
 passing) a bit of paper in my hand. That paper burnt 
 a hole in my pocket, Sister, till I got a chance to light 
 my bed-room candle, and read it when I went up- 
 stairs. I will write out what it said, for I learned it 
 by Hart, although Papa has sent it back to him. 
 
 SONNET, TO ALMIRA. 
 
 The wand'ring exile on a foreign shore 
 By adverse fortune destin'd to remain, 
 Each long lost pleasure fondly traces o'er, 
 And sighs to tread his native soil again. 
 
 So I, when banish'd from Almira's smiles, 
 
 Nor erouded scenes, nor silent shades can please ; 
 Fond Hope alone the tedious day beguiles, 
 Fond Hope alone, my drooping heart can ease. 
 
 Oft when I seek the solitary gi-ove 
 
 Imagination holds her to my sight; 
 
 Or thro' the meadows pensive as I rove 
 
 When dark'ning shades proclaim the approach of night, 
 In fancy still, I gaze upon her chai-ms, 
 And long with soft desire to clasp her in my Arms. 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 31 
 
 There, Sister, wou'd you ever believe that I am 
 " Alraira " ? 'T is so beautifully writ no copper plate 
 cou'd be finer; and where he tells how he seeks ''the 
 solitary grove," it makes me want to weep for sym- 
 pathy. But oh ! I am not telling you the worst & at 
 any moment I may be told to snuff my candle out. 
 The last time the Col. drank tea with our parents, it 
 appears he had the ill-fortune to engage in an argu- 
 ment. Playful on his side. Heated on our Papa's, 
 about the Position (Sister Finetta said) of the Presi- 
 dent towards England. He took the President's part; 
 Papa waxed more and more scornful, shooting his 
 usual arrows of disdain at our Cousin Jeffn's habit 
 of dress, his slippers without heels, his ill-fit Cloathes, 
 his homely ways; Col. C. defending the Pdt. This 
 went on, till our Papa flew into one of his rages Wee 
 all know, and do not mind because they so soon Blow 
 By. Mama and Sister Finetta interposed, and led 
 Col. C. into another room, to hear Sister play upon 
 the harpsichord, but Papa has never forgot, nor for- 
 giv'n the Incident and its Cause. Yesterday — ah! 
 Sister, as I come to this, my tears brake out afresh — 
 My suitor came, arrived at the house & (so Mama 
 says) made a formal offer for my hand ! Papa, most 
 polite and cold (you know how he can be, his wig 
 pushed a little crooked, his lips curling, his eyes like 
 blue steel), refused, without a moment's delay, and in 
 language so couched that Col, C, as a gentleman, 
 could but bow (though very pale, poor dear) & get 
 again upon his horse the groom was holding in the 
 street, & ride clattering away. I saw him from the 
 upstairs hall-window-seat (where I sat darning Papa's 
 silk hose), and tho' I did not know the reason, my 
 
32 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 Hart misgave me all was over. Then Papa sent for 
 all the family — the elders I mean — in the chocolate- 
 panelled Study where his hooks stay, & told me I 
 must never think or speak of Col. Crespigny again. 
 Then I burst into loud crying and flung myself in 
 Mama's arms, who was trembling there, looking with 
 her pitiful kind eyes at Papa, and I vowed I would 
 love the Col. and none other, till I die. At which, 
 our father rose, and ordered me to keep my bed-room 
 till I knew myself for a headstrong impertinent little 
 Baggage, & was ready to ask his pardon and promise 
 what he required. Next, a strange thing happened. 
 Sister, that I cannot understand. Sister Finetta, 
 whose face I chanced to see grow red, then pale and 
 stern, stept out from the rest, and put her arm 
 around my waist. She that never caresses anyone ! 
 She led me away up to my room, and kissed me in 
 silence ere she shut the door. Next, Mama came in 
 and, crying, told me it was all a sad business, sadder 
 than I knew. That she too (altho' not for my father's 
 reasons) counsel'd me to give Col. Crespigny up. 
 That, until I promised, she must leave me to myself 
 — and then she kissed me like the Angle that she is, 
 and went out and lock't the door. Without supper 
 (wh. I could not eat), I cried myself to sleep. To- 
 day I ate a mouthful of the breakfast brought me 
 by Susan's Sally; and since, I am writing this to you, 
 that I begun last night and writ till cautioned by 
 .Papa's voice outside my door, to go to bed. Sister 
 Peggy, you will (I know you, I can hear your gentle 
 questions that always made us confess everything) 
 inquire if I am sure of my own feelings for Col. Cres- 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 33 
 
 pigny, I that was a child when you saw me last. In 
 answer, I say, " ask Yourself what if they had wanted 
 you to give up your Francis after that night he 
 Courted you % " Yes, I do love him, I shall always 
 love him and honour him before all men. I would 
 follow him to the Land's End, I think. And — there 's 
 some one coming up the stairs — oh ! write to them. 
 Sister, you that can move papa if any one. The per- 
 son — 'twas a servant asking if I would have refresh- 
 ment (I know the little Mother sent up those iced 
 maids-of -honour of which I usually ask for three, but 
 I cannot swallow now) — has gone, and I resume. A 
 little while ago I took down from the shelf the sweet 
 Annual, bound in pink-and-gold — "Affection's Offer- 
 ing" — that you used to read in Company with Mr. 
 Faulkland during your betrothal. Strange, passing 
 strange, that it should have opened at these lines ! 
 
 With plaintive courage, lo! the turtle dove 
 
 Laments the fate of his departed love. 
 
 His mate once lost, no comfort now he knows, 
 
 His little breast with inward anguish glows, 
 
 Nor lawns nor groves his throbbing heart can charm 
 
 Nor other love his languid bosom warm ; 
 
 Oppressed with grief, he yields his latest breath 
 
 And proves at last his constancy in death ; 
 
 A proper lesson to the fickle mind, 
 
 An emblem apt of tenderness refined, 
 
 Affection pure and undissembled love. 
 
 Which absence, time, nor death can e'er remove. 
 
 Then like the dove let constancy and truth 
 
 And spotless innocence adorn your youth ; 
 
 In every state the same blest temper prove, 
 
 Be fixt in friendship and be true to love ! 
 
34 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 Sister, as I write these words, so applicable to my 
 condition, my tears refuse to be staunched — Oh! 
 Sister, what shall I do — pity me, help me. Could 
 you but come — but what do I ask, considering the 
 Distance, the State of the Roads, your Young In- 
 fants, etc. No, I must be Brave. Write then, and I 
 await your Counsel — but remember, I cannot resign 
 my noble — my manly C. Do you think, perchance, 
 he could be induced to become a Federalist — In truth 
 I cannot see the difference between them and the 
 Others Papa chuses to despise. 
 
 Yr. ever loving and afflict'd. 
 
 L. Berkeley. 
 
 P. S. I believe I could promise that he would 
 make no further allusion to the Presid'nt, or to 
 England. 
 
 I broke off here, to receive a visit from my dear 
 and honoured Mama, who came at the wish of my 
 Papa — he having slept well and re-considered his 
 Action of last night. Oh ! dear Sister, you would 
 never believe what our parent has convey'd to me. 
 I dare not commit it to paper lest the Curious shou'd 
 chance to read it — let Peggy who knows us all, 
 divine — but I am now convinc'd that in fixing my 
 affect'ns on Col. C, I am wronging Another — one 
 innocent of Intention, a Victim of Circumstance. As 
 by a Lightning-Flash, I saw what my self-willed 
 determination to have my own way in this matter 
 would entail. Immediately, I sought out my Papa, 
 who was sitting, as Before, in the little chocolate 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 35 
 
 room, reading a Journal which I observed to be 
 Upside Down, while his hand shook, & his eye when 
 he turn'd it upon me was velvet soft and loving. Our 
 blessed mother went up to him, and with an arm 
 around his neck, placed my hand in his. '' Our child 
 is worthy of herself, husband," she said in the sweet 
 voice that sounds ever like a flute. " She hath prom- 
 ised to renounce what will cause more unhappiness 
 to others than it can, now, bring happiness to her." 
 Oh ! Sister, when our parents gathered me into their 
 Embrace, I felt like the Lamb that has been Lost and 
 Found again — I can not now write more! Forget 
 what I have said that was foolish or headstrong. 
 Love me always, and believe that I will be true to my 
 promise to Papa, and only you shall know what it 
 Costs me to submit. 
 
 Your L. 
 
 IV 
 
 From Ferdinando Berkeley, Esquire, of Princess 
 Royal Street, Belhaven, to his daughter, Mrs. 
 Faulkland, at Mt. Eagle. 
 
 11th October, 1803. 
 My Dear : I shall send this under cover to your 
 good husband that he may consult his Judgement 
 about delivering it to you or No. I conceive that 
 the tenderness of the female nature, nay my Peggy's 
 nature in especial, will make as severe to endure 
 what I have to communicate, as 't is cruel to me to 
 write it. My child, the Almighty hath laid a heavy 
 hand upon our once happy household. The news- 
 
36 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 papers will have informed you of the pestilential 
 fever that has mysteriously appeared in Belhaven. 
 As I was in the act of preparing to send my family to 
 the country, I meant to forbear writing to you until 
 they were safely away. But God's will be done — 
 your dear mother is laid low with the pestilence, and 
 2 of the servants, as well as your brother Tom. The 
 children, I have sent out to my son William's seat, 
 Clairemont, where Juliana will take faithful care of 
 them. Finetta alone remains in town, for Lucilla, 
 although most unwilling to be parted from her mo- 
 ther, has also gone, by my express command. Fi- 
 netta, at ordinary times so difficult to controul, has 
 now, I am pleased to say, developed a spirit of help- 
 fulness and courage that makes her Invaluable to 
 her poor mother. There is so much misery attend- 
 ing this dreadful Calamity in the town, that while 
 my dear ones continue to hold their own, I will not 
 repine against the decree that has smitten us. My 
 Dr. Girl may Join her prayers with ours for the 
 preservation of our sufferers. I can write no more 
 at present. My Compl'm'ts to your Spouse. Lucilla 
 will keep you inf orm'd, or William or Juliana, as the 
 malady progresses. 
 
 From, my dr. Margaret, your loving and anxious 
 Father, 
 
 F. Berkeley. 
 
 Pray inform your faithful Harriet that her chil- 
 dren are well. 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 37 
 
 From Miss Lucilla Berkeley, at Clairemont, to 
 Mrs, Faulkland, at Mount Eagle. 
 
 18th October, 1803. 
 
 God be praised, Peggy dearest, that our little 
 Mother is said to be on the mend. Tom has been 
 very Low, but he and our Mama owe their lives 
 under God to Sister Fiuetta's care. Oh ! that I were 
 suffered to be with them, to be of service. I, whose 
 poor life, clouded by disappointment, is of so little 
 use to anyone. While our family is passing from 
 under the pillar of cloud, people have dyed all around 
 our house. The burials are frequent, the streets 
 deserted. Marks of distress and depopulation on 
 every side. If 't wou'd please God to send a heavy 
 rain and severe frost after it, perhaps it might be 
 checkt. What a mellancholy situation is our poor 
 friend Mrs. Cracroft's ; she has lost, poor Lady, both 
 her Husband and her Daughter, Miss Betsey. What 
 will be the end! Our hopes give way to Apprehen- 
 sions, and yet Mama is better, and Tom is out of 
 danger, and the two maids are improving. Thank 
 you, Sweet Sister, for the last letter about my own 
 affairs, that seem little now, beside this great Public 
 calamity. I have bowed to my Earthly Father's, as 
 to my Heavenly Father's will, but lie wJiom you 
 Mow of (so Juliana has heard from Maryland) has 
 not ceased to hope that affairs may change in his 
 Favour. Ah ! what a selfish girl am I, to write of 
 this now. Forgive me. Sister dear. Write to me 
 
38 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 again. Brother Billy and Juliana and our children 
 are well as can be. Tell Harriet hers are well, and 
 I am your affectnte. 
 
 LUCILLA. 
 
 I open this to say a messenger has come from 
 town. Bad news, alas ! Sister Finetta, the Brave 
 and strong, has been stricken down. I will keep the 
 letter open till tomorrow to tell you what betides. 
 
 Tuesday morng. 
 
 Sister Finetta very ill, our mother still mending. 
 Tom, poor brother, has a relapse. 
 
 I must Cloase to catch the post. The Doctor says 
 Sister F. has it in a worse form than any of the rest. 
 God pity us all ! 
 
 L. 
 
 VI 
 
 From Mrs. William Berkeley, of Clairemont, near 
 Belhaven, to Mrs. Faulkland, Mt. Eagle. 
 
 25th October, 1803. 
 My dear Sister Margaret will comprehend when I 
 tell her that I feel my inadequacy to fitly represent 
 the cherished members of her family whose place 
 I assume to take in Writing this. My own Mr. 
 Berkeley hath gone for a ride upon his bay mare 
 to get rid (so he says) of the blue devils in his brain. 
 He began a letter to you. But his fingers were all 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 39 
 
 thumbs, and he gave up the task. Never have I seen 
 his cheerful Countenance so overspread with gloom 
 as since rendering the last sad offices to his departed 
 brother Tom. That amiable and estimable youth 
 will indeed be deeply mourned. We can but trust 
 that he is now happy in the enjoyment of the ever- 
 lasting felicity of Heaven. Your Beloved Mother, 
 spite of her trials, continues to improve. And, God 
 be praised, Sister Finetta yesterday (it is hoped) 
 passed the turning-point of her malady, and will now 
 recover. Beneath these encircling Clouds of Gloom 
 it is my pleasing duty to inform you of the unex- 
 pected happiness of our little Pet, Lucilla, whose rare 
 sweetness and beauty hath endear'd her to me as to 
 all that know her. When your Sister Finetta lay (as 
 it was believed) upon her death bed, she called your 
 Father to her side & in feeble accents pray'd him to 
 grant her the boon of withdrawing his Opposition to 
 Lucilla's Alliance with Col. Crespign3\ This, upon 
 the assurance from me (who was fortunate to be so 
 far in the Col's confidence as to bear proper witness) 
 of his unaltered fidelity to the lady of his Love, 
 was freely and tenderly granted by your Papa, which 
 promise, 't wou'd seem, afforded at once to the suf- 
 ferer a Calm, proving to be the precursor of Heal- 
 thy Sleep. I have myself writ the summons to the 
 Anxious Lover to meet Lucilla under her Brother's 
 Roof. And if you will pardon the selfish thoughts of 
 personal joy at such a Time, I would fain be first to 
 convey the news that our Aunt Ariana at Bath, Eng- 
 land, hath presented your brother with her handsome 
 dwelling and estate. Shannon Hill, twenty miles hence 
 
40 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 in Fauquier County, whither we shall in due time 
 remove, and your brother be releas'd from the dis- 
 comfort of rented land, which he has borne in silence, 
 as befits his noble self. Trusting that the white- 
 winged Dove of Peace and Happiness will henceforth 
 unfurl her wings upon our Family, & with mine and 
 my Mr. Berkeley's most affect, respectful Compl'mts 
 to your husband, and kisses to your Pets, believe me. 
 Your attach'd, faithful friend and Sister, 
 
 Juliana Berkeley. 
 
 VII 
 
 A Fragment 
 
 From Miss Lucilla Berkeley to Mrs. Faulkland, Mt. 
 Eagle. 
 
 Clairemont, 28th October, 1803. 
 Sister mine, my heart overflows in these few lines 
 to tell you that He has come. Am I wrong, amid all 
 the sorrow still liug'ring o'er my home and dear ones, 
 to be so hap — 
 
II 
 
 PENELOPE'S SWAINS 
 
 N the breakfast-room of the Misses 
 Berkeley in old Belhaven town, 
 in Virginia, you might, before the 
 war, have beheld daily a pleasant 
 spectacle. 
 
 As soon as the last relay of bat- 
 ter-cakes had been carried out by Trip, it was Miss 
 Penelope Berkeley's custom to call in a black wo- 
 man bearing upon a tray a cedar piggin hooped with 
 brass and full of boiling water, a mop, a bit of soap, 
 and some fair towels of linen crash. Into this tub 
 the old lady would first dip her tea-pot, sugar-dish, 
 and cream-jug of oval-shaped colonial silver; after 
 them, in regular routine, cups and saucers, spoons 
 and forks. Transferred from their steaming bath 
 to Gray's dainty finger-tips, the various articles were 
 dried and in pristine luster re-niched in a corner cup- 
 board. Not for the world would Gay have let fall 
 one of those family treasures. Her care for them 
 was that of the Guards in the Tower of London for 
 the regalia of the Crown. 
 
 41 
 
42 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 One beautiful May day, when the custard honey- 
 suckle had sent a flower inside the sash of the break- 
 fast-room window to woo Gay into the garden, it was 
 made evident by sundry tokens that something had 
 stirred the spinster household from its normal calm. 
 Trip, the kitchen Mercury, in a clean check pinafore, 
 his head bristling with twigs of plaited wool, dis- 
 played a continual grin and a pair of wildly goggling 
 eyes. Dennis, the purblind butler, shuffling around 
 the table, with snow-white jacket and long linen 
 apron, wore an air of gratified hospitality, tempered 
 only by the memory of Trip's shortcomings (Trip, his 
 great-grandson, in training for house-service, was the 
 thorn in Dennis's side), and Susan, the housemaid, 
 had tied her kerchief with coquettish consciousness 
 about her head. Upon the forsaken table, await- 
 ing Miss Penelope's regenerating touch, was not a 
 portion but all of the Berkeley tea-service (even the 
 urn with a pine-apple on top, reserved for special tea- 
 parties), and also the Nantgarrow cups and saucers, 
 with brier-roses and trefoils, that saw daylight only 
 behind glass, except as a mark of honor to cherished 
 guests. 
 
 Gay, divided between her anxiety to see china and 
 silver back in safety on the shelves, a physical excite- 
 ment inspired by delicious weather, and a keen femi- 
 nine relish for a sentimental situation, was in high 
 feather. An old lover, a has-been suitor, who had 
 sighed in vain and ridden away to come back after 
 many years, — a widower, no doubt hoping to be con- 
 soled — here, under the same roof with his first love — 
 Gay an eye-witness to the progress of events, — what 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 43 
 
 an enchanting combination ! True, it had been some- 
 thing of a drawback to see the Reverend Dr. Foun- 
 tain accept from Aunt Penelope's own hand three 
 cups of coffee and a glass of milk in quick succession. 
 He had also partaken more heartily of rice-cakes, 
 waffles, rolls, light bread, batter-bread, cold ham, roe 
 herrings, radishes and broiled tomatoes than ac- 
 corded with Gay's theory of allegiance to the past 
 or present of sentiment. She could not help wonder- 
 ing if the late lamented Mrs. Fountain had been 
 what was called in Belhaven a " good provider." 
 
 And now that the meal was over. Dr. Fountain 
 had retired with Aunt Finetta into the paneled par- 
 lor looking out across the garden and river to the red 
 clay hills of Maryland. The door had closed behind 
 them. Aunt Finetta, who invariably sat here in the 
 family room reading her newspaper until the things 
 were washed and put away and Penelope was ready 
 to go to market! How funny it had been to hear 
 the old lady say, with majestic courtesy : 
 
 ''We will adjourn temporarily to the drawing- 
 room. Dr. Fountain, if you please, leaving to my 
 sister the care of our few domestic duties." 
 
 Was this, Gay wondered, a blind to give the doc- 
 tor an opportunity to declare his enduring passion 
 for Aunt Penelope, and to receive her elder sister's 
 blessing on his hopes'? For Gay had often heard 
 the Belhaven gossip about the Misses Berkeley ; how 
 young Fountain, as a prospective clergyman, had 
 been Miss Finetta's choice for her sister, and how 
 Aunt Penelope had obstinately preferred that rattle- 
 brained Daisy Garnett. Fountain, ordained a priest 
 
44 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 and called to a distant parish, had married and flour- 
 ished and acquired a good-sized family, had now lost 
 his wife, and was talked of as on the way to become a 
 bishop. When it was announced that he would cer- 
 tainly be present at the annual convention of the 
 Church, to meet that year in Belhaven, Aunt Fi- 
 netta had forthwith invited their friend of olden 
 days to be one of the two guests assumed as her 
 share of town hospitality toward the clergy. This, 
 to Gay's active mind, was a suspicious circumstance. 
 She tried, but without success, to adjust to it some of 
 the situations in the novels of Mme. d'Arblay or Miss 
 Porter, dear to her through many readings in the 
 hall window-seat up-stairs. Mme. d'Arblay had no 
 elderly hero with a large purple face, shaven except 
 for a beard like a goat's to adorn his chin, an ora- 
 torical style of general conversation, and a habit of 
 blowing his nose with a resounding blast. Gay's idea 
 of a lover was that he should use his handkerchief 
 only to mop beads of anguish from his brow when 
 unsuccessful in his suit. 
 
 In the sixteen-year-old judgment of a head stuffed 
 with old songs, old sayings, old love-tales and young 
 whims, there was quite as much incongruity with 
 romance in the appearance of her aunt's other ad- 
 mirer of langsyne. Major David Garnett, yclept by 
 his fellow-townsmen " Daisy," had been a famous 
 Belhaven buck in the days when Birthnight balls still 
 held their vogue. How often had Gay seen the pink 
 satin frock, with its umbrella- gores and leg-o'-mut- 
 ton sleeves, in which Aunt Penelope, at fourteen, 
 had danced down the middle of a reel with Daisy, to 
 

 IN THE HALL WINDOW-SEAT. 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 45 
 
 wind up a Tweuty-second-of-February ball at Gads- 
 by's tavern ! 
 
 "I was slighter then, my love," Miss Pen would 
 say when Gay's reverent fingers measured the width 
 and depth of the corsage. ''I remember so well 
 this was new just when 'stooping' had been de- 
 clared out of fashion. Dear mama made us wear 
 a piece of Russian sheeting under the bust, with 
 shoulder-straps, and brother Billy laughed and said 
 no fine lady but would now be seen bridling up 
 in company; and so it was. We wore our hair 
 smooth and glossy, like a satin cap, and on top two 
 or three bows of hair with feathers and roses. Mrs. 
 Betsey Thompson, who 'd been a widow just one 
 year, — she that was afterward Mrs. Colonel Steptoe, 
 of the Eastern Shore, — appeared that night in a 
 high black crape puff with silver spangles and 
 black feathers on her head, a frock of blue Italian 
 muslin, and a black spencer ; this she was pleased 
 to call second mourning ! The Misses Delaney were 
 the belles ; they wore white lutestring with gold 
 spangles and gold cords, and green velvet leaves 
 sewed all round the tail — poor Billy was so attentive 
 to the elder, Sally Delaney, who married a Tucker 
 and died before my dear brother — where was I, 
 child ? " 
 
 "At the ball, Auntie, dancing the reel with Major 
 Daisy. Tell me some more about the ball." 
 
 " There were seven hundred guests, my dear, and 
 the supper was truly elegant. I walked in the pro- 
 cession with Mr. Garnett. There was a monstrous 
 cake in the middle of the table, ornamented with an 
 
46 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 equestrian statue of General Washington, the whole 
 covered with sugar-candy in the form of a cone, on 
 top of which was the American eagle. Then there 
 were jellies and blanc-manges, oranges and nuts, all 
 sorts of dressed dishes, ornamental cakes and sugar 
 emblems, and the sweetest baskets made of maca- 
 roons and filled with kisses." 
 
 " Goodness ! " cried Gay. 
 
 " Yes, there was no scrimping in those days, I '11 
 promise you, though I have heard mama tell how the 
 General used to laugh at some of the older Belhaven 
 parties, calling them bread-and-butter balls. After 
 the supper was eaten, the beans scrambled for the 
 sugar eagle on top of the cake, and Mr. Garnett got 
 it and presented it to me." 
 
 " To think you were only fourteen, Aunt Pen, and 
 I 'm not allowed to turn out yet." 
 
 " It was the custom of the day, my love." 
 
 " What became of the sugar eagle, Auntie "? " 
 
 " My child — some things are very mysterious. It 
 crumbled away the year Mr. Garnett went to the war 
 in Mexico. I opened the box to look at it, and found 
 it quite destroyed; and the very next week came 
 news that he was wounded at Chapultepec ! " 
 
 Gay, who knew every word of the recital, always 
 drew a long breath of awe-stricken satisfaction at 
 this point. 
 
 There was no doubt that Miss Penelope, who could 
 now speak of her old swain so calmly, had once 
 wished to marry him. But Miss Berkeley, ruling 
 her family with a rod of iron, would have none 
 of David Garnett. She considered him a reckless 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 47 
 
 young fellow, unfit to be trusted with the happi- 
 ness of her sole surviving sister, the youngest of the 
 flock. Pen was inclined to giddiness, and Daisy far 
 too fond of frolicking, tippling, horses, cards, and 
 dancing. One heard of him here, there and every- 
 where in Maryland and Virginia, at '^ weddin's," fox- 
 hunts, races and barbecues. "Worse than all, he had 
 exchanged shots in an encounter near Bladen sburg 
 with a senator from South Carolina, with whom 
 he had had the misfortune to differ on a question 
 of State precedence. After this, Miss Berkeley — 
 who, having once published a diatribe in pamphlet 
 form against the appearance of certain of the Vir- 
 ginian clergy in the chancel without robes, was con- 
 sidered to have a scathing style in authorship — sat 
 down and wrote to David, forbidding him the house. 
 Then it was that Penelope was said to have bowed 
 before the blast, and renounced the " understanding" 
 between her lover and herseK. 
 
 Gay could not reconcile these traditions of Major 
 Daisy's jeunesse orageuse with the trig little lame gen- 
 tleman wearing a rusty auburn scratch, his winter- 
 apple face crisscrossed with wrinkles, who, as regu- 
 larly as Saturday night came around, hung his hat 
 on the spinsters' hall peg. Thanks to time, the soft- 
 ener of all asperities, Aunt Finetta defied David no 
 longer. There was even a neighborly welcome for 
 him in Princess Royal street, Avhere the old Berke- 
 ley mansion reared its high-shouldered chimneys 
 draped with English ivy and wistaria to the gaze of 
 passers-by. 
 
 Gay, taking part sometimes with the major and her 
 
48 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 great-aunts in a four-liauded game of cards, used to 
 wonder could this be the gallant volunteer who, when 
 left badly wounded by the tide of battle sweeping up 
 the heights of Chapultepec, had lain hugging to his 
 breast the flag he had snatched from the hand of its 
 dead bearer, and cheering his comrades on to vic- 
 tory? The major, whose game leg was a souvenir of 
 that occasion, had indeed long since settled down 
 from the ways of his wild youth into a Belhaven 
 landmark as steady and familiar as the town clock. 
 He had ''joined the church" and become a vestry- 
 man ; he was the leader in " Mear " and " Federal 
 Street" in a straggling choir of volunteers; was 
 frequently called on to be a godfather ; and as a 
 pall-bearer was an assurance to survivors of the 
 high respectability of the departed. 
 
 It was a common saying that no wedding could 
 take place without "points" from Major Daisy. 
 First to know of the engagement — what time the 
 bud of love had been pleased to break into unex- 
 ampled flower — he was the confidant of Jenny's pets 
 and Jessamy's despair, and in due course brought the 
 lovers in safety to the altar, gave away the bride, 
 and was the first to salute her blushing cheek. At 
 the wedding-feast who but he could be counted on to 
 offer toasts, fill plate and glass for lonely wallflow- 
 ers, lead out touchy maiden aunts, joke with "the 
 boys" who wore the willow for the bride, and keep 
 the bridesmaids in a flutter with his compliments'? 
 
 At christenings Major Daisy was great. He had a 
 genius for discovering in the unformed features of 
 the infant on exhibition the likeness of all others it 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 49 
 
 was meet and right for that child to have. Was 
 there in the family annals a distinguished dimple, 
 or scowl or squint desirable to perpetuate, he would 
 espy and proclaim it to flattered parents. 
 
 At funerals, again, he might be seen, his hat borne 
 down under a long black weeper, his hands lost in 
 the wrinkles of undertaker's gloves, walking in the 
 procession with a look of rooted gloom. Thus 
 equipped, he inclined bystanders to believe in the 
 great loss the community sustained in the death 
 of old Aleck Appleby, who for twenty years had 
 been soaking himself in whisky and disgracing all 
 his kin. 
 
 In politics Major Daisy was an old-line Whig, con- 
 tributing, over the signature of " Senex," many ar- 
 ticles on the tariff and subjects of kindred interest 
 to the columns of the "National Intelligencer" in 
 Washington. He was, in theory, a deadly opponent 
 of some of the incendiary teachings of Thomas Jef- 
 ferson, and his modern idol was the Honorable 
 Henry Clay. He was an enthusiastic freemason, 
 frequenting the lodge of Washington in Cameron 
 street; and as a citizen was second to none in the 
 estimation of his townspeople, although not in active 
 business, having inherited a wide old double house 
 in which he lived alone, and sufficient patrimony for 
 his small wants and large charities. 
 
 Ah, yes, it was years since Miss Penelope had 
 folded away her love-dream, sprinkled with rue and 
 pansies, like a garment of the beloved dead. And 
 yet little Gay's sharp eyes were not mistaken in see- 
 ing upon her faded cheek a faint warmth when the 
 
50 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 major stepped in on Saturdays to offer her revenge 
 at cards or chess or backgammon. He brought her a 
 pink rosebud once, plucked in the yard while waiting 
 for Dennis to hobble to the door — and reminded her 
 that she had always looked so well in pink. Next 
 day Gay found Miss Penelope picking out the 
 rosettes of lavender " love " ribbon in her evening 
 cap and fumbling with some loops of rose color. 
 But Miss Finetta's brusque entrance and demand to 
 know what nonsense she was at, fussing with such 
 colors at her age, made Miss Penelope hasten to 
 put back the lavender, which had never since been 
 changed. 
 
 Miss Penelope Berkeley was now a fair, pretty old 
 lady, with dimples and a double chin, her drab hair, 
 once golden, worn in two ''sausages" on each temple. 
 She had grown stout, but was still active on her feet, 
 and was always sent for when trouble or illness came 
 to the household of a friend. She was not learned 
 or very accomplished. Her representation of The 
 Flood in cross-stitch worsted work, now hanging 
 over the chamber mantelpiece, began and ended her 
 achievements with the needle. She could sit down 
 to the piano in the twilight and play pieces that gave 
 delight to listening ears, and as a housekeeper her 
 fame went far and wide. " She makes the best 
 pickles of any woman I ever ate," was the com- 
 ment of a rival, who would not yield to Miss Pene- 
 lope the palm for preserves of watermelon rind 
 carved to resemble Chinese ivories. She was gen- 
 erous to a fault, tender, forgiving. To carry to her 
 one's sorrows was like lying down when tired on an 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 51 
 
 old-time feather-bed. Aud she adored novels. Gay's 
 taste for romance was omnivorous, hardly anything 
 coming amiss to her, but Miss Penelope liked chiefly 
 those many-volumed works where the cast included a 
 traitor, a misunderstanding, two riven hearts, a dying 
 heroine, and a lover on horseback arriving in time 
 for the last sigh. 
 
 Aunt Finetta, on the contrary, was given to no 
 melting at imaginary woes. She was a stern, hawk- 
 eyed woman, utterly out of keeping with her fairy- 
 tale appellation ; and was many years older than her 
 sister, whom she regarded as in some respects on a 
 par with their orphan grandnieee Gay. The only sur- 
 vivors of a large family born in this house, she, more 
 than her sister, belonged to the bygones that pos- 
 sessed it. The old gray-white stucco pile, built by 
 their Scotch grandfather soon after his arrival in 
 the Virginian colony, had always been hand in glove 
 with Virginian history. No room but kept its tradi- 
 tion of some personage renowned in the stirring days 
 before and after the American Revolution. The epoch 
 of Miss Finetta's first appearance at Belhaven routs 
 and parties had been before the ebb-tide of Belha- 
 ven's prosperity. Her people had led the van of enter- 
 tainments to strangers and townsfolk. Now all were 
 gone — friends, parents, fortune. The house fairly 
 echoed with haunting whispers of the past. Nothing 
 remained but the old walls, the old furniture, some 
 old servants, a genteel competence, sister Penelope, 
 and Gay. By and by she would be 'carried out to 
 take her place in the family vault, already crowded, 
 under the cedars of the old town burial-ground. 
 
52 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 Gay was not troubled by sueli thoughts. She only 
 lamented the cutting off, long before her birth, of 
 their right of way to the river, by a city street. 
 Once the gentry who caroe to drink tea in Princess 
 Royal street used to stroll down, between box walks 
 and under bowers of jasmine, to see their own ships 
 set sail for England. After that period came the 
 bustle of growing commerce ; but now the long 
 wharf jutting into the river, and the dingy ware- 
 houses with the twinkling, broken panes of glass, 
 had passed under a spell of silence and decay. For- 
 lorn as was their present aspect, Gay loved to steal 
 down and sit dangling her feet over the edge of the 
 rotting docks, to dream and wonder why every ex- 
 citing thing "had been." Born a sailor's child, she 
 longed to repeople these hushed spaces with the sea- 
 faring folk that had kept Belhaven town astir. In 
 early childhood she had fed her imagination on the 
 stories of their memorable doings on the deep when 
 they sailed richly laden barks into pirate-haunted 
 waters. Among many tales, her favorite, perhaps, 
 was that of the merchantman homeward bound from 
 London in 1792, chased and captured by the French 
 frigate Insurgente, her crew and captain carried to 
 Nantes, drawn up in a line in the prison yard, and 
 every other man picked out for Madame Guillotine — 
 the survivors escaping over the prison wall by using 
 their blankets cut into strips and knotted into a rope. 
 Gay liked to think the returning heroes of that ad- 
 venture had set foot in safety upon the crumbling 
 boards through which she now caught glimpses of 
 water lapping upon emerald-vested piles. 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 53 
 
 As she grew older, such dreams of the sea had faded 
 and her ambition took another turn. She wanted to 
 go out and shine in the great world. If her father, the 
 lieutenant, had lived, Gray felt sure that her talents 
 would have had wider scope. She was impatient of 
 the calm routine, the church-going, the housekeeping, 
 the traditions, the long, dull streets with their cobble- 
 stones set in grass, in which no inexplicable sound 
 was ever heard. Oh ! for something that she did not 
 understand — could not account for! Oh! for some 
 break in this monotony of peace ! 
 
 Then Gay passed into a softer phase. She began 
 to look oftener in the glass, to tie her rough locks 
 under a ribbon topknot, to speculate about love and 
 lovers. That her own suitor should be tall, with 
 night-black hair, a dome like brow, and a hidden 
 sorrow, was all she absolutely exacted of fate — the 
 rest was immaterial. Failing a romance on her own 
 account, she took the deeper interest in Aunt Pene- 
 lope's. Even the purple-faced Dr. Fountain offered 
 a loophole of escape from the uneventfulness of life 
 in old Belhaven. 
 
 • "You may take Peggy and the basket and go to 
 market for me. Gay," Aunt Penelope had remarked, 
 a little flurried. " You know what we need ; and be 
 sure Hodges sends us the right cut of the sturgeon. 
 Dr. Fountain likes his sturgeon stuffed and baked." 
 
 Gay winced over the unsentimental sturgeon, but 
 obeyed. Nothing she loved better than market-day 
 and a little brief authority. 
 
 The clean streets around the market-place were 
 
54 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 crowded with country wagons from which the horses 
 had been unhitched to feed at the back. Inside, 
 under the old brick arches, was delicious shadow. 
 Out in the open part of the square a picturesque 
 medley of booths for the sale of fruit and flowers 
 and vegetables was shaded by awnings from the 
 May sun. All the country-side seemed to have ren- 
 dered tribute in May-flowers. Even the fish-stalls, 
 with their shining spoils of the Potomac, and the 
 prosaic butchers' stands, had each its nosegay of 
 fresh mock-orange, lilac, snowball and althea. The 
 cries of imprisoned ducks and chickens rose above 
 the soft chatter of the negro women, gay and emu- 
 lous to Sell their wares. Everybody was at leisure to 
 be civil, and what elsewhere is the mosquito-note 
 of business here subsided into the drone of honey- 
 bees at harvest. 
 
 '' If that is n't Major Daisy with old Vulcan ! " ex- 
 claimed Miss Gay to her attendant. 
 
 "Major Daisy larfin' roun' de wrong side uv he 
 mouf to-day, I reckon," said Peggy, sapiently. "Law, 
 honey, he 'sarves it, he suttinly do, fur lettin' ole Miss 
 give him de mittin fur Miss Pen, Shua 's you live 
 dere 's to be a weddin' in de fambly, cos I done fotch 
 it in coffee groun's an' in de keards." 
 
 "A wedding ! Oh, Aunt Peggy ! " cried Gay. 
 
 "You jes wait, chile. 'Pears like husbands is a 
 long time a-comin' to our house, but — (Look heah, 
 you niggah ! Ef you blocks up our way I '11 make a 
 mashed persimmon uv you, mighty quick.) Ef on'y 
 ole Miss don' go discommodatin' Providence by shet- 
 tin' de do' in dis heah one's face — " 
 
IX THE OLD MARKET. 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 55 
 
 " But, Aunt Peggy," said Gray, who knew the terms 
 upon which the termagant lived with her own meek 
 little consort, Mars, ''I thought you don't approve 
 of marrying." 
 
 '' Laws, chile, who said I do ? (None o' them to- 
 marteses o' yourn, Miss Johnson. I 'm s'prised at 
 you fur offerin' 'em to my young miss.) Men is 
 triflin', no 'count critters, honey; but I s'pose de 
 good Lawd knowed wot he was arter when he 
 'lowed dat husbands was to be." 
 
 Gay, more affected than she chose to admit by 
 Peggy's prophecy, — for the old woman enjoyed 
 great renown as a fortune-teller, — felt quite a pang 
 of sympathy for Major David when they came up 
 with the little gentleman, who was purchasing 
 some rather diminutive chops to put into the large 
 basket the colored butler carried upon his arm. 
 
 " Good morning. Miss Gay. Hope I see you well, 
 ma'am," he said, with a flourishing bow. "Caught 
 the old bachelor buying his dinner, eh? Well, it 's 
 like keeping house for a canary, so Vulcan thinks ; 
 but I 'm blessed if I know what to get when I 'm by 
 myself. And how are the good ladies this morning? 
 Was a little afraid Miss Pen would have a return of 
 her earache after going out on the porch to see the 
 new moon o' Saturday." 
 
 The earache ! How unrefined ! No word, no con- 
 sciousness of the presence of the hated rival in the 
 Berkeley house ! Gay felt defrauded of a dramatic 
 situation. 
 
 " You know we 've staying company," she said, 
 with a little toss of the head. ''A most agreeable 
 
56 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 and eminent divine. The Reverend Joshua Foun- 
 tain, a friend, a very old friend, of my aunts." 
 
 "Fountain"? You don't say so. Why, of course 
 I know old Fountain. We were at school together ; 
 and the boys — because of a hearty appetite — you 
 know boys will give nicknames — they called him 
 ' Gobbling Josh.' Ha ! ha ! I remember one day at 
 our table — but it don't do to tell tales out of school. 
 Why, of course — Josh married Miss Molly Patton, 
 of Anne Arundel. I remember seeing those two Pat- 
 ton sisters — Miss Molly was the little foxy one — at 
 the Greenbrier White in — let me see — what year — " 
 
 But Gay, with great dignity, interrupted him, 
 " Ur. Fountain has been a widower for at least a 
 year," she said ; " and I think my aunts will be ex- 
 pecting me, as we Ve got to go to Convention pres- 
 ently — so good morning. Major Garnett." 
 
 She blamed herself afterward for this severity. 
 In books, the discarded suitor always veils his real 
 feeling by an assumption of indifference. She even 
 pardoned, and determined to forget, the odious sug- 
 gestion of " Gobbling Josh," although it returned to 
 her mind more than once at the dinner-table that 
 day, when the family, reinforced by a new arrival, 
 another reverend appetite, sat down to enjoy the 
 sturgeon, together with other bountiful provision 
 of Peggy's and Aunt Penelope's best culinary skill. 
 Further to promote good fellowship. Aunt Finetta 
 had invited in her next-door neighbors, the Misses 
 Bassett, two dear little old ladies, whose establish- 
 ment was ruled over by an Angora cat always 
 spoken of as " He," and whose fear of burglars had 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 57 
 
 induced them to invest in a man's hat and stick 
 kept prominently in view in theii- front hall. 
 
 The social supremacy of the clergy in Belhaven has 
 long been a fact accepted with resignation by her 
 citizens of secular avocations. It used to be said 
 by the disaffected lawyers, bankers, doctors and mer- 
 chants of the place that their women would give first 
 chance to any theologue, even were he the downiest 
 youngster from the famous school of divinity hard 
 by the town; that for such were held in store the 
 brightest smiles, the softest arm-chairs, the most but- 
 tery of muffins. Without accepting this slander, we 
 may admit the discouragement to a young man who 
 had requested the object of his hopes to be at home 
 to him, at finding her alone with a seminarian, prac- 
 tising "Come, Ye Disconsolate," at the melodeon. 
 And we have heard of a Belhaven serenade received 
 with enthusiasm by the maiden beneath whose win- 
 dow the darkness was aroused with the tune of 
 "Mary to the Saviour's Tomb," performed as a 
 solo on the French horn ! 
 
 The only real dissipation Belhaven ever indulged 
 in was a convention, aud the week was very gay. 
 Tripping over the newly washed bricks of the side- 
 walk, in the wake of ministerial coats, were seen 
 ladies in neat morocco slippers, their white stock- 
 ings crossed with black ribbons, their bonnets and 
 mantillas looking as if just come out of silver paper 
 and smelling of vanilla bean. They flocked to every 
 sitting of the delegates, and in the intervals ex- 
 changed tea-parties and "dinings," at which each 
 housewife in turn was expected to try some new 
 
58 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 recipe. With their eyes devoutly fixed upon the ex- 
 pounding doctor iu the pulpit, they would, during 
 the services, be often torn by pangs as to whether 
 Aunt Judy would know when to take that cake out 
 of the oven, or whether she might not get " per- 
 jinkety" and overspice the soup. This state of 
 things was hard upon the doctrine, but comfortable 
 for the divines. 
 
 Under such conditions Dr. Fountain, who had ar- 
 rived in Belhaven wearing his bereavement upon his 
 sleeve for all to see, cheered up amazingly. His allu- 
 sions to the loved and lost, his sniffs at tributes to 
 her worth, became less frequent. He waxed even 
 playful iu his heavy way. He made visits among 
 his old acquaintances, drank tea and assumed Sir 
 Oracle in many homes, but was steadfast in return- 
 ing early to enjoy the society of the house in Prin- 
 cess Royal street. The Misses Bassett, who from 
 their parlor window saw everything, declared that 
 coming back to the scenes of his young life had 
 made the doctor lose ten years of his age. He 
 walked buoyantly, exchanged his broad-brimmed 
 hat of black straw for a white one with a black 
 band, and preached a sermon so full of hope for 
 humanity and love for his fellow-men as to sound 
 like the twittering of swallows from a chimney-top. 
 When the Misses Bassett asked Miss Penelope if 
 she did not find this discourse "most refreshing," 
 Aunt Pen assented beamingly; though in truth the 
 dear old lady had dozed off at " thirdly, my beloved 
 brethren," not to awake till the benediction. Major 
 Daisy, stalking up the aisle of the church after 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 59 
 
 everybody else was seated, with the gloves usually 
 carried in his hat still resting upon his wig, heard 
 the sermon also, and said afterward, with a quiz- 
 zical smile, that " Josh was taking notice," he pre- 
 sumed. Dr. Fountain, who had come to spend a 
 week, remained with the Berkeleys an entire fort- 
 night, and afterward took up his abode at the 
 Mansion House Hotel, near by. It was under- 
 stood by his congregation that he was traveling 
 for his health. 
 
 And now little nothings, betokening which way 
 the wind blew, began to multiply. He asked Aunt 
 Penelope to play for him "My favorite air, the 
 melody of Thomas Moore entitled : 
 
 ' Believe me if all those endearing young charms 
 Which I gaze on so fondly to-day.'" 
 
 He brought in a big bunch of hundred-leaf roses pur- 
 chased in the market-place, and, after hovering uncer- 
 tainly around Miss Penelope awhile, presented them 
 to Gay. He talked a great deal of his home, and his 
 dear girls, and of the fine watermelon crops in his 
 part of the country. He presented " Doddridge's 
 Sermons " to Miss Berkeley ; Pope's " Essay on Man " 
 to Miss Penelope ; and to Gay a blue and gold vol- 
 ume of "Selected Poems of the Affections," at which 
 she laughed, and of which she did not read ten lines. 
 But as the intentions of her future Uncle Joshua were 
 good, she thanked him sweetly and redoubled her acts 
 of hospitable kindness. 
 
 One night Peggy, accustomed to visit her Miss 
 
60 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 Penelope for purposes of gossip after that lady had 
 retired to bed, found her time for calling was mis- 
 calculated. Miss Penelope, in a voluminous white 
 wrapper, starched and frilled, was still upon her 
 knees engaged in devotions that Peggy from experi- 
 ence knew were likely to be protracted beyond the 
 limit of her own waiting powers. Peggy, therefore, 
 in a strained and melancholy voice, observed: 
 
 "Miss Pen 's sayin' her pra'rs, ain't she? I jes 
 wish she knowed Miss Fanny Bassett 's sont in to 
 ax fur de loan uv a quart uv to-morrer mornin's milk 
 fur breakfas'," 
 
 "Let her have the milk," came in hollow tones 
 from beneath Miss Penelope's night-coif; and then, 
 to Peggy's disappointment, down went the head in 
 devotion deeper than before. What was to be done ? 
 Peggy, well aware of the dear lady's terror of a 
 mouse, was not long at a loss. Taking a ball of 
 wool from Miss Penelope's knitting-basket, she let 
 it shoot across the floor to bring up against her 
 mistress's protruding foot. With a shriek and a 
 bound Miss Penelope sprang into bed, not to stop 
 shivering until safely tucked in — deceitful Peggy 
 searching everywhere, but of course in vain, for the 
 most deadly enemy of her maiden peace. 
 
 " Look for it, Peggy. Kill it ! The little wretch 
 touched me. Oh, I can smell him still ! " 
 
 " Dey worn't never nut'in' like de giniwine Berke- 
 ley nose fur smellin' low-down smells," said Peggy, 
 emitting a series of alarming sounds. " Dar now, 
 chile, I see him run into dat crack behin' de bureau, 
 an' he '11 be too scart to come back dis away to-night. 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 61 
 
 Miss Pen — ! Shua 's you bawn dat gentleman uv 
 yourn ain't gwine away from here 'thout co'tin' some- 
 body. He 's suttiuly sot on marryin'." 
 
 '' Nonsense, Peggy," said Miss Penelope. 
 
 " He is dat, shna ! An' husbands ain't so plenty in 
 dis house. Now, chile, I jes want to speak a word in 
 season. Ole Miss ain't a gwyne to las' forever, an' when 
 she go, who 's to take keer uv you 'n' Miss Gay ? " 
 
 " The Lord will provide, Peggy." 
 
 ^' S'posin' he will, you 'd better hold on to your 
 beau dis time, tight. He ain't so purty as some; 
 but he 's stiddy an' conformable-like, an' he 's got 
 chillen to keep company wid Miss Gay." 
 
 "O Peggy, I 've thought of all that," said poor 
 Miss Penelope. "Don't you suppose sister Finetta 
 has been at me every day "? I 'm sure I never saw 
 her so possessed to take anybody's part." 
 
 " But you likes him jes one little teeuchy bit, 
 honey "? " coaxed Peggy, guiltily conscious of a 
 present in her pocket of a gold dollar bestowed by 
 Dr. Fountain for encouragement received, when she 
 had encountered the good gentleman walking up and 
 down between her rows of cabbages and, with the 
 familiar wheedling of her race, had contrived to let 
 him know that his presence in the house was not 
 unacceptable to the lower powers. 
 
 ''Wait till he asks me, Peggy," answered Miss 
 Penelope, who, resolutely pulling the counterpane 
 up to her chin, refused to say another word. 
 
 The afternoon following this momentous inter- 
 view Gay was in the garden tying up her clove- 
 6 
 
62 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 pinks, which persisted in dropping their heavy, lus- 
 cious heads to mother earth. While thus employed, 
 a shadow fell across her sunshine, and, looking up, 
 she beheld the tall, black-coated form and rubicund 
 visage of their reverend visitor. 
 
 What followed has never been circumstantially 
 told. But the aunts who were in the shady cham- 
 ber napping over their books were surprised and 
 shocked at the sudden, impetuous entrance of Miss 
 Gay, with a crimson face and an agitated manner. 
 
 '' He 's a horrid, old, conceited thing ; and I hope 
 never to lay eyes on him again," she cried, dashing 
 a lapful of carnations down upon the floor. 
 
 " Gay, I am astonished," remarked both of the 
 ladies in duet. " Pray, child, whom do you mean ? " 
 
 "Dr. Fountain," cried Gay, too furious to cry. 
 "He thought I was in love ivitli Mm! He said I 'd 
 encouraged him to stay. And he said he 'd wres- 
 tled in prayer about me till he 'd determined to 
 overlook my youth and take me to — be — his — 
 wife ! " 
 
 "My dear, you must be dreaming," said Aunt 
 Penelope, gently. Aunt Finetta was too thunder- 
 struck to speak. 
 
 " No, no, it 's perfectly, hatefully true. I despise 
 him, but I despise myself still more. When I only 
 meant to be kind to him because — be — cause — " 
 Here Gay stopped and choked. 
 
 "It 's my duty to inquire into this aifair," said 
 Miss Berkeley, moving majestically toward the door. 
 
 " Oh, you need n't ! " said Gay. " He 's gone ! 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 63 
 
 He 's raging ! When he had the impudence to take 
 my fingers in his old flabby hand and squeeze them, 
 I just pinched him — pinched him awfully, and made 
 him let me go." 
 
 Miss Berkeley stopped, undecided, with her hand 
 upon the knob. Then turning to her sister, a pained 
 look of inquiry came upon her face. 
 
 '*' Penelope ? " she said. 
 
 '* We all have been mistaken, sister," was the quick 
 answer. " I was doing my best to please you; but — 
 I 'm afraid — I feel relieved." 
 
 Two years after these events Gay's heart's desire 
 was realized. There came into the still Belhaven 
 streets such a stir and marshaling of troops that 
 the town was born again to be the war-post of the 
 days of Washington. And when presently the boys 
 in gray who had been rallied from Belhaven's homes 
 marched out, the boys in blue marched in. Needless 
 to say that, drawn from its rusty scabbard, the sword 
 he had carried in Mexico was offered by Major Gar- 
 nett to his Virginia. As colonel of a regiment of in- 
 fantry he served at the two battles of Manassas, and 
 for several campaigns was heard of wherever there 
 was fighting to be done. Then the eager, yearning 
 friends shut up in Belhaven, and meeting in secret to 
 pray for the armies of the South, learned that Gen- 
 eral Garnett had lost an arm and a leg in battle, and 
 was lying, not expected to survive, at a hospital in 
 Richmond. For the first time in her life Gay saw a 
 blue light of fixed determination burn in the placid 
 orbs of Aunt Penelope. Overcoming all obstacles, 
 
64 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 and braving danger and distress, Miss Penelope Berke- 
 ley pushed through the lines and went to Richmond. 
 
 "Do you know me, David? " she asked, at the mo- 
 ment when it was believed his gallant soul was pass- 
 ing to its reward. 
 
 " Know you, Pen ? " he answered. " Why, I must 
 be in heaven." 
 
 ''There is n't much of me left, ma'am," he re- 
 marked, in the course of a few weeks, to his devoted 
 nurse ; " but there 's a body to hold my heart, and a 
 hand to put the ring upon your finger. Nothing 
 should part us now, Pen. Come, say you '11 be 
 Mistress Garnett." 
 
 " O David ! As if I had n't loved you all my life," 
 sighed Miss Penelope. 
 
 General and Mrs. Garnett went back, after a while, 
 to live in the old house, whence Aunt Finetta had 
 been gathered to her fathers. Gay's own romance 
 oame to her in due season, as I shall have presently 
 to tell. But long before that was finally accom- 
 plished she had given to Major Daisy the enthusiastic 
 homage of her heart. " Between Pen and Gay," the 
 dear old boy used to say, '' I 've more hands and feet 
 and coddling than any one man, much less half a 
 man, deserves." 
 
 The Reverend Joshua espoused a widow with six 
 children, three farms, and a temper locally renowned. 
 Old Peggy died firmly believing that her incanta- 
 tions, if not her diplomacy, had secured a husband 
 to the ancient house of Berkeley. 
 
Ill 
 
 MONSIEUR ALCIBIADE 
 
 TRANSPARENTLY gentle despot, 
 who might have been led by the 
 finger-tip of the youngest member 
 of his class, was M. Alcibiade de 
 St. Pierre, the Belhaven dancing- 
 master, who gave also lessons in 
 his native tongue. Nature had endowed him with 
 a stationary scowl, his mustaches curled wildly, and 
 he bore upon the brow a cicatrix that caused his 
 pupils to liken him to the swashbuckler heroes of 
 Dumas, Scott, or Cervantes. In outward appear- 
 ance he was Aramis, Athos, Porthos, and D'Artag- 
 nan in one, with a dash of Le Balafre and Don 
 Quixote thrown in. 
 
 Although this picturesque personage was a com- 
 parative new-comer in the town, the forebear of M. 
 Alcibiade had arrived in America as pendant to an 
 expedition supplying an interesting chapter of fron- 
 tier history. Early in the spring of 1790 came into 
 port at Belhaven a party of French immigrants en- 
 
 65 
 
66 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 gaged by Playfair, an English agent, and De Sois- 
 sons, a nimble-tongued deceiver of his compatriots, 
 in behalf of an enterprise organized in New England, 
 and styled the Ohio Land Company, to people the wil- 
 derness near the Kanawha River, beyond the west- 
 ern woods of Virginia. Among the travelers, whose 
 weary hearts beat high with hope as they touched 
 the shore of a fancied El Dorado, were men skilled 
 in the exquisite handicrafts of a perfected civiliza- 
 tion. Carvers there were of furniture like wooden 
 lacework ; beaters of fine brass fashioned into rocaiUe 
 decorations ; painters of shepherds piping to their 
 fair, of Cupids turning somersaults in chains of 
 roses; harpsichord-tuners; makers of gilded car- 
 riages; varnishers of panels that shone like mirrors ; 
 disciples of Boule and Martin ; confectioners ; perru- 
 quiers — and all, by a fine irony of fate, bound for a 
 log-hut settlement, where the cry of savage beasts, or 
 the war-whoop of the deadly Indian, was to be their 
 nightly lullaby. 
 
 What eloquence had prevailed upon these hap- 
 less beings to believe they were to be the founders 
 of a brave new Paris in the western hemisphere, 
 their wily managers alone could tell. The first in- 
 stalment of the five hundred Frenchmen said to 
 have been thus deluded, numbering with their wives 
 and children about sixty, after much waiting at 
 Belhaven, their souls within them vexed by home- 
 sickness and hope deferred, split up into variously 
 minded factions. Some pressed on, under charge 
 of a long-delayed messenger of the company, to the 
 frontier; others put their all into a return passage 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 67 
 
 to France ; and a few elected to remain and try 
 their fortunes in the little town, which in those 
 days had no end of ambitious projects for future 
 greatness. 
 
 One of these prudent ones was a gay old bachelor, 
 M. Alcibiade St. Pierre, self-styled "Hair-Dresser to 
 the Court of France." He opened a snug little shop, 
 where the gentry of town and country dropped in to 
 have their perukes dressed and tied, to be shorn, per- 
 fumed and shampooed, after the latest fashions in 
 vogue before Alcibiade had set sail for the New 
 World. He was sometimes sent for to bleed, or to 
 apply leeches, and his mlUe-fleurs graces impressed 
 the townspeople mightily. As his trade increased, 
 Alcibiade was called on to lament the sad fortunes 
 of his fellow-immigrants. Most of those who became 
 frontiersmen had succumbed to want and hardships, 
 had met the horrors of Indian massacre, or had 
 gone under in the collapse of an international specu- 
 lation that carried down its promoters in the crash. 
 From those who returned to France had come dol- 
 orous accounts of commotion in their beloved capital. 
 Decidedly, thought M. Alcibiade, it were better to 
 stagnate in Belhaven than be forced by a mob in 
 Paris to dress the head of some former patron upon 
 a pike ! 
 
 Simple-minded, kindly, cheery as le petit homme 
 gris, the little hair-dresser became a great favorite. 
 A trig Scotch lassie, daughter of a settler, having 
 fallen in love with him, the father consented to the 
 match on the condition that the intended son-in-law 
 would renounce his French patronymic and trans- 
 
68 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 late himself into plain "A. Peters" upon his sign 
 and in his official signature. And thus it came to 
 pass that, instead of the stylish frontispiece so flat- 
 tering to town pride, there arose above the shop 
 door an announcement remaining there until its 
 blue and gold were dimmed by time: 
 
 A. PETERS, ladies' AND GENTS' HAIR- 
 DRESSER AND BARBER. 
 
 And, farther down : 
 
 wigs and toupets. 
 
 Diseases of the Scalp. 
 
 Onguents and Scents. 
 
 hair- powder, rouge and patches. 
 
 attendance at house for balls and 
 
 ROUTS. 
 
 Also: 
 
 Teeth pulled, and Lively Leeches 
 constantly in stock. 
 
 By the smiles and blushes of his buxom bride 
 the gallant Alcibiade considered himself well paid 
 for his self-sacrifice. Continuing to prosper, he 
 gave hostages to hair-dressing in the shape of sev- 
 eral little lads who spoke English with a broad 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 69 
 
 Scotch burr, French not at all, and, later in life, 
 seized with nostalgia, emigrated with his family to 
 end his days on the soil that gave him birth. 
 
 Old Mr. Peters had become a figment of tradi- 
 tion in the town when his grandson, the present 
 Alcibiade, appeared upon the scene. To the ances- 
 tral St. Pierre the new representative had prefixed 
 a patrician "de," vaguely explained as having been 
 resumed by the family on recovering possession of 
 estates lost in the French Revolution. To plain 
 people in Belhaven this prefix was interpreted to 
 be an initial letter D, doing duty for a middle 
 name not given. As for the estates, they must 
 have been limited to the amount aptly if not 
 elegantly designated by the French Commandant 
 Marin in the conference with the Half-King of the 
 Six Nations, recorded by Washington in 1753, when 
 he said, " Child, you talk foolish ; there is not so 
 much land as the black of my nail yours." 
 
 When first arrived in Belhaven, the poor French- 
 man was indeed in a pitiable plight. The attention 
 of the town was called to him by certain readings 
 and recitations in his own language, advertised to 
 be given in Lafayette Hall. 
 
 Gay Berkeley, who, with her maiden aunt Penel- 
 ope, had gone into Mrs. Dibble's shop to purchase 
 pens and writing-paper, picked up from the counter 
 a long sheet of manuscript that excited her amused 
 curiosity. It was apparently a programme, writ- 
 ten on foolscap in a fine copper-plate hand, and ex- 
 pressed in a queer French-English that would have 
 been a credit to the manual known to fame as the 
 
70 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 " Portuguese Grammar and Guide to Polite Conver- 
 sation." 
 
 On my arrival from the France, me Alcibiade de St. Pierre, 
 Chevalier of the Legion of Honor and ex-artist of the theatres 
 of Paris, do make hurry to throw myself at the feet of illus- 
 trious citizens of Belhaven, with a presentment special of se- 
 lections from the immortal Eacine et Corneille, such present- 
 ment to have place Hall Lafayette, the Monday evening to 
 follow. Receive, ladies and gentlemen, my distinguished hom- 
 ages and impressed salutations your very humble serviteur. 
 
 "What in the world is this, Mrs. Dibble?" asked 
 the young lady, with dimpling cheeks, 
 
 "Indeed, Miss Gay, I told the Chevalier that it 
 would n't be long catchin' the eye o' my best cus- 
 tomers," responded Mrs. Dibble, complacently. "I 
 helped him out a bit with the words he did n't 
 know. Dear heart, if it was n't only but for the 
 handwritin', as good as Mr. Johnson's nephew that 
 was put in State's prison for forgery, pore fellow, 
 he that used to practise here with fine nibs an' 
 broad nibs, writin' cards — spread eagles with your 
 name in curlicues comin' out o' their beaks — an' 
 true-lovers' knots an' doves, if 't was a new-married 
 pair. Miss Penelope, I 'm ashamed to say I 'm clean 
 out o' quills ; but old Farmer Berry up at the cross- 
 roads, the only one I can trust to pick the geese 
 properly, '11 bring me a new lot to-morrow. Miss 
 Gay, now, she 's new school, 'n uses steel — sand, 
 ma'am ? Yes ; of course. The usual quantity ? 
 Here 's sweet note-paper, Miss Gay, just received 
 from Baltimore, the tip o' the mode, they say — 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 71 
 
 pale pink an' skim-milk blue. Plain white, did you 
 say, miss? Yes; I've some cream-laid, like you Ve 
 always used befo'. If you 've nothin' better to do, 
 ladies, 't would be a charity to that pore Mounseer 
 to patronize his performance a Monday night. If 
 't was only for old times' sake, Miss Penelope, 
 ma'am; many 's the head he 's dressed — I mean 
 his grandfather 's dressed — for your f am'ly. Yes ; 
 old Mr. Peters's grandson, as I 'm alive, ma'am, an' 
 the entertainment most genteel. Selections from 
 Corneel an' Raycine ; fifty cents for adults, twenty- 
 five for children, an' a special reduction for ladies' 
 schools. I thought there 'd be a chance to get the 
 young gentlemen from Mr. Penhallow's Academy ; 
 but the Chevalier kinder shriveled up at the men- 
 tion o' boys, an' said ' t was too hard to keep up the 
 true dignity o' the drama when the}^ was present — 
 Lord knows, since I took to keepin' sweet stuff in 
 t' other winder I 'm up to the ways o' boys. If 
 it 's only a penny horse-cake — comin' back as bold 
 as brass, with the hind legs eat off, declarin' they 's 
 found a dead fly instead of a currant for the eye, 
 an' wautin' their money or another cake — " 
 
 "Do take some tickets, Aunt Pen," pleaded Gay. 
 
 "You know my sister does not approve of any- 
 thing theatrical, my love," whispered Aunt Penel- 
 ope. "Most of our church-members think with 
 her. To be sure dear mama used often to tell us 
 of the time when General Washington and his lady, 
 and Miss and Master Custis, drove up to stop two 
 nights at grandpapa's, expressly to attend ' The Tra- 
 gedy of Douglas,' by Mr. Home, and a play caUed 
 
72 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 'The Inconstant; or, The Way to Win Him.' Ma- 
 ma saw all the entertainments of the kind, I be- 
 lieve. It was thought of differently in those days." 
 
 " Doctor Falconer/' ventured Gay, mentioning an 
 eminent divine, "quoted, when he last drank tea 
 with us, a passage from Racine. And these are 
 only recitations, auntie, no acting or costumes." 
 
 "Oh, in that case," said Aunt Penelope, taking 
 out her purse, " you may give me four tickets, Mrs. 
 Dibble, and you may invite two members of your 
 French class, child. Seats in the second row, if 
 you please, Mrs. Dibble. In a thing of this kind 
 it is well to be near enough to study the expres- 
 sion of the performer's face ; and one likes to for- 
 get the crowd when it 's poetry. I 'm sure sister 
 Fiuetta will be pleased to hear about old Mr. 
 Peters's grandson." 
 
 Lafayette Hall was a dingy, ill-lighted room over 
 the second floor of the building in which Mrs. Dib- 
 ble kept her shop. To the young people it was as- 
 sociated with the intermittent delights of perform- 
 ances by trained dogs and canaries ; by Blind Tom, 
 a negro pianist who could repeat every air sug- 
 gested to him by the audience, and play better 
 with his hands behind him than most of his hear- 
 ers in the natural attitude ; by the tuneful Hutch- 
 inson family, who stood in a row and warbled; by 
 jugglers always interesting, and returned mission- 
 aries, less alluring to the young; of May exhibi- 
 tions of female seminaries, whereat the pupils in 
 book-muslin with arbor- vitae wreaths recited before 
 applauding parents poems in honor of their queen, 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 73 
 
 and were afterward regaled with lemonade and 
 cake. It was there that Gay, as first lady-in-wait- 
 ing, had once retired behind the queen's throne in 
 tears, because her majesty had not scrupled to twit 
 her with wearing one of Aunt Pen's muslins "made 
 over" — which was too true. 
 
 Even now Gay could not divest herself of the ex- 
 hilaration produced by the sight of that green baize 
 curtain and the oil-lamps serving as foot-lights. 
 When, on the evening of the Chevalier's debut, she 
 came into the hall, she nodded on every side to 
 her friends, with a feeling that this was Hfe. 
 Mrs. Dibble, whose person was attired in grass- 
 green mousseUne de laine, with a wide collar of 
 dotted net, trimmed with cotton lace, took tickets 
 at the door; and in a conspicuously good seat sat 
 Viney Piper, the little day-dressmaker, whose pas- 
 sion for the drama led her to patronize every re- 
 spectable show that came to town. Viney had ar- 
 rived upon the opening of the doors at six o'clock, 
 and the performance was advertised to begin at 
 half-past seven. She was an odd-looking, albino 
 sort of creature, with pinkish eyes and eyelids, pale 
 flaxen hair, and a hook-nose much to one side of 
 her face. The Chevalier, entering the hall, had 
 caught sight of her on his way to the rear of the 
 stage, and forthwith executed a sweeping bow that 
 Viney thought the perfection of foreign elegance. 
 
 When the hall was fairly filled, and the shuffling 
 
 of feet announced the right degree of impatience 
 
 on the part of the audience, the curtain, pulled up 
 
 by the performer himself, rose upon a stage empty 
 
 7 
 
74 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 save for a small pine table displaying a white china 
 water-pitcher and a goblet. M. Alcibiade, wearing 
 a suit of rusty black, with a scarlet satin stock 
 and white kid gloves, an order in his button-hole, 
 his hair fiercely ruffled, and his eyes gleaming at 
 some foe unknown, holding a dinner-knife in his 
 clenched hand, stalked on the scene. At this alarm- 
 ing apparition a little girl sitting by her mama burst 
 into tears, and had to be consoled with gum-drops 
 from the parental pocket, interspersed with audi- 
 ble assurances that the gentleman meant no harm. 
 Opening his lips, Alcibiade poured forth a cataract 
 of words, of which the most advanced French schol- 
 ars in Miss Meechin's senior class could make neither 
 head nor tail. He raved, he roared, he ranted ; then, 
 seizing a goblet from the table, he half filled it witli 
 water, and, holding the dagger in his other hand, 
 advanced to the footlights calling on Heaven to end 
 his woes. At last, drinking the contents of the poi- 
 soned cup, he threw away the dinner-knife, and fell 
 with a gurgling groan and a crash that made the 
 lamps rattle in the chandelier. This, by agreement 
 with Mrs. Dibble, was the signal for that worthy 
 lady to hurry behind the scenes and let fall the cur- 
 tain on the direful sight ; but she, unfortunately, 
 stood like a stock, averring afterward that her blood 
 was that cruddled with awr she could n't 'a' budged 
 a mite ! Next, M. Alcibiade, coming slowly back to 
 life, sat up to confront the audience with a smile of 
 absolute fatuity, then, scrambling to his feet, bowed, 
 kissed his hand, and, going off, let the green baize 
 descend on act the first. 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 75 
 
 It was long since Belhaven liad enjoyed such a 
 merry spectacle. The school-girls leading off with 
 infectious giggles, every bench caught the conta- 
 gion, and only Viney Piper, mopping real tears from 
 her eyes, announced herself a connoisseur of true art. 
 
 The rest of the programme, although less explo- 
 sive, met with hysterically suppressed mirth. Before 
 its close, indeed, the audience had filtered slowly 
 from the hall, leaving only the faithful Viney and 
 Mrs. Dibble, the newspaper-carrier (who was stone- 
 deaf), a scrub-woman with her baby in arms, and a 
 few citizens who exacted their money's worth. 
 
 It was evident that provincial taste had not been 
 educated to the dramatic standard of old Mr. Peters's 
 grandson. Alcibiade, failing in other occupations, 
 sank from poverty to want. One day when Miss 
 Viney Piper, arriving at the Berkeley house in 
 Princess Royal street, had established herself in the 
 sewing-room, the ladies in submissive attitudes be- 
 fore her, the little dressmaker could hardly wait to 
 dispose of business before introducing the subject 
 near her heart. 
 
 ^' Just keep on running up them skirt-widths, Miss 
 Gay; an' Miss Penelope, ma'am, you could be goffer- 
 in' that sleeve while I get the body ready to try on," 
 she said, marshaling her forces like a general in 
 command. " Did you hear the news — that old Mr. 
 Peters's grandson ain't expected to live the day out ? 
 Fairly starved, I reckon, 'fore he 'd let Mrs. Dibble 
 know, an' he sleepin' in a hole of an attic at the 
 Drovers' Hotel — kinder low fever, nothin' catchin', 
 the doctor says, but nothin' to bring him up again. 
 
76 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 Such a beautiful genius he is, ma'am, an' a temper 
 like a child, for all he looks so fierce." 
 
 '' Starving ! What do you mean, Viney ! " said 
 Miss Penelope, excitedly. "Go, Gay, fetch me my 
 bonnet and mantilla, and help Susan to pack a bas- 
 ket with some things. How comes it that nobody 
 knew?" 
 
 "It 's all right for the present. Miss Penelope, 
 ma'am," said Viney, blushing. " That 's what 's kep' 
 me a little late this mornin'. I took up a few trifles, 
 an' Mrs. Dibble she 's got somebody to mind the 
 store, and is to stay with him all day. But if you 'd 
 let Peggy put on a chicken to boil down for jelly, it 
 would n't be wasted, even if — " here she swallowed 
 once or twice and stabbed her pincushion — "if the 
 pore Mounseer can't make no use of it." 
 
 The " pore Mounseer," however, surviving the day 
 under Mrs. Dibble's kindly care, and finding no lack 
 of nourishment during the days that followed, was, 
 with the assistance of a subscription among some 
 charitable people, transferred in the course of a week 
 to a spare room let to single gentlemen by Mrs. Pi- 
 per, Viney's mother, which by happy accident had 
 been recently vacated. 
 
 The Pipers lived in one of the smaU frame-houses 
 built to open directly upon the moss-encircled bricks 
 set diagonally in the ancient sidewalk of a mod- 
 est street. The door-stone of white marble was ac- 
 counted in the neighborhood a badge of distinguish- 
 ing elegance, as was also a small brass oval serving 
 as a bell-pull, when most people used knockers, or 
 "knuckles," the gossips would aver. The late Mr. 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 77 
 
 Piper had been a seafaring man, and liad risen to 
 be first mate of the brig Polly and Nancy, when, on 
 a return voyage from Cadiz with a cargo of fruit, 
 salt, and wines bound for Belbaven port, he was 
 swept overboard in a hurricane and lost. 
 
 The best room of the little house into which one 
 stepped out of the street direct, was a sort of ma- 
 rine museum like a chill grotto, suggesting a mer- 
 maid's clutch or the grip of shark's teeth. Here 
 Mrs. Piper did not care to raise the shades, except 
 at one side window permanently darkened by a trel- 
 lis overgrown with a vine of the Isabella grape. The 
 children of Miss Viney's customers liked to be sent 
 to make appointments with that busy little body; 
 for Mrs. Piper, too deaf to answer questions, and 
 droning her explanations in a sing-song voice, al- 
 ways showed them arou*nd the museum with great 
 affability. The old woman usually sat in a clean 
 kitchen opening upon the back yard, where, under 
 the damson-trees and amid the hundred-leaf rose- 
 bushes, were constructed little winding walks, edged 
 with shells, and leading up to seats made of a 
 whale's backbone. 
 
 After the Chevalier de St. Pierre had succeeded 
 in obtaining classes in dancing and deportment that 
 enabled him to live, and had settled down to become 
 a fixture in the widow's house, his spare moments 
 were given to cultivating flowers in the beds be- 
 tween the shell-bordered walks. Everything grows 
 easily in soft Belhaven air, and soon the Pipers' gar- 
 den became a proverb in the place. Mrs. Piper's 
 only complaint against her lodger was couched in 
 
78 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 the expressive phrase, "The Lord knows how often 
 he empties his water-jug"; but even a distaste for 
 ablution yielded in time to the insistent cleanliness 
 of his surroundings. Sometimes, to cheer " Madame 
 Pipere" in her solitude, Alcibiade would descend to 
 the kitchen and proffer to the old woman, knitting in 
 her sunny window-seat. " a leetle divertissement from 
 ze classique drama of La France." He had a vrai in- 
 spiration for the stage, St. Pierre confessed to Viuey, 
 and but for political intrigue would be now in his 
 rightful place on the boards of the Theatre Fran^ais. 
 These exhibitions, repeating the celebrated perform- 
 ance of his debut at Lafayette Hall, were as deeply 
 and religiously admired by the widow as by her 
 daughter. 
 
 One day occurred a variant upon the usual exer- 
 cise. Alcibiade had always treated poor lank Viney 
 as if she were one of the great ladies of the court in 
 bondage to his ancestor's curling-tongs ; but she was 
 unprepared for the scene that greeted her return 
 when, having stepped down to Slater's for a spool 
 of "forty" cotton, she found the Chevalier in his 
 best black suit, wearing white kid gloves, and hold- 
 ing a bouquet in one hand, kneeling at Mrs. Piper's 
 feet and kissing her finger-tips with reverence. 
 
 "■ I ask you, madarae, for the hand of your beau- 
 tiful and admirable child in marriage," was what 
 Viney and the whole neighborhood within ear-shot 
 heard him roar. 
 
 Viney, with all her good qualities, was a bit of a 
 virago. The absurdity of the proceeding, and the 
 sense that her adjacent acquaintances were laughing 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 79 
 
 at her affairs, flooded her thin skin with blushes, and 
 her soul with auger. While Mrs. Piper, scared out 
 of her wits, was about to open her lips for a feeble 
 screech, Viuey whisked into the kitchen, snatched 
 Alcibiade's bouquet, threw it away into a parsley- 
 bed, and boxed the professor's ears. 
 
 "You 'd better believe I give 'im a piece of my 
 mind," she narrated afterward to Miss Penelope and 
 Gay. " But, bless you, he cried so pitiful, an' begged 
 our pardons so kind o' honorable, I had not the heart 
 to turn him out o' the house like I threatened to. 
 Them white kids. Miss Gay! An' at his age, an' 
 mine ! The notion 's too cryin' ridic'lous." And she 
 snapped a seam into the beak of her sewing-bird with 
 vicious emphasis, giving at the same time a sidelong 
 glance into the mirror, and a complacent toss of the 
 head. 
 
 No one could be long in the Chevalier's company 
 without discovering that a very dove of gentleness 
 and affectionate gratitude dwelt in his gaunt envelop 
 of flesh. So, restraining his pretensions as a lover, 
 he meekly accepted Miss Viney's fiat, and went about 
 the town looking as warlike as ever, but inwardly 
 carrying a broken spirit. One of his dancing-class en- 
 countered him crossing a windy common in the sub- 
 urbs of the town pursued by a flock of geese, from 
 whose sibilant obloquy he was making nervous ef- 
 forts to escape ; and it was known to the boys and 
 girls that the Chevalier was always alarmed by the 
 apparition of a spider or a cow. No wonder the 
 young people decided that Alcibiade had been re- 
 duced to pulp by Miss Viney's vigorous rejection of 
 
80 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 his suit. The little dressmaker's peppery temper was 
 familiar to the offspring of her customers, from 
 whom she would stand no trifling around her tempo- 
 rary throne in their respective households. 
 
 When the war between the States broke out, Viney 
 seemed to have found her destined vocation as a red- 
 hot secessionist. Not very clear, fundamentally, as 
 to what she resented on the part of tlie national au- 
 thorities at the other end of the Long Bridge, some 
 eight miles away, she threw out her rebel banner on 
 the wall, sang " Dixie " in her shrill treble, declaimed, 
 protested, and, in short, kept everybody in her vicin- 
 ity in a boiling state of excitement about the condi- 
 tion of political affairs. When the Belhaven regi- 
 ments went on to Richmond or Manassas, Viney 
 stitched her fingers to the bone making shirts for 
 them, while Mrs. Piper knit socks of gray wool as 
 fast as her needles could fly. They also turned out 
 a number of the white linen havelocks and gaiters 
 adopted by one of the companies and afterward dis- 
 carded as a too shining mark for opposing riflemen. 
 Viney trotted to the train to see the boys go off, and 
 stood there in the crowd, cheering and waving with 
 the best. As she watched the last car recede on two 
 gleaming lines of iron, its rear platform thronged 
 with gesticulating shapes in gray, she felt her heart 
 inflate and her stature grow with a yearning desu-e 
 to go out and fight, or do something helpful in their 
 ranks. 
 
 When she turned to walk home that afternoon 
 of balmy spring, there, haunting her footsteps, was 
 the faithful Alcibiade. He looked into her watery 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 81 
 
 blue eyes as if imploring- to be allowed to speak his 
 sympathy. 
 
 "Have it out, an' be done with it, for gracious 
 sake," said Viney, pettishly. His smooth-finished 
 black coat, his waxed mustache, the bunch of jon- 
 quils in his buttonhole, fretted her beyond endurance. 
 
 "Those tears for the brave they are a benison," 
 said Alcibiade, sentimentally. "Who would not be 
 inspired by them to deeds of glory 1 " 
 
 "It 's not the boys I 'm eryin' for," said Viney. 
 " It 's us that are left behind and have got to put our 
 necks under the vandal's heel," That "vandal" af- 
 forded a famous outlet for secession wrath in those 
 days ; it may be doubted whether the war could have 
 been carried on without him. " Oh ! if 't worn't for 
 mother, d' ye think I 'd stay ? I 'd go to-morrow, an' 
 carry a water-pail to fill canteens ; or I 'd nurse in 
 hospitals — or anything." 
 
 " It is a noble, a sacred cause," replied the Cheva- 
 lier, looking down at the toe of his varnished boot to 
 avoid the needle-point of her eye. " You will permit 
 me, cJiere Mees Viney, to mingle with yours my 
 prayers for its success? When I think that this Vir- 
 ginia that has sheltered two exiles of our house — 
 my ancestor, who came here to find a home, a bride, 
 a thousand friends, a thousand tendernesses; and 
 me, less fortunate, but ever grateful for the hour that 
 brought you, an angel of goodness, to my rescue in 
 distress — " 
 
 " That 's neither here nor there," interrupted Viney, 
 cruelly. "Besides, it was as much Mrs. Dibble as 
 me, anyway." 
 
82 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 " But you will not deny me the privilege of sharing 
 your patriotic anxiety for the welfare of the troops ? 
 You will allow my heart to beat in unison with 
 yours ? " 
 
 ^'Nobody ain't a-preventin' your heart doin' what 
 it pleases," said the uncompromising lady of his love, 
 now fairly out of patience with his phrasing. '• But 
 it 's deeds, not words, that show what a man 's worth 
 nowadays. When I think what a fool I used to be 
 'bout fine talk in', an' how I believed if a feller spread 
 himself in speechifyin' he was boun' to be a hero, it 
 makes me fairh^ sick. I 'd rather have the little finger 
 o' one o' them privates that 's in the train we hear 
 whistlin' up yonder — bless their souls! — than the 
 whole body of a dandy Jim that stays at home. 
 But, law me ! I 'm foolish talkin' such stuff to youJ'' 
 
 Foolish and manifestly unjust, we will agree with 
 her ; but Viney's seed was not sown upon barren soil, 
 as we shall see. From that date the Chevalier's mus- 
 taches lost their jaunty curl, his eye its martial fire. 
 The dancing-school declining with the growth of 
 military rule in town, his occupation was chiefly 
 to walk along the streets picking up such rumors 
 and crumbs of gossip about the movements of 
 either army as might bring a spark of interest 
 into the orbs of Miss Viney on his return to the 
 widow's house. 
 
 The days of June wore on, and Viney's temper, 
 taxed by anxiety about the issue of the approach- 
 ing battle, became more tart, her taunts more fre- 
 quent; but the Chevalier suddenly seemed to take 
 heart and to walk with a firmer tread. One night 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 83 
 
 he did not return to sleep in his tidy bedroom, and 
 Viney, going into it, found a letter addressed to 
 herself upon the table. 
 
 Adieu, my benefactress, beautiful inspiration of my unworthy 
 life [the Chevalier had written], I fly to win the approval of 
 your noble tears or to sleep eternally upon the soldier's bloody 
 couch. To you, in this supreme moment, I dare avow a truth 
 for which my manhood does not blush — that I have, imtil now, 
 held back because of a weakness of temperament that made 
 my soul blanch at thought of the soldier's baptism of fire. 
 Now that the struggle is over, I am resolved to ally myself with 
 the armies of the South that has given me a shelter, and given 
 me you, adored one, whose hand I embrace in spirit, with that 
 of your respected mother ; to whom, and to you, the salutations 
 the most distinguished of your all-devoted Alcibiade. 
 
 " The land o' Dixie ! " cried out Miss Viney. " If 
 that pore creeter 's in earnest, I '11 never draw a free 
 breath till he gets back." 
 
 M. Alcibiade was very much in earnest. A few 
 days later Miss Viney had a visit from a lawyer 
 who informed her that the Frenchman, before go- 
 ing through the lines to enlist in the Southern 
 army, had caused to be drawn up a will bequeath- 
 ing to her some hundreds of dollars which by fru- 
 gality and care he had saved during his residence 
 beneath their roof. Viney had an honest crying- 
 fit after the lawyer left, and, putting on her bon- 
 net, sped down to Princess Royal street to take 
 counsel with the Misses Berkeley as to the best 
 way of tracing the absent one and conveying to 
 him some token of her appreciation and regard. 
 Those ladies could give her little hope. They prom- 
 
84 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 ised, however, to write recommending Alcibiade to 
 the care and kind offices of their friends in Bel- 
 haven regiments, should the Frenchman find his 
 way among his old acquaintances and pupils; and 
 with this Viney was forced to be content. 
 
 After Bull Run, Manassas ; and after Manassas, 
 a breathing-space in which North and South held 
 themselves in check, dreading to pierce the veil 
 shadowing the future of the confiict. In the dusk 
 of a warm summer evening, when Viney had car- 
 ried out a bucket of fresh water with which to 
 drench and cool the already clean bit of pavement 
 appertaining to their front door, a country wagon 
 with a hooded canopy of canvas, drawn by mules 
 and driven by a long-legged rustic in a linen duster, 
 wearing a broad straw hat, pulled up beside the curb. 
 Inside was heard the cackle of resentful fowls. The 
 driver, carrying a basket of eggs, leaned over and 
 accosted her : 
 
 "No; I don't want anything to-day, I 'm 'bUged to 
 ye," began Viney — and broke down with a gasp. 
 "Good Lord! It 's you, Mounseer?" 
 
 "It is, charming Mees Viney," said the pretended 
 farmer, with a warm grasp of her hand. " Hush ! 
 Not a word that the neighbors can overhear.-' 
 
 " But I don't understand ; you are not in the army, 
 after all ? " 
 
 " There are ways and ways of being a soldier," he 
 went on in a low whisper. " Believe me when i tell 
 you I have kept my word. Take a few of these eggs 
 and count them into a dish or basket — yes, your 
 apron will do — that I may go on talking without 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 85 
 
 fear. Then I will find it troublesome to git you 
 change." 
 
 " But where in the land did you come from ? " she 
 asked, burning with curiosity. 
 
 "Mafoi, from a Union camp to-day, where the sol- 
 diers have left me little to sell to you, belle dame. 
 To-morrow at daybreak — for I shall find fresh mules 
 outside the town — I present myself to a general 
 whom a Frenchman is proud to serve — ze peerless 
 Beauregard." 
 
 " You are — you are — a sp — " she began, her face 
 blanched, her teeth chattering. 
 
 "Never mind what I am; let me but look once 
 njore upon that face of which I so often dream, and 
 then I must hasten away." 
 
 "• Oh, go, go ! " she pleaded. " It was perfect 
 madness for you to come here. Not ten minutes 
 ago a patrol of Yankee soldiers walked down this 
 street. " 
 
 " Bah!" he said, with a shrug, " have I not enjoyed 
 the company of their compatriots all day 1 But for 
 your sake I will go. Have no fear, belle Viney ; you 
 will hear from me again." 
 
 Was this the timid, the cringing Alcibiade ? Viney 
 asked herself all through a sleepless night. Many 
 and many a night thereafter she was destined to 
 toss and wonder as to his fate. In the autumn she 
 had a line from him, left by a wood-seller from far 
 up in the interior of the county ; he was safe and 
 well, and still in the service of the employer who re- 
 tained him when he had seen her last; and he was 
 always her devoted and faithful A. de St. P. 
 
86 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 After that a blank of long years extending to the 
 close of the dreadful war. 
 
 Viney had given him up for dead, of course ; had 
 put on mourning and made her mother do the same ; 
 and everybody said how strange it was that Viney 
 Piper should make all that fuss about a man that 
 just walked out of her house one day and gave her 
 the *' go-by " without a word. She could never per- 
 suade herself to touch a penny of his bequest ; but 
 had consulted her confidante, Miss Penelope, about 
 the propriety of using it for a fine monument to be 
 erected to his memory in the Belhaven graveyard, 
 when the correspondent of a New York paper, mous- 
 ing around the old Virginian town for material, an- 
 nounced to the public that he had discovered the 
 identity of the famous and daring rebel scout, Peters, 
 who, after countless adventures, and escaping the 
 noose a dozen times by a miracle, had disappeared 
 from sight. This dashing character, it was confi- 
 dently stated, was none other than a so-called French 
 dancing-master, known at the time as St. Pierre, who 
 had lived in Belhaven pursuing his harmless occupa- 
 tion for some years prior to the war. 
 
 In the comments of the press upon this announce- 
 ment more than one reminiscence of Peters was soon 
 given currency; and presently the editor of a journal 
 in an obscure western town wrote to the New York 
 paper that Peters, alias St. Pierre, alias no-one-knew- 
 what beside, was then actually residing in the family 
 of a charitable Frenchman of his locality, having sur- 
 vived a wound and an imprisonment that had left 
 him helpless upon his benefactor's hands. 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 87 
 
 When this was published Viney's friends saw the 
 little woman smile. Then she cried, then she fell 
 down on her knees and thanked God for his mercy, 
 and lastly she packed her little trunk and set off for 
 Illinois. 
 
 " You have come to me, and I was too proud to 
 bring the remains of me to you, helle Viney ! " said 
 Alcibiade, when she arrived. "It is enough for me 
 to see you, to forget that dungeon where I laid so 
 long." 
 
 Poor little, homely Viney was utterly overcome. 
 She took his thin hand, with the claw-like fingers, 
 and, stooping down, kissed it and cried over it. 
 
 " Lord, lay not this sin to my door ! " she said, gaz- 
 ing on the wreck before her with a sudden, bitter 
 self-reproach. " O Mounseer, tell me that you for- 
 give me for what I drove you to, for I '11 never for- 
 give myself." 
 
 "Listen to me, Mees Viney," the Frenchman said, 
 looking about him anxiously to see that no one over- 
 heard. "You have done for me what a thousand 
 times, in peril of my neck, in cold, in hunger, in a 
 prison cell, I have thanked you for — you have made 
 of me a man ! Bon Dieu, a man ! " 
 
 Viney brought him back to the little chamber be- 
 neath the roof of Mrs. Piper's house, where the two 
 women nursed him into comparative comfort; health 
 he might never fully know again. In summer-time, 
 his chair rolled out upon one of the shell-bordered 
 walks, he would remain gazing in absolute content 
 upon Viney sitting on the door-step with her work. 
 
88 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 In his eyes she was always beautiful ; and when, with 
 many misgivings, she one day consented to let Dr. 
 Falconer, with Aunt Penelope and Gay as witnesses, 
 step into the grotto of marine curiosities and make 
 her Madame Alcibiade, the ex-spy straightened up 
 with something of his old dancing-master's grace. 
 
 " Tiens ! I have won the flower of womanhood," he 
 said. And so he thought to the last. 
 
IV 
 
 GAY'S ROMANCE 
 
 I HEN Gay Berkeley, a bright-eyed 
 girl in quaint made-over frocks, 
 took her walks abroad with Great- 
 Aunt Penelope, who was arrayed 
 in a large bonnet with tulle ear- 
 tabs and a shawl of China crape 
 trailing limp over a black silk gown, she used to think 
 there could be no spot on earth in which so many 
 interesting things had happened, and so many in- 
 teresting people had lived, as in old Belhaven. Every 
 house, street, paving-stone, evoked from the maiden 
 aunt's unfailing repertoire a reminiscence. When 
 Miss Pen met on the sidewalk some other large-bon- 
 neted lady, they talked together of mysterious has 
 beens ; and, before they parted, the lady would gen- 
 erally take the girl's chin in hand to look her in the 
 face, and tell Gay that she was the image of her 
 great-grandmother, or that she had her Uncle Mar- 
 maduke's own nose. 
 
 8D 
 
90 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 Gay, who in those days looked at most things 
 from a Castle of Otranto standpoint, liked the ex- 
 ternals of her birthplace, where, early left an orphan, 
 she had always dwelt under the care of her father's 
 aunts. She could appreciate the picturesque value of 
 its grass-grown thoroughfares, bordered with blocks 
 of houses, mostly of red brick faced with white, 
 many of them detached and set comfortably back in 
 brick- walled gardens harboring the sun ; its vener- 
 able churches, inns, lodges, market-places, remain- 
 ing there to tell of the great founders of the town ; 
 its wide area of surrounding landscape, to which, 
 from an eminence beyond the city limits, visiting 
 strangers were proudly introduced. From Shoot- 
 er's Hill, looking across the caterpillar structure of 
 the Long Bridge, one saw the white gleam of the 
 Capitol dominating the roofs and spires of Wash- 
 ington ; the colonnades of Arlington House ; the 
 beautiful, broad Potomac as far as Gunston, Mount 
 Vernon, and Belvoir ; the lovely valley of Cameron — 
 all these enframed in undulating woods. When- 
 ever Gay heard travelers dilate upon the Rhine, the 
 Tweed and the Thames, she was conscious of a 
 bridling desire to bid them view the Potomac from 
 the top of Shooter's Hill, and die. 
 
 But this much any one could see, and stUl can see. 
 More important in coloring her ideas was the daily in- 
 tercourse with a community of people who belonged 
 to the semi-feudal and essentially aristocratic side of 
 early American society, even then gliding away like 
 the sands of an hour-glass. Everybody they knew 
 had somewhere touched history ; everybody kept tra- 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 91 
 
 ditions rubbed up with chamois leather and set side- 
 wise on shelves. Life flowed so tranquilly. The 
 visits, tea-drinkings, church-goings, benevolent soci- 
 eties, never developed anything newer than the re- 
 current tragedies of birth and death. Young men 
 who grew up there stretched their limbs, inflated 
 their chests, looked away over at the far horizon, 
 and left the town. Everything in the way of stir or 
 bustle was executed with such genteel deliberation 
 that, like the immortal Joe in Pickwick, it fell asleep 
 in itinere. 
 
 But to a speculative young person like Miss Gay 
 there was entertainment to be found, and she well 
 knew where to look for it. When not poring over 
 the old books in the Princess Royal street house 
 where she was born. Gay studied human nature in 
 the homes of her aunts friends. By Miss Penelope, 
 who was a mine of genealogical information, she was 
 continually fed with stories ; and, when in search of 
 the concrete forms of excitement, what better than 
 to perch on the edge of the kitchen table where black 
 Peggy was rolling out her dough, and to elicit the 
 marvels that the old cook, " when i' the vein," would 
 pour out in accents as rich and soft as oil ? 
 
 The drawback to Peggy's narratives was her anxi- 
 ety to assert herself as an eye-witness of all events. 
 In the matter of Washingtoniana, especially, the old 
 woman, accustomed to be questioned by strangers as 
 to the minutest recollections cherished by the town 
 of its most illustrious hero, was very tenacious of 
 associating herself in every scene described. 
 
 " Think of it, Aunt Pegg}^," Gay said once, when 
 
92 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 on a visit to the kitchen, ''Auntie has been telling 
 me that her grandfather had just finished building 
 this house when George Washington was recruiting 
 his ragged volunteers to march against the French 
 on the Ohio. She says her grandpapa told her the 
 young lieutenant-colonel was a long-legged, gawky 
 fellow, with big hands, and so solemn the Belhaven 
 girls would run away from him whenever he came 
 near. But they sang a different tune when he came 
 back from the wars." 
 
 "Wot you tellin' me, chile?" quoth Peggy, con- 
 temptuously. " Think I ain't heard Miss Lucindy beg 
 Miss Sally many a time to go down in de parlor an' 
 'ceive Kunnel Wash'n'ton, 'stid uv her? An' Miss 
 Sally say as how she wo old n' do no sich a thing 'less 
 Miss Lucindy promise to let her wear dat blue padu'- 
 soy uv her'n next Sunday to Christ Church. An' all 
 de while dem gals was a-'sputin', dat poor young fel- 
 ler was a-coolin' his heels in de werry place whar' ole 
 Miss got her big arm-cheer in dis day." 
 
 " Why, Aunt Peggy," exclaimed Gay, " that was in 
 1754 ! " "^ 
 
 '' Who said it worn't ? " queried the old woman, 
 testily. 
 
 " It would make you — oh! at least a hundred and 
 twelve years old — " 
 
 " How 's I gwine to git my dinnah, like to know ? " 
 interrupted Peggy. " Reckon Miss Pen '11 come out 
 cheer an' riz Richa'd Henry roun' my years nex' thing. 
 You Cynthy ! Hurry an' put dat crock on ice, ef you 
 'spec' to git de bonnyclabber sot fur tea! Mars! Awe, 
 Mars ! Nem o' Gawd, niggah, think fli*e burn 'dout 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 93 
 
 wood ? Hain't heerd yo' ax strike a lick sence you 
 chop my chickens' hades off. You Trip ! String dem 
 snaps 'fo' I bust yo' cocoanut." 
 
 In the sudden whirlwind Gay and her questions 
 vanished from the scene. 
 
 No story of the past hidden behind Belhaven 
 house-fronts had quite such power to charm Gay's 
 imagination as that of two stricken sisters who lived 
 at a place called the Poplars, just outside the town, 
 their sole companion a slave-woman, as gray and as 
 misshapen as a gnome. Once a week, for years past, 
 it had been Miss Penelope's custom to walk out to 
 the Poplars, attended by Dennis, her man-servant, 
 carrying a basket of home-made delicacies; often- 
 times had Gay begged to be allowed to go with them, 
 and to wait outside the door till her aunt's visit was 
 at an end. Miss Penelope's foot alone was permitted 
 to penetrate the dim hall with the stately fan-light over 
 the front door, where she was received by her friend 
 of childhood. Miss Selina Stith, the younger of the 
 owners of the house. Dennis, relieved of his burden 
 upon the steps, was glad to sneak away to the com- 
 mon opposite, where such cheerful every-day sights 
 as geese stalking in a string, cows grazing, and boys 
 wading in little pools, might restore his equanimity. 
 Gay, less timorous, liked to stroll the round of the 
 weedy carriageway with its iron posts and chains, 
 shut off from the street by a high brick wall, and to 
 gaze up at the rows of windows like dead eyes, at the 
 chimneys whence arose so little smoke, at the dreary 
 ivy that had overlapped and strangled every outlet of 
 the melancholy house. When Aunt Penelope came 
 
94 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 out, it was always with reddened eyelids, and a cloud 
 upon her usually smiling face. 
 
 " No better, Aunt Pen ? " Gay would ask. 
 
 " No better, my dear child, and never will be this 
 side the grave, poor thing," the good lady would 
 reply. 
 
 It had been full twenty years since any one out- 
 side had seen the elder of the Misses Stith. More 
 familiar to neighborhood eyes was Miss Selina, who 
 sometimes, in the dusk of warm evenings, came out 
 of the decaying mansion to wander wraith-like in 
 the streets. The children of the mechanics who lived 
 on the outskirts of the town were accustomed to the 
 apparition, and, when she passed them at their play, 
 gazed curiously after but did not follow the queer 
 little figure in the garb of fifty years before — an 
 ^'umbrella" frock with leg-o'-mutton sleeves, and a 
 poke-bonnet draped with a veil of sprigged black 
 lace. 
 
 Now and then she would pause beside some group 
 at play, and two eyebeams of softest blue would pene- 
 trate the meshes of her veil and rest quietly on the 
 little ones. Sometimes she produced from her reti- 
 cule odd toys of an unfamiliar pattern, and silently 
 laid them in the lap of some baby in a pet or neg- 
 lected by its mates. But she never spoke, and as 
 darkness closed would melt into the shadows of the 
 night. 
 
 " I wish I could see Miss Selina face to face," sighed 
 Gay, one morning, when returning with Aunt Penel- 
 ope from the customary pilgrimage. "Major Gar- 
 nett told me she was the prettiest girl that ever grew 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 95 
 
 up in Belhaven. He says when he was a lad, and 
 used to look up into the organ-loft of Christ Church 
 and see her singing, all in white, he called her St. 
 Cecilia." 
 
 '' Yes, my dear ; a beauty she was, and so gay and 
 merry — her paintings on rice-paper universally ad- 
 mired — and such a finger for the harp ! It is one of 
 the mysteries of an inscrutable Providence why she 
 should have followed Celestia and become — ahem — 
 deranged." 
 
 ''And, O Auntie, Peggy says the curse upon the 
 Stiths may one day be removed by a secret you know 
 of, but that I am not to be told. And I think, con- 
 sidering I "m well past fifteen — do be a dear, and 
 tell me what it is." 
 
 " Peggy should certainly be checked," began Aunt 
 Pen, with a rather guilty blush, remembering a noc- 
 turnal gossip of her own with the old woman not 
 many days before. 
 
 " If I could only go inside the Poplars once,''' pur- 
 sued Gay, plaintively. " Think of aching all one's 
 life to get behind a door ! " 
 
 " Don't think of it, child. It is too sad for words. 
 There is nothing for you to see," replied Miss Pen, 
 with so woebegone a face that Gay dared not persist. 
 
 Everybody knew the old story of the Stiths. Just 
 before the American revolt against the crown, there 
 had arrived to settle in Belhaven the younger son of 
 an English family, a man handsome, winning, and 
 possessed of sufficient fortune to make people specu- 
 late as to why he came. Oxford-bred, and carrying 
 good credentials, he, however, speedily made for him- 
 
96 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 self a place in the affections of the town, and married 
 a beantiful heiress who was the toast of the country- 
 side. Of the cause impelling Mr. Theophilus Stith's 
 emigration to the New World, tradition said that it 
 was a last effort to break the spell of a curse trans- 
 mitted through several generations of his ancestors 
 to the younger son of his family. Long ago, the 
 English legend ran, there had been of this line a dar- 
 ing youngster, who in a fit of bravado pulled down a 
 ruined chapel upon his estate and built with its stones 
 a banquet-hall, in which, wine-cup in hand, he had 
 been struck dead while reveling. Since then, no 
 younger son born to the house of Stith had pros- 
 pered. Belhaven doubters, and there were not a few 
 to greet this myth with mocking, had in time to wit- 
 ness the dark close of a career begun among them 
 under brightest auspices. Let Miss Penelope take up 
 the tale as Gay heard it in her youth. 
 
 " Yes, my love ; Mrs. Theophilus was the envy of 
 the place. Her husband built and fitted up for her 
 the Poplars, then well out of town ; all the furniture 
 came from England, together with a handsome new 
 chariot to which she drove 'four' along the Rolling 
 Road and elsewhere. For a while she was as happy 
 as a queen. Children came very fast, and every cor- 
 ner of the house was full of young faces and voices — 
 ten children had Mrs. Stith. Selina, my contempo- 
 rary, was the youngest of the flock." 
 
 "Well, Auntie?" 
 
 " Oh, they had trouble ; his habits were not good, 
 I 've heard. One day his horse came home to the 
 Poplars without its master ; they picked up Mr. Stith 
 stone-dead, and his wife's death followed shortly." 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 97 
 
 "And then, Auntie?" 
 
 "My dear Gay, you know it is one long tragedy. 
 Every member but two of that gifted and promising 
 household came to a sudden or tragic end." 
 
 " It is like one of the cycles of Greek plays, where 
 whole families are swept away by death, that Dr. 
 Falconer read me about in our lesson yesterday," 
 said Gay. 
 
 " On poor Celestia, who with her sister alone sur- 
 vived, fell the burden ; for she had been the little 
 mother of the rest. She and Selina had their young- 
 est brother Richard's only son to bring up, a hand- 
 some, wilful boy, called Llewellyn. Celestia was al- 
 ways a reserved, self-centered nature, but in her way 
 she loved Llew dearly, while Selina lavished on him 
 her full, warm heart. The lad had entered the uni- 
 versity, and was doing well, when a dispute arose 
 between him and his older aunt about some mat- 
 ter trifling enough, God knows, to have caused such 
 dreadful results. Celestia was not happy in her way 
 of dealing with the young. Llewellyn declared that 
 he had rather go and dig in a ditch for his living 
 than be dependent on her whims. I forgot to say, my 
 dear, that by this time their fine fortune had melted 
 like snow in the sun, and Celestia had much ado to 
 make two ends meet. "Well, Celestia bade him go, 
 and, spite of Selina's tears and prayers, the boy left 
 them one morning, and has never been heard of 
 since — Gay, my dear, we are passing Slater's, and 
 forgetting to match Sister Fiuetta's gray alpaca — " 
 
 "One minute, Auntie. Was it Llewellyn's loss 
 that made Miss Celestia go insane ? " 
 
 "Who can tell, €hild? From melancholy she passed 
 9 
 
98 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 into utter aberration ; and Selina, though, as you 
 know, less grievously afflicted, has gone under the 
 same cloud. Do you think it would answer to trim 
 it with a piping of gray satin ? Would sister think 
 it too smart ! " 
 
 " Let us pipe it ' unbeknownst,' " said Gay, smiling, 
 " and she won't have the heart to rip it off. Auntie, I 
 can't think Llewellyn Stith had really a good heart, 
 or it would have softened in time to those poor 
 women who loved him so." 
 
 "'He will come back,' Selina said, at first repeat- 
 ing it day after day. Then she ceased to speak of 
 him, and, before her poor heart was broken quite, 
 lapsed into merciful oblivion." 
 
 " Oh, it was wicked, cruel ! " cried Gay. " How 
 I should like to tell him so ! " 
 
 " My dear," said Miss Penelope, mildly, " that was 
 thirty years ago." 
 
 II 
 
 In the autumn of 1859, to Gay, then a blooming 
 lassie just beginning to find out her own good looks, 
 occurred an event that in dull Belhaven had power 
 to excite in her a temporary indifference to all hu- 
 man woe. Through an old friend of the family, a 
 leader in the social world of Washington, she re- 
 ceived an invitation to meet the party of the Prince 
 of Wales on the occasion of his intended visit to 
 Mount Vernon. 
 
 Although the visitor was only a lad, republican 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 99 
 
 maids and matrons along the line of his travels were 
 palpitating to secure such an opportunity as came 
 uusought to our little homespun Gay. To her, in 
 truth, it was less prince, more outing. She had not 
 learned the importance of a hand-shake from bud- 
 ding royalty under watch of a cordon of tutors and 
 courtiers. Sufiftcient to fill her cup was the prospect 
 of an entirely new frock made by Viney Piper, and a 
 new ostrich-feather for her hat — one that might per- 
 chance — oh, thought of joy ! — go entirely around 
 the brim and rest upon the shoulder. Belhaven gen- 
 erally was content with simple tips. 
 
 "It is the Queen's eldest son, my dear, and we 
 have always been fond of England," said Miss Pe- 
 nelope, fluttering. " I should n't wonder in the least 
 if your Aunt Finetta should decide to unlock the 
 wardrobe, and look u.p something of poor Lucilla's 
 that you might wear." 
 
 Gay's eyes sparkled. She could never get over the 
 thrill that ensued upon a hint of unlocking the ward- 
 robe. But, in the mean time, there was the little 
 sum set aside with careful consideration to purchase 
 a new muslin, and new trimmings for her hat. And 
 up King street, in Miss Pewee's window, she knew of 
 a hat she meant to copy — the sweetest wide-brimmed 
 Leghorn encircled with a plume of pale rose-color, 
 and topped with a knot of rose velvet — a master- 
 piece of art. There could be no dawdling over the 
 breakfast things that day. 
 
 As soon as Miss Penelope had "given out" sup- 
 plies to Peggy and Susan, who with flour-measures 
 and sugar-bowls and jugs attended her to the store- 
 
100 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 room, Gay hurried the old lady into her bonnet and 
 shawl and away to the emporium of Miss Pewee, in- 
 tending afterward to repair to Slater's for the pur- 
 chase of her gown, 
 
 ''Let you look at that hat in the window? Why, 
 certainly, Miss Gray," exclaimed Eliza Pewee, cor- 
 dially. "You 'd best try it on, miss, for you can 
 never get an idea — I '11 vow, Miss Penelope, ma'am, 
 I 've yet to see anything set off Miss Gay like this." 
 
 Eliza, a member of Miss Penelope's Bible-class, 
 was well trained in fundamentals ; she spoke hon- 
 est truth. How could any one fail to perceive the 
 enchanting frame it made for Gay's waving locks 
 and dusky, long-lashed eyes, her rose-bloom and her 
 dimples'? And, oddly enough, at that very moment, 
 a strange young man stepped into the shop inquiring 
 the way to the bookseller's, and, meeting Miss Gay's 
 brown orbs full on his, blushed, apologized, and re- 
 tired in great embarrassment. 
 
 "Came down on the boat from Wash'n'ton early 
 this mornin'," explained Miss Pewee. "My sister no- 
 ticed him when he got off. Seems foreign-like, don't 
 you think so, ma'am ? Has been pokin' around town 
 all mornin'; quite the gentleman, I 'd say. Now, 
 Miss Gay, you really ought to let me send this home. 
 Day before yesterday, when I took it out o' the New 
 York packing-case, says I to Lizzie, it 's the very 
 thing for Miss Gay Berkeley — oh, no trouble in the 
 world. Miss Gay. I 've the same untrimmed, cer- 
 tainly ; and feathers, too, only not half so long." 
 
 While Gay's reluctant fingers turned over the mil- 
 liner's exhibit of raw material — while Gay, sorely 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 101 
 
 tempted, but aware that the price of the coveted hat 
 would exhaust the mouey set aside for her complete 
 outfit, tried to wonder how she could be satisfied 
 with two tips and a ribbon bow instead of that lovely 
 plume and the velvet sea-shell made by wonder-work- 
 ing fingers — Aunt Penelope was undergoing the 
 same mental struggle. When Eliza Pewee, search- 
 ing for the right shade, dived behind a curtain and 
 disappeared back of the shop. Aunt Penelope cleared 
 her throat, and spoke : 
 
 " Gay." 
 
 "WeU, Aunt Pen?" 
 
 "My dear, I am not sure whether Sister Finetta 
 would approve. I have always been partial to rose- 
 color, and as this is the first time one of the royal 
 family has visited Mount Vernon since the war, I 
 think Virginians should make a little exertion. My 
 love, if we buy this hat, what could be done about a 
 frock for you?" 
 
 " O dearest Aunt Pen," cried the girl, radiantly, 
 " let us have the old muslin washed." 
 
 As they were walking home — Gay in an apres- 
 moi-le-deluge state of mind — they ran again upon 
 the strange young man coming out of the booksel- 
 ler's with a parcel under his arm. They heard after- 
 ward (everything got about in Belhaven) that he had 
 been trying to purchase any literature that might 
 contain allusions to the early history of the town 
 and its inhabitants. 
 
 " I suppose he is some young journalist from the 
 North," said Miss Penelope. "Naturally enough, 
 such people take interest in our town." 
 
102 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 " His cheeks are as pink as my new ribbons/' said 
 Gay ; *' and he looks painfully shy and young. O 
 Aunt Pen, you were a perfect darling to decide me 
 about that hat." 
 
 And so the hat came home, was deposited in its 
 bandbox on the Marseilles counterpane of the spare- 
 room bed, was visited by Gay in her nightgown (to 
 try it on again), by the Misses Bassett from next 
 door, by Peggy and Susan and Cynthy from the 
 kitchen, and in time became a proverb in the town. 
 
 On the day following, a family conclave gathered 
 in the chill, speckless room wherein Great-Grand- 
 papa Berkeley had given up the ghost, since in- 
 habited in solitary state by his eldest daughter. It 
 was a dusky chamber, with bed-curtains and win- 
 dow-curtains of white dimity, the chief wall-space 
 occupied by a massive wardrobe of lustrous mahog- 
 any, before which, like a priestess at the shrine, 
 stood the grim figure of Aunt Finetta, keys in hand. 
 The wide doors of the sanctuary, yet obstinately 
 shut, reflected Gay's rosy face, her dark brows puck- 
 ered in a frown of intense expectancy, side by side 
 with Aunt Pen's drab puffs of hair and scarcely less 
 anxious visage. In the corridor outside, in an agony 
 of curiosity, hovered a little black girl, who would 
 have given a tooth or an eye to cross the threshold. 
 With a rattle and a clank, Miss Berkeley unlocked 
 the wardrobe doors and swung them back. Forth 
 stole upon pleased olfactories a scent of attar of 
 roses that changed, ere one fairly had sniffed it, into 
 that of Tonquin bean; then a tang of camphor 
 struck the air. They caught visions of squat band- 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 103 
 
 boxes covered with flowered wall-paper ; of lac- 
 quered boxes, boxes of sandalwood, of Tunbridge 
 Wells mosaic, of Italian olive-wood, cabas and bags 
 of leather and satin, and of homelier green baize ; 
 of parcels wrapped in rice-paper, in silver-paper, in 
 tissue-paper — all neatly ranged upon the shelves. 
 
 Gay's attention was fairly dazzled, roving between 
 Lucilla's Mechlin pinner and the waistcoat with sil- 
 ver sprigs worn by great-grandpapa to President 
 Washington's levee — between a pelisse of white 
 satin, painted with ragged-robins, and a "slip" of 
 pale blue trimmed with tarnished silver fringe, in 
 which Miss Finetta had danced a minuet with Colonel 
 Aaron Burr. She handled a necklace of turquoise 
 disks enframed in golden filigree, and let a long 
 chain of aquamarines glide rippling through her 
 hands, till recalled by an exclamation from Aunt 
 Penelope. 
 
 " Sister ! While you have the writing-desk in hand, 
 suppose you let Gay see those miniatures of poor 
 Selina and Llewellyn she gave us on the boy's eigh- 
 teenth birthday. It is a long time since you had 
 them out." 
 
 " Is that Miss Selina ? " cried Gay, eagerly. " How 
 perfectly lovely she was ! O Auntie, there is no one 
 so pretty now. And this — why — how odd — Llewel- 
 lyn is exactly like the young man we saw buying 
 books at Stringer's yesterday." 
 
 "My dear child," said Miss Penelope, catching 
 her breath, " you take me by surprise. It is hardly 
 a subject to jest upon. Put away the pictures, child, 
 aud pray say nothing more about them. It is long 
 
104 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 since I have cared to look at either. There, sister, 
 that is the organdie I spoke of — pink convolvulus on 
 a white ground — so beautifully sheer — if Viney can't 
 make it over for Gay, nobody can — pity it 's a little 
 yellow. To be sure, the Prince is but a lad, and he 
 might not notice it is off the white." 
 
 But Miss Berkeley, standing erect and unsmiling, 
 the filmy fabric flowing from her arms, answered not 
 a word. She was thinking of the dead young sister 
 who in her brief season had been as full of the pride 
 of youth and the flush of hope as Gray. With a deep 
 sigh, she laid the dress in Miss Pen's lap, and when 
 she spoke again it was to utter some moral reflections 
 upon the duties and responsibilities of a prince, drawn 
 from the fount of her favorite classic. Dr. Johnson's 
 '' Rasselas." 
 
 "Ting-a-ling-a-ling!" went the front-doorbell. It 
 was before visiting-hours, and they knew that most 
 of the ladies of their acquaintance were making 
 pickles at the time. 
 
 The little black girl, fortified by a sense of duty, 
 knocked boldly at the chamber door. When bidden 
 to come in, her eyes wandered wildly on every side 
 at once, trying to take in all she could while deliver- 
 ing her message. 
 
 '' It 's ole Major Gyanett, miss ; and he axes to see 
 de ladies mos' partic'lar." 
 
 "Penelope, you will go down at once," said Miss 
 Berkeley. " I shall follow when I have put away the 
 things." 
 
 Covertly adjusting her cap. Miss Pen obeyed. Gay 
 accompanied her to the blue parlor, where they found 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 105 
 
 the little gentleman walking up and down in great 
 excitement. 
 
 '^God bless my soul ! Miss Penelope, ma'am, here 's 
 an extraordinary thing,'' said the old fellow. " News, 
 after all these years, of Llewellyn Stith, who is mar- 
 ried and living in England, and has sent his only 
 surviving son to look us up. I '11 declare to you 
 ma'am, that, in my hurry to let you know, I brought 
 my cane and forgot my hat ! " 
 
 "One moment, David," said tremulous Miss Pen. 
 " You will kindly not tell me any more till my sister 
 comes down. My sister must be first to hear, of 
 course." 
 
 So Gay was the seeress, after all. She listened 
 with avidity to the Major's story when. Aunt Finetta 
 arriving, he was free to rid his burning tongue of the 
 strange tale. Llewellyn had gone to Australia in 
 his youth, and there fell in with a relative of the 
 elder branch of his father's family, whose daughter 
 he married, and who, called back to England to in- 
 herit a good property, was now succeeded by his son- 
 in-law. But although fortune had smiled on Llewel- 
 lyn, he had known great sorrow. One member after 
 another of his family had died off, leaving only the 
 youngest son, Berkeley, named in memory of his 
 kind friends in Belhaven, whom he had never ceased 
 to love. 
 
 "Always the curse. I always said the curse would 
 not be lifted till the legend of the ring came true — 
 and oh ! how can it come true ? " interrupted Miss 
 Penelope, at this point, turning an eager glance first 
 at her sister and then at the Major. 
 
106 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 Gray's ears and eyes opened. What, oh, what ii'as 
 the legend of the ring ? 
 
 " Penelope, you will oblige me by not inten-upting 
 Major Garnett," said Miss Berkeley, frowning. 
 
 " Not knowing what members of our families still 
 survive, Llewellyn, who is an invalid, directed his 
 son to make inquiries through the British minister 
 in Washington. Lord Lyons, who is my very good 
 friend, referred him at once to me ; and, after an ef- 
 fort to see me yesterday, when I was up the country, 
 the boy returned to town to-day. It appears that 
 poor Llewellyn feels that he cannot die without an 
 effort to ask forgiveness of his aunts. Egad, ma'am, 
 the trouble with me was how to tell the lad the con- 
 dition of his afflicted relatives." 
 
 "Night and day since Llewellyn left her," said 
 Miss Pen, tearfully, "Selina has worn around her 
 neck a shirt-stud found on his dressing-table. Old 
 Juno says she 'd as soon think of offering to take it 
 off as of removing the ring from her Miss Celestia's 
 finger." 
 
 Again the ring. Gay's mind was intolerably busy 
 with speculation. Why had she never heard of if? 
 In the midst of her wondering came the direful com- 
 monplace of a summons from Peggy, to know if Miss 
 Qsij was ready to begin on the pickled mangos. She 
 waited to hear Major Garnett add that the lad, who 
 was a pleasant fellow, but shy and awkward, had 
 promised to return to Belhaven within a day or two, 
 and to make him a visit until they could decide upon 
 what to do in the matter of carrying out the injunc- 
 tion of his father. 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 107 
 
 " To look at young Mr. Stith, one would not have 
 thought he came of such a cold-blooded, hard-hearted 
 father," mused Gay, who felt that she had at last ob- 
 tained her dues in the matter of a genuine romance. 
 
 m 
 
 "It was a beautiful autumn day," said the news- 
 papers of the time, " when nature put on her gayest 
 livery to welcome to the burial-place of Washington 
 the heir to the Georges' throne." 
 
 Gay and the Major, who was to be her escort on 
 the drive, were in the hall of the house in Princess 
 Royal street waiting for Timson's hack. The little 
 Major, over his best auburn scratch, wore a well- 
 brushed beaver hat, his blue body-coat was smartly 
 buttoned, his standing collar was snow-white, his 
 black silk stock was tied jauntily, and he carried his 
 great-grandfather's gold-headed stick. Miss Pen, 
 surveying him with lambent tenderness, felt that 
 he was a credit to the day. 
 
 Gay, attired in Lucilla's organdie and Miss Pewee's 
 champion hat, looked bewitching. Running out into 
 the garden, she had picked for her belt a big bunch 
 of " bleeding-hearts," and a smaller posy of the same 
 for the Major's buttonhole. Now all was ready, and 
 still the recreant Timson did not come. 
 
 " Tut, tut, tut ! " said Miss Penelope. " I suppose 
 he forgot to have the window mended that rattled 
 so. Well, I always did say I could trust Viney Piper 
 to cut anything; though she was unlucky with my 
 
108 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 brown lustring a year ago last February, there 's 
 no denying it. How odd it seems for you to be going 
 to meet the Prince, child, when one remembers the 
 stand grandpapa took in the Revolution — though, 
 to be sure, grandpapa had fought with the English 
 in the French and Indian affairs. I must say it 
 shows a very proper feeling in the Queen to let her 
 son come. Dear, dear! if it should rain, if there 's 
 the least moisture in the air, I hope you will think 
 about your feather all the time, child ! Mind you 
 take particular note of the color of his hair and eyes, 
 and remember all he says about the royal family. 
 Here 's good Miss Fanny Bassett, my dear, stepped 
 in to see you dressed. Yes, Miss Fanny; we think 
 our little girl looks very nice — Major, do you reckon 
 anything could have hap — there 's Timson at last, 
 and, I declare, if he has n't got the little white horses 
 with long tails that he drives to the baby hearse ! " 
 
 Under the oak-trees on the Mount Vernon lawn 
 had gathered a pleasant company. The silver-haired 
 President with his fair, stately niece; Lord Lyons, 
 genial Sir Henry Holland, the imposing Duke of 
 Newcastle — these were most prominent in the en- 
 tourage of the blond boy with courtly manners, who 
 looked as if he would have liked to escape cere- 
 monial and enjoy Mount Vernon after some fashion 
 of his own devising. Elsewhere, everywhere, were 
 brOliant groups of fashionable folk, lighting up the 
 greensward to the semblance of a Petit Trianon. Gay 
 Berkeley, who had made her little reverence to the 
 Prince, had been rallied and flattered by some of the 
 oldsters of the suite, and was now followed by three 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 109 
 
 or four young fellows eager for her smiles, was en- 
 joying herself with the true gusto of a Virginian 
 belle. 
 
 When the little Major came up to her in the box- 
 walled garden to present Mr. Berkeley Stith, Gay 
 found it a decided interruption to her festivities to 
 have to stop to ''draw out'' this reserved English 
 boy, who colored to the eyebrows when she spoke to 
 him. Romance incarnate though he was, Mr. Stith 
 would have been more in place in Belhaven limits. 
 Somehow he did not harmonize with her high-heeled 
 Spanish attache, or with the other glib and gilded 
 youths who made up her train. 
 
 '' Things are never quite what one expects them to 
 be," mused the young lady, driving home, while the 
 little long-tailed white horses, availing themselves of 
 unprofessional opportunity, trotted briskly along. "It 
 has been all delightful, but — but — I don't get on 
 with Mr. Stith." 
 
 "He is very young," ventured the Major. 
 
 ''That is n't it; I can always manage boys," said 
 Gay, superbly. " If it were not absurd, I should say 
 that he has some especial reason to be afraid of me." 
 
 " In that hat you are undoubtedly dangerous, my 
 dear," responded the gallant old gentleman. 
 
 "No; but really, Major Daisy, I tried so hard. I 
 told him everything I know about Mount Vernon — 
 even the old story about the lady who wept over the 
 ice-house, mistaking it for the tomb. But nothing 
 would cheer him up." 
 
 " You will be better friends when he comes to stop 
 with me," said Major Daisy, with confidence. 
 10 
 
110 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 But Gay held to her opinion ; and when, the next 
 afternoon, she heard the door-bell ring, prepared her- 
 self for a dull quarter of an hour. 
 
 "I seen cote-tails on de frou' po'ch, miss. 'Spec' 
 it 's students come to tea," said the little black girl, 
 putting her head into Gray's room and irreverently 
 alluding to the theological visitors most common in 
 Belhaven streets. 
 
 " My dear, have you seen anything of my glasses!" 
 said Miss Penelope, coming in with a card in hand. 
 " O Cynthy, are you there ? Run, look for my specs, 
 child, and hurry if you can." 
 
 " Dey ain' no use hurryin' 'less Miss Pen hurry too," 
 said the small dark person, pointing her forefinger at 
 the old lady's puffs. '^'Ca'se dar dey is, bof pa'rs, 
 certain shua." 
 
 "It is Mr. Stith, Auntie," explained Gay, glancing 
 at the card. '^ If you and Aunt Finetta are ready to 
 go down, do you think I need come quite yet?" 
 
 " You will accompany us, my dear. I should like 
 nothing to be lacking in our welcome of the child of 
 an old friend who thought enough of my papa to 
 name his son for him." 
 
 When the Misses Berkeley, all prunes and prisms 
 and best silk gowns, entered the blue parlor. Gay in 
 their wake, they found the stranger, holding his hat 
 behind his back, inspecting the miniatures that hung 
 in a row above the mantel-shelf. He turned, and, at 
 the first look into his honest blue eyes, the two old 
 women, seeing the unmistakable likeness to the long- 
 absent Llewellyn, melted in kindness to the lad. 
 Placing him between them on the haircloth sofa, 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 111 
 
 they conducted the conversation in alternate rivulets 
 of polite inquiry. Miss Pen, solicitous about his 
 father's failing health, urged on him the propriety of 
 sending at once to England a large supply of her 
 Grandmama Berkeley's preparation of wild-cherry 
 bark, tar and honey; Miss Berkeley, elaborately un- 
 bending, contented herself with propounding oracles 
 concerning the British government, the aristocracy, 
 the Church and customs of his native land. Gay, 
 from her taboret in the window-seat, caught the 
 humor of the scene. When, upon being pressed to 
 say how the Queen was looking when he saw her last, 
 Mr, Stith, turning his silk hat nervously, answered 
 that " It was at a flower-show, you know, and her 
 Majesty was rather hot, and uncommonly red in the 
 face," Gay, observing the shocked expression of her 
 aunts, burst outright into laughter that went trill- 
 ing through the empty spaces of the house. At 
 which Berkeley Stith's young spirit overleaped con- 
 ventionalities, and he too laughed. Dennis, coming in 
 with a salver containing cake and wine, relieved the 
 situation for both the lawless ones. 
 
 From this date Berkeley was adopted as one of 
 them. He lost his constraint in the presence of their 
 simple cordiality. The pleasant house, with its bare, 
 polished floors, wide halls, old-fashioned furniture 
 and customs, the jolly negro faces in every back- 
 ground, the smell of dried rose-leaves everywhere, 
 the soft voices, to say nothing of the rich Southern 
 beauty of the little maiden who already had him in 
 her chains, made life there seem an afternoon of holi- 
 day from school. 
 
112 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 They had talked much of the ways and means 
 of introducing Berkeley to his father's aunts. Miss 
 Penelope, indeed, had urged upon the lad the hope- 
 lessness of attempting to rouse either of them to 
 recognition; but when, with quiet determination, he 
 assured her that it was impossible for him to return 
 to England, having neglected the effort to do so, 
 Aunt Pen agreed to second him. 
 
 Gay had never set foot in the garden of the Pop- 
 lars. She had seen the horse-chestnuts flower and 
 drop over the high brick walls, and the long arms of 
 distorted fruit-trees let fall, outside, pears and plums 
 too hard and warped for even the milk-teeth of eager 
 children of the street ; but all within was a mystery 
 like the contents of the house. When Aunt Penel- 
 ope, coming to meet them at a door set in the ivy of 
 the wall, unlocked it to admit her with Berkeley 
 Stith and Major Garnett, the girl looked about her, 
 full of awe. 
 
 Nothing so dreary as this tangle of neglected vege- 
 tation had come within her ken. Elsewhere, at this 
 season, in the gardens of the town, rioted a glorious 
 second crop of blossoms, richer in tint and sweeter of 
 smell than those of summer-time. Here, so long had 
 nature unpruned laid one layer of growth upon an- 
 other, the foliage underneath was skeletonized and 
 gray. The few flowers that had struggled into bloom 
 were touched with blight. The great old sycamores, 
 mulberries and '' paper-leafs " locked their boughs to 
 make a twilight down below. Under the rotting 
 arches of a grape-arcade there were two long tracks 
 worn by footsteps, distinct as the "beat" of prisoners 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 113 
 
 ill Old World dungeons, where, for half a century, 
 Miss Selina had taken her daily exercise. 
 
 "Now, my dear, keep your spirits up," said Aunt 
 Pen, in a cheerful whisper. " It will startle her 
 less, I think, if you and the Major come in with 
 Berkeley. Rain or shine, I 've been visiting here this 
 many a year, and I 've met with nothing more alarm- 
 ing than mice; so pray, all of you, put off those dole- 
 ful looks. I find from Juno that poor Celestia is 
 very weak, though she 's up and in her chair, as 
 usual, in the room she 's never left in twenty years. 
 My plan is to have you come into the upper hall, 
 where in old times the young people used to sit and 
 chat around the bay-window seat, and let Selina find 
 you there." 
 
 They mounted the stairs and sat, a silent trio, in 
 the half light that filtered through panes overgrown 
 outside with ivy. The paper of walls almost covered 
 with mezzotints and steel-engravings, now obscured 
 from sight by grime, hung in melancholy garlands ; 
 the fiddle-backed chairs ranged in rows around them 
 were whole, but veiled in dust ; across the open door 
 of a bedroom opposite a spider had spun its web in 
 full view. Another door was conspicuously closed. 
 Not a sound smote upon their ears in the great voids 
 of the silent house but their own quickened breath- 
 ing and the buzzing of a bluebottle fly attempting 
 to escape to outer air. 
 
 '* Oh, will Aunt Pen never come ! " whispered Gay, 
 at last, and Berkeley, who was next to her, took her 
 hand in his, smiling at her wan looks. 
 
 The little Major, hat in hand, sat in a brown 
 
114 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 study, his eyes fixed upon the ground. He was liv- 
 ing over a lifetime of joy and sorrow, of which the 
 young things near him had tasted only the first drop. 
 Gay felt herself shivering closer to Berkeley, who 
 kept her hand in his firm clasp, saying not a word. 
 
 And then, led by Miss Penelope, who, with her 
 arm around her waist, spoke in a low gentle whis- 
 per in her ear, there came to them a small, slight 
 creature clothed in white, her flaxen hair, streaked 
 with gray, hanging upon her neck, her wide, sad 
 eyes looking at vacancy. 
 
 " Here are friends who love you, Selina," said Miss 
 Penelope. '^ Look, my dear, and see if you do not re- 
 member David. And this is my little Gay, of whom 
 I Ve often talked to you ; and this is — " 
 
 " Llewellyn ! " cried the poor lady, a look coming 
 into her eyes as if a lamp had been set into a dark 
 casement. *^ Llewellyn, my own boy, you We come 
 back to us at last!" 
 
 Berkeley Stith caught in his strong young arms 
 the frail form that swayed toward him. At the same 
 moment was heard from behind the door of the 
 closed room a shrill scream, and old Juno, running 
 out like a spider from its lair, appeared among 
 them. 
 
 '' O my poor mistis, she 's no mo' ! My Miss Ce- 
 lestia 's gone ! " she cried. *' Bress Jesus, dere 's one 
 on 'em he 's taken to hisself. She 's done passed 
 away in sleep." 
 
 Miss Penelope looked in alarm at Selina's white 
 face resting on Berkeley's shoulder, but it wore a 
 smile of ineffable content. She had heard nothing, 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 115 
 
 suffered nothing. The brief gleam of reason, giving 
 her the desire of her heart for years, had faded, leav- 
 ing her at peace. 
 
 Miss Selina made no resistance to the removal 
 from her old home into a place where every care 
 was lavished npon the remainder of her days. She 
 was gentle, grateful, obedient; did not seem to re- 
 alize her sister's death; and at a second meeting 
 with her grandnephew showed no recognition of his 
 presence. That she had, however, secretly visited 
 the chamber of the dead, to remove from Celestia's 
 finger a quaint ring of twisted gold, was proved by 
 her last act before parting with Miss Penelope to 
 go into her retreat. 
 
 "You will give this to Llewellyn, with our dear 
 love," she said, laying the ring in her old friend's 
 hand. " Celestia had been keeping it till he should 
 come." 
 
 Berkeley could not trust himself to visit again the 
 old house at the Poplars until the week after Miss 
 Selina's departure. Already some people who had 
 been put in charge had opened the deserted mansion 
 to light and air ; and with Gay the young man wan- 
 dered through it, gazing curiously at the scene of 
 the drama of death in life, so recently enacted. 
 
 '' This will all be yours some day," said Gay. " I 
 hope you will never let coarse, unfeeling people get 
 possession of it, and tell its stories to gaping visitors." 
 
 ''When this house goes from my hands, it shall 
 go to destruction, if I have my way," he answered. 
 "But I can fancy certain conditions under which I 
 should even like to live in it." 
 
116 BELHAVEN TALES 
 
 What those conditions were Gay did not press him 
 to explain ; nor were they apparently realized, since 
 to-day, running close to the site of the old dwelling, 
 destroyed by fire during the war, a railroad inter- 
 sects the garden, and rows of small frame-houses 
 have taken the place of the tangled bowers where 
 Selina was wont to walk. 
 
 But when, some years later, Mr. Berkeley Stith 
 came back to America to claim a bride, the ring used 
 for the ceremony was one of the odd " gimmals " of 
 the seventeenth century, made of blended links held 
 together by a pair of golden hands, which, when sep- 
 arated, allowed the circle to drop apart. Within 
 were inscribed these lines : 
 
 " When —With — This — Round — Trew — Hartes 
 — Doe — Wedde — Y^ — Curse — Shalle — Pass — From 
 — Stith — Hysse — Hedde." 
 
 " So we are the legend of the ring ? " said Gay, fin- 
 gering it curiously, upon her bridal eve. 
 
 " Yes. At least my poor father, who in his last 
 days took hold of the fancy with surprising persis- 
 tence, made me promise to induce you to wear it at 
 our marriage. I must own, however, that I believe 
 in it just as much as I believe in our fabled curse, and 
 as most people believe in their respectable old family 
 ghosts." 
 
 " Take care ! Peggy declared that it was this scof- 
 fing spirit on the part of the previous Stiths that 
 brought about their woes." 
 
 " Our luck has turned since the day I saw the dear- 
 est little girl in the world admiring herself in a milli- 
 ner's looking-glass. I '11 own to you now. Gay, that 
 
BELHAVEN TALES 117 
 
 I fell SO hopelessly in love with that hat that I was 
 afraid to look you in the face next day, for fear of 
 letting out my secret." 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad ! " the girl cried gleefully. " To 
 have been loved at first sight, and to be married with 
 a legendary ring, realizes all my youthful dreams. I 
 shall never be silly any more; but it is a final tribute 
 to my foolish old romance." 
 
 If Gay had consulted Aunt Pen (then Mrs. David 
 Garnett) and her husband, who gave the bride away, 
 they might have told her that all of life's romance 
 is not in the dreams of youth. But this, perhaps, in 
 her happy married life, she has now found out for 
 herself. 
 
CROW'S NEST 
 
 FAIR May day in the spring of 1860 
 found two young men riding along 
 a wood road of the border-land in 
 Virginia, destined before long to 
 echo with the ring of troopers' steel, 
 with the tramp of hosts marching 
 to war in mighty phalanx. 
 
 As yet, there was of the strife to come only a 
 distant thunder growl in warning, and the ears that 
 heard it were those of the watch-dogs of the nation ! 
 Hoyt and Newbold, formerly chums at college, had 
 drifted hither in the course of a Southern journey 
 undertaken after Newbold's serious illness at his 
 home in New- York. Hoyt, wide-awake, blue-eyed, 
 alert and unimaginative, the mercantile element in 
 his blood kept in check by the veneer of gracious 
 Fortune, wondered at Newbold's vagrant fancy for 
 byways and odd corners during their agreeably aim- 
 less jaunt. He would chaff his friend without ceas- 
 ing over his fondness for lingering in churchyards, 
 or losing his eye-glasses in dusty parish registers, 
 while taking hieroglyphic notes from some saffron 
 
CROW'S NEST 119 
 
 page, dislodging for the purpose the filmy skeletons 
 of veritable bookworms which had perished there, 
 long since, of delightful satiety ! 
 
 " And what if I love the seed-capsule and you the 
 flower, Hoyt?" Newbold said, summing it all up. 
 ''You are a flower yourself, a splendid specimen, 
 meant to bloom in the foremost parterre of our com- 
 ing American Renaissance. Nature intended me for 
 a nook or a niche somewhere, or else the bottom of 
 a china jar set in a corner cupboard. 
 
 "I say!" Newbold continued, dreamily talking, 
 " somehow or other, I feel at home down here on the 
 threshold of a world that is neither New England, 
 with her high-pressure life of invention, enterprise, 
 smartness, and general good repair, nor yet old Eng- 
 land, with her storied memories. I like to think 
 I 'm not likely to encounter a rising capitalist south 
 of the Potomac. I 've a pet vision of these old 
 grandees chipped out of colonial history, who will 
 be found sitting beneath the umbrageous branches 
 of their family trees, smoking good tobacco and sip- 
 ping — what do they sip. Hoy t — Falernian ? " 
 
 "For Falernian, read old rye," Hoyt answered. 
 "Newbold, you are the most preposterous dreamer 
 and dawdler. I don't see what you make it out of. 
 Look at these mud-holes, look at those crazy fences ! 
 Houses tumbling to pieces, old hats stuffed into the 
 cabin windows, the negroes along the road like 
 scarecrows, their children little nudities. Not a 
 decent farm-house have we passed in three miles 
 back ; nothing but woods, woods, woods, before and 
 behind." 
 
120 CROW'S NEST 
 
 " One pardons any heresy in a hungry man," New- 
 bold answered. '' Cheer up, comrade ! Think of what 
 that dear, delightful fellow, Conway, who took us to 
 his heart and club in Baltimore, promised us ! A 
 typical old border mansion (which should be here- 
 abouts), and, for host, a relic of the pig-tailed gen- 
 try of a century ago. Conway, who is an eleventh 
 cousin of these Hunters, felt himself quite free to 
 bestow on us a letter of introduction to them. My 
 knowledge of the topography of Fauquier County 
 is limited, but, from the directions given by the ho- 
 tel-keeper at Pohick, we must be somewhere near the 
 Aspen River, which bounds the Hunter property on 
 this side. What a bit of road for a canter, Hoyt, 
 this alley just ahead ! " 
 
 They were off at a gallop through the long, green 
 tunnel, made by oak and maple, sassafras and hem- 
 lock, sweet-gum and tulip-tree, blending their boughs 
 in leafy communion. Vines of wild grape clambered 
 everywhere upon their stout-shouldered neighbors, 
 hanging out banners of close-woven greenery and 
 tassels of luscious bloom. Here the light of the 
 afternoon sun was filtered across the mossy ground, 
 and from the hidden bowers of undergrowth came 
 the song of many a sweet, unfrightened bird. 
 
 Beyond this dense tract of woodland, the road 
 came suddenly to a halt upon the steep bank of a 
 rushing yellow stream, churned to mad activity by a 
 recent freshet. In a thicket of pines, upon the oppo- 
 site shore, stood a weather-beaten red cottage, ap- 
 parently deserted, with door and windows shut. A 
 line stretched across the stream, and a rude attempt 
 
CEOW'S NEST 121 
 
 at ferry-tackle directed attention to the flatboat se- 
 cured at the farther landing. 
 
 The two travelers sat their steeds and exhausted 
 every known species of war-cry, whoop and yodel, 
 bnt in vain. No answer, no sign of life from the 
 ferry-house. Only the mocking note of a crow, as 
 he rose from a tree-top and sailed in tantalizing- 
 fashion across to the haven of their hopes. 
 
 ^' Confound the free-and-easy Virginian who under- 
 takes this business ! " Hoy t exclaimed, furiously flick- 
 ing the mud from his trousers with his riding-whip. 
 ''It is all of a piece with the shiftless style of the 
 neighborhood. Just let me get out of this box, and 
 I '11 expose him ; I '11 write to the papers about it ; 
 it's simply a disgrace to the State!" 
 
 Newbold had been sitting with slackened rein and 
 dreamy eye, taking in all the candid beauty of an 
 afternoon in spring in this remote and dewy spot. 
 He started, looked at Hoyt, a quizzical gleam came 
 into his eyes, and Hoyt laughed, albeit unwillingly. 
 
 Just then Hoyt, the more far-sighted of the two 
 men, saw a slight figure detach itself from the black 
 shadow of a belt of pines behind the ferry-house, 
 and, followed by another, come running to the bank. 
 These were a boy and a girl, it soon appeared, and a 
 shrill halloo across the swelling flood gave comfort- 
 ing assurance of relief at hand. To the surprise of 
 the spectators, the creaking hulk of the ferry-boat was 
 at once boarded by the two children, and was swung 
 out, not unskilfully, into the eddying stream. 
 
 '' By Jove ! " Hoyt commented, admiringly, '' the 
 girl is doing the chief part of the work. There 's 
 11 
 
122 CROW'S NEST 
 
 pluck for you, aud muscle too, Newbold ! Look at 
 the heave of that current, will you ! Three cheers for 
 the ferryman's daughter ! " 
 
 Steadily the boat came on. Three cheers were given 
 with a will, and, for answer, they could see the girl 
 nod her head in quiet recognition. 
 
 " This is no ferryman's daughter," Newbold whis- 
 pered, as the boat touched shore. 
 
 She was about sixteen, slender and shapely. Her 
 hat, trimmed with an oak-leaf wreath, had fallen back 
 from her flushed face, and now, her task done, she 
 stood, her beautiful bare hands clasped lightly across 
 her waist, her breath coming quickened by exertion. 
 The boy, her comrade, was a handsome, spirited crea- 
 ture, a few years younger. Both young people were 
 of that luxurious type of beauty one sees on the mel- 
 low canvases of Lely and his fellows, having the rich 
 coloring, the short upper lip that seems haughty when 
 in repose, the cleft chin, the well-dilated nostrils ; and 
 both were clad in clumsily made garments of striped 
 blue-and-white domestic cotton. 
 
 "Now, mind, Pink, I 'm to ride your Bonnie Bess 
 to-morrow, without the curb, for letting you have 
 first turn," the lad exclaimed ; and at once his fancy 
 was taken by Hoyt's mare, who had begun to give 
 every evidence in her power that she disliked board- 
 ing the ferry-boat. 
 
 " Let me get on her, please, while you lead her on, 
 sir," he pleaded. Hoyt laughed, and acquiesced. Quick 
 as thought, the boy was in the saddle and had ga- 
 thered up the reins. The mare entered a final protest 
 by rearing violently, while her rider, deftly slipping 
 
CROW'S NEST 123 
 
 from the saddle, stood, with one foot in the stirrup, 
 neck to neck with the dancing beast. Before Hoyt 
 could interpose, the mare had touched ground, and the 
 boy was back again on his perch, a bright, wild gleam 
 in his laughing eye. With some difficulty our travel- 
 ers succeeded in obtaining permission to share the 
 labor of ferrying the boat back. 
 
 '^ Well, if you want to," the girl said, with evident 
 reluctance. *' But Dolph and I so seldom get a chance. 
 Old Stubblefield 's afraid papa will hear of it, I sup- 
 pose ; but we made him show us how. Stubblefield 's 
 gone to mill, you know. Very few people come this 
 way, and Dolph and I just happened to be in the 
 woods over there when we heard you call. I suppose 
 you came by way of Pohick ? " 
 
 Here the boy broke in eagerly, with a certain pride: 
 "My sister has been to Pohick once, when she went to 
 the springs with Aunt Betty Alexander. I 'ra going 
 some day." 
 
 Hoyt laughed his jolly laugh. Newbold smiled at 
 the thought of the prim, sleepy little town upon the 
 turnpike road, where the railway station and tele- 
 graph office seemed as much out of place as a staring 
 new label on a worn leather trunk. ''Each mortal 
 has his Carcassonne," he murmured. And then came 
 the bustle of getting ashore, of depositing the absent 
 Stubblefield's fee in a long-necked yellow gourd hung 
 behind a broken pane in the window of the red 
 cottage. 
 
 "Now add one more to your acts of friendship," 
 Newbold said ; " put us in the road leading to Colonel 
 Hunter's house — I believe they call it Crow's Nest." 
 
124 CROW'S NEST 
 
 Dolph's laugh made the echoes ring. " Why, that 's 
 our house. You just keep along this wood road to 
 the right for about three miles, and we '11 meet you at 
 the red gate. Come along. Pink; it 's only a mile 
 across the fields, our way. Let 's see who '11 be over 
 that fence first." 
 
 They were off like a flash, and Newbold's eyes met 
 Hoyt's. 
 
 "Original specimens of country gentry, are n't 
 they?" Hoyt remarked. ''I say, Newbold, it 's getting 
 deucedly on into the afternoon for a man who 's had 
 no lunch." 
 
 They plunged into the recesses of a cathedral- vaulted 
 pine forest, and Newbold fell to musing and murmur- 
 ing aloud. 
 
 " What did you say?" asked Hoyt. 
 
 "I was merely asking you a question." 
 
 " I did n't catch it." 
 
 '' It is this," answered his companion : 
 
 "Have you seen a bright lily grow, 
 
 Before rude hands have touched it ? 
 Have you marked but the fall of the snow, 
 
 Before the soil hath smutched it ? 
 Have you felt the wool of the beaver, 
 
 Or swan's-down ever f 
 Or have smelt of the bud of the brier, 
 
 Or the nard in the fire ? 
 Or have tasted the bag of the bee ? 
 
 O ! so white, O ! so soft, O ! so sweet is she ! " 
 
 " I call that a great many questions," Hoyt rejoined. 
 
 At the red gate Dolph was in waiting. His sister 
 
 had gone on, he said, to announce their coming to 
 
CROW'S NEST 125 
 
 his father. Both men breathed freer on emerging 
 from the wide reach of dusky pine woods. 
 
 A low stone house, straggling along the summit 
 of a bleak hill, was Crow's Nest. A square porch in 
 front, buUt of heavy timbers ; many small windows, 
 set with greenish panes of glass ; a stack of outside 
 chimneys; and, on either side of the door, two grim 
 cedars, whose long arms year by year grew more long 
 and gaunt, until they tapped the garret window- 
 panes. Such were the distinguishing features of 
 this old Virginian house, around which hung an air 
 of pensive melancholy, as if it had long since become 
 resigned to settle down into the gray of declining 
 3^ears. The visitors looked in vain for signs of femi- 
 nine occupancy, a muslin curtain or a flower-pot. All 
 was chill, silent, and unsympathizing, quite out of 
 keeping with rosy Dolph, who was then engaged in 
 consigning their horses to a ragged negro groom. 
 
 " Pink scolded me," he said confidingly, as he ush- 
 ered his guests within. '' She said I never warned 
 you about Black Jack." 
 
 " Black Jack ! Is he a desperado who haunts your 
 woods "? " Newbold naturally asked. 
 
 " It 's our mud-hole," the boy answered innocently. 
 "Just outside the red gate, don't you remember! 
 You might have gone round, but it is right far to go 
 round. I expect you 'd rather have come right on, 
 had n't you ? Black Jack 's mighty bad in the spring ! " 
 And he wistfully surveyed the nether garments of his 
 guests. 
 
 The inner hall of Crow's Nest was long and nar- 
 row, the walls hung with fishing-rods, with guns. 
 
126 CROW'S NEST 
 
 with foxes' pads and brushes, with bows and arrows 
 rudely made. A few smoke-stained ancestors in red 
 coats, and their ladies in court-trains and toupets, 
 hung near the ceiling. Along the skirting-board was 
 ranged a row of men's boots, and a pair of antlers 
 held men's hats in every stage of disrepair. A half- 
 dozen smiling negroes jostled one another in the 
 background ; and, starting from the wainscoting, it 
 would seem, appeared an odd, old-time figure, in 
 study-gown and cap, his hair worn in a queue, and 
 his wrinkled face lit with cordial welcome. 
 
 ''Welcome to Crow's Nest, gentlemen," he said 
 heartily. '' I am pleased to see that Black Jack has 
 let you off the worse for a little mud only. Black 
 Jack is apt to be formidable at this season of the 
 year. Come into the dining-room, pray, and take 
 something after your ride. You, Trip, go tell your 
 aunt Judy to hurry with her supper." 
 
 To present a letter of introduction seemed a mere 
 matter of moonshine in the face of such a greeting. 
 Our travelers were soon conducted to a chill dimity- 
 draped chamber, with a bed of state in either end of 
 it, where they found a small imp of darkness already 
 blowing up a shovelful of embers beneath some light- 
 wood knots upon the hearth. A couple of beaming 
 black boys were on hand to brush and polish, and 
 even Hoyt's reluctant spirit began to own the magic 
 of hearty welcome. 
 
 In a scanty room below, paneled with dark wood 
 and dotted with profile likenesses cut from sticking- 
 plaster and pasted on a ground of white, together 
 with faded Poonah paintings, pendent ostrich eggs. 
 
'you tvill please hand miss hunter in to supper." 
 
CROW'S NEST 127 
 
 and many a smiling miniature, they presently found 
 the daughter of the house. Pink had put on a mus- 
 lin gown, and tied her truant locks beneath a scarlet 
 bow. She received the two men without affectation, 
 though a charming blush settled in each cheek. She 
 did the honors by showing relics of the days of 
 George and Anne that warmed the cockles of New- 
 bold's antiquarian heart. In came the Colonel, in a 
 well-bi'ushed suit of black small-clothes ; and a clang- 
 ing bell announced the family meal. 
 
 " You will please hand Miss Hunter in to supper, 
 sir," the old gentleman said, with a quaint wave of 
 the hand. As Newbold obeyed, he fancied himself on 
 tip-toe leading out a partner to the minuet ! 
 
 As in most Virginian houses, the dining-room at 
 Crow's Nest was the most habitable spot about the 
 house. The light came through a number of nar- 
 row windows draped in turkey-red. Doors opened 
 and shut continually to admit processions of small 
 darkies bearing offerings of smoking bread and 
 cakes. Over a porch-shed thus disclosed grew a lilac- 
 bush in full bloom. On the high mantel-shelf stood 
 home-made "dips," in massive silver candlesticks, 
 ready to be lighted when the late amber daylight 
 should fade. At one end of the long room stood a 
 sideboard covered with fine old silver plate. Cut- 
 glass decanters, containing certain mysterious golden 
 fluids, were open to every new-comer. Upon the 
 table was seen the inevitable ham, bronzed with bak- 
 ing, fragrant with cloves, drenched in a bath of old 
 Madeira. Grouped round it were broiled chickens, 
 corn-pone and sally-lunn, jams and jellies, and a 
 
128 CROW'S NEST 
 
 host of like dainties. At the four corners stood sil- 
 ver jugs of cream ; and a brave array of blue Canton 
 china adorned the bare mahogany of the shining 
 board. On guard behind his master's chair was an 
 old mulatto, Jupiter, who, having grown gray and 
 nearly blind in the service of Crow's Nest dining- 
 room, was still (after Aunt Judy, the housekeeper) 
 ruler of every festival, his children's children aiding 
 him in attendance at the table. Behind the tea-board, 
 where reigned a large silver urn bedecked with the 
 drop-and-garland of Queen Anne's time, the young 
 hostess took her seat, having in waiting at her 
 elbow an old colored woman with a kindly wrinkled 
 face and clad in spotless homespun. A spectacle 
 always amusing to Northern eyes was the hero of 
 the peacock's-feather fly-brush, a smaU, serious darky, 
 mounted on a three-legged stool, whose plaited twigs 
 of hair stood erect with awe at his own importance. 
 
 As the guests entered the room, a number of tall, 
 swarthy, black-bearded loungers rose up to give them 
 greeting. 
 
 " My sons, gentlemen," said Colonel Hunter, with a 
 wave of the hand, scattering the while a brace of 
 fawning hounds from about his knees. Six of these 
 stalwart youths there were, ranging in age from eight- 
 een to twenty-eight. Shy and slow of speech, awk- 
 ward and low-voiced, these props of a decaying house 
 answered respectively to the names of Ludwell, Cat- 
 lett, Peachy, Noblet, Bushrod, and Horatio. Only 
 the family Bible knew how many additional high- 
 stepping titles were allotted to each. The same chron- 
 icle bore witness to the fact that, at the outset of her 
 
CROW'S NEST 129 
 
 career, the sole daughter of Crow's Nest had been 
 made to stagger under the combination of Edmonia 
 Septimia Demoretta Fanshawe Crump ! This burden, 
 thanks to her negro "mammy," had been speedily light- 
 ened to the infant sufferer. 
 
 '' Come to its own mammy, den, my lamb ! De Lawd 
 knows, she don't favor old miss, nor old marse nuther 
 — bress His name ! My baby 's dess as purty as a pink." 
 
 And the solitary Pink's petals had opened day by 
 day until her maiden fragrance filled the old gray 
 house. 
 
 Three years after Pink's arrival had appeared a 
 seventh boy. Despite his fair loveliness, rivaling that 
 of his sister, Mrs. Hunter seemed to take alarm at the 
 appearance of another recruit to her husband's line 
 of male successors. She had made jam and bound 
 up bruises and knit stockings for so many boys that 
 the vehement protest might have been forgiven her. 
 At any rate, she died at Dolph's birth, and was laid to 
 rest under a lean slab already gathering lichens in 
 the family burial-plot upon a neighboring hillside. 
 
 Dolph's name was a parental tribute to that ancient 
 fascinator, Mrs. Radcliffe — an abbreviation of Udol- 
 pho, of fame for mysteries. After bestowing upon 
 his last-born this mark of attention, the old gen- 
 tleman went back to his books, finding metal far 
 more attractive in the rows of mildewed volumes — 
 yellow-skinned or black- jacketed duodecimos, six-vol- 
 umed editions of wearisome old fiction, dusty piles of 
 bygone magazines, all heaped on the shelves of a so- 
 called '' office" in the yard, — a damp, low-studded 
 room, with a mossy roof garnished with stonecrop. 
 
130 CROW'S NEST 
 
 In this asylum, chiefly, what remained of old Oc- 
 tavius Hunter's days were gliding by. He was con- 
 tent to look at the theater of life through the large 
 end of his glass. In his eyes, the world, outside of his 
 inheritance of five thousand acres surrounding Crow's 
 Nest, had subsided into vulgar commonplace when 
 certain old-time luminaries in Virginian politics, most 
 of them his blood-relations, bad become extinct. To 
 prattle about the past glories of his family, who were 
 tide-water Virginians of the old, aristocratic, profuse 
 class, — hand-in-glove with the noblemen sent over to 
 govern the colony, and themselves descendants of a 
 distinguished English line, — was the solace of his life. 
 The fine old river-places, furnished and equipped with 
 English luxuries at a time when Crow's Nest was part 
 of a dense virgin forest, had passed out of the extrav- 
 agant bands of Colonel Hunter's predecessors, and 
 there remained to him only this remote lodge in the 
 wilderness. Here he was content to dwell, reverting 
 to the days of his gay bachelor life, when he was an 
 ornament of the State militia, as also an active mem- 
 ber of the Fraternity of Free and Accepted Masons 
 in the neighboring town of Alexandria. Standing on 
 the hearth-rug, his spindle legs in black tights a little 
 separated, a silver snuff-box in his hand, his parch- 
 ment face glowing with animation, the Colonel would 
 discourse to you by the hour about how his grand- 
 father rode to hounds with Washington, and how his 
 aunt Betty had danced with the Greneral at a birth- 
 night ball. So in politics, the Colonel would have 
 nothing modern. The consideration of party topics, 
 just then agitating the broad extent of the United 
 
CROW'S NEST 131 
 
 States, was of far less moment than the action taken 
 by Washington about the free navigation of the Mis- 
 sissippi River, or Jefferson's renunciation of his fa- 
 vorite Embargo Act. If, after repeated efforts, one 
 succeeded in dislodging the Colonel from his arch^o- 
 logical eminence and bringing him to the considera- 
 tion of present events, "Egad, sir," he would say, "it 's 
 arrant nonsense. Talk about breaking up the Union 
 that was founded by the General ! It can't be done, 
 sir. Of one thing you may be certain — Virginia, 
 Mother of Presidents, will stand firm, sir. Did I tell 
 you of that little anecdote my father had from Light 
 Horse Harry Lee, about the General ? " The Wash- 
 ington intimacy was a source of undying pride. The 
 father of the present owner of Crow's Nest had been 
 a paU-bearer of the great republican, and a brass- 
 bound clock upon the landing of the stairs still kept 
 record of the hour of Washington's death, the hands 
 remaining as they had been set shortly after the oc- 
 casion of that national calamity. 
 
 The Colonel had married late in life, and the 
 claims of a numerous family had not greatly incom- 
 moded the quiet current of his thought. In those 
 days children had a comfortable fashion of growing 
 up for themselves, untroubled by the endless aids to 
 progress requisite now. The boys hunted, trapped, 
 and fished, took what learning they chose to receive 
 from a threadbare tutor forming part of the estab- 
 lishment, declined the college course proffered them 
 by their father, and developed — as we have seen! 
 Dolph took to his book eagerly, and he and Pink and 
 the.tutor had long, delightful seances in the school- 
 
132 CROW'S NEST 
 
 room — a round-tower dependence of the house, with 
 stucco walls and a conical roof, dropped as if by 
 accident in the yard, near the dining-room door. 
 
 Pink's childhood was a happy one. She lived 
 abroad outside her school-hours — the housekeeper's 
 scepter, dropped upon Mrs. Hunter's demise, having 
 been triumphantly snatched up by Aunt Judy, the 
 household autocrat. Pink was put on a barebacked 
 horse to ride to water when she could hardly walk, 
 and soon after learned to climb trees like a squirrel. 
 The six big brothers were kind to both motherless 
 children, who formed the romance of their monoto- 
 nous lives. They petted them, broke colts for them, 
 brought home trophies of the hunt for them, from 
 an owl's nest to a fox's brush, saved for them the 
 earliest nuts and persimmons, and, at Pink's bid- 
 ding, would smooth their ruffled manes and check 
 the rioting of their speech at times of family re- 
 union. 
 
 Such was the circle at Crow's Nest, now recruited 
 by our two travelers. Whatever curiosity they might 
 have experienced was soon merged into a solid enjoy- 
 ment of Aunt Judy's good things. A Virginian hot 
 sapper, or " high tea," as it would now be called, was 
 a thing to be remembered ! 
 
 " We missed the canvasbacks in Baltimore," New- 
 bold said, with a sigh to their memory, even amid 
 such profusion. 
 
 ''Very savory eating are canvasbacks," said his 
 host. " But you must know the cook, sir. ' Let them 
 fly twice through the fire, and eat them when singed,' 
 was a saying of my maternal aunt, Mrs. Peggy Mar- 
 
CROW'S NEST 133 
 
 shall, of Bush Hill. No currant jelly or wine sauce, 
 either. Did you ever hear this little incident of Gen- 
 eral Washington's latter days, sir? He went once 
 with my grandfather into Gadsby's tavern in Alex- 
 andria. Gadsby met them, rubbing his hands, with 
 the announcement that he had just received a prime 
 lot of fat eanvasbacks. 'Very good, Mr. Gadsby,' 
 rejoined his Excellency, 'Give us some eanvasbacks, 
 a chafing-dish, some hominy and a bottle of j'our 
 best Madeira, and I '11 warrant you '11 hear no grum- 
 bling from us ! ' Ha, ha ! Have a slice of this ham, 
 Mr. Newbold. Jupiter, hand Mr. Hoyt's plate. Come, 
 no refusal. Of course you must — a thin slice of 
 Crow's Nest ham never hurt anybody." 
 
 Jupiter handed the plate ; and, in the act of carv- 
 ing, the Colonel held his knife in air, to explain how 
 to make a really good ham. 
 
 " Mo' waffles, sir," said a piping voice at the guest's 
 elbow. Newbold wanted to groan. The time for pre- 
 serves and cream had not yet come, and already his 
 satiated spirit cried "Enough." 
 
 One who has encountered the pressure of Virgin- 
 ian hospitality knows that there is nothing for it but 
 to submit, body and baggage. Hoyt and Newbold 
 made a feeble stand against extending their stay at 
 Crow's Nest; but, betimes next morning, a cart 
 drawn by a large cream-colored mule and driven by 
 a negro lad (whose garments, made of guano-bags, 
 commended Smith's fertilizer to the public gaze), set 
 off in pursuit of their luggage at the tavern in Po- 
 hick. Thus beset, our travelers resigned themselves 
 to a fortnight's loitering. Hoyt, an enthusiastic 
 12 
 
134 CROW'S NEST 
 
 sportsman, found his chief amusement in the saddle, 
 under convoy of the stalwart six, or in roaming the 
 woods and fields. Newbold derived endless enter- 
 tainment from the life, the place, the people. Dolph 
 and Pink led him captive everywhere. Aunt Judy 
 was proud to show her various departments of bak- 
 ing, brewing, poultry-raising, hog-fattening, spin- 
 ning, and weaving. He had called upon the new calf 
 of the red-and- white cow, he had seen Judy make 
 her wonderful ^'beat" biscuit; he had rifled her 
 quince preserves in company with his allies. He 
 liked best of all, perhaps, to pass hours in the old 
 ''office." In this retreat, common to most Virginian 
 houses, the uncertain light came through small panes 
 of glass, shadowed without by a massive clump of 
 box-bushes causing dusk to fall within at noonday, 
 and affording sanctuary where Aunt Judy dared 
 not pursue her fowls fleeing for their lives from 
 block and hatchet. Above the door, where, enter- 
 ing, the visitor plunged headlong down an unsus- 
 pected step, grew syringas, gnarled and ancient, with 
 hoary bark and sparse flowers. Sometimes a nest of 
 young chimney-swallows, loosened by the rain, would 
 fall upon the hearth, "pieping" for human sympathy. 
 Hounds wandered in and out the door ; mice sported 
 on the book-shelves ; not infrequently a young heifer 
 sauntered down the flagged walk to set her forefeet 
 on the mossy step and fix her serious gaze upon the 
 occupant. Here Newbold liked to sit, opening moldy 
 envelopes, exploring mouse-eaten documents, some 
 bearing proud armorial seals, and taking notes from 
 a family correspondence extending back to the time 
 
CROW'S NEST 135 
 
 of England's merry monarch. The spring days glided 
 by, till, on the eve of their departure, Pink summoned 
 both her guests to a final round of "the quarter." 
 Here, a number of whitewashed cabins, each boasting 
 its separate patch of garden, growing corn, sweet po- 
 tatoes, tomatoes, onions, and cabbage, were embow- 
 ered in foliage and connected by a broad walk swept 
 as clean as the deck of a man-of-war. A pleasant 
 hum of business struck the ear. Through open doors 
 were seen wheels, looms, hat-plaiting, basket-making. 
 One or two negro patriarchs, with heads like ripe cot- 
 ton-bolls, sat blinking in the sun before their doors. 
 On the grass, on the walks, everywhere under foot, 
 were sportive pickaninnies clad in a single garment. 
 As the visitors passed down the line, smiles, bows, 
 curtseys, and cordial good-bys were showered upon 
 the young men, who had won a host of admirers in 
 "the quarter." 
 
 Newbold lingered behind the others, and looked 
 back. It was a fine elastic day, full of sweet, homely 
 smells from wood and meadow and fresh-turned fur- 
 rows of the earth, — a day when the air "nimbly and 
 sweetly recommends itself unto the gentle senses." 
 From the farm-hands, at work on the slopes bordered 
 by dark lines of pine forest, came cheerful sounds 
 mellowed by distance; in "the quarter" chattering 
 tongues were heard, with the crowing of cocks and 
 the clamorous joy of hens who had just acquitted 
 themselves of their diurnal duty to society. It was 
 all peaceful and pleasant enough. While Newbold 
 mused with regret over their approaching departure, 
 he heard a cry as if of pain from Pink, who, with her 
 
136 CROW'S NEST 
 
 two companions, Hoyt and Dolph, had disappeared 
 down a path leading to an isolated cottage. Newbold 
 quickly followed, to be met by all three of the miss- 
 ing young people, Dolph having his arm around Pink, 
 who looked pale and terrified. 
 
 '' It is nothing," Hoyt explained. " We were idiotic 
 enough to go into that old witch's cabin yonder to 
 have our fortunes told; and the woman was either 
 drunk or crazy, I don't know which, and frightened 
 Miss Hunter with some of her nonsensical sayings — 
 that 's all." 
 
 " Oh ! no," cried Pink. "Aunt Sabra never was like 
 that before — never." And she shuddered involun- 
 tarily, clinging to her brother. 
 
 They had passed into the glen, a broad grassy val- 
 ley, strewn with boulders of rock set in ferns, where 
 dogwood-trees in full blossom made a blaze of white 
 radiance in the shadow. 
 
 "Sit down upon one of these royal rocks," New- 
 bold said to the young girl gently. "Tell me all 
 about your fortune-hunting, and we will laugh at it 
 together." 
 
 But Pink could not laugh. She looked from Hoyt 
 to her brother, but did not speak. Hoyt, strangely 
 enough for him, seemed to labor under a rare spell of 
 embarrassment. Only Dolph laughed, like the light- 
 hearted lad he was. 
 
 "All this because Aunt Sabra had what Mammy 
 Psyche calls the highstrikes. Pink. It is n't worth 
 worrying about. After all, I am the fellow to be wor- 
 ried, am I not, Mr. Hoyt?" and the lad looked up into 
 his friend's face with a trustful smile. 
 
CROW'S NEST 137 
 
 •'Oh! but she said — she said/' Pink found voice to 
 whisper, "that Dolph was — walking — across — his 
 grave ! " 
 
 "And that J, since Miss Hunter is too polite to con- 
 tinue the prophecy," Hoyt added, "that I am to be the 
 grave-digger, or words to that effect. Pray, Miss Hun- 
 ter, don't let this stupid accident mar the pleasure of 
 our last day at Crow's Nest. Dolph here has shown 
 that he believes in me. Won't you, too, be my 
 friend ? " 
 
 To Newbold's surprise, the color in Pink's face, as 
 she placed her hand in Hoyt's, deepened to burning 
 crimson. 
 
 II 
 
 Three years later, in February of 1863, an officer 
 of the Union army, representing a brigade recently 
 stationed at Three Fork Mills, in the county of Fair- 
 fax, Virginia, accompanied by his orderly, rode into 
 the half- deserted village of Pohick. 
 
 Railway communication with that enlightened cen- 
 ter had long since been cut off. The inhabitants nowa- 
 days would have been as much startled by the sight 
 of a locomotive as were the red men who first beheld 
 one on the far Western plains. Many of the Pohick 
 people had packed a few belongings and hastily gone 
 over the border to share the weal or woe of the Con- 
 federacy. Those who remained would cower behind 
 the closed green shutters of their frame-houses and 
 listen to the clang of sabers in their one straggling 
 street, not knowing whether this meant the advent of 
 
138 CROW'S NEST 
 
 friend or foe — for the little town occupied debatable 
 ground. Some days the people would wake up to see a 
 splendid body of Union cavalry, all a-glitter with brave 
 uniforms and polished steel, dash gallantly on and 
 away into the dangerous region beyond; and again, 
 be roused from their beds at night to give food and 
 warmth to a weather-beaten band of ragged troopers 
 in gray, who ate and drank like famished folk, who 
 for nights past had slept by snatches when and where 
 they coiild, wrapped in blankets on the snow, and for 
 days had lived in the saddle, scouring their desolate 
 outposts, with ears alert and hands on pistol-butt ! 
 
 More than once had the main street of Pohick been 
 startled by the flash of a sudden fusillade, prelude 
 to a skirmish short and sharp. The good citizens 
 watched with clasped hands and bated breath, and 
 presently, when the tide of battle flowed back from 
 before their portals, leaving stranded there its flotsam 
 and jetsam of dead and wounded men, the sealed 
 doors flew open, and friend and foe were borne within 
 to be tended till reclaimed. 
 
 Newbold had been among the earliest volunteers 
 for the Union, and his years of experience in the in- 
 vading army, although spent elsewhere than in these 
 well-remembered haunts, had pretty well prepared 
 him for the reception his blue uniform might expect 
 to encounter here. He had anxiously awaited an op- 
 portunity to ride over to Pohick and make inquiry 
 concerning certain old friends ; but the opportunity 
 had been slow in coming. A lull in border hostilities 
 enabled him to pursue his investigations with tolera- 
 ble security, apart from the general possibility of a 
 
CROW'S NEST 139 
 
 stray Black Horseman's bullet. He had set out with 
 a strange excitement of spirit, amounting almost to 
 exhilaration; but the aspect of affairs throughout the 
 country where he passed saddened, then thoroughly 
 depressed him. There was hardly anything to recall 
 the ride of three years before. Nothing can so trans- 
 form a landscape as the fall of timber; and here acres 
 upon acres of forest giants had been laid low under 
 the decree of war's necessity. For the most part the 
 ground was bare and desolate, but here and there 
 were thickets of noble trees degraded from their high 
 estate. Upon hillsides once crowned with handsome 
 homesteads or generous farm-houses were now mere 
 skeletons of framework, glaring with hollow eye- 
 sockets, and showing ghastly blackened fronts, round 
 which the bleak March wind swept drearily. Every- 
 where fences were gone, outbuildings had vanished, 
 fields and orchards were laid waste. The roads were 
 vast mud-holes, glazed with a thin crust of ice. Pass- 
 ing a forsaken camp-ground, he saw the earth in- 
 crusted with a curious mosaic a newly shod regiment 
 had made by casting away their ancient shoes on 
 breaking camp. For companions, during miles of 
 this melancholy expedition, besides his orderly, he had 
 only troops of crows, whose ominous note seemed a 
 warning of evil to come. Last of all in the list of 
 dispiriting influences were the unmarked graves, 
 seaming the hillsides, scattered in the valleys, — mute 
 records they, but oh ! how eloquent of recent battle- 
 fields,— though, alas! only a handful beside the count- 
 less number of those that, from Shenandoah to the 
 sea, scar the green bosom of beautiful Virginia ! 
 
140 CROW'S NEST 
 
 Newbold was not surprised at the scanty welcome 
 he received on drawing rein before the long piazza of 
 the tavern at Pohick. The hostler who appeared had 
 a gray look of chronic apprehension invading the 
 ebony of his once jolly countenance ; and mine host, 
 who of old had swaggered out to meet and pledge 
 each new-comer, kept to himself behind the ill-sup- 
 plied bar counter, the tide of his courteous verbosity 
 curbed and leaking out only in necessary monosylla- 
 bles. The tavern folk, and those few who appeared 
 upon the thoroughfare, were all guarded, suspicious, 
 anxious, furtive. Newbold's hardly veiled eagerness 
 of inquiry for news of the family at Crow's Nest met 
 with evasive answers. They gave him such plain 
 food and drink as they could furnish, and left him to 
 himself in the long, chill dining-room, with its last 
 summer's decoration of fly-specked paper garlands 
 still pendent from the ceiling. Newbold's appetite 
 was not unduly tempted by the cold ham and scram- 
 bled eggs, the adulterated coffee and sharp green 
 pickles set before him. He rose up in a moment or 
 two and strolled out into the stable-yard to give an 
 order concerning his horse. 
 
 Here he was confronted by an odd object he 
 vaguely remembered to have seen before. It was a 
 crippled negro, old and bent, who, broom in hand, 
 was sweeping out the stalls. At Newbold's greet- 
 ing, the old fellow looked at him, first curiously, then 
 with sudden intelligence in his eyes. 
 
 " I knows you, marse, shua 'nuff ; but you 're 
 fleshier and more conformabler den you was. 'Spect 
 you disremembers Sam ! You hain't forgot Crow's 
 
CROW'S NEST 141 
 
 Nes', has ye ? I 'se Unk Pilate's brer, wha' ye gin a 
 quarter to, de day ye sont me 'cross Black Jack to 
 open de red gate." 
 
 Like a flash the time alluded to came back. New- 
 bold recalled the race on horseback to which Pink 
 had challenged him — the quaint old fellow gathering 
 underbrush along the roadside. The warm balsamic 
 air of the pine woods seemed to blow upon him. He 
 saw again the perfect poise of her light figure in the 
 saddle. Her ringing laugh echoed in his ear. 
 
 "Sam, you 're a trump," he said, with returning 
 spirits. " Here 's a dollar to keep the quarter com- 
 pany. Now tell me all you know about the Crow's 
 Nest family, and how you came to be wandering off 
 here to foreign parts." 
 
 The old negro looked around him apprehensively, 
 as his long claws closed upon the greenback, and, 
 shufaing, he led the way into a disused stall. 
 
 " Mighty cur'us times dese, marse. Can't tell yer 
 right hand w'at yer lef han' 's scrabblin' arter, 'pears 
 to me." 
 
 Here he paused, coughed, looked wistfully into 
 Newbold's face and, extending his lean forefinger, 
 touched the young man's shoulder-strap. 
 
 " Ye would n' do no hurt, sir, to my ole marse, if 
 ye does wear dis?" 
 
 '' I would n't be fit to wear it if I did, Sam. I was 
 a stranger and he took me in, remember," Newbold 
 answered heartily. '^ Come, old man, out with your 
 story. They are well, I hope. She — they have not 
 been troubled in their home ? " 
 
 " Dey 's only tol'able, Marse Newbole," Sam said. 
 
142 CROW'S NEST 
 
 scratching his head dejectedly. " When de wah f us' 
 bruk out, 'pears like ole marse kinder disbelieved de 
 news. He 'd set dere in de office day in and day out, 
 and w'en de papers cum twicet a week, he 'd git 
 kinder riled, and den 'pear like he forgit all 'bout it. 
 De young masters dey kep' gittin' mo' an' mo' oneasy. 
 Dey confabulated 'mongst deyselves — ole marse he 
 kep' on disbelievin' — twel one mornin' de boys dess 
 tuk an' lipt ober de fence, so to speak, an' jined de 
 army ober yonder at Manassy Junction. Ole marse 
 felt bad den, I recken, w'en he found dey wor n't no- 
 body to fill de ole house 'cep' little mistis and Marse 
 Dolph. He tuk to walkin' up an' down de flo', and 
 dar' 's whar he is now, I 'spec's. Little mistis, her eyes 
 tuk to shiuin' brighter 'n lightnin'-bugs, en she and 
 Marse Dolph never rested widout dey knowed wot 
 was goin' on in de camp. Dem two chillun 'u'd ride 
 down to de Junction ebery chance dey got. Little 
 mistis 'u'd keep all hands at wuk, sewin,' knittin' en 
 cookin' for de soldiers. Dey wor n't nuthin' talked 
 'bout but marchin' and drillin' and paradin', en how 
 General Beauregard was a-gwine to save de Souf. 
 Bymeby cum a day wha nobodj^ down our way ain't 
 a-gwine ter forgit dis side de Judgmen'. 'T was hot 
 summer wedder — de groun' a-bakin' wid de sun — 
 and w'en we fust heerd dat rumblin' long de groun', 
 bress your soul, sir, we tuk it fur de las' trump. Ef 
 de fus' clap didn' bounce dat ole headen Si outen 
 his cheer, en turn loose de wust skeertes' nigger on 
 our plantashun ! 
 
 " Den dey wuz mo' rumblin', en a lot of sharp crack- 
 lin' sounds way off to the norf of us. De fus' we 
 
CROW'S NEST 143 
 
 know, dar was little mistis ruunin' out in de sun wid- 
 out no hat, en her cheeks as red as peonies. Marse 
 Dolph followed arter her, and tuk her hand. Ole 
 marse kern out en stood on the poach, lookin' like 
 he walkin' in he sleep. De cracklin' set in louder den 
 befo', en little mistis she screech right out to her par 
 dat de battle was begun. She looked peart enough 
 to 'a' fit herself, bress your soul; and de boy he stand 
 dere wid his head up, en his ears cocked like a blood 
 boss w'en he hear a cone drop off de pine-trees. 'T was 
 a mons'us hot day, Marse Newbole ; en w'en night kem 
 nobody on dat plantashun dars n't go to bed a-waitin' 
 fur de news. Bymeby a sojer rode up de wood road. 
 He sot his boss sorter droopy, en w'en one o' de boys 
 run down to de hoss-block, dar it wuz Marse Noblet's 
 own sorrel, and dat wuz Marse Noblet ridin' him. He 
 med out so ez to walk to de poach, wha old marse 
 kem out to meet him. Den Marse Noblet bruk down 
 like a baby, en if Unk Jupe had n't bin dar to ketch 
 him, he 'd 'a' tumbled flat. ' De res' ob 'em is safe, 
 father,' wuz what he med out fur to say, sir, ' but I 'se 
 hit in de side,' en den he fainted, en we kerried him 
 into de charmber wha ole miss useter sleep, en dere 
 he died f o' mornin'. 'T was de blood-flow det finished 
 him, de doctah 'lowed. Dat wuz only de beginnin', 
 sir. Marse Noblet died o' Saturday, en o' Sunday de 
 noise o' de guns begun ag'in bright en arlyj en all day 
 it kept rippin' en tearin' like mad. Ole marse set wid 
 his head on his bre's' by Marse Noblet's body, en dem 
 chilluns did all de orderin' dey wuz to be did. Sun 
 up, nex' mornin', shua ez you baun, sir, ef dar wor n't 
 one o' dem sort o' sick hearses a-turnin' in de red gatej 
 
144 CROW'S NEST 
 
 en w'at you s'pose in it "? Marse Bushrod en Marse 
 Catlett hofe, sir. Dey wuz shot dead a-fightin' side 
 by side." 
 
 Sam paused, gave a gulp, of which he tried to seem 
 ashamed, while in spite of him two large tears ran 
 down his cheeks. These he quickly brushed away, 
 using a wisp of hay for the pui-pose, and resumed his 
 story. 
 
 ''Well, sir, Mammy Lucy she laid 'em out, en we 
 buried dem free alongside dere ma in de cedar patch; 
 en little mistis she sont into Pohick en bought some 
 black stuff en had Mammy Psyche make a frock fur 
 her. Ole marse quit readin' den, en tuk to walkin' 
 up en down de flo'. Marse Dolph he seemed fit to 
 bu'st, kase ther' wor n't no chance fur him to git inter 
 de scrimmage on his own account. He en little miss 
 could n' ride about like dey useter, w'en de Yankees 
 begun to scout aroun' permiscus; en dey was fearful 
 restless en oneasy. Dar ent no use in me tekkin' up 
 your time, Marse Newbole, wid tellin' you all 'bout de 
 way things got a-runnin' down on de old plantashun 
 de secun year o' de wah. Arter de young marsters 
 quit, dere wor n't nobody to run de machine. Ole 
 marse got one oberseer, a po' white from de Cote- 
 House, en he stole en cheated; den anudder feller, he 
 cheated en stole. Bymeby, hog-raeat gittiu' skerser, 
 craps failin', ole marse sent fur all ban's to 'semble in 
 de yard. Dar wuz we, in our Sunday bes'; dar wuz 
 he in dat ole study-gound en his little cap; little mis- 
 tis behiue him, all pale en showed she 'd bin a-eryin'; 
 Marse Dolph holdin' on to her, en whisperin' now en 
 den. ' Boys,' ole marse sez, speakin' particular to 
 
CROW'S NEST 145 
 
 Pilate, Jupe, en me, cos we wuz de oldest, 'you all 
 see how 't is wid me. Ye 's sarved me true en faithful, 
 en it 's powerful hard to say it, but I hain't no call fur 
 to starve my father's people, en so I '11 give ye leave 
 to go. We 're dat near to Wash'n't'n it '11 be easy fur 
 dem as wants ter to git through de lines. Dem as 
 has families to take wid 'em I '11 give a little money 
 to start 'em on de way, en what I can I '11 do fur all 
 on ye.' 
 
 '* Dem niggers acted mighty queer, Marse Newbole. 
 It cum as nateral as breathin' to want to holler out 
 at dat. Dat wuz freedom, sir, dat wuz ! But de sight 
 uv our ole marse standin' up in de ole poach so feeble 
 like, en dem po' young things behine him, wuz mo' 
 stronger; en we jist kep' still as if it wuz iu preachin' ! 
 Den Mammy Psyche gin de fust wud by squealin' out 
 en throwin' her arms aroun' dem two. Miss Pink en 
 Marse Dolph, en prayin' ole marse, for God's sake, 
 not to send her off from her lambs, her precious 
 babies. Ole Unk Jupe put his hand on one o' de do' 
 poses, en he sez : ' Tek dis 'ere away, marse, but leave 
 ole Jupiter.' En dat sorter bruk down de cer'mony 
 ob de 'cashun. De wimmen folks en de chillun cried 
 en hollered, en de men stood on de groun' ez if dey 
 wuz bin havin' der dogger-types tuk." 
 
 Again Sam had recourse to the wisp of hay. New- 
 bold stood in silence beside him, his eyes fixed upon 
 the ground. 
 
 " I 'd like to tell you 'bout little mistis, sir," the old 
 negro said, confidingly, after a time. " She waited a 
 minnit to see ef her pa wuz gwine to say enny mo', 
 en, seein' him settle down like he wuz dreamin', she 
 
 la 
 
146 CROW'S NEST 
 
 dess run out on de grass amongs' us, sir, wid dat 
 same face she had w'en she wuz a-listenin' to de guns 
 at Manassy ; it wuz proud, and den ag'in it wuz n't. 
 
 " ' I wornts you all to know dat my father en my 
 brother en I loves you jes' ez well en trusses you jes' 
 de same ez ever,' war what she say ; ' en ef any one 
 'mongs' ye wornts to stay en share our poverty, he 's 
 welcome ; en ef any one of ye wornts to come back to 
 Crow's Nes', he 's welcome. I 've growed up here 
 'mongs' ye, en I knows ye, big en little, ole en young. 
 It 's like pullin' my heart-strings out to see ye go 
 away, en de ole place go to ruin. But ef it 's got to 
 be, my dear, dear frien's, I know you '11 help — '" 
 
 At this point of his narrative, Sam made no further 
 attempt to stem the current of fast- welling tears that 
 streamed down the channels of his withered face. 
 Presently he abandoned the wisp of hay as inadequate 
 to the occasion, and took from his pocket a handker- 
 chief emblazoned with the United States flag in all 
 its bravery of colors. 
 
 " Dat was de beginnin' uv de end, Marse Newbole," 
 he said. " De Crow's Nes' niggers cl'ared out arter 
 dat, do de mos' ob 'em was mighty hard to stir. Unk 
 Jupe and Mammy Psyche dey staid, uv co'rse, en 
 dey kep' a couple o' boys to hope in de gyarden. 
 Aunt Lucy she went off to nuss in de hosspittle at 
 Culpepper. Aunt Judy, — she dat wuz housekeeper, 
 sir, — why she 's cook at Marse Secertary Chase's, dis 
 minnit, in Wash'n't'n, en Unk Pilate, her husban', 
 he drives de kerridge. Ole Unk Si he tuk his savin's 
 en made tracks, fust off. Hain't nebber heerd o' enny 
 cuUud gentleman wha 's runnin' fur Presiden', down 
 
CEOW'S NEST 147 
 
 dar, has ye, sir ? De way dat nigger baarabilated off, 
 ye 'd 'a' thought he wor n't gwine ter 'low Marse Lin- 
 kum no chance, nohow. Sum' on 'em has writ letters 
 beggin' marse to take 'em home ag'in ; some on 'em 
 we ain't never heerd on. I 'm a kyinder old tarrypin 
 myself; en w'en little mistis 'vised me to be a-movin', 
 I dess crawled dis fur, en 'ere I stopped. I gets my 
 cawn-bread en my bacon en a bed to sleep on by de 
 wuk I does fur Marse Jim Peters, wha' keeps dis 'ere 
 hotel; but dey 's a mons'us differ'nce. 'Pears like I ent 
 got no self -respec', to be waitin' on po' whites, nohow ; 
 en de longes' I live, sir, I ent nebber seen money tuk 
 befo' fur a stranger's bode en lodgin'." 
 
 Thus far Newbold had heard without wishing to 
 interrupt the simple old narrator, but a great longing 
 to know more of her toward whom his heart had been 
 drawn during years of separation overmastered him. 
 He wrung Sam's hand, greatly to that worthy's aston- 
 ishment, leaving in the horny palm another green- 
 back — an act of beneficence that almost defeated his 
 object by depriving the now smiling negro of his 
 powers of speech. 
 
 ''Your young mistress, Sam, how does she look? 
 how does she bear her changed fortunes ? " 
 
 " She 's grow'd like a hickory saplin', Marse New- 
 bole, en it 's dess a wonder her sperret ent bruk, wid 
 de pore eatin', en de worriment, en de hard work. I 
 ent tole you, sir, dat Marse Peachy got killed at Mal- 
 vern Hill, en Marse Ludwell lay down dere in the hos- 
 spittle at Richmon' all las' summer, 'fo' he died o' de 
 wounds he got at Seven Pines. Wen Marse Raish 
 kem a-limpin' home on crutches wid one laig gone, en 
 
148 CROW'S NEST 
 
 took to settin' on de back poach all de day (iinderneath 
 de water-bucket wha de gourd hangs, sir, you 'mem- 
 bers it ?) en giv hisself up to bein' drefful onsperreted, 
 seems like dat wuz de las' straw ! Ole marse looked at 
 him kinder fur off, en he sez, sez he, ' I 'm a' old tree, 
 en dey 've lopt off all o' my branches ; purty soon de 
 trunk '11 fall, please God.' Den Marse Dolph en Miss 
 Pink dey tuk de whole f ambly in charge. Marse Raish 
 alius was de perjinketes' ob all de boys, en he 's give 
 'em lots o' trouble sence, en old marse 'pears to git 
 childish like. Dat boy Dolph ez only fifteen, sir ; but 
 ef you '11 b'leeve me, he 's breakin' his heart to go 
 enter de wah ; en Miss Pink she wornts de wust way 
 ter please him, en but fer his pa I b'leeve he 'd be off 
 like a shot. . . . Dey 's powerful po', sir," he ad- 
 ded, with reluctant admission. " All dat Ian' 's no 
 good to marse; en de Yankees hez cut down acres uv 
 his timber. But dey 's great folks still, sir. Dey 's 
 Hunters, ebbery inch ; en dey don't gib up." 
 
 Newbold rode back to headquarters, turning over 
 in his mind a variety of projects by which he could 
 bring himseK into communication with, and if possi- 
 ble aid, the family at Crow's Nest. A day or two 
 afterward, he met his old friend Hoyt, now captain 
 of New York volunteers, and, like himself, recently 
 stationed in the Three Forks neighborhood. They 
 dined together at Newbold's mess, and after dinner 
 Newbold resolved to make an effort to break an awk- 
 ward kind of reserve that his own feeling had estab- 
 lished between them in regard to the visit at Crow's 
 Nest. He gave Hoyt an outline of Sam's story. 
 
CROW'S NEST 149 
 
 " By Jove, it 's too bad," Hoyt responded heartily. 
 '' Of course we should do something ; but what "? Our 
 hands are tied. Very likely they 'd bar the door 
 against us, and the girl would hurl secession elo- 
 quence at our heads from the upper windows. What 
 a pretty creature she was, Newbold ! Do you know, 
 I believe my wife is to this day a trifle jealous of the 
 spooney way I used to go on about old Virginia after 
 our visit there. I sent Miss Hunter a lot of books 
 and engravings, and wrote her a half-dozen rather 
 sentimental letters from Europe that summer — and 
 there the thing cooled off. You remember, it was just 
 before I became engaged to Lilian — " 
 
 " I have n't forgotten anything about that time," 
 Newbold said, with a sort of effort. '' Perhaps I never 
 told you, Hoyt, that I myself fell as irretrievably in 
 love with Miss Hunter as an idiot could. I wrote and 
 told her so, and asked her leave to revisit Crow's Nest 
 in a different capacity. But — " 
 
 " She did n't agree with you, old fellow ? " Hoyt 
 said serenely. "Well, that 's a chapter that comes 
 in most of our lives, is n't it ? I am so well set up in 
 that matter that I can afford to sympathize with you 
 old bachelors." 
 
 "Unfortunately, as you will agree," Newbold ad- 
 ded, after a moment's deliberation, " I have a provok- 
 ing way of not changing when I once make up my 
 mind. I find myself to-day more than ever fixed in 
 my regard for her. The story that old darky tells of 
 her pluck and her endurance has filled me with a rash 
 and unmanageable desire to go to her rescue." 
 
 Hoyt whistled. 
 
150 CROW'S NEST 
 
 " Excuse me, old fellow, but really — I — It 's such 
 an immense joke, don't you see ? Why can't you have 
 the common sense to know that now she would never 
 look at you f These Southern girls are the very devil ! 
 Perhaps you 'd better try it, though, if you are going 
 in for a cure ; or else wait awhile till we have settled 
 this rebellion business, and aifairs assume a different 
 complexion. For my part I stand ready to do the 
 Hunters any kindness or any courtesy that may be 
 possible, if a chance presents. How Lilian will laugh 
 when she hears I 've run upon the Virginian flame 
 again ! " 
 
 Once again upon the banks of the Aspen River 
 our two friends came to a halt. This time it was no 
 May-day pleasuring beneath the flowery arches of the 
 wood. Hoyt was in command of a scouting expedi- 
 tion, which Newbold, out of the very restlessness of 
 his spirit, had volunteered to accompany. The long 
 winter of inactivity made an opportunity like this a 
 godsend to both men and officers. It was now toward 
 the end of March, and, by one of the coquetries of 
 Virginia's climate at that season, a brisk snow-storm 
 had set in, driving Hoyt's party into the shelter of a 
 close growth of pine-trees for their noonday bivouac. 
 Gathered round a tiny fire, whose thin blue curl of 
 smoke they would have hidden from outside observa- 
 tion, they sat eating and chatting merrily — their 
 horses, tethered close at hand, comfortably munching 
 provender beneath a thatch of snow. 
 
 Suddenly the soldier on guard without gave a note 
 of warning to his comrades. In an instant every 
 
CROW'S NEST 151 
 
 man's hand was on his rifle. In the dead silence 
 that ensued, they could hear the long, even stride of 
 horses galloping on the far side of the river-bank. 
 From their ambush they saw a party of Confederates 
 emerge from the undergrowth opposite and sweep 
 down the steep descent to the ford. Their steeds 
 plunged into the stream and rioted with the swift 
 yellow current, wading breast-high, now swimming, 
 again striking bottom, and so until the hoofs of their 
 leader struck the shore immediately beneath the 
 wooded height where lurked their foe. 
 
 What followed was the work of a moment. New- 
 bold, looking out with a thrill of eager anticipation, 
 saw the gray coats fare gaily forward to their cer- 
 tain doom — saw in the midst of them, first to breast 
 the current, waving his arm aloft in boyish pride — 
 joyous, gallant, and alert — good God! could this be 
 little Dolph ? 
 
 *'Fire!" came the ring of Hoyt's clear voice; and 
 the order was instantly obeyed. 
 
 Newbold was conscious of a mad movement of pro- 
 test. Before the smoke attending the deadly volley 
 had scattered, the ranks of the rebel cavalry were 
 seen to split asunder. Two or three bodies plunged 
 heavily from their saddles to the ground. In the 
 skirmish that ensued the rest of them, surprised and 
 outnumbered, made desperate fight in vain. Those 
 not slain or captured on the spot turned back to cross 
 the ford, a rain of bullets following. More than one 
 succeeded in crossing unhurt; some sank wounded 
 on the far bank ; and one poor fellow, struck in mid- 
 stream, sat his horse gallantly until he had well nigh 
 
152 CROW'S NEST 
 
 mastered the buffeting of the flood, then, falling like 
 a column, was lost to sight beneath the angry tide. 
 
 It was short work to look for Dolph. The boy lay 
 by the roadside, his fair face looking heavenward, a 
 bullet through his heart. 
 
 Hoyt, having a severe thigh-wound for his own 
 share of the encounter, was carried by his men into 
 the shelter they had recently quitted and laid on a 
 bed made of leaves and blankets, while a messenger, 
 accompanying the prisoners sent back under guard, 
 was despatched to headquarters in search of a sur- 
 geon. Into this retreat, where the wounded of both 
 sides were lying, Newbold had caused Dolph's body to 
 be borne. A faint hope, too soon extinguished, nerved 
 him to continued efforts at resuscitation. Hoyt, on 
 discovering the object of his friend's solicitude, was 
 beyond measure shocked and grieved. In the inter- 
 vals of his acute attacks of suffering, he would ask 
 impatiently if nothing could be done to save the boy. 
 From one of the wounded Confederates Newbold as- 
 certained that this was young Hunter's first military 
 service since his recent enlistment; and that the party, 
 at his request, had stopped overnight at Colonel Hun- 
 tele's house, whither it was more than probable some 
 one of the retreating men had even now borne the 
 news of the lad's fate. 
 
 ** But I reckon I 'd rather be here as I am, than in 
 his boots that tells the news," the soldier added, be- 
 tween gasps of pain. 
 
 Newbold, having done what he could for the suf- 
 ferers, paced up and down the road in front of his 
 improvised hospital, a prey, for once in his life, to 
 
CROW'S NEST 153 
 
 blank uncertainty. As he strode back and forth, a 
 soldier on the outpost signaled him, pointing in the 
 direction of the far bank of the river. Going down 
 the steep path, Newbold saw through the mist of 
 swiftly falling snow the black hulk of the old ferry- 
 boat push out from the opposite shore. 
 
 ''There are only two people aboard, sir," the sentry 
 said. "They Ve a white flag up. It 's a woman and 
 a nigger man, I guess." 
 
 Newbold's heart was filled with foreboding. He 
 could make no answer; he could only watch and 
 wait. The boat drew nearer. What he feared was 
 realized. A gaunt old negro handled the ropes of the 
 ferry-boat, and at his side a young girl stood direct- 
 ing him. A moment more, and Pink, her large eyes 
 fixed and staring, no tear upon the whiteness of her 
 cheek, sprang to the shore and came swiftly up the 
 bank. 
 
 " I have come to claim my dead," she said, in tones 
 so strange and sad that, instinctively, every man who 
 heard her doffed his cap and stood bareheaded in the 
 snowflakes. Newbold dared not answer; he could not 
 tell whether she recognized him or not. In silence he 
 led her, followed by old Jupiter, whose shambling 
 steps found it difficult to make a footing, along the 
 slippery path. Dolph's body had been removed a 
 little apart from the others and laid on the moss at 
 the foot of a tree. Newbold hesitated for a moment ; 
 then, drawing aside the sweeping bough that veiled it 
 from their sight, he motioned the young girl to pass 
 before him. He saw her swoop downward, like a 
 mother-bird to its young, and then could look no 
 
154 CROW'S NEST 
 
 more. She came out presently, the same marble crea- 
 ture who had entered there. Hoyt had aroused from 
 his benumbed condition, and, dimly comprehending 
 what had come to pass, begged Newbold to call her to 
 his side. 
 
 "I must say — a word — you know. She may feel 
 more kindly to see me — in this state." 
 
 He had raised himself upon his elbow and looked 
 appealingly toward her. Pink's eyes met his. To 
 Newbold's utter surprise, the young girl's face kin- 
 dled with a momentary glow that was astonishment 
 and joy and tenderness combined. She made a quick 
 motion in Hoyt's direction, then as suddenly put both 
 hands before her eyes and drew back. 
 
 ''Pray speak to him. Miss Hunter," Newbold urged, 
 in a voice that did not seem his own. '' He is badly 
 wounded, as you see, and your — sorrow — is the one 
 disturbing thought he can't dismiss from his wander- 
 ing brain. Surely, you will be merciful ; surely, you 
 will believe that this terrible day's work was one 
 neither he nor I would have intentionally wrought." 
 
 As he spoke, the girl trembled pitiably; through 
 her clasped hands he could see a stain of vivid car- 
 mine dye her cheek, then vanish, leaving it pale as 
 before. With sudden impulse, she crossed to Hoyt^s 
 side and bent down to him ; but the wounded man, 
 exhausted by his effort, had already fallen back in a 
 stupor that might mean death. 
 
 Pink knelt for a moment gazing at him; then, rising, 
 turned away. Newbold caught the murmur that es- 
 caped her lips. 
 
 " Better so," she whispered drearily. 
 
CEOW'S NEST 155 
 
 " Better so," he echoed in his heart. " She will per- 
 haps be spared a deeper pang." 
 
 Dolph's body was wrapped in his soldier's blanket ; 
 but, when the moment came to bear him forth, New- 
 bold and the men who offered to assist were motioned 
 back by the lean arm of Jupiter, who, mute and solemn, 
 had kept watch beside the dead. 
 
 " I ax yer pardon, sir, but dis is my place, and I has 
 my mistis' orders," the old man said ; and, lifting the 
 body tenderly to his breast, he walked with majestic 
 tread along the path — the girl, erect and tearless, 
 following. 
 
 A cloth laid over the boy's face fluttered back. 
 Those who in silent awe looked after the sad pro- 
 cession till it passed from view saw the gleam of 
 his golden curls nestling in the protecting arms of 
 Jupiter, even as the ferry-boat pushed out from 
 shore. Midway in the stream Newbold caught his 
 last glimpse of them : the girl at her old place by the 
 ropes, battling with wind and current ; the negro, on 
 his knees beside her, striving to shield his burden 
 from the storm. Then a mist came over the watcher's 
 eyes; that and the falling snow blotted her forever 
 from his sight. 
 
 A LITTLE while ago, Hoyt's young daughter, an airy 
 fairy Lilian of seventeen, asked her father why their 
 friend Mr. Newbold had never chanced to marry. 
 
 ''He seems so solitary, papa," she said, from her 
 favorite perch on the arm of Hoyt's library chair; 
 " and sometimes, when he is here and we are all so 
 
156 CROW'S NEST 
 
 happy, I can't help fancying it makes him sad to see 
 us. I should like hira to be happy too, papa ; for he 
 is the kindest, truest — " 
 
 '' Yes, that is it, Lilian. If such a thing can be, he 
 is too true." 
 
 And there, in the twilight, Hoyt told to his darling 
 the story I have told to you. 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 T the close of a warm day of South- 
 ern spring, a little gii'l, most fair and 
 delicately made, knelt at a window 
 looking to the west, resting, in cheru- 
 bic fashion, her pretty chin between 
 two snowflake hands. A soldier on 
 guard over a headquarters tent in the sun-baked 
 space below looked up at her, and saluted gallantly ; 
 at which act of homage a smile broke over her face 
 that was both tender and triumphant. Una was ac- 
 customed to such recognition from the men to whom 
 her casement, with the flower-box nailed below it 
 overflowing with geraniums and featherfew and mign- 
 onette in bloom, was the one bit of esthetic beauty 
 in an arid spot. King David, an ingenious old arti- 
 ficer, had constructed for her this hanging garden 
 from a box in which cork legs had been sent to the 
 hospital camp; and, covered with bark from the neigh- 
 boring woods, its appearance in public was now all 
 that could have been desired. Through the mo- 
 notony of hospital life, she ran like a thread of gold. 
 When the little white-frocked maiden appeared in 
 
 14 157 
 
158 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 the wards beside the tall and somber form of her 
 mother, who was a matron in charge of a division of 
 the camp, smiles formed upon wan lips, dull eyes 
 kindled, fretful voices were toned to courteous speech. 
 And, in return, she loved the patients as she loved the 
 cause for which they had been stricken down; fer- 
 vently, unquestioning, as good Catholics treasure the 
 contents of their reliquaries. It was one of the pa- 
 thetic things of that war between North and South 
 to see young spirits charged with such a burden of 
 fierce antagonism — young veins thrilling with a 
 fever of strife they could not understand and sought 
 not to remedy. And this our little Una, like all the 
 rest of them, was so terribly in earnest in calling her- 
 self a Confederate. 
 
 The place known as Camp "Winder was situated 
 beyond the town limits of Richmond in 1864. Encir- 
 cled by a trench yielding too often noxious odors, 
 the rough wards and tents were assembled in dreary 
 rows around a barrack of new pine boards, built after 
 the unostentatious model of a toy-shop Noah's Ark. 
 One expected to see the roof tilt back upon insufii- 
 cient hinges, and the surgeons, matrons and nurses 
 for whose use it was constructed come tumbling out 
 like so many button-headed Shems and Hams and 
 Japhets. This drear abode, a honeycomb of hospital 
 industries, served as shelter not only for Una Eus- 
 tis and her mother, but for many another of their 
 class born and bred in the lap of abundant comfort. 
 The uuplastered room allotted to the division-matron 
 had contained until recently, for all furnishing but a 
 couple of army-cots, a table with washing apparatus, 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 159 
 
 and a few nails in the wall. Then, Fortune, in the 
 shape of old Miss Jessie Sprigg, a spinster friend, 
 who going to board in the country had nowhere 
 to store her belongings, smiled upon them broadly. 
 Claw-footed tables and chairs, a glazed bookcase and 
 desk combined, a Chinese screen, and above all a 
 comfortable lounge, arrived to transform the bare 
 chamber into the semblance of a home. Una, with 
 fairy fingers, had only to-day put to it her finishing- 
 touches in the shape of a curtain and table-cover, and 
 now waited, watching the red ball of the sun sink 
 behind the pine grove westward of the camp — for at 
 sunset King David would be free to come and take 
 his sovereign lady for a walk. Her mother she might 
 not expect to see till after supper was distributed to 
 the sufferers, and the matrons and helpers were ready 
 to sit down to their own meager meal in the refectory 
 below. 
 
 Spite of the long, hot lonely day whose pink still- 
 ness of dawn had been rudely broken by guns at a 
 distance, Una had, in her congenial toil, almost for- 
 gotten to be sad. Hour by hour since the morning 
 round with her mother in the wards had her busy 
 fingers sped. She could hardly be patient now that 
 all was done. King David would never see how she 
 had looped her curtains with her old blue sash. She 
 longed to bring that faint gleam of a smile — so 
 rarely seen now — into her mother's beautiful brown 
 eyes. 
 
 The sun sank behind a blot of inky pines, casting 
 up a fountain of radiance to the sky. A sudden pang 
 of remembrance shot into Una's heart. The scene 
 
160 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 recalled to her a vista in the forest surrounding her 
 old home — a spot where she, with papa and Hal, on 
 horseback, had once stopped to watch a similar effect. 
 She could almost smell the fragrance of dead leaves 
 and living mosses always arising from the deep Mount 
 Airy woods. She saw again a cheerful picture of 
 plantation life when the day diaws near its close; 
 cows marching to the milking-place ; chickens and 
 turkeys fluttering to their roosts ; the black people 
 slouching home to the quarter, always ready to stop 
 for a pleasant-spoken " Howdy'e, Marse," '^ Howdy'e, 
 little Miss." Soon lamps would send forth their gleam 
 from the Grreat House windows, and the wide front 
 would be traced in light. What joy to spring from 
 the saddle by aid of Hal's young arm, and to go in 
 chattering and laughing with him to the tea-table 
 where the mother sat, and where the father would 
 come in to lend his buoyant presence ! 
 
 So many people had their troubles in those days, 
 that Mrs. Eustis's recent share in the tragedy of war 
 had already passed into Confederate tradition. It was 
 hard for the poor lady, looking down at her frock of 
 coarse black stuff, and about her at the sordid belong- 
 ings of her present life, to realize that she had been 
 the petted mistress of a fine old colonial homestead 
 on the Virginian border, forsaken at the outbreak of 
 the war to follow her husband's fortunes in the field. 
 The one visible link — after Una — to connect her 
 with that time was the diamond glittering upon her 
 finger above the wedding-ring, worn now, alas ! as a 
 symbol of love overshadowed by uncertainty worse 
 than death. 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 161 
 
 Their home lay in the track of armies between the 
 Rappahannock and the upper Potomac, and she with 
 her young daughter had quitted it by night upon 
 sudden warning of an advance of Union troops. Such 
 a movement of the enemy would cut her off definitely 
 from her husband and the son whom no love of hers 
 could withhold from volunteering to fight in the 
 Southern cause, and there had been brief delay in her 
 decision to flit. 
 
 It had been dream-like at the time — how much 
 more so after the lapse of years — that weird flitting 
 from the safe, happy home whose foundations had 
 seemed planted beyond the possibilities of change. 
 The hurried packing — the hiding of valuables — the 
 necessity of driving away at midnight down the fa- 
 miliar avenue, unknown to the sleeping black people 
 — the meeting at daybreak with her husband, who had 
 ridden north from his camp to welcome her — the feel- 
 ing that all care was over, then. Next came the odd, 
 helter-skelter, exciting life of refugees in war — the 
 heart-beats and anguish of suspense in times of 
 battle — the rapture of reunion with the spared. Both 
 her husband and her beautiful eighteen-year old Hal 
 had escaped without a scratch from almost continual 
 fighting, when Lee in 1863 called upon his soldiers to 
 follow him to Maryland. Hal, but recently promoted 
 from the ranks to be a sergeant, had gone ahead 
 without an opportunity to say good-by to his mother, 
 then in Richmond. 
 
 ''Don't fret, my darling; this means peace, home, 
 everything," St. George Eustis had said when, recalled 
 from his furlough to join the army on the march, he 
 
162 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 was aroused by Ms wife in the gray of morning. He 
 had slept soundly while she had been long astir — 
 setting last stitches, packing his portmanteau, brewing 
 a cup of coffee, toasting bread. She had stood, before 
 awakening her husband, watching him with her full 
 soul in her gaze. " Think how we 've longed for this 
 chance to push over the Potomac. I 'U get the shirts 
 to Hal, and the stockings Una knit, — bless the dear 
 baby, how she sleeps ! . . . I 'm off now; keep a 
 brave heart, Florence. God bless you both ! Good-by." 
 
 He had stolen away on tiptoe to spare Una the pain 
 of parting, but before his long strides had carried him 
 the length of the corridor a little speeding form was on 
 his track. 
 
 " Papa ! I was not asleep. I tried to bear it, but I 
 can't. Kiss me, my darling own papa!" 
 
 Eustis strained her to his heart. ''Una, you will be 
 brave ? • You will think always of your mother first, 
 and remember I trust her happiness to you I" These 
 words rang in Una's ears long after the news came 
 from Gettysburg that took the sunshine from her 
 mother's life. When the tide of battle turned, and 
 the last splendid assault of Pickett's Virginians was 
 repulsed, Colonel Henry St. George Eustis was left 
 for dead within the Federal lines. Those of his 
 friends who saw him fall, quickly spread the tidings 
 of their important loss. Farther down the slope, 
 and farther down in the list of Confederate dead, 
 was Hal Eustis, buried by his comrades near where 
 he died. So much the mother learned beyond dis- 
 pute, but of her husband nothing more than the fact 
 of his fall beside a captured gun. Inquiries, let- 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 163 
 
 ters, advertisements in the newspapers of both sides, 
 failed to elicit further detail. As months wore on, 
 she had let the conviction of his death sear its way 
 into her soul. The shrinking of her means of liveli- 
 hood cost her not a pang. Long practice as a vol- 
 unteer nurse in the Confederate hospitals suggested 
 to her a place as paid matron under Government, and 
 to the hard routine of this employment she had come 
 gladly. But for Una's comfort and well-being, the 
 life of stern self-denial, of constant action in the ill- 
 equipped camp, would have been her free choice. It 
 was the rare moments of rest from labor Mrs. Eus- 
 tis dreaded most. 
 
 Home visions thronged around the lonely little 
 girl, bringing the hot tears of childhood to brim her 
 eyes, but the sound of the door opening behind her 
 made her spring quickly up, hiding her emotion by 
 standing with her back to the amber glow. 
 
 "It's only me, Miss Una, darlin'," said Rose, one of 
 two Irish sisters, laundry-maids who habited a room 
 in the universal entry. She was a bright, hard-worked 
 creature, and bore across her arms a spotless white 
 frock of the thin stuff Una's mother liked best to see 
 her wear. 
 
 "Rose! You have n't washed that, with all you 
 have to do — and the day so very hot?" 
 
 " Whisht now. Miss Una, it 's no credit to be wash- 
 ing where there ain't no dirt — an', if it 's only to kape 
 me hand in at clearstarchin' till this cruel war be's 
 over. It '11 go hard wid me sister an' me if we can't 
 manage to do up our snowdrop's little frocks — not to 
 speak of them beautiful gownds the madam was afther 
 
164 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 givin' us a Chewsday — rale Frincli cambric with flow- 
 ers like natur — it '*s the sorrow that she can't be 
 wearin' 'em herself, and she wid a figgur like the 
 qneen." 
 
 ^' Oh ! She was beautiful, Rose, when you saw her 
 dressed in colors — but I must n't think of that ! Look 
 how pretty our room is, Rose — but for the board 
 walls you 'd never believe it is in a hospital." 
 
 Busy Rose had but time to give an admiring glance 
 and hurry off, when a beloved visitor appeared, in the 
 shape of a lady whose autumnal charms were lightly 
 veiled in rice-powder, which, with the somewhat co- 
 quettish arrangement of her shabby dress, bespoke 
 that perennial charmer of the South, the belle of a 
 generation past. 
 
 "All alone, you dear little creature! Well, I did 
 hope to get a half -hour to myself, to come and sit 
 with you in this bower of beauty this afternoon ; but 
 what between Doctor Snow and Major Isham, who 
 have this moment left me, and a poor fellow down 
 in ward 46 who 's to be operated on presently, and 
 will expect to see me around when the surgeons leave 
 — I 've brought you those sweet poems of L. E. L. to 
 read, ray child, and a few Maryland biscuit for your 
 tea — wish with all ra'y heart there were more of 'em, 
 but dear Mrs. Thompson's cook is famous for her 
 biscuit, and when this batch came to-day, I knew 
 there was many a poor soul — the sweetest verses, so 
 full of sentiment — I positively could n't get rid of 
 Isham — an old beau of mine, child, proposed to me 
 six times at the White Sulphur the year I became 
 engaged to poor Mr. Robbins — have n't seen him 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 165 
 
 since, and he vows I have n't changed a particle — 
 now, mind you come to me whenever I 'm off duty, 
 and your mama is on — give me a kiss to cheer me, 
 dear, for it 's ten to one that my pet patient will sink 
 after this amputation, and I must stay by him till he 
 goes." 
 
 " Take a bit of my geranium, dear Mrs. Robbing," 
 cried Una, who knew by experience the tender un- 
 selfishness lurking under the shreds and patches of 
 this lady's vanity. " It will smell sweet to you in the 
 wards. And thank you a thousand times for the 
 biscuits. If you knew how I long for a home dainty, 
 now and again, that will tempt mama to eat." 
 
 She had not ceased to croon with satisfaction over 
 the unlooked-for bounty, when the one-armed and 
 one-legged soldier, employed to lower the headquar- 
 ters flag at sunset, set flying upon the air a few very 
 wild echoes from the asthmatic bugle that was his 
 pride. 
 
 ^' There goes the flag to bed," cried Una, running 
 back to the window. " And now King David will be 
 here to take me out." 
 
 The rim of the sun had sunk behind the black 
 boles of the pine grove. Slowly the stars and bars 
 glided downward on their staff. Shortly thereafter 
 a shuffling step was heard outside Una's door, and a 
 deprecating tap upon its panels. 
 
 "Gome in. King David," exclaimed the little lady, 
 insistently. " There is the trunk that I 've unpacked 
 now we 've a chest of drawers, and you 're to take it, 
 please, to the storeroom — that is, if you can carry it 
 by yourself." 
 
166 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 "Light as a feather this is, honey/' the old man 
 said, stooping to deposit his torn straw hat upon the 
 floor. 
 
 King David was an old negro, with a head too large 
 for his body, and legs curiously bowed. When one 
 spoke to him in kindness, his rugged face became 
 irradiated with a smile pathetic in its humility ; but 
 there was dignity of the true royal sort in King 
 David's bearing when one touched upon the honor of 
 his master's house and family. He was the son of the 
 old Mount Airy " Mammy," or head nurse (who had 
 given him his name in sober tribute to the author of 
 the Psalms), and had been, after the Southern fash- 
 ion, apportioned to St. George Eustis in childhood as 
 caretaker and general companion to the young heir 
 of a great estate. Accompanying his mistress in her 
 flitting to the Confederate lines, he had since clung 
 to her shifting fortunes with increased fidelity. What 
 it cost him to see his ladies reduced to their present 
 condition of life, only those can understand who have 
 personal acquaintance with the quality of old-time 
 negro pride. He would have given his last morsel to 
 save ^' My Mistis and little Mistis" from sitting down 
 to break daily bread with some of the folk who 
 shared their privileges. On this subject, Mrs. Eus- 
 tis and he had to agree to differ. 
 
 ''I, too, am a servant, David," she would say with 
 a wan smile. " A paid servant of the Government, 
 like you and all the rest." 
 
 " For the Lawd's sake, don't let anybody hear you 
 say that, Mistis," he would whisper despaii'ingly. " I 
 don't reckon there 's a soul in this camp that knows 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 167 
 
 you that ain't heard of the great family you came 
 from, and the way you 'n Marse Sainty gave your 
 money like water to start this war." 
 
 " Not a soul in the camp that knows ijou, David, I 
 dare say," she answered with a gleam of her old light 
 spirit. 
 
 To be near her and her child, King David had se- 
 cured employment in the wards, and his pittance of 
 pay and rations was most often shared with those 
 poorer than himself. He had been a prayer leader of 
 renown in plantation days, and his missionary work 
 among the patients was generally more welcome than 
 the conventional ministrations of the Church. Early 
 and late he was seen at the bedside of the dying, 
 many of whom passed out of life clinging to his fingers 
 and repeating with fluttering breath his petition of 
 the sinner repenting at the gate of death. 
 
 It was the bright spot in King David's day when 
 sunset freed him to be at the disposal of his young 
 lady. The great heat during the day kept Una much 
 indoors, and she sorely missed the old out-door coun- 
 try life. To-day when King David had shouldered 
 her empty trunk and carried it away, she made haste 
 to take her shade-hat down from its peg, pausing 
 once more on the door-sill to look proudly back at 
 her final achievements in decoration. 
 
 "Is n't it lovely, King David," she said, when the 
 old man came twisting back. ''Is n't this just like 
 a real home?" 
 
 "That it is, little Mistis," he answered cheerfully, 
 falling behind her, however, to gulp once or twice, 
 and swallow down a lump. 
 
168 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 Hand-in-hand, homeless in a land of homes, the two 
 wandered out of the precincts of the camp into a bow- 
 ery bit of woodland overhanging a canal that here 
 kept sluggish pace with the river tumbling below 
 over its rocky bed. The sweet untainted air was 
 balmy with wild flowers. Una, soon tired of walking, 
 sat upon the root of a tree looking down into the clear 
 stream, drawing long breaths of the delicious atmos- 
 phere, trying to forget the sad scenes and to deaden 
 her ears to the haunting sounds of Camp Winder 
 life. As she rested thus, a canal-boat glided beneath 
 her, a negro boy, stretched on the deck, performing 
 upon the horn an obhgato of rare melody, which 
 died in the distance like the horns of Elfland. And 
 then a bird in the tree-top overhead took up the tale of 
 sweetness, trilling in ecstasy as if there were no war. 
 
 ''Oh! King David," said the little girl, "do you 
 know, what with the furniture and this lovely even- 
 ing, I think if it were not wrong I could be almost 
 happy?" 
 
 "Whatever you do, don't stop feelin' good when 
 you Mn, little Mistis," he replied, standing beside her 
 leaning upon his staff. " It 's nature movin' in your 
 veins like the sap stirs in the trees. You 've got to 
 do a mighty heap of laughin' to put heart into your 
 pore ma, honey, don't forgit." 
 
 "I know it. I like to make her face soften and 
 her lips curve. King David, I believe she has never 
 given up hope that my father may be alive." 
 
 " It 's nigh onto a year, now. Miss Una," he said re- 
 luctantly, stooping down to pick a bunch of wood 
 anemones that he might hide his face. His mind's 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 169 
 
 eye saw his beloved master on a veritable throne of 
 glory side by side with Master Hal, both playing 
 golden harps. 
 
 Una's face clouded, and she sighed heavily. 
 
 " We will walk on now, King David. I must gather 
 some wild flowers for her little Sevres vase. She will 
 come in tired, I know. Oh ! One can't have every- 
 thing, but Mrs. Robbins gave me some such beauti- 
 ful biscuits, and I could manage to get a little butter 
 — if we only had a pinch of real tea." 
 
 If King David had carried the wealth of the Indies 
 in his pocket, he could not have broken into a more 
 widely jubilant smile. 
 
 " Miss Una, honey, sure as you 're born, I 've got a 
 s'prise for you. You dun hit the nail square on the 
 head that time, my lamb. Ef I didn't scrub her store- 
 room flo' for Miss Potts after hours last night, and 
 she give me my choice of pay, 'tween a ham-bone and 
 a drawin' o' tea — the gynuwiue article, her nephew 
 sent her a pound of through the blockade ! I reckon 
 I tuk the tea. I was projeckin' to keep it till next 
 time Mistis has one of her headaches." 
 
 " Oh ! that is too good ! " cried Una, her face kind- 
 ling. It did not occur to her to thank him, so identi- 
 cal were their intei-ests. " I 'm afraid she 's had too 
 many headaches lately, and I think her step is slower 
 than it was — if it was n't that she has always had 
 good health — " 
 
 " She ain't lookin' so mighty well, honey," the old 
 man admitted, then stopped. He had not the heart 
 to cloud the child's holiday hour with a fear that had 
 begun to haunt him. 
 15 
 
170 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 Una walked home wreatlied like a Dryad with her 
 wild flowers, and in passing through the gangrene 
 tents flitted in here and there to lay some vine or 
 spray upon the pillows of sufferers condemned to 
 that dreaded exile from the world. A little cluster 
 of anemones, with rose and purple staining milk 
 white petals, alone remained to deck the tea-table im- 
 provised from Miss Sprigg's rosewood bedstand, at 
 which, presiding over a plate of biscuits toasted and 
 buttered, Una received her mother — King David 
 bowing behind her with a pot of smoking tea. 
 
 Mrs. Eustis tried to respond to the old man's pride, 
 the little girl's delight. She drank eagerly a cup of 
 tea, but ate a morsel only, and sat by the window, 
 courting the faint stirring of the close air at night- 
 fall, conscious of a strange weakness and swimming 
 of the head. The latter hours of her weary day had 
 been spent with a patient who had begged her for his 
 mother's sake to stay by him, until, just as the lights 
 of the camp were flickering feebly forth, his lamp of 
 life went out. Until long after bedtime she lay upon 
 the lounge undressed, and by the next morning was 
 declared by the doctors to be in the first stage of a 
 malarial fever, its exact nature not yet assured. 
 
 Una, who had never seen her mother ill, felt a sense 
 of terror overmaster her solicitude. With a sinking 
 heart she set about making her dear invalid comfort- 
 able. Irish Rose, coming in and seeing Mrs. Eustis 
 toss upon the harsh, unbleached cotton of the hospital 
 sheets, hastened away to extract from the bottom of 
 her old-fashioned chest an armful of snowy linen. 
 
 "Let me put these on her bed, me burd," the good 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 171 
 
 creature whispered. "Ra'al old-country flax it is, 
 spun and wove by me mother, God rist her sowl ; and 
 the lace on the pilly-cases she worked and bid me put 
 by against me weddin'-day; though the saints above 
 knows whin I '11 get a chance at a husband, seein' the 
 way the Yankees be's a shortnin' our supply of min- 
 folks. 
 
 Mrs. Robbius and King David shared Una's vigil, 
 as hour by houi', day by day, the fever ran its course. 
 One night, following a day when the sound of guns 
 had ceased only as the darkness came, the little 
 girl had fallen asleep on the lounge, while King 
 David kept watch over the sufferer. Toward morn- 
 ing a tap was heard upon their door, and the ward- 
 master of a newly equipped ward in Mrs. Eustis's 
 division asked, in a low tone, for permission to use 
 the matron's keys. 
 
 "There 's an ambulance train just beginning to 
 come in, and all my beds will be full," the man said 
 to Una, who answered his appeal. " The most of 'em 
 have n't had food since before the fight this morning, 
 and if you could make it convenient. Miss, to come 
 out to the store-room and show me where things are 
 kept, it would save time and life too." 
 
 "Go, Una darling," said her mother. "Do for me 
 what I cannot do. You know where I keep the brandy 
 — make it go far, for it is all we have — never fear, 
 but David will take good care of this poor soldier 
 fallen at her post." 
 
 Lantern in hand the man strode ahead of her as 
 Una under the starlight picked her way across the 
 rough soil of the camp to the ward-kitchen where 
 
172 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 they hastily reviewed supplies. To her dismay, not a 
 mouthful of food was available, except a few "pones'' 
 of coarse corn-bread, a little cold boiled bacon and a 
 couple of quarts of milk. 
 
 "How many to feed, Henderson?" she asked mourn- 
 fuUy. 
 
 "God knows. Miss, but considerable more'n we 've 
 got food to give 'em, I 'm afraid. WiU. you take the 
 bottle and a cup, Miss? There '11 be some too far gone 
 to eat, better 's the luck for them," 
 
 The Southern night had spent its early heat, and a 
 delicious breeze laden with wood odors came up from 
 the river. In the blue vault of heaven great stars 
 shone brilliantly. On the confines of the camp, be- 
 fore the open doors of the new ward, ambulances 
 were depositing their ghastly burdens, some of the 
 wounded uttering pitiful prayers to be left to die in 
 peace, some mercifully in stupor, while other forms 
 were lifted out frozen in the silence of eternal rest. 
 Those for whom the long, jolting ride through heat 
 and dust from the battlefield had not finished the 
 work begun by the enemy's bullets were carried within 
 and laid upon cots in rows, and by the insufficient 
 glimmer of oil-lamps and tallow dips the surgeons 
 began their rounds. Una, too inured to these scenes 
 of sorrow to lose her balance, set to work immediately 
 to count the men requiring sustenance, and to divide 
 her scant supplies. With the ward-helpers, she went 
 from bed to bed distributing the bread and meat to a 
 few, to more the eagerly craved draught of milk which 
 must be doled out in such tantalizing measure. Here 
 and there, at the surgeon's orders, she parted with 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 173 
 
 the brandy that was as precious as the elixir of life. 
 Despite her calm, tears of bitter longing for more 
 milk ran down her cheeks and mingled with the 
 cup she had forcibly to withdraw from parched and 
 starving lips. 
 
 Almost the last sufferer upon her round was a 
 young fellow who had worked himself over upon his 
 face and lay without sign of life. Una looked about 
 for help to move him, but no one was at leisure and, 
 slipping her soft hand under his cheek, she turned it 
 to the light, striving with the other hand to put a 
 spoonful of milk and brandy between his white lips. 
 Then a cry burst from the little girl, unheeded in the 
 commotion of the hour. 
 
 "Denny! Denny Ryan! Speak to me. Drink this 
 for my sake ; for Hal's sake, Denny, only hear." 
 
 A surgeon, attended by an orderly carrying a lan- 
 tern, hurried up. The light fell full upon the wounded 
 lad, upon Una's imploring face. 
 
 " Oh ! Doctor Lewis, help him, please,''^ she said. 
 " He was one of my father's soldiers and followed my 
 brother to the war. He lived on our place, and we 've 
 been playmates all my life." 
 
 "He is past helping, my dear child," the doctor 
 answered kindly. " You may stay by him, if you like, 
 and if consciousness returns, your voice will soothe 
 him, but he is going fast." 
 
 " That 's a pocket edition of Florence Nightingale 
 you 've got there, doctor," said a newly transferred 
 assistant on the staff, as they resumed work at an ad- 
 joining bed. 
 
 "She is one of the precious things that come in 
 
174: UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 small parcels," answered Lewis. "Such pluck and 
 sweetness don't meet every day." 
 
 Una knelt by Denny's side, weeping silently. The 
 sight of his familiar freckled face brought back a 
 hundred visions of home and Hal and her father. 
 Denny, the son of the Mount Airy Irish overseer, had 
 been Hal's loyal shadow; had refused to stay behind 
 him from the war, had been with him at his death at 
 Gettysburg. Ryan, Denny's father, had, so far as the 
 widow and daught-er of Colonel Eustis knew, remained 
 on at Mount Airy in charge of their property — his 
 older son Bill having gone off to "Washington and 
 enlisted as a Federal volunteer. And this was the 
 end of poor Denny's soldiering. So soon to follow 
 Hal. Always to follow Hal. Above the bed was a 
 window, through which the streaks of a saffron dawn 
 came to blend with the shadows of the ward. In a 
 tree near by, a bird began to stir and chirp. The 
 boy opened his eyes and looked at his companion 
 wondering. 
 
 '' Miss Una ! I thought you was calling me. It was 
 picking dewberries, I was — down in the cow-pasture 
 where the blue flags grows — at home." 
 
 "Dear Denny, you are not at home yet, but you 
 soon will be. Don't you remember you were in a fight 
 to-day, and they 've brought you straight to me, at 
 Camp Winder where we 've lived since — papa and 
 Hal were — left at Gettysburg." 
 
 ^^ Hurrah! We charged the ridge!" Denny cried 
 out in a thrilling pipe that caused more than one 
 head to turn on its weary piUow. " Miss Una, I 'd 'a' 
 died to bring Hal safe out of it. To take him and 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 175 
 
 leave me was kind o' funny, don't you think ? Miss 
 Una, did Bill tell you he saw the Colonel in the 
 Yankee hospittle?" 
 
 Una's heart gave a great, eager leap that robbed 
 her of her speech. To Denny "the Colonel" was 
 always Una's father. 
 
 " Hal and I are goin' trappin' Molly cottontails 
 to-morrow," the voice went on more feebly. " In the 
 wood where we got you the mistletoe last Christmas — 
 it 's sno win' now, I think — my ban's are gittin' cold." 
 
 Una took his chill fingers in her warm clasp, and 
 summoned all her strength. 
 
 " Denny," she said close in his dying ear, " for 
 God's sake try to understand. Tell me what Bill said 
 about papa." 
 
 "Miss Una, was you talkin'? Seems to me I 'm a 
 little deef." 
 
 ''What did Bill say about the Colonel in the 
 hospital?" 
 
 "It was last Monday' — on picket-guard near Drew- 
 ry's Bluff — I saw Bill an' hailed him. You bet he 
 was surprised. . . . We talked back an' fort' a good 
 half-hour. Bill said the Colonel was n't killed at 
 all ... he was just a bit childish-like, an' couldn't 
 talk . . . Miss Una, are you cryin' for your pa?" 
 
 "Denny—" 
 
 " Bill 's a good fellow, mother. He '11 fetch the 
 cows, i'stead of me. . . . Hold on there, Hal, I 'm 
 comin." . . . 
 
 And with that, poor Denny died. 
 
176 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 n 
 
 Was it true — this wonderful news that poor 
 Denny's fevered brain had schooled his stammering 
 tongue to utter? Dared she believe that their be- 
 loved one was not indeed left "free among the dead" 
 on the heights at Gettysburg? Wings to her feet 
 carried Una over the rude pathways of the camp 
 back to the barracks where, in their poor room, her 
 ailing mother lay. 
 
 There sat King David at his post beside the bed, 
 unwearied, motionless, his face stern and rigid like 
 a mask of gray marble. He had pinned over the 
 shadeless window a worn old shawl, and it was quite 
 dark in the room except where a thread of morning 
 light came through a moth-hole and slanted across 
 the invalid's pillow. She was sleeping an unrestful 
 sleep, and in her cheeks burned crimson spots, but 
 Una thought she had never seen the beautiful clear- 
 cut features stand out in such relief from their sur- 
 roundings — the look of race so prominent. 
 
 "King David, is she worse?" 
 
 " Nothing you mout' n't have expected, honey. The 
 doctor he kem in 'bout four o'clock, an' tole us where 
 you was, an' she sez then she was n't sufferin' much, 
 an' she was glad her little girl was doin' her work for 
 her. Miss Bobbins and Miss Rose has been back an' 
 fort.' Hes it been a tryin' night for you, my honey ?" 
 
 "Oh! King David, don't talk about me now. I 
 have hea.rd such a wonderful thing that I believe my 
 heart will burst unless I tell you. Shall we disturb 
 mama by talking ? " 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 177 
 
 " No, chile; the fever 's dun took a holt of her too 
 hard for that. 'Fore you tries to talk, tho', honey, 
 I 've got bread and coffee for you, I begged Miss Rose 
 to git me. The coffee 's cold, I reckon, but you must 
 drink it, an' set you down on this cheer an' rest awhile. 
 You '11 need to be strong before she wakes again. 
 Miss Una. She 's off her head consid'able." 
 
 At this moment the sufferer stirred, opened wide 
 her unconscious eyes, and spoke in quick, excited 
 tones : 
 
 " Go, mammy. Hurry and tell your master. He '11 
 be so glad the baby is a girl. Does Hal know about 
 his sister ? How I long to see them side by side." 
 
 She fashioned her bedclothes into a little roll, and 
 pressed it to her bosom. Then, dashing it away, she 
 threw her white arms high above her head, and cried 
 out in a thrilling voice : 
 
 " God has smitten me to the earth. By night, by 
 day, I cry to Him for my husband and my son, but 
 He is deaf. His face is turned from me. I am be- 
 reaved, I am bereaved." 
 
 Una burst into a passion of tears. Starting for- 
 ward, she tried to imprison her mother's form in her 
 arms, but was cast aside like a broken reed. Taking 
 Mrs. Eustis in his powerful grasp, soothing her with 
 tenderest murmurs, the old negro held his mistress 
 on her pillow; and when, calmed and controlled, she 
 passed into another interval of sleep, he stooped and 
 picked the little sobbing creature from the floor, 
 where she had fallen in a heap. 
 
 " It 's hard for you, my lamb, the first time you 've 
 ever seen her out 'n her head. But don't you be 
 
178 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 afeard, my blessiii'. This here fever 's got to run its 
 course, the doctor says. It makes my heart ache to 
 see her thinkin' she 's home again. The Lawd's will 
 be done, honey; but ef thar 'S anything I do begrutch 
 my enemies, it 's the Chamber at Mount Airy. I Ve 
 been sittin' here all night, chile, thiukin' 'bout your 
 pore ma's fo'-pos' bed, an' them dimity curtains with 
 the drop fringe, as your blessed gran'ma made. 
 There, there! stop cryin', my baby. Your ma '11 
 git well; she 's got the gyniwine Stuart constitoo- 
 tion. Why, you 're laughin'. Miss Una ! Save us 
 and bless us, ef the chile ain't got high-strikes!" 
 
 " Oh ! you don't know, King David," the little girl 
 said, choking down her tears. "You don't under- 
 stand. It is n't only about mama. Oh ! let me cry 
 a minute longer, and I shall be able to tell you the 
 wonderful news I 've heard. The doctor told j^ou 
 it was poor Denny I stayed with till he died. But he 
 did n't teU you. King David — see, I am quiet now, 
 and you may trust me — what Denny said with his 
 last breath. Denny saw Bill on picket-guard, near 
 Drewry's Bluff, and Bill told him — oh ! my heart will 
 break with joy — told him my father was n't killed. 
 Bill saw him in a hospital — saiv papa, King David ! " 
 
 The old negro's face worked with powerful emo- 
 tion. A dry sob burst from him, and, straightway 
 falling on his knees, he raised his hands to Heaven. 
 
 " If this be true, Oh ! Lawd most marciful ! " he 
 prayed, "then hear thy sarvant now. Hast thou 
 not said that them whom Gawd has j'ined together, 
 let no man put asunder? Bring back to thy hand- 
 maiden the husband of her youth. Lift up her 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 179 
 
 stricken head and wipe her tears away. Renew her 
 in love, in wealth, in happiness, and sanctify us 
 and her unto thy sarvice, for thy dear Son's sake. 
 Amen ! " 
 
 " Sainty, my darling," came from the tossing figure 
 on the bed, "put your arms around me. Hold me 
 close. There, I can rest now. Hold me close." 
 
 Never before, in the course of their companion- 
 ship, had the grizzled old head and the sunny young 
 one been called on to do such an amount of indepen- 
 dent thinking, now that the brain that had judged 
 for them was clogged, and the hand that had steered 
 their course was nerveless. The two found time 
 to steal away from the sick room to walk behind 
 Denny's rough coffin to Hollywood and see it laid 
 upon another like it in a soldiers' trench. Una's 
 hands showered pink azaleas from the woods into 
 the double grave, and King David, kneeling upon 
 the ground "undone" by many a yawning pit half 
 filled with water, prayed long and fervently. 
 
 " Come, uncle," said one of the men, touching him 
 on the shoulder. " I reckon it 's 'bout time for you to 
 be dryin' up. There 's another cart-load waitin' to be 
 tucked away, an' we ain't got time to do this thing in 
 style." 
 
 Died for his country! Thus Denny Ryan and 
 many another like him came to a patriot's reward ! 
 
 Yes, the fever must run its course ; and day after 
 day Mrs. Eustis turned on her hard bed, where noises 
 racked her tortured brain, where burning heat drank 
 
180 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 all freshness from the air, where noisome smells arose 
 from the trenches around the camp, where, worse 
 than all, a plague of insects issued from the pine 
 walls and overran their quarters. People were kind, 
 and from the wards, where Una tried to take her 
 mother's place, came many a message of love and 
 gratitude, while their f eUow-workers, high and lowly, 
 vied with each other in striving to ease the burden 
 that little Una bore so patiently. But the time came 
 when Dr. Lewis saw that, to recover, his patient must 
 breathe another atmosphere. Faithful Miss Sprigg, 
 from her retreat in the country, wrote to oif er an asy- 
 lum to Mrs. Eustis, whom they had not ventured to 
 tell of Denny Ryan's news, in a farm-house far away 
 from the town. But Miss Sprigg was very poor, and 
 it was as much as her kind friends could do to take 
 in one other inmate to their crowded home. Una 
 must remain in the charge of Mrs. Robbins and King 
 David at the hospital. 
 
 Una heard this decision with a beating heart. Hard 
 as it was, it gave her courage to unfold to Dr. Lewis 
 a scheme that had been evolved during many consul- 
 tations between King David and herself. 
 
 "You are sure my mother is out of danger, Dr. 
 Lewis?" she asked their kind physician, who had 
 quite taken this " brave baby " to his heart. 
 
 " She will have every chance now in her favor. 
 The change of air should work marvels. If it were 
 not for the extraordinary lassitude — her strong 
 nerves seem to have gone all to pieces suddenly; 
 but you need have no fear at being separated from 
 her for a while. She recognizes the inevitable, and 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 181 
 
 bows to it. When she comes back to us, my dear, I 
 hope you will both forget this present trial, as nobly 
 as you have lived down all the rest." 
 
 Una saw her mother driven away in an ambulance 
 lent by Government to its servant fallen by the way, 
 and then turned and resolutely faced her friends, a 
 new light shining in her eyes. 
 
 "■ There is but one thing that will make her well, 
 Dr. Lewis, and you and Mrs. Robbius must help me 
 to work it out. I mean to keep my promise to my 
 father, and give her back to him." 
 
 " That little sprite ! " pondered the doctor to him- 
 self. "And that simple-minded old darky, who was 
 never off a plantation in his life till now ! The idea 
 seems preposterous. And yet, stranger things have 
 been accomplished; there 's a chance. In time of 
 war we catch at straws. Una will win her way where 
 a battalion might fall back. God bless her! I '11 help 
 her all I can." 
 
 Their plan was to journey into the Valley, and 
 there make their way as best they could through 
 the debatable ground harried by frequent fightings, 
 to Mount Airy, where, from Denny's father, the lost 
 clue might be taken up. Means for the journey 
 were secured by the eager sacrifice of Una's string 
 of pearls, an heirloom put aside against her time of 
 appearance in society. The few clothes she ventured 
 to take were packed in a portmanteau by Mrs, Rob- 
 bins, Rose and Bridget, who showered upon their 
 task many a fervent tear and blessing. King 
 16 
 
182 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 David's equipment for the enterprise consisted of a 
 parcel so fiat and spare that the Doctor laughed when 
 he inquired if the old man meant to carry into the 
 Northern lines only the supposed uniform of a Geor- 
 gia major — a shirt-collar and a pair of spurs. 
 
 ''And ef I were just takin' a clean bandanna an' a 
 couple o' biled collars along, sir," said David, with a 
 show of wounded feeling, "it was in no ways my pur- 
 pose to discredit my little mistis o' Sundays, on the 
 road. There 's always cricks and runs, sir, where I 
 kin do my washin' overnight, an' I need my hands to 
 carry her carpet-bag." 
 
 ''All right, old fellow, of course you do. It was 
 only my little joke," the surgeon hastened to say, 
 pressing a roll of Confederate bluebacks into his 
 hand. "Put this into your pipe and smoke it on the 
 way. And mind — but I need n't tell you this — to 
 keep watch over your Miss Una day and night." 
 
 " Sarvant, sir, much obleeged to you," answered 
 the old darky, bowing like a prince. "You won't 
 have any call to be disapp'inted in them particulars 
 with me. The Lawd do so with me and mine ef I 
 ain't worthy of this trus'." 
 
 Dr. Lewis saw the travelers off on the train for 
 Lynchburg, and turned back with a tightening in 
 his throat. 
 
 "It 's womankind like that, that make the true 
 sinews of war, I 'm thinking," muttered he in his 
 black beard. 
 
 A day later the travelers set forth on the first 
 stage of their haphazard journey through a region 
 where all ordinary methods of conveyance had been 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 183 
 
 interrupted by war. It was an earthly paradise, that 
 fertile vale, dominated by the grand Peaks of Otter 
 or watered by Shenandoah, " Daughter of the Stars." 
 But a few weeks earlier, Sigel's boys in blue had 
 marched merrily along those green defiles to find their 
 way blocked by Breckenridge, his depleted ranks of 
 veterans eked out with lads from the Military Acad- 
 emy at Lexington, whose gallant fight has gone into 
 history among the famous achievements of the time. 
 At Piedmont, again, the "rebs" were put to rout, their 
 leader killed. And so the pendulum went on vibrat- 
 ing in those days of early June. 
 
 Una found herself in the rear of a hooded cart 
 drawn by mules, sitting amid crates that had held 
 poultry, the space in front filled up by King David 
 and the driver — a farmer returning from the nearest 
 town, where he had been to sell his feathered live- 
 stock at a sacrifice to avoid having them " pressed " 
 by stragglers from either of the armies. It was slow 
 progress ; but the child, whose eyes had rested for so 
 long upon rows of wards and tents, and grass trodden 
 into a clay soil, gazed from the aperture at the back 
 enchanted. What to her were fallen fences, fields 
 trampled by cavalry, burned houses, when above rose 
 those sapphire summits melting into the vast azure of 
 a sky in June 1 "When the mules splashed aside into a 
 shallow, limpid stream, and dipped their noses in for 
 a long and rapturous drink, King David scrambled 
 out and brought her a bunch of calycanthus shrubs, 
 with a leaf-cup full of currants from the garden of a 
 desolated farm-house by the road. Trifles like this, 
 with the music of wayside brooks, the carol of birds, 
 
184 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 the shifting of cloud-prints on the mountain-sides, 
 made variety enough to wile away the long hours of 
 plodding. Tired out at last, toward evening she fell 
 asleep on a bundle of hay in the bottom of the cart, 
 nor stirred till the stopping of their wheels showed 
 that they had arrived at a dwelling dimly indicated 
 by a light streaming upon darkness, and the loud 
 barking of a dog. 
 
 " Wake up, my honey ; you must ask the lady of 
 the house — ra'al purty, the purtiest you can — to let 
 you stop here to-night." 
 
 Una could not know that the faint-hearted quaver 
 in King David's voice, and the total withdrawal of 
 farmer Lucas from participation in the affair, were 
 due to their wholesome fear of the farmer's shrewish 
 wife. They had come to a halt before a threshold 
 within which stood, clad in domestic cotton, lamp in 
 hand, a gaunt figure sending forth upon the night 
 the querulous utterings of a woman who casts about 
 her for a wrong ; and Una, half awake, was urged 
 forward by the men to stand where the light fell 
 upon her upturned, pleading face. With the quaint 
 courtesy habitual to her, she told her tale and prof- 
 fered her request. 
 
 "Well, you do be a mite to be travelin' around 
 like this, an' nuthin' but that old nigger-man to look 
 out for you. Long 's you 're here, got to take you 
 in, I reckon ; but that nigger 's got to march out to 
 the barn, double-quick. Sick an' tired am I of lodg- 
 in' strangers, an' bein' eat out o' house an' home; 
 an' Mr. Lucas knows it well enough." 
 
 Mr. Lucas, in the shadow of the cart, bestowed 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 185 
 
 upon King David a jovial nudge to signify that mat- 
 ters had taken a satisfactory turn ; and the men dis- 
 appeared together in the friendly darkness, while 
 Una followed her guide into the house. Here, al- 
 though the complaining voice ceased not to find 
 fault with everything, the guest, ensconced in an 
 arm-chair, was served, from a flowered plate and cup, 
 with crisp johnny-cake and milk. A cat nestling to 
 her knee and finally jumping into her lap to wreathe 
 its tail across her neck, completed her sense of com- 
 fort. And when her sleepy yellow head nodded 
 upon her breast, a pair of long, thin arms that were 
 certainly not David's swooped down and bore the 
 little traveler to bed. 
 
 Late in the night, a sound as of thunder broke 
 Una's sleep. She sat up in her bed beneath the 
 roof-peak and awoke gradually, to hear the tramp- 
 ling of horses around the house. Voices hailed the 
 slumberers within, a knock resounding upon the 
 door. Then, over the tumult, arose a familiar sound 
 — the scolding of Mrs. Lucas. The remonstrant 
 tones of the farmer appealed at intervals, in vain. 
 "When at last the door opened, and the master of the 
 house, in shirt and trousers, issued desperately forth, 
 a torrent of fresh invective followed him. 
 
 " Blamed if I had n't rather sleep on your hay, old 
 man, than face that battery inside," said a hearty voice. 
 " But we 're obliged to ask you for a sup and bite. 
 We 're Cornfeds, and blasted hungry ones at that." 
 
 ^' Cornfeds or Yanks, it 's all one to me," was the 
 reply from behind the door. " It '11 be like as if the 
 seventeen-year locusts had passed over this place." 
 
186 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 But the soldiers had their way, and the little house 
 soon shook with their tread, while talk and laughter, 
 tobacco-smoke and the clank of accoutrements came 
 up the narrow stair to Una's ear. When she had 
 heard the men divide forces, one half to sleep on the 
 hay in the barn beside the horses, the rest to sprawl 
 as they could on the floor of the living-room below, 
 the child went back smiling to her nest, nor stirred 
 till next morning's light brought the apparition of 
 the farmer's wife to mingle with some dream that her 
 mother's fingers had been toying with her hair. 
 
 " Come, git up now," Mrs. Lucas said sharply, emp- 
 tying a pail of clean water into a tub at her bedside. 
 " There 's soap and a towel on the cheer, and I 've 
 shuck out your things. Soon as you 's ready, you 
 kin come down and git a mouthful o' breakfast I 
 saved after them consarned critters had clar'd out. 
 Would n't have had an aig to bless myself if I had n't 
 locked up my two best hens in the cupboard with the 
 old man's Sunday clo'es." 
 
 " Oh ! have the soldiers gone ? " cried Una, in dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 "Yes, thank goodness, all but two on 'em, and 
 they 'd be sleepin' yet, but I broomed 'em off the 
 floor with a mop and a pail o' water." 
 
 " How good you are to give me this nice bath, and 
 to get my clothes so clean," the child said grate- 
 fully, sitting up in bed, and letting all her bright 
 hair loose like a glory around her face. "It 's just 
 what my own mother would have done. It seems 
 such a pity you have n't any little girl to love and 
 take care of." 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 187 
 
 The woman looked at her for a moment with a cu- 
 riously softened gaze ; then, with her mouth twitch- 
 ing, went over to a chest in the corner and took out 
 a child's frock and sunbonnet of faded pink calico, 
 smelling of lavender. 
 
 " Them was my gal's," she said briefly. " Died o' 
 scarlet fever 'bout your age. Hed hair like corn-silk, 
 jest like yours. Come now, up with you, and dress 
 yourself. Hain't time to dawdle here, and all my 
 work a-waitin' to be done." And, whirling out of the 
 room, she shut the door with a vicious snap. 
 
 Una slipped down, to find a meal laid for her be- 
 low. The room was in spotless order, and empty but 
 for her friend the cat; but on the door-stone out- 
 side sat a couple of gray-shirted soldiers, smoking 
 corn-cob pipes in the cool shadow of a lilac-bush in 
 bloom ; David, in the road beyond, held their horses, 
 champing to be off. At sight of the child, refreshed 
 by sleep and dewy from her bath, the men pulled 
 themselves together, and one of them, a huge fellow 
 with a boy's face, gazed with open-mouthed admira- 
 tion. The other, a lieutenant in command of the 
 body of scouts that had gone on ahead, spoke to her 
 courteously. 
 
 " I 've been hearing about your trip from uncle, 
 here," he said, ** and I wish K Company could help 
 you along the way, Miss. But just now, unless we 're 
 turned back, we 're going in the opposite direction 
 from Glenmont where you 're bound. Road 's pretty 
 free from Yanks ; that 's one comfort ; and I 've told 
 the old man the best way to go." 
 
 " Oh ! thank you," said Una, fervently. " If you 
 
188 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 knew how sound it made me sleep when I heard our 
 dear soldiers ride up here last night ! " 
 
 But the colloquy was interrupted by Mrs. Lucas, 
 who, frying-pan in hand, issued from the door, and 
 demanded to know if " them calvary was a-goin' to 
 block up her front door all day?" at which a general 
 shrinkage of spirit ensued among the men-folk in 
 hearing of her voice, and the troopers hastily sprang 
 into their stirrups and galloped off, singing mock- 
 ingly: 
 
 " If you want to have a good time, 
 Jine the calvary, jine the calvary." 
 
 " We has to foot it a good piece to-day, my honey," 
 said King David, when the travelers, having paid 
 their bill, set out, under fire of a tornado of abuse 
 of him because of a muddy footprint he left on the 
 floor on meekly entering to take Una's bag in hand. 
 
 " I wish she had said good-by," said Una, distress- 
 fully, " See here. King David, as she almost pushed 
 me out, she put in my hand this nice parcel of lunch. 
 I think she 's the strangest woman I ever saw, but she 
 must be really good at heart, don't you think so!" 
 
 Thus cornered, David scratched his head. They 
 were under shelter of the hen-house, and compara- 
 tively safe. Drawing a long breath, he said in the 
 discreetest of whispers: 
 
 "It ain't the first time the good Lawd has made 
 honey to come out of a cur'us place, chile. The car- 
 cass of the lion brought f o'th sweetness. Gawd moves 
 in a mysterious way, his wonders to perfo'm." 
 
 Past blossoming hedge-rows, past orchard and 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 189 
 
 meadow fragrant with smells of June, into an arch- 
 ing wood-road as the sun climbed higher. Una 
 thought there could be no method of travel so much 
 to her taste. Their destination was the house of a 
 farmer from whom it was likely they could hire a 
 horse and cart to forward them on their way. But 
 when, just as the child's strength and spirit began to 
 flag, and they came at noontide out of the cross-cut 
 through the woods upon the clearing to which they 
 had been directed, a direful disappointment greeted 
 them. House and outbuildings there were none; 
 only a series of charred spots remained in the middle 
 of a trampled and desolated field of growing corn. 
 
 '* It 's a fresh fire — smokin' yit," said King David. 
 " Lawd help the pore folks as was driv' away from 
 here." 
 
 While the two stood disconsolate, a clatter of hoofs 
 was heard in a bit of woods beyond. 
 
 "It 's cavalry, honey," said King David, breath- 
 lessly. " Let 's git in hidin' behind that clump o' 
 sumacs yonder. They '11 never look to see us here." 
 
 Before Una had time to realize her fear, the sol- 
 diers were upon them, and, identifying the party of 
 Confederates who had slept overnight at the Lucas 
 farm, King David waved his old hat with a rousing 
 cheer. 
 
 " HeUo, old tarrypin, did n't expect to see us again 
 so soon," called out their leader, coming to a halt. 
 '^ "Well, boys, this is the place we 're to wait for the 
 lieutenant, and if I 'm not mistaken, there 's a good 
 spring at the end of the path behind that watermelon 
 patch." 
 
190 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 In a trice the horses were unsaddled and tethered 
 in the wood. Canteens were filled at the spring, ra- 
 tions were produced, and the bivouac began. 
 
 From the trunk of a fallen tree, where Una sat to 
 eat her luncheon, while King David knelt brushing 
 her dusty boots, she looked over affectionately at the 
 ring of troopers lolling like Olympian gods at ease. 
 Presently a couple of horsemen came galloping out 
 of the glade, and she recognized with delight her 
 friends of the morning. 
 
 '' "Well, Miss, we Ve met again sooner than we 
 thought," said the lieutenant. '' This is a bad busi- 
 ness for poor farmer Gray. We heard down below 
 that he 'd been raided last night, and it seems the 
 family 's cleared out for parts unknown. The near- 
 est place for you to sleep to-night is Glenmont, ten 
 miles off, and it 's past me how you 're goin' to get 
 there in this heat. We Ve got a pair of extra nags 
 since yesterday, and if you can manage to sit on a 
 man's saddle. Miss, we '11 mount you, after dark, 
 when we move on. I s'pose you can stick to a bare- 
 back colt, old man, eh?" 
 
 ''I reckon thar ain't much hoss-flesh that can bet- 
 ter me, sir," said David, his eyes shining with delight 
 at the unlooked-for help. '' An' I 'm beholden to you 
 more than I can say, for givin' a lift to my little 
 mistis." 
 
 As Una's story found its way to the ears of the cu- 
 rious troopers, there was not a man among them who 
 did not mentally constitute himself her protector and 
 devotee. But when, at dark, she was lifted up to sit 
 behind the peak of a cavalry-saddle, where she kept 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 191 
 
 to her slippery perch with an ease born of early habit, 
 she found at her bridle-rein John Britton, the big lum- 
 bering fellow who had been the comrade of the lieu- 
 tenant at the farm. King David, astride of a frisky 
 filly who till that morning had been at large in com- 
 fortable pastures, had as much as he could do to keep 
 the wilful creature's back. Una's huge knight held 
 along with her, saying little, but watching every 
 movement of her horse, while before, behind and on 
 the other side rode her stalwart body-guard. Forward 
 in dead silence, making little noise on the soft wood 
 road, listening to every rustle of the leaves, passed 
 the ghostly cavalcade, under the light of stars, amid 
 the chirp of the frogs, the chant of whippoorwills. 
 
 In thick darkness. A little hamlet with shutters ob- 
 stinately closed, behind which lights glimmered like 
 eyes watching through half-shut lids. At the first 
 stroke of horses' hoofs upon the narrow street, some 
 of the lights went out, keys and bolts were heard to 
 creak in their wards. One could almost count the 
 heart-beats of the anxious folk inside. Then a ser- 
 geant, who could whistle like a bird, uttered a bar or 
 two of *' The Bonnie Blue Flag," and, at once, open 
 flew doors and windows, out trooped the villagers, 
 offering food and shelter for man and beast. 
 
 Una, taken into the home and tucked under the 
 diamond-patterned quilt of a good old dressmaker, 
 slept deliciously till dawn, when it was agreed by 
 her friend the lieutenant that she should again re- 
 sume the march with him under the conditions of 
 the night before. The old woman cried over her as 
 she brought out a feather pillow for a saddle-pad, 
 
192 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 and tucked a bagful of biscuits and cookies into the 
 child's lap. Una herself had no thought of tears as 
 she rode triumphantly away. She knew that every 
 movement forward brought her nearer her precious 
 goal. The troopers, won more and more by her 
 modest acceptance of their comradeship, treated her 
 like a little wandering queen assigned to their spe- 
 cial charge. But it was to big John Britton, known 
 familiarly to them as ''Baby Mine," the others tacitly 
 awarded the right of attendance at her bridle-rein. 
 When they reached the river ford, he stretched forth 
 a mighty arm to lift her like a thistle-down upon his 
 horse's neck, and, plunging in, they buffeted the noisy 
 yellow current gallantly. Una's cheeks bloomed and 
 her eyes sparkled as their horse emerged dripping 
 and snorting with excitement, first to gain a foothold 
 upon the slippery far bank. Then, as the day wore 
 on, how sweet the odor of the woods, the shady biv- 
 ouac to lunch upon soldier's fare ! And the joy of 
 the long bright afternoon, broken by mysterious ap- 
 pearances ahead of scouts to proclaim the way secure ! 
 She watched almost grudgingly the day decline that 
 was to be her last of such congenial fellowship. 
 
 "Well, I reckon the best of friends must part," 
 said the lieutenant, when in the evening they put her 
 with her old man down at a roadside house. He 
 made an attempt to be jocular, but his keen eyes 
 showed his sympathy with the waifs thus set adrift. 
 
 Una, in her confiding way, went the rounds of her 
 bod3'--guard, shaking hands with each, and standing 
 on tiptoe, last of all, to leave a kiss and a tear between 
 the eyes of her good gray steed. 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 193 
 
 "Oh! I shall never, never forget you," she said 
 with a pathetic break in her voice as she stood facing 
 them. "And when I see papa I shall tell him how 
 soldiers helped a soldier's daughter. Good-by, good- 
 by, d 3ar friends, and thank you a thousand times." 
 
 Last to take leave of her was " Baby Mine." He 
 had a sheepish look upon his sunburned face, and as 
 Una offered him her hand with a graciously tender 
 smile, he bowed low as if he meant to press his lips 
 to it, then, blushing scarlet, desisted and turned awk- 
 wardly away. In her clasp, however, he left a crum- 
 pled leaf from a soldier's pocket-book, on which, 
 when they were out of sight, Una read these penciled 
 words : 
 
 Wen yo mete yore pa, tell him yo have maid a bad man pray 
 that he may git yo safe, an' I am yore frend til deth. 
 
 John Britton, 
 Co., Kegt., Va. Cavlry. 
 
 in 
 
 "Keep your sperets up, my baby," said King Da- 
 vid, forcing a cheerful note. " They 's boun' to be a 
 house somewheres along here." 
 
 It was the close of their third day afoot. In the 
 dusty highway, under the vertical beams of a summer 
 sun, Una had walked, until a happy cross-cut through 
 field and forest had cooled her sore feet in verdure; 
 but now her white cheeks and flagging steps told the 
 tale of her fatigue. They had wasted time and 
 strength in losing their way in this region denuded 
 17 
 
194 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 of ordinary landmarks by the war-cyclone. The bet- 
 ter class of houses they had passed were mostly va- 
 cant. The cabins where disheartened poor whites 
 and negroes stiU. lingered were a sorry refuge. They 
 had gone hungry for miles to-day; and now upon 
 the horizon King David's eager eye beheld no sign 
 of human habitation. 
 
 " Don't you think we might camp here in the woods, 
 King David?" she asked, breaking her patient silence. 
 " Anything would be better than the house we slept 
 in last night." 
 
 " My little mistis sha'n't sleep on the ground if I 
 can holp it," the negro answered in the most lively 
 tones at his command. Inside, the heart of him was 
 lead. He saw violet shadows coming upon the pearl 
 of her cheeks ; and at the foot of the next rise of the 
 road she stopped and panted. 
 
 " Honey lamb, you 're not a-goin' to faint 1 " he 
 cried. Una did not speak, but smiled at him after a 
 wan fashion. Picking her up in his arms, the old 
 man went a few paces up the hill and scoured the 
 region ahead of him with his gaze. A little way 
 before, he saw the gable of a house, with what he took 
 to be a lamp shining out of its casement. 
 
 " Glory Hallelujah ! " he exclaimed. " Ef thar ain't 
 some Christian soul that lit her lamp to be a light 
 unto our feet. Now, little Miss, you just keep quiet 
 and let me carry you." 
 
 Una could not remonstrate, so spent were her 
 forces. She lay very still as he toiled upward, keep- 
 ing her eyes fixed upon the heaven above. 
 
 " King David." 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 195 
 
 " What say, cliile ! " 
 
 " Do you remember that picture of a young man, 
 over the sideboard in the Mount Airy dining-room ?" 
 
 " Sartin I does, Miss Una. He was one o' them 
 grancestors of your pa's in England, I 've heard tell. 
 A powerful sot-lookin' young gentleman." 
 
 "All our lives, Hal and I have wanted to have a 
 chance to do something like what he did. Some- 
 thing that never seemed likely to happen in our 
 quiet country lives." 
 
 ''En what did the gentleman do, honey? 'Pears 
 like I 've heard, but I kind o' disremember." 
 
 Thus cunning David tried to wile her into forget- 
 fulness of the stress of this hour that filled his own 
 heart with aching. 
 
 "He was a young soldier. King David, and he 
 lived about two hundred years ago. He was sent on 
 a journey full of danger, to carry a message that 
 would help to restore a king to his rightful throne. 
 It was a journey a little like ours, King David, in a 
 country where soldiers were roaming around on 
 horseback — moss-troopers they were called. . . . 
 Hal and I often played 'Sir Lionel.' Hal always 
 wanted to be it, you know, but he said I could n't be 
 fierce enough for the robber, and so I was generally 
 Sir Lionel. . . . Are you listening, King David?" 
 
 " Sure I is. Miss Una." 
 
 " The real Sir Lionel had to go in winter, and that 
 was far worse than ours. He wrote that story about 
 it in the yellow old paper papa keeps in the secretary 
 in his study. . , . He rode on and on over hill 
 and dale, ' where the moonshine and the snow made 
 
196 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 the nights as clear as day.' I always remember 
 that. . . . ' Iter Boreale/ he called it . . . that 
 means a northern journey, King David ... I never 
 thought I should take a real northern journey with- 
 out Hal. . . ." 
 
 " Miss Una, is you mindin' what I told you about 
 keepin' your sperets up, — for your mothei*'s and 
 father's sakes, my dear 1 " 
 
 "Of course I mind; . . . the only trouble I have 
 is that I am so heavy for you to carry." 
 
 " No mor' 'n a snow-bird on a cedar twig, my honey. 
 Can't you tell me some more about your pa's brave 
 grancestor ? " 
 
 " One night, in the dale country, Sir Lionel was set 
 upon by a notorious robber, with whom he had a 
 fierce fight — Anthony Eliot, the robber was, and 
 they hanged him the next year at Carlisle. . . . Hal 
 never could make me be * Anthony Eliot.' ... It 's 
 a long story to tell, King David, and I 'm a little 
 tired of talking . . . but the end was that Sir Lionel 
 got safe to General Monk — and gave the message. 
 If he had lost heart on the way, he could never 
 have given the message. And I must n't lose heart, 
 must I, till I give mine ? •' 
 
 Her voice ceased in sheer weariness. Tired King 
 David quickened his pace. Oh ! for shelter, drink, 
 food for his darling, what could he not have borne! 
 He managed to stagger into the little yard before the 
 house, and seat Una upon a broken bench. And then 
 he knocked upon the door. 
 
 No answer. King David went around to the rear — 
 to find the place untenanted. The light he had seen 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 197 
 
 was a reflection of the setting sun upon a shattered 
 pane ! He climbed through a window, opened a door, 
 and carried the child within. Rummaging the rooms, 
 he found a quantity of clean straw with which he 
 made for her a couch ; and, lying there, her patient 
 eyes followed the old man's movements lovingly. A 
 well of clear water near the house supplied them with 
 drink, and a bath for her wounded feet ; and David 
 had soon a bright fire crackling on the kitchen hearth. 
 But food, whence was it to come? King David 
 groaned within. Following out the well-path to a 
 deserted garden, he smelt the rich fragrance of rasp- 
 berries, and a cabbage-leaf full of these dainties was 
 soon picked and eagerly enjoyed. Warmed by suc- 
 cess, the old negro prowled off again into the now 
 gathering darkness. Una heard a squawk of some 
 feathered biped in distress, and immediately King 
 David reappeared, bearing in triumph the mortal re- 
 mains of a fine young fowl, captured upon the roost 
 of a recently full hen-house. 
 
 It would have been hard to find any of the lower 
 domestic arts in which David did not justify Mount 
 Airy 'raisin'.' How he contrived it Una did not 
 know, but ere long there he was by her side, holding 
 a broken china plate, upon which smoked a morsel 
 of broiled chicken, whose flavor was certainl}'^ be- 
 yond all criticism from her. 
 
 For safety's sake, he moved her bed to a room 
 above, lying down across her door outside, with his 
 head upon her valise. When her even breathing 
 announced the girl asleep, the old man thanked 
 God and fell himself into a doze. 
 
198 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 Again the tramp of horses, late in the night. 
 David, awake in an instant, crept to a front window 
 and looked out. He saw a considerable body of cav- 
 alry draw rein below, and while their horses chafed 
 upon their bits, heard the consultation of their officers. 
 
 '' Empty as a last year's nest," said a voice that 
 David knew, with a thrill, to be not one familiar to 
 his native heath. And then a match flared out into 
 the night, and he saw the Federal uniforms. ^'No- 
 thing to be got here, that 's plain, to help us to track 
 the Johnny Rebs. Well, boys, we 'U get along, and, 
 luck helping us, be on their heels by daybreak." 
 
 They rode off in splendid style, and King David 
 dozed no more. Early in the morning he aroused 
 Una, and sharing the remainder of their food, the 
 two set out again upon their weary way. How she 
 was to endure another day's walk he could not tell; 
 but in the refreshing cool of dawn they followed a 
 wood-path for a couple of hours, emerging unexpect- 
 edly upon a spot where four roads met. Here a 
 pleasant spectacle awaited them. Three ladies of 
 gentle and kindly aspect were sitting on chairs on 
 a farm-wagon piled high with household goods, to 
 which a negro boy was engaged in harnessing a pair 
 of stalwart mules that had been baiting on the way. 
 Better than all, the ladies were breakfasting from an 
 ample well-filled basket at their feet, and they cast 
 upon Una a look of such compassionate astonish- 
 ment as warmed poor David to the core. 
 
 " For gracious sake ! what is that lovely child do- 
 ing away off here with that old darky?" said the 
 oldest of the three. " Come here, uncle, and give a 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 199 
 
 report of yourself. You dou't belong hereabouts, I '11 
 wager a pretty penny ; nor does she. Don't you 
 know better than to take her tramping about in the 
 track of the armies, eh?" 
 
 " We ain't no choice, madam," said David, with his 
 old-fashioned deference, standing hatless at the bar 
 of justice. ''This here young lady is my little 
 mistis — Miss Una Eustis, of Mount Airy — and we 
 are on our way — " 
 
 " Eustis, of Mount Airy !" said the lady, letting fall 
 her knife and fork. " Why, child, your father is my 
 second cousin once removed. Did you never hear 
 him speak of his cousin Septimia Baskerville, of the 
 Bower? Come up here this minute, and get some 
 breakfast; and tell me if you dropped out of the 
 sky." 
 
 That Una's oft-repeated story brought moisture 
 into the eyes of her new-found relatives, we may be 
 sure. But Mrs. Baskerville was a cheery soul and, 
 above all, practical ; and her first action was to see 
 both travelers comfortably fed, while her tongue 
 wagged incessantly in comment. 
 
 "■ Well ! well ! well ! Wonders will never cease, 
 these war times. Girls, you have often heard me 
 speak of your cousin, poor dear Sainty Eustis — this 
 child has his mouth and eyes to a T. My child, if 
 I 'd a roof to cover me, I 'd take you under it and get 
 you started off with a proper escort. But we 're refu- 
 geeing, as you see. Heard last night that our house 
 was threatened because my husband 's a Confederate 
 brigadier, and started off at 3 a. m. Expect to sleeji 
 to-night at my brother's, in the next county. We 
 
200 " UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 are sure of one thing — the Yankee cavalry have just 
 passed down the road we 've got to travel. Here, 
 child, sit in my lap; and you squeeze in, old man, 
 somewhere beside Scip. 
 
 " Where 's my pistol now ? Don't pack it with the 
 lunch. Bess and Jinnie — I never saw such girls! — 
 what are you laughin' at?" 
 
 "Another time, mother dear," said Bess, a young 
 person with many dimples, '^ when we set out to refu- 
 gee, if it 's all the same to you, I 'd rather leave the 
 ancestors at home. 'If it was n't for the honor of 
 the thing, I 'd just as soon have walked,' as the Irish- 
 man said when he rode in a sedan-chair without a 
 bottom." 
 
 '^ Yes, indeed, mother," chimed in Miss Jinnie, try- 
 ing to keep her perch upon a miscellaneous pile of 
 picture-frames and furniture; "I 'm having a dreadful 
 time with great-grandpapa, who will hang over the 
 wheel. And as for old Aunt Dorothy, for a court 
 lady she 's positively ill-behaved. The only one of 
 them who lies low and gives no trouble is the Conti- 
 nental general, and he 's as good as gold." 
 
 " That Jinnie is a case," said Mrs. Baskerville, 
 smiling. " Could n't leave Aunt Dorothy, who 's a 
 genuine Vandyck, to be burned or to have holes 
 shot through her — could I, dear? Now, Scip, get 
 ahead, and make those mules travel till we 've turned 
 into the other road, where it is n't likely we 'U meet 
 the enemy." 
 
 Una, wondering, was taken to the hearts of these 
 brave women in a most consoling fashion. Her 
 limbs relaxed, and she slept most of the morning. 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 201 
 
 clasped in the arms of first one, then another; and 
 when she awoke it was to find the way beguiled by- 
 quips and cranks of wit from the merry sisters, with 
 soothing assurances from their mother that, as far as 
 their ways lay together, she should know no want 
 or harm. That age of enterprise, of endurance, of 
 common trouble, knit warm hearts into quick friend- 
 ships, and the Baskerville ladies had not often so 
 congenial an object for their sympathy. 
 
 Turned into a by-road, the mules proceeded lei- 
 surely; and late afternoon found our fugitives, after 
 a day without alarm, on the banks of a churning 
 mountain stream. 
 
 " Too bad ! too bad ! " said Mrs. Baskerville, sur- 
 veying the situation with her keen blue eyes. "As I 
 feared, the water 's too high to cross, and we 11 have 
 to camp under the evergreens yonder, off the road, 
 till morning. Come, Scip, draw off into the pines, 
 and get the fly- tent up. This old man is just the one 
 we needed, is n't he! Somehow, things always happen 
 for the best, and it 's a lovely evening, and no chance 
 of rain." 
 
 Under a fragrant roof of spruce and maple boughs, 
 couched upon waterproofs spread over a bed of 
 springy moss, Una spent her first night beneath the 
 stars. Sharing " Cousin Septimia's " blankets, with 
 King David sleeping across her feet, she drifted off 
 into slumber happily, her last waking act to murmur 
 the lines her mother loved to say : 
 
 And nightly pitoh my moving tent 
 A day's march nearer home. 
 
202 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 Nearer home ! Una was at home soon, through 
 the witchery of dreams. Her father's arms were 
 around her. Her mother sat there smiling. There 
 was no war, and the grave, sweet face of Sir Lionel 
 looked at her from his frame, a "well done" for her 
 trust fulfilled. No war ! Why, where, then, was Half 
 No war! What was that sharp report ringing out 
 upon the silence of the hour before the dawn ? A 
 crack, another, and yet another. Cries, oaths, groans, 
 shot after shot riddling the trees around their hid- 
 ing-place. 
 
 They knew by experience what it was. The Valley 
 women were broad awake in a minute, their hearts 
 beating fiercely, but calm and mistress of themselves. 
 They held together behind the tree-trunks, the ne- 
 groes at their knees. Hardly a word passed between 
 them while the skirmish lasted. 
 
 And it was over wonderfully soon. The soldiers 
 nearest them were evidently ambushed. There was 
 the sound of horses plunging and struggling in the 
 ford, and a Southern voice cried out : 
 
 " We Ve missed 'em, boys. Ride to the upper ford, 
 and head 'em off. We '11 save a mile and catch 'em 
 yet, the varmints ! " 
 
 Una clutched King David's arm. She had not no- 
 ticed that the old man's body shielded hers. 
 
 " King David, that 's our lieutenant's voice." 
 
 " Sounds mons'ous like, honey. They must 'a' come 
 here and hid, arter we fell asleepin'. God send they 
 ain't any of 'em hurt." 
 
 Ere the clattering hoofs had ceased to echo, dark- 
 ness had fled before the rosy touches of the dawn. 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 203 
 
 A strange light crept into tlie woods. They conld 
 see each other's faces, blanched and set. And the 
 birds twittered in the joy of day returned. 
 
 " That was a narrow shave," said Mrs. Baskerville, 
 looking critically at a bough cut by a Minie ball a 
 foot above her head. Well, Scip, you 'd better har- 
 ness up, right away. We '11 cross at the upper ford, 
 and take the short cut to the other road." 
 
 "I heard groans, but I don't see any dead or 
 wounded," said Bess, who had been absent on inspec- 
 tion of the outskirts of the camp. " Mother, I don't 
 mind saying now that I 've had about enough of 
 war." 
 
 Una, dm-ing the bustle of preparation, stole aside. 
 She wanted for a moment to be alone with God. 
 
 It had grown brighter in the wood. A squirrel 
 running down a tree stopped to stare at her. As 
 he sped away Una's eyes followed him. And there, 
 protruding from a clump of undergrowth, she saw a 
 man's dead hand. There was no mistaking him. He 
 lay flat upon his back, his huge bulk crushing down 
 a bed of maidenhair ferns, his flannel shirt stained 
 at the breast, his sightless eyes wide open. It was 
 poor John Britton, self-devoted to be Una's "frend 
 til deth." 
 
 No, this was no time to waver, when her feet were 
 so near the bourn. Mrs. Baskerville, who cried over 
 and kissed Una, and pleaded with her to come with 
 them and wait for a safe chance to cross the Union line, 
 could not shake the girl's resolve. The two travelers 
 
204 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 were still beating about from pillar to post, taking 
 the fortune of the road, when the good lady and her 
 daughters, with their impedimenta of ancestors and 
 sundries, had been long installed in comfortable quar- 
 ters. Many days were lost in planning for oppor- 
 tunities that never came to run the blockade. Their 
 store of money was nearly exhausted, the month had 
 passed away, and the flame of hope was flickering 
 in the socket. Then Una declared she would press 
 forward again on foot. 
 
 They set out through the ravaged country, where 
 the flying crow had to carry his rations with him; 
 and, after various adventures, were approaching the 
 vicinity of Mount Airy, when, trudging along the 
 highroad, they were overtaken by a body of Union 
 cavalry, well mounted and equipped, whose debonair 
 young captain, a-glitter with gold lace, pulled up at 
 sight of them. His questions, sharp at first, grew 
 gentle as the answers came, and seeing the girl's con- 
 dition, he called out to an orderly to take her before 
 him on his horse to a Dutch farmhouse a mile or two 
 away. 
 
 " Rode two days with rebel scouts, you say ? " he 
 ended, with a laugh. "Well, when you get back 
 again to Dixie, tell 'em that Uncle Sam's boys don't 
 mean to be beat by them in taking care of the ladies, 
 any more than with bayonets or sabers." 
 
 He rode off, touching his cap. Una had not seen 
 so gaily caparisoned a cavalier since the war set in. 
 Too worn to speak, she smiled her thanks to the 
 orderly, who gathered her, lamb-fashion, to his breast, 
 told her he had " a little 'un at home," and beguiled 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 205 
 
 the way with stories, as the horse left King David 
 far behind. 
 
 The Dutch farmer's wife, who gave them supper, a 
 bed and the promise of a hft in an ox-cart the next 
 day, smiled scornfully when she saw the Confederate 
 money hoarded for this last expense. But she re- 
 lented afterward and took it, to lay away in a stock- 
 ing-leg as a memento of the war, perhaps ; and the 
 farmei-'s lad, who on the morrow guided his slow 
 beasts hitched to a pole between four wheels, on 
 which Una and King David could with difficulty 
 maintain their balance, took them a good mile far- 
 ther than the authorities at home had instructed him 
 to go. 
 
 Now at last they knew themselves to be within but 
 a few miles of home. But it was said that between 
 them and Mount Airy stretched a blue cordon of Union 
 troops, to cross which no wayfarers were allowed 
 without a satisfactory account of themselves, and 
 taking an oath of allegiance to the United States. 
 Poor little Una drew the rags of her secessionism 
 closer, as she thought of this. As a last hope, she 
 determined with King David to present themselves 
 in forma pauperis at the nearest Federal headquar- 
 ters, and ask leave to go to seek her father. " I am 
 not afraid of the Yankees," she said, '^ if they are all 
 like that captain and the orderly who told me about 
 his child at home." But King David was not so sure. 
 
 They had yet a mile to walk. The burning sun 
 
 beat on the hot flints of the turnpike as she limped 
 
 along in the old man's wake. It would have been 
 
 hard to recognize in this thin, wan Una, with the 
 
 18 
 
206 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 dark circles around her wistful eyes, the shabby frock 
 and torn shoes, the fairy-beauty of her father's home. 
 At last she put her hand to her brow, and, like 
 the reaper's child of Scripture, cried out, '^My head! 
 my head ! " and King David caught her, as she reeled, 
 upon his breast. He bore her underneath a leafy 
 bower, her golden hair drooping across his tatters, 
 so tired himself by this additional exertion that, for 
 a moment after laying her upon a bed of moss, he 
 could only stand, catching his breath and wiping the 
 mingled sweat and dust that poured down his wrin- 
 kled face. 
 
 ''Even if I dared to leave her, there ain't no spring 
 as I know on, hereabouts," David said to himself, 
 forlornly, and in his extremity burst into tears. 
 
 "Why — King David," her soft voice said chid- 
 ingly, '' you 're not really crying 1 Crying for me f 
 See, I am better already, since we 've come out of the 
 sun. ... If it had been Hal who was taking the 
 message, he would n't have broken down. . . . Oh! 
 I am sure those officers won't refuse to let me inside 
 their lines. . , . Soldiers will surely not be angry 
 with me because my father met them in fair fight 
 and Hal was killed. . . . Maybe there '11 be one who '11 
 think about his own children, like my orderly; and 
 he 'R understand how fathers and little daughters 
 want each other . . . dreadfully.''' She was silent 
 for a while, crying quietly. David knew how much 
 these rare tears meant. Never had he felt his ignor- 
 ance, his lowliness, his impotence to shape events, as 
 now. A keen sense of his stewardship to her absent 
 parents oppressed his conscientious soul. Act he 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 207 
 
 must, but whitlier should lie turnf Hobbling down 
 to the edge of the road, he strained his eyes up 
 and down its desert length. 
 
 What was yonder cloud of luminous vapor rolling 
 in from the direction whence they had come ? That 
 wave of sound gathering strength and substance as 
 it reached his ear? King David gazed and prayed, 
 and presently, emerging from the golden mist, he saw, 
 first, horsemen pacing leisurely; then caissons and 
 guns, and after them rank upon rank of marching 
 men in gray. And above the dust, banners of scarlet 
 crossed with blue. And above the noise of tramping 
 feet, a chant arising, caught up along the line and 
 rendered with a grand sonorous swing : 
 
 " She breathes — she burns — she '11 come, she '11 come ! 
 Maryland ! My Maryland ! " 
 
 A brave sight and a stirring one, wherever seen, 
 that of an army on the march! When the first de- 
 tachment of troops was called to a halt where the old 
 negro stood entranced, it became clear that, in spite 
 of feet bare and bleeding, faces flushed and eyes 
 bloodshot from the sun, patched garments white 
 with dust, and empty haversacks, some keen exhilara- 
 tion nerved their ranks. 
 
 "I say, fellers, I don't know whether Maryland 's 
 a-burnin', but I 'm tarnation sure I be," cried out a 
 veteran, who thus easily produced a laugh among 
 his mates. 
 
 "Is there any little commission you 'd like us to 
 execute for you in Washington, old man?" one of 
 
208 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 them remarked, with profuse civility, to the spell- 
 bound David. '' Wrap yer compliments up in a neat 
 package, and I '11 take care that President Lincoln 
 gets 'em safe." 
 
 " Perhaps you 're traveling back Richmond way, 
 Brer Pompey," observed a third banterer. " If you 
 are, please call on Marse Jeff and tell him you saw 
 me on the way." 
 
 David turned, bewildered, to a soldier encircled with 
 a bristling array of kitchen implements, and carry- 
 ing a posy on his bayonet. 
 
 '' Which way air you goin', if I may make so bold, 
 sir?" 
 
 " Well, Uncle, you are behind the times," the man 
 answered cheerily, " not to know we 're part of 
 Early's corps marchin' on to Washington." 
 
 At this juncture, Una, fair as a star when only one 
 is shining in the sky, appeared on the bank above. 
 King David forgot everything beside, and in the 
 voice of a clarion shouted out : 
 
 ^' Do you hear that, my honey? The good Lawd 
 has opened a way a-purpus for you to git to see 
 your pa!" 
 
 It was a royal progress thenceforward. Some of 
 the ofdcers, interesting themselves in her affair, voted 
 her straightway a seat on a caisson to finish her 
 journey with the corps. On this rude chariot, smoke- 
 stained with recent battles, wreathed with wood- 
 blossoms by the men, the little daughter of Mount 
 Airy forgot the sorrows of the way, forgot uncertain- 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 209 
 
 ties ahead, and, thrilling with pride and pleasure, 
 rode on the wave of au invading army to the very 
 gateway of her home. 
 
 Cheered to the echo by the soldiers, she remained 
 standing beside King David under the iron arch of 
 the outer gate at the entrance of the old familiar 
 avenue, till the glow of excitement faded with the 
 passing of the troops. Now, she was possessed by 
 an indefinable dread of disappointment to come, 
 and this she saw plainly mirrored in the old negro's 
 dog-like eyes that followed every expression of her 
 face. Neither dared breathe to the other the fear 
 that, ten chances to one, the journey had been made 
 in vain. King David thought of those many weary 
 miles to be traversed before he could restore his 
 treasure to her mother's arms; and in silence, almost 
 like culprits, they took their way along the grass- 
 grown avenue, through the pine-woods that con- 
 cealed the house from immediate view. 
 
 Dusk had fallen, and their first glimpse of the dwell- 
 ing did not reassure the newcomers. Shutters were 
 closed over the double row of windows at the front; 
 moss and grass sprang from the crevices of the quaint 
 pyramidal flight of stone steps leading to the great 
 door whose very fan-light and side-lights were blocked 
 within. The long arms of oak trees swept the slated 
 roof as the breeze stirred them. A "little noiseless 
 noise among the leaves," the even-song of insects, was 
 the only sign of life that had made the place so dear. 
 Chilled and spiritless, the two stood for a moment on 
 the weedy carriage-sweep, gazing up. Then King- 
 David's eyes spied a faint curl of smoke issue from 
 
210 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 a pile of chimneys at the rear, and, brightening, he 
 laid his hand upon the heavy knocker of the door. 
 
 " Oh ! don't knock. King David," the child cried, 
 turning whiter. " I 'm not ready to bear . . . 
 disappointment yet." 
 
 ''I reckon I 'd best go rouu' to the back, honey," 
 he said, himself glad of the respite. 
 
 When she heard the last of his halting movements, 
 the child's physical courage for the first time failed. 
 Trembling like a leaf, she dropped upon the upper 
 step, with her cheek against the door. A cloud came 
 upon her brain. She did not hear the turning of the 
 big key in the lock ; she knew only that she was lifted 
 up and carried inside, to a room where a light was 
 burning — that Mrs. Ryan had hold of one of her 
 hands and was crying while she held water to her 
 lips. 
 
 "Papa?" Una gasped, and was answered by King 
 David's tender tones. 
 
 " Keep strong, my honey," the old man said, trem- 
 bling strangely. " The Lawd, that 's bin our pillar of 
 fire by night and of cloud by day, has given you your 
 heart's desire." 
 
 The child sprang to her feet, every nerve strung, 
 her face illumined with pure joy. Poor Mrs. Ryan, 
 divided between anxiety for the worn little creatui'e 
 and a keen desire to confer instant happiness, knew 
 not which way to look in answer to the searching of 
 Una's eyes. Her own gaze appealed in turn to David, 
 who nodded a joyful yes. Then the good woman 
 took Una by the hand, and leading her down the long 
 corridor to the study door, opened it and gently 
 pushed the child within. The two eager listeners 
 
UNA AND KING DAVID 211 
 
 outside heard a low cry — another — a flutter as of a 
 homing dove, and King David stretched forth his 
 hand and closed the door. 
 
 " There ain't no ears but the Lawd's as ought to 
 hear my little mistis give her message to her pa," he 
 said, straightening his bowed form like a sentry ou 
 his post. 
 
 This and what followed is, by now, ancient history 
 in the Old Dominion. The case of Colonel Henry St. 
 George Eustis, of the Virginia Volunteers, who, struck 
 by a bullet on the left side of his head at Gettysburg, 
 received a depressed fracture of the skull which 
 caused paralysis, with months of absolute loss of 
 memory of words, and of inability either by speech 
 or writing to convey to others any thought, is but 
 one of many like cases in the annals of that time. 
 It was through the good offices of the faithful over- 
 seer Eyan, who heard from his son the Union soldier 
 that Colonel Eustis had been seen by him in a 
 prisoner's hospital, that a cure was accomplished. 
 Ryan had bethought him to make appeal to an old 
 friend of the Eustis family before the war, in the 
 dignified person of Secretary of the Depart- 
 ment at Washington ; who, bethinking him, in turn, 
 of many pleasant weeks spent in boyhood as a recipient 
 of Mount Airy hospitality, promptly made up his mind 
 to see that the hapless prisoner had all the benefit 
 of modern surgery before returning to the custody of 
 his friends. An operation, performed successfully in 
 a hospital at Washington about the latter part of May, 
 just as Una had set forth upon her quest, had been 
 communicated by letter to Mrs. Eustis in Virginia, 
 and the prisoner was afterward allowed, on parole, 
 
212 UNA AND KING DAVID 
 
 to go to his own house, in charge of Ryan. Even as 
 Una had crossed the threshold of her home, an order 
 was on its way thither from the Bureau of Exchange 
 of Prisoners, informing Colonel Eustis that he was to 
 return by flag of truce to Richmond and to his wife, 
 who was expecting him with a joy tempered only 
 with anxiety for the welfare of their daughter. 
 
 There is a new portrait on the wall of the Mount 
 Airy dining-room, facing that of Sir Lionel who "bore 
 the message" long ago. It is of a brilliant, handsome 
 lad, clad in a soldier's gray woolen shirt. Above it 
 hangs a soldier's cap, wrapped with a bit of crape — 
 a memento of his share in the war for Southern inde- 
 pendence which Hal's mother cherishes. Below it is 
 a picture of another soldier in the same uniform, 
 in whose lineaments Mrs. Ryan, now the widowed 
 housekeeper of Mount Airy, is proud to recognize 
 and point out to visitors her second son, Dennis, 
 who sleeps in Hollywood at Richmond. Bill Ryan, 
 married and settled in place of his father as over- 
 seer of the Eustis estate, has supplied Mount Airy 
 with another edition of Denny, in the person of 
 his heir, long-legged and freckled-faced; and the 
 second Denny has found playmates among the boys 
 and girls born at the "great house" since the war. 
 But under the honey-locusts in the Mount Airy grave- 
 yard rests the gentlest heart that ever beat with 
 love for Una. Having seen his "little mistis" with 
 the orange-blossoms in her hair, King David was 
 satisfied to go. 
 
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 539