CHAPTER IV
It was almost mid-April; and still the silvery-green tassels on thewistaria showed no hint of the blue petals folded within; but themaples' leafless symmetry was already veined with fire. Faintperfume from Long Island woodlands, wandering puffs of wind fromsalt meadows freshened the city streets; St. Felix Street boasted alilac bush in leaf; Oxford Street was gay with hyacinths and awinter-battered butterfly; and in Fort Greene Place the grassydoor-yards were exquisite with crocus bloom. Peace, good-will, andspring on earth; but in men's souls a silence as of winter.
To Northland folk the unclosing buds of April brought no awakening;lethargy fettered all, arresting vigour, sapping desire. Animmense inertia chained progress in its tracks, while overhead thegray storm-wrack fled away,--misty, monstrous, gale-driven beforethe coming hurricane.
Still, for the Northland, there remained now little of the keenersuspense since those first fiery outbursts in the South; but allthrough the winter the dull pain throbbed in silence as star afterstar dropped from the old galaxy and fell flashing into the new.
And it was a time of apathy, acquiescence, stupefied incredulity; atime of dull faith in destiny, duller resignation.
The printed news was read day after day by a people who understoodnothing, neither the cautious arming nor the bold disarming, northe silent fall of fortified places, nor the swift dismantling oftall ships--nor did they comprehend the ceaseless tremors of a landslowly crumbling under the subtle pressure--nor that at last thevast disintegration of the matrix would disclose the formingcrystal of another nation cradled there, glittering, naming underthe splendour of the Southern skies.
A palsied Old Year had gone out. The mindless old man--he who hadbeen President--went with it. A New Year had come in, and on itsinfant heels shambled a tall, gaunt shape that seated itself by theWhite House windows and looked out into the murk of things witheyes that no man understood.
And now the soft sun of April spun a spell upon the Northland folk;for they had eyes but they saw not; ears had they, but they heardnot; neither spoke they through the mouth.
To them only one figure seemed real, looming above the vast andmotionless mirage where a continent stood watching the parapets ofa sea-girt fort off Charleston.
But the nation looked too long; the mirage closed in; fort, sea,the flag itself, became unreal; the lone figure on the parapetturned to a phantom. God's will was doing. Who dared doubt?
"There seems to be no doubt in the South," observed Ailsa Paige toher brother-in-law one fragrant evening after dinner where, in thedusk, the family had gathered on the stoop after the custom of asimpler era.
Along the dim street long lines of front stoops blossomed with thelight spring gowns of women and young girls, pale, dainty clustersin the dusk set with darker figures, where sparks from cigarsglowed and waned in the darkness.
Windows were open, here and there a gas jet in a globe flickeredinside a room, but the street was dusky and tranquil as a countrylane, and unilluminated save where at far intervals lamp-postsstood in a circle of pale light, around which a few moths hovered.
"The rebels," repeated Ailsa, "appear to have no doubts, honest orotherwise. They've sent seven thousand troops to the Charlestonfortifications--the paper says."
Stephen Craig heard his cousin speak but made no response. He wassmoking openly and in sight of his entire family the cigar whichhad, heretofore, been consumed surreptitiously. His mother satclose to his shoulder, rallying him like a tormenting schoolgirl,and, at intervals, turning to look back at her husband who stood onthe steps beside her, a little amused, a little proud, a littleinclined to be critical of this tall son of his who yesterday hadbeen a boy.
The younger daughters of the house, Paige and Marye, strolled past,bareheaded, arms linked, in company with Camilla and Jimmy Lent.
"O dad!" called out Paige softly, "Jim says that Major Anderson isto be reinforced at once. There was a bulletin this evening."
"I am very glad to hear it, sweetheart," said her father, smilingthrough his eye-glasses.
Stephen bent forward across his mother's shoulder. "Is that true,father?"
"Camilla's brother has probably been reading the _Tribune's_evening bulletin. The _Herald_ bulletin says that the Cabinet hasordered the evacuation of Fort Sumter; the _Times_ says MajorAnderson is to be reinforced; the _World_ says that he abandonedthe fort last night; and they all say he has been summoned tosurrender. Take your choice, Steve," he added wearily. "There isonly one wire working from the South, and the rebels control that."
"Are you tired, Curt?" asked his wife, looking around and up at him.
He seated himself and readjusted his eye-glasses.
"No, dear--only of this nightmare we are living in"--he stoppedabruptly. Politics had been avoided between them. There was ashort silence; he felt his wife's hand touch his in thedarkness--sign of a tender respect for his perplexity, but not forhis political views.
"Forgive me, dear, for using the word 'rebel,'" he said, smilingand straightening his shoulders. "Where have you and Ailsa beento-day? Did you go to New York?"
"Yes. We saw the Academy, and, oh, Curt! there are some verystriking landscapes--two by Gifford; and the cutest portrait of agirl by Wiyam Hunt. And your friend Bierstadt has a Westernscene--all fireworks! and, dear, Eastman Johnson was there--andKensett sent such a cunning little landscape. We lunched atTaylor's." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Ailsa did looktoo cute fo' words. I declare she is the most engaging littleminx. Eve'y man sta'ed at her. I _wish_ she would marry again andbe happy. _She_ doesn't know what a happy love affair can be--poorbaby."
"Do you?" asked her husband.
"Are you beginning to co't me again, Curt?"
"Have I ever ceased?--you little Rebel!"
"No," she said under her breath.
"By the way, Celia," he said smiling, "that young man--cousin ofyours--Berkley, turned up promptly to-day. I gave him a room inthe office."
"That was certainly ve'y frien'ly of you, Curt!" she respondedwarmly. "You _will_ be patient with him, won't you?"
"I've had to be already. I gave him a commission to collect somerents and he came back fifty dollars short, calmly explaining thatone of our lodgers looked poor and he hated to ask for the rent."
"O Curt--the boy is ve'y sweet and wa'm-hearted. Were you crosswith him?"
"Not very. I imparted a few plain truths--very pleasantly, Celia.He knew better; there's a sort of an impish streak in him--also aninclination for the pleasant by-ways of life. . . . He had betterlet drink alone, too, if he expects to remain in my office. I toldhim that."
"Does he--the foolish baby!"
"Oh, probably not very much. I don't know; he's likable, but--hehasn't inspired me with any overwhelming respect and confidence.His record is not exactly savoury. But he's your protege, and I'llstand him as long as you can."
"Thank you, Curt. We must be gentle to him. I shall ask him todinner and we can give a May dance perhaps--something informal andpretty--What is the matter, Curt?"
"Nothing, dear. . . . Only I wouldn't plan anything just yet--Imean for the present--not for a few days, anyway----"
He shrugged, removed his glasses, polished them on hishandkerchief, and sat holding them, his short-sighted eyes lost inreverie.
His wife endured it to the limit of patience:
"Curt," she began in a lower voice, "you and I gen'ally avoidcertain matters, dear--but--ev'ything is sure to come right in theend--isn't it? The No'th is going to be sensible."
"In the--end," he admitted quietly. And between them the oceansprang into view again.
"I wonder--" She stopped, and an inexplicable uneasiness stirred inher breast. She looked around at her son, her left hand fellprotectingly upon his shoulder, her right, groping, touched herhusband's sleeve.
"I am--well cared for--in the world," she sighed happily toherself. "It shall not come nigh me."
Stephen was saying to Ailsa:
> "There's a piece of up-town property that came into the officeto-day which seems to me significant of the future. It would be agood investment for you, Cousin Ailsa. Some day Fifth Avenue willbe built up solidly with brown-stone mansions as far as the CentralPark. It is all going to be wonderfully attractive when theyfinish it."
Ailsa mused for a moment. Then:
"I walked down this street to Fort Greene this afternoon," shebegan, "and the little rocky park was so sweet and fragrant withdogwood and Forsythia and new buds everywhere. And I looked outover the rivers and the bay and over the two cities and, Steve,somehow--I don't know why--I found my eyes filling with tears. Idon't know why, Steve----"
"Feminine sentiment," observed her cousin, smoking.
Mrs. Craig's fingers became restless on her husband's sleeve; shespoke at moments in soft, wistful tones, watching her youngerdaughters and their friends grouped under the trees in the dusk.And all the time, whatever it was that had brought a new uneaseinto her breast was still there, latent. She had no name to giveit, no reason, no excuse; it was too shadowy to bear analysis, tooimpalpable to be defined, yet it remained there; she was perfectlyconscious of it, as she held her husband's sleeve the tighter.
"Curt, is business so plaguey poor because of all these politics?"
"My business is not very flourishing. Many men feel theuncertainty; not everybody, dear."
"When this--_matter_--is settled, everything will be easier foryou, won't it? You look so white and tired, dear."
Stephen overheard her.
"The _matter_, as you call it, won't be settled without a row,mother--if you mean the rebellion."
"Such a wise boy with his new cigar," she smiled through a suddenresurgence of uneasiness.
The boy said calmly: "Mother, you don't understand; and all therest of the South is like you."
"Does anybody understand, Steve?" asked his father, slightlyironical.
"Some people understand there's going to be a big fight," said theboy.
"Oh. Do you?"
"Yes," he said, with the conviction of youth. "And I'm wonderingwho's going to be in it."
"The militia, of course," observed Ailsa scornfully. "Camilla isforever sewing buttons on Jimmy's dress uniform. He wears them offdancing."
Mr. Craig said, unsmiling: "We are not a military nation, Steve; weare not only non-military but we are unmilitary--if you know whatthat means."
"We once managed to catch Cornwallis," suggested his son, stillproudly smoking.
"I wonder how we did it?" mused his father.
"They were another race--those catchers of Cornwallis--thosefellows in, blue-and-buff and powdered hair."
"You and Celia are their grandchildren," observed Ailsa, "and youare a West Point graduate."
Her brother-in-law looked at her with a strange sort of humour inhis handsome, near-sighted eyes:
"Yes, too blind to serve the country that educated me. And nowit's too late; the desire is gone; I have no inclination to fight,Ailsa. Drums always annoyed me. I don't particularly like a gun.I don't care for a fuss. I don't wish to be a soldier."
Ailsa said: "I rather like the noise of drums. I think I'dlike--war."
"Molly Pitcher! Molly Pitcher! Of what are you babbling,"whispered Celia, laughing down the flashes of pain that ran throughher heart. "Wars are ended in our Western World. Didn't you knowit, grandchild of Vikings? There are to be no more LakeChamplains, only debates--_n'est ce pas_, Curt?--very grand debatesbetween gentlemen of the South and gentlemen of the North inCongress assembled----"
"_Two_ congresses assembled," said Ailsa calmly, "and the debateswill be at long range----"
"By magnetic telegraph if you wish, Honey-bell," conceded Celiahastily. "Oh, we must _not_ begin disputin' about matters thatnobody can possibly he'p. It will all come right; you know itwill, don't you, Curt?"
"Yes, I know it, somehow."
Silence, fragrance, and darkness, through which rang the distantlaugh of a young girl. And, very, very far away sounds arose inthe city, dull, indistinct, lost for moments at a time, thenaudible again, and always the same sounds, the same monotony, anddistant persistence.
"I do believe they're calling an extra," said Ailsa, lifting herhead to listen.
Celia listened, too.
"Children shouting at play," she said.
"They _are_ calling an extra, Celia!"
"No, little Cassandra, it's only boys skylarking."
For a while they remained listening and silent. The voices stillpersisted, but they sounded so distant that the light laughter fromtheir neighbour's stoop drowned the echoes.
Later, Jimmy Lent drifted into the family circle.
"They say that there's an extra out about Fort Sumter," he said."Do you think he's given up, Mr. Craig?"
"If there's an extra out the fort is probably safe enough, Jim,"said the elder man carelessly. He rose and went toward the groupof girls and youths under the trees.
"Come, children," he said to his two daughters; and was patientamid indignant protests which preceded the youthful interchange ofreluctant good-nights.
When he returned to the stoop Ailsa had gone indoors with hercousin. His wife rose to greet him as though he had been away on along journey, and then, passing her arms around her schoolgirldaughters, and nodding a mischievous dismissal to Jimmy Lent,walked slowly into the house. Bolts were shot, keys turned; fromthe lighted front parlour came the notes of the sweet-toned squarepiano, and Ailsa's voice:
--"Dear are her charms to me, Dearest her constancy, Aileen aroon--"
"Never mind any more of that silly song!" exclaimed Celia,imprisoning Ailsa's arms from behind.
"Youth must with time decay, Aileen aroon, Beauty must fade away, Aileen aroon--"
"Don't, dear! please----"
But Ailsa sang on obstinately:
"Castles are sacked in war, Chieftains are scattered far, Truth is a fixed star, Aileen aroon."
And, glancing back over her shoulder, caught her breath quickly.
"Celia! What _is_ the matter, dear?"
"Nothing. I don't like such songs--just now----"
"What songs?"
"I don't know, Ailsa; songs about war and castles. Little thingsplague me. . . . There's been altogether too much talk aboutwar--it gets into ev'ything, somehow. I can't seem to he'p it,somehow----"
"Why, Celia! _You_ are not worrying?"
"Not fo' myse'f, Honey-bud. Somehow, to-night--I don't know--andCurt seemed a little anxious."
She laughed with an effort; her natural gaiety returned to buoy herabove this indefinable undercurrent of unrest.
Paige and Marye came in from the glass extension where their fatherwas pacing to and fro, smoking his bedtime cigar, and their motherbegan her invariable running comment concerning the day's events,rallying her children, tenderly tormenting them with theirshortcomings--undarned stockings, lessons imperfectly learned,little household tasks neglected--she was always aware of and readyat bedtime to point out every sin of omission.
"As fo' you, Paige, you are certainly a ve'y rare kind ofHoney-bird, and I reckon Mr. Ba'num will sho'ly catch you some dayfo' his museum. Who ever heard of a shif'less Yankee girl exceptyou and Marye?"
"O mother, how _can_ we mend _everything_ we tear? It's heartlessto ask us!"
"You don't have to try to mend _ev'y_thing. Fo' example, there'sJimmy Lent's heart----"
A quick outbreak of laughter swept them--all except Paige, whoflushed furiously over her first school-girl affair.
"That poor Jimmy child came to me about it," continued theirmother, "and asked me if I would let you be engaiged to him; and Isaid, 'Certainly, if Paige wants to be, Jimmy. I was engaigedmyse'f fo' times befo' I was fo'teen----'"
Another gale of laughter drowned her words, and she sat theredimpled, mischievous, naively looking around, yet in her carefulsoul shrewdly pursuing her wise policy of airing all sentimentalmatters in the family circle--
letting in fresh air and sunshine onwhat so often takes root and flourishes rather morbidly at sixteen.
"It's perfectly absurd," observed Ailsa, "at your age, Paige----"
"Mother was married at sixteen! Weren't you, dearest?"
"I certainly was; but _I_ am a bad rebel and _you_ are good littleYankees; and good little Yankees wait till they're twenty odd befo'they do anything ve'y ridiculous."
"We expect to wait," said Paige, with a dignified glance at hersister.
"You've four years to wait, then," laughed Marye.
"What's the use of being courted if you have to wait four years?"
"And you've three years to wait, silly," retorted Paige. "But Idon't care; I'd rather wait. It isn't very long, now. Ailsa, whydon't you marry again?"
Ailsa's lip curled her comment upon the suggestion. She sat underthe crystal chandelier reading a Southern newspaper which had beensent recently to Celia. Presently her agreeable voice sounded inappreciative recitation of what she was reading.
"Hath not the morning dawned with added light? And shall not evening call another star Out of the infinite regions of the night To mark this day in Heaven? At last we are A nation among nations; and the world Shall soon behold in many a distant port Another flag unfurled!""Listen, Celia," she said, "this is really beautiful:
A tint of pink fire touched Mrs. Craig's cheeks, but she saidnothing. And Ailsa went on, breathing out the opening beauty ofTimrod's "Ethnogenesis":
"Now come what may, whose favour need we court? And, under God, whose thunder need we fear?"
She stopped short, considering the printed page. Then, doubtfully:
"And what if, mad with wrongs themselves have wrought, In their own treachery caught, By their own fears made bold, And leagued with him of old Who long since, in the limits of the North, Set up his evil throne, and warred with God-- What if, both mad and blinded in their rage Our foes should fling us down the mortal gauge, And with a hostile horde profane our sod!"
The girl reddened, sat breathing a little faster, eyes on the page;then:
"Nor would we shun the battleground! . . . The winds in our defence Shall seem to blow; to us the hills shall lend Their firmness and their calm, And in our stiffened sinews we shall blend The strength of pine and palm! Call up the clashing elements around And test the right and wrong! On one side creeds that dare to preach What Christ and Paul refused to teach----"
"Oh!" she broke off with a sharp intake of breath; "Do they believesuch things of us in the South, Celia?"
The pink fire deepened in Celia Craig's cheeks; her lips unclosed,tightened, as though a quick retort had been quickly reconsidered.She meditated. Then: "Honey-bell," she said tranquilly, "if we arebitter, try to remember that we are a nation in pain."
"A _nation_!"
"Dear, we have always been that--only the No'th has just found itout. Charleston is telling her now. God give that our cannon neednot repeat it."
"But, Celia, the cannon _can't_! The same flag belongs to us both."
"Not when it flies over Sumter, Honey-bird." There came a subtleringing sound in Celia Craig's voice; she leaned forward, takingthe newspaper from Ailsa's idle fingers:
"Try to be fair," she said in unsteady tones. "God knows I am nottrying to teach you secession, but suppose the guns on Governor'sIsland were suddenly swung round and pointed at this street? Wouldyou care ve'y much what flag happened to be flying over CastleWilliam? Listen to another warning from this stainless poet of theSouth." She opened the newspaper feverishly, glanced quickly downthe columns, and holding it high under the chandelier, read in ahushed but distinct voice, picking out a verse here and there atrandom:
"Calm as that second summer which precedes The first fall of the snow, In the broad sunlight of heroic deeds A city bides her foe.
"As yet, behind high ramparts stem and proud Where bolted thunders sleep, Dark Sumter like a battlemented cloud Towers o'er the solemn deep.
"But still along the dim Atlantic's line The only hostile smoke Creeps like a harmless mist above the brine From some frail floating oak.
"And still through streets re-echoing with trade Walk grave and thoughtful men Whose hands may one day wield the patriot's blade As lightly as the pen.
"And maidens, with such eyes as would grow dim Over a wounded hound Seem each one to have caught the strength of him Whose sword-knot she hath hound.
"Thus, girt without and garrisoned at home, Day patient following day, Old Charleston looks from roof and spire and dome Across her tranquil bay.
"Shall the spring dawn, and she, still clad in steel, And with an unscathed brow, Watch o'er a sea unvexed by hostile keel As fair and free as now?
"We know not. In the Temples of the Fates God has inscribed her doom; And, all untroubled in her faith she waits Her triumph or her tomb!"
The hushed charm of their mother's voice fascinated the children.Troubled, uncertain, Ailsa rose, took a few irresolute steps towardthe extension where her brother-in-law still paced to and fro inthe darkness, the tip of his cigar aglow. Then she turned suddenly.
"_Can't_ you understand, Ailsa?" asked her sister-in-law wistfully.
"Celia--dearest," she stammered, "I simply can't understand. . . .I thought the nation was greater than all----"
"The State is greater, dear. Good men will realise that when theysee a sovereign people standing all alone for human truth andjustice--standing with book and sword under God's favour, assturdily as ever Israel stood in battle fo' the right!--I don'tmean to be disloyal to my husband in saying this befo' my children.But you ask me, and I must tell the truth if I answer at all."
Slender, upright, transfigured with a flushed and girlish beautywholly strange to them, she moved restlessly back and forth acrossthe room, a slim, lovely, militant figure all aglow withinspiration, all aquiver with emotion too long and loyallysuppressed.
Paige and Marye, astonished, watched her without a word. Ailsastood with one hand resting on the mantel, a trifle pale but alsosilent, her startled eyes following this new incarnation wearingthe familiar shape of Celia Craig.
"Ailsa!"
"Yes, dear."
"Can you think evil of a people who po' out their hearts in prayerand praise? Do traitors importune fo' blessings?"
She turned nervously to the piano and struck a ringing chord,another--and dropped to the chair, head bowed on her slim childishneck. Presently there stole through the silence a tremulous voiceintoning the "Libera Nos," with its strange refrain:
"_A furore Normanorum Libera nos, O Domme_!" Then, head raised, thegas-light flashing on her dull-gold hair, her voice poured forthall that was swelling and swelling up in her bruised and stifledheart:
"God of our fathers! King of Kings! Lord of the earth and sea! With hearts repentant and sincere We turn in need to thee."
She saw neither her children nor her husband nor Ailsa now, wherethey gathered silently beside her. And she sang on:
"In the name of God! Amen! Stand for our Southern rights; On our side. Southern men, The God of Battles fights! Fling the invader far-- Hurl back his work of woe-- His voice is the voice of a brother, But his hands are the hands of a foe. By the blood which cries to Heaven. Crimson upon our sod Stand, Southrons, fight and conquer In the Name of the Living God!"
Like receding battle echoes the chords, clashing distantly, diedaway.
If she heard her husband turn, enter the hallway, and unbolt thedoor, she made no sign. Ailsa, beside her, stooped and passed onearm around her.
"You--are not crying, are you, Celia, darling?" she whispered.
Her sister-in-law, lashes wet, rose with decision.
"I think that I have made a goose of myse'f to-night. Marye, willyou say to your father that it is after eleven o'clock, and that Iam waiting to be well scolded and sent to bed?"
"Father went out
a few moments ago," said Paige in an awed voice."I heard him unbolt the front door."
Ailsa turned and walked swiftly out into the hallway; the frontdoor swung wide; Mr. Craig stood on the steps wearing his hat. Helooked around as she touched his arm.
"Oh, is it you, Ailsa?" There was a moment's indecision. Throughit, once more, far away in the city The Voices became audibleagain, distant, vague, incessant.
"I thought--if it is actually an extra--" he began carelessly andhesitated; and she said:
"Let me go with you. Wait. I'll speak to Celia."
"Say to her that I'll be gone only a moment."
When Ailsa returned she slipped her arm through his and theydescended the steps and walked toward Fulton Avenue. The Voiceswere still distant; a few people, passing swiftly through the dusk,preceded them. Far down the vista of the lighted avenue darkfigures crossed and recrossed the street, silhouetted against thegas-lights; some were running. A man called out something as theypassed him. Suddenly, right ahead in the darkness, theyencountered people gathered before the boarded fence of a vacantlot, a silent crowd shouldering, pushing, surging back and forth,swarming far out along the dimly lighted avenue.
"There's a bulletin posted there," whispered Ailsa. "Could youlift me in your arms?"
Her brother-in-law stooped, clasped her knees, and lifted her highup above the sea of heads. Kerosene torches flickered beyond,flanking a poster on which was printed in big black letters:
"WASHINGTON, April 13, 1861, 6 A.M. "At half-past four o'clock this morning fire was opened on Fort Sumter by the rebel batteries in the harbour. Major Anderson is replying with his barbette guns."
"8 A.M. "A private despatch to the N. Y. Herald says that the batteries on Mount Pleasant have opened on Sumter. Major Anderson has brought into action two tiers of guns trained on Fort Moultrie and the Iron Battery."
"3 P.M. "The fire at this hour is very heavy. Nineteen batteries are bombarding Sumter. The fort replies briskly. The excitement in Charleston is intense."
"LATER. "Heavy rain storm. Firing resumed this evening. The mortar batteries throw a shell into the fort every twenty minutes. The fort replies at intervals."
"LATEST. "The fort is still replying. Major Anderson has signalled the fleet outside."
All this she read aloud, one hand resting on Craig's shoulder as heheld her aloft above the throng. Men crowding around and strivingto see, paused, with up-turned faces, listening to the emotionlessyoung voice. There was no shouting, no sound save the trample andshuffle of feet; scarcely a voice raised, scarcely an exclamation.
As Craig lowered her to the pavement, a man making his way out saidto them:
"Well, I guess that ends it."
Somebody replied quietly: "I guess that _begins_ it."
Farther down the avenue toward the City Hall where the new marblecourt house was being built, a red glare quivered incessantlyagainst the darkness; distant hoarse rumours penetrated the nightair, accented every moment by the sharper clamour of voices callingthe _Herald's_ extras.
"Curt?"
"Yes, dear."
"If he surrenders----"
"It makes no difference what he does now, child."
"I know it. . . . They've dishonoured the flag. This is war,isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Will it be a long war?"
"I think not."
"Who will go?"
"I don't know. . . . Soldiers."
"I didn't suppose we had enough. Where are we going to get more?"
"The people--" he said absently--"everybody, I suppose. How do Iknow, child?"
"Just ordinary people?"
"Just ordinary people," he responded quietly. A few minutes lateras they entered their own street he said:
"I suppose I had better tell my wife about this to-night. I don'tknow--it will be in the morning papers; but I think I had betterbreak it to her to-night."
"She will have to know--sometime--of course----"
Halting at the foot of the stoop he turned and peered through hisglasses at his sister-in-law.
"I don't want Stephen to start any nonsense about going."
"Going where?" she asked innocently.
He hesitated: "I don't want to hear any talk from him aboutenlisting. That is what I mean. Your influence counts with himmore deeply than you know. Remember that."
"Steve--_enlist_!" she repeated blankly.
She could not yet comprehend what all this had to do with peopleshe personally knew--with her own kin.
"He must not enlist, of course," she said curtly. "There areplenty of soldiers--there will be plenty, of course. I----"
Something silenced her, something within her sealed her lips. Shestood in silence while Craig fitted his night-key, then entered thehouse with him. Gas burned low in the hall globes; when he turnedit off a fainter light from above guided them.
"Celia, is that you?" she called gently,
"Hush; go to bed, Honey-bell. Everybody is asleep. How pale youare, Curt--dearest--dearest----"
The rear room was Ailsa's; she walked into it and dropped down onthe bed in the darkness. The door between the rooms closed: shesat perfectly still, her eyes were wide open, staring in front ofher.
Queer little luminous shapes danced through obscurity like thenames from the kerosene torches around the bulletin; her ears stillvibrated with the hoarse alarm of the voices; through her brainsounded her brother-in-law's words about Steve, repeatedincessantly, stupidly.
Presently she began to undress by sense of touch. The gas in thebathroom was lighted; she completed her ablutions, turned it off,and felt her way back to the bed.
Lying there she became aware of sounds from the front room. Celiawas still awake; she distinguished her voice in quick, frightenedexclamation; then the low murmur continued for a while, thensilence fell.
She raised herself on one elbow; the crack of light under the doorwas gone; there was no sound, no movement in the house except themeasured tick of the hall clock outside,tic-toc!--tic-toc!--tic-toc!
And she had been lying there a long, long while, eyes open, beforeshe realised that the rhythm of the hall clock was but a repetitionof a name which did not concern her in any manner:
"Berk-ley!--Berk-ley!--Berk-ley!"
How it had crept into her consciousness she could not understand;she lay still, listening, but the tic-toc seemed to fit thesyllables of his name; and when, annoyed, she made a halfdisdainful mental attempt to substitute other syllables, it provedtoo much of an effort, and back into its sober, swinging rhythmslipped the old clock's tic-toe, in wearisome, meaninglessrepetition:
"Berk-ley!--Berk-ley!--Berk-ley!"
She was awakened by a rapping at her door and her cousin'simperative voice:
"I want to talk to you; are you in bed?"
She drew the coverlet to her chin and called out:
"Come in, Steve!"
He came, tremendously excited, clutching the _Herald_ in one hand.
"I've had enough of this rebel newspaper!" he said fiercely. "Idon't want it in the house again, ever. Father says that themarine news makes it worth taking, but----"
"What on earth are you trying to say, Steve?"
"I'm trying to tell you that we're at war! War, Ailsa! Do youunderstand? Father and I've had a fight already----"
"What?"
"They're still firing on Sumter, I tell you, and if the fortdoesn't hold out do you think I'm going to sit around the houselike a pussy cat? Do you think I'm going to business every day asthough nothing was happening to the country I'm living in? I tellyou now--you and mother and father--that I'm not built that way----"
Ailsa rose in bed, snatched the paper from his grasp, and leaningon one arm gazed down at the flaring head-lines:
THE WAR BEGUN
Very Exciting News from Charleston
Bombardment of Fort Sumter Commenced
Terrible Fire from the Secessionists' Batt
eries
Brilliant Defence of Maj. Anderson
Reckless Bravery of the Confederate States Troops.
And, scanning it to the end, cried out:
"He hasn't hauled down his flag! What are you so excited about?"
"I--I'm excited, of course! He can't possibly hold out with onlyeighty men and nothing to feed them on. Something's got to bedone!" he added, walking up and down the room. "I've made fun ofthe militia--like everybody else--but Jimmy Lent is getting ready,and I'm doing nothing! Do you hear what I'm saying, Ailsa?"
She looked up from the newspaper, sitting there cross-legged underthe coverlet.
"I hear you, Steve. I don't know what you mean by 'something's gotto be done.' Major Anderson is doing what he can--bless him!"
"That's all right, but the thing isn't going to stop there."
"Stop where?"
"At Sumter. They'll begin firing on Fortress Monroe andPensacola--I--how do you know they're not already thinking aboutbombarding Washington? Virginia is going out of the Union; theentire South is out, or going. Yesterday, I didn't suppose therewas any use in trying to get them back again. Father did, but Ididn't. I think it's got to be done, now. And the question is,Ailsa, whose going to do it?"
But she was fiercely absorbed again in the news, leaning close overthe paper, tumbled dull-gold hair falling around her bareshoulders, breath coming faster and more irregularly as she readthe incredible story and strove to comprehend its cataclysmicsignificance.
"If others are going, I am," repeated her cousin sullenly.
"Going where, Steve?--Oh------"
She dropped the paper and looked up, startled; and he looked backat her, defiant, without a flicker in those characteristic familyeyes of his, clear as azure, steady to punishment given ortaken--good eyes for a boy to inherit. And he inherited them fromhis rebel mother.
"Father can't keep me home if other people go," he said.
"Wait until other people go." She reached out and laid a hand onhis arm.
"Things are happening too fast, Steve, too fast for everybody toquite understand just yet. Everybody will do what is the thing todo; the family will do what it ought to. . . . Has your motherseen this?"
"Yes. Neither she nor father have dared speak about it beforeus--" He made a gesture of quick despair, walked to the window andback.
"It's a terrible thing, Ailsa, to have mother feel as she does."
"How could she feel otherwise?"
"I've done my best to explain to her----"
"O Steve! _You_!--when it's a matter between her soul and God!"
He said, reddening: "It's a matter of common-sense--I don't mean toinsult mother--but--good Lord, a nation is a nation, but a state isonly a state! I--hang it all--what's the use of trying to explainwhat is born in one----"
"The contrary was born in your mother, Steve. Don't ever talk toher this way. And--go out, please, I wish to dress."
He went away, saying over his shoulders: "I only wanted to tell youthat I'm not inclined to sit sucking my thumb if other men go, andyou can say so to father, who has forbidden me to mention thesubject to him again until I have his permission."
But he went away to business that morning with his father, asusual; and when evening came the two men returned, anxious, deadtired, having passed most of the day standing in the dense throngsthat choked every street around the bulletin boards of thenewspaper offices.
Ailsa had not been out during the day, nor had Mrs. Craig, exceptfor an hour's drive in the family coupe around the district wherepreliminary surveys for the new Prospect Park were being pushed.
They had driven for almost an hour in utter silence. Hersister-in-law's hand lay clasped in hers, but both looked from thecarriage windows without speaking, and the return from the drivefound them strangely weary and inclined for the quiet of their ownrooms. But Celia Craig could not close her eyes even to feignsleep to herself.
When husband and son returned at evening, she asked nothing of thenews from them, but her upturned face lingered a second or twolonger as her husband kissed her, and she clung a little toStephen, who was inclined to be brief with her.
Dinner was a miserable failure in that family, which usually hadmuch to compare, much to impart, much badinage and laughter todistribute. But the men were weary and uncommunicative; EstcourtCraig went to his club after dinner; Stephen, now possessing alatch-key, disappeared shortly afterward.
Paige and Marye did embroidery and gossipped together under the bigcrystal chandelier while their mother read aloud to them from"Great Expectations," which was running serially in _Harper'sWeekly_. Later she read in her prayer-book; later still, fullydressed, she lay across the bed in the alcove staring at thedarkness and listening for the sound of her husband's latch-key inthe front door,
When it sounded, she sprang up and hastily dried her eyes.
"The children and Ailsa are all abed, Curt. How late you are! Itwas not very wise of you to go out--being so tired--" She washovering near him as though to help his weariness with her smalloffices; she took his hat, stood looking at him, then steppednearer, laying both hands on his shoulders, and her face againsthis.
"I am--already tired of the--war," she sighed. "Is it ended yet,Curt?"
"There is no more news from Sumter."
"You will--love me--best--anyway. Curt--won't you?"
"Do you doubt it?"
She only drew a deep, frightened breath. For within her heart shefelt the weight of the new apprehension--the clairvoyantpremonition of a rival that she must prepare to encounter--a rivalthat menaced her peace of mind--a shape, shadowy as yet, butterrible, slowly becoming frightfully denned--a Thing that mightone day wean this man from her--husband, and son, too--bothperhaps----.
"Curt," she faltered, "it will all come right in the end. Say it.I am afraid."
"It will come out all right," he said gently. They kissed, and sheturned to the mirror and silently began preparing for the night.
With the calm notes of church bells floating out across the city,and an April breeze blowing her lace curtains, Ailsa awoke.Overhead she heard the trample of Stephen's feet as he movedleisurely about his bedroom. Outside her windows in the backyard,early sunshine slanted across shrub and grass and white-washedfence; the Sunday quiet was absolute, save for the church bells.
She lay there listening and thinking; the church bells ceased; andafter a while, lying there, she began to realise that the silencewas unnatural--became conscious of something ominous in the intensequiet outside--a far-spread stillness which was more than the hushof Sabbath.
Whether or not the household was still abed she did not know; nosound came from Celia's room; nor were Marye and Paige stirring onthe floor above when she rose and stole out barefooted to thelanding, holding a thin silk chamber robe around her. She paused,listening; the tic-toc of the hall clock accented the silence; thedoor that led from Celia's chamber into the hall stood wide open,and there was nobody in sight. Something drew her to the alcovewindow, which was raised; through the lace curtains she saw thestaff of the family flag set in its iron socket at right angles tothe facade--saw the silken folds stirring lazily in the sunshine,tiptoed to the window and peered out.
As far as her eyes could see, east and west, the street was onerustling mass of flags.
For a second her heart almost hurt her with its thrilling leap; shecaught her breath; the hard tension in her throat was choking her;she dropped to her knees by the sill, drew a corner of the flag toher, and laid her cheek against it.
Her eyes unclosed and she gazed out upon the world of flags; then,upright, she opened her fingers, and the crinkled edges of theflag, released, floated leisurely out once more into the Aprilsunshine.
When she had dressed she found the family in the dining-room--hersister-in-law, serene but pale, seated behind the coffee urn, Mr.Craig and Stephen reading the Sunday newspapers, Paige and Maryewhispering together over their oatmeal and cream.
She k
issed Celia, dropped the old-fashioned, half-forgotten curtseyto the others, and stood hesitating a moment, one hand resting onCelia's shoulder.
"Is the fort holding out?" she asked.
Stephen looked up angrily, made as though to speak, but a deepflush settled to the roots of his hair and he remained silent.
"Fort Sumter has surrendered," said her brother-in-law quietly.
Celia whispered: "Take your seat now, Honey-bell; your breakfast isgetting cold."
At church that Sunday the Northern clergy prayed in a dazed sort ofway for the Union and for the President; some addressed the MostHigh as "The God of Battles." The sun shone brightly; new leaveswere startling on every tree in every Northern city; acres ofstarry banners drooped above thousands of departing congregations,and formed whispering canopies overhead.
Vespers were solemn; April dusk fell over a million roofs andspires; twinkling gas jets were lighted in street lamps; city,town, and hamlet drew their curtains and bowed their heads indarkness. A dreadful silence fell over the North--a stillness thatbreeds epochs and the makers of them.
But the first gray pallor of the dawn awoke a nation for the firsttime certain of its entity, roaring its comprehension of it fromthe Lakes to the Potomac, from sea to sea; and the red sun roseover twenty States in solid battle line thundering their loyalty toa Union undivided,
And on that day rang out the first loud call to arms; and the firstbattalion of the Northland, seventy-five thousand strong, formedranks, cheering their insulted flag.
Then, southward, another flag shot up above the horizon. The worldalready knew it as The Stars and Bars. And, beside it, from itspointed lance, whipped and snapped and fretted anotherflag--square, red, crossed by a blue saltier edged with white onwhich glittered thirteen stars.
It was the battle flag of the Confederacy flashing the answer tothe Northern cheer.