The Crisis — Complete

  CHAPTER VII. AN EXCURSION

  I am going ahead two years. Two years during which a nation struggledin agony with sickness, and even the great strength with which she wasendowed at birth was not equal to the task of throwing it off. In 1620a Dutch ship had brought from Guinea to his Majesty's Colony of Virginiathe germs of that disease for which the Nation's blood was to be letso freely. During these years signs of dissolution, of death, were notwanting.

  In the city by the Father of Waters where the races met, men and womenwere born into the world, who were to die in ancient Cuba, who were tobe left fatherless in the struggle soon to come, who were to live tosee new monsters rise to gnaw at the vitals of the Republic, and tohear again the cynical laugh of Europe. But they were also to see theircountry a power in the world, perchance the greatest power. While Europehad wrangled, the child of the West had grown into manhood and takena seat among the highest, to share with them the responsibilities ofmanhood.

  Meanwhile, Stephen Brice had been given permission to practise lawin the sovereign state of Missouri. Stephen understood Judge Whipplebetter. It cannot be said that he was intimate with that ratherformidable personage, although the Judge, being a man of habits, hadformed that of taking tea at least once a week with Mrs. Brice. Stephenhad learned to love the Judge, and he had never ceased to be grateful tohim for a knowledge of that man who had had the most influence upon hislife,--Abraham Lincoln.

  For the seed, sowed in wisdom and self-denial, was bearing fruit. Thesound of gathering conventions was in the land, and the Freeport Heresywas not for gotten.

  We shall not mention the number of clients thronging to Mr. Whipple'soffice to consult Mr. Brice. These things are humiliating. Some ofStephen's income came from articles in the newspapers of that day.What funny newspapers they were, the size of a blanket! No startlingheadlines such as we see now, but a continued novel among theadvertisements on the front page and verses from some gifted lady ofthe town, signed Electra. And often a story of pure love, but morefrequently of ghosts or other eerie phenomena taken from a magazine, oran anecdote of a cat or a chicken. There were letters from citizens whohad the mania of print, bulletins of different ages from all parts ofthe Union, clippings out of day-before-yesterday's newspaper of Chicagoor Cincinnati to three-weeks letters from San Francisco, come by thepony post to Lexington and then down the swift Missouri. Of course,there was news by telegraph, but that was precious as fine gold,--not tobe lightly read and cast aside.

  In the autumn of '59, through the kindness of Mr. Brinsmade, Stephen hadgone on a steamboat up the river to a great convention in Iowa. On thisexcursion was much of St. Louis's bluest blood. He widened his circleof acquaintances, and spent much of his time walking the guards betweenMiss Anne Brinsmade and Miss Puss Russell. Perhaps it is unfair to theseyoung ladies to repeat what they said about Stephen in the privacy oftheir staterooms, gentle Anne remonstrating that they should not gossip,and listening eagerly the while, and laughing at Miss Puss, whosemimicry of Stephen's severe ways brought tears to her eyes.

  Mr. Clarence Colfax was likewise on the boat, and passing Stephen on theguards, bowed distantly. But once, on the return trip, when Stephen hada writing pad on his knee, the young Southerner came up to him in hisfrankest manner and with an expression of the gray eyes which was not tobe withstood.

  "Making a case, Brice?" he said. "I hear you are the kind that cannot beidle even on a holiday."

  "Not as bad as all that," replied Stephen, smiling at him.

  "Reckon you keep a diary, then," said Clarence, leaning against therail. He made a remarkably graceful figure, Stephen thought. He wastall, and his movements had what might be called a commanding indolence.Stephen, while he smiled, could not but admire the tone and gesture withwhich Colfax bade a passing negro to get him a handkerchief from hiscabin. The alacrity of the black to do the errand was amusing enough.Stephen well knew it had not been such if he wanted a handkerchief.

  Stephen said it was not a diary. Mr. Colfax was too well bred to inquirefurther; so he never found out that Mr. Brice was writing an account ofthe Convention and the speechmaking for the Missouri Democrat.

  "Brice," said the Southerner, "I want to apologize for things I've doneto you and said about you. I hated you for a long time after you beat meout of Hester, and--" he hesitated.

  Stephen looked up. For the first time he actually liked Colfax. He hadbeen long enough among Colfax's people to understand how difficult itwas for him to say the thing he wished.

  "You may remember a night at my uncle's, Colonel Carvel's, on theoccasion of my cousin's birthday?"

  "Yes," said Stephen, in surprise.

  "Well," blurted Clarence, boyishly, "I was rude to you in my uncle'shouse, and I have since been sorry."

  "He held out his hand, and Stephen took it warmly.

  "I was younger then, Mr. Colfax," he said, "and I didn't understand yourpoint of view as well as I do now. Not that I have changed my ideas," headded quickly, "but the notion of the girl's going South angered me. Iwas bidding against the dealer rather than against you. Had I then knownMiss Carvel--" he stopped abruptly.

  The winning expression died from the face of the other.

  He turned away, and leaning across the rail, stared at the high bluffs,red-bronzed by the autumn sun. A score of miles beyond that precipicewas a long low building of stone, surrounded by spreading trees,--theschool for young ladies, celebrated throughout the West, where ourmothers and grandmothers were taught,--Monticello. Hither Miss VirginiaCarvel had gone, some thirty days since, for her second winter.

  Perhaps Stephen guessed the thought in the mind of his companion, forhe stared also. The music in the cabin came to an abrupt pause, and onlythe tumbling of waters through the planks of the great wheels broke thesilence. They were both startled by laughter at their shoulders. Therestood Miss Russell, the picture of merriment, her arm locked in AnneBrinsmade's.

  "It is the hour when all devout worshippers turn towards the East," shesaid. "The goddess is enshrined at Monticello."

  Both young men, as they got to their feet, were crimson. Whereupon MissRussell laughed again. Anne, however, blushed for them. But this was notthe first time Miss Russell had gone too far. Young Mr. Colfax, with theexcess of manner which was his at such times, excused himself and leftabruptly. This to the further embarrassment of Stephen and Anne, and thekeener enjoyment of Miss Russell.

  "Was I not right, Mr. Brice?" she demanded. "Why, you are even writingverses to her!"

  "I scarcely know Miss Carvel," he said, recovering. "And as for writingverse--"

  "You never did such a thing in your life! I can well believe it."

  Miss Russell made a face in the direction Colfax had taken.

  "He always acts like that when you mention her," she said.

  "But you are so cruel, Puss," said Anne. "You can't blame him."

  "Hairpins!" said Miss Russell.

  "Isn't she to marry him?" said Stephen, in his natural voice.

  He remembered his pronouns too late.

  "That has been the way of the world ever since Adam and Eve," remarkedPuss. "I suppose you meant to ask: Mr. Brice, whether Clarence is tomarry Virginia Carvel."

  Anne nudged her.

  "My dear, what will Mr. Brice think of us?"

  "Listen, Mr. Brice," Puss continued, undaunted. "I shall tell you somegossip. Virginia was sent to Monticello, and went with her father toKentucky and Pennsylvania this summer, that she might be away fromClarence. Colfax."

  "Oh, Puss!" cried Anne.

  Miss Russell paid not the slightest heed.

  "Colonel Carvel is right," she went on. "I should do the same thing.They are first cousins, and the Colonel doesn't like that. I am fondof Clarence. But he isn't good for anything in the world except horseracing and--and fighting. He wanted to help drive the Black Republicanemigrants out of Kansas, and his mother had to put a collar and chain onhim. He wanted to go filibustering with Walker, and she had to get downon her knees. And yet," sh
e cried, "if you Yankees push us as far aswar, Mr. Brice, just look out for him."

  "But--" Anne interposed.

  "Oh, I know what you are going to say,--that Clarence has money."

  "Puss!" cried Anne, outraged. "How dare you!"

  Miss Russell slipped an arm around her waist.

  "Come, Anne," she said, "we mustn't interrupt the Senator any longer. Heis preparing his maiden speech."

  That was the way in which Stephen got his nickname. It is scarcelynecessary to add that he wrote no more until he reached his little roomin the house on Olive Street.

  They had passed Alton, and the black cloud that hung in the still autumnair over the city was in sight. It was dusk when the 'Jackson' pushedher nose into the levee, and the song of the negro stevedores rose frombelow as they pulled the gang-plank on to the landing-stage. Stephenstood apart on the hurricane deck, gazing at the dark line of sootywarehouses. How many young men with their way to make have felt the sameas he did after some pleasant excursion. The presence of a tall formbeside him shook him from his revery, and he looked up to recognize thebenevolent face of Mr. Brinsmade.

  "Mrs. Brice may be anxious, Stephen, at the late hour," said he. "Mycarriage is here, and it will give me great pleasure to convey you toyour door."

  Dear Mr. Brinsmade! He is in heaven now, and knows at last the goodhe wrought upon earth. Of the many thoughtful charities which Stephenreceived from him, this one sticks firmest in his remembrance: Astranger, tired and lonely, and apart from the gay young men and womenwho stepped from the boat, he had been sought out by this gentleman, towhom had been given the divine gift of forgetting none.

  "Oh, Puss," cried Anne, that evening, for Miss Russell had come to spendthe night, "how could you have talked to him so? He scarcely spoke onthe way up in the carriage. You have offended him."

  "Why should I set him upon a pedestal?" said Puss, with a thread inher mouth; "why should you all set him upon a pedestal? He is only aYankee," said Puss, tossing her head, "and not so very wonderful."

  "I did not say he was wonderful," replied Anne, with dignity.

  "But you girls think him so. Emily and Eugenie and Maude. He had bettermarry Belle Cluyme. A great man, he may give some decision to thatfamily. Anne!"

  "Yes."

  "Shall I tell you a secret?"

  "Yes," said Anne. She was human, and she was feminine.

  "Then--Virginia Carvel is in love with him."

  "With Mr. Brice!" cried astonished Anne. "She hates him!"

  "She thinks she hates him," said Miss Russell, calmly.

  Anne looked up at her companion admiringly. Her two heroines were Pussand Virginia. Both had the same kind of daring, but in Puss the traithad developed into a somewhat disagreeable outspokenness which made manypeople dislike her. Her judgments were usually well founded, and herprophecies had so often come to pass that Anne often believed in themfor no other reason.

  "How do you know?" said Anne, incredulously.

  "Do you remember that September, a year ago, when we were all out atGlencoe, and Judge Whipple was ill, and Virginia sent us all away andnursed him herself?"

  "Yes," said Anne.

  "And did you know that Mr. Brice had gone out, with letters, when theJudge was better?"

  "Yes," said Anne, breathless.

  "It was a Saturday afternoon that he left, although they had begged himto stay over Sunday. Virginia had written for me to come back, and Iarrived in the evening. I asked Easter where Jinny was, and I foundher--"

  "You found her--?" said Anne.

  Sitting alone in the summer-house over the river. Easter said shehad been there for two hours. And I have never known Jinny to be suchmiserable company as she was that night.

  "Did she mention Stephen?" asked Anne.

  "No."

  "But you did," said Anne, with conviction.

  Miss Russell's reply was not as direct as usual.

  "You know Virginia never confides unless she wants to," she said.

  Anne considered.

  "Virginia has scarcely seen him since then," she said. "You know thatI was her room-mate at Monticello last year, and I think I should havediscovered it."

  "Did she speak of him?" demanded Miss Russell.

  "Only when the subject was mentioned. I heard her repeat once what JudgeWhipple told her father of him; that he had a fine legal mind. He wasoften in my letters from home, because they have taken Pa's house nextdoor, and because Pa likes them. I used to read those letters to Jinny,"said Anne, "but she never expressed any desire to hear them."

  "I, too, used to write Jinny about him," confessed Puss.

  "Did she answer your letter?"

  "No," replied Miss Puss,--"but that was just before the holidays, youremember. And then the Colonel hurried her off to see her Pennsylvaniarelatives, and I believe they went to Annapolis, too, where the Carvelscome from."

  Stephen, sitting in the next house, writing out his account, littledreamed that he was the subject of a conference in the third story frontof the Brinsmades'. Later, when the young ladies were asleep, he carriedhis manuscript to the Democrat office, and delivered it into the handsof his friend, the night editor, who was awaiting it.

  Toward the end of that week, Miss Virginia Carvel was sitting with herback to one of the great trees at Monticello reading a letter. Everyonce in a while she tucked it under her cloak and glanced hastilyaround. It was from Miss Anne Brinsmade.

  "I have told you all about the excursion, my dear, and how we missedyou. You may remember" (ah, Anne, the guile there is in the best of us),"you may remember Mr. Stephen Brice, whom we used to speak of. Pa and Matake a great interest in him, and Pa had him invited on the excursion.He is more serious than ever, since he has become a full-fledged lawyer.But he has a dry humor which comes out when you know him well, of whichI did not suspect him. His mother is the dearest lady I have ever known,so quiet, so dignified, and so well bred. They come in to supper veryoften. And the other night Mr. Brice told Pa so many things about thepeople south of Market Street, the Germans, which he did not know; thatPa was astonished. He told all about German history, and how they werepersecuted at home, and why they came here. Pa was surprised to hearthat many of them were University men, and that they were alreadyorganizing to defend the Union. I heard Pa say, 'That is what Mr. Blairmeant when he assured me that we need not fear for the city.'

  "Jinny dear, I ought not to have written you this, because you are forSecession, and in your heart you think Pa a traitor, because he comesfrom a slave state and has slaves of his own. But I shall not tear itup.

  "It is sad to think how rich Mrs. Brice lived in Boston, and what shehas had to come to. One servant and a little house, and no place to goto in the summer, when they used to have such a large one. I often go into sew with her, but she has never once mentioned her past to me.

  "Your father has no doubt sent you the Democrat with the account of theConvention. It is the fullest published, by far, and was so much admiredthat Pa asked the editor who wrote it. Who do you think, but StephenBrice! So now Pa knows why Mr. Brice hesitated when Pa asked him to goup the river, and then consented. This is not the end. Yesterday, when Iwent in to see Mrs. Brice, a new black silk was on her bed, and as longas I live I shall never forget how sweet was her voice when she said,'It is a surprise from my son, my dear. I did not expect ever to haveanother.' Jinny, I just know he bought it with the money he got for thearticle. That was what he was writing on the boat when Clarence Colfaxinterrupted him. Puss accused him of writing verses to you."

  At this point Miss Virginia Carvel stopped reading. Whether she had readthat part before, who shall say? But she took Anne's letter between herfingers and tore it into bits and flung the bits into the wind, so thatthey were tossed about and lost among the dead leaves under the greattrees. And when she reached her room, there was the hated MissouriDemocrat lying, still open, on her table. A little later a great blackpiece of it came tossing out of the chimney above, to the affrightof little Mis
s Brown, teacher of Literature, who was walking in thegrounds, and who ran to the principal's room with the story that thechimney was afire.