Elsie's Womanhood Part 41

"Is it gude news, Mr. Walter?" she asked, thinking of the distracted state of the country.

"Yes, Mrs. Murray, I think you will call it so. I have been searching here," and he held up the little volume, "for the pearl of great price; and I have found it."

"Dear bairn, I thank G.o.d for ye!" she exclaimed with emotion. "It's gude news indeed!"

"I cannot think how I've been so blind," he went on in earnest tones; "it seems now so simple and easy--just to believe in Jesus Christ, receive His offered pardon, His righteousness put upon me, the cleansing of His blood shed for the remission of sins, and trust my all to Him for time and eternity. Now I am ready to meet death on the battle-field, if so it must be."

"But, O Mr. Walter, I hope you'll be spared that, and live to be a good soldier of Christ these many years."

They were startled by the furious galloping of a horse coming up the drive; and the next moment Arthur drew rein before the door.

"Walter; so you're here, as I thought! I've come for you. Lincoln has called for seventy-five thousand troops to defend the capital; but we all know what that means--an invasion of the South. The North's a unit now, and so is the South. Davis has called for volunteers, and the war-cry is resounding all over the land. We're raising a company: I'm appointed captain, and you lieutenant. Come; if you hesitate now--you'll repent it: father says he'll disown you forever."

Arthur's utterance was fierce and rapid, but now he was compelled to pause for a breath, and Walter answered with excitement in his tones also.

"Of course if it has come to that, I will not hesitate to defend my native soil, my home, my parents."

"All right; come on then; we leave to-night."

Walter's horse was ordered at once, and in a few moments the brothers were galloping away side by side. Mrs. Murray looked after them with a sigh.

"Ah me! the poor laddies! will they die on the battle field? Ah, wae's me, but war's an awfu' thing!"

At Roselands all was bustle and excitement, every one eager, as it seemed, to hasten the departure of the young men.

But when everything was ready and the final adieus must be spoken, the mother embraced them with tears and sobs, and even Enna's voice faltered and her eyes grew moist.

Mounting, they rode rapidly down the avenue, each followed by his own servant--and out at the great gate. Walter wheeled his horse. "One last look at the old home, Art," he said; "we may never see it again."

"Always sentimental, Wal," laughed Arthur, somewhat scornfully; "but have your way." And he, too, wheeled about for a last farewell look.

The moon had just risen, and by her silvery light the lordly mansion--with its cl.u.s.tering vines, the gardens, the lawn, the shrubbery, and the grand old trees--was distinctly visible. Never had the place looked more lovely.

The evening breeze brought to their nostrils the delicious scent of roses in full bloom, and a nightingale poured forth a song of ravishing sweetness from a thicket hard by.

Somehow her song seemed to go to Walter's very heart and a sad foreboding oppressed him as they gazed and listened for several moments, then turned their horses' heads and galloped down the road.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH.

"Is't death to fall for Freedom's right?

He's dead alone who lacks her light."

--CAMPBELL.

Wee Elsie was convalescing rapidly, and the hearts so wrung with anguish at sight of her sufferings and the fear of losing her, relieved from that, were again filled with the intense anxiety for their country, which for a short s.p.a.ce had been half forgotten in the severity of the trial apparently so close at hand.

Mails from America came irregularly; now and then letters and papers from Philadelphia, New York, and other parts of the North; very seldom anything from the South.

What was going on in their homes? what were dear relatives and friends doing and enduring? were questions they were often asking of themselves or each other--questions answered by a sigh only, or a shake of the head. The suspense was hard to bear; but who of all Americans, at home or abroad, who loved their native land, were not suffering at this time from anxiety and suspense?

"A vessel came in last night, which I hope has a mail for us," remarked Mr. Dinsmore as they sat down to the breakfast table one morning early in November. "I have sent Uncle Joe to find out; and bring it, if there."

"Ah, if it should bring the glorious news that this dreadful war is over, and all our dear ones safe!" sighed Rose.

"Ah, no hope of that," returned her husband. "I think all are well-nigh convinced now that it will last for years: the enlistments now, you remember, are for three years or the war."

Uncle Joe's errand was not done very speedily, and on his return he found the family collected in the drawing-room.

"Good luck dis time, ma.s.sa," he said, addressing Mr. Dinsmore, as he handed him the mail bag, "lots ob papahs an' lettahs."

Eagerly the others gathered about the head of the household. Rose and Elsie, pale and trembling with excitement and apprehension, Mr. Travilla, grave and quiet, yet inwardly impatient of a moment's delay.

It was just the same with Mr. Dinsmore; in a trice he had unlocked the bag and emptied its contents--magazines, papers, letters--upon a table.

Rose's eye fell upon a letter, deeply edged with black, which bore her name and address in May's handwriting. She s.n.a.t.c.hed it up with a sharp cry, and sank, half-fainting, into a chair.

Her husband and Elsie were instantly at her side. "Dear wife, my love, my darling! this is terrible; but the Lord will sustain you."

"Mamma, dearest mamma; oh that I could comfort you!"

Mr. Travilla brought a gla.s.s of water.

"Thank you; I am better now; I can bear it," she murmured faintly, laying her head on her husband's shoulder. "Open--read--tell me."

Elsie, in compliance with the sign from her father, opened the envelope and handed him the letter.

Glancing over it, he read in low, moved tones.

"Rose, Rose, how shall I tell it? Freddie is dead, and Ritchie sorely wounded--both in that dreadful, dreadful battle of Ball's Bluff; both shot while trying to swim the river. Freddie killed instantly by a bullet in his brain, but Ritchie swam to sh.o.r.e, dragging Fred's body with him; then fainted from fatigue, pain, and loss of blood.

"Mamma is heart-broken--indeed we all are--and papa seems to have suddenly grown many years older. Oh, we don't know how to bear it! and yet we are proud of our brave boys. Edward went on at once, when the sad news reached us; brought Ritchie home to be nursed, and--and Freddie's body to be buried. Oh! what a heart-breaking scene it was when they arrived!

"Harold, poor Harold, couldn't come home; they wouldn't give him a furlough even for a day. Edward went, the day after the funeral, and enlisted, and Ritchie will go back as soon as his wound heals. He says that while our men stood crowded together on the river-bank, below the bluff, where they could neither fight nor retreat, and the enemy were pouring their shot into them from the heights, Fred came to him, and grasping his hand said, 'Dear d.i.c.k, it's not likely either of us will come out of this alive; but if you do and I don't, tell mother and the rest not to grieve; for I know in whom I have believed.' Remember, dear Rose, this sweet message is for you as well as for us.

Your loving sister, May Allison."

Rose, who had been clinging about her husband's neck and hiding her face on his shoulder, vainly striving to suppress her sobs during the reading, now burst into a fit of hysterical weeping.

"Oh Freddie, Freddie, my little brother! my darling brother, how can I bear to think I shall never, never see you again in this world! Oh Horace, he was always so bright and sweet, the very sunshine of the house."

"Yes, dearest, but remember his dying message; think of his perfect happiness now. He is free from all sin and sorrow, done with the weary marchings and fightings, the hunger and thirst, cold and heat and fatigue of war; no longer in danger from shot or bursting sh.e.l.l, or of lying wounded and suffering on the battle-field, or languishing in hospital or prison."

"Yes," she sighed, "I should rather mourn for poor wounded Ritchie, for Harold and Edward, still exposed to the horrors of war. Oh, when will it end?--this dreadful, dreadful war!"

All were weeping; for all had known and loved the bright, frank, n.o.ble-hearted, genial young man.