 | CHAPTER XXXI. Macaria, or, Altars of sacrifice |  |
31. CHAPTER XXXI.
“I intend to trust you with important despatches,
Miss Grey — for I have great confidence
in female ingenuity, as well as female heroism.
The meekest of you women are miniature
Granvelles; nature made you a race of schemers.
Pardon me if I ask, how you propose
to conceal the despatches? It is no easy
matter now to run the blockade of a Southern
port, especially on the Gulf; and you must
guard against being picked up by the Philistines.”
“I am fully aware of all the risk attending
my trip; but if you will give me the papers,
prepared as I directed in my note from Paris,
I will pledge my life that they shall reach
Richmond safely. If I am captured and carried
North, I have friends who will assist me
in procuring a passport to the South, and
little delay will occur. If I am searched, I
can bid them defiance. Give me the despatches,
and I will show you how I intend to
take them.”
Electra opened her trunk, took out a large
port-folio, and selected from the drawings one
in crayons representing the heads of Michael
Angelo's Fates. Spreading it out, face downward,
on the table, she laid the closely-written
tissue paper of despatches smoothly on the
back of the thin pasteboard; then fitted a
square piece of oil-silk on the tissue missive,
and having, with a small brush, coated the
silk with paste, covered the whole with a piece
of thick drawing-paper, the edges of which
were carefully glued to those of the pasteboard.
Taking a hot iron from the grate, she
passed it repeatedly over the paper, till all
with a pencil: “Michael Angelo's Fates, in the
Pitti Palace. Copied May 8th, 1861.” From
a list of figures in a small note-book she added
the dimensions of the picture, and, underneath
all, a line from Euripides.
Her eyes sparkled as she bent over her
work, and at length, lifting it for inspection,
she exclaimed, triumphantly:
“There, sir! I can baffle even the Paris
detective, much less the lynx-eyed emissaries
of Lincoln, Seward, & Co. Are you satisfied?
Examine it with your own hands.”
“Perfectly satisfied, my dear young lady.
But suppose they should seize your trunk?
Confiscation is the cry all over the North.”
“Finding nothing suspicious or `contraband'
about me, except my Southern birth
and sympathies, they would scarcely take possession
of the necessary tools of my profession.
I have no fear, sir; the paper is fated to reach
its destination.”
“Are your other despatches sealed up pictorially?”
She laughed heartily.
“Of course not. We women are too
shrewd to hazard all upon one die.”
“Well—well! You see that we trust important
data to your cunning fingers. You leave
London to-morrow for Southampton; will
arrive just in time for the steamer. Good-by,
Miss Grey. When I get back to the Confederacy
I shall certainly find you out. I want
you to paint the portraits of my wife and children.
From the enviable reputation you have
already acquired, I am proud to claim you for
my country-woman. God bless you, and lead
you safely home. Good-by, Mr. Mitchell.
Take care of her, and let me hear from you on
your arrival.'
From the hour when tidings of the fall of
Sumter reached Europe, Electra had resolved
to cut short the studies which she had pursued
so vigorously since her removal to Florence,
and return to the South. But the tide of
travel set toward, not from, European shores,
and it was not until after repeated attempts
to find some one homeward-bound, that she
learned of Eric Mitchell's presence in Paris,
and his intention of soon returning to W—.
She wrote at once, requesting his permission
to place herself under his care. It was cordially
accorded; and, bidding adieu to Italy, she
joined him without delay, despite the pleadings
of Mr., Mrs. Young, and Louisa, who had
recently arrived at Florence, and sincerely
mourned a separation under such painful circumstances.
Eric was detained in Paris by a severe
attack of the old disease, but finally reached
London — whence, having completed their
arrangements, they set off for Southampton,
and took passage in the Trent, which was
destined subsequently to play a prominent
part in the tangled role of Diplomacy, and to
furnish the most utterly humiliating of many
chapters of the pusillanimity, sycophancy, and
degradation of the Federal government.
The voyage proved pleasant and prosperous;
and, once at Havana, Eric anxiously sought
an opportunity of testing the vaunted
efficiency of the blockade. Unfortunately,
two steamers had started the week previous,
one to New Orleans, the other to Charleston;
only sailing vessels were to be found, and
about the movements of these impenetrable
mystery seemed wrapped. On the afternoon
of the third day after their arrival, Eric,
wearied with the morning's fruitless inquiry,
was resting on the sofa at the hotel, while
Electra watched the tide of passers-by, when
Willis, Eric's servant, came in quickly, and
walked up to the sofa.
“Master, Captain Wright is here. I asked
him to come and see you, and he is waiting
down stairs.”
“Captain Wright?”
“Yes, sir; the captain you liked so much at
Smyrna—the one who gave you that pipe, sir.”
“Oh, I remember! Yes—yes; and he is here?
Well, show him up.”
“Master, from the way he watches the
clouds, I believe he is about to run out.
Maybe he can take us?”
“Willis is invaluable to you, Mr. Mitchell,”
said Electra, as the negro left the room.
“He is, indeed. He is eyes, ears, crutches,
everything to me, and never forgets anything
or anybody. He has travelled over half the
world with me—could desert me, and be free
at any moment he felt inclined to do so—but
is as faithful now as the day on which I first
left home with him.”
“Ah, Captain! this is an unexpected pleasure.
I am heartily glad to see you. Miss
Grey—Captain Wright. Take a seat.”
The captain looked about thirty, possibly
older; wore a gray suit and broad straw hat,
and, when the latter was tossed on the floor,
showed a handsome, frank, beaming face, with
large, clear, smiling blue eyes, whose steady
light nothing human could dim. His glossy
reddish-brown hair was thrust back from a
forehead white and smooth as a woman's, but
the lower portion of the face was effectually
bronzed by exposure to the vicissitudes of
climate and weather; and Electra noticed a
peculiar nervous restlessness of manner, as
though he were habitually on the watch.
“I am astonished to see you in Havana,
Mitchell. Where did you come from?”
“Just from Paris, where bad health drove
me, after I bade you good-by at Smyrna.
What are you doing here?”
“I suppose you have heard of our great
victory at Manassa?”
“Yes, and am rejoiced beyond all expression,
but feel anxious to see a full list
of our loss. I had a brother-in-law in that
engagement.”
“His name?”
“Huntingdon — Major Huntington, of
W—, in —.”
“I have seen no mention of his name in the
papers, but our loss in officers was very heavy.
We can ill afford to spare Bee, Bartow, and
Fisher; and I want the war carried on till
we burn every public building in Washington,
and raise a monument to our dead on the site
of the Capitol. We owe this debt, and we
must pay it.”
“Have you a vessel here, Captain?”
“Of course I have! Don't you suppose
that I would be in the army if I could not serve
my country better by carrying in arms and
ammunition? I have already made two successful
trips with my schooner—ran in, despite
the blockaders. I am negotiating for a steamer,
but until I can get one ready I intend to
sail on.”
“When did you arrive here last?”
“About ten days ago. They chased me for
nearly fifteen miles, but I stole out of sight before
morning.”
“When do you expect to leave here?”
The captain darted a swift, searching glance
at Electra, rose, and closed the door, saying,
with a light laugh:
“Take care, man! You are not exactly
deer-hunting or crab-catching in a free
country! Mind that, and talk softly. I am
watched here; the Federal agents all know
me, and there are several Federal vessels
in port. When do I expect to leave? Well,
to-night, if the weather thickens up, as I think
it will, and there is evident sign of a storm.
Most sailors wait for fair weather; we blockade-runners
for foul.”
“Oh, Captain! do take us with you?” said
Electra, eagerly.
“What! In a rickety schooner, in the teeth
of a gale? Besides, Miss, I am taking a cargo
of powder this trip, and if I am hard pressed
I shall blow up vessel and all, rather than
suffer it to fall into Yankee clutches. You
would not relish going up to heaven after the
fashion of a rocket, would you?”
“I am willing, sir, to risk everything you
threaten, rather than wait here indefinitely.”
“Can't you take us, Wright—Miss Grey,
Willis, and myself? We are very impatient to
get home.”
“But I have no accommodations for passengers.
I should be ashamed to ask Miss Grey
aboard my little egg-shell—everything is so
small and comfortless. I have not lost all my
politeness and chivalry, if I am a rough-looking
Confederate sailor. I assure you I have every
disposition to oblige you, but really it would
not be right to subject a lady to such a trip as
I may have before me.”
“But, Captain, if, with all these facts staring
me in the face, I appeal to your chivalry,
and beg you to allow me to undergo the hardships
incident to the trip, in preference to un
certain delay here. If I prefer to run the
gantlet in your schooner, you surely will not refuse
me?”
“Really, Miss, I don't know what to say.
I thought I would frighten you out of the notion—for,
to tell you the truth, I am always so
much more anxious when I have ladies' lives
in my hands. I pledge you my word I would
sooner run afoul of a Federal frigate than see
you suffer for want of anything. I can't even
set a table half the time.”
“But I suppose, sir, we could contrive to
live a few days without eating at a regular table.
I will take some cheese and crackers
and fruit along in a basket, if that will ease
your mind. Do waive your scruples, and consent
to take charge of us.”
“I add my prayers to hers. Wright, do
take us. We shall not mind privations or
inconvenience.”
“Well, then, understand distinctly that, if
anything happens, you are not to blame me.
If the young lady gets sea-sick, or freckled, or
sun-burnt, or starved to death, or blown up, or
drowned, or, worse than all, if the Yankee
thieves by the way-side take her as a prize,
it will be no fault of mine whatever, and I tell
you now I shall not lay it on my conscience.”
“`Raw-head and bloody bones' never frightened
me, even when I was a little child, sir; so
you may reconcile yourself to the prospect of
having us as compagnons de voyage.”
“Suppose a small hand-to-hand fight forms
a part of the programme?”
“In that case, I have a splendid brace of pistols,
which were given to me before I left
Europe.”
“Do you know how to handle them?”
“Moderately well. I will practice as we go
along, by making a target of one of your small
ropes.”
“I see you are incorrigible; and I suppose I
must let you go with me, bongré malgré.”
“Bongré let it be, by all means. I am inexpressibly
impatient to get home.”
“Wright, to what port are you bound?”
“Ah! that is more than I can tell you. The
winds must decide it. I can't try the Carolinas
again this trip; they are watching for me
too closely there. New Orleans is rather a
longer run than I care to make, and I shall
keep my eyes on Apalachicola and Mobile.”
“What object have you in starting to-night,
particularly in the face of a gale?”
Again the captain's eye swept round the
room, to guard against any doors that might
be ajar.
“As I told you before, I am watched here.
The Federals have a distinguished regard for
me, and I have to elude suspicion, as well as
run well, when I do get out. Two hours ago
a Federal armed steamer, which has been
coaling here, weighed anchor, and has probably
left the harbor, to cruise between this
place and Key West. As they passed, one of
wait outside, and catch me certainly this time;
that I had made my last jaunt to Dixie, etc.
I have carefully put out the impression that I
need some repairs, which can not be finished
this week; and have told one or two, confidentially,
that I could not leave until the arrival
of a certain cargo from Nassau, which is
due to-morrow. That Puritanical craft which
started off at noon does not expect me for
several days, and to-night I shall rub my
fingers and sail out right in her wake. Ha!
ha! how they will howl! What gnashing of
teeth there will be, when they hear of me in a
Confederate port? And now about your
baggage. Have everything ready; I will show
Willis the right wharf, and at dark he must
bring the trunks down; I will be on the watch,
and send a boat ashore. About sunset you
and Miss Grey can come aboard, as if for a
mere visit. I must go and make what little
preparation I can for your comfort.”
Nothing occurred to frustrate the plan; Eric
and Electra were cordially received, and at
dusk Willis and the baggage arrived punctually.
The schooner was lying some distance
from the wharf, all sails down, and apparently
contemplating no movement. With darkness
came a brisk, stiffening wind, and clouds
shutting out even dim star-light. At ten
o'clock, all things being in readiness, the captain
went on deck; very soon after the glimmering
lights of the city, then the frowning
walls of Moro, were left behind, and the
“Dixie” took her way silently and swiftly
seaward.
About two o'clock, being unable to sleep
from the rocking of the vessel, Electra, knowing
that Eric was still on deck, crept up the
steps in the darkness, for the lights had been
extinguished. The captain was passing, but
paused, saying, in a whisper:
“Is that you, Miss Grey? Come this way,
and I will show you something.”
He grasped her hand, led her to the bow,
where Eric was sitting on a coil of rope, and,
pointing straightforward, added, in the same
suppressed tone:
“Look right ahead—you see a light? The
Philistines are upon us! Look well, and you
will see a dark, irregular moving mass; that is
the steamer of which I told you. They have
found out at last that there is going to be all
sorts of a gale, and as they can't ride it like
my snug, dainty little egg-shell, they are putting
back with all possible speed. Twenty
minutes ago they were bearing down on me;
now, you see that they will pass to our left.
What a pity they don't know their neighbors!”
“Do you think that they will not see you?”
“Certainly! with sails down, and lights
out, there is nothing to be seen on such a night
as this. There! don't you hear her paddles?”
“No; I hear nothing but the roar of the
wind and water.”
“Ah! that is because your ears are not
trained like mine. Great Neptune! how she
labors already! Now! be silent.”
On came the steamer, which Electra's untrained
eyes, almost blinded by spray, could
barely discern; and her heart beat like a muffled
drum as it drew nearer and nearer. Once
she heard a low, chuckling laugh of satisfaction
escape the captain; then, with startling
distinctness, the ringing of a bell was borne
from the steamer's deck.
“Four bells—two o'clock. How chagrined
they will be to-morrow, when they find out
they passed me without paying their respects,”
whispered the captain.
Gradually the vessel receded, the dark mass
grew indistinct, the light flickered, and was
soon lost to view, and the sound of the laboring
machinery was drowned in the roar of the
waves.
“Hurrah! for the `Dixie!' Strike a light
below, Hutchinson, and get some glasses. We
must have a little champagne in honor of this
performance. Come down, Miss Grey, and
you too, Mitchell; the water is beginning to
break very near your feet. Oh! but you must
take some wine, Miss Grey. I can't have you
looking like a ghost when I land you on Confederate
soil. People will swear I starved
you, and nothing humiliates me half so much
as an imputation on my hospitality. Here 's
to the Confederacy! and to our Beauregard
and Johnston! God bless them both!”
Electra drank the wine; and, before he went
back on deck, the captain made a comfortable
place for her on the sofa in the little cabin.
The storm increased until it blew a perfect
hurricane, and the schooner rolled and creaked,
now and then shivering in every timber.
It was utterly impossible to sleep, and Eric,
who was suffering from a headache, passed a
miserable night. In the white sickly dawn
the captain looked in again, and Electra
thought that no ray of sunshine could be more
radiant or cheering than his joyous noble face.
“Good-morning. I wonder if I look as
much like a drenched lily as you do, Miss
Grey? Doubtless, much more like a drenched
sunflower, you think. Were you alarmed all
night?”
“No, sir; I knew that we were not in the
hands of Palinurus.”
“Oh! thank you for your confidence! I
will tell my wife of that, if I live to see her
again. I certainly did not fall overboard,
which was lucky—for, though I rather pride
myself on my proficiency as a swimmer, I am
very sceptical concerning the mythologic three
days performance. Mitchell, I hope a good
cup of hot coffee will set your head straight.”
“How is the storm? Any abatement?”
asked Eric.
“Not a whit yet; but the wind has veered
a little, and I think that by twelve o'clock it
will break away.”
“Captain, can I go on deck for a little
while?”
“Whew! My dear young lady, you would
not be able to catch your breath again for a
half-hour. You could not stand a moment;
spray and wind would blind you, and the
waves would take you overboard—wash you
away.”
“But I want to see a genuine violent storm
at sea. I shall probably never have another
opportunity.”
“I will answer for the genuineness of this
specimen, if you really want to look out.
Wrap a shawl round your shoulders; give me
your hand; step up; look for yourself. No
counterfeit—take my word for that. Squally
enough, is n't it?”
A wild howling waste of waters leaped and
rolled like leaden mountains against a wan
drab sky, where dun smoke-colored clouds
trailed sullenly before the wind. Foam-crowned
walls towered on either side the schooner,
leaned over as if to meet and crush it, and
broke in wreaths of spray about the deck,
while ghastly sheet-lightning glimmered ceaselessly.
“Old Father Neptune must be in a tearing
rage with his pretty Amphitrite, to churn up
all this commotion. Don't you think you have
seen enough, Miss Grey? You are getting
wet.”
He saw her face flush and her eyes sparkle
strangely.
“If I could only paint this sea! If I could
only put that roll and sweep of waves yonder
upon canvas! I could afford to die young.
Oh! for the brush of Clarkson Stanfield for
one hour! to fix that sea—`where it gathers
itself into a huge billow, fronting the blast like
an angry brow, corrugated in agony and rage.'
My father was a sailor, and I think I must
have inherited my love of the sea from him.”
“Where is he now?”
“Dead—long ago—before I was born. His
ship, the “Electra,” went down with all on
board.”
“And your mother?”
“Named me for the wreck, and followed
my father when I was four months old.”
As swirls of spray dashed in her face,
“Her eyes had looks like prisoned birds.'
“Captain, I have read somewhere of a Dutch
painter who, in his passionate longing to portray
accurately such scenes as this, had himself
lashed to the deck of a vessel during a terrific
gale, where he could study and note the peculiar
aspects, so difficult to render correctly.
I am tempted to follow his example. Doubtless
you could furnish a rope for such a
purpose.”
“Not even a bit of twine. Come down
instantly, Miss Grey. I can't afford the luxury
of a physician on board; and if you
should be so unfortunate as to catch a catarrh
or spell of pneumonia by this piece of imprudence,
I should be distressed to death, and
frightened out of my wits. Come down, at
once.”
About noon the fury of the gale subsided,
the sun looked out through rifts in the scudding
clouds, and toward night fields of quiet blue
were once more visible. By next morning the
weather had cleared up, with a brisk westerly
wind; but the sea still rolled heavily; and
Eric, unable to bear the motion, kept below,
loth to trust himself on his feet. Electra
strove to while away the tedious time by reading
aloud to him; but many a yearning look
was cast toward the deck, and finally she left
him with a few books, and ran up to the open
air.
On the afternoon of the third day after
leaving Havana, she was sitting on a buffalo-robe
stretched near the stern, watching the
waves and graceful curls of foam that marked
the schooner's path, and forgetful for a season
of the fifth volume of “Modern Painters,”
which lay open beside her. The wind had
blown back her straw hat, and her short black
hair fluttered about a face fully exposed to
view.
The captain had been tuning a guitar for
some moments, and now drew near, throwing
himself down on the buffalo-robe.
“What are you staring at so solemnly?
Tell me what you are thinking of.”
“If you are really curious, you are welcome
to know. I was only watching the wake of
the vessel, and thinking of that beautiful
simile of Coleridge in the `Friend:' `Human
experience, like the stern-lights of a ship at
sea, illumines only the path we have passed
over.'”
Her clear olive cheeks burned, and her
great shadowy elfish eyes kindled, as was their
wont when her feelings were deeply stirred.
“I believe you are an artist, Miss Grey?”
“I am trying to become one, sir. Before
we leave you, I want you to examine some of
my sketches, and select the one which you like
best. It will afford me great pleasure to paint
it for you, as a feeble token of my gratitude and
appreciation of your kindness.”
“Thank you. I hope the day is not distant
when I shall have my wife with me once more,
and then I shall beg you to paint her portrait
for me.”
“Where is she?”
“At our home in Maryland.”
“Are you a Marylander, Captain.”
“Oh, yes! but that is no place for true men
now. Nothing can be accomplished there at
this juncture, and those who are true to the
Constitution and the South have joined the Confederate
service in one form or another. We
shall have to hang that infamous traitor, Hicks,
before we can free the state; and it is because
I appreciate the lamentable scarcity of arms
and ammunition, that I am engaged in my
it will be better for our glorious cause than if
I handled a musket myself. Poor, down-trodden,
handcuffed, humiliated Maryland! Miss
Grey, you have probably not heard our favorite
new song, `Maryland, my Maryland?' I comfort
myself by singing it now and then, while
hundreds of miles of stormy sea toss between
me and my home. Would you like to hear it?”
“By all means. In Europe I, of course,
heard nothing.”
He struck a few full rich chords, and sang
the stirring words, as only a true Marylander
can, who feels all the wrongs and ignominy of
his state.
His fine eyes were full of tears as he began
the last prophetic verse; and when it was
concluded, he sprang up and repeated, triumphantly:
Maryland: My Maryland!”
“If such be the feeling of her sons, Captain,
she will soon `gird her beauteous limbs with
steel,' and as a state come out proudly from
amid the Abomination of Desolation. The
music is peculiarly adapted to the burden of
the noble thoughts, and invests them with
extraordinary power and pathos. The wonderful
effect of national lyrics in such stormy
times as these, exemplifies the truth of the
admirable remark, which I have seen very
felicitously applied to Béranger, but which
was first quoted, I believe, by Fletcher of Saltoun:
If a man were permitted to make all
the ballads, he need not care who should make
the laws of a nation.' Oh! what a sunset!
I never saw anything from Fiesole comparable
to that.”
The sun had gone down below the waterline.
From the zenith, eastward, the sky was
violet-hued; in the west, light cloud-flakes
had gathered in fleecy masses and semi-spiral
whiffs; some burned like dashes of vermilion
in lakes of beryl or chrysoprase, others, in
purple pomp, fringed their edges with gold;
snowy mountain ranges were tipped with fire,
pillared cathedrals with domes of silver; and,
beneath all, glared a liquid sea of rippling
flame. A sky which only Ruskin could describe,
or Turner paint.
“The West is an altar, where earth daily
gathers up her garlanded beauty in sacrificial
offering to God. Agamemnon-like, she gives
her loveliest.”
These words seemed to pass the girl's lips unconsciously,
as she leaned forward with hands
clasped on her lap; and smiling at the breathless
eagerness of her face, and the to him
incomprehensible enthusiasm she evinced, the
captain said:
“If you are so very fond of such things, I
wish you could see a midnight sky in the
tropics, as I have seen it, sailing between Rio
Janeiro and Baltimore. I believe I have not
much sentiment in my nature, but many a
night I have lain awake on deck, looking up
at the stars that glowed, burned—I hardly
know how to express it—like great diamonds
clustered on black velvet. There are splendid
constellations there, which you have never
seen. When we win independence and peace,
I intend to have a fine steamship of my own,
and then I shall ask you to make a voyage
with me as far as Uruguay. I will show you
scenery in Brazil that will put you on your
knees in adoration.”
“I shall accept the invitation when peace is
made. Captain Wright, have you any children?”
“Yes—two; a son and daughter; the eldest
five years old.”
“Then train them up to love sunsets, stars,
flowers, clouds of all kinds. We are creatures
of education, and I hold it the imperative duty
of parents to teach their children to appreciate
the beautiful things in this world, which God
has given to gild life with. There is grief and
gloom enough at best; and so much innocent
exquisite joy may be extracted from a thousand
sources, that it seems philosophie, as well as
a sacred duty, to reap the great harvest of
happiness which calls to us from a proper
appreciation of Beauty. I do not mean learned
disquisitions, or tedious, scientific terminology.
A child can admire, love an aster or
a magnolia, without understanding botany;
may watch for and delight in such a sky as
that, without classifying the clouds, or designating
the gorgeous tints in genuine artistic
phraseology; may clap its little hands, and
shout with joy, in looking at the stars, without
knowing Orion from Ursa Major. I have often
been laughed at, and requested not to talk
nonsense, when I have expressed these views;
have been sneered at as an enthusiast; but
the longer I live the more earnest becomes
my conviction of the truth of my opinion.
The useful, the material necessities of life,
require little study; our comfort involves attention
to them; but the more ideal sources of
peace and enjoyment demand care and cultivation.
I am an orphan; I had no parental
hand to guide my thoughts and aspirations to
the beautiful, in all its protean phases; my life
has not been spent in the most flowery paths;
but because, as a lonely child, I learned to
derive pleasure from communion with Nature
and Art, I have seasons of rapturous enjoyment
which all California could not purchase.
The useful, the practical, and the beautiful are
not opposed—are even united—if people would
only open their eyes to the truth. I am no
morbid sentimentalist or dreaming enthusiast;
if nature intended me for such, a cold, matter-of-fact
world has cheated me out of my birthright.
I live, sustain myself by my art, as you
by your sailor's craft; it feeds and clothes my
body as well as my mind. But I can't bear
to walk through a grand metropolitan cathedral
the endless caravan of men and women tramping
along its glorious aisles, looking neither
to right nor left, oblivious of surrounding
splendors, gazing stolidly down at the bag of
coins in their hands, or the bales of cotton, or
hogsheads of sugar or tobacco, they are rolling
before them. I long to lay my hand on their
shoulders, to stay their hurrying steps, and
whisper, gently: `Fellow-pilgrims, brothers,
sisters, look up at the glories that canopy you.
Bend your knees one instant before yonder
shrines of Beauty.' Oh! æsthetics is a heavenly
ladder, where, like Jacob's angels, pure
thoughts and holy aspirations come from and
go to God. Whatever tends to elevate and
ennoble the soul is surely useful; and love of
beauty is a mighty educational engine, which
all may handle if they will. Captain, sow the
seeds of appreciation early in your children's
hearts, and they will thank you when you are
an old silver-haired man.”
Across that rosy sea tripped magic memories.
The sailor's heart found its distant haven
in the joyful, tender welcome of his blue-eyed
wife—the lisping, birdish tone of his fair-browed,
curly-headed children, stretching their
little dimpled arms to clasp his neck; and to
the artist-woman came melancholy thoughts
of by-gone years, shrouded in crumbling garlands—of
hopes and feverish aspirations that
had found their graves—of her future cheerless
life, her lonely destiny.
For some time both were silent; then the
captain roused himself from his dream of home,
and, passing his hand over his eyes, said:
“Well, Miss Grey, I shall place you on Confederate
soil to-morrow, God willing.”
“Then you are going to Mobile?”
“Yes; I shall try hard to get in there early
in the morning. You will know your fate before
many hours.”
“Do you regard this trial as particularly
hazardous?”
“Of course; the blockading squadrons grow
more efficient and expert every day, and some
danger necessarily attends every trial. Mobile
ought to be pretty well guarded by this
time.”
The wind was favorable, and the schooner
ploughed its way swiftly through the autumn
night. The captain did not close his eyes;
and just about daylight Electra and Eric,
aroused by a sudden running to and fro, rose,
and simultaneously made their appearance on
deck.
“What is the matter, Wright?”
“Matter! why, look ahead, my dear fellow,
and see where we are. Yonder is Sand
Island light-house, and a little to the right is
Fort Morgan. But the fleet to the left is
hardly six miles off, and it will be a tight race
if I get in.”
There was but a glimmering light rimming
the East, where two or three stars burned with
indescribable brilliance and beauty, and in
the gray haze and wreaths of mist which
curled up over the white-capped waves Electra
could distinguish nothing. The air was
chill, and she said, with a slight shiver:
“I can't see any light-house.”
“There is, of course, no light there, these
war-times, but you see that tall white tower,
don't you? There, look through my glass.
That low dark object yonder is the outline
of the fort; you will see it more distinctly
after a little. Now, look right where my
finger points; that is the flag-staff. Look up
over head—I have hoisted our flag, and pretty
soon it will be a target for those dogs. Ha!
Mitchell! Hutchinson! they see us! There
is some movement among them. They are
getting ready to cut us off this side of the
Swash channel! We shall see.”
He had crowded on all sail, and the little
vessel dashed through the light fog as if conscious
of her danger, and resolved to sustain
herself gallantly. Day broke fully, sea and
sky took the rich orange tint which only autumn
mornings give, and in this glow a Federal
frigate and sloop slipped from their moorings,
and bore down threateningly on the
graceful bounding schooner.
“But for the fog, which puzzled me about
three o'clock, I should have run by unseen,
and they would never have known it till I
was safe in Navy cove. We will beat them,
though, as it is, by about twenty minutes.
An hour ago I was afraid I should have to
beach her. Are you getting frightened, Miss
Grey?”
“Oh, no! I would not have missed this for
any consideration. How rapidly the Federal
vessels move. They are gaining on us.
Her curling hair, damp with mist, clustered
around her forehead; she had wrapped a scarlet
crape shawl about her shoulders, and stood,
with her red lips apart and trembling, watching
the exciting race.
“Look at the frigate!”
There was a flash at her bow, a curl of
white smoke rolled up, then a heavy roar,
and a thirty-two pounder round shot fell
about a hundred yards to the right of the
vessel.
A yell of defiance rent the air from the crew
of the “Dixie” — hats were waved — and,
snatching off her shawl, Electra shook its bright
folds to the stiffening breeze, while her hot
cheeks matched them in depth of color.
Another and another shot was fired in quick
succession, and so accurate had they become,
that the last whizzed through the rigging, cutting
one of the small ropes.
“Humph! they are getting saucy,” said the
captain, looking up coolly, when the yells of
his crew ceased for a moment—and, with a
humorous twinkle in his fine eyes, he added:
“Better go below, Miss Grey; they might
clip one of your curls next time. The vandals
stings their Yankee pride a little.”
“Do you suppose they can distinguish
me?”
“Certainly. Through my glass I can see
the gunners at work, and, of course, they see
you. Should not be surprised if they aimed
specially at you. That is the style of New
England chivalry.”
Whiz—whiz; both sloop and frigate were
firing now in good earnest, and one shell exploded
a few yards from the side of the little
vessel, tossing the foam and water over the
group on deck.
“They think you have hardly washed your
face yet, Miss Grey, and are courteously
anxious to perform the operation for you.
But the game is up. Look yonder! Hurrah
for Dixie! and Fort Morgan!”
“From the dim flag-staff battery bellowed a gun.”
The boom of a columbiad from the fort
shook the air like thunder, and gave to the
blockaders the unmistakable assurance, “Thus
far, and no farther.”
The schooner strained on its way; a few
shot fell behind, and soon, under the frowning
bastions of the fort, whence the Confederate
banner floated so proudly on the balmy Gulf
breeze, spreading its free folds like an ægis,
the gallant little vessel passed up the channel,
and came to anchor in Mobile bay, amid
the shouts of crew and garrison, and welcomed
by a salute of five guns.
| CHAPTER XXXI. Macaria, or, Altars of sacrifice | |