University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.
ALICE AND EDITH.

President Randolph, at the head of an army of 80,000
men, entered the city of Philadelphia. There were no demonstrations
of hostility on the part of the citizens. On
the contrary, it resembled a grand parade in celebration of
the anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, for it
occurred on the Fourth of July. Every regiment that
defiled through Chestnut street, uttered enthusiastic cheers
when opposite Independence Hall. They marched down
to the river, and were transported into New Jersey, receiving
a national salute from the Commodore.

The President himself remained in the city, retaining the
Blue Caps, some battalions of horse, and a few pieces of

artillery. But the city was quite calm, and he learned that
New York was in the same condition. The deportation of
a few members of Congress, and some hundreds of political
parsons and newspaper scribblers, had acted like a
charm, and the effect was wonderful.

Although General Ruffleton remained in the city, the
fragments of his broken army were concentrating at a
point on the Pennsylvania border, west of the Delaware
line.

Meantime the Convention held its regular sittings in
the old Independence Hall, and Senator Langdon had been
elected its President, so that in this official capacity he now
occupied the chair into which he had been thrust as a
prisoner and fugitive but a few weeks before. It was the
same that had been occupied by Washington, and had ever
been regarded with patriotic reverence. Although this
body of the representatives of the Northern States and people
labored diligently in the organization of a military force
commensurate with the population and the great interests
involved, they had hitherto refrained, like the representatives
of the Southern people assembled at Richmond, from any
formal declaration of war, or an unconditional purpose of
erecting a separate confederacy. And until this final step
should be taken, neither of the sections was prepared to
aim a blow at the Federal Government; and the position
of armed neutrality, maintained by the President, and his
invincible reluctance to embark in offensive operations
against either of the sections, seemed to have the approbation
of vast numbers of both Northern and Southern people,
whilst in the far West, his adherents comprised an overwhelming
majority of all classes of the population.

When the carriage containing President Randolph and
Alice arrived in front of the hotel in which lodgings had
been taken, the street was so much thronged that it was with
difficulty an avenue could be made by the Blue Caps, to
pass to the entrance of the house. There was cheering and
some hissing. While the conservative classes applauded,
there were many others, who had lost friends and relatives
on the fatal field of Bladensburg, uttered only curses.
Nevertheless, in response to the calls, the President re-appeared
at the window of the parlor, and made a short
speech, which was followed by hearty applause, for he was

an orator. And, besides, Senator Langdon, the President
of the Convention, that body having adjourned to witness
the reception, was standing at the President's side, and
seemed to pay him every honor.

After the speech, thousands rushed in and took the President
by the hand. Among these Randolph recognised
many of his adherents.

Alice had no sooner entered the hotel than she was clasped
in the arms of Edith. Without delay they repaired to a
private apartment, and unbosomed themselves without
restraint.

“Edith,” said Alice, “you do not even look pale after
your perilous adventures.”

“And during the progress of them, Alice, so far from
being pale, I assure you I could sometimes feel the scalding
blood that must have crimsoned my cheeks. But you seem
strangely composed after the perils of that dreadful night,
when the infamous Major bore you off a prisoner.”

“Edith,” said Alice sadly, “I have indeed experienced
a change; your friend is no longer the timid hare. She has
become enamored of her country, and vehemently longs for
its salvation, as the most cherished object of devoted
woman. My father and my country, now are all that
remain for me. With you it is different. You have your
father, your country, and still another object.”

“I had!” said Edith.

“You have. It cannot be that vows registered in heaven,
and almost repeated at the altar, may be annihilated by the
machinations of wicked man, or the caprices of—”

“Foolish woman, you would say. No, Alice, it is no
caprice of mine. Do you not remember my words on that
eve when we spoke of the eventful morrow? As wife, I
would obey my husband; as daughter, obedience should be
rendered my father. And now, Alice, my father demands
an indefinite suspension, if not, indeed, a total cancellation
of the engagement.”

“Why, Edith?”

“Because Henry is invading the North. Such, Alice, is
the prudence of the parent, and resignation is the duty of
the child. Henry and I may meet no more!”

“But Henry—General Blount is not invading the North.

He remains at New Castle, and I am very sure he will not
pass over the river.”

“That may be so—and I said as much to my father.
But he replied it was a mere device, or subterfuge, or
something else unworthy the husband of his daughter. He
assured me that he had reliable authority for saying that
although Henry himself remained on the Southern territory,
yet the greater portion of his men had joined the army of
invasion under General Crook.”

“And even that might not be with his consent, or within
his control.”

“Still, my father is inexorable. But you know, even were
this obstacle removed, Henry himself has interposed another.
Oh, Alice, he distrusts my plighted faith!”

“Believe it rather the intensity of his love, which cannot
brook the approach of another—and especially of an enemy.
Edith, I did not write you all. He was pale and worn with
care. His words faltered on his lips. A tear! You cannot
eradicate him from your heart. Well! by every obligation,
human and divine, you are his and he yours.
Whatever trials may be in reserve for you, bear them with
a brave heart, Edith; and never hesitate to throw yourself
on your constant friend for sympathy. Yes, Edith, I am
changed. The words of my father were the words of Fate:
`Be marble,' said he. Edith, I am marble! Nay, start
not. As unyielding, as unchangeable as a statue, I am still
thy friend. But the trivial alarms of life, which are wont
to banish the blood from the timid maiden's cheek, can
never again obstruct or quicken the pulsations of this poor
heart of mine. On earth, my father, my country, the friend
of my girlhood, are all that may claim the thoughts and
sympathy of Alice.”

“Oh, Alice!” cried her friend, “this is a change, indeed.
I will not ask, nor even conjecture, what has produced it.”

“Nay, it were bootless, Edith; I am calm. If sympathy,
or aught else within thy power could avail, surely I would
seek it. You have confided in me, and I in you. And I do
so still, when I declare to you that the veil must not be lifted.
Think of me as ever your constant friend—to others, save
my father and my country, as marble. Prophetic word!
And long ere that the petrifying alembic had encompassed
me. But the process of crystallization was imperceptible.

Now the work is done! No more of this, Edith! There
is the ring!”

“That ring! It is the same!”

“The same. He bade me give it thee, if I deemed thee
constant.”

“Constant! And you deem me so?”

“Come to my arms! Now take the ring!”

“No! not yet! Keep it till he too deems me worthy.
And he spurred away in desperation. No! When he
renews the tender, if ever, it must be done with deliberation
and confidence. No, I must not take it—not now—it
would be disobedience to my father.”

And thus the meeting of the friends was characterized
until evening, when they were summoned to appear in the
saloon.

The President was the centre of attraction; but Mr.
Langdon also occupied a high place in the public estimation.
And but few of that throng of visitors retired without paying
their respects to Alice and Edith. Among these, the
gallant old Commodore was by no means the least conspicuous;
and he was followed by Wiry Willy, who had just
landed from the frigate, under the protection of whose guns
the President's army was crossing over to Camden.

As soon as the young ladies perceived Willy, they distinguished
him above all others by the cordiality of their
reception.

“That is a heartier welcome,” said the old Commodore,
“than any of us old salts could look for; or than any one
could expect after having seen the predicament in which I
found Willy this morning.”

“And pray what was that?” asked Alice.

“With a halter round his neck, standing under the gallows.”

The astonishment of the young ladies was natural. And
when all the circumstances were made known, they overwhelmed
the modest young man with expressions of sympathy,
and earnest congratulations on his escape.

“They would have swung him the next minute,” said the
Commodore, “if I had not interfered. But I should have
brought young May, the middy, along. I see how it is.”

“Good, great Commodore!” said Alice.

“Now I will sail to leeward,” said he, passing on. “Here

comes a General, some forty years my junior, and this is
not the place I would choose to encounter him. But I
leave with you the gallows-bird. I must look after my gulls.”

And Willy shrank back on turning his head and recognising
General Ruffleton. His purpose was, instinctively,
to avoid him; but it was too late. The General's hand was
on his shoulder before he could extricate himself from the
crowd.

“Willy,” said the General, a mocking smile playing on
his broad features, “you told me the truth. Mary Penford
was not there. But you might have told me the whole
truth, and saved Miss Edith a world of painful apprehension.
But Trapp was a bad man, and deserved his fate. Never
conceal anything from me again, Willy. And now, where
is Mary? At your grandmother's?”

“She—she was there, sir—but—”

“Is there no longer. How do you know that, Willy?”
asked the General.

“I do not know it, sir. I have not been there myself
since Major Snare—”

“Oho! Never mind. It is of no consequence. She is
safe. And Snare was another fool to be meddling in matters
above his comprehension. You did perfectly right to
ensnare him.”

“I, sir?”

“Yes—you did your share. You see I have a little bird
that tells me everything. Never attempt to deceive me,
Willy, and you may have your Mary.” The General then
strode forward towards the ladies, who awaited his inevitable
presence.

“Ah! Miss Alice, it has been long since I had the pleasure
of seeing you! And the vicissitudes of the country
have wrought no change in your appearance. I congratulate
you.”

“General,” said she, “you will permit me to reciprocate
the compliment. Vicissitude has not effected the slightest
alteration in your bearing. Nevertheless, it might not be
a reciprocity of compliments to congratulate you!”

“There it is! There, Edith! A sharp wit is to finish
what the sword left undone.”

“Edith!” muttered Wiry Willy, who overheard the familiar
term.

“I think not, sir,” said Edith. “I cannot believe that
woman's wit will pursue the vanquished.”

“Ah, me! I must be a victor, Miss Alice; I see it plainly.
And when we meet again, perhaps the fortune of war will
have made amends.”

“I am sure I wish you no misfortune, sir, unless you
should stand against the right. With right and merit on
your side, if you should be unfortunate, it would be unlucky
indeed. But they say fortune favors the bold—and—”

“No more of that, I beseech you. But where is Blount?
I expected to meet him here; and I am sure that Edith
would have hailed the chief who advanced too late for the
triumph.”

“He relinquishes the laurels to his second in command,”
said Alice, seeing the embarrassment of Edith; “and I can
assure you he does it very cheerfully. I saw him but recently,
and he did not express a word of regret.”

“No. Blount does not regret that he was absent. I
should have been most happy to have met him on this joyous
occasion. But, no matter; I shall see him where he is,
and will be happy to deliver any message Edith may intrust
me with.”

“If Edith has none to send, pray say to him that the
Knight of the Velvet Cap requires a fulfilment of his pledge,
and that the laurels he is to wear must be gathered on
Southern soil. He will understand me, sir. And say to
him that I chose this mode of transmitting the message,
since he is aware that the post-office has become an insecure
medium of communication.”

“It shall be done!” said the General, in some confusion.
But instantly recovering his impudence, he added, “The
postmaster was my friend; and, since the arrival of your
father, he has been suspended! I have besought the President
to restore him, and pledged myself to produce testimony—”

“It is in vain, General,” said Alice. “My father, first
convinced of the sufficiency of the evidence against an unfaithful
agent, acts with decision—and the case is then
decided.”

“So it seems. However, all this is merely temporary.
When the great event of separation is completed, my friend
will be replaced. Adieu.” And the General moved on.

“Come here, Willy!” said Edith, in a low voice. “Fly!
Say that he meditates an attack—”

“Pray, go on, Miss Edith,” said Willy.

“Do you not understand?”

“Not clearly,” said he, for he did not hear the words
which had alarmed Edith.

“General Ruffleton intends to surprise General Blount at
New Castle.”

“That I can, and will prevent, by informing General
Blount of his purpose. And when he demands my authority,
I will say my information comes from Miss Edith.”

“Stay! No. I fear—”

“Say, then, it comes from Alice,” said Edith's friend.
“But why did you hesitate, Edith?” continued Alice, when
Willy had departed.

“Alas, Alice! I did not know how he might construe it
—whether as a friendly warning, or a hostile menace.”

“Be composed. All will be well. Your good father and
mine are coming this way.”

The President and Mr. Langdon approached, attended
by Mr. B., when an ill-featured man sprang forward, and
uttering a curse on the President for permitting his soldiers
to fire on the mob at the Custom House, drew a pistol and
aimed it at his breast. But the President's steady eye unnerved
the miscreant, and the contents of the weapon did
no farther mischief than shattering a chandelier. And before
he could repeat the fire, the revolver was wrested from
his hand by one of the Blue Caps that mingled in the crowd.
A moment after, the assassin sank down lifeless, for the
stalwart arm that held the pistol had crushed in his skull
with it. It was Jack Bim.

“Do not slay him, Bim!” said the President.

“It's too late, your Excellency,” said Bim. “If you had
only given the order a moment sooner—”

“Remove him,” said the President. It was done.

“Oh, father!” cried Alice, recovering from the shock,
and throwing her arms around her parent's neck.

“Be not alarmed. There is no danger, and was none. I
saw his hand tremble when I caught his eye. Be MARBLE,
Alice!” he whispered, smiling calmly.

And Alice, resuming her composure, returned to her
place at the side of the frightened Edith. The saloon was

soon after filled with the Blue Caps, and if there had been
twenty assassins present, the infamous attempt would not
have been repeated.

Without paying further heed to the occurrence, the President
led his daughter and Edith round the room, avoiding
the spot where the man had fallen, which was stained with
blood. He assured them that he felt quite as secure in
Philadelphia as in Washington. He then rallied Edith on
her flight from General Ruffleton, who had subsequently
fled before her Southern avengers.

“Rely on your Southern champions, Edith,” said he, in
conclusion.

“Alas, sir!” said she, “how can I, if the reliance be not
mutual?”

“There are risks,” he added, “it is true; but I think,
with patience, prudence, and forbearance, you may both be
guaranteed against loss. I have hopes of your father.
You understand. I am for the Union!” Then bidding
them good-night, at the door, the young ladies, being the
last of their sex remaining, retired to rest.