35. CHAPTER XXXV.
CESSATION OF THE BOMBARDMENT.
Mr. Langdon was suffering with a severe fit of the gout,
but had been wheeled in a great chair out on the balcony,
where, with his telescope, he watched the progress of the
protracted battle.
Willy had just arrived from the battle-field.
“Miss Edith!” said he, “General Blount has not been
wounded, and his health is perfect—and his spirits good.”
“I am rejoiced to hear of his health, Willy,” said Edith;
“and if his good spirits may be indicative of a speedy termination
of this horrible strife, I shall be happy indeed. He
did not write?”
“No, Miss; but he sent his heartiest greeting. President
Randolph did not write—I mean to Miss Alice—but
here is a large packet for Mr. Langdon.”
“Wheel me back into the chamber,” said Mr. Langdon,
“and bring a candle.”
This was done by the tender hands of Edith and Mary,
who had been his constant nurses. He broke the seal and
read the letter aloud, while the rest stood around.
Randolph's lines were in the bold legible hand of calm
deliberation, and, as usual, without blot or interlineation.
The President announced the startling intelligence that a
free-soil army was approaching from the West through the
State of Pennsylvania, for the purpose, probably, of cutting
off the retreat of the Southern and Federal forces in New
Jersey. But this project would probably be defeated in the
course of a few hours—but if not, Mr. Langdon, if sufficiently
recovered to travel, was advised to set out in the
course of two or three days, with the ladies under his care,
for Washington city. Randolph, however, assured him and
his daughter that they need be under no apprehension for
his safety, and for his own part, he had not at all lost confidence
in the virtue and patriotism of the American people.
“But I have,” said the heart-stricken statesman, the letter
falling from his relaxed grasp, and his head sinking
down in dejection.
“Oh, sir!” said Alice, “let us have faith in the wisdom
and energy of my father.”
“I fear I shall not have the heart, even if I have the
strength,” said Langdon, “to fly from my countrymen. I
would be content now to take refuge in a peaceful grave!
My daughter! and my young friends! if it were not a duty
incumbent on us to take thought for the Government, it
would be far better to dwell in humble obscurity, in peace
and plenty, than mount the topmost round of ambition's
ladder. Willy, when the fratricidal strife is over, do thou
never emerge from the peaceful vale where my daughter
found a hospitable shelter, on the purling Brandywine!”
“The firing has ceased!” exclaimed Mary, with hands
uplifted.
“Wheel me out again!” said Mr. Langdon, with a more
cheerful expression of countenance.
When they were re-assembled on the balcony, a solemn
silence brooded over the scene, where so lately the earth
vibrated with the continual discharges of great guns, and
the frequent explosions of shells.
On the lawn surrounding the mansion, there were groups
of Blue Caps, conjecturing the probable causes of such an
unexpected occurrence.
“It cannot be a surrender!” said Alice.
“No—not that,” said Mr. Langdon, “after the confident
letter he wrote me.”
“Nor his fall—nor the fall of any of the Generals,” said
Mary, “if my prayers have been heard.”
“It may be the fall of Ruffleton himself,” said Edith.
“No, daughter!” said Mr. Langdon; “and even that
would not put an end to the strife. There are others eager
always to succeed in the chief command. If he were a king,
it might be different.”
“No doubt he aspires to be king,” said Alice.
For a long time, on that summer's night, they sat on
the balcony and gazed at the darkened scene which had
succeeded the fires of furious warfare.
