University of Virginia Library

35. CHAPTER XXXV.
JOINING THE ARMY.

Ten days after the burial, there came three letters to
Spring Bank, one to Hugh, from Murdoch, as he now
chose to be called, saying that though he had sought and
was still searching for the missing Adah, he could only
trace her, and that but vaguely, to the Greenbush depot,
where he lost sight of her entirely, no one after that having
seen a person bearing the least resemblance to her.
After a consultation with the doctor, he had advertised
for her, and he enclosed a copy of the advertisement, as
it appeared in the different papers of Boston, Albany, and
New York.

This was the purport of Murdoch's letter, if we except
a kind enquiry after 'Lina, of whose death he had not
heard.

The second, for Alice, was from Anna Richards, who
having heard of 'Lina's decease, spoke kindly of the unfortunate
girl, and then wrote. “I have great hopes of
my erring brother, now that I know how his whole heart
goes out towards his beautiful boy, our darling Willie. I
wish poor, dear Lily could have seen him when, on his arrival
at Terrace Hill, he knelt by the crib of his sleeping
child, waking him at once, and hugging him to his bosom,
while his tears dropped like rain. I am sure she would

have chosen to be his wife, for her own sake as well as
Willie's.

“You knew how proud my mother and sisters are, and
it would surprise you to see them pet, and spoil, and fondle
Willie, who rules the entire household; mother even allowing
him to bring wheel-barrow, drum, and trumpet
into the parlor, declaring that she likes the noise, as it
stirs up her blood. Willie has made a vast change in our
once quiet home, and I fear I shall meet with much opposition
when I take him away, as I expect to do next
month, for Lily gave him to me, and brother John has
said that I may have him until the mother is found, while
Charlie is perfectly willing; and thus, you see, my cup of
joy is full.

“Brother is away now, searching for Adah, and I am
wicked enough not to miss him, so busy am I in the few
preparations needed by the wife of a poor missionary.”

Then, in a postcript, Anna added: “I forgot to tell you
that Charlie and I are to be married some time in July,
that the Presbyterian Society of Snowdon have given him
a call to be their pastor, that he has accepted, and what
is best of all, has actually rented your old home for us to
live in. Oh, I am so happy; I do not feel like an old
maid of thirty-three, and Charlie flatters me by saying I
have certainly gone back in looks to twenty. Perhaps I
have, but it all comes of happiness and a heart full of
thankfulness to our good Father who has so greatly blessed
me.”

With a smile, Alice finished the childlike letter, so much
like Anna. Then feeling that Mrs. Worthington would be
glad to hear from Willie, she went in quest of her, finding
her at the end of the long piazza, listening while Hugh
read the sympathetic letter received from Irving Stanley.

From the doctor, whom he accidentally met on Broadway,
Irving had heard of 'Lina's death, and he wrote at
once to Mrs. Worthington, expressing his sympathy for her

own and Hugh's bereavement; thus showing that the Dr.
had only told him a part of the sad story, withholding
all that concerned Adah, who was evidently a stranger to
Irving Stanley. His sister, Mrs. Ellsworth, was well, he
wrote, though very busy with her preparations for going
to Europe, whither he intended accompanying her, adding
“it was not so much pleasure which was taking her there,
as the hope that by some of the Paris physicians her
little deformed Jennie might be benefitted. She had
secured a gem of a governess for her daughter, a young
lady whom he had not yet seen, but over whose beauty
and accomplishments his staid sister Carrie had really
waxed eloquent.” The letter closed by asking if Hugh
were still at home or had he joined the army.

“Oh-h,” and Alice's cheek grew pale at the very idea of
Hugh's putting himself in so much danger, for Hugh was
very dear to her now. His noble, unselfish devotion to
'Lina had finished the work begun on that memorable
night when she had said to him, “I may learn to love
you,” and more than once as she watched with him by
'Lina's bedside, she had been tempted to wind her arm
around his neck and whisper in his ear,

“Hugh, I love you now, I will be your wife.”

But propriety had held her back and made her far more
reserved towards him than she had ever been before.
Terribly jealous where she was concerned, Hugh was
quick to notice the change, and the gloomy shadow on his
face was not caused wholly by 'Lina's sad death, as many
had supposed. Hugh was very unhappy. Instead of
learning to love him, as he had sometimes hoped she might,
Alice had come to dislike him, shunning his society, and always
making some pretense to get away if by chance they
were left alone, or if compelled to talk with him, chatting
rapidly on the most indifferent topics. She never would
love him, Hugh thought, and feeling that the sooner he
left home the better, he had decided to start at once in

quest of Adah. This decision he had not yet communicated
to his mother, but as the closing of Irving Stanley's
letter seemed to open the way, he rather abruptly announced
his intention of going immediately to New York.
He did not however add that failing to find his sister, he
might possibly join the Federal Army.

Ever since he had had time to think clearly upon the
subject then agitating the public mind, Hugh had felt an
intense desire to enroll himself with the patriotic men
who would not sit idly down while their country was laying
her dishonored head low in the dust. A Unionist to
the heart's core, he had already won some notoriety by
his bitter denunciations against those men who, with
Harney at their head, were advocating secession from the
union. But his first duty was to Adah, and so he only
talked of her and the probabilities of his finding her.
He should start to-morrow, if possible, he said. He had
made his arrangements to do so, and there was no longer
an excuse for tarrying. They would get on well enough
without him; they would not miss him much, and he
stole a glance at Alice, who, fearful lest she might betray
herself, framed some excuse for leaving her seat upon the
piazza, and stole up to her room where she could be alone,
to think how desolate Spring Bank would be when Hugh
was really gone.

Once she thought to tell him all, thinking that a perfect
understanding would make her so much happier
while he was away, but maidenly modesty kept her back,
and so the words which would have brought so much
comfort to Hugh were to the last unspoken. Gentler,
kinder, tenderer than a sister's could have been, was her
demeanor towards him during the whole of the next day,
the last he spent at home. Once, emboldened by something
she said, Hugh felt half tempted to sue again for
the love so coveted, but depreciation of himself kept him
silent, and when at last they parted, his manner towards

her was so constrained and cold that even Mrs. Worthington
observed it, wondering what had come between
them. She wanted Alice to think well of Hugh, and by
way of obliterating any unpleasant impression he might
have left in her mind, she spent the morning after
his departure in talking of him, telling how kind he had
always been to her, and how kind he was to every body.
Many acts were enumerated by the fond mother as proofs
of his unselfishness, and among others she spoke of his
horoic conduct years ago, when with his uncle he was on
Lake Erie and the boat took fire. Had she never told
Alice?

“No, never,” Alice answered faintly, a new light breaking
in upon her and showing her why it was that Hugh's
face had so often puzzled her.

He was the boy to whose care she had entrusted her
life, and she was the Golden Haired, remembered by him
so long and so lovingly. There was one great throb of
joy, — of perfect delight, and then an intense desire to
tell Hugh of her discovery —

But Hugh was gone, and her only alternative now
was to write. He was intending to stop two days in
Cincinnati, and he had said to his mother, “If any thing
happens you can write to me there,” and something had
happened, something which made her heart throb wildly,
as alone in her room she knelt and thanked her God, asking
that he would care for the Hugh so dear to her, and bring
him safely back.

Two days later and Hugh, who had but an hour longer
to remain in Cincinnati, sauntered to the post-office, with
very little expectations that he should find any thing
awaiting him. How then was he surprised when a clerk
handed him Alice's letter, the sixth she had written ere at
all satisfied with its wording. Hurrying back to his room
at the hotel, he broke the seal, and read as follows:

Many times Hugh read this note, then pressing it to his
lips thrust it into his bosom, but failed to see what Alice
had hoped he might see, that the love he once asked for
was his at last.

“If she loved me, she would have told me so,” he
thought, “for she promised me as much, but she does not,
so that ends the drama. Oh, Golden Hair, why did I ever
meet her, or why was I suffered to love her so devotedly,
if I must lose her at the last!”

There were great drops of sweat about Hugh's lips,
and on his forehead, as, burying his face in his hands, he
laid both upon the table, and battled manfully with his
love for Alice Johnson.

“God help me in my sorrow,” was the prayer which
fell from the quivering lips, but did not break the silence
of that little room, where none, save God, witnessed
the conflict, the last Hugh ever fought for Alice Johnson.

He could give her up at length; could think, without
a shudder, of living all his life without her, and when,
late that afternoon, he took the evening train for Cleveland,
not one in the crowded car would have guessed how
sore was the heart of the young man who plunged so energetically
into the spirited war argument in progress between
a Northern and Southern politician. It was a
splendid escape-valve for his pent-up feelings, and Hugh
carried everything before him, taking by turns both sides
of the question, and effectually silencing the two combatants,
who said to each other in parting, “We shall
hear from that Kentuckian again, though whether in
Rebeldom or Yankee land we cannot tell.”

Arrived at New York he wrote a reply to Alice's note,
saying that what he had done for her was no more than
he ought to have done for any one who had come to him
for help, and that she need not expend her gratitude on
him, though he was glad of any thing to keep him in her
remembrance.

After this he wrote regularly, kind, friendly letters, and
Alice was beginning to feel that they in some degree
atoned for his absence, when there came one which
wrung a wailing cry from Mrs. Worthington, and brought
Alice at once to her side.

“What is it?” she asked in much alarm, and Mrs.
Worthington replied, “Oh, Hugh, my boy! he's enlisted,
joined the army! I shall never see him again!”

Could Hugh have seen Alice then, he would not for a
moment have doubted the nature of her feelings towards
himself. She did not cry out, nor faint, but her face turned
white as the dress she wore, while her hands pressed
so tightly together, that her nails left the impress in her
flesh.

“God keep him from danger and death,” she murmured;
then, winding her arm around the stricken mother,
she wiped her tears away; and to her moaning cry that

she was left alone, replied, “Let me be your child till he
returns, or, if he never does —”

She could get no further, and sinking down beside
Hugh's mother, she laid her head on her lap, and wept
bitterly. Alas, that scenes like this should be so common
in our once happy land, but so it is. Mothers start with
terror, and grow faint over the boy just enlisted for the
war; then follow him with prayers and yearning love to
the distant battle field; then wait and watch for tidings
from him; and then too often read with streaming eyes
and hearts swelling with agony, the fatal message which
says their boy is dead.

It was a sad day at Spring Bank when first the news
of Hugh's enlistment came, for Hugh seemed as really
dead as if they heard the hissing shell or whizzing ball
which was to bear his young life away. It was nearly
two months since he left home, and he could find no trace
of Adah, though searching faithfully for her, in conjunction
with Murdoch and Dr. Richards, both of whom had
joined him in New York.

“If Murdoch cannot find her,” he wrote, “I am convinced
no one can, and I leave the matter now to him,
feeling that another duty calls me, the duty of fighting
for my country.”

It was just after the disastrous battle of Bull Run, when
people were wild with excitement, and Hugh was thus
borne with the tide, until he found himself enrolled as a
private in a regiment of cavalry, gathering in one of the
Northern States. There had been an instant's hesitation,
a clinging of the heart to the dear old home at Spring
Bank, where his mother and Alice were; and then, with
an eagerness which made his whole frame tremble, he had
seized the pen, and written down his name, amid deafening
cheers for the brave Kentuckian. This done, there
was no turning back; nor did he desire it. It seemed as
if he were made for war, so eagerly he longed to join the

fray. Only one thing was wanting, and that was Rocket.
He had tried the “Yankee horses,” as he called them, but
found them far inferior to his pet. Rocket, he must have,
and in his letter to his mother, he made arrangements for
her to send him northward by a Versailles merchant, who,
he knew, was coming to New York.

Hugh and Rocket, they would make a splendid match,
and so Alice thought, as, on the day when Rocket was led
away, she stood with her arms around his graceful neck,
whispering to him the words of love she would fain have
sent his master. She had recovered from the first shock
of Hugh's enlistment. She could think of him now
calmly as a soldier; could pray that God would keep him,
and even feel a throb of pride that one who had lived so
many years in Kentucky, then poising almost equally in
the scale, should come out so bravely for the right, though
by that act he called down curses on his head from those
at home who favored Rebellion, and who, if they fought
at all, would cast in their lot with the seceding States.
She had written to Hugh telling him how proud she was
of him, and how her sympathy and prayers would follow
him everywhere. “And if,” she had added, in concluding,
“you are sick, or wounded, I will come to you as a sister
might do. I will find you wherever you are.”

She had sent this letter to him three weeks before, and
now she stood caressing the beautiful Rocket, who sometimes
proudly arched his long neck, and then looked
wistfully at the sad group gathered round him, as if he
knew it was no ordinary parting. Col. Tiffton, who had
heard what was going on, had ridden over to expostulate
with Mrs. Worthington against sending Rocket North.
“Better keep him at home,” he said, “and tell Hugh to
come back, and let those who had raised the muss settle
their own difficulty.”

The old colonel, who was a native of Virginia, did not
know exactly where he stood. “He was very patriotic,”

he said, “but hanged if he knew which side to take — both
were wrong. He didn't go Nell's doctrine, for Nell was a
rabid Secesh; neither did he swallow Abe Lincoln, and
he'd advise Alice to keep a little more quiet, for there
was no knowing what the hot heads would do; they
might pounce on Spring Bank any night.”

“Let them,” and Alice's blue eyes flashed brightly,
while her girlish figure seemed to expand and grow higher
as she continued; they will find no cowards here. I
never touched a revolver in my life. I am quite as much
afraid of one that is not loaded as of one that is, but I'll
conquer the weakness. I'll begin to-day. I'll learn to
handle fire-arms. I'll practice shooting at a mark, and if
Hugh is killed I'll —”

She could not tell what she would do, for the woman
conquered all other feelings, and laying her face on Rocket's
silken mane, she sobbed aloud.

“There's pluck, by George!” muttered the old colonel.
“I most wish Nell was that way of thinking.”

It was time now for Rocket to go, and 'mid the deafning
howls of the negroes and the tears of Mrs. Worthington
and Alice he was led away, the latter watching
him until he was lost to sight beyond the distant hill, then
falling on her knees she prayed, as many a one has done,
that God would be with our brave soldiers, giving them
the victory, and keeping one of them, at least, from falling.

Sadly, gloomily the autumn days came on, and the land
was rife with war and rumors of war. In the vicinity of
Spring Bank were many patriots, but there were hot
Secessionists there also, and bitter contentions ensued.
Old friends were estranged, families were divided, neighbors
watched each other jealously, while all seemed
waiting anxiously for the result.

Blacker, and darker, and thicker the war clouds gathered
on our horizon, but our story has little to do with that

first year of carnage, when human blood was poured as
freely as water, from the Cumberland to the Potomac.
Over all that we pass, and open the scene again in the
summer of '62, when people were gradually waking to
the fact that Richmond was not so easily taken, or the
South so easily conquered.