Part 25 (2/2)
”Connecticut?” said my father. ”Has the war got into New England? That cannot be.”
”No, sir, no, sir,” said Ransom. ”It is Springfield in Missouri. You find a Yankee wherever you go in this world.”
”Wilson's Creek is the place of the battle,” Mr. De Saussure went on. ”Near Springfield, in Missouri. It was an overwhelming defeat. Lyon killed, and the next in command obliged to beat off.”
”Who on our side?” asked my mother.
”Ben McCulloch and Price.”
”How many engaged? Was it much of an affair?”
”We had twenty thousand or so. Of course, the others had more.”
”It doesn't take but one or two Southerners to whip a score of those cowards,” said Ransom.
”Why should not the war have got into New England, Mr.
Randolph?” my mother asked. ”You said, 'That cannot be.' Why should it not be?”
”There are a few thousand men in the way,” said my father; ”and I think they are not all cowards.”
”They will never stand before our rifles,” said De Saussure.
”Our boys will mow them down like gra.s.s,” said Ransom. ”And in New Orleans the fever will take care of them. How soon, mother, will the fever be there?”
Mamma and Ransom compared notes upon the probable and usual time for the yellow fever to make its appearance, when it would wield, its scythe of destruction upon the fresh harvest of life made ready for it, in the bands of the Northern soldiers in Louisiana. My whole soul was in a stir of opposition to the speakers. I had to be still, but pain struggled to speak.
”You do not enjoy the prospect -” Hugh Marshall said, softly.
I only looked at him.
”Nor do I,” said he, shaking his head. ”A fair fight is one thing. - It is a terrible state of affairs at home, Miss Randolph.”
I had the utmost difficulty to keep quiet and give no sign. I could have answered him with a cry which would have startled them all. What if Thorold were ordered down there? He might be. He would go where he was ordered. That thought brought help; for so would I! A soldier, in another warfare, I remembered my ways were appointed, even as his; only more wisely, more surely, and on no service that could by any means be in vain. But yet the pain was very sharp, as I looked at the group who were eagerly discussing war matters; my father, my mother, my brother, and De Saussure, who in the interest of the thing had left my side; how keen they were! So were others keen at home, who had swords in their hands and pistols in their belts. It would not do to think. I could but repeat to myself, - ”I am a soldier - I am a soldier - and just now my duty is to stand and bear fire.”
There was little chance in those days at Lucerne for me to be alone with papa. The opportunities we had we both enjoyed highly. Now and then mamma would be late for breakfast, or even take hers in bed; once in a while go out to a visit from which I begged off. Then papa and I drew together and had a good time. One of these chances occurred a few days after the news came of General Lyon's death. We were alone, and I was drawing, and papa had been watching me a little while in silence.
”Daisy,” he began, ”am I wrong? It seems to me that you do not look upon matters at home with just the eye that the rest of us have for them?”
”What matters, papa?” I said, looking up, and feeling troubled.
”You do not like the war.”
”Papa, - do you?”
”Yes. I think our countrymen are right, and of course I wish that they should have their rights.”
”Papa,” said I, ”don't you think it must be very strong reasons that can justify so dreadful a thing as a war?”
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