CHAPTER XI.
A BRAVE GIRL.
It might seem strange to the reader who is unacquainted with the nature of war, that a young, intelligent, and accomplished lady should have undertaken such an enterprise as that partly described in the previous chapter. But it must be remembered that war introduces customs and modes of thought which would be subversive of our notions of propriety in times of peace. The women of the South were frequently thrown by the force of circumstances into strange and unusual situations during the dark and stormy days of the “Great Rebellion.” They had to perform many duties which would have been palpable violations of the laws of etiquette under different circumstances. Besides, we are all creatures of habit, and our character depends upon our education. This fact is our authority for the assertion, that in our social relations there is scarcely anything, if there is really anything, proper or improper per se—anything inherently absolute. Many of our terms are merely relative: they have no fixed definition. No absolute rules can be laid down that shall determine whether a given line of conduct is modest or immodest. Circumstances only can determine. An angel, for instance could use language in the pulpit which ordinary ministers of the Gospel would not dare to employ. One nation regards a thing as proper, which another considers improper. Hence, there can be no fixed code of propriety.
Bearing these facts in mind, we can understand why it was that Mildred could see no impropriety in undertaking to make her way alone into Washington—which she did in less than forty-eight hours after the interview with the two Confederate Generals. The statement of this fact is sufficient, without entering into particulars in regard to the difficulties which she encountered. She remained in the city three days till she found the unfortunate Captain Beall, to whom she delivered the papers, and from whom she received others for Gen. A. Her mission having been successfully accomplished, she returned, and reported to the Confederate officer. His rather stern face assumed a smile, as he took her by the hand and congratulated her upon her success.
“Here is a check for a thousand dollars,” he said as she finished her report.
“But I did not expect to be paid, General,” she said. “I undertook the mission because I love my country, and desire to do something in the struggle for independence.”
“You are not a soldier,” replied Gen. A. “We have no right to your services without compensation. This is only a partial reward for what you have done.”
“I do not ask any remuneration.”
“You have been in danger,” said Gen. A. “Besides, I will want you to go on a similar mission in a few days, and I have no right to your time. I am aware that the salary of ministers is small, and funds do not come amiss. You have earned this money, and I insist upon your taking it. It is yours.”
“I can do with it as I please?” asked Mildred after a short pause.
“Certainly you can.”
“Then,” said Mildred, “I will take it. I know how I can use it to good purpose.”
“Well,” said the General, handing her the check, “can you go on a similar mission?”
“To the same place?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, sir; I will go.”
“When can you start?”
“To-morrow, if necessary.”
“I am truly glad,” said Gen. A. “for I have another paper which ought to be in Washington now. I was afraid to entrust it to you till you had proved that it was practicable to go in and out of the city. But since you know now exactly what to do, I feel that there will be little risk.”
“It, too, is a dangerous paper, is it?”
“It is, and if you are detected with it, the death of another party will be the consequence. If you can manage to give it to Capt. Beall there will be no danger to you.”
“I can do that,” replied Mildred. “I know how to find him.”
“You see,” said Gen. A. “I have written the message on this pocket handkerchief so that you can conceal it in your clothing.”
“Yes, sir,” said Mildred, taking the handkerchief, “I can conceal this so that it will escape the most rigid search.”
“I can trust you for that,” said the General.
“If nothing providential interferes,” said Mildred, “I shall start in the morning.”
“Thank you,” answered Gen. A. “When you return, you shall receive your reward.”
“We will talk about that when I get back,” she said, as she took her leave.
Accordingly, the next morning she again started for the city of Washington, without the slightest misgiving or premonition of evil. Indeed what had she to fear? She knew exactly how to proceed. She, therefore, boldly entered the city, after having complied with such military requisitions as were necessary in those days. It was frequently the case that the most elegant ladies of the South, mounted upon bales of cotton in an ox-wagon, went shopping in cities that were under Federal jurisdiction. Some had to take the oath of allegiance to the U. S. Government, and others, by their extreme cleverness, managed to “get through the lines” without compromising their fealty to the Confederacy. It is not necessary to describe Mildred’s military maneuvers in order to secure both ingress and egress. But more light will be thrown on this subject as the story proceeds.
Again Mildred was in Washington. She registered at the very same hotel at which she had put up before. This was the first mistake that she had made. For even her first visit had aroused the suspicions of the head clerk. However, without manifesting the least surprise, he assigned her to a room, remarking that it would be half an hour before the chamber would be ready for occupancy.
“You can sit in the parlor for that length of time?” he asked with a bland smile.
“Certainly,” replied Mildred.
“Thanks,” he said, bowing politely. “Please step this way.”
Mildred followed him to the elegant parlor, and seated herself on one of the luxurious sofas.
“I will return in a short time,” said the urbane clerk, “and have you shown to your room. Please make yourself comfortable.”
He bowed himself out of the apartment, and was gone about twenty minutes. Seating himself, he manifested a disposition to engage in conversation—at which Mildred exhibited surprise as well as aversion.
“You have no friends in the city, lady?” he said half inquiringly and half declaratively. She could construe it either way.
“Sir?” said Mildred in a tone that plainly indicated disinclination to talk.
“I made a remark about your friends,” said the clerk, “but it does not matter. You have been to the city before have you not?”
“I have, sir,” answered Mildred in a frigid tone. “Is my room ready?”
“Not quite, ma’am. The chambermaid will be in presently. How long will you want the room?” asked the clerk.
“Why do you wish to know?”
“O, merely to know. Sometimes we like to know how long our guests will remain—it is a matter of—of—convenience.”
“I will notify you when I am ready to vacate it,” said Mildred coldly.
“O, yes, of course, you can retain it as long as you wish. I meant no offence. Have you heard the news?”
“What news?” asked Mildred.
“Why, a terrible battle has been fought—it was on yesterday at ——: an awful fight.”
“No, sir, I have not heard of it,” answered Mildred changing to a more gentle tone, yet expressive of indifference.
“You do not seem to take much interest in military affairs?” remarked the clerk. “I thought everybody was eager to hear of the success of our arms. The Rebels received a fearful chastisement yesterday.”
“They did?” asked Mildred, trying to appear indifferent under the searching gaze of this impudent clerk.
“Indeed, they did. You will hear the guns booming presently in honor of the great victory. There were ten thousand rebels killed, yes, left dead on the field. Wasn’t it glorious? Wasn’t it glorious?” he exclaimed rubbing his hands in glee.
“I see nothing glorious in shedding human blood,” replied Mildred.
“Don’t you rejoice at hearing of the defeat of the rebels, and that so many thousands were killed?” inquired the clerk.
“God forbid,” exclaimed Mildred with more warmth than she intended to manifest, “that I should rejoice at the death of any human being.”
“But the rebels have got to be killed, you know, in order to bring the war to an end and to restore the Union.”
“That may he so,” answered Mildred, drawn into a conversation in spite of herself, “but I dislike to hear of wholesale murder. The great God did not put His intelligent creatures here to butcher each other. I cannot, therefore, but think that war is a sin.”
“No doubt, the aggressive party is guilty,” answered the clerk. “The rebels brought on the war. Don’t you think, then, that the rebels are responsible for all the blood that has been, and may be shed?”
“I was speaking on general principles,” answered Mildred. “It does not become me to measure the degree of guilt that may attach to either party. It is a sin to commit murder; it is a violation of God’s commandment.”
“Is it, when done in self-defence?”
“I suppose,” replied Mildred, “that if homicide is absolutely necessary to the preservation of one’s life, it would be justifiable. But in the case of war, who is to determine which party is fighting purely in self-defence?”
“In the present war,” said the clerk, “I don’t see how there can be any doubt about it. The rebels fired the first gun, and dishonored the flag of our country.”
“Yet,” said Mildred, “the rebels claim that they are fighting in self-defence.”
“Do you sympathize with the rebels?” asked the clerk, looking narrowly into her face, as though he would read her thoughts. “Probably you may be a Copper-head?”
“I did not say I sympathized with either party,” answered Mildred quietly.
“No; but one would infer that you leaned toward the rebels.”
“I do not know upon what you could base such an inference,” rejoined Mildred, “for I have not used an expression that could be construed into sympathy for either side. I told you I was speaking only on general principles.”
“Do you mind telling with which party you do sympathize?” quoth the clerk.
“I am neither politician, nor soldier, nor am I regarded as a citizen by the law,” answered Mildred. “You will, therefore, please excuse me from any expression of opinion on this subject. Why should you wish to know?”
“Why should you mind expressing an opinion?”
“It is not necessary, is it?” asked Mildred.
“No, ma’am; it is not a matter of life or death,” replied the smiling clerk, “but I can imagine no good reason why you should be so extremely cautious—that is, unless you have come upon some illegal business.”
For an instant Mildred seemed startled at this insinuation.
“I’m sure I asked a civil question,” said the clerk.
“Certainly,” answered Mildred with a little birdlike laugh, intended to ward off suspicion, “but I should like to know by what authority you propound questions to me.”
“O,” said the clerk, breaking into a laugh, “I am no court of inquisition. I questioned you only by the authority of social etiquette. It is no breach of politeness, I hope, to ask ordinary questions in a common conversation. We sometimes ask questions merely for the sake of vivifying conversation.”
“The authority of social etiquette,” replied Mildred, “is sometimes insolent, and even ordinary questions may in times of public disturbance lead to grave consequences.”
“I had no intention of making so serious a matter of it,” said the clerk. “I asked the question more for the sake of saying something than anything else. Certainly, if you wish to conceal your opinions and sentiments, I’m no inquisitor to try to force you to reveal them. I, however, admire your prudence, since you are a stranger in the city.”
Mildred suddenly laughed outright.
“What do you see in my remark,” inquired the clerk very soberly, “to excite your risibility?”
“I was laughing at your making so serious a matter out of nothing,” answered Mildred. “You speak of my prudence, as if I were some astute diplomatist who had come to Washington to negotiate a treaty of peace, or some other important business. The whole of my prudence consists in not directly answering questions that might lead to the discussion of unpleasant topics.”
“Why is the war such an unpleasant subject?” asked the clerk. “It ought to be agreeable to all loyal people to hear about the destruction of rebels. I wish I could kill some of them myself.”
“If you have such a blood-thirsty disposition,” said Mildred a little contemptuously, “I think you could easily find opportunities to gratify it.”
“You may be sure, if I could stand the exposure which camp life involves, I should have gone out at the first tap of the drum. Besides, I have a family.”
“There are soldiers on both sides who have families,” said Mildred.
“I only wish I had physical strength,” said the clerk. “Nothing would delight me more than to kill rebels.”
Mildred could not suppress a smile of derision, for the clerk was a large, well-developed man, presenting every aspect of perfect health. This exhibition of contempt did not escape his notice, since he closely watched her throughout the entire interview. He felt provoked at her insinuations, but he was too polite to manifest his vexation.
“But here comes the chamber-maid,” he said, “who will show you to your room. I hope you may have a pleasant time in the city, if the business upon which you have come will permit you to seek pleasure.”
“How do you know that I have come upon any business?” asked Mildred.
“Strangers generally have business, when they visit the city,” said the clerk significantly, as Mildred thought. But she concluded that she would say nothing more. Rising, she silently followed the chamber-maid. The clerk walked back to his desk in a thoughtful mood; and this is what was passing through his mind:
“That is one of those proud Southern women, and she is bent upon mischief. Well, if she is not very cautious, I shall trap her as I have done others. She seems to be an intelligent, accomplished woman, but what is she doing here alone? If she is a spy, as I begin to suspect, and is detected, what a fate awaits her!”