An Original Belle

by Edward Payson Roe

"I must be right in my view," she said. "He proves his loyalty by an unflagging interest in our arms, by the gift of thousands. He is here, his own master. He would not shun danger for the sake of his cold-hearted mother, from whom he seems almost estranged. His sisters are well provided for, and do not need his care. He does not live for the sake of pleasure, like many other young men. Merciful Heaven! I blush even to think the words, much more to speak them. Why does he not go, unless his fear is greater than his love for me? why is he not with Lane and Strahan, unless he has a constitutional dread that paralyzes him? He is the Scottish chieftain, MacIan, over again. All I can do now is to pity him as one to whom Nature has been exceedingly cruel, for every fibre in my being shrinks from such a man."

And so he came to dwell in her mind as one crippled, from birth, in his very soul.

Meanwhile events took place which soon absorbed her attention. Lane's letter announcing the opening of the campaign proved a false alarm, although, from a subsequent letter, she learned that he had had experiences not trifling in their nature. On the rainy night, early in April, that would ever be memorable to her, she had said to Merwyn, "The army is on the march."

This was true of the cavalry corps, and part of it even crossed the upper waters of the Rappahannock; but the same storm which dashed the thick drops against her windows also filled the river to overflowing, and the brave troopers, recalled, had to swim their horses in returning. Lane was among these, and his humorous account of the affair was signed, "Your loyal amphibian!"

A young girl of Marian's temperament is a natural hero-worshipper, and he was becoming her hero. Circumstances soon occurred which gave him a sure place in this character.

By the last of April, not only the cavalry, but the whole army, moved, the infantry taking position on the fatal field of Chancellorsville. Then came the bloody battle, with its unspeakable horrors and defeat. The icy Rappahannock proved the river of death to thousands and thousands of brave men.

Early in May the Union army, baffled, depleted, and discouraged, was again in its old quarters where it had spent the winter. Apparently the great forward movement had been a failure, but it was the cause of a loss to the Confederate cause from which it never recovered,—that of "Stonewall" Jackson. So transcendent were this man's boldness and ability in leading men that his death was almost equivalent to the annihilation of a rebel army. He was a typical character, the embodiment of the genius, the dash, the earnest, pure, but mistaken patriotism of the South. No man at the North more surely believed he was right than General Jackson, no man more reverently asked God's blessing on efforts heroic in the highest degree. He represented the sincere but misguided spirit which made every sacrifice possible to a brave people, and his class should ever be distinguished from the early conspirators who were actuated chiefly by ambition and selfishness.

His death also was typical, for he was wounded by a volley fired, through misapprehension, by his own men. The time will come when North and South will honor the memory of Thomas J. Jackson, while, at the same time, recognizing that his stout heart, active brain, and fiery zeal were among the chief obstructions to the united and sublime destiny of America. The man's errors were due to causes over which he had little control; his noble character was due to himself and his faith in God.

Many days passed before Marian heard from Lane, and she then learned that the raid in which he had participated had brought him within two miles of Richmond, and that he had passed safely through great dangers and hardships, but that the worst which he could say of himself was that he was "prone to go to sleep, even while writing to her."

The tidings from her other friends were equally reassuring. Their regiment had lost heavily, and Blauvelt had been made a captain almost in spite of himself, while Strahan was acting as lieutenant-colonel, since the officer holding that rank had been wounded. There was a dash of sadness and tragedy in the journal which the two young men forwarded to her after they had been a few days in their old camp at Falmouth, but Strahan's indomitable humor triumphed, and their crude record ended in a droll sketch of a plucked cock trying to crow. She wrote letters so full of sympathy and admiration of their spirit that three soldiers of the army of the Potomac soon recovered their morale.