"Miss Lou"

by Edward Payson Roe

"Do not imagine that I am jesting. I cannot tell you how strange it seems that a man of your appearance and evident character should be among our cruel enemies."

"And yet, Mrs. Whately, you cannot dispute the fact. Pardon me for saying it, but I think that is just where the South is in such serious error. It shuts its eyes to so many simple facts—a course which experience proves is never wise. I may declare, and even believe, that there is no solid wall before me, yet if I go headlong against it, I am bruised all the same. Positive beliefs do not create truths. I fancy that a few hours since you were absolutely sure that this courtesy of which I am the grateful recipient could not be, yet you were mistaken."

"Has not the sad experience of many others inspired our fears? Neither has the end come with us yet. You said that the main Northern force would come this way tomorrow. We do not fear you and those whom you control, but how about those who are to come?"

"I can speak only for the class to which I belong—the genuine soldiers who are animated by as single and unfaltering a spirit as the best in your armies. If a Confederate column were going through the North you could not answer for the conduct of every lawless, depraved man in such a force. Still, I admit with you that war is essentially cruel, and that the aim ever must be to inflict as much injury as possible on one's adversaries."

"But how can you take part in such a war?" Mrs. Whately asked. "All we asked was to be let alone."

"Yes, sir," added Mr. Baron, "how can you justify these ruthless invasions, this breaking up of our domestic institutions, this despoiling of our property and rights by force?" and there was a tremor of suppressed excitement in his voice.

Scoville glanced at Miss Lou to see how far she sympathized with her kindred. He observed that her face was somewhat stern in its expression, yet full of intelligent interest. It was not the index of mere prejudice and hate. "Yes," he thought, "she is capable of giving me a fair hearing; the others are not. Mr. Baron," he said, "your views are natural, perhaps, if not just. I know it is asking much of human nature when you are suffering and must suffer so much, to form what will become the historical judgment on the questions at issue. The law under which the North is fighting is the supreme one—that of self-preservation. Even if we had let you alone—permitted you to separate and become independent without a blow, war would have come soon. You would not and could not have let us alone. Consider but one point: your slaves would merely have to pass the long boundary line stretching nearly across the continent, in order to be on free soil. You could compel their return only by conquering and almost annihilating the North. You will say that we should think as you do on the subject, and I must answer that it is every man and woman's right to think according to individual conscience, according to the light within. Deny this right, and you put no bounds to human slavery. Pardon me, but looking in your eyes and those of these ladies, I can see that I should become a slave instantly if you had your way. Unconsciously and inevitably you would make me one, for it is your strongest impulse to make me agree with you, to see things exactly as you do. The fact that you sincerely believe you are right would make no difference if I just as sincerely believed you were wrong. If I could not think and act for myself I should be a slave. You might say, 'We KNOW we are right, that what we believe has the Divine sanction.' That is what the tormentors of the Inquisition said and believed; that is what my Puritan and persecuting forefathers said and believed; what does history say now? The world is growing wise enough to understand that God has no slaves. He endows men and women with a conscience. The supreme obligation is to be true to this. When any one who has passed the bounds of childhood says to us, 'I don't think this is right,' we take an awful responsibility, we probably are guilty of usurpation, if we substitute our will for his. In our sincerity we may argue, reason and entreat, but in the presence of another's conscience unconvinced and utterly opposed to us, where is human slavery to end if one man, or a vast number of men, have the power to say, 'You shall'?"

Scoville had kept his eyes fixed on Mr. Baron, and saw that he was almost writhing under the expression of views so repugnant to him—views which proved his whole scheme of life and action to be wrong. Now the young man turned his glance suddenly on Miss Lou, and in her high color, parted lips and kindled eyes, saw abundant proof that she, as he had wished, was taking to herself the deep personal application of his words. Her guardians and Mrs. Whately observed this truth also, and now bitterly regretted that they had invited the Union officer. It seemed to them a sort of malign fate that he had been led, unconsciously as they supposed, to pronounce in the presence of the girl such vigorous condemnation of their action. Had they not that very day sought to override the will, the conscience, the whole shrinking, protesting womanhood of the one who had listened so eagerly as the wrong meditated against her was explained? Scoville had not left them even the excuse that they believed they were right, having shown the girl that so many who believed this were wrong. Miss Lou's expression made at least one thing clear—she was emancipated and had taken her destiny into her own hands.

Mrs. Whately felt that she must turn the tables at once, and so remarked, "It seems to me that the whole force of your argument tells against the North. You are bent upon conquering the South and making it think as you do."

"Oh, no. Here the law of self-preservation comes in. If the South can secede, so can the East and the West. New York City can secede from the State. We should have no country. There could be no national life. Would England accept the doctrine of secession, and permit any part of her dominions to set up for themselves when they chose? I know you are about to say that is just what our fathers did. Yes, but old mother England did not say, 'Go, my children, God bless you!' Nor would she say it now to any other region over which floats her flag. Of course, if you whip us, we shall have to submit, just as England did. What government has helplessly sucked its thumbs when certain portions of the territory over which it had jurisdiction defied its power? We are called Goths and Vandals, but that is absurd. We are not seeking to conquer the South in any such old-world ways. We are fighting that the old flag may be as supreme here as in New England. The moment this is true you will be as free as are the people of New England. The same constitution and laws will govern all."