But to return: Charity's example was contagious. "I cert'nly was lonesum" on the Blackwater. The General and his staff were forever in the saddle. When he returned after his skirmishes and exploring expeditions, he was too tired to amuse me. I busied myself teaching the little boys and dispensing the provisions our men brought me. Bacon and biscuit, without butter, fruit, or milk, was deadly diet for me, so I was allowed an occasional courier from the camp to take my money and scour the country for better fare. When he appeared, galloping down the lane, on his return, he looked like some extraordinary feathered creature with a horse's head, so completely were both covered with turkeys, ducks, geese, and chickens. Then would ensue a gift to the camp hospital of soups and stews and a fine supper for my General's staff, Major Shepard, Captain Whitner, Major Keiley, and Captain McCann, with as many choice spirits from the officers as we could entertain. Then was brewed, by the majors and captains aforesaid, a mighty bowl of egg-nog, sweet and very stiff, for there was no milk to temper its strength. I feared at first that my Quaker host might disapprove, but I never failed to find the foaming glass I placed beside his night lamp quite empty next morning.
I could manage to occupy myself during the day. I could make a study of Charity, in whom I soon perceived quite an interesting character, quick to learn, responsive, and most affectionate. She was literally my only female companion. I had no neighbors, nowhere to drive (the enemy was only fifteen miles off) except on the watery lanes, nothing to meet when driving except, perhaps, a slow-moving cart drawn by steeds like Sydney Smith's "Tug-and-Lug, Haul-and-Crawl," driven by a negro boy, who stood with feet planted on the shafts and who entertained his patient, long-suffering oxen by telling them of the torments awaiting them unless they would "go along." But the long and lonely evenings were hard to bear, when the general and his staff were abroad, roaming like watch-dogs around the frontier, deluding the enemy by a great show of bravado here and there. Nothing like the orchestra of frogs can be imagined. They serenaded the moon all night long; a magnificent diapason of mighty voices, high soprano, full baritone, and heavy bass. I could understand the desperate need of the lone woman who had once lived here. The patchwork quilts were eloquent witnesses.
As the time dragged on in this lonely place, I began to find that I wanted many articles classed in a woman's mind generally as "things."
There is not a more generous word in the English language than "things." It may mean, according to Stormonth, "A Swedish assize of justice, a Norwegian parliament, a meeting for palaver on public affairs, luggage, or clothes,"—which proves how important is the making of new dictionaries as we travel along toward our highest civilization. For instance: when you say to your butler, "Be careful with the breakfast things," he understands you perfectly. He knows you mean the egg-shell cups, and blossomy plates. When you bid your maid bring your "things," she appears with your hat, gloves, cloak, and furs. "Her rooms are comfortable, but I don't like her things," you say when the bric-à-brac and curios are not to your taste. "I never speak of such things," you declare in haughty superiority when some guest has filled an hour with foolish or injurious gossip. "Such things are beneath contempt," says the lawyer of certain practices familiar in the courts. And then we have "poor thing,"—not the traditional robin who "hides his head under his wing, poor thing," but some fine lady, far from young and—unmarried! And "a poor thing, sir, but mine own,"—this time not a fine lady by any means, only "an ill-favored virgin."
And then, having vexed our souls all the week over mundane "things," we are given, on Sunday, glimpses of another world quite as full of them.
"Wean yourselves from earthly idols and fix your hearts on heavenly things," says the bishop. Things! Heavenly things! Stars, harps, crowns of righteousness, high and lofty aspirations!
Not long after the battle of Fredericksburg a participator described the panic, the horror, the fleeing of the women and children from their homes. "And then," he said, "there arose from that homeless, stricken crowd of women a cry of mortal agony, 'My things! Oh, my things!'"
"Things" to me meant only needful garments. I could starve with perfect serenity. I could live without the latest novel, the late magazines, egg-shell china, rich attire, jewels; but I had not had a new bonnet for three years. Shoes, and above all shoestrings, were needed by my little boys, needles, tapes, sewing thread and sewing silk, stays and staylaces, gloves, combs. Of course I needed garments of muslin and linen. Had I not rolled bandages of mine? I needed gowns. A calico dress now cost $40. But these large "things" were quite beyond all hope on the Blackwater. Smaller articles I might, perhaps, compass. The General's orders, however, strictly forbade the purchase by private individuals of articles smuggled through the lines. He once confiscated a sloop on the Blackwater laden with women's shoes, slippers, and Congress gaiters! He would not allow me a shoe; all were sent to Richmond to be sold for the benefit of the government. Communication with the enemy must be discouraged lest he discover our weakness.
I knew that most of the tight little carts peddling fish, potatoes, and eggs had double bottoms between which were all sorts of delightful things, but I never dared approach the pedler on the subject; and as I was the commanding officer's wife, he dared not approach me.
One day I was in an ambulance, driving on one of the interminable lanes of the region, the only incident being the watery crossing over the "cosin," as the driver called the swamps that had been "Poquosin" in the Indian tongue. Behind me came a jolting two-wheeled cart, drawn by a mule and driven by a small negro boy, who stood in front with a foot planted firmly upon each of the shafts. Within, and completely filling the vehicle, which was nothing more than a box on wheels, sat a dignified-looking woman. The dame of the ambulance at once became fascinated by a small basket of sweet potatoes which the dame of the cart carried in her lap.