A Little Girl in Old Washington

"Where are the Admiral and General Ross?" asked Stafford.

"At Baltimore now, where there is a prospect of their being defeated. We were not prepared as we should have been, to our shame be it said."

Then they lapsed into silence.

"I am afraid I have forgotten my way," the youth admitted as they passed a partly overgrown branch road, used mostly for the convenience of farmers. "I tried to mark it by some sign. There was a tree that had been struck by lightning. And a clump of oaks."

"There is a clump of oaks farther on."

"You see, that day – it was horrible with the groans of the wounded and dying. And the awful heat! I tried to crawl to a little stream, but fainted. And this soldier came along presently, when I begged him for a drink."

"These are the oaks, I think," said the doctor, who knew the road well.

"Then it is a little further on."

They turned into a cart-path. In a sort of opening stood a blackened pine that had been grand in its day. After several curves they left this road and soon found the hut.

Lieutenant Ralston was in a bad condition, indeed – emaciated to a degree, his eyes sunken, his voice tremulous, his whole physique so reduced that he could not stand up. Stafford had made a bed of fir and hemlock branches, and the little place was fragrant, if otherwise dreary.

"We will not stop for explanations!" exclaimed the doctor briskly. "The best thing is to get you to some civilized place and attend to you."

"And the lad, too. I should have died without him and poor old Judy. She will think the wolves have eaten us, only she won't find any bones."

He was lifted carefully into the carriage, and they journeyed homeward as rapidly as circumstances would permit. Patty had cleared the sitting room on the lower floor, and a cot had been spread for Ralston. They laid the fainting man upon it, and the doctor proceeded to examine his injuries.

The bone in the leg had been splintered, and a jagged wound made. Judy's simples had kept it from becoming necessarily fatal, but the fever and the days that had elapsed rendered it very critical.

"I only hope he won't have to lose his leg," said Roger. "That would be terrible to him."

"We will try our utmost."

It was a painful operation, but at last it was over. Then Stafford's shoulder was looked after, and had to be probed. Roger proved an invaluable assistant.

"We may as well have a hospital ward, and let the enemy and the patriot lie side by side. They can't fight, and I do not believe either of them has the vigor for a quarrel." So another cot was brought in. Patty was quite important, and full of sympathy for Ralston.

It was mid-afternoon when Carrington returned, and they were all anxious to hear the story. For Jaqueline's sake he made as light of it as possible, dwelling considerably upon the heroism of both men, "although the English lad is a mere boy, not twenty yet. What distorted ideas they get over the water!" nodding his head. "As if we had not been of one race in the beginning, equally courageous, equally proud and resolute, and animated by the same love of liberty. Think how they have waged war with tyrants and wrested rights from kings!"

Marian waylaid him in the hall.

"I was listening inwardly to what you did not say," she began tremulously. "Does the doctor think he will recover?"

"He is in a bad way, of course. But the leg is the worst feature. Oh, let us all hope! Things have gone so well with us that I am filled with gratitude, and cannot despair."

Marian's eyes were downcast, her face pink to the very roots of her hair; and her lips quivered.

That evening Roger was sitting beside his wife alone, caressing the thin hand that returned the fond pressure.

"Marian is in love with Philip Ralston," he began abruptly. "Jaqueline, can't you think of the magic touch that will bring these two together? You found it easy enough before."

"And bungled and made no end of trouble," she returned with a sad smile.

"It was old Mr. Floyd who made the trouble. Why couldn't he have given his daughter to the young fellow who loved her? What I am afraid of now is that he has ceased to care. Still, he has been a favorite with women, and no one has captured him. An attractive man has to quite run the gauntlet. And when he thinks a woman's love has failed – "

"Do you speak from experience?" inquired Jaqueline archly, her eyes in a tender glow.

"Yes." There was a rising color and a half-smile hovering over his face. "It is true that hearts are caught in the rebound."

"But no one caught you."

"Because, month after month, I waited. I said at first, 'She will marry Ralston.' Then there were other admirers – you know there were a host of them more attractive than I, but I could have forgiven you for marrying Ralston. If it had been someone else I should have turned bitter, and that would have been the danger-point. I might have wanted to convince you

"That, Miss Jacky Mason,

I care as little as ye care for me,"

paraphrasing an old ballad and substituting her own name, while she glanced up laughingly.

"Since we found the making-up process so delightful," returned Jaqueline, "we are anxious to pass it around. You see, now, Marian has no interest in life but to play the part of maiden aunt. Jane will absorb a good deal of her with the most generous intentions. She is a lovely nurse, and I think grandpa's and Mr. Greaves' influence has mostly died out. They were both so narrow and dogmatic about women that they reduced her to a sort of slavery. Mamma has brought her out to a sense of freedom. Single women may be heroic, yet, as I remember, the Revolutionary heroines were married and mothers, most of them, and it is the wife and mother who has the most exquisite happiness."

"What a long speech! We will try and get Ralston well, and then trust good-fortune. There will be no one to interfere this time."

While Ralston lay tossing on a bed of pain, his leg in splints and bandages, events moved on rapidly. The bold exploits and undying courage that had won such brilliant successes on the seas had settled the question of sailors' rights. England virtually admitted this while still haggling with commissioners. And from having no position among nations, from being considered feeble and disunited, and possessing no innate right to establish a commerce of her own, the United States had won the respect of the countries abroad, and to a great degree harmonized the jarring factions at home.

The crowning battle of the war was that of New Orleans, with Jackson's brilliant victory, though some of the preliminaries had been settled before this.

And one day a messenger came rushing into town, swinging his three-cornered hat in one hand and holding the bridle-rein in the other, and cried out in stentorian tones, "Peace! peace! Peace has been declared! Mr. Carroll, American messenger, has arrived with the Treaty of Peace!"

In spite of blackened ruins and heaps of débris, there was a great time in Old Washington. For, indeed, it seemed old now, since it could boast of ruins. Flags were hung out. Neighbors called to one another. Then a coach came thundering along the avenue, another and yet another, and stopped at the Octagon House. Congress presented themselves, at least all who could be gathered on a short notice, to take the news to the President, who had suffered considerably from the exposure and fatigue, and perhaps from the mortification of having been a fugitive flying from the enemy.

The circular vestibule, the white winding stairway that was open to the top, and the drawing room to the right were crowded with guests, felicitating their chief and one another. Animosity, coldness, and blame were forgotten. Peace! peace! like the refrain of some sweet music, went floating around all the space, and Mrs. Madison was much moved with emotion. Strong men thanked God with softened hearts. The conflict was over, and now they knew the bitterness of war.

For this year young Daniel Webster was in the House, and Clay and Calhoun and men who were to have much to do with the nation's destinies later on.

Houses were illuminated, tar barrels were burned, and the streets seemed fairly alive with people. Voices rang with joy.

True, the Treaty was to be discussed and signed, the British troops were to go home, the news to be carried about on the high seas. Ports were to be opened, and "Madison's nightcaps" – barrels that had been hung to protect the rigging of ships – were removed with shouts of joy.

There was a lull in Europe. Prussia drew a long breath. Russia plumed herself on giving the famous Corsican his first blow, while the Battle of Waterloo was the last. France had a king of royal blood again. Spain was repairing her fortunes; while England was counting up her losses and gains, and preparing to shake hands in amity with the young country across the ocean and grow into friendship with it.

CHAPTER XX.

THE OLD STORY EVER NEW

Jaqueline Carrington's heart ached the first time she was taken out to drive, when destruction met her on every side. There was another sorrowful aspect. Men were getting about on crutches, sitting on the Capitol steps sunning themselves. There was an empty coat-sleeve, some scarred faces, others pale and wan. Yes, they had all escaped marvelously.

She thought herself the happiest woman in the world. No one, she was quite sure, had such a tender and devoted husband or splendid baby. Mother Carrington found her affections quite divided, and the days when Jaqueline came over to Georgetown were gala days.

True, Preston Floyd had been already talked of as a member of the House of Representatives. Roger Carrington had been appointed to an excellent position in the Treasury Department, though he was still a great favorite with Mr. Monroe, and Jaqueline was not jealous. Arthur Jettson had come to be consulting architect, and had still greater plans for the new city. Annis had resumed her school, but she was quite an important little body, and sometimes her mother felt almost as if she had lost her.

Lieutenant Ralston found himself an admired hero. He had been cool and level-headed through those days of the panic; and it was admitted that many of his plans for the defense of the City would have been excellent. A new commission was made out, bearing the name of Captain Ralston; and a position was ready for him, when he could fill it, where his genius would have full scope.

There were many anxious days over his leg. One of the doctors said the wound would never heal, and that presently it would be amputation or his life, and considered the delay a great risk.

"Oh, Collaston," he begged, "don't have me going around on a wooden stump! If I was an admiral, now, I shouldn't mind it, as it would add to the glory. But a poor fellow who can't retire on his fortune – "

"We'll fight to the very last, Phil. If you could have been found sooner!"

"And some poor fellows were found altogether too late. Well, the country has learned a lesson, and perhaps with Paul Jones we have taught other nations a lesson, not to tread on us! Do your very best."

The doctor did it in fear and trembling. For if he cost his patient his life, he knew it would be a great blow to his reputation.

As for the young lad, he soon began to improve. He seemed quite stranded, for his cousin's regiment had re-embarked and was coasting southward. No inquiries had been made about him – indeed, he knew afterward that the cousin had written home that he had been killed at the Battle of Bladensburg and buried on the field. He was a stranger in a strange land.

Ralston had grown very fond of him, and he proved himself an excellent companion. He was one of quite a large household, and his father was a baronet, Sir Morton Stafford. One brother was in the army at home, one in the Church, two sisters were married, and there were four younger than himself to provide for. As soon as he could use his arm he wrote to his father, and Dr. Collaston said cordially, "Consider my house your home until you hear."

"You are very good to take in a stranger this way," he returned with emotion.

Marian remained with Jaqueline when Mrs. Mason went home.

"I have been such a gadabout of late years," Mrs. Mason said, "that father hardly knows whether he has a wife and a home. I must think a little of him."

"I wish you could stay, mamma!" pleaded Annis. "Why can't you move up to Washington? I like it ever so much better. There is so much to see and to do, and we are all together here."

"There is Charles. And Varina."

"But Patty and Jaqueline and the babies seem like a great many more. And the rides and drives – "

"But you have your pony. And papa would take you any time with him."

"I like the crowds of people, and the pretty ladies in their carriages, and the foreign ministers are so fine, and to hear the men when they talk in the House, and the girls give little parties. Oh, mamma, I love you, and I want you here, but – "

Her mother smiled. Yes, life on the plantation was dull. And the jealous little girl was being weaned away.

"We are losing our children fast," she said to her husband.

Marian and Jaqueline by slow degrees slipped into the interchange of thought that real friendship uses. It had not the girlish giddiness of youth; both had learned more of the realities of life.

"But did you ever love Mr. Greaves, Marian?" Jaqueline ventured one afternoon, as she sat with her baby on her lap. He was so lovely that she envied the cradle when she put him in it, and liked to feel his soft warm body on her knees.

"I didn't at first. Oh, Jaqueline, brother Randolph is so different from father! We never begged or teased or coaxed things out of him as you children used to. And mother expected us to obey the instant we were spoken to. Then – I did not know that Lieutenant Ralston had been up until some time afterward. Dolly found out that he had been insultingly dismissed. Papa questioned me about the acquaintance and my visit to brother's, and was awfully angry. Jack, did you plan it?"

"I put things in train, simply. I did not know how they would come out."

"Papa accepted Mr. Greaves for me. I meant to tell him the story and decline his hand. But it was quite impossible. I could never talk freely to him. He did not ask me if I loved him. He had certain ideas about wives. But he was gentlemanly and kind, and I had no liberty at home. I began to think it would be nice to be free, to go out without watching, to write a letter, to have some time of my very own. I had said to papa that I would never marry him, and he replied that I should never marry anybody, then. Suddenly I gave in. I begged papa's pardon for all the dreadful things I had said, and accepted Mr. Greaves as my future husband. But I felt as if I had been turned into stone, as if it was not really my own self. That self seemed dead. I went round as usual, and tried to take an interest in everything, but nothing really mattered. Did you think me queer and strange that Christmas?"

"You certainly were cold, apathetical."

"That is just the word. Papa was formal and dogmatic and arbitrary, – poor papa! it is unfilial to say these things about him, – but mamma always seemed to get along. Mr. Greaves was more gentle, and used to ask what I would like; and I do believe he loved me; pitied me; and I couldn't help feeling grateful. Then when he had the first stroke papa said it would be dishonorable to withdraw, and he should be very angry if I contemplated such a thing. Dolly's marriage was on the carpet. She seemed so young, so – yes, silly," and Marian half hid her blushing face. "Could I ever have been so silly, Jaqueline?"

"We all go through the rose-path of sweetness when we are in love," returned Jaqueline. "I'm silly myself at times. Marian, did you know that Mr. Ralston wrote again?"

"Wrote again – then he did not forget?" She raised her soft eyes, suffused with exquisite surprise.

"He wrote when he thought you were free again. I always felt sure you did not get the letter. He took some precautions, and was confident you must have had it, though grandpa returned it without a word!"

"I never heard from him. Jane said when your engagement was broken – " Marian paused and flushed.

"That he would marry me."

Marian nodded. It had given her a heartache, she remembered. So long as he married no one he did not seem so completely cut off that she must cast him utterly out of her life.

"Well, you see he did not. I think now I could not have married anyone but Roger, if I had waited ten years."

"Then, you know, came Mr. Greaves' death and father's, and mother's failing health. I feel quite like an old woman."

"At five-and-twenty! Nonsense! See how young mamma is!"

"She is lovely, Jaqueline!" with enthusiasm.

"I don't know what papa would do without her."

What a beautiful thing it was to be so dear to anyone that he or she could not do without you!

"You saw Ralston that dreadful morning?"

"Yes." Marian buried her face in her hands. Some feeling of unknown power connected with her youth shook her, thrilled her; yet she strove to put it aside. "I prayed I might not go back to that time," and her voice was tremulous; "then when we all thought him dead I – I let myself go. It is shameful for a woman when a man has forgotten her."

"He has made tremendous efforts to forget – I know that," and the sound like a smile in her voice made Marian's face crimson again. "But I am sure he has not succeeded any better than Roger did. And if he should be unfortunate for life – "

"Then I should want to go to him. No one has any right to order my life now. Would it be very unwomanly?"

"No. And you must go to Patty's. She thinks it so queer, but I said you hated to leave me. Marian, if it comes a second time you will not refuse?"

"I think I hadn't the courage to really refuse the first time," and she smiled.

Jaqueline had more delicacy than to repeat what Annis had said, and had forbidden her to carry anything like gossip, "for a little girl who gossips will surely be an old maid. And you will want a nice husband, I am certain."

"Oh, yes!" cried Annis. "And a lot of pretty babies."

"Then never carry tales."

"But he is always asking me about Marian, and why she doesn't come?"

So they sent word they might be expected on a certain day, and baby and nurse and Annis, as soon as school closed.

How many times, lying here, Philip Ralston had lived over that sweet, foolish, incomprehensible love episode – the obstinate regard, the indignation that had followed it, the hard thrusts with which he had pushed her out of his memory. She had gone only momentarily. Her sweet youth had been spent in devotion to her self-indulgent, inexorable father, – he knew how acrimonious Mr. Floyd could be, – and, then, her stern, rigid mother. Had they taken all her sweetness? He had half looked for some sign when she had finished all her duties. Mrs. Jettson had outlived the romance of it, and lost patience with Marian. Besides, she was absorbed with her own family. There were so many pretty girls, and Marian was getting to be quite an old maid, in the days when girls married so young.

And when he had met her that eventful morning he had probable death before him, and was tongue-tied. Did she think he had forgotten all?

They trooped in together, Patty leading the procession; Jaqueline, still a little pale, but lovelier than ever, with her boy in her arms, and Marian with the lost youth back of her. She was too sincere to affect astonishment; and he had improved – was neither so gaunt nor so ghastly as when he first came. She took his hand – did she make a confession in the pressure? He felt suddenly self-condemned, as if he had misjudged her some way, and humble, as if he had nothing good enough to offer her. But he glanced up in the soft eyes – her life had not been very joyous, she was by no means a rich woman, and if she cared most for home and happiness —

She did not hear what they were saying at first. There was a sound as of rushing water in her ears.

"Oh, yes!" he answered, with an hysterical laugh, "I am to keep my own two legs to go upon. I owe it all to Collaston, who stood between me and surgeons' knives, and brandished his war club until they retreated. I shall lie here in supreme content until he bids me arise and walk."

What was it went over Marian's face. Not disappointment, but an inexplicable tenderness, as if she could have taken up the burden cheerfully, as if she were almost casting about for some other burden.

"Poor girl!" he said to himself; "she has devoted her sweetest years to others, and someone ought to pay her back in love's own coin."

Stafford had improved greatly and gained flesh. He had a fair, rather ruddy English complexion and light hair, with the unusual accompaniment of dark-brown eyes; and, though rather unformed, had a fine physique, which was as yet largely in the bone, but would some day have muscle and flesh.

The loss and ruin of Washington had been news to Ralston, though he had known the march of the vandals was inevitable. Annis interested and amused him in her talk. She was a very pronounced patriot in these days.

Eustace Stafford seemed quite bewitched with her. He came over every afternoon to bring word of Ralston, and perhaps to have an encounter of words with Annis. This day, while there were so many to entertain his friend, he stole off to school to walk home with her, though there was not a cloud in the sky that could give him a shadow of excuse.

She was going to walk some distance with one of her mates. "Perhaps it would tire you," she said mischievously.

"I have been in the house all the morning," was the reply.

"Did they bring the baby? It's the most beautiful baby in the world, isn't it?"

"I haven't seen all the babies in the world – " a little awkwardly.

"But he ought to be able to tell whether one is pretty or not, oughtn't he, Eliza?"

Eliza, thus appealed to, hung her head and said, "Perhaps – " frightened and yet delighted to comment on a young man's taste.

"Perhaps British babies are different," was Annis' rather teasing comment.

"I think babies are a good deal alike – "

"No, they are not," and she put on a pretty show of indignation. "I think you are not capable of judging."

"I am sure I am not," he said with alacrity. "They're kept in a nursery at home, you know, and have a playground out of the way somewheres."

"I am very glad I am not an English child, aren't you, Eliza? Poor things! to be stuck out in a back yard!"

"My aunt and cousin are going to England as soon as traveling is safe," said Eliza, with a benevolent intention of pouring oil upon the troubled waters. "He is going to some college."

"There are fine colleges in England. There are very few here."

"We haven't so many people. Charles – that's my brother – went through Harvard, which is splendid, when he was spending some time in Boston. And he may go to Columbia. That's in New York, where he is at school."

"New York is a large city. The English held it in the Revolutionary War."

"But they had to march out of it," said the patriot. "And they had to march away from Baltimore. And now they will have to march away from the whole United States, after they have done all the harm they could and killed off the people and almost murdered poor Lieutenant Ralston."

"But that is war. I'm sorry there should ever be war. I wouldn't have it if I was a king. But your people declared war," remembering that.

"How could we help it, when our poor sailors were snatched from their own vessels and made to fight against us or be beaten to death? Do you suppose we can stand everything? We were altogether in the right, weren't we, Eliza?"

Eliza glanced furtively at the very good-looking face, scarlet with anger and mortification, and wondered how Annis could get in such a temper with him.

"I don't know about the causes of war," she said hesitatingly. "Some people blame Mr. Madison – "

"There are Tories always. I've heard papa tell how many there were in the Revolutionary War. But, you see, we wouldn't have won if we had not had right on our side," she added triumphantly.

"But Napoleon won in a great many battles," Stafford ventured.

"Perhaps he was right then," with emphasis.