Chapter 8

DETAILED FOR DUTY

I awaked in the peace of one who has laid his burden down. My joints were a little stiff, from the position in which I had slept; my mind was set free. The charge of the rival armies and their conflicts was no longer on my shoulders; even the care of individual life and safety I thought no longer to secure. Myself I was a soldier, in a different army; and I had been forgetting my business and presuming into the General's province. No wonder my nerves were strained and my heart almost broken. That was now all given up; and I went through my morning duties in a quiet that was profound, if it was also very humble. I had found the only harbour of rest that can be found on the shores of this world; that one which is entered by paying the tribute of one's self-will. The tides of the great sea do not rise and fall there; the anchorage is good; the winds that weep over the waters bring balm with them; and the banner that floats at the entrance bears this inscription -

"He shall not be afraid of evil tidings; his heart is fixed, trusting in the Lord."

The first thing I heard from Mrs. Sandford was that he doctor was almost well, and would come down stairs after breakfast. I knew what that portended for me; thought I knew; but as I said, I had given up the management of myself and my concerns. "If ye be not able to do that thing which is least, why take ye thought for the rest?" I got my worsted and sat down stairs at my work, to be ready to see the doctor when he should come. Mrs. Sandford took post at the window; and so we waited. The weather to-day was clear and bright; the street full yet of motley groups, returned soldiers and gathered civilians, looking however far less dismal than the day before. Mrs. Sandford from the window detailed all she saw; while my worsted needle went in and out to an interrupted refrain - "He shall not be afraid of evil tidings" - "Why take ye thought?" -

Then Mrs. Sandford said, "Here comes the major, Daisy. It seems to me he is very attentive -" and in the major walked.

He gave his hand to me, and his eye glanced at the figure in the window. I could not help the thought that he wished it not there. But things too far down had been stirred in me, for a little surface matter like this to move my calm.

"What news, major?" my friend asked.

"Good. How do you do, Mrs. Sandford? I told you yesterday that it would be good."

"Yes, but how good is it, Major Fairbairn?"

"Fine."

"Well, go on and tell us. You are a nice major."

"Thank you. In the first place, as you may remember I said it would be, the lists of casualties are greatly reduced."

"Casualties?" said Mrs. Sandford. "What is that? I am learning so many new things."

"The lists of the killed and wounded."

"Oh! That is what a military man calls _casualties_, Daisy, my dear."

"It is the term in common use -" said the major, looking somewhat taken aback.

"I know. Pray, Major Fairbairn, have the officers of the army the reputation of making good husbands and heads of families?"

"I have always heard that they did," said the major, colouring a little and by no means free of his astonishment.

"I don't see how they can have any sympathy for little common heartaches and headaches, though, when to be run through the body is such a trifle. They can't, I think, major."

"But Mrs. Sandford -"

"For instance," the lady went on, unmercifully, - "for instance, Miss Randolph has her head taken off by a cannon ball. The doctor and I are desolate; but Major Fairbairn says it is a 'casualty.' Or, the doctor himself may be hit by a shot not intended for him, and put out of charge of his hospital for ever. Miss Randolph and I are in ashes; but our friend Major Fairbairn says it is only a 'casualty.' "

"But _friends_, Mrs. Sandford, -" the major began.

"Everybody has friends," said Mrs. Sandford. "I was reading in the paper just now a list of these little accidents. One man had his leg shattered by a minie ball; it killed him in a few hours. Another had a charge of grape-shot in his breast; it struck the spine. _He_ is dead. What is grape-shot, Major Fairbairn?"

The major hastily passed to the sideboard in the other room and brought me a glass of water.

"Daisy!" Mrs. Sandford exclaimed. "Are you faint, my dear? These are only casualties. My dear, are you faint? what is the matter? - Bless me, how white you are! What is it?"

I drank the water, and struggled back into composure, at least outwardly; being very much surprised at myself.

"But what _is_ the matter, Daisy? what is the matter? I have said nothing in the world. Cannot you bear that?"

"Major Fairbairn was going to tell us something, ma'am," I said, endeavouring to throw my thoughts off.

"That can wait until you are better."

"No," I said, "do not wait. I am well. What were you going to say, major?"

"Only that things are much better than they were supposed to be yesterday."

"You said that before. Please go on."

"Well, it is always so," said the major. "At first all the stragglers are counted for lost. Then they come in. They are coming in now, by scores, all the while. Instead of thousands killed and wounded, it is found to-day that there are but five or six hundred; and without being particularly hard-hearted, I rejoice at it. That is part of what I was going to say."

The major spoke gravely, and looked at me with an anxious expression. I assured him I was better, and begged him to tell us the rest.

"You have put it all out of my head, Miss Randolph. Will you have - won't you have - something else? - wine? Pardon me, you have not regained your usual colour."

"The best thing would be some more of your good news. I have a great appetite for good news, after yesterday."

"Naturally. Well, the rest of my news is very good. The country is answering the call made upon her."

"The call for fortitude?" said Mrs. Sandford.

"The call for men, - and for pluck, if you like," said the major.

"More men," - said Mrs. Sandford.

"Certainly. We must have men. And from every quarter, wherever we have heard, there comes an enthusiastic response. Sixty thousand new men have been accepted already by the Government; and they are coming in all the while. There will be a very great number of fresh arrivals here in a very few days. Miss Randolph, your question is answered."

"What question, Major Fairbairn?"

"Whether the North would give up, you know."

"I am glad," I said. "I am glad!"

"And even in saying it, you grow pale again, Daisy. You are not well!" Mrs. Sandford exclaimed.

"Perfectly well. These times are exciting."

"Rather too exciting. I like the excitement that brings the blood into the cheeks. Do go out and take a walk; you want fresh air; or yesterday has unstrung your nerves. But you were so quiet, I thought nothing moved you. Do go and take a walk, Daisy."

The major added a quiet word of urging, saying that if I could go at once, he would see that I did not faint before I got home.

I was bewildered, I think, or I should not have gone; but I wanted to get away from the talk and to feel the fresh air; I was stifled; and I went. My nervous perturbation was a surprise to me. I had given up everything, I thought; I was quite calm, ready for everything. I thought I was; and yet, so little a word had unsettled me. So I went with the major. And then, I was brought to myself presently by more than the fresh air; for I found my friend somewhat too happy in his charge, and more careful of me than I chose he should think there was any occasion for. Moreover, I could not bear to accept his care. I summoned my forces and plunged him into a depth of political and philosophical discussion which he could not get out of till he left me again at my own door. I reassured Mrs. Sandford then; and sat down to my worsted embroidery with a profound sense of how little my strength was. A few minutes afterwards Dr. Sandford came in.

I had not seen him now for several weeks; and I never saw him look better. It immediately struck me, that with him well, it mattered comparatively little whether Mr. Thorold and I were in the same place together or not. Dr. Sandford's clear blue eye was not to be braved with impunity. No more was it to be shunned. But I needed not to shun it. I met it full now. I could, since last night. The disposal of my affairs, if it was not in me, it certainly was not in him. He met me with a smile and a look of pleasure; and sat down by me to watch the progress of my worsted work. So ostensibly; but I soon knew that he was watching not my work, but me.

"How have these weeks been with Miss Randolph? Dull?"

"No," I said; - "not dull."

"How have they escaped that?"

"There has been too much to interest, Dr. Sandford."

"Yet I see you at your Berlin wools. Pardon me - but whenever I see a lady busy with her needle and a bit of canvass, I always think she is hard up for something to think of. Pardon again, Daisy. I know you have no mercy upon slang."

"See how mistaken you are, Dr. Sandford."

"In that? Not in that."

"No; but in your notions about wool and canvass."

"They are true!" said the doctor.

"Ah, but, don't you know that extremes meet?"

"What extremes?"

"All extremes, perhaps. I have been working worsted; for a day or two, just because I had so much to think of."

"They have been exciting days," said the doctor slowly, "to a sick man who could do nothing."

"Why not to a woman, for the same reason?"

"Have they tried you very much, Daisy?"

"Why, she was turning faint here a little while ago," broke in Mrs. Sandford, "because I was giving an account of some wounded soldiers I had read about in the papers; and the major and I persuaded her to go out and take a walk to recover herself."

"The major? - that is indefinite, though you use the definite article. What major?"

"Oh, we have a number of military friends. They have kept us alive since you have been shut up. What is this one, Daisy? He is a very good one. Major Fairbairn."

"Fairbairn? I do not know him," said the doctor.

"It is not necessary that you should know everybody," said his sister-in-law. "Daisy knows him very well."

"And likes him -" said the doctor; "or he could not have a share in persuading Miss Randolph to anything."

"Yes, I like him," I said. I thought, the more friends in the army I had, the better; and also, that Dr. Sandford must not be permitted to push his lines too far.

"Who _is_ Major Fairbairn?"

"I do not know; he is from Maine or New Hampshire, I think."

"Your parents, Daisy, would not desire these Northern associations for you; would they?"

I do not know with what calm I faced the doctor and answered him. "These Northern associations" - the words touched the innermost beatings of my heart - if such an expression can be used. Yet I looked at Dr. Sandford in absolute calm, knowing all that the doctor did not know, and spoke with perfect composure.

"I cannot escape them, you know, Dr. Sandford, unless I were to go over to the enemy's lines; and I cannot do that."

"I would not wish that," said the doctor.

"Then your feelings continue all with the Northern men, Daisy?"

"All -" I said.

I went back to my worsted work, but I had a sense that the doctor was studying me. One cannot judge, of course, of one's own manner, or know what is in it; so I cannot tell what had been in mine. The doctor sat and considered me; I thought, in some perplexity.

"Daisy's feelings are appreciated and returned by the Northern men," Mrs. Sandford said, laughing. "Rides and walks - how many rides and walks have you taken, Daisy, these forlorn weeks, with officers of the Northern army? Oh! they are not ungrateful."

Dr. Sandford made no answer, and when he spoke I knew he was not making answer to these words. But they startled me.

"Is there anybody engaged in this struggle, Daisy, that you are concerned for?"

"Certainly!" I said; - "several."

"I was not aware -" the doctor began.

"Some whom you know, and some whom you don't know, and on both sides."

"You have a cousin, I believe, somewhere in the Southern army. He was at West Point, if I remember."

"Preston Gary. I do not know where he is now, only he is among them. They say, he is with Beauregard. I was very fond of him. Then there is my brother; he either is with them or he will be; and there are still others."

"On the Southern side," said the doctor.

"Those two are on the Southern side," I said. "Others are on the Northern. I am there myself."

"Not exactly in the struggle," said the doctor; "and yet, I do not know. These women!"

I think the doctor was baffled by my perfect quietness and readiness. He spoke presently in a disengaged manner, -

"Mr. Ransom Randolph is in no danger at present. I know from a word in a late letter from your father, that he is in Europe still. Would you not like to get out of this confused state of things, and join them there?"

"I would like better to go if it was peace here," I said.

"Would you? Then you are not afraid lest the rebels should take Washington and confiscate the whole of us?"

"Major Fairbairn thinks the danger of that is past."

"He does! However, other dangers might arise -"

"I knew you would not think Washington very safe ground for us," Mrs. Sandford rejoined.

"Mrs. Sandford is at her own risk. But I should hardly be doing the duty of a good guardian if I risked anything, where so important a charge is committed to me. I shall get you away from here without delay. How soon can you both be ready?"

I wanted to say I was ready, but I could not get out the words. My two friends debated the matter, and the doctor fixed his own time. The day after to-morrow.

It was good for me, that I had given up the charge of my own interests; or I never could have maintained the ease of manner which it was desirable to maintain in face of this proposition. I was very calm, remembering that "a man's heart deviseth his way, but the Lord directeth his steps." I went on with my worsted stitching under the eye of the doctor. I do not know why he watched me so.

"Has anybody ventured to tell you, Miss Randolph, that you have changed within a few months?" This question was put after I had forgotten the doctor and was marching somewhere before a battery in Patterson's column. I started a little.

"Yes, indeed! has she not?" exclaimed Mrs. Sandford. "Changed! She came out of school the dearest little schoolgirl that ever lived; or I should say, she went back to school so, last year. What has the year done to you, Daisy?"

"What _has_ it done to me?" I replied, smiling at her. "How am I changed?"

"Changed!" Mrs. Sandford repeated. "Tell her, Grant, what is she now?"

"She would not thank me for telling her," said the doctor.

"But I will thank you, Mrs. Sandford," I said. "I _was_ 'the dearest little schoolgirl.' "

"My dear, you are not that now," Mrs. Sandford said solemnly.

"It all comes to this, Daisy," said the doctor. "You are a psychological puzzle to me. For the matter of that, now I think of it, you always were. When you went to visit Molly Skelton, and carried rose-bushes round the country in your pony-chaise, just as much as now. You are not the same Daisy, however."

"Yes, I am; just the same," I said earnestly.

"Fancy it!" said Mrs. Sandford. "My dear, you do I not see yourself; that is clear."

"I would like to do the same things again," I insisted. But that nearly choked me. For a vision of myself in my happy pony-chaise; the free, joyous child that I was, ignorant of soldiers and wars, further than as I knew my dear Captain Drummond; the vision of the Daisy that once was, and could never be again; went nigh to shake all my composure down. The emotion came with a rush, and I had nearly succumbed to it.

"Miss Randolph has a philosophy," the doctor went on, still watching me, - "which is not common to the world, and which I have hitherto in vain endeavoured to fathom. I have always fancied that I should be happier if I could find it out."

"Did I never tell you what it was, Dr. Sandford?"

"Never - intelligibly. You will excuse me. I do not mean to accuse you, but myself."

"But you know what it is," I said, facing him. "My philosophy, as you call it. It is only, to live for the other world instead of this."

"Why not live for this world, while you are in it, Daisy?"

"I am not going to stay in it."

"I hope, very long!" said the doctor - seriously. "And do you not think that people are meant to enjoy this world, while they have it?"

"Yes, when they can," I answered; remembering vividly that enjoyment is not always the rule. "But I enjoy the world better than you do, Dr. Sandford; because, living for the other, I take the good of both. And if this fails at any time, the other - cannot."

Dr. Sandford's blue eye went as deep into mine, and into me, I think, as it could; and he did not look satisfied.

The preparations for our journey were pressed with a diligence that admitted of no delay, all that day and the next. I was quietly busy too, thinking that it did not matter; that the time must come, and as well then as ever.

I had miscalculated my strength, or my weakness. Or perhaps the emotional part of our nature is never to be depended on. That dim morning of our early departure is fixed in my memory as one of the most heart-sinking times my heart ever knew. My companions were brisk and bright, in travelling mood, taking cars and porters and ticket offices and crowds, as pleasant concomitants of a pleasant affair. Glad to get away from Washington, both of them. And I, alone in my heart, knew what a thread was breaking for me; knew that Thorold's path and mine were starting from that point upon divergent lines, which would grow but further and further apart every day. Until that moment I had not realised what it would be, to leave the neighbourhood of his work and his danger, and cut off all but the most distant and precarious communication between him and me; what it would be, too, to him, to know that I was gone. It did seem then for a minute as if I could not go; as if I must, as necessity, remain within hailing distance of him, and at the headquarters of information. But there was another "must," stronger than mine; I was seated in the car, the whistle blew its mockery of me; and the slow movement which immediately followed was the snapping of the thread, - the parting of the lines. It was something that no human action could stay or avert now; and the gentle motion soon grew to a whirl of speed which bore me relentlessly away. The slow pang of that first stir of the cars, I can feel yet.

It was a dumb pain at my heart all day. I could not understand myself. For several days I had been quiet and prepared, I thought, and submissive; now to-day all was disorder; no preparedness; no quiet. Instead were heartaches and regrets and wild wishes; sometimes in dull and steady force, like a still rain storm; and sometimes sweeping over me with the fury of a tempestuous blast. I had not strength to resist; my utmost was to keep a calm front before my friends. I did that, I think. But what torture is it not, to be obliged to hear and answer all manner of trifling words, to enter into every trivial thought, of people at ease around one, when the heart is bending and bowing under its life burden; to be obliged to count the pebbles in the way, when one is staggering to keep one's footing at all. Yes, and one must answer with a disengaged face, and one must smile with ready lips, and attention must not wander, and self-absorption for a minute cannot be allowed. Perhaps it was good for me.

My companions attended to me well, so that I got no respite all day. Not till night, when I reached my room; and when I had respite, I found no rest. It was great relief to put my head down without fear lest somebody should ask me if it ached; but all night long I struggled with the pain that had fought me all day. The next morning I went to find Miss Cardigan. To my great disappointment she was not at home; and would not be at home, I was told, under a week.

I passed slowly in, over the familiar stones of the marble floor, in through the empty rooms, to the innermost one which opened upon the little conservatory. That too was stripped of its beauties; most of the plants were set out in the open ground, and the scaffolding steps were bare. I turned my back upon the glass door, which had been for me the door to so much sweetness, and sat down to think. Not only sweetness. How strange it was! From Miss Cardigan's flowers, the connecting links led on straight to all my sorrow and heartache of the present and perhaps of many future days. They had led me here; and here Mr. Thorold had said words to me that had bound him and me together for the rest of our lives, and made his welfare my welfare. And now, he was in the shock of battlefields; and I - afar off - must watch and listen. And I could not be near and watch. I must be where even good news would be no news, except of the past; where nobody would speak to me of Mr. Thorold, and where I could not speak of him to anybody. I was sure, the more I thought of it, that the only possible chance for a good issue to our engagement, would be to wait until the war should be over; and if he persisted in his determination of speaking to my father and mother before such a favourable conjuncture, the end would be only disaster. I somewhat hoped, that the pressure of active duty on his part, or some happy negligence of post-office officials, or other contingency, might hinder such a letter as he had threatened from coming to my father's hands at present.

Meanwhile, in Miss Cardigan's little room, I struggled for a right mind. If I was sorrowful, I told myself, I was also glad. If I pitied myself a little for all that had happened, it was also true that I would not have undone it - that is, my part in it, - for the world. I would rather belong to Mr. Thorold, even through all this pain, than be nothing to him and have him nothing to me. Yes, even going away on my distant journey to Europe, the knowledge of his love was a richer jewel in my heart than any other of earth's jewels that I carried. So what was I crying about?

I washed away some of the soreness of the days past in those tears. And then I came quietly back to my position; willing that God should dispose of me and do with me what He pleased; send me away or bring me home; give or take from me. At least so far I was willing, that I gave up all care-taking and ceased to struggle. My mood grew even sunshiny as I walked back to the hotel where we were all stationed. Hope began to execute little dances before me.

The doctor was busy now, I understood, with trying to find some party with whom I might make the journey to Switzerland. Mrs. Sandford was eager to get back to Melbourne, or its neighbourhood; I always called the whole region by that name. How I wished I could be allowed to go with her, and wait there till an opportunity offered for my further journey! But such were not the views of my guardian.

"Here's devotion!" exclaimed Mrs. Sandford as I came in to tea one evening. "My dear, he says he will go with you himself."

"Where? - who?" I asked.

"Why, Grant, to be sure. He says he will go with you, himself, and then his mind will be easy."

"How can he?" I said. "An army surgeon, - how can he get away?"

"Yes, and in war-time," said Mrs. Sandford. "But the truth is, that he needs to get away, he says; he is not fit for duty; and the voyage over and back will just set him up. I think it is a capital plan, for my part. He won't be gone any length of time, you know; and indeed he must not; he will just run across and put you in the hands of your friends; and so your passage is engaged, Daisy, in the _Persia_. I only wish I was going along, but I can't. I advise you never to marry Grant. It ties one up terribly."

"It does not tie _you_ very close," the doctor answered.

"When does the _Persia_ go?" I asked.

"Yes, indeed; that _is_ a question," said Mrs. Sandford. "Just think - she sails Saturday, and this is Thursday. Only one single day for you, Daisy; but after all, it is best so. You can be ready just as well, and the sooner you are off now the better. I shall miss you dreadfully, though."

I felt my cheeks turn cold, and I busied myself with my cup of tea.

"You are not so eager to be off, Miss Randolph, as my good sister is to have you," I heard the doctor say.

"No, not quite. I would like better to go if all this trouble in the country were ended."

"That would be to wait some time, I am afraid, said the doctor, helping himself to a piece of toast. And I do not know what in his motion and his manner of speech conveyed to me the notion that he was glad I could not wait. And, my mother's child though I was, I could not thwart him this time.

"It is a good time to be away, _I_ think," said Mrs. Sandford. "I'd keep the news from her, Grant, if I were you. She sits and studies the papers as if her life were in them."

"There will be no news on board the steamer," said the doctor.

Yes, I knew that. The very beginning of my journey was to cut me off from tidings. How should I get them in Switzerland? And I must go too without seeing Miss Cardigan. Well, I thought, nothing can take my best Friend from me.