Part 14

Either from my appearance, or for some other cause, he became suddenly suspicious, and not only would not purchase them of me, but refused to let me have them till I could prove my right to them. I was too young and inexperienced to be anything but furious, and the bitter, scalding tears that anger sometimes unlocks to relieve poor woman's outraged feelings, were still falling fast when I reached the hotel with the clerk whom the jeweler had sent back with me that I might prove by the proprietor my ownership of the jewels with which I was born.

He, in his sympathy, shared my anger and, after expressing his sincere regret that I should have been subjected to such an indignity, advised, as he snatched the case from the clerk with a withering look of scorn translated into more emphatic language, that I should look carefully over them to be sure that neither this hireling nor his master had abstracted any of the stones, for his experience had been that suspicion was born of guilt.

As he again locked up my emeralds in his safe he kindly asked how much money I needed and begged that in the future I would permit him to advance for me if I should need any, and furthermore, "as to the board and expenses here," he said, "Mr. Edwards and I will arrange all that when he is well--entirely well." My friends would have been glad to advance me the money but I did not wish to trouble them.

Through the goodness of God and the skill of my kind physician, my loved ones were spared to me, and one day, some time after they were well, as I was reading the paper to my husband, I chanced across an advertisement for a teacher of Latin in Miss McIntosh's school. The professor was going abroad and wanted some one to take his place during his absence. The chuckle of delight which I involuntarily gave as I read it, provoked from my Soldier the remark that I was keeping something very good all to myself. I slyly determined that this little suspicion should be verified and that I would make an application at once for the position; then, if I should fail, I alone would suffer from the disappointment. So, just as soon as I could arrange it, I donned my best clothes, assumed a most dignified mien, went to the number advertised and asked for the professor.

I was shown into the primmest of parlors--the kind of room one feels so utterly alone in, without even the suspicion of a spirit around to keep your own spirit company. Each piece of furniture was placed with mathematical precision, and all was ghost-proof. The proprietress, who came in response to my call, seemed put up in much the same order. She was tall and angular, and her grizzly-red hair was arranged in three large puffs (like fortifications, I thought) on each side of her long, thin face, high cheek-bones, Roman nose, and eyes crowded up together under gold-rimmed spectacles. As she held my card in her hand and looked at me with a narrow-gauge gaze, piercing my inmost thoughts, and with that discouraging "Well!-what-can-I-do-for-you?" expression, I felt all my courage going. My necessities aroused me from my cowardice, and I said as bravely as I could:

"I have had the good fortune to read your advertisement, madam, in the paper this morning, and have come in answer to it. May I see the professor?"

Looking curiously at my card and then over her glasses at me, she said:

"The advertisement was for a teacher, not for a pupil."

"I am perfectly aware of that," I answered, "and came in response, to offer the professor my services as a teacher."

A most quizzical expression bunched up the corners of her mouth and wiggled across her little colorless eyes as she said:

"I will send the professor down to you."

Looking over her spectacles again, as if for a verification of her first impression of me, she left the room.

Returning after a little while, she said:

"The professor requested me to ask if you would be so good as to come up into the recitation room."

I saw as soon as I had entered that a description of me had preceded my coming, and not a very flattering one, either, I judged, from the faces of the professor and the pupils.

The class consisted of fourteen young ladies, all of them apparently older than I was. The professor finished the sentence he was translating on the board, rubbed it out, wiped his hands on the cloth, replaced it, came forward and was duly presented by Miss McIntosh, who remained in the room. He had a pleasant, round, smooth face, a bald head and large gray eyes, was short and stout, with a sympathetic, cultured voice and manner.

"Miss McIntosh tells me you came in reply to my advertisement. I have been forced to advertise in order to save time, as my going abroad is unexpected and brooks no delay."

"I am very glad you had no option but to advertise, else it might not have been my good fortune to know of, and respond to, your wants, sir."

"And you have really come to apply for the position?" he asked.

"I have, sir."

The expression on Miss McIntosh's face, the nudging and suppressed titter among the pupils which this answer brought forth was not calculated to lessen my embarrassment.

"Have you had any experience in teaching?"

"No, sir," I said.

"May I ask where you were educated?"

"I was graduated at Lynchburg College."

"Is that in England?"

"Oh, no, sir," said I, with astonishment at his ignorance, and then recollecting myself just as I was about to inform him that Lynchburg was the fifth town in population in Virginia, was on the south bank of the James River, one hundred and sixteen miles from the capital of the State, and within view of the Blue Ridge Mountains and Peaks of Otter, I stopped short, embarrassed by my imprudence. The professor, taking no notice of my confusion, went on to say:

"And so you were graduated there? My class here has just finished Cæsar. Do you remember how Cæsar commences?"

"Yes, sir," I said, and repeated: "Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres."

"You have the Continental pronunciation, I see."

He gave me several sentences to translate; then an ode from Horace and some selections from Catullus and Tibullus. By this time the pupils were silent, and Miss McIntosh's expression was changed.

He then asked me to write and parse a sentence, which I did, saying _sotto voce_ as he took the chalk from me:

"That was a catch question."

"Please translate and parse this," said he, without noticing my aside, and he wrote in Latin, "The late President of the United States said 'nobody is hurt----'"

Before he wrote any further, instead of translating, I looked up at him and said:

"But, oh, sir! somebody was hurt."

Quickly he cleared the board, put down the cloth, wiped his hands, turned his face to me and offering his hand, said, not to my surprise, because I had faith in prayer, but rather to that of Miss McIntosh and the young ladies:

"I will engage you, Mrs. Edwards, and will be responsible for you."

We went down to the parlor, and I gave him the names of the only friends I had in Montreal of whom he could make inquiries regarding me. The next day I gave my first lesson to the class. I became very fond of them all and, after my embarrassment of the first few days, got along very well with them.

My Soldier was curious to know where I went every day, but, knowing it gave me great pleasure to be thus mysterious, humored me and asked no questions.

My first month's salary was spent in part payment on an overcoat for him, and only Our Father and the angels know what joy filled my heart, that with the work of my hands I could give him comfort. Then my secret was out.

I was sorry when the cold weather came. The snows not only put an end to the military reviews, but covered up the beautiful green. There were very few diversions for us, but I was just as happy as it was possible for me to be. Indeed, those were the very happiest days of my whole life and I was almost sorry when General Rufus Ingalls wrote to my Soldier, inclosing a kind personal letter from General Grant, together with the following official assurance of his safety:

"HEADQUARTERS OF THE ARMIES OF THE UNITED STATES

Washington, D. C, March 12th, 1866.

Geo. E. Pickett, a paroled officer of the Southern Army, is exempt from arrest by Military Authorities, except directed by the President of the United States, Secretary of War or from these Hd. Qrs. so long as he observes the conditions of his parole.

The restriction requiring paroled officers to remain at their homes is removed in this case, and he, Pickett, will be allowed to travel unmolested throughout the United States.

U. S. Grant, Lt. Gen."

General Grant also wrote that it had not been at all necessary for us to go away in the first place, and that the terms of his cartel should have been respected, even though it had necessitated another declaration of war.

We stopped in New York en route to Virginia, expecting to remain there only three or four days, but we found that our board had been paid in advance for two weeks, that a carriage had been put at our service for that length of time, and that in our box was a pack of wine-cards marked "Paid." To this day I do not know how many people's guests we were, for a great many of my Soldier's old army friends were there at the time, and they all vied with each other in making us happy.

XXX

TURKEY ISLAND

As soon as we could make our plans we returned to our ruined home on Turkey Island by the James River, where we built a small cottage in the place of the colonial mansion which had been burned by Butler.

The ancestral trees had all been cut, even the monuments in the family cemetery had been broken, but it was home and we loved it. The river and the woods and our own garden supplied our table. We planted vines to wind lovingly around the melancholy stumps of the old oaks and elms which had fallen victims of the vandalism of war. In our own flowers my Soldier found the perfumes that he loved. He gathered geranium leaves to keep around him, scattered rose-petals through his bureau drawers, and put fragrant blossoms into bags and laid them in the folds of his clothing. In war-time a friend going North asked him, "What shall I bring you!"

"A bottle of new-mown hay and a bottle of heliotrope," was the reply.

Turkey Island, called by the Federal soldiers Turkey Bend, is in Henrico County, which is one of the original shares into which Virginia was divided in 1634. Historic Richmond, the State capital, a town established in the reign of George II, on land belonging to Colonel Byrd, is its county-seat. Brandon, the home of the Harrisons; Shirley, the home of the Carters; and Westover, the home of the Byrds, where Arnold landed on the 4th of January, 1781, and proceeded on his march toward Richmond, are neighboring plantations. Malvern Hill, where one of our internecine battles was fought, adjoins Turkey Island.

Not far distant is the famous Dutch Gap Canal, the useful legacy which Butler left to the State of Virginia, and which, in the advantages it gave the commonwealth, to some extent atoned to my Soldier for the destruction of the Pickett home.

Diverting his troops for a time from wanton spoliation, Butler set them to digging a canal at Dutch Gap to connect the James and Appomattox, thereby shortening by seven miles the road to Richmond, and placing the State traffic under a permanent obligation to his memory. To protect his men while they worked he stationed his prisoners in the trench beside them, in order that the Confederates might not yield to the otherwise irresistible temptation to fire upon them.

Butler may not have been gifted with that fascinating suavity of demeanor which renders a man an ever-sparkling ornament to society, but from a practical business point of view he was not wholly destitute of commendable qualities. His Dutch Gap Canal is not only a lasting monument to his progressive spirit, but a benefit to commerce and an interesting feature which has attracted visitors from many nations.

Out on a point of the plantation, back from the river in a clump of trees--the beginning of the big woods--is still standing a most interesting monument. The top of it was broken off by Butler's troops in a search for hidden treasure. It was erected by William and Mary Randolph in 1771. The following is a copy of the inscription on one of its sides:

"The foundation of this pillar was laid in 1771, when all the great rivers of this country were swept by inundations never before experienced; which changed the face of nature and left traces of their violence that will remain for ages."

My first visit to this monument is one of the sweetest memories of my Turkey Island life. I had gone with my husband to hunt rabbits and birds--a hunt more for the meat than the sport in those poverty-stricken days when our larders were greatly dependent upon the water and the woods.

The day was fine and the dew was yet glistening as we came suddenly and without warning within touch of the gray broken monument shut in and surrounded by the great forest trees. In silence and solemn awe, in the strange light and sudden coolness beneath the shadows my hero-soldier stacked his gun and, raising his hat, gently and silently reached for my hand. I slipped it into his and drew close to him. Birds were singing in the distance.

"God's choir," he said, and in his beautiful voice sang his favorite hymn, "Guide me, oh, thou great Jehovah." Then he taught me these lines:

"The groves are God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them,--ere he framed The lofty vault to gather and roll back The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication."

"Is not that monument one of the oldest in Virginia?" I asked my Soldier.

"No," he said. "There are many older, but the oldest one in the United States, I believe, is one erected to a poor fellow who died on what was to be your birthday in the centuries to come. It is on the banks of Neabsco Creek in Fairfax County. Once when I was on furlough Snelling and I came across it and copied the epitaph. The poor fellow was a companion of John Smith. The inscription on the monument simply said:

"'Here lies ye body of Lieut. William Herris, who died May 16, 1608, aged 65 years; by birth a Briton; a good soldier, a good husband and neighbor.'"

These rambles over the fields and woods, through the clover and sweetbrier, keeping step and chattering with my Soldier where he, as a boy, had often tramped with his father, are among the blessedest of my blessed memories. My Soldier's classic taste and perfect harmony and simple, pure heart made him a true lover of nature and the trees and the plants, the stones, the sod, the ground, the waters, the sky, and all living animals were his kin.

Though my warrior was a lion in battle, he was gentle, amiable, good-humored, affectionate and hospitable in his home. The same exuberant and hopeful spirit which cheered and encouraged his soldiers in the field was felt in his home life. All the world is witness to his patriotism and unselfishness, as he offered his life for the success of the cause in which he had faith. He was never disheartened by the most complicated difficulties. Unspoiled by fame, just and loyal, he deserved the love he received, for he was worshipped by his family, idolized by his soldiers, honored by all parties and all nations--my brave warrior, as simple as a child, as high-minded as he upon whom the word-magician said, "Every god did seem to set his seal, to give the world assurance of a man."

Soon after the surrender the Khedive of Egypt offered my Soldier the position of General in his army, which he declined. After he had refused a second invitation the Khedive cabled to Mr. Mott asking if there was any way of inducing General Pickett to accept the commission. My Soldier replied:

"I fight only for my country. Nothing would induce me to enter a foreign war."

He tried to turn his sword into a plowshare, but he was not expert with plowshares and, worse, he constantly received applications for employment from old comrades no more skilled than he. All were made welcome, though they might not be able to distinguish a rake from a rail fence or know whether potatoes grew on trees or trellised vines. They would get up when they felt like it, linger over breakfast, go out to the fields, and if the sun was too hot or the wind too cold they would come back to sit on the veranda or around the fire till dinner was ready. Then they would linger at table telling war stories until it was unanimously decided to be too late for any more work that day. There were Generals, Colonels, Majors, Captains, Lieutenants, privates, all of one rank now, and he who desired a graphic history of the four years' war needed only to listen to the conversation of the agricultural army at Turkey Island. The inevitable soon came. Resources were exhausted and proprietor and guests were forced to seek other fields.

One of our friends was a veteran who had lost an eye in the Mexican war and had served in the Confederate Army. All that was left of his magnificence was his pride, which had grown strong and rugged on misfortune. It was difficult to do anything for him. He would never admit his needs and any reference thereto was likely to give offense. He had visited us for a time and when urged to stay had resolutely declined. My Soldier was very anxious to help him, but fearful of wounding him. Walking down with him to take the steamer to Richmond my Soldier, unobserved, took a ten-dollar gold piece from his pocket and dropped it in the road, hoping that the old Major would find it. But the veteran walked by without seeing it. So his friend was compelled to find it himself. Three times the ruse was played and at last the Major saw the coin and, picking it up, offered it to his companion. "No, it belongs to you," said the General. "You must have dropped it," urged the Major. "I?" was the query. "How could I have a gold piece? The Yankees are about the only people who have been down in this country with gold, and now that you have found it, it belongs to you." After a long discussion the Major was induced to accept the law that "finders is owners," and he put the gold in his pocket.

When a number of his Virginians wished to make my Soldier Governor he said that he never again would hold any office, but he would be glad to have the valor of his soldiers at Gettysburg recognized and he and the men would like to see his old Brigadier, Kemper, elected Governor. General Kemper was the only one of Pickett's Brigadiers who came out of the battle of Gettysburg, and he was maimed for life. He was elected Governor, and, as he was a bachelor, my Soldier and I often assisted at his receptions.

At a dinner given by the Governor to George Augustus Sala, the English correspondent, Mr. Sala asked:

"General Pickett, whom do you regard as the hero of the battle of Gettysburg, on the northern side?"

"Mr. Sala," was the reply, "the hero of Gettysburg on both the northern and southern side was the private soldier."

I had often heard him say that not the Generals but the men in the ranks fought the battles.

This reminded me of a story, which I told them:

"At a dinner in Canada, given to General Magruder's niece, who had married an English officer, the conversation turned upon the battle of Gettysburg and my Soldier was asked by the Governor-General and General Magruder if he would tell them, now that the war was over, whom he considered responsible for the loss of the battle; who was to blame. With a twinkle in his eye he replied:

"'Well, Governor-General and General Magruder, I think the Yankees had a little something to do with it.'"

Among the visitors at our home at Turkey Island was Mr. R. M. T. Hunter. I well remember his grave but genial face, beardless, marked with deep lines wrought by years of study and care. Those who do not recall him may look at the pictured face of former Senator John W. Daniel, of Virginia, and gain an idea of his appearance. His long hair, almost touching his shoulders, gave him an air that would seem quaint to one accustomed to the closely cropped heads of the present day. His extensive acquaintance with public life, formed in the Congress of the United States and that of the Confederacy, had secured for him an inexhaustible fund of anecdote which his ready wit displayed to good effect, and his vein of humor made him always a welcome companion. His ability to deal with weighty subjects is indicated by the remark of Senator Wigfall, "I don't know what we Southern men would do without Hunter; he is the only one among us who knows anything about finance." As a child his gravity and fondness for books led his old mammy to say, "Li'l Marse Robert gwine ter be a gre't man; he's so lonesome in his ways."

Mr. Hunter knew men, and was the first to discover the genius of Stonewall Jackson. In a letter written to my Soldier near the beginning of the war he congratulated the South on the possession of so great a military man as General Jackson. He was one of those whom Mr. Lincoln wished to see in Richmond after the surrender, expressing confidence in his honesty and his influence with the Southern people, a meeting which was prevented by the absence of Mr. Hunter from Richmond at the time, and for which there was no later opportunity because of the tragic end of the President's great life.

Some of the Northern officers who had seen little, if any, of Southern plantation life, visited us and were deeply interested in the characteristic features of our domestic circle. They found much amusement in the original repartee of the negroes, liking to ask them questions and discuss with them subjects of everyday life. General Ingalls saw an old negro coming in with a large number of terrapin.

"What a lot of terrapin and what immense ones, Uncle Tom! How much do you get for them, and where do you sell them?"

"Yas, suh; dey is 'mense 'case dey's fresh water tarepin; salt water ones is littler. I gits ober en above a couple er ninepences apiece fer 'em, en I sells 'em up in Richmon' ter Mr. Montero, de gambler gemman. You mus' 'scuse me, Marsa, fer answerin' you in retail."

"Why, Uncle Tom, you could get over a dollar apiece for these terrapin in New York," General Ingalls replied.

Uncle Tom pointed to a bucket of water and looking at the General said:

"Yas, suh, Marsa; I spec' dat's so. En, suh, ef I had dat pail er water in hell I could git a million er dollars fer it."

The visitors were also amused by the division of the plantation property, as explained by the servants.

"Whose horse is that?" asked General Tom Pitcher of one of the boys "mindin' de cows."

"Dat hawss? W'y, Marsa, hawsses allers b'longs ter de men-folks, so cou'se dat hawss b'longs ter Marse George."

"And whose cows are those?"

"De woman-folks allers owns de cows, so cou'se dey's Miss Sally's cows."

"Whose chickens are those in the yard?"

"Dey's woman's t'ings, too, en cou'se dey's Miss Sally's."

"To whom do those mules belong?"

"Dey's jest only mules en dey don' hab no owners. Dey don' b'long ter nobody 'specially, en don' nobody want 'em 'specially cep'n fer ter wu'k. Dey's dif'unt fum udder prop'ty; dey ain' one t'ing ner de udder."

Looking up General Pitcher saw a flock of wild ducks flying across the river in delightful irresponsibility.

"Whose ducks are those?" he asked.

The boy looked up and turned toward the General with an expression of scorn.

"Dey's dey own ducks," he asserted emphatically. "Lawd, Marsa, whar you been all yo' life not ter know dat wile ducks is dey own ducks?"