CHAPTER II
THE PARTING OF THE WAYS
"Don't you think a little cottage down by the river would be the best thing, Mary?" asked Bob.
"And then you'd be away from me every minute you could spare fishing. I know you, Bob Van Doren."
From the inside of the house Mary's brother Tom "twitted" the two unmercifully.
"I say there, Bob," he called, "you'd better let Mary come in and help about this supper. If you don't, there'll be a death when father comes home."
Mary's father was gentle with her, and this remark of her brother's was so obviously hyperbolic that she burst out laughing as she flung back, "Oh, I guess you've kept Nannie Woods from her work many a time, and there haven't been any deaths in that family yet."
"But there may be in this if Luke Sharples catches you sparking around Nannie," interposed Bob.
"Oh, I can attend to Luke any day."
"That's so, Luke isn't a very fast runner."
Tom threw a corncob out of the door and it struck Bob's hat and knocked it off. "There's an answer for you," he called.
They were still laughing and Mary's face was flushed with love and merriment when Bradford Waters came up and strode silently through the gateway.
"I must go in now," said Mary.
"So soon? Why it's hardly time to put the potatoes on yet."
"Suppose sometimes you should come home and find your supper not ready?"
"Oh, I wouldn't mind if you were there."
Just then Bradford Waters' voice floated angrily out to them, "What's that young whelp hanging around my gate for?"
The girl turned pale, and her heart stood still, but the young man only laughed and shouted back, "What's the matter, Mr. Waters, you and father been at war again?"
"Yes, we've been at war, and soon we shall all be at war. Some of your dirty kinsmen have fired on Fort Sumter."
"What!"
"Yes, and there'll be hell for this day's work, you mark my words." The old man came to the door again, and his son stood behind him, holding his arm. "Get away from my gate there. Mary, come in the house. I've got better business for you than skylarking with copperheads."
The girl stood transfixed. "What is it, father, what is it?" cried Tom.
"I tell you, those Southern devils have fired on Fort Sumter, and it means war! Get away from here, Bob Van Doren. There is a time when men must separate on the ground of their beliefs, and this house has no dealing with the enemies of the Union, Mary."
But the girl's eyes were flashing, and her lips compressed. "Go in, Mary," said Bob, and he dropped her hand. His face was red and pale by turns. She turned and went into the house, and her lover left the gate and walked down the street.
"Let this be the last time I catch you talking with one of the Van Dorens. We are two families on opposite sides of a great question. We can have no dealings, one with the other."
"But father, you gave Bob the right to love me, and you can't take it back, you can't."
"I can take it back, and I will take it back. I'd rather see you marry Nigger Ed, the town crier, than to cross my blood with that Van Doren breed. To-day, Stephen Van Doren rejoiced because his flag had been fired upon. The flag he's living under, the flag that protects him wherever he goes!"
"That wasn't Bob, father."
"Like father, like son," broke in Tom passionately.
"Why, Tom!" Mary turned her eyes, grief-filled to overflowing upon her brother, "you and he were such friends!"
"I have no friends who are not the friends of my country. Since I know what I know, I would not take Bob Van Doren's hand if he were my brother."
"If he were Nannie Woods' brother?"
"Nannie Woods is a good loyal girl, and her affections are placed on a loyal man. There is no division there."
"Bob is right, Mary. We have come to the parting of the ways. Those who hold with the South must go with the South. Those who hold with the North must stand by the flag. We are all either Union men or we are rebels."
"But father, what of Vallandigham? You have always said that he was a noble man."
"Vallandigham? Let me never hear his name again! In this house it spells treason. I can make some allowance for the Southerner, living among his institutions and drawing his life from them; but for the man who lives at the North, represents Northern people and fills his pockets with the coin which Northern hands have worked for, for him, I have only contempt. Such men hide like copperheads in the grass, and sting when we least expect it. Weed them out, I say, weed them out!"
The old man shook with the passion of his feelings, and his face was ashen with anger. There had been a time when Vallandigham was his idol. He had gone against his party to help vote him into Congress, and then———
It was a strangely silent meal to which the three sat down that night. Tom was feverishly anxious to be out for news, and Mary with tear-stained face sat looking away into space. There was a compression about her lips that gave her countenance a wonderful similarity to her father's. She could not eat, and she could not talk, but her thoughts were busy with the events that were going on about her. How she hated it all—the strife, the turmoil, the bickerings and disagreements. The Union, Confederacy, abolition, slavery, the North, the South; one the upper, the other, the lower millstone, and between them, love and the women of the whole country. Why could not they be let alone? Was there not enough to be sacrificed that even the budding flower of love must be brought too? It was hard, too hard. She loved Bob Van Doren. What did she care with which side he sympathized? She loved Bob, not his politics. What had she to do with those black men down there in the South, it was none of her business? For her part, she only knew one black man and he was bad enough. Of course, Nigger Ed was funny. They all liked him and laughed at him, but he was not exemplary. He filled, with equal adaptability, the position of town crier and town drunkard. Really, if all his brethren were like him, they would be none the worse for having masters. Anyhow, her father had not been always so rigid, for he laughed when somebody stole the Bible from the colored folks' meeting-house, and wondered what they could do with a Bible anyhow.
Her reverie was broken by her brother's rising from the table.
"I'm going out to see what's going on," he announced.
"I'll walk up the street with you," said his father.
They took their hats and went out, and with a grey face, but set lips, the daughter went about her evening's work. When they reached the courthouse a crowd was gathered there, and rumors and stories of all kinds were passing from lip to lip. Another crowd was gathered on the opposite side of the street, hooting and jeering, while now and then some self-appointed orator harangued it. The assembly was composed of some of the worst elements of the town, reinforced by the young sports of some of the best families. Altogether, it was a combination of hot blood and lawlessness.
An old friend of the Waters', who had been listening to the noisier crowd, brushed against the two men, and said under his breath, "Come on home, there's hell's work brewing here to-night."
"Then I'll stay and be in it," said the older man."
"There's nothing you can help about," replied the friend. "You'd better come."
"No, we'll stay."
The lawless element, emboldened at the news of Sumter's disaster, determined to have some fun at the expense of their opponents. With one accord, they surged towards the office of the Republican, armed with horns, and whistled, hooted and jeered themselves hoarse.
"This is child's play," said Bradford Waters to his son," if this is all they're going to do, we might as well go home."
They went back to the house, where for hours they could hear the horns and whistles of the crowd.
It was near midnight, when they were awakened by the clanging of a bell, and they heard Nigger Ed as he sped past the house, crying, "Fiah, fiah! De 'Publican buildin' on fiah, tu'n out!"
The Waters were dressed and out of the house in a twinkling and had joined the crowd of men and boys who, with shouts and grunts, were tugging at the old hose-cart. Then they strained and tore their way to the Republican office where the fire had made terrible headway. The hose was turned on the building, and the pumps started. The flames crackled and the water hissed and like an echo there floated to the ears of the toiling men the cry of the rioters far away in another part of the town. They had done their work. It had, perhaps, come about unintentionally. They had only met to jeer; but finally some one threw a stone. The sound of crashing glass filled them with the spirit of destruction. A rioter cried, "Fire the damned shanty!" There were cries of "No! No!" but the cry had already been taken up, and a brand had been flung. Then madness seized them all and they battered and broke, smashed and tore, fired the place and fled singing with delirious joy. The work of the firemen was of no avail, and in an hour the building and its contents were a confused mass of ashes, charred beams and molten metal.
When the Waters reached home, Mary, wide-eyed, white and shivering, sat up waiting for them. She hurried to give them each a cup of coffee, but asked no questions, though her hungry eyes craved the news. She sat and stared at them, as they eagerly drank.
Then her father turned to her. "Well," he said, "here's another sacrifice to the spirit of rebellion in the North. A man ruined, his property destroyed. They have burned the Republican, but they can't burn the principle it stood for, and the fire they lighted to night will leave a flame in the heart of loyal citizens that will burn out every stock and stubble of secession, and disloyalty. Then woe to the copperheads who are hiding in the grass! When the flames have driven them out, we will trample on them, trample on them!" The old man rose and ground his heel into the floor.
Mary gave a cry, and shivering, covered her face with her hands.