Indeed, it transpired afterward that Mrs. Madison had been refused shelter by a shrieking virago because her husband had been enrolled for the defense of the City.
"They are going to the White House. Perhaps they may not molest us, after all."
This proved true. The ravages were continued over eastward. They watched one building after another. The public rope-walk was devoted to the flames. The dockyards and arsenal and naval stores, powder magazine, and a fine frigate just ready to be launched were fed to the devouring element that roared in devastating hunger.
But that seemed nothing to the tornado. Annis flew to her mother's arms, and could not be pacified. Marian and Mrs. Mason would not go to bed, and Annis drowsed with her head on her mother's shoulder, asking now and then if morning had come.
It dawned presently over the ruined City. Rock Creek was a rushing torrent. The Potomac had overflowed its banks. Tiber Creek was swollen out of bounds. Cellars were submerged, boxes and bales and furniture floated out.
The British left their wounded behind, and when they reached Bladensburg there were more than could be cared for. Heartlessly trusting them to the mercy of the beaten enemy, they marched on, striking terror to the smaller towns through which they passed, and then attacking Baltimore, the heroic defense of which is a matter of history. General Ross was killed in the first skirmish, and Admiral Cockburn forced to withdraw, and was condemned even by his own government for his ruthless vandalism, which had won nothing.
But the attack on Fort McHenry gave us one of our most beautiful and deathless songs, and indeed seemed the turning-point of misfortunes in a campaign that had been conducted with so little foresight and sagacity. But even this disaster may have been needed to bring the warring factions together, and convince them that to keep a country intact the strength of all is the salvation of each one, of every home.
Dr. Collaston could hardly call it hope in the morning, but Jaqueline had not lost anything through the terrible night. Roger was nearly worn out with anxiety and the work that had devolved upon him. Wounded men were lying in the streets, and had been brought in from Bladensburg.
"I must get a message over to Patty," the doctor said. "The end of the bridge is burned, but there are some boats. Something must be done for the relief of our poor men who turned out so bravely for the defense of our homes."
Certainly it was a ruined city. Twenty years of labor and interest and expenditure laid waste, many of the inhabitants homeless, some lying wounded, not a few dead. A deserted place, indeed; and it was not until the British were before Baltimore that the panic really subsided.
The President and Mrs. Madison were among the earliest to return. Mrs. Cutts opened her house, for the White House was a charred and blackened ruin. Everybody vied with attentions. The Tayloe mansion, called The Octagon, on New York Avenue, and built in the latter part of the preceding century, by a wealthy planter of Mount Airy, was chosen for the present home. Indeed, Mrs. Madison was never to go back to the White House as its mistress, but she made a not less notable center elsewhere.
Slowly people returned with their goods and stores. The inhabitants of the adjacent towns were generous with assistance. For a month or more Washington had a continual moving-day.
Meanwhile the victories at Plattsburg and the surrender of the fleet on Lake Champlain, as well as the signal victory at Fort Bowyer, put heart into the Americans, and England seemed not indisposed to discuss terms of peace, convinced perhaps a second time that here was an indomitable people, whose friendship was possible, but whose conquest could never be achieved.
Slowly Jaqueline Carrington came back to life. The intense heat had given way to cooling breezes, the sun was often veiled by drifting clouds. For a week there were alternations, then a steady improvement.
Temporary hospitals had been secured. Some of the wounded had found shelter within their own homes or those of friends.
Louis came in one morning. He had been among the volunteers so hastily enrolled, taken prisoner, and then allowed to go, as General Ross did not want to be hampered.
"Collaston, has anything been heard of Ralston? He came into Washington the morning of the battle. Now that things are cleared up a little, he is reported missing. The British did not stop to bury their dead, and he certainly would have been noted."
"I thought it strange we did not hear. We must make inquiries at once. We have been most fortunate, except for pecuniary losses, and since Jaqueline is likely to be restored to us we have no right to complain. I must set out to find Ralston, though. The country has need of such men."
It was true that Arthur Jettson and the doctor were likely to be considerable losers by the misfortunes that had overtaken Washington. But they were young, and could recover. Patty and the two babies returned, and she declared the losses were really not worth thinking of, since everybody had been spared.
When Jaqueline was well enough to sit up a little, she insisted on being taken to her favorite window, which commanded a fine view of the City.
"While you have had one trouble, you have escaped another," said her husband gravely. "Our beautiful Washington – for it had grown beautiful to us, partly by the eye of faith, I suppose – is no more. We have had war and devastation of the elements, and must begin over again. We can tell our children about Old Washington, if she was not ancient in years; but a new one must arise on its ruins."
"War!" Jaqueline cried in amazement. And then she glanced at the destruction, bursting into tears.
"Never mind, my darling wife. We have you and the boy, thanks to your mother and Marian and Dr. Collaston's skill. He was faithfulness itself through all that trying time. When you are stronger you shall hear the whole story."
"And Louis – is everybody safe?"
"Louis shouldered a musket and marched like a trained soldier. Oh, we have some brave men left, I assure you! The enemy came; and what we were unable to do the storm did – forced them to retreat before we had been laid quite in ruins."
"It is terrible!" said Annis. "I have been driving about with the doctor. The beautiful White House is gone, and ever so many places. And the storm was terrific. Oh, dear! what a horrible time it was! I sat up all night long with mamma and Marian."
"Dear Marian! How good you have been to me! You and mother have taken such excellent care of my baby."
Marian glanced up with a grave smile.
"And no dear ones are lost? I suppose Lieutenant Ralston was in the thick of the fight?"
"Yes," answered her husband, "like many another brave man. I think we owe him something also."
Everything was so changed. Marian often mused over it. She felt like quite an old woman. She was hardly likely to marry now. She had put her candle out, she remembered. But her heart gave a quick gasp when she thought of Ralston. "Evangeline" had not yet been written, but daily she felt moved to enact the romance, to go in search of him. Somehow she felt sure she could find him. And if he was among the dead she would have a right to cherish his memory, and that happy episode, the one brief romance of her life.
Dr. Collaston came in. Yes, his patient was doing nicely. When she could be moved with safety, the air of the old plantation, with its rich autumnal fragrance and ripeness, would do her good. Patty should go with her for a holiday.
Annis was hanging to the doctor's arm.
"Won't you take me out with you?" she said coaxingly. "I like so to go with you, there are so many things to see."
"I am going to take Roger out on a little business, if everybody can spare him. Your turn may come to-morrow."
She nodded good-humoredly.
Carrington followed his friend downstairs. "We have news about Ralston," the doctor said. "There is a messenger here with tidings. There is no time to lose. You can hear the story as we go along."
A pale, large-eyed young fellow with an anxious face was awaiting them; and as they were driving over the old road that had been traversed many a time in pleasure, and was to be historic, Carrington listened to the young man's tale. A British soldier, he had been wounded and left on the field, and someone had paused to give him a drink of water, when the stranger had been struck by a stray shot and wounded in the leg. They had made their way slowly to a deserted negro hut, where he had fainted. His new friend had dressed his wound, which was more painful than serious, but both were weak from exhaustion and loss of blood. The storm coming on, they had been glad of shelter. The next day his new-found friend could not walk, and his leg was terribly swollen. They waited in the hope that someone would find them out. But on the third day the American was ill and delirious. A negro woman had discovered them, and visited them daily with food, and had attended to both their wounds as well as she knew how. Now his companion had come to his right mind, and he was a Lieutenant Ralston. He had begged him, Eustace Stafford, to find his way into the City and hunt up a certain Dr. Collaston and tell him the story.
"He is still very ill," declared Stafford. "And he must be taken out of that wretched hole at once. Still, we have been very glad of the shelter."
"You look ill yourself – "
"You should have seen this young fellow half an hour ago," declared the doctor. "You would have thought him a ghost. He has a bad wound in his shoulder that has not been properly treated, and healed up on the outside too soon. I have a carriage here at the door. When Patty heard the story she insisted that I should bring Ralston home at once. We have plenty of room, and, after all, have not been so hard hit."
Young Stafford, they found, had a cousin who was a major in the English army. He had been quite enamored of a soldier's life, had been attached to the staff, and was a sort of private secretary to his cousin. But the romance of war had been driven from his youthful brain by his first battle, that of Bladensburg.
"But you must have better soldiers than those raw recruits," he exclaimed, "when you have done such wonderful things! Still, everything is so strange – "
He glanced furtively at the two men, not knowing how far it was safe to confess one's feelings. The ruin at Washington had filled him with shame and dismay, and he did not wonder that people on every hand were execrating the British. Even the old negro woman had denounced them bitterly.
"Most of our real soldiers were elsewhere. There is a great stretch of country to protect. We have the Indians for enemies, the French occasionally, but we shall come out victorious in the end," said the doctor confidently.
"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?