The Belle of Bowling Green
only concerned about her dinner. For by a strong mental effort she had
closed the door on Leonard for the time being: she loved him too well,
and too nobly, to babble about her relations with him--especially with
her cousin Annette.
She asked her father for no further information, and he was pleased at
her reticence; so much so that he gently stroked her hair as he passed
her seat in going out; and the smile she gave him in return made him
thoroughly respect her. It was a time when it was considered a mark of
refinement in a woman to weep readily; and if under the stress of any
unusual joy or grief or disappointment she fainted away, she was thought
to have done the right thing to prove her exquisite sensibility. But if
Sapphira had fainted on hearing of her lover’s departure, the judge
would never have stroked her hair, and she would also have missed that
comprehensive, kindling glance from her mother, which at once bid her
be brave for the occasion, and assured her of sympathy.
But the weariest river finds the sea somewhere, and the time and the
hour run through the longest day. There were visitors after dinner, and
then tea-time came and went; and the judge prepared himself to see his
mother and niece safely to their home.
“And, Carlita, my dear,” he said, “I may not be home until late. There
is to be a meeting at Tammany Hall to approve the war, and considering
our conversation to-day at dinner, one thing about the call is worth
telling you--it is ‘recommended to citizens of forty-five years of age
and upward.’”
Madame laughed and gave her long mitts an impatient jerk--“these
greybeards of ‘forty-five and upward’ are going to talk very wisely, no
doubt,” she said; “but the young men it is, who will man the ships and
the batteries, and the real fighting do.”
“The old men will lead them, mother.”
“Sixteen were you when you went to the front in the last war, Gerardus;
and Aaron Burr, who was no older, if as old, carried messages between
Arnold and Montgomery through the thick of the fight at Quebec; and when
Montgomery fell, little Burr it was who caught his body and carried it
out of the line of fire through a very rain of bullets--a boy, mind
you!”
“Mother, I have divested myself of all community of feeling with the
man called Aaron Burr, and of all interest whatever in his sayings and
doings.”
“There it is! However, the sayings and doings will talk for themselves
some day. Come, let us be going. Carlita looks worn out with our
chatter.”
Carlita did not deny the imputation, and as soon as the echo of their
footsteps had died away in the distance, she said, “Sappha, carry the
candles into the other parlour. I want to lie down on the sofa. I want
to be quiet and dark, and find out where I am, and what I am. The strain
has been very hard. Nassau Street always leaves me feeling fit for
nothing but sleep.”
“And then to end it, that weary Aaron Burr controversy. Can’t people let
him alone?”
“No! When he did well, he heard it never; now they say he has done ill,
he hears of it day in and day out.”
So Sappha went to the best parlour, where the piano still stood open,
with the new music scattered over it. She put it in order, and the very
act brought her a restful, thoughtful mood. Then she closed the
instrument, and drawing a comfortable chair before the window she sat
down to commune with her own heart. If what her father had said
concerning Leonard’s company was correct--and she had no doubt of
it--then it was almost certain Leonard would himself call and tell her.
He might call that very night; she was finally sure he would call, and
her ears took intent note of every sound, and of every coming footstep.
Very rarely are our hopes and wishes accomplished! But this hour was
favourable to Sappha’s love. In a very short time she heard the strong,
quick steps she was waiting to hear; and her face grew luminous with
pleasure, and a sweet smile made her little red mouth enchanting. She
did not go to meet him--the front door stood wide open these summer
evenings, and there was a distinct luxury in sitting still and waiting
for the approach of happiness. It was approaching so surely, so swiftly,
and as the steps came near, and more near, she heard in that scarcely
broken silence the oracle of her heart.
He entered softly, with a grace half-mystical and half-sensuous; and
without a word stood over her. Then she lifted her eyes, and he saw
their bright light turn tender, and he stooped and laid his cheek
against hers, and whispered: “Do you love me? Do you love me? Do you
love me, Sappha? Speak, dearest! Speak quickly! Oh, speak kindly!”
And her soul flew to her lips, and there was no need of words. Love
found a sweeter interpretation.
“Thy little white hand, give it to me.”
She had no will to refuse it, almost of its own will it slipped between
the two strong hands that held it fast. Then he found out those happy
love words that are so glad that they dance as they burn; those words at
once so simple and so wise, so gentle and so strong.
And the great marvel of love is ever this--the slenderness of the
knowledge and experience which compels one human being to say to
another, “I love you!” which compels souls to rush together, as if they
were drawn by some such irresistible attraction as compels planets to
follow their orbits. Both were so young and so happy that they made each
other seem lovelier as they sat with clasped hands, speaking of
Leonard’s company and its destination.
“How shall I endure your absence, Leonard? I know not. You are my life,
now, dear one,” said Sappha.
“But, Sappha, my sweet, I shall be in your thoughts, as you in mine; and
we shall not know that we are apart. Besides, it will be only for ninety
days.”
“Ah, but, Leonard, love reckons days for years, and every little absence
is an age! The tedious hours will move heavily away, and every minute
seem a lazy day.”
“Where have you learned all this?”
“You taught me.”
“Oh, love! love! love! How sweet you are! When I return, then you will
be my wife. Let me speak to your father and mother to-night. Why should
we wait?”
“Leonard, I have promised my father and mother that I will not engage
myself to any one, until the war is over.”
“But that was before this happy hour. Such a promise cannot now stand,
darling.”
“It cannot be broken. How could you ever trust me if I was false to the
dear father and mother who love me so much?”
“But we are engaged, Sappha. No mere ceremony of asking consent can ever
make us more truly one.”
“Then, my love, be content with that knowledge.”
“The war may last a lifetime.”
“It may be over in a year--or less.”
The love-light in her eyes, her tremulous smiles, her penetrative
loveliness, her confident heart’s still fervour, filled him with an
inward gladness that was unspeakable. His eyes dilated with rapture; he
felt as if he was walking on air, and breathing some diviner atmosphere.
The joy of love had gone to his head like wine.
In a little while Mrs. Bloommaert came into the room, and though she was
sleepy and distrait, she could not but notice the couple who stood up
hand-in-hand to meet her. Sappha was eighteen years old, but her radiant
face looked almost childlike in its innocent joyousness; and Leonard at
her side was the incarnation of young manhood; endowed with strength and
grace and beauty, and crowned with the glory of fortunate love.
Leonard wished her to understand, but she smiled away all explanations,
and pretended a little worry over her long sleep, and the late hour; and
there was nothing left for Leonard but to say “Good-night.” They both
went to the door with him, and when he was out of sight, the door was
shut and the mother said, “I must have been asleep! Your father will be
here soon, Sappha. You had better go to bed. I suppose Leonard is going
with the men he raised.”
“Yes, he is going.”
“He ought to be glad to go. It is good for a young man to have some
experiences. Well, dear one, the day is over; and you must be tired.”
Then Sappha perceived that her mother did not wish to know
authentically, what she understood clearly enough; and a little saddened
by this want of sympathy, she went quietly into solitude with her joy.
The three months that followed this interview were filled with incident.
New Yorkers needed no theatre; the war supplied every emotion of dismay
and triumph of which the human heart is capable. “_On to Canada!_” had
been the slogan at its commencement; and General Hull with over two
thousand fine troops quickly took peaceable possession of the little
village of Sandwich, on the Canadian shore. His first dispatches threw
New York into a tumult of excitement and delight. The American flag was
flying on both sides of the Niagara River, and from the grandiloquent
proclamation Hull had made the Canadians, and his first dispatches, it
really appeared as if Canada had fallen. But even while bells were
ringing and cannons firing jubilates for this news, Hull himself had
thrown out the white flag from his fort at Detroit, and surrendered the
stronghold and all his forces without firing a gun. The anger and
mortification of the people were in due season, however, turned into
triumph; for if General Hull surrendered on the nineteenth of August,
Captain Hull of the frigate _Constitution_ on the tenth of August took
the British man-of-war _Guerrière_ on the coast of Newfoundland; and the
news of this victory, which arrived in New York about the first of
September, roused the wildest enthusiasm.
This circumstance indicates very well the progress of the war. The army
operations on the Canadian frontier were everywhere disastrous to
America; on the ocean her ships vindicated by constant brilliant
victories the descent of her sailors from that great maritime power
whose flag had braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze. There
is not in all history a more splendid naval record than the United
States made during these ninety days of alternate dismay and triumph.
And no city felt these wonderful sea victories quite as New York did.
Her great ship-yards on the East River had sent out the armed frigates
and brigs, that were covering the nation, even in the eyes of her enemy,
with a great and unexpected glory. The _Constitution!_ the _President!_
the _Essex!_ the _United States!_ these gallant ships had a kind of
personality to New Yorkers. They had seen them grow to perfection in
Christian Bergh’s and Adam Brown’s yards. They had stood godfathers at
their christening, and they watched their valiant careers almost as a
father watches his son’s course to a glorious success.
On the fourth of September Sappha and Mrs. Bloommaert were in Greenwich
Street shopping, when they suddenly heard a wild shout of joy. “The
_Constitution!_ the _Constitution!_” From mouth to mouth the two words
flew like wild-fire. The whole city was roaring them. The bells clapped
them out. The cannon sent them thundering over land and sea. Men
meeting, though strangers, clasped hands; and women threw themselves
into each other’s arms, weeping. Was there feeling enough left for a
maid to be lovelorn or melancholy? Not in Sappha’s case. She gave her
whole heart to rejoice with her country first, and then proudly
remembered the dear youth who must at that moment be rejoicing with her.
Letters from him came more frequently than she had dared to hope. Some
one available as a messenger was frequently at the Narrows fort, and
Leonard never missed an opportunity. There was no restriction on this
correspondence by her father and mother, though at the beginning of it
the judge strongly advised restriction.
“Written words cannot be denied or rubbed out, Carlita,” he said. “I