Chapter XXI: The Mountain Camp

Now, my co-mates and brothers in this cause,
Hath not our custom made this life more sweet
Than that of city pomp? Are not these rocks
More free from peril than the envious town?
Here we but feel the penalty of Adam—
The seasons’ difference, as the frosty fancy
And churlish chiding of the winter’s wind;
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say—
This is no flattery; these are counsellors
That feelingly persuade me what I am.—SHAKSPEARE.

While Vittorio and Alberta talked together outside the door, Elfie entered the leafy hut and threw herself down upon the fragrant pallet that had been spread for her accommodation.

Her shelter was like a fairy bower. Wherever she stretched her hands out towards the walls, or the floor, or the ceiling, she found leaves. Yet the hut was not so compactly built as to prevent the moonbeams from shining in between the loosely woven pine boughs; so the place was dappled over with spots of moonlight; and filled with the fragrance of pine blooms; and cheered with the chirp of insects that sung from every twig.

Elfie lay and rested well, luxuriously; but she could not sleep. Outside they were beating the tattoo, and the guerrillas were putting away their horses or hurrying to their quarters; and the rolling of the drums, the prancing of the steeds, and the tramping of the men would have kept Elfie awake, even if her own troubled thoughts had not banished sleep from her eyes.

“It is just what that wretch said!” thought Elfie—“it is just as if I had lost my footing on the nineteenth century and slipped down into the tenth, and lighted in Epping Forest, in the days of bold Robin Hood and his merry men. What a place for a civilized and Christian girl to find herself in!—the lair of outlaws; for I really do suppose the guerrillas are no better! Not that the life would be so bad either if it were not for the cause—‘the CAUSE, my soul!’ No bed was ever softer or more elastic than this pallet spread upon the leaves; no air was ever so sweet as this that comes laden with the fragrance of the mountain forest; and no serenade was ever so soothing as the small sing-song of these little minstrels of the bark. If this were only a Union camp, and Albert were a patriot, how happy I would be! If—if——”

And here Elfie, pierced to the soul by the poignant thought of what “_might have been_,” began to weep.

“Good night, dearest, good night! Remember if you needs must go upon this expedition, _I go with you_. At noon-day or at midnight, it matters not to me; I shall be ready. No toils, no perils, no privations shall dismay me, Vittorio! I dread but one evil in this world: separation from you; and that evil you have promised that I shall never suffer. Remember, dearest, remember!”

These were the words addressed to the Free Sword by his devoted wife before she left him, raised the curtain, and entered the hut.

She found Elfie still sobbing. She went and knelt down by the pallet, and gently inquired:

“Why, Elfie—Elfie, dear! what is the matter? Why should _you_ weep? Why should _any_ one weep whose best beloved is not in deadly peril as mine is? Speak to me, Elfie! Tell me why you weep so much.”

“It is abou—out that wretch Go—oldsborough!” sobbed Elfie. “Not because he has brought me off by force. I am not thinking of that now; for if he had been true to his country, he needn’t have brought me off by strength of arm. I would have accompanied him willingly anywhere—anywhere over the earth: into the camp—into the wilderness—into the battle! For _you_ know, Alberta, that we women who scream at the sight of a black beetle, can nevertheless face a battery by the side of one we love! And if he had been loyal—oh! if he had been loyal, I should have loved him so well!—I should have honored him so greatly! And if he should have been fated to come out of the war with the loss of both his arms and both his legs, I should still have married him. Yes—and a thousand times yes! I would all the sooner have married him that I might be hands and feet to him forever. But he has lost his HONOR, Alberta. And oh! you do not know it, perhaps—you cannot understand, it may be; but his treason—his treason was the heaviest blow that ever fell upon me, and to-night it weighs heavy as lead upon my heart. Oh! if he had been true—oh! if he had been true!”

“Elfie,” said Alberta, gently and soothingly, “by this vehement outburst of sorrow, I perceive that you love Albert still.”

“I do not! I love no traitor!” passionately broke forth the girl.

“Elfie! how _can_ you speak so unjustly and cruelly of your lover!”

“I speak truly of him!”

“Elfie! let me say one word in Albert’s defence!”

“What is it?”

“_He thinks he is right!_”

“Oh, Alberta! how can he think so? How can any man think so.”

“He thinks he is right, as many a gallant leader in the Confederate army thinks! To _his_ idea of right he has sacrificed all that he possesses on earth, as many a Southern patriot has done!”

“Alberta! we have talked of this before. We have been over and over the argument until my heart and soul are both sick of it! And besides, you may preach all day and yet you will never make me believe that light is darkness, or that treason is patriotism! Bosh! Who do you think is a fool?” snapped Elfie, abruptly turning her face away.

“I think every narrow-minded and prejudiced person is a fool, for that matter, Elfie! I do not wish to convince you of anything in particular, Elfie! I only wish to engage your charitable construction for those who happen to differ from you in opinion—and especially for the lover, of whom it pains you so much to think ill.”

Elfie made no reply, but with her face to the wall, continued to sob.

Alberta tried to soothe her, but in vain, for Elfie was inconsolable.

Nevertheless, the chieftain’s wife sat by the pallet until her guest had sobbed herself to sleep, and slept like a tired child.

Then the unhappy lady threw herself upon her own bed, and fell into a fitful slumber.

Elfie slept long and well, and did not awake until the beating of the reveillé aroused her.

“It is like enchantment,” she said, sitting up on her pallet, and gazing around on the leafy walls of her hut, through the interstices of which the first rays of the rising sun pierced redly.

Alberta was already up and dressed. She brought a clean towel and some water in a broken bowl, and set them before her guest, saying with a smile:

“You must make the best toilet you can under the circumstances, my dear. We are not even so well off here as we were at the old mansion house.”

Elfie followed the advice of her hostess as well as she could. And by the time she had washed her face and arranged her hair and her dress, Alberta was ready to take her out, where, upon the dried grass before the hut, a substantial breakfast was spread.

The Free Sword joined them at the meal.

“I am sorry to tell you, Miss Fielding,” he said, with a bow to Elfie, “that Colonel Goldsborough has left the camp for an absence of several days.”

Elfie looked up in surprise.

“He has left you in our charge, and I need scarcely say that we will do all in our power to make you comfortable,” he continued.

“I thank you very much, Colonel Corsoni, for your news. I am very glad to hear that the kidnapper has taken his departure. And I fervently pray he may never return,” said Elfie.

Vittorio Corsoni shrugged his shoulders.

“He may never return, indeed, Miss Fielding, for the duty he has voluntarily assumed is one of great danger as well as of great honor.”

“Oh, no fear for him. He will be back again all too soon and too surely. It is absolutely wonderful what care Satan takes of his own,” said Elfie.

Again Vittorio shrugged his shoulders, and the conversation ended. And soon after the breakfast came to a close, and Corsoni arose and left the spot.

All that day, men in large numbers continued to arrive at the rendezvous—some who were returning stragglers, some who had been absent on leave, and some who were new recruits. All that day there were company drills in various parts of the camp.

During the afternoon Alberta and Elfie took a ramble through the wild wood that encircled the camp, but came back to their green hut in time for the early tea that Abershaw had prepared, and at which the Free Sword joined them.

And Elfie’s second night on the mountain passed very much as the first had done.

Several days went by in this manner, and still new men continued to come and swell the numbers of the band.

But Albert Goldsborough did not return, nor did Monck, whose arrival was daily expected, make his appearance.

Elfie could perceive that the Free Sword was growing extremely anxious on the subject of the prolonged absence of the two guerrilla leaders.

Elfie kept a sharp look-out. And on the seventh day of Goldsborough’s absence, she discovered that Colonel Corsoni sent out scouts on the perilous duty of looking after the missing men.

On the morning of the eighth day, Elfie was as usual aroused by the rolling of the reveillé.

She arose and began to arrange her dress, while waiting for Alberta, whom she did not see, but who, she naturally supposed, had, as usual, left the hut to procure water for their morning ablutions.

While Elfie was fastening her boddice, she saw the curtain of her doorway lifted, and a bowl of water and a clean towel pushed into the hut.

She took them and began to wash her face and hands, still momentarily expecting the appearance of Alberta, at whose prolonged absence she was beginning to wonder.

At length, when she was quite ready for breakfast, and a little tired of waiting for Alberta, she lifted the curtain of her doorway, and passed out of the hut.

There, to her surprise, she found a breakfast arranged for one, and Mutchison as waiter, in attendance.

“What is the meaning of this, you monstrous villain? Where is Madame Corsoni? And how dare you show your face before me?” indignantly demanded Elfie.

“One question at a time, young lady, if you please. The meaning of this is your breakfast, with me to serve it. Madame Corsoni has gone with her husband, who, at the head of all his command, left the camp at midnight. I show my face to tell you this,” answered Mutchison grimly.

“Alberta gone!” breathlessly exclaimed Elfie.

“Yes; she always goes with her husband. I wish to the Lord I had such a wife.”

“Heaven and earth! what will become of me?” exclaimed Elfie, in a greater panic than she had ever yet experienced.

“Matrimony will become of you, my dear young lady. Colonel Goldsborough arrived here last night, some three hours before the departure of the Free Sword. He brought the marriage license from the county court house with him. And he is now making active preparations for the wedding, which must take place before we march, which we shall do at sharp noon. Come, young lady. I can imagine that a bride has but little appetite on the morning of her wedding day. But allow me at least to pour out for you a cup of coffee.”

“You monster! you miscreant! I would see you and your master both in the deepest pit of perdition, before I would take anything from you!” furiously exclaimed Elfie, dashing the cup of coffee from the hand of Mutchison, and turning and rushing into the hut.

But ah! she had no means of fastening herself within, or keeping any one else without, that frail shelter. Nothing but a curtain hung between her and her pursuers.

And that curtain was presently lifted by Albert Goldsborough, who entered the hut and stood before his beloved.

Elfie whirled around upon him and stood like a stag at bay.

“Wretch! coward! miscreant! shame on you for forcing yourself into my presence, where I have no means of keeping you out!” she fiercely exclaimed.

“Elfie! nonsense, my darling! You know that I love you more than life; and you know that _I_ know you love me; and so——”

But before Albert Goldsborough had got off half of this fine speech, Elfie, who was resolved not to remain alone with him for a moment, had bounded past him and through the doorway, to find herself—on the bosom of Mutchison, who had spread out his arms to intercept her flight. Elfie immediately drove her nails into his face.

“Catamountains! Here! take her off me, colonel! I wouldn’t so much mind if she was my own sweetheart; but I’m dashed if I like to be clapper-clawed by yours! It don’t pay! It’s all thorns and no roses!” laughed the giant, as he tore Elfie away from his face and held her at arm’s length towards Goldsborough, who snatched her to his heart and began to speak to her.

But Elfie stuck her fingers in her ears and screamed until she woke all the mountain echoes.

Then Albert threw his right arm around her, and brought down her hands from her ears and held them firmly with his right hand, while with his left he covered her lips to stop her shrieks, and force her to hear him.

“Elfie,” he said, “you know that I love you more than life. And you know that _I_ know you love me. And it is right that we should be married; but right or wrong, I am resolved to marry you to-day. Listen, you mad girl! Here you are in a guerrilla camp; the only woman in it. You have no longer Alberta’s protection. And unless you have a husband, what is to become of your good name? What do you suppose people will say of you?” he demanded, removing his hand from her lips.

“What do I suppose people will say of me? What do _you_ suppose I care? Could they say worse of me than that I should be your wife?” fiercely demanded Elfie, struggling vainly to free herself.

“Yes, Elfie. You know very well that they may say far worse of you than that, unless I prevent them. But they never shall say it, Elfie. I have got the marriage license and the wedding ring, and the minister is in my hut, only waiting my message to come and marry us.”

“No minister will ever marry us against my consent!”

“Elfie, I have said that to the Reverend Mr. Simmons which convinces him that it is duty to marry us. Come, Mutchison; we have no more time to lose. Go fetch the parson,” ordered Albert Goldsborough.

The giant started on the errand.

“Ho!” called Goldsborough after him.

Mutchison looked back.

“Don’t let any of the men know what’s up. We don’t want to afford them a spectacle in camp. See that they are kept at a proper distance from this.”

“All right, sir,” said the giant, striding on his way.

Albert Goldsborough raised Elfie in his arms and bore her into the hut.

“Mind this!” said Elfie, whose very lips were white with rage, while her black eyes seemed to scintillate sparks of fire—“mind this, Albert Goldsborough! If you persist in this purpose, and if you succeed in carrying it out—_I will kill you!_”

“Perhaps you will, Elfie. You really look as if you would; but I will risk it,” said Albert, firmly.

Presently Mutchison returned to the hut, and said:

“The parson is coming, sir.”

“Mutchison, come here,” said Albert Goldsborough.

And the giant came to his side.

“Mutchison, there was once a princess of France who was as obstinately opposed to matrimony as our bride here. Even when this princess stood with her intended husband before the altar she refused to say ‘Yes’ to the all important question as to whether she would take that man to be her wedded husband. So her father went behind her, put his hands upon her obstinate little head and bent it forward with a nod of assent.”

“And ‘a nod is as good as a wink,’” said Mutchison.

“Certainly—and better, in these instances; for it is a sign of affirmation and means yes.”

“The parson is at the door, sir,” exclaimed Mutchison, seeing a shadow move before the curtain.

“Well, let him wait a moment, until I explain your part to you.”

All the time they were speaking Elfie was struggling violently to free herself. And now again Albert Goldsborough threw his left arm around her and caught and confined her two hands with his left hand, while with his right hand he covered her mouth to stifle her screams, that were again splitting the air.

“Don’t smother her, sir,” said Mutchison.

“I will not. She has fine nostrils, especially when they are inflated with rage, and I leave them free for breathing purposes. Now then, Mutchison; I want you to place yourself immediately behind this obstinate little bride, and when the parson asks her if she will take this man to be her wedded husband, for better for worse, (and she will find him much better than she hopes,) I want you to put your hand upon her obstinate little head and bend it forward with a very emphatic nod of assent, as the King of France did in the case of his disobedient daughter. Get yourself into position. And then I will call on the parson.”

“All right, colonel,” said Mutchison, taking up his stand immediately behind Elfie, who was only pausing to gather strength for a fresh resistance.

“Come in, if you please, Mr. Simmons,” called out Goldsborough.

And the parson lifted the curtain, and entered the hut.

He was a tall, thin, light-haired man, very pale, nervous and consumptive. He was evidently a captive among the guerrillas, and as evidently frightened half to death.

“Hand him the license, Mutchison. Mutchison is here in the three-fold capacity of bride’s father, bridegroom’s best man, and witness of the marriage,” said Goldsborough.

Mutchison stepped forward, and placed the license in the trembling hands of the minister, and then stepped back, and resumed his position behind Elfie.

“Now proceed, sir, if you please,” said Goldsborough.

The nervous minister unfolded and examined the license, and then put it into his pocket, from which he took a small prayer-book.

Opening the book, he commenced the marriage ceremony. And in his extreme trepidation, he commenced at the wrong end:

“‘_Forasmuch as this man and this woman hath consented_—’”

“I have _not_ consented! I had rather be hanged!” screamed Elfie, who had succeeded in wriggling her head free from the hand of her captor.

In this panic the parson dropped his book, and fell into an ague fit.

“This wretch has carried me off by force! He is marrying me by force! I will never—” spluttered Elfie so far; but just here Albert succeeded in getting his hand over her mouth, and silenced her again.

Mutchison picked up the prayer-book and restored it to its owner.

“Go on!” thundered Goldsborough, with a furious stamp of his foot, that nearly caused the startled preacher to drop the volume again.

“Young lady, I have no option but to go on. I act under compulsion, as you do,” said the preacher, beginning again;

“‘Forasmuch as this——’”

“Oh, Mr. Simmons! you look like a good man,” begged Elfie, who had twisted her head free—“and you may have sisters of your own; for their sakes——”

But here Albert Goldsborough stopped her mouth again, and roared at the unfortunate parson to proceed.

“You see, young lady, I have no alternative but to do what I am about to do. The man threatened to hang me if I refused,” pleaded the minister.

“And the man will keep his word,” added Goldsborough.

“And I have an old mother, and sisters also, as you suggested, depending on me for support. So I must do the bidding of this man. And besides, my dear young lady, as you are in the power of these men, it is far better that you should be lawfully married to their leader. If one of my young sisters were in your place, unless she could be immediately rescued, I should thank the first one in authority to lawfully marry her to her captor.”

“Come, then! Stop this nonsense, and go on! or we will find a way to quicken your motions!” thundered Goldsborough.

Thus strongly urged, the poor preacher once more opened his book, found the place, and commenced the marriage ceremony.

The rites proceeded quietly enough, for Elfie’s hands were held too fast, and her lips were covered too closely, for her to offer any successful resistance.

When the bridegroom was asked:

“‘_Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?_’”

Goldsborough answered in a loud, firm, sonorous voice:

“‘_I will._’”

When the similar question was put to the bride, Mutchison clapped his hand upon Elfie’s head and bent it down in assent.

When the minister, proceeding with the ceremony, inquired:

“‘_Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?_’”

Mutchison answered, in a bold voice:

“‘_I do._’”

The ring was then forced upon the bride’s finger, and the marriage ceremony was concluded in the usual manner.

“And now take notice that I have done this deed under compulsion! I wash my hands of the sin, and cast it upon the backs of those to whom it belongs!” said the persecuted preacher, turning to leave the hut.

“Exactly! our backs are broad enough to bear it,” laughed Albert Goldsborough. Then turning to Mutchison, he said: “Go after him, and make him a tumbler of milk punch to set him up again. And leave me alone with my wife, that I may reconcile her to her husband.”