Chapter IV: The Soldier’s Love

’Tis often in the parting hour,
Victorious love asserts his power
O’er coldness and disdain;
For flinty is her heart can view
To battle march her lover true.
Can hear perchance his last adieu,
Nor own her share of pain.—WALTER SCOTT.

At length the draft commenced, and the city was in a pretty state of excitement. There were hundreds of youths who had been withheld by the authority of parents or the persuasions of friends from volunteering, but who were now in great hopes of being drafted and “made to do as they liked.” And there were hundreds of men whose health had never been known to suffer before, but who now suddenly fell ill of grievous disorders. Never—no, never since the cholera of ‘32, had the city been so sickly. Never were so many people at one time affected with so many aches and pains. It was as if Pandora’s box had been then and there opened for the first time, and all the maladies to which flesh is heir had been sown broadcast over the district. And never had there been such deplorable destitution; never so many only grandmothers, widowed mothers, orphaned sisters and motherless children dependent upon men for support.

But what else could be expected?

All, or nearly all, the heroes had volunteered long before the enrollment; and the men who did not were either serving humanity in some other way, or else lacked the power or the will to serve their country.

But in all the excited multitude not one was more excited than our Elfie.

Every morning when the paper came, she was the first to seize it; and she would let her coffee grow cold while she read out the list of drafted men to the company at the breakfast table.

And on the day on which the draft for _her_ sub-district was to come off, Elfie was very nearly beside herself. She could not be easy for one moment. She rambled all over the house and grounds in the most restless manner. She drilled a little while, and then she threw aside her rifle and re-commenced her rambles. She bought every edition of the evening papers, extras and all, and read the list of the drafted men; but at the very latest issue the list was incomplete, and Elfie was discontented.

In the morning she was the first one down stairs, watching for the early paper. It came, and the list was complete. But on this occasion, for the first time, Elfie omitted to read it aloud, and apparently no one had interest enough in the subject to try their eyes over the diamond type. But Elfie, who had been insane herself with anxiety on the preceding day, seemed mad with exultation on this. She laughed at everything and at nothing. She sang and danced all over the house, and drilled more than ever.

“Really, Elfie,” said Erminie, “one would think that yesterday you had been in an agony of suspense lest some favorite brother or friend should be drafted, and that to-day you are in an ecstacy of joy on perceiving that he has escaped. What ails you dear?”

“Never mind, you’ll soon see.

‘We are coming, Father Abraham,
_Five_ hundred thousand more,’”

replied Elfie, singing and dancing out of the room.

In two or three days they _did_ know. It was one morning after breakfast.

Major Fielding had walked out for the first time since he was wounded.

Miss Conyers had just dropped in for a morning call.

Erminie, Elfie, Britomarte and Lieutenant Ethel were assembled in the drawing-room, discussing the one great topic of the day, the very last battle, when there came a ring at the bell, followed by the entrance of Uncle Bob, bringing a large, formidable-looking letter, and gazing around in perplexity, as doubting to whom to deliver it.

“Penny pos’, Miss,” he said at length, appealing to the young mistress of the house.

But Elfie sprang up and darted past every one, and seized the letter, exclaiming:

“It is for me!”

“For _you_, Elfie? _That_ letter!” said Erminie, in incredulous surprise.

“Yes; if you doubt it look at it!” replied Elfie, triumphantly, turning the back of the letter to the whole group, so that each one could read its superscription.

It was a long, large, yellow envelope, bearing on its upper-right-hand corner the words: PROVOST MARSHAL’S OFFICE. _Official Business._ Directed to Sydney Fielding.

And exclamations of wonder broke from all present.

“It cannot be for you, Elfie. It is from the Provost Marshal’s office, and on official business. You can have no official business with the Provost Marshal, my dear,” said Erminie.

“Can’t I?” mocked Elfie.

“But what business _can_ you have?”

“You’ll hear presently—

‘We are coming! we are coming! our Union to restore——’”

“Elfie, dear, _do_ stop singing, and be reasonable. This letter is directed to Sydney Fielding. There must be a mistake. Sydney Fielding!”

“Well, what is _my_ name? Isn’t it Elfrida Sydney Fielding!”

“Yes; but——”

“Just so. The Elfrida’s left out. I had it left out on purpose. Not that I intend to claim exemption on that account, like the poltroon Jonson, who tried to get off on the ground that the enrolling officer had spelt his name wrong, naturally writing it ‘Johnson.’ This summons is directed to Sydney Fielding, which means me, Elfrida Sydney Fielding, since there is no other Sydney Fielding in existence, and I shall respond to it.”

“Summons! Enrolling officer! Whatever do you mean, Elfie?” inquired Erminie, in growing amazement, which was fully shared by young Ethel.

As for Britomarte, she seemed to know, or guess, the meaning of the whole affair.

“Wait a minute!” said Elfie, breaking the broad seal, and reading the letter, which was half print and half manuscript.

Her companions watched her impatiently.

“I knew it!” she exclaimed, jumping up and singing: “‘We are coming, we are coming, our Union to restore!’”

“Oh, Elfie! Elfie! are you quite distracted?” exclaimed Erminie, in distress.

“No, my dear, I am not ‘distracted;’ I am only _drafted_!” said Elfie.

“Drafted!” exclaimed all, in a breath.

“Yes, drafted, friends and fellow citizens!”

“Elfie, you _are_ crazed,” said Erminie.

“No, not ‘crazed’—_conscripted_! You always hit upon the right initial, but not on the right word!” replied Elfie.

“You do not mean to say, in sober earnest, that you are _drafted_, Miss Fielding? Such a thing was never heard of! Women have enlisted, and have served; but always when disguised as men. I never in my life heard of a woman being drafted. Such an event would be impossible,” said Lieutenant Ethel.

“‘Impossible!’ Lor!” mocked Elfie. “Are you so young and green as not to know impossible things constantly happen? And here is the proof in black and white.”

“If that document is the official summons of a drafted man, it proves beyond a doubt that it was never intended for you,” urged the young officer.

“For whom then?” mockingly inquired Elfie.

“Why, of course, for some individual who was enrolled under that name.”

“All right! I was the individual enrolled under that name.”

“You, Elfie!” exclaimed all her companions, in a breath.

“Yes—I, Elfie. Now, if you will all stop exclaiming and gesticulating, I’ll explain.”

“Do so, then.”

“Well, you know, last June, when the enrolling officers were going round?”

“Yes,” said Erminie.

“The day they came here no one was at home but myself and the servants. You, Erminie, were at the hospitals, and my pap was with General Hooker. So I was keeping house that morning, when there came a peremptory ring at the bell. Old Bob, as usual, answered it, and then came to me with a scared face, saying there were two ‘ossifer gemmen’ at the door, asking for the head of the family.”

“Well?”

“I was the vice-head, and so I went out to see what was wanted. There stood the two enrolling officers, with the big books and stumpy pens. I knew what they were at a glance. They looked tired and heated that warm summer day, so I invited them to sit down and rest in that cool, shady porch, which they did; when this sort of talk came off:

“‘How many male adults are there belonging to this house?’ inquired the spokesman.

“‘Three or four in all,’ I said.

“‘Name them if you please.’

“‘First, then, there is the Reverend Justin Rosenthal.’

“He began to take that name down.

“‘But then he sailed for India two years ago, and it is feared he is lost at sea,’ I went on.

“He stayed his hand, and looked annoyed, but then said:

“‘Go on. Who else?’

“‘Well, then there is Benoni Fielding.’

“Away he went scribbling at that name.

“‘He is with General Hooker’s army,’ I continued.

“He snatched up his hand impatiently, exclaiming:

“‘Then of course we don’t want his name. Who else?’

“‘Robert Snowflake,’ I answered.

“Off he started scribbling again.

“‘He is an African gentleman, aged seventy, the same old man who opened the door for you,’ I added.

“Again his hand was arrested, and he inquired, half angrily:

“‘Well, is there any one else in the house?’

“‘Yes,’ I said—‘there is Sydney Fielding.’

“‘Well, before I take that name down I must be sure that he is not lost at sea.’

“‘No,’ I answered.

“‘Nor serving with General Hooker?’

“‘No.’

“‘Nor yet an African gentleman aged seventy?’

“‘No,’ I assured him; ‘Sydney Fielding is at present at home, and not in the service, is white, is twenty years old, and sound in mind and body.’

“‘He’ll do, then, beyond the least doubt!’ exclaimed the enrolling officer, entering the name of Sydney Fielding on his list. Then he inquired:

“‘Is there any other male adult in the house?’

“I answered, ‘No—not one.’

“And he shut up his book, and asked me the favor of a cool drink of water, which Uncle Bob brought him. When he and his companion had drank their fill, they thanked me and went away. And that’s all,” said Elfie, with a sigh of relief.

“Well, I declare I never heard such a story in my life!” exclaimed Erminie, while Lieutenant Ethel looked grave, and Britomarte seemed amused.

“Now see here, friends,” said Elfie, as if she were upon her defence, “I told no fibs to the enrolling officer—not one. If he enrolled me it was all his doings, not mine. You know they are a very suspicious set, those enrollers. They are always suspecting us of suppressing the name of some favorite friend or relative, to keep him from catching cold in the draft.”

“They have often just cause for suspicion,” said young Ethel.

“Be that as it may, these officers must have suspected me of suppressing some name. For when I had cited every male creature belonging to the premises, he persisted in inquiring if there was ‘any one else?’ Mind, he didn’t say any _man_, but any ‘_one_.’ So I was able to answer, ‘Yes, there was Sydney Fielding.’ And thinking only of men, he took it for granted that Sydney Fielding was the name of a man, and enrolled it accordingly.”

“It was a practical joke on your part, of course, Elfie, but you can carry it no farther. You will either take no notice of this summons, or you will get your father to take it up to the Provost Marshal’s office and explain,” said Erminie, gravely.

“Indeed I shall do neither one nor the other. I shall just obey the summons by walking up to the Provost Marshal’s office and reporting myself.”

“Oh, Elfie! Elfie! But your father will never permit you to take such an extraordinary step,” exclaimed Erminie in dismay.

“I shan’t stop to consult him. I shall promptly obey peremptory orders. I shall go up and report for duty. I have been regularly enrolled, regularly drafted, and I shall regularly report.”

“Oh, Elfie! Elfie! how shocking!”

“Why, see here. I _must_. I don’t come under any one of the heads of exemption. I know that much. I am not an alien, nor an invalid, nor an idiot. I am not under eighteen or over forty-five. I am neither the only son of my grandmother, nor am I the father of fourteen small motherless children, and one at the breast. In short, I cannot put in even the smallest of the numerous pleas by which the cowards cry off from serving their country. I am a native born citizen of the United States, aged twenty years, sound in mind and body, wind and limb, single, and with no one but my country depending on me for support.”

And so saying, Elfie jumped up and danced out of the room to the tune of “Rally round the flag, boys! rally once again!”

“_Will_ she be so mad as to act upon that summons?” inquired young Ethel, in consternation.

Britomarte laughed. Erminie sighed. Neither could answer his question.

To the confusion of all her friends, Elfie _did_ act upon that summons. When Erminie went in search of her to try to persuade her to abandon her wild project, Elfie was no where to be found.

Britomarte and Erminie went their morning rounds of the hospitals, and returned home to dinner. But Elfie did not appear. Neither, luckily, did her father. The two friends went out again on their afternoon rounds, and returned to tea. They found Major Fielding walking up and down on the porch. He greeted the young ladies cordially, and apologized for his unexpected absence from the dinner table by explaining that he had met a brother officer, who had carried him off to dine at Willard’s. Then he inquired:

“Where is my girl? I haven’t seen her since I came home.”

“She is in her room, perhaps,” answered Erminie, uneasily, but hoping earnestly that Elfie might be found there.

Erminie hurried into the house, and up stairs to Elfie’s chamber, where, sure enough, she found the girl, with her bonnet and shawl thrown carelessly upon the floor, and herself sitting down on the sofa, sulking.

“Oh, Elfie, dearest, I am so glad to see you back again. We have been so anxious about you all day. Where have you been, darling?” exclaimed Erminie, going towards her.

“Where have I been? To the Provost Marshal’s office, of course.”

“Oh, my dear!”

“Yes, I have. But would you believe it, Erminie? they wouldn’t accept me. No, they wouldn’t, although I told them all that I told you, and proved to them that I didn’t come under any one of the heads of exemption, and that I was both willing and able to serve my country. No; for all I could say they wouldn’t accept me.”

“My dear, did you really expect that they would?” inquired Erminie in astonishment.

“I don’t see why they shouldn’t. It’s all bosh about my being a woman. I tell you, Erminie, a healthy young woman is quite as well able to perform military duty as most men are, and much more able than the mere boys they are constantly mustering into the ranks. I put that all to them. But they laughed at me—they did, the narrow-minded old fogies!”

“My dear, it was the most indulgent manner in which they could have treated your bad joke,” gravely replied Erminie.

“Joke? I never was more in earnest in my life. I did my duty. But they didn’t do theirs. And mind, Erminie, I didn’t abandon my point very easily. I didn’t until they sent me away from the office.”

“Well, I hope here is an end of the whole absurd affair, my dear Elfie. And I am very glad that your good father has not been vexed by hearing of it.”

“But here is _not_ an end of it. Erminie, I mean either to serve in the army, as some women are doing at this present moment, or I will furnish a substitute in some able bodied alien.”

“Then, darling, as your father is well off in means, notwithstanding his great losses, I see no objection to your furnishing a substitute, though you are not obliged to do so. I myself have a representative in the field.”

“_You_, Erminie!”

“Yes, dear, and I think it the duty of every wealthy and independent woman in the country to have a representative in the army. But come, your father is waiting for you, Elfie. And tea is ready. Let us go to it.”

The two girls rose to leave the room.

“Dear Elfie, pray do not speak of this vexatious subject before your father this evening. This, you know, is his first day out. He has made a long one of it, and he looks tired; so let him have his tea in peace,” said Erminie, as they went down stairs.

“All right. I’ll not say anything to spoil the dear old boy’s digestion or disturb his night’s rest.”

“‘Old boy!’ Oh, Elfie! to speak of your father so! How I wish you had a little more veneration!”

“So do I; but as I haven’t, what’s the use of talking? May be though honest affection isn’t a bad substitute.”

“And you have that, Elfie dear, certainly. Here we are,” said Erminie, opening the back hall door leading out on the lawn, where, under the shade of a spreading horse chestnut tree, the neat tea table was set.

Britomarte, Major Fielding and Lieutenant Ethel were already out there.

Young Ethel started with delight on seeing Elfie; but Erminie raised her finger in a warning manner, and he subsided into quietness. Not a word was said about Elfie’s adventure. They sat down at the table.

Erminie poured out the tea. The major gave a description of the friends he had met at an early dinner at Willard’s. And he spoke of his approaching departure to join his regiment.

Lieutenant Ethel announced his own appointment to the command of the gunboat “Thunderbolt,” then lying off the Navy Yard.

While they were still at the table the garden gate opened and Justin entered, smiling.

They all arose eagerly to welcome him. He shook hands with Britomarte and Elfie, and with the two gentlemen, and kissed his sister, and then drew a chair to the table, where room was speedily made for him.

“Why, he wears the captain’s straps!” exclaimed Elfie, in delight.

“Yes,” smiled Justin, “I have my company at last, Elfie.”

“But you said nothing about it!”

“I wanted to see whether you would notice the straps without my pointing them out.”

“Well, I declare!—Ladies and gentlemen I have the honor to present to you—Captain Rosenthal!” said Elfie, solemnly.

“I saw your new straps, Justin dear—I saw them at once. What change could take place in you that I should not see?” said Erminie, in a low voice.

“I understood you, my sister,” murmured Justin. Then he turned his eyes on Britomarte.

She met the glance and answered gravely:

“When you are promoted for services rendered on the battle-field, Justin, then I will congratulate you.”

Captain Rosenthal bowed in silence.

“Certainly; what have we all been thinking of? He has risen from the ranks without ever having been under fire; he has been advanced upon the small merits of keeping himself clean and minding his drill. Bosh! When you have seen twenty well-fought fields and come to us with one arm and both legs off and the stars of a major-general on, then we’ll make much of you,” said Elfie.

“Oh, how cruel!” murmured Erminie.

“No, they are not cruel, my sister. They are right,” said Justin. “Promotion is best earned in the battle-field, where I shall soon seek it. Though I hope to bring back a limb or two more than Elfie would leave me.”

“Yes—I hope so too; for she would literally leave you not a leg to stand upon!” exclaimed Major Fielding heartily.

Justin then announced that the brigade to which his regiment belonged was now ready for service, and was hourly expecting marching orders.

And when tea was over he took leave and departed.

It was not until the next morning, at the breakfast table, that Major Fielding discovered his daughter’s escapade. Now that the draft was over, Elfie no longer read the papers aloud while others breakfasted. So Major Fielding had the morning paper in his hand, leisurely looking over it while he sipped his coffee.

Suddenly he set down his cup with emphasis, and nearly let out an oath.

Erminie, Elfie and Ethel looked up to see what was the matter.

“What the —— is this? How is it? Why wasn’t I told about it? Answer, Miss!” exclaimed the angry old soldier, turning upon his daughter.

“Now here’s a row! Answer what? Now don’t obstreperate, but explain, pap,” coolly replied Elfie, as she daintily ate her egg from its shell.

“_This_, Miss! THIS!” exclaimed the almost infuriated old man, holding up the paper with one hand and rapping upon it with the fist of the other.

“Don’t make a noise over the breakfast table, you dear old boy—it is impolite; and don’t destroy the paper before other people have read it,—it is selfish. But tell me like a good boy, what’s the row?”

“She is half right. Erminie, my dear, I beg your pardon; but that girl of mine is enough to drive any sane man mad! Ethel, take that and read it,” said the major, extending the paper to the lieutenant and pointing out the offensive paragraph.

It was headed—

A GIRL DRAFTED BY MISTAKE AND INSISTING ON SERVING.

And it was a full account of Elfie’s visit to the Provost Marshal’s office and all that took place in her interview with the officers there.

“There!” said the major, when Ethel had finished reading—“what do you think of that? Oh, I’ll take her across to St. Elizabeth’s and shut her up in the lunatic asylum!”

“No you won’t, pap! People can’t do that with sane women in this country! Now do be just! that’s a nice old boy! Could _I_ help being drafted?”

“It was some infernal mistake! I beg your pardon, Erminie, my dear. It was some mistake. But you could have helped reporting, you exasperating——”

—“As if I _would_ have helped reporting, pap? No! I leave _that_ sort of poltroonery to the men!” said Elfie.

The major fairly shook with wrath.

“Be consoled, pap, they wouldn’t have me, you know. They said I didn’t belong to a good fighting family!” said Elfie.

The major started up from the breakfast table, and left the room in hot anger.

The breakfast party looked dismayed.

Erminie arose and threw her arms around the perverse girl’s neck, and pleaded with her.

“Elfie! dear Elfie, go after him. Ask his forgiveness. Make friends with your father!”

“Leave me alone, Minie! I know my dear, old governor; he’ll soon be all right!” said Elfie.

But the dear, old governor did not get over his vexation as soon as Elfie expected. He kept his little daughter at a distance for some days.

“Come, pap,” she said to him one morning, “let’s compromise! I will promise you ‘never to do so more,’ if you will buy me a substitute!”

But the indignant major made her no reply.

Elfie persisted in her proposal with all the perseverance of the Beast, who daily for a year asked Beauty to marry him.

“Come, pap! buy me a substitute and I’ll promise you not to run away in boy’s clothes, and ’list!”

But still the old man did not deign to answer. All this time, also, Elfie was, as she always had been, in all substantial services a most devoted daughter to her father. She attended to his room, to put all those little finishing touches to its comfort that no one but herself could effect. She kept his clothes in perfect order. She had one of his half dozen pairs of slippers always just where he wanted them. His pipe was always at hand. His pitcher of iced lemonade was never empty. Nothing that tended to his comfort was wanting.

But still the major was inexorable.

“Just look at my pap!” Elfie would sometimes say, “sitting there sulking and distilling bile! If he goes on this way much longer, he’ll make himself so sick I shall have to give him a dose of calomel and jalap!—Pap! you may sulk as long as you please, and make yourself as yellow as saffron, _but_—if you don’t buy me a substitute I’ll ’list! I will, as sure as I’m the daughter of a hero!”

So at length by coaxing, threatening, wheedling, and bantering, Elfie brought her indulgent old father out of his anger, and so far into her way of thinking that he actually did buy her a substitute. He gave five hundred dollars to a fine young foreigner to represent Elfie in the field.