Chapter VI: The Guerrilla’s Wife

Danger, long travel, want and woe,
Soon change the form that best we know;
For deadly fear can time outgo,
And blanch at once the hair;
Hard time can roughen form and face,
And what can quench the eye’s bright grace,
Nor does old age a wrinkle trace
More deeply than despair.—SCOTT.

Erminie grieved bitterly over the departure of her brother; yet she, no more than Britomarte, would have kept him back even if she could have done so. But she wept and prayed through the whole of the succeeding night. Only the reflection that he was doing his duty to his country, and the belief that her prayers for his safety would be heard in Heaven, at length sufficed to console her.

The next morning she had no time to grieve and but little to pray. A busy and exciting day was before her.

Early in the forenoon, Lieutenant Ethel, with earnestly grateful acknowledgments of the affectionate hospitality he had enjoyed for so many weeks, took a sorrowful leave of the parsonage.

It is true that he need not have hurried away to join his ship at Baltimore that day. But a fine sense of delicacy suggested to him a certain impropriety in his remaining the guest of a house where there were only two young ladies left to entertain him. So he took leave a few hours previous to the departure of Major Fielding.

“I feel really sorry that he is gone. He is a gentlemanly young officer,” said Erminie, looking after the hack that was conveying him to the railway station.

“Yes, but he was a nuisance for all that! and I am very glad he is out of the way,” said Elfie, who was standing by her side.

“Oh, Elfie, how can you say any thing so unkind!”

“It isn’t unkind; it is true.”

“He never was in _my_ way.”

“No; because you are so methodical, you never can be put out by anything. You rise, dress, eat, walk, read and sleep by rule. Now I’m different. I like to sail all over the house in a loose wrapper, without the danger of meeting with one of the male sect of Christians. And when I am in a hurry in the morning I like to run down from my chamber to the kitchen in my bare feet. But I declare I never undertook to do either, yet, while there was a male creature in the house, that the male creature did not start out of the drawing-room or the library and meet me full face, as if Old Nick had kicked him into my path. Not that I cared, only I didn’t like it. And so I’m heartily glad Ethel for one is gone.

‘Malbrook is gone to the wars
And I hope he’ll never return!’”

sang Elfie, saucily dancing into the house.

In the afternoon Major Fielding took an affectionate leave of his daughter and their hostess, and left the city to join his regiment.

Elfie had admonished him to keep his face clean and his hair combed and his shoes tied; to obey his superior officer, write home once a week, and be a good old boy generally. She had watched him out of sight.

And now that he was quite gone, she ran up stairs, away up into the attic, where she felt sure of being free from interruption, and she locked herself in and gave herself up to a good howling spell.

She heard Erminie looking for her in the empty chambers below, doubtless with the intention of offering her consolation, and she held her breath to keep from being discovered. Presently she heard Erminie give up the search and go down stairs.

And soon after Elfie also arose, wiped her eyes and stole down to her own room, where she washed her face, brushed her hair and arranged her dress. And then she ran down to the library and joined Erminie.

“I feel very sorry that your father has gone, Elfie,” said the gentle girl, in a sympathizing tone.

“So do I. But then he’s gone ‘where glory waits’ him, and all that, you know, and—it’s a great relief!”

“Elfie!”

“Well it _is_, Minie. Bless the dear old governor! he is just as little of a nuisance as one of the male persuasion can be reasonably expected to be; but they are all nuisances, Minie, and it is a great relief to get rid of them.”

“Oh, Elfie, your father, dear!”

“Oh yes, I know, and I’m really very fond of my pap, and I shall pray every day that he may keep out of the Libby Prison! And I’m very sorry he is gone. But why may I not draw what comfort I can from the reflection that the dear old fellow fagged me almost to death while he was here? Bless the tall baby! he never knew where he left his boot-jack, or what he did with his spectacles, or how to find his gloves. And I was worked harder than a draft horse with waiting on him to keep him straight! Now I can recline back in my chair, and kick my heels all day long at my ease!” And the perverse imp suited the action to the word.

“I know you too well to believe you, Elfie. Although you say these shocking things, and seem to take pleasure in seeing how they really _do_ shock me, yet I am sure that at this moment you would give the world, if it was yours, to have your dear father back again, if you could have him consistently with his duty. As for poor Ethel, however, I really do believe that you are glad _he_ is gone,” said Erminie, gravely.

“You better _had_ believe it. Ethel was a horrid bother, and I am delighted to be rid of him. Oh, Minie, it is a great blessing that there is not a man left in the house to worry us! What a good old time we shall have all to ourselves! We needn’t trouble our heads now about puddings and soups and salads and things! When we are hungry we can eat a bit of bread and butter, with some nice jam spread over it, and have a cup of tea. And we can sail about the house all day long in our wrappers and slippers, without feeling like blockade runners in imminent danger of meeting the enemy.”

Erminie’s thoughts had wandered to Britomarte, so she let her wild companion rattle on unheeded and almost unheard. She reflected that Britomarte had spoken of calling to see her in the course of this day. Now the day was nearly over, and Miss Conyers had not come.

“And I tell you what, Erminie, this is freedom. No more addling our brains over incessant changes of dishes to suit their exacting appetites. Lor, Erminie, if it were not for the men, _we_ would never trouble our heads with the study of a new omelette, or a new sauce or gravy, would we? But those gormandizing animals, you know, they think of nothing on earth all day long but their blessed stomachs, unless it is their bothering shirt buttons! I really do believe we women were the original creations, and men were afterwards inflicted on us in punishment of our sins. They _are_ such torments, Minie. And now they are all gone we shall have a glorious old time! And I’m going to begin mine by——”

Here a sharp, loud, impatient ringing of the door bell put a sudden stop to the conversation.

“That’s Britomarte, now,” exclaimed Erminie, starting up.

“No, it isn’t. It’s not her ring,” cried Elfie.

Then both paused and listened while Old Bob opened the door.

A minute passed, and then the library door was opened by the old man, who announced:

“Madame Vittorio Corsoni!”

And to the unbounded astonishment of the two girls, she who was once Alberta Goldsborough entered the room.

“Oh, Alberta! Alberta! I am so glad to see you, love!” exclaimed Erminie, forgetting the guerrilla’s wife, and impulsively springing up to meet with an overflowing welcome her beloved old schoolmate.

Elfie never budged.

“Glad—glad to see me whom you Unionists term a rebel? In truth, I had not expected this, Erminie,” said the visitor, pushing farther off her face the long rusty black veil that had nearly concealed it.

Erminie’s countenance changed, her frame trembled, and her tones vibrated with emotion, as she replied:

“I am grieved, Heaven knows how deeply grieved to hear you say so, Alberta.”

And then Erminie paused, in doubt as to what she should say or do next.

Had the visitor been her own personal enemy coming to her in this seemingly inoffensive guise, she would have made her very welcome, and treated her very kindly.

But her country’s enemy was another affair. Had she the right to entertain a secessionist? Would it not be aiding and abetting secession?

Erminie hesitated in much distress of spirit. Her gentle heart pleaded for the worn and sorrowful-looking woman before her, but her scrupulous conscience warned her not to yield to these feelings.

While Erminie thus hesitated, the visitor turned to Elfie, and said, in surprised recognition:

“Why, this is Elfrida Fielding, is it not?”

“Yes, that is my name, and it is very nearly all that the confederates have left me,” answered Elfie, without even raising her eyes to the face of the questioner.

“And have _you_ no welcome for me, Elfie?” sadly inquired Alberta.

“No. I should have no welcome for my grandmother, were the old lady a guerrilla’s wife,” relentlessly answered Elfie, averting her head.

“But I am no guerrilla. And I have taken the oath of allegiance, or you would not see me here,” said Alberta, with a strange, discordant laugh.

But these words seemed to set Erminie’s spirit free.

“Have you? have you? Oh, have you, indeed, Alberta? Then you are welcome! welcome! thrice welcome! to my heart and home, and to our country’s cause, Alberta. Sit down, love, and rest here, and let me take off your wrappings,” she said, gently forcing her visitor into the easiest chair, and tenderly untying and removing her bonnet.

“You wonder at seeing me here?” said Alberta.

“No, indeed; I wonder at nothing in these days,” smiled Erminie.

“I must tell you, however, why I have intruded upon you.”

“Your visit is no intrusion, and you shall tell me nothing more, dear Alberta, until you are rested and refreshed. Tea will be ready very soon, and after you have had it, you shall share my chamber, and in its privacy tell me what you like. Just now, it is enough for me to hear that you have returned to your old allegiance, and to see that you are weary and sorrowful.”

Again that strange discordant laugh broke from Alberta’s pallid lips, and jarred harshly upon the ears of her hearers.

Erminie felt that she would rather have seen her weep than heard her laugh so strangely. Her act was more like hysteria or even madness.

The girls had been sitting in the light of the fire, which the chill of the early autumn evening rendered very welcome. But now Erminie arose and lighted the gas. And then they saw their visitor plainly.

Alberta was awfully changed, and Erminie shuddered as she gazed on her. Her dress was all black, but rusty and travel-stained. Her face and form were still beautiful, but the “glory” of their beauty was “obscured.” Her once oval face was lengthened and hollowed, her perfect features pinched and sharpened; her fair complexion sun-burned, her brilliant hair faded, her graceful form emaciated.

Her whole aspect spoke of the hardships and exposures of the hunted and battling life she led by the side of the guerrilla chief.

Yet one saw, in contemplating this change, that it was, at worst, beauty impaired and not destroyed, and that a few months of quiet happiness might restore it in all its pristine splendor.

“Oh, how much you seem to want repose! Stay with me and rest, oh, poor, storm-beaten friend!” murmured Erminie, gently caressing her visitor.

“I knew that you were humane and tender-hearted, Erminie, and I felt encouraged to come to you—to you of all the world—in the hour of my distress.”

“And you have not trusted in vain. I will do everything in my power to serve you, Alberta. Everything, I mean, not incompatible with the service of our country, and of course you would not wish me to compromise my duty to her, for you have taken the oath of allegiance.”

“Yes, I have taken the oath of allegiance. I should not have been here else,” replied Alberta, in a tone that grated unpleasantly upon the nerves of her hostess.

“Then it was a compulsory oath,” put in Elfie, very dryly.

“It was a compulsory oath in so far as this: that I should not have been allowed to cross your lines without having first taken it.”

“‘Your lines?’ Why do you not say _our_ lines, since you have taken the oath, and are one of us?” inquired Elfie.

“I spoke from the force of habit, that is all,” answered Alberta.

“Do you mean to keep your oath?” inquired Elfie.

“Most assuredly I do. Why?”

“Because you needn’t, you know, if you don’t like to—that is all. It is a compulsory oath by your own showing, and compulsory oaths are neither morally nor legally binding; at least they are not held to be so by persons of your way of thinking, Alberta.”

“I hold myself bound by my oath; but it seems that you are mocking me, Elfrida. And whether you yourself are loyal or otherwise, you are no true daughter of the South to mock at a fallen sister,” said Alberta.

“You are down, I see, but blest if I know whether you have ‘fallen’ down, or whether you have _crouched_ down for a fatal spring! By the gleam of your eyes, Alberta, I should say the latter.”

“Elfie! Elfie! your words are cruelly unjust, I do believe. Remember

‘Who by repentance is not satisfied,
Is nor of heaven nor earth,’”

said Erminie, gravely.

“I’ll say no more, except this: If you are in the possession of any state secrets that it would profit the Confederacy to know, do not communicate them to Alberta.”

“In the first place, I know of no state secrets whatever. And in the second, I fear no betrayal of confidence on the part of Alberta,” said Erminie, holding out her hand in pledge of trust to her sorrowing visitor.

Alberta took it and held it tightly for a few moments, while an inexplicable expression of something like prophetic remorse overshadowed her countenance.

“Don’t mind Elfie, dear. She is rightly named. She is an elf—a tricky spirit. She mocks at everything, even, alas! at her own father!” said Erminie.

“I do not heed her since you trust me,” replied Alberta.

“I am expecting Britomarte every moment; and when she comes, we four, who used to be called the ‘Belles of Bellemont,’ and to be inseparable companions, will be together once more—be together for the first time since that happy summer we spent at your father’s lovely home, ‘The Rainbows.’”

“That happy summer before the war. Oh! Heaven! ‘Sorrow’s crown of sorrow is the memory of happier days,’” said the guerrilla’s wife, mournfully.

“Be comforted. You are young yet, and the happy days may return again,” said Erminie, kindly.

“My father’s home is desolate; his household goods broken and scattered. Federals and Confederates have occupied his house and ravaged his land in turn. The forests have been levelled, the crops swept away, the cattle driven off, and fences and buildings destroyed! Desolate! desolate! all is desolate there!” said Alberta, in a sepulchral tone.

“All have suffered something in this awful war, Alberta. But peace will come again, and all will be well——I wonder why Britomarte don’t make her appearance? I do not think I can wait for her any longer. We will have tea, and then you shall go to my chamber and sleep with me, and tell me all your troubles, as you used to do when we were girls at school together,” murmured Erminie.

And she rang the bell and ordered the tea brought in there.

“Britomarte? I read a very strange account of her having been shipwrecked upon a desert island in the Indian Ocean, and rescued thence by one of your ships of war. Was it true?”

“It was all true—every word of it,” said Erminie.

“Why do you say ‘your’? Why do you not say _our_ ships of war, since you have taken the oath of allegiance in good faith, and are really one of us?” dryly questioned Elfie.

“Force of habit, I repeat,” replied Alberta.

“Oh, Elfie! Elfie! do mind what you are saying!” pleaded Erminie.

“Don’t distress yourself, Minie! She means well, but she mistakes me; that is all,” said Alberta, resignedly.

The tea service was brought in and arranged upon the neat table. And the three young women seated themselves at it.

Erminie presided over the urn.

“Do you know, Erminie, that this is the first blessed cup of tea that I have tasted for more than a year?” said Alberta, as she raised the fragrant Oolong to her lips.

“Oh! what a privation! but you had coffee?” said Erminie.

“No, nor chocolate!”

“But how was that?”

“I was always with my husband; he had an independent command, and was what _you_ call a guerrilla chief; ours was a hunted life, a Cain’s life; our hand was against every one, and every one’s hand against us! Our home was the wildwood or the ruined farm-house; our occupation war, rapine, plunder. We were far enough from the comforts of civilized life, as you may judge!”

“Oh, Alberta! what a fate for you, delicately reared as you have been! But it is all over now, love; you have come in to us and all will be well!” said Erminie.

“But you have not heard my story yet,” murmured Alberta.

“I will hear it very soon; and no matter what it is, or has been, now that you are with us, Alberta, I will hold you to my heart of hearts,” said Erminie.

They finished drinking tea and arose from the table.

And still Britomarte did not make her appearance.

“She will not be here to-night! It is now too late to expect her,” said Erminie, as she rang for a servant to come and remove the tea service.

“Now, Alberta, dear, I will show you to our room, and—would you like a bath?”

“Oh yes! very much, indeed! that, too, is a luxury I have not enjoyed lately.”

“Then I will order one got ready. Come, dear,” she said, leading the way from the library followed by her guest.

In a moment, as from the impulse of an after thought, Erminie stepped back to speak to her guest.

“Elfie, dear, you are my sister; and so much at home here that I know you will kindly excuse my absence this evening.”

“Yes, certainly! But listen to me! You are going to have a tête-à-tête with the wife of Vittorio Corsoni, the Guerrilla Chief! Hear her story, since you must! But give as little credence to it as you can! And—give her no confidences in return; for, mark me, Erminie, she is a spy!”

An hour later Erminie and Alberta sat together beside the fire in the bed chamber of the former. And there the minister’s daughter heard the terrible story of the guerrilla’s wife—a story that need not be told in detail here. It is sufficient to say, that Alberta Goldsborough, the delicately nurtured daughter of the South had suffered some of the most horrible evils of the civil war.

Her parents had just become reconciled to her marriage when her father was killed in battle, his house burned to the ground, and her mother turned out to die of exposure and privation.

Alberta, maddened by these sufferings, joined her husband in his wild guerrilla life and incited him to the very worst of those depredations that made his name a terror to all the Unionists of the valley.

In one of his encounters with the Union troops he had been taken prisoner and conveyed to Fort W., where he had been tried and condemned to death, and where he was then waiting the execution of his sentence.

It was in the desperate hope of gaining a pardon for her husband, that the guerrilla’s wife had come to Washington.

Erminie, with tears of pity, told Alberta that she would accompany her to the President, to sue for this pardon.

Accordingly, the next morning Erminie ordered a carriage and took Alberta to the White House.

But it happened that the President was even more than ordinarily engaged, and they failed to obtain an interview.

This disappointment excited Alberta’s anxieties to the utmost pitch, and in her desperation, she vowed, that if she could not obtain the pardon of her husband she would do that which should place her by his side on the scaffold.

These wild words greatly alarmed Erminie, who with much difficulty persuaded Alberta to come home with her.

There a surprise met them in the shape of a paragraph in the morning’s papers announcing the escape of the famous Free Sword from Fort W.

The joy of Alberta was now as excessive as her previous grief had been. She even apologized for her mad threats.

Erminie persuaded her to take some refreshment and to go and lie down.

And in truth the minister’s daughter was suffering great anxiety on account of the guerrilla’s wife.