Читать книгу Who Goes There? - B. K. Benson - Страница 23

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"Yet spake yon purple mountain,

Yet said yon ancient wood,

That Night or Day, that Love or Crime,

Lead all souls to the Good."--EMERSON

About two in the morning I was awaked by a noise that seemed to shake the world. The remainder of the night was full of troubled dreams.

I thought that I saw a battle on a vast plain. Two armies were ranked against each other and fought and intermingled. The dress of the soldiers in the one army was like the dress of the soldiers in the other army, and the flags were alike in colour, so that no soldier could say which flags were his. The men intermingled and fought, and, not able to know enemy from friend, slew friend and enemy, and slew until but two opponents remained; these two shook hands, and laughed, and I saw their faces; and the face of one was the face of Dr. Khayme, but the face of the other I did not know.

Now, dreams have always been of but little interest to me. I had dreamed true dreams at times, but I had dreamed many more that were false. In my ignorance of the powers and weaknesses of the mind, I had judged that it would be strange if among a thousand dreams not one should prove true. So this dream passed for the time from my mind.

We had breakfast early. The Doctor was always calm and grave. Lydia looked anxious, yet more cheerful. There was little talk; we expected a trial to our nerves.

After breakfast the Doctor took two camp-stools; Lydia carried one; we went to a sand-hill near the beach.

To the south of the Minnesota now lay a peculiar vessel. No one had ever seen anything like her. She seemed nothing but a flat raft with a big round cistern--such as are seen in the South and West--amidships, and a very big box or barrel on one end.

The Merrimac was coming; there were crowds of spectators on the batteries and on the dunes.

The Monitor remained near the Minnesota; the Merrimac came on. From each of the iron ships came great spouts of smoke, from each the sound of heavy guns. The wind drove away the smoke rapidly; every manoeuvre could be seen.

The Merrimac looked like a giant by the side of the other, but the other was quicker.

They fought for hours, the Merrimac slowly moving past the Monitor and firing many guns, the Monitor turning quickly and seeming to fire but seldom. Sometimes they were so near each other they seemed to touch.

At last they parted; the Monitor steamed toward the shore, and the great Merrimac headed southward and went away into the distance.

Throughout the whole of this battle there had been silence in our little group, nor did we hear shout or word near us; feeling was too deep; on the issue of the contest depended vast results.

When the ships ended their fighting I felt immense relief; I could not tell whether our side had won, but I know that the Merrimac had hauled off without accomplishing her purpose; I think that was all that any of us knew. At any moment I should not have been astonished to see the Merrimac blow her little antagonist to pieces, or run her down; to my mind the fight had been very unequal.

"And now," said the Doctor, as he led the way back to his camp, "and now McClellan's army can come without fear."

"Do you think," I asked, "that the Merrimac is so badly done up that she will not try it again?"

"Yes," he replied; "we cannot see or tell how badly she is damaged; but of one thing we may feel sure, that is, that if she could have fought longer with hope of victory, she would not have retired; her retreat means that she has renounced her best hope."

The dinner was cheerful. I saw Lydia eat for the first time in nearly two days. She was still very serious, however. She had become accustomed in hospital work to some of the results of battle; now she had witnessed war itself.

After dinner the conversation naturally turned upon the part the navy would perform in the war. The Doctor said that it was our fleet that would give us a final preponderance over the South.

"The blockade," said he, "is as nearly effective as such a stupendous undertaking could well be."

"It seems that the rebels find ways to break it at odd times," said I.

"Yes, to be sure; but it will gradually become more and more restrictive. The Confederates will be forced at length to depend upon their own resources, and will be shut out from the world."

"But suppose England or France recognizes the South," said Lydia.

"Neither will do so," replied her father, "England, especially, thinks clearly and rightly about this war; England cares nothing about states' rights or the reverse; the heart of England, though, beats true on the slavery question; England will never recognize the South."

"You believe the war will result in the destruction of slavery?" I asked,

"Of racial slavery, yes; of all slavery, nominally. If I did not believe that, I should feel no interest in this war."

"But President Lincoln has publicly announced that he has no intention of interfering with slavery."

"He will be forced to interfere. This war ought to have been avoided; but now that it exists, it will not end until the peculiar institution of the South is destroyed. But for the existence of slavery in the South, England would recognize the South. England has no political love for the United States, and would not lament greatly the dissolution of the Union. The North will be compelled to extinguish slavery in order to prevent England from recognizing the South. The Union cannot now be preserved except on condition of freeing the slaves; therefore, Jones, I am willing to compromise with you; I am for saving the Union in order to destroy slavery, and you may be for the destruction of slavery in order to save the Union!

"The Union is destroyed if secession succeeds; secession will succeed unless slavery is abolished; it cannot be abolished by constitutional means, therefore it will be abolished by usurpation; you see how one crime always leads to another."

"But," said I, "you assume that the South is fighting for slavery only, whereas her leaders proclaim loudly that she is fighting for self-government."

"She knows that it would be suicidal to confess that she is fighting for slavery, and she does not confess it even to herself. But when we say 'the South,' let us be sure that we know what we mean. There are two Souths. One is the slaveholding aristocracy and their slaves; the other is the common people. There never was a greater absurdity taught than that which Northern writers and newspapers have spread to the effect that in the South there is no middle class. The middle class is the South. This is the South that is right and wholesome and strong. The North may defeat the aristocracy of the South, and doubtless will defeat it; but never can she defeat the true South, because the principle for which the true South fights is the truth--at least the germ of truth if not the fulness of it.

"The South is right in her grand desire and end; she is wrong in her present and momentary experiment to attain that end. So also the North is right in her desire, and wrong in her efforts.

"The true South will not be conquered; the aristocracy only will go down. Nominally, that is to say in the eyes of unthinking men, the North will conquer the South; but your existing armies will not do it. The Northern idea of social freedom, unconscious and undeveloped, must prevail instead of the Southern idea of individual freedom; but how prevail? By means of bayonets? No; that war in which ideas prevail is not fought with force. Artillery accomplishes naught. I can fancy a battlefield where two great armies are drawn up, and the soldiers on this side and on that side are uniformed alike and their flags are alike, but they kill each other till none remains, and nothing is accomplished except destruction; yet the principle for which each fought remains, though all are dead."

For a time I was speechless.

At length I asked, "But why do you imagine their uniforms and flags alike?"

He replied, "Because flag and uniform are the symbols of their cause, and the real cause, or end, of both, is identical."

"Doctor," I began; but my fear was great and I said no more.