What it cost; or, Debtor and creditor

Front matter

o r-

O r^ y <» o 1 ^'tyCA/ ^

O C.^ -r^ o

Preface

As we sit in our "little soddy” in Western Kansas, to-night, with our story ended, we have the satisfaction of knowing that we have tried to blend facts and fiction in such a way that neither will be the worse for the other being there, and that the two together may make a picture worth looking at; not for the merit of the picture itself, but that he who looks at it may see beyond the incentives, aspirations, achievements and rewards portrayed in the life-sketches of which this story is but a shadow.

If the Reader, as a faithful accountant, reckon the debits and the credits of Uncle Sam^s account, though he gleans its items from the day-book of these unpretending lives, and love home and Union the better from recognizing what it cost to preserve them, then this little book shall have performed the mision hoped for it, by The Authors.

X

WHAT IT COST;

OR

Chapter I News At The Farm

The quiet little village of Mapleton was stirred to its utmost depths. The firing upon Fort Sumter had awakened its people to the fact that the storm which had been brewing so long had burst in all its fury.

For forty years it had been averted by compromises, but now eloquence and brain-work could hold it off no longer. It was no more to be a contest of eloquence and oratory, but one of musket and bayonet; not a trial of minds but of mights. The call for troops found a ready response in hearts loyal and true; but the bravest hearts throbbed wildly and the voices of the strongest quivered with subdued passion, as the question came to home-loving patriots: "Who shall go?"

"Not my son, oh no, not Will," whispered good old ‘‘Aunt Polly" Morris, as, rocking nervously on the old-fashioned porch, she plied her needle swiftly in and out of the hickory shirting, and peered, now and then, anxiously down the canopied road which led to the village. “Will is gone a powerful long time. I wonder who is going to enlist? There’s a plenty can leave home better’n Will, now when their new house is just ready for ’em, too. Grace would be mighty cut up if Will was to go. She’s a worryin’ over it now, I know, or she wouldn’t be pacin’ up and down the orchard. He’s mighty good to me, uncommon good . — I couldn't let Will go.”

Outside walked restlessly, up and down the orchard path, Grace Morris. She couldn’t sew this afternoon. Will had gone to the village, at once, on hearing the news; and, while her loyal heart beat in unison with the Nation’s throbbing pulse, a nameless terror filled her at the thought of the danger to her own husband and brothers, if they answered their country’s call for men. She knew Will’s fearless loyalty, she loved it as characteristic of him, but the white hands were clasped firmly and the pale lips pressed closely, as she murmured :

“No, no, not Will; they won’t need our boy!"

Evening shadows lengthened into night. Farmer Morris finished the chores and came in to supper and home-rest. He had not been “foolish enough to stop work” when the news of the fighting came. He thought this sectional strife might be amicably settled without his interference, and he did’nt “blame the people of the South for standing up for their rights." But the equilibrium of his mood was destined to be soon disturbed ; for Aunt Polly, Grace, and Floy, were thoroughly roused, and feminine tongues were making the minutes count. Floy had come home from school in great excitement, and with the usual vim of a thirteenyear-old school-girl had reported the whole town in a tumult; a company was to be formed at once, and a roll was being made.

"Did you learn who had volunteered, Floy?" queried Grace eagerly.

"No; but everybody was flying around at such a rate, that I guess every man in town must be going, ril wager my next summer’s hat Will will go, and your brother Clay, too," blurted out Floy.

"What a chatter-box you are! Will couldn’t leave home now, just when their new house is ready for ’em. There’ll be a plenty of older men to go," put in Aunt Polly, with a meaning glance at Aaron who was pretending to be absorbed in the county paper. "There, set the supper up, Grace; ’taint no use to wait any longer. "

"But wouldn’t it be dreadful if any of Uncle Jim’s boys should join the rebels • in Virginia, and some of our own boys fight ’gainst them?" said Floy, when the supper was almost finished in silence.

"Tut, tut, Floy! hush your nonsense," said Mr. Morris, looking up now. "The people of the South have a perfect right to defend their liberties, and to secede if driven to it. They are no more rebels than our forefathers were in the Revolution; and we never brand them such. There’s Will now!"

A firm step rang on the porch, and a young man of twenty-three summers entered, his brown hair pushed back from a full high forehead, clear steel eyes, and a form that might have been the envy of the Knights of the Round Table, so straight and well developed was it.

"Mother, Grace, Pve enlisted!"

They had feared it, had expected it, but the words fell like a bombshell.

"No, no. Will!" and, "O, Will! how could you?" came in a breath from lips grown suddenly pale.

"How could I not, when needed? When our Nation's life is in danger, it’s unmanly to hesitate. Some one must go, many must go; why not I?" but his eyes turned tenderly, pleadingly, to the young wife, whose white face and trembling form showed the emotion she was trying so hard to hide.

"A hasty, thoughtless boy!" sternly said the father, pushing back from the table. "Why should you take up arms against your kinsmen, all for the foolish notion of loyalty to your country? Risking life and property, leaving home when you're needed here!"

"Father, the Union must be preserved at all hazards," promptly answered Will. "The love of home and dear ones demands it, if our relatives in the South are true to the flag of our Union, they’ll not be found in the rebel ranks, and if — "

"Young blood is hot, and fiery words are cheap! " retorted he. "No child of mine shall ever take up arms against his own kith and kin and their interests, to gratify a foolish sentiment. Think well of it, sir."

"I have thought well of it, and acted accordingly; I am no longer a child, father."

"You did right, Will, you’re always right," said Grace, slipping her hand in his, while she choked back the sob in her voice, "but oh — how can we spare you?" Here she broke down, and Mother Morris joined her.

"To give you up, Will, seems harder than to go myself, " said his mother, tears running like rain down the wrinkled face. "To wait and listen for reports of you and your home-coming will be more than I can bear! But the rebels must be put down."

"That^s my own true mother," said Will, proudly kissing the tear-stained face raised bravely now, determined to face the worst, ready to do woman^s work, just as neccessary as that of bearing arms.

"Yes; you side in with him, old woman; youMl get enough of it when he^s living on soldier’s rations and dodging bullets; you won’t talk so fine when the war is actually going on!" And with this the father left the room and the house, to go over to Harvey Morris’, another son, where a sympathetic listener might be had.

Floy, at this juncture, reminds Will of his waiting supper and, while he eats heartily of it, they discuss the probabilities of "Uncle Jim’s" folks entering the Confederate ranks, and who of their Northern friends would go.

"Why, Will Morris! ” exclaimed Floy. "What if our own brother Hi, should turn a rebel, too!"

A hush fell upon the group, for Hiram, a son of Mr. Morris’s first wife, had stayed in Virginia, married the daughter of a rich planter and had since moved to Tennessee.

"Floy, even that possibility must be faced," said Will, the firm mouth closing yet harder. "Let us not meet trouble half way. Hi has a few slaves, he wrote, that his father-in-law gave them at their wedding ; but he wrote later of disposing of them. Hi was always a first-rate fellow — he wouldn’t be disloyal — at least, he wouldn’t go into the Confederate ranks. "

The Morris ancestors had lived in Virginia since colonial times. Aaron Morris had wedded there, early in life, a Virginia girl of boasted blue blood; but death had left him with two little boys of two and three, Hiram and Harvey; leaving them with his mother he had gone to Ohio, where he met and married Polly Wilton, a likely lass who could spin her twelve cuts a day, weave, -sew and patch with dexterity, and withal had a good idea of the affairs of neighborhood and of state.

Her father, a staunch old whig, had instilled in the minds of his daughters, as well as his sons, that Union should be spelled with a big U, and states with a little s; that Union and Liberty were synonymous words; and, though Polly loved the man she married, and was a true faithful wife and mother, she never departed from her early training. Aaron, though a man born to rule, equipped by nature with both form and disposition to command rather than obey, never quarreled with a woman on politics. He supposed, of course, that his sons would fall in line with him, as he was right — he was “always right.” Hiram and Harvey were filial in the extreme, with them father’s will was law. But Will and Floy were of different mold ; while in most matters they respected their father’s opinion and shared it, yet Polly Morris’ influence was felt, and had its effect; to the old man’s surprise, when Will cast his first Presidential ballot for Lincoln. Then he was amazed, and even angered — blaming the liberal education he had given Will as making him headstrong.

Soon after, Will was married to Grace Osborne, the talented daughter of Dr. H. A. Osborne, and brought her to his parental home, while his own house should be completed, on the adjoining farm. Grace’s gentle, winning ways and big violet eyes had won the keys to the old man’s heart, as she won every one, and the breach between father and son had been healed.

Grace was truly Northern in her ideas and training; loved the patriotic songs of the flag and National heroes, loved the right in all things, being a sincere Christian girl — and believed slavery to be the most diabolical of all evils. Her father and two brothers had the same opinion; it was the knowledge of this that caused a sudden idea to flash through her mind and the question to spring from her pale lips:

‘‘Will, who else of our family has enlisted?” She dared not say, “has father enlisted?”

‘‘Clay and Harry both go. ”

“Harry?” repeated Grace. “Not that child! why. Will, he’s only fifteen, and mother idolizes him!”

“Harry Osborne going to the war!” exclaimed Floy. “Well, it’s a burning shame! Men are cowards to allow him to go! He’s the best scholar in school, too! Arithmetic won’t be a bit interesting without Harry!”

“It’s bad for Mother Osborne,” said Will, trying to keep a brave front, although the sight of Grace’s terror-filled face almost unmanned him. “And we tried hard to hold Harry back, but he was all enthusiasm, and father said he could go. Brave old man! Grace, you have reason to be proud of him and his sterling principles. When the appeal was made, to

JVH/1T IT COST; OR clay, to an excited crowd, for men to answer the President’s call, a lull fell; you could almost hear the hearts beat, as each man thought of his dear home-folks, and the suffering they would endure! But only for a moment, when that deep full voice rang out ‘I, for one, Harrison A. Osborne!’ We dissuaded him, since his absence would be felt more than that of any of us, and he gave way, saying that if the war lasted longer than three months he’d come to reinforce us. Bless him! ”

He didn’t tell them that he himself had been the one to say: “No father, I, but not you," and that first upon that roll of honor was the name of Wm. Morris, aged 23.

“Dear old father! Always ready to meet the inevitable, unflinchingly!” said Grace, “but ’tis so hard to let you and the boys go — so hard!” and her head sank down upon the table, making a distressing picture that quite overcame Will; he waited until his lip should stop quivering and the choking sensation should leave his throat, stroking her smooth, blonde hair tenderly; then, taking her hands in both his own, and looking straight into her deep eyes he said:

“Would you want me, Grace, to do otherwise than go, when the President calls for seventy-five thousand men? — I, with strong body and good health, quite as able to go as anyone? It would be cowardly to hold back for someone else to join the ranks and go to protect my home and dear ones. Don’t make it harder for me, Grace; for it’s hard to leave you now, just when our home is about completed, and we had laid so many plans for making it a cozy nest — plans that

DEBTOR ARD CREDITOR must now be postponed. But we’ll hope the rebellion will soon be put down,- and home will seem doubly sweet then."

Grace was conscience-stricken in a moment. She wouldn’t have her husband or brothers shirk duty. She detested a coward; and while she dreaded the absence and danger it implied, she respected the innate bravery which prompted this unhesitating enlistment.

"Will, I’m proud of you," she said, "and ashamed that I can’t act my part of the sacrifice as bravely!" Then she added determinedly: "But I must — I will! You did right."

Will’s proud smile repaid any pang it cost her to speak thus.

"Say, Will, you must become a General, or something big," Floy hastily said, brightening up as the thought struck her. "You’d make a fine looking General, with shoulder-straps and head-gear. Do be a General, Will!"

Will laughed at her enthusiastic simplicity; and even Grace and Aunt. Polly smiled.

"My shoulder-straps are yet to be won. Puss. No; as a common soldier I go. Still, from the ranks the trusty leaders must be picked; plenty of time to think of that, though."

During the conversation, Grace and Floy had cleared away the supper. Aunt Polly had stirred the buckwheat cakes and pared the potatoes for breakfast — Floy claimed mother would do that if the house was on fire — and Will now led the way into the cheery family sitting-room. A huge back-log blazed in the

W'H/iT IT COST; OR broad fire-place and threw its genial light and warmth into the room, plainly but neatly furnished, its stiffness relieved by some ornamental designs Grace’s deft fingers had wrought. The floor was covered with a ragcarpet of Aunt Polly’s own weaving; two large rocking-chairs stood before the fire-place — they were usually occupied by Aunt Polly with her knitting and Aaron with his papers. Floy’s arithmetic and slate lay upon the table with Grace’s work-basket and the book from which Will had been reading aloud the evening before. Many had been the pleasant evenings spent here during the winter, and Floy’s regretful outburst was echoed by all, “that now the fun was all spoiled;" no more nice evenings with all the family, "even if they could have hickory nuts and apples still." Then she queried dolefully:

"How will we get the hickory nuts next year if ^Harry Osborn doesn’t come back to shake the trees? Not a boy around will venture out on the limbs as he does."

"Tell us about the company. Will. Who is going, when and where?" said Aunt Polly, giving her knitting a sudden jerk, and anxious to have it all out at once.

"We may be ordered to join our regiment at Keokuk at any time," said Will. "Who’s going? Well, the company is filling fast; there are twenty-seven names enrolled from town, alone."

"Twenty-seven!" echoed Aunt Polly. "Why every man in town must have joined. Who are they?"

"Well, Roy and Will Clayton, John Edwards, the new jeweler, all three of the Clarkson brothers, Jack Riley, Clarke Wells," called out Will, "but old Wells forbids Clarke’s going. You see, he has just refitted the mill, expects a booming trade and wants Clarke to run the engine.”

"Old Wells is an old sneak!” indignant Floy ejaculated. “He never sends that boy to school, and they say he can scarcely read or write!”

“I think he’ll go, notwithstanding his father’s objections; and the men down-town are urging him to do as he pleases, for all feel that it is not because he dreads to have Clarke away from home, nor fears the danger he must face, but because it would take a cool sixty dollars per month out of his cash-box to get an engineer as good as he, and Wells’ heart lies in his pocket-book. But, say, you can’t guess who was the second man to put his name down ! ”

“Why, Will, I thought your name -was second,” said Floy, ”or is it first?"

“Yes, it is first; you know we persuaded Grace’s father not to volunteer.”

“Well,” said Aunt Polly, meditatively," I calkerlate it was Sam Cline.”

“Yes, a reasonable guess; if he could do his fighting by standing around the stores shooting off his mouth, his name would be first on the state roll; and he did do the most enthusiastic talking of any in the crowd until he found out ’twas not mere speech-making, but that a company was actually to be formed. Then as we started toward the hall, he suddenly remembered he must chop some wood for his wife. I assure you ’twas the first work he had thought of this week; he didn’t come back, and he won’t either.”

What it cost; or debtor and creditor. — 2

"Well,” said Grace, "I say John Edwards was among the first to enlist.”

"Why, what makes you think he would be among the first?" asked Floy. "He’s the quietest boy in town. ”

"Yes, I know he’s quiet,” said Grace; "but I noticed the night the lamp exploded at the exhibition, he was the coolest person in the hall, and he was but twenty then, had his overcoat off in an instant and smothered the flames, though it burned his eyebrows and scorched his hair most all off and destroyed a good overcoat; then, when they began thanking him and praising his bravery, he quietly walked off. I tell you it is not the daring speeches that show who’s really bravest! ”

"Well, Grace is right, ” said Will, "for John’s name went third and he never said a word, only, ‘I don’t believe in any section of the country being too big, or too little either, to hold the Stars and Stripes!’ But you haven’t guessed the second name yet.”

"Oh, tell us. Will; I’m getting anxious,” said Aunt Polly.

"Well, it was Pat McGuire!”

"Pat McGuire! ” exclaimed all three in one voice.

"Yes, we got a pretty good joke on your father, Grace; when the roll was ready for signatures, he took it and was going to put his name down, when Pat screamed out, ‘Faith, an ye can put my name roight under yer own. Dr. Osborne; you and I will jine her together, for nather of us heve any great luve fur ould England, and we may heve a crack at him before we gits back.”

"I think Pat McGuire had better get a ‘crack’ at something that would make a living for his wife and those six little children, before he goes to cracking at ould England as he calls it!” said Aunt Polly.

Mr. Morris and Harvey were now heard outside. The old man had met Harvey on his way up. The latter also had felt the shock of the bombshell tidings, and, blaming the Government for not quelling the disturbance without bloodshed, (though how, he never ventured to suggest,) had come up to air his opinions, well knowing it would not be healthy to give vent to them in the village where ‘black abolitionism’ held sway. Harvey was a man who hallooed ‘peace’ but made no effort to bring it on. He lacked Will’s force, and usually agreed with his companions in times of controversy; but, for thirty years, he had thoroughly believed in his father’s superior wisdom, and now he fell in with him with alacrity.

Polly Morris’ opinions had much weight with him, though, for he had known no other mother, and Polly had lovingly cared for him and Hiram since the time she had found them in pinafores, two little orphan boys in their Virginia home, and had well filled the place of that other mother they had only heard of. The coming of the two men was the signal for an excited argument; stinging words were used on both sides during the debate about Personal and National rights — words which would be recalled with hard thoughts many times in the dark days which followed. It was late when they separated for the night, and it was without the accustomed evening hymn; for all through the winter, the evenings had closed with Grace playing some sacred voluntary, or assisted by Will and Floy, singing some sweet-home, or sacred, songs.

Sleep did not come to all of them. Floy, half bewildered by the angry words from home-folks and with visions of the war, soon sobbed herself to sleep; but Aunt Polly, when, at last, bitter thoughts were put aside, was full of anxious plans for Will’s comfort until far into the night.

Long after Will was snoring in easy sleep and dreaming of attacking and routing the enemy, Grace stood at their bed-room window gazing out into the moonlight, wondering how the stars could twinkle so merrily while life seemed so dark and sad to her; stood thinking of the bleeding hearts that their own village held to-night, and piteously moaned a prayer for help as she shuddered with a terrible dread of a parting that might be forever; then she knelt by the sleeping W^ill, and praying as only they can pray who feel their utter helplessness and have implicit faith in God’s word and his power to aid, she commended her dear ones to the care of Him, "Who doeth all things well. "

Next morning, the atmosphere was icy at the Morris breakfast table, although, without, the beautiful springtide spoke of warmth and cheer, while, inside, a bright fire shone from the cook-stove, and breakfast itself smoked upon the. table. Some attempts at cheerfulness were made by Grace and Floy, but were quenched by monosyllabic responses. The barriers seemed insurmountable.

"Guess I won’t go to school to-da}^,’’ said Floy at length, "I couldn’t study a mite, and half the school will be absent."

*'* Pears to me you’d better be there, then; anyway you’re going,” said Aunt Polly in her decided way.

“Of course you’ll go to school. What other business have you got to attend to?" sternly came from the father, who almost scowled at all of them.

So in that they agreed, and Floy went to school, but only the History of the Revolution had its usual charm for her. Harry Osborne came at recess for his books. His mother couldn’t spare him to go to school any more, as he might be ordered to join the regiment at any moment. The favorite school-boy was hailed as a chief. Harry was a fine-looking lad, tall and wellbuilt with light brown hair and speaking blue eyes that sparkled in jest or looked wondrous deep. On the ball-ground he was the champion player, and in the school-room ranked number one. How the boys and girls flocked around him, making strange comments upon his going to the war! The boys cheered him; many were the contradictory speeches made of prophesied feats and mishaps; shoulder-straps were suggested for him and he was warned of being killed; all in good faith though, and Harry knew it.

Will took Grace up to her father’s in the village, and found the whole town in sympathy with their feelings.

Groups of men talked hurriedly, on every street-corner and in every store; women and children swarmed from house to house, and, occasionally, the name of Morris might be heard; for everybody knew everybody else’s business, as is usual in a small place, and, particularly, everybody knew that there was a difference of opinion at the Morrises’; that Will had enlisted and the old man forbidden his going. The news-mongers enlarged the story until it was reported that Mr. and Mrs. Morris were going to part, etc., etc.

At the farm, when Will was hitching up, his father had said to him:

"A word with you. If you persist in this folly Til disinherit you! No child of mine can openly defy me and wrong his own kindred! Tve tried to be a good father to you. Will,” he added as WilTs defiant looks said, "Disinherit me, then! ”

Will bit his lip to check an angry retort, and simply said, "I have two strong arms, and am not a child to be scared by threats! ”

"I cannot brook this outrage! You set my dearest wishes at defiance and take up arms against your own people! Why, boy, don’t you know that both your uncle and your own brother Hi will join the Southern ranks? And that if they didn’t and their states were brought back into union with the North, a bill would be passed making the slave traffic unlawful, and our people would be beggared?"

"Father, you know what I think of buying and selling human beings; ’tis not the time to discuss that now. I have enlisted in the Union ranks and I go — cost what it will!”

"Take 5^our choice, then, but remember if you go, you cannot return to my house!”

This conversation Will told Grace as they drove back from the village, but they agreed to spare his mother the pain of knowing it.

"Father is excited now,” said Will, "for a nature like his, strong and born to rule, to be thwarted, is almost unbearably bitter. But to think, Grace, that he should threaten to disinherit me, and close my old home against me if I go to defend my country's flag!”

"Never mind, you are on the right side!" said Grace comfortingly. "You know the old saying, ‘thrice is he armed who has his quarrel just!’ Your father will repent his hasty words ere long. He’s such a grand old man, it is a shame he don’t come over on the right side.”

‘Humph! — there’s no ‘come over’ for father; once set in his opinion there’s no changing it."

Chapter II Home-making — Home-breaking

"Will, I can’t give up the idea of moving into our own home before you go away, " said Grace, as they drove down the road from the village that evening and saw, off to the left, the new Gothic cottage which had been the sign of so much comfort to them. ‘T want to wait your home-coming there."

"Nothing could suit me better, Grace, than to move as soon as we can finish up, " said Will; then he added with a deep sigh, "how I shall hate to leave it so soon! But, Grace, you must not stay alone while I am gone."

"Oh no! Pll be continually on the move between my mother and yours. I shall have a music class too, to help while away the dreary waiting time. You did not know I have already seven pupils engaged, who were to have come to our cottage for lessons on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons. I had planned to surprise you with the funds. "

Will kissed the tears away, that fell at the thought of all these changes in their beloved projects.

"Shall we then come down to-morrow and do the papering?" he said.

Grace assented readily; ^twould give something to do, and she scarcely dared be idle for fear of sad thoughts. Aunt Polly objected strongly at first, but finally yielded.

‘ 1 calkerlated for Grace to stay right here with me till you came back. Your father will get over his pet soon,” she said, though she doubted the truth of the assertion herself. ” ’Pears to me Grace would git mighty lonesome livin’ there alone, and we’ 11 need her here for company, goodness knows! ”

“Pll look after Grace all right,” said Floy, anxious to help “.fix up” the new house, and plans for arranging Grace’s pretty things already flying through her head. Floy loved tearing up and moving. “I mean to be the man of the house over there whilst Will’s gone."

"That’s good, Floy; Pll leave Grace in 3 ^our care. You can be the ‘home guard’ while 1 face the enemy in the South," said Will, looking proudly upon his pet sister as she drew up her child-figure to its full height, and accepted the charge with a hearty, "that I will! ”