Douglas Amanda M.
A Little Girl in Old Washington

CHAPTER XVIII.
OF MANY THINGS

"Oh, where is mamma?" cried Annis, as she was clasped in Mr. Mason's arms one morning.

"Can't you give me mamma's welcome also?" inquired the kindly voice. "Why, Annis, what a large girl you are! It seems as if we must have been away an age for you to change so."

"Am I changed?" She laughed cheerfully. "Isn't it time I grew? Varina said in her last letter that she was five feet four inches. And I am not five feet yet. And Rene has been to assemblies, in long gowns. I went to two balls, and that of the flags was – magnificent."

"I shall have to look after my flock more sharply. You will all run wild."

"But mamma?"

Then he told her that although the operations had been a success, and there was now no danger of Charles growing crooked, he was still in a very delicate state of health, and the doctor had ordered him a cool climate for the summer. They were to go farther north and travel about a bit. A sea voyage was supposed to be the best, but that was quite impossible in the present state of affairs and the dangers of the ocean.

"Oh, I thought you were sure to come home!" she exclaimed disappointedly.

"We are sure of nothing, it seems. Are you very homesick?"

A quick rift of color flashed up in her face. "I'm not homesick at all. I like Washington so much. There are so many beautiful places, and the sails on the rivers and queer nooks where the Indians used to live, and the Capitol and the Senate where the great men talk, and so many lovely people in fine clothes, and the officers, and the French minister's carriage that spins along like a great butterfly, and handsome Mrs. Madison and the grand ladies – "

"You will hardly want to go back to the plantation."

"Jaqueline is going to live in Washington," she said, evading the question.

"I am afraid you are getting off with the old love," half reproachfully.

"Not mamma, not – oh, I love you all just the same!" clasping his arm vehemently.

Her cheeks were very bright. She experienced a curious feeling about Charles. Perhaps it was because she had seen these grown lovers so much, and she herself was growing out of childish things.

Mr. Mason was on his way to the plantation, and then to the Pineries. His mother had missed his visits very much through the winter, and she was becoming more feeble.

They all felt disappointed that Charles was not really well.

"It is probably the best thing you can do," said Dr. Collaston. "He needs bracing up after this trying ordeal. I was afraid he would sink under it."

"The doctors consider it quite wonderful. When I think how narrow his escape has been from lifelong deformity – "

The father's voice broke a little. Not an hour ago he had been talking to Louis, straight, tall, vigorous, with clear eyes and skin pink with the rich blood coursing through his veins; and the contrast between him and the poor pale lad had been great indeed.

"It will be all right. Surgery is making rapid strides. So is everything. I am glad not to be any older, and I hope to live to see a great and grand country. Why, I may reasonably count on fifty years!" laughing light-heartedly.

Yet he would have been shocked if he could have looked at Washington fifty years from then – with a gift of prescience.

Mr. Mason was gratified to meet Roger Carrington again in the relationship to which he had once so cordially welcomed him. Jaqueline was sweet and tender and very happy. But what a fine young woman she had become! And Patty was as matronly and motherly as if she had been married half a century. But Randolph Mason gave a little sigh as he thought how children grow up and out of the old home nest.

The plantation was in good shape. There had been some unimportant deaths, a number of marriages, and many births. Virginia slaves were a prolific race, and added to the wealth of the master. They were all overjoyed to see him, and full of regret that "missus" wasn't with him.

"'Pears laik everybody been daid and buried but Mas'r Louis," said old Chloe.

At the Pineries nothing seemed changed. Brandon Floyd was beginning to look like his father, and was taking on the same important airs. He was very bitter about "Madison's war, that no doubt would last as long as the other war, by the looks of things, and leave us in the same plight."

When Mr. Mason thought of his own blooming girls his heart really ached for Marian. After all, there was nothing like a home of her own and a love of her own for a woman. He was glad Jaqueline had come back to hers.

But it brought about a rather perplexing point, not so easily settled, it would seem. Mr. Carrington importuned for an early marriage. Jaqueline had bidden him wait until her father came.

The lover pleaded his cause so well that the father could hardly say him nay.

"What do you most desire?" to Jaqueline. "We may not be back until quite in the autumn. I have been seized with a strong inclination to see a little of our own big land," laughingly. "We are proud of our share in the old war, but other States had a hand in it as well. It makes a man feel more a citizen of the whole country – and a grand place it is. So we shall not hurry."

He gave her a wistful glance, as if to read her wish in the matter.

"I would quite as lief wait. Everything would have to be so different. But," blushing, "it was the rock on which we went to pieces before."

Her father nodded.

"There would be great disappointment on the old place. But you might go down and stay a week or so. Varina is so in love with Dolly and Charleston that we settled she should remain until autumn, when Dolly and her husband are coming up for a visit. That young Floyd seems to be quite somebody. I always thought Dolly flighty, but she appears to have some common sense, after all."

"And Varina is quite a woman. I hope she won't be utterly spoiled. Of course," tentatively, "it would be a quiet wedding. I think I would like it in church."

Then, she had really considered it.

"Why not?" said Patty. "So many of the girls around home are married and gone, and unless you could have a crowd it would be dismal. Then, you have so many friends in Washington. To be sure, it would be queer for a girl to be married without all her family about her. Mamma and Charles and Varina! Well, we've one more than half of them. Jaqueline, if you hadn't made that fuss before – "

"Yes," returned Jaqueline meekly.

Mrs. Jettson added her voice in favor of the marriage. It had to be so speedily arranged. There were friends ready enough to be bridesmaids; indeed, the subject was taken up in such earnest that Jaqueline was likely to be married out of hand. All that was really needed was a wedding gown and an appearing-out dress; all the rest could be done afterward, and there was her mother's bridal gown waiting for her.

When it came to the point, instead of a simple wedding it was a very grand one. One of the Cabinet ladies sent her a veil to wear because it was luck to be married in something borrowed, and the veil had been worn at the coronation of King George. Mrs. Sweeny worked night and day altering over the wedding gown, which was a mass of satin, sheer gauze, and lace, with a train carried by a daintily attired page. Annis held her prayer book and her glove when the ring was put on her finger. Christ Church was crowded with the élite of Washington, said a journal of the day. Mrs. Madison graced the scene, and Mrs. Cutts, with whom Jaqueline was a great favorite, while Judge and Mrs. Todd were warm in congratulations. It was really quite an event, and Roger felt almost as if he had married a princess of the blood royal. Such parties and dinners as were showered upon the young couple, and such compliments as the handsome bride received, were almost enough to turn one's head.

Annis was kept busy writing journal-like letters to mamma and Charles. And what treasures the old journals and letters are to-day! How Mrs. Carrington went to Christ Church Sunday morning in "a violet satin gown trimmed with fine silk ruffles edged with lace, and a white satin petticoat with embroideries in violet silk and gold thread. A fine-wrought lace scarf that her own mother had brought from Paris, white satin boots with gold lacings, long white silk gloves embroidered in lavender, and a white Neapolitan hat with a wide fluted rim, trimmed with a drawn silk lining and rows of piping, and a great cluster of lilies and violets and ostrich plumes."

The wedding veil was returned. Annis was to wear the wedding gown later on, and at a very modern entertainment quite late in the century Jaqueline's grand-daughter won no end of admiration in it.

So when Randolph Mason had given his eldest daughter away, and kissed her good-by with a thousand tender wishes, he went back to the pale little son and his dear nurse, as if he had had some sort of a gala dream mixed up with a whirlwind.

"I wish Jacky had waited," said Charles with a sigh. "I should like to have seen it."

"It wouldn't have been half so grand at home. Washington is a fine place for such a thing."

"Finer than Philadelphia?"

"Oh, no!" Mr. Mason smiled, remembering the simple church. There were grander ones here. And, except the Capitol, the White House, and parts of several public buildings, there was nothing so very grand. But the concourse of people could hardly have been matched.

"Didn't Annis want to come with you?"

"She did at first. Then the wedding drove all other desires out of her mind. I was afraid she would make a time when I started. But everything was in such a bustle!"

"Couldn't she have come here for a week or two, before we start?"

"How would we have sent her back?"

"We wouldn't have sent her back then," said the boy triumphantly.

His father smiled. "She has grown so, and changed some way. Her hair is not quite so light. And she can chatter in French like a native. Patty thinks her very smart."

"And I have not grown any!" he subjoined in a disconsolate tone. "I am not allowed to study. She will get way ahead of me. But she doesn't know Latin, and she can't go to college."

And perhaps he could marry her. He was not so sure of that now. Perhaps he would never marry anyone. But he was glad Roger Carrington had Jaqueline.

Annis tried very hard to be sorry at not seeing her mother. She was frightened because she did not want to cry over it as she had at first. She had given up mamma to Charles, and to be sorry and want her back was selfish. Then there were so many things to do, and so many pleasures. There was not time enough to run over to Aunt Jane's every day, yet the children were so fond of her. She knew some girls, too, who were asking her to supper every few days, or to join some party to the woods, or to sail up or down the river. It was such a lovely thing to be alive and well! When that came into her mind her very heart melted in pity for Charles.

Then, it was queer, but Louis had taken to calling her his little girl. He teased her sometimes, but he came to take her riding when she had any spare hours. She could hardly decide which was the handsomer, Louis or Mr. Carrington, and she thought it rather disloyal. Jaqueline said Roger was, by far.

And then came the plans for housekeeping. Roger and she inspected some houses. It would be more convenient in Washington, but Georgetown was much prettier. And there were suburban districts.

"But think of the winter nights in the rain and the mud, and sometimes sleet, and the time wasted going back and forth. Isn't it a bit of patriotism to want to build up one's own city? We are a small people as yet, compared to some other places. If we don't increase and multiply and spread out, and fill up our vacant squares, our honor may be taken from us."

"After so noble an argument I shall have to agree with you that it is our bounden duty to remain," replied Jaqueline with an arch smile.

"Mother would like us at Georgetown, but she has Ralph and his wife."

"Oh, do stay!" cried Annis. "I like Washington so much!"

"The casting vote. We remain. Annis, you are to come with us. We couldn't give you up now."

"Until mamma comes home. Of course I belong to her."

They went down to the old plantation, and the house slaves made a big feast; the field hands had an illumination of lanterns and big pine knots. But Annis thought the great house lonely. Then she recalled what her father once said – when all the children were married she would stay there with her mother and him. Jaqueline and Patty and Varina would have husbands and children, and Annis shivered at a strange consciousness of solitude.

Jaqueline had been instructed to take her outfit, and anything she wanted, her father said. Chloe knew all about the bed and table linen: didn't she bleach it up every spring in May dew? Such a packing, such a rejoicing time over missy's husband "that she got at last," which meant nothing derogatory nor that she had made a great effort; only most of the slaves had great faith in first loves for white folks, and a happy ending to an engagement.

There was the house to put in order and the "house-warming" to give, a grand dinner for married friends and a dance for the young people, when Louis was master of ceremonies, and bright eyes grew still brighter with pleasure at his notice.

Almost before one had noted, there were cool nights and ripening foliage, house-cleaning, and preparation for winter. Ah, how lovely the banks of the Potomac were, and Rock Creek! Jaqueline begged that they should take their first ride over again. There were various first things to do. The mother over at Georgetown claimed them frequently. Ralph's wife was very nice and sweet, but Jaqueline brought a curious stir and dazzle in the house, and an atmosphere as of a spring morning.

Charles had improved wonderfully. There were some remarkable springs up the Hudson that had wonderful health-giving properties. And when they came back to New York he was so taken with the advantages that he begged to remain. The doctor in whose charge he had been, promised to watch over him and not allow him to study too severely, and a nice boarding place had been found for him with a charming motherly woman.

"Oh, Annis!" cried her mother, holding her off after the first fond embrace, "let me look at you. I have lost my little girl!"

"Mamma, I couldn't stay little always. But the part that loves and thinks doesn't change, and I have tried very hard sometimes not to want you when I knew Charles needed you. I am so glad to get you back! Oh, you do believe that? But there is a queer thing I don't understand. When we first came to Virginia it was very hard to try to love the others when they took so much attention."

She was studying her mother with large, earnest, lustrous eyes.

"Yes," said Mrs. Mason, with a fond embrace.

"And now I love them all so much. I'm not quite sure about Varina – I have not seen her in so long. But I love you the best."

The mother kissed her fondly. No one, not even her husband, who was so grateful for the sacrifice she had made, knew how hard a trial it had been to her.

Just as they were considering whether they could leave Annis at school and do without her, word came from the Pineries. Mrs. Floyd had a sudden stroke, not so very severe, but at her time of life a serious matter.

Young Mrs. Floyd and her husband and Varina came North a few days after this. There was a month of slow wasting away. Mrs. Brandon Floyd had a new baby, Marian was almost worn out, and Mrs. Mason found herself the comforter again, and much needed. Then grandmamma slipped out of life, and was laid by the side of Mr. Floyd; and Mr. Mason, seconded warmly by his wife, insisted that Marian should spend the winter with them and rest, perhaps make it her future home.

Varina was a tall, rather distinguished-looking girl who had blossomed somewhat prematurely into womanhood. Annis was still a little girl beside her. She was gay and bright, and full of her own good times. Jaqueline's marriage was delightful; they had enjoyed the account in the paper. Charles was well again, but what a sad time it had been for him! As for herself, she and Dolly were the dearest of sisters, and had had the best of times. She should coax papa to let her return to Charleston. She knew so many people there, and it would be just horrid to go back to the old plantation. There were all the others, and surely papa could spare her.

Dolly was very exigent as well. Mr. Mason realized that it would be dull for a young girl, with the household in mourning, and Marian half an invalid and dispirited. But he insisted upon a family gathering at Christmas, as Charles was to come home.

Mrs. Carrington would fain have had Roger and his wife, and Mr. Brandon Floyd sent a formal invitation for Jane and her family at the Pineries, but she chose the Masons instead. Marian was pale and grave, but improving under the fostering care of Mrs. Mason, who was the kindest of sisters. Bessy Collaston had a new little brother; and, with Dolly's one and Mrs. Jettson's four, there was quite an array of children.

But the most joyous of all was the welcome to Charles. Now he showed his real improvement. He had some color in his cheeks and his eyes were bright and lustrous; his voice rang with a clear sound.

Curiously enough, he seemed almost a stranger to Annis, and not the little boy with whom she had poured over Froissart. She had outgrown him; and as for Varina, she patronized him in a most uncomfortable fashion. They were all so glad to see him well once more that no one thought of teasing him, even when he aired his new-found knowledge unduly. Perhaps he was most flattered by the friendliness of his big brother-in-law Roger.

Then followed the dispersion. It was best that Annis should stay at school the coming year, and Jaqueline declared she could not do without her. Truth to tell, what with her school friends and her various amusements, Annis began to feel as if Washington was her real home, and the plantation a place to visit. Her mother had so many long-neglected duties to take up, and Marian to nurse back to health and better spirits. She had done without her little girl so long, and clearly this was to the child's advantage.

Meanwhile the war had gone on with varying fortunes, but the navy of the country had gained various accessions by capture from the British and alterations from the merchant vessels. None of the coast cities had been attacked. Boston, New York, and Philadelphia had been making their defenses more secure. There was a fine fort at Baltimore. But Washington made no advances. Congress wrangled over a hundred points. The country at large was losing faith in the administration. There was a growing party in favor of suing for peace on the best terms we could get; another clique were quite certain we would wear out England, as, after all, she had made no real gains, and we had become quite formidable on the high seas.

General Armstrong, secretary of war, was confident Washington would not be attacked; and though he admitted that defenses should be strengthened, very little was done.

The downfall of Napoleon and his abdication, and the peace with France, had released the flower of the British army, and many warships. It was supposed Bermuda was their objective point, but they were ready to harass the coast line from Florida to Maine, and filled many of the towns with apprehension.

CHAPTER XIX.
IN THE MIDST OF WAR

The summer of 1813 was destined to rouse the legislators at Washington from their supineness. Some fishermen discovered a large fleet of sail sweeping in between the royal capes and settling at anchor, as if undetermined what course to pursue. They gave the alarm; and as the ships sailed up the Chesapeake, Baltimore was believed to be the objective point.

Commodore Barney's little fleet was chased up the Patuxent. General Armstrong's orders were to burn it if there was danger of its falling into the hands of the enemy. Then with his men he was to join General Winder for the defense of Washington. The vessels were fired without a single blow, and the men made a forced march across the peninsula.

There were no forts for protection, and only a few hundred regulars and several militia companies. With fatuous obstinacy it was still believed Baltimore would take the brunt of the attack, giving time to rally the troops to the defense of Bladensburg if there should be an inland march. All the adverse opinions and counsel delayed what might have been done for the protection of the City.

But that August night, when the intentions of the enemy were beyond all doubt, a courier spurred post-haste over the heavy, sandy roads and through long stretches of somber pines and giant oaks, a very prophet of evil. At the little post-towns of Nottingham and Marlborough the stentorian tones roused the people from their sleep. "The British have landed at Benedict and are marching inland. To arms! to arms!"

At Bladensburg he stopped at the ancient tavern, and the quiet town was thrown into a panic. Everybody was called out for defense. Then on to Washington, and the startled rulers looked into each other's faces in dismay. And then Colonel Monroe admitted that though there were no great treasures in Washington, the moral effect of capturing the enemy's capital would be equivalent to a greater victory. There were state papers that must be at once sent to a place of safety, and those who had valuables had better fly with them.

General Armstrong still believed no large army would march forty miles from its base of supplies and run the risk of being cut off, since Admiral Cockburn could not know how well able the City was to defend itself.

All was wildest panic. Everything in the shape of cart or wagon was loaded with cherished possessions, and the road to Georgetown looked like a universal moving day.

It was decided to meet the enemy at Bladensburg and oppose the march into Washington, if that was their object. Everybody – a motley throng, indeed – was hurried to the front, the women and children left to the care of servants.

The Carrington household had for days been in the deepest anxiety. A fortnight before Jaqueline's little son had been born, to the great joy of them all. Mrs. Mason and Marian had come up to the City – the first time Marian had visited the place since her joyous girlish winter and its ill-fated consequences.

All had gone on well, when a sudden and utterly unexpected turn had filled them with alarm. A fever had set in, and for several days it had been a fierce fight between disease and skill, but there had grown up a faint hope in the night, to be met with tidings of such terrible import.

Mrs. Jettson had come, wild with affright.

"We are going at once," she said. "What can the wretched little army do against four thousand trained British soldiers? And Admiral Cockburn, it is said, has sworn to be revenged for the treatment of the English minister, and that he will compel Mrs. Madison to entertain him and his staff at the White House. Can Jaqueline be moved?"

"Only at the risk of her life," said Dr. Collaston. "All the news has been kept from her, though she could not have taken it in. I have sent Patty and the children and some valuables over to Arlington. We must stay here."

"But Marian and – Annis – can they not join us?" entreated Jane.

"Annis will not leave her mother. Marian may be of great service. She is a most excellent nurse. Even the servants are panic-stricken, and cannot be depended on."

"Where is Roger?"

"At the capital. We men may be needed to defend our homes. Admiral Cockburn is said to be ruthless. General Winder has started for Bladensburg. Heaven grant the battle may be decided there! But you had better go at once, for the children's sake."

"Oh, poor dear Jaqueline!"

"We can only trust the very slender reed," and the doctor's voice was husky with emotion.

"If I could do anything – "

"No, you cannot. Thank you for all your kindness in the past."

Mrs. Madison has been handed down by history as the one serene figure in the turmoil and danger. She moved quietly to and fro, securing valuables and state papers and sending them away by trusty servants. The President and several members of the Cabinet had started for the scene of action.

Mrs. Mason and Marian watched by the bedside with minutest instructions, while the doctor went out on some pressing business.

"A soger gemmen say he must see Miss Annis," announced the new butler, who had been but a month in his place. "I jus' done fergit de name. Dar's flustration in de berry air."

"To see me?" asked the child in surprise.

"He want de doctor awful much. Den he say send Miss Annis."

Annis held out her hand to Marian. "Come with me!" she exclaimed. "We will not disturb mamma."

They went down together. The man in the hall was covered with dust and grime, and purple-red with the heat. A soldier, sure enough; but the first moment Annis drew back.

"Oh, little Annis, don't be afraid!" and she knew the voice. "Marian – "

And so the two met who had just touched their lips to the cup of joy in the spring of youth. A grave woman half a dozen years older, a man whose life might be ended this very day. All these years he had been bitter and resentful, but if he were dying —

"Can you not fly at once? The battle has been disgraceful, but what could such an army do against overwhelming odds. The whole thing has been a piece of shameful imbecility in our rulers. The British are marching into Washington."

"Then you have not heard – "

Something in Marian's tremulous voice awed him. He wiped the sweat and grime from his face.

"I have not been in Washington for three months."

"Mrs. Carrington is lying at the point of death."

Annis began to cry, and caught his hand.

"Then Heaven help you! No one can tell what the end will be. Now I must away to warn all who can fly, and then do the best we can to protect those who remain. If possible, I will send a guard. Little Annis, good-by, if I should never see you again."

She threw her arms about his neck with a convulsive sob. He held out his hand to Marian, but neither spoke. Then he rushed away. There was not a moment to lose. He strode over to the White House, where all was still uncertain, and Mrs. Madison had given orders for the dinner. To procure wagons was a labor of love and infinite persuasion, to say nothing of money.

Then the messenger came shouting that General Armstrong had ordered a retreat. Daniel Carroll had sent his carriage, but Mrs. Madison refused to go until the President arrived.

"It will not do for you to fall into the hands of the British," declared an officer. "That would crown the triumph."

Pale and weary from his fruitless journey, the President and his wife stepped into the carriage to be driven across to Georgetown, where further difficulties awaited them. The opposition journals made merry over the undignified flight, yet there is no doubt but that it was the aim of both the Admiral and General Ross to crown their victory by the capture of the most conspicuous figures of the Capital.

The British marched steadily on the heels of the flying foe, leaving their dead and wounded exposed to the pitiless sun, and proceeded at once to the Capitol, which they ransacked and then set on fire, striking down anyone who dared to raise a voice in its behalf. Then they marched along Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House, chagrined to discover only a few servants left, but gratified to find a banquet awaiting them. There had been covers laid for forty guests. Dishes of all kinds were ready in the kitchen to be served. Wines were in the cooler, handsome cut-glass and silver trays of delicious fruit stood on the sideboard. The hungry officers and men, scorning ceremony, feasted until the place became the scene of the wildest orgie. The wine cellar was broken open and its contents passed around, rooms were ransacked and combustibles piled up; and as they found little worth carrying off, the match was applied, and the house that had been the scene of so many joyous occasions was soon in flames.

From thence to the Treasury Department, and then to the office of the National Intelligencer, whose editor had denounced Cockburn unsparingly for his acts of vandalism on the coast and among defenseless towns; and the houses of some of the more noted citizens were added to the conflagration. Women flying for refuge were insulted, wagons stopped and despoiled of their goods. The few regiments could make no stand against the wanton destruction.

Suddenly there came a strange darkness over the city. From the far-off hills the wind began to roar like another ravening army. There were sullen mutterings of thunder. The order was given to retreat, and by the lurid light the ranks re-formed, though many, wearied out, straggled behind. The red blaze was made visible a moment by the lightning, when the town seemed in a molten glow, and then dense smoky blackness.

As if this was not enough, a frightful tornado seemed hurled from the hills on the doomed City.

The roar of the elements was terrific. Trees were uprooted and houses blown from their foundations, crashing down in the general ruin.

All day they had watched between hope and fear. Jaqueline's fever had abated, and she lay half unconscious. After the soldiers marched into the City, and he had seen Mrs. Madison started on her perilous journey, Roger felt he could be of no farther service. The enemy would wreak his vengeance unopposed. He found there was a guard in citizens' clothes keeping watch over his house in an inconspicuous manner. But when the flames started at the Capitol his anxiety was harrowing. What if they should continue their work of devastation in this direction?

"Oh, do you think we shall all be burned up?" cried Annis in terror, dreading the sight and yet running from window to window.

No one could guess the power or purpose of the enemy. And no one could measure nature's devastation.

Dr. Collaston was in and out. Jaqueline lay, unheeding the tumult and danger.

"She does not really lose," he said. "Ross has gone over to the White House. Oh, the poor doomed City! And relief is needed for the wounded at Bladensburg. Half the women are crazy at their husbands being sent to the front. And all this might have been avoided!"