Samantha at Saratoga by Marietta Holley (i read a book txt) 📖

We went up the broad steps onto the piazza, and I looked off from it, and over all the landscape under the soft summer sky, lay that same beautiful tender inspired memory. It lay like the hush that follows a prayer at a dyin’ bed. Like the glow that rests on the world when the sun has gone down in glory. Like the silence full of voices that follows a oriter’s inspired words.

The air, the whole place, thrilled with that memory, that presence that wuz with us, though unseen to the eyes of our spectacles. It followed us through the door way, it went ahead on us into the room where the pen wuz laid down for the last time, where the last words wuz said. That pen wuz hung up over the bed where the tired head had rested last. By the bedside wuz the candle blowed out, when he got to the place where it is so light they don’t need candles. The watch stopped at the time when he begun to recken time by the deathless ages of immortality. And as I stood there, I said to myself, “I wish I could see the faces that wuz a bendin’ over this bed, August 11th, 1885.”

All the ministerin’ angels, and heroes, and conquerors, all a waitin’ for him to join ’em. All the Grand Army of the Republic, them who fell in mountain and valley; the lamented and the nameless, all, all a waitin’ for the Leader they loved, the silent, quiet man, whose soul spoke, who said in deeds what weaker spirits waste in language.

I wished I could see the great army that stood around Mount McGregor that day. I wished I could hear the notes of the immortal revelee, which wuz a soundin’ all along the lines callin’ him to wake from his earth sleep into life—callin’ him from the night here, the night of sorrow and pain, into the mornin’.

And as I lifted my eyes, the eyes of the General seemed to look cleer down into my soul, full of the secrets that he could tell now, if he wanted to, full of the mysteries of life, the mysteries of death. The voiceless presence that filled the hull landscape, earth and air, looked at us through them eyes, half mournful, prophetic, true and calm, they wuz a lookin’ through all the past, through all the future. What did they see there? I couldn’t tell, nor Josiah.

In another room wuz the flowers from many climes. Flowers strewed onto the stage from hands all over the world, when the foot lights burned low, and the dark curtain went down for the last time on the Hero. Great masses of flowers, every one on ’em, bearin’ the world’s love, the world’s sorrow over our nation’s loss.

I had a large quantity of emotions as I stood there, probably as many as 48 a minute for quite a spell, and that is a large number of emotions to have, when the size of ’em is as large as the sizes of ’em wuz. I thought as I stood there of what I had hearn the Hero said once in his last illness, that, liftin’ up his grand right arm that had saved the Nation, he said, “I am on duty from four to six.”

Yes, thinkses I, he wuz on duty all through the shadows and the darkness of war, all through the peril, and the heartache, and the wild alarm of war, calm and dauntless, he wuz on duty till the mornin’ of peace came, and the light wuz shinin’.

On duty through the darkness. No one believed, no one dared to think that if peril had come again to the country, he would not have been ready,—ready to face danger and death for the people he had saved once, the people whom he loved, because he had dared death for ’em.

Yes, he wuz on duty.

There wuz a darker shadow come to him than any cloud that ever rose over a battle-field when, honest and true himself as the light, he still stood under the shadow of blame and impendin’ want, stood in the blackest shadow that can cover generous, faithful hearts, the heart-sickenin’ shadow of ingratitude; when the people he had saved from ruin hesitated, and refused to give him in the time of his need the paltry pension, the few dollars out of the millions he had saved for them, preferring to allow him, the greatest hero of the world, the man who had represented them before the nations, to sell the badges and swords he had worn in fightin’ their battles, for bread for himself and wife.

But he wuz on duty all through this night. Patient, uncomplainin’. And not one of these warriors fightin’ their bloodless battle of words aginst him, would dare to say that he would not have been ready at any minute, to give his life agin for these very men, had danger come to the country and they had needed him.

And when hastened on by the shock, and the suspense, death seemed to be near him, so near that it seemed as if the burden must needs be light—the tardy justice that came to him must have seemed like an insult, but if he thought so he never said it; no, brave and patient, he wuz on duty.

And all through the long, long time that he looked through the shadows for a more sure foe than had ever lain in Southern ambush for him, he wuz on duty. Not an impatient word, not an anxious word. Of all the feerin’, doubtin’, hopin’, achin’ hearts about him, he only wuz calm.

For, not only his own dear ones, but the hull country, friends and foes alike, as if learnin’ through fear of his loss how grand a hero he wuz, and how greatly and entirely he wuz beloved by them all, they sent up to Heaven such a great cloud of prayers for his safety as never rose for any man. But he only wuz calm, while the hull world wuz excited in his behalf.

For the sight of his patient work, the sight of him who stopped dyin’ (as it were) to earn by his own brave honest hand the future comfort of his family, amazed, and wonderin’ at this spectacle, one of the greatest it seems to me that ever wuz seen on earth, the hull nation turned to him in such a full hearted love, and admiration, and worship, that they forgot in their quicker adorin’ heart-throbs, the slower meaner throbs they had gin him, this same brave Hero, jest as brave and true-hearted in the past as he wuz on his grand death-bed.

They forgot everything that had gone by in their worship, and I don’t know but I ort to. Mebby I had. I shouldn’t wonder a mite if I had. But all the while, all through the agony and the labor, and when too wearied he lay down the pen,—he wuz on duty.

Waitin’ patiently, fearlessly, till he should see in the first glow of the sunrise the form of the angel comin’ to relieve his watch, the tall, fair angel of Rest, that the Great Commander sent down in the mornin’ watches to relieve his weary soldier,that divinest angel that ever comes to the abode of men, though her beauty shines forever through tears, led by her hand, he has left life’s battle-field forever; and what is left to this nation but memory, love, and mebby remorse.

But little matters it to him, the Nation’s love or the Nation’s blame, restin’ there by the calm waters he loved. The tides come in, and the tides go out; jest as they did in his life; the fickle tide of public favor that swept by him, movin’ him not on his heavenly mission of duty and patriotism.

The tides go out, and the tides come in; the wind wails and the wind sings its sweet summer songs; but he does not mind the melody or the clamor. He is resting. Sleep on, Hero beloved, while the world wakes to praise thee.

Wall, we sot sail from Mount McGregor about half-past four P. M., afternoon. And we wound round and round the mountain side jest as he did, only goin’ down into the valley instid of upwards. But the trees that clothed the bare back of the mountain looked green and shinin’ in the late afternoon sunlight, and the fields spread out in the valley looked green and peaceful under the cool shadows of approachin’ sunset.

And right in the midst of one of these fields, all full of white daisies, the cars stopped and the conductor sung out: “Five minutes’ stop at Daisy station. Five minutes to get out and pick daisies.”

And sez Josiah to me in gruff axents, when I asked him if he wuz goin’ to get out and pick some. Sez he, “Samantha, no man can go ahead of me in hatin’ the dumb weeds, and doin’ his best towards uprootin’ ’em in my own land; and I deeply sympathize with any man who is over run by ’em. But why am I