A Little Girl of Long Ago - Amanda Minnie Douglas (top 100 novels of all time txt) 📗

in out-of-the-way places, hunted up famous spots, and rehearsed old-time stories of brave men and notable women. The sail down the Potomac was delightful. There was Alexandria and Mount Vernon and Richmond, all of which were to become a hundred times more famous in the course of a few years. Ben went over this youthful trip, so full of delight, many a time when, as a soldier, he slept under the stars, not knowing what the morrow would bring.

They were just a big boy and girl, in search of fun and knowledge, and they found plenty of both. Ben made up his mind that, when he did go abroad, Delia certainly should be his companion.

Margaret and her husband went to Baltimore at once, as they were not partial to crowds; and Dolly felt that she must get back to the children. But Mr. Theodore had some business on hand, so the young people had their holiday lengthened.

Still the season in New York had been a rather brilliant one, with various noted singers. An opera troupe from Havana had been giving some famous operas; and Hanny was delighted to hear "La Somnambula," because now she could compare notes with Daisy Jasper.

And in May, the famous rivalry between two leading theatres, that culminated in a great riot, occurred. Edwin Forrest, the great tragedian of that day, and many a year later, and Macready, a celebrated English actor, seemed almost pitted against each other in the same play, Hamlet. A certain party coming into existence had taken for its watchword Americanism of a rather narrow sort, and was protesting against all foreign influence. Macready had played, and then gone to fulfil another engagement, but was to return and play again. Some of the hot heads decided he should not; and though all precautions were taken, the feeling was that the better sense of the community would prevent any absolute disturbance. But the mob had grown larger and stronger in their narrow prejudice, and, before the play was half through, an onslaught was made on the opera-house. The rioters were in such force that the famous Seventh Regiment had to be called out. It was a night of terror and tragedy, and the whole city was wild with alarm. So serious did it become, that it was not quelled without bloodshed; and for days the whole city seemed amazed that such a thing could have happened.

But before the surprise and regret had died away, a sudden sound of alarm ran through the city, in curiously muffled tones that blanched the bravest faces,--a visitant, then feared beyond measure, that science had not been able to cope with. People spoke of it with bated breath. It was not simply among the poor and destitute, or those indifferent to cleanliness and order, but it spread everywhere,--the dreaded, mysterious cholera.

The older people remembered the scourge of almost twenty years before, and many of them prepared to fly to places of safety. The plague spot of the city was then the old Five Points, where the lowest and poorest, beggars and thieves, and sometimes murderers, had crowded in until it was a nest to be shunned and feared. Through this tract the plague swept like wildfire.

Margaret had accepted the urgent invitation of the cousins at Tarrytown, and gone thither with her baby, insisting also upon taking her little sister. Father Underhill was glad to have her out of danger, and was fain to persuade his wife to follow.

"No," she said stoutly; "Joe must remain; and you and Stephen cannot run away from business. With Margaret and Hanny safe, I shall stay to keep watch over the rest of you. I may be needed."

Dolly had taken her two children up to her sisters', who lived on the Hudson near Fort Washington. Stephen could drive up every day or two with news of everybody.

It did not seem at all alarming up at the Morgan's rural home. True, Cousin Famie was aging fast, and had grown more feeble than her years really warranted. Mrs. Eustis was quite the head of the house, and very bright and chatty, with a rather romantic turn of mind, just as fond of reading as some of the younger folks.

And it seemed to them as if the world was quite full of famous people then. For beside Cooper and Irving, there were Prescott's splendid histories, that were full of romance. And for story-writers, Miss Leslie, who was entertaining magazine-readers, and Miss Sedgwick and Lydia Maria Child. Then there was Hanny's favourite Mrs. Osgood, Alice Carey, and Mrs. Welby coming into notice, and Longfellow, Hawthorne and Emerson. The Doctor brought them up the new magazines, and said everybody kept well. Ben came up and stayed a week, and added to their stock of books.

They went down to Sleepy Hollow, though it had not become so famous for pilgrimages. Mr. Irving had come home from Madrid, and friends dropped in upon him. He always had a delightful welcome for them. They used to sit out on the old porch and talk; or, when there were no guests, his two nieces and some of his brothers' kept him company.

Ben summoned up courage and went down to see the charming man, beloved of so many friends, taking his little sister with him. What a delightful hour it was! Hanny was too shy to talk much, although she had been so brave on the poet's old stoop at Fordham. Perhaps, really, there was no opportunity, Ben kept the floor so entirely. They went in and looked at the drawings from Rip Van Winkle and Ichabod Crane and Katrina. But she still loved the old history that had charmed her so at first, and she would have given him her child's adoration freely, if he had written nothing else.

Ben had already seen a number of notable people. They often came in at the Harpers'. He used to talk them over with Delia; and he thought now what a fascinating story he should have to tell her.

The next day they went over to see grandmother and Uncle David. Jim was up making a visit. His mother preferred to have him out of danger. He and Ben were to go down to Yonkers; and though they were loth to spare the little girl, she went back to Tarrytown.

It was October before the Doctor would let Margaret return to the city. Daisy had grown so much, and was talking in a cunning, broken fashion. Mrs. Underhill had made two brief visits; and though she seemed rather nervous for her, she declared, "She had been very well all summer, and that they had a great deal to be thankful for. She couldn't have left father and the boys."

She had never been so demonstrative to Hanny, much as she had loved her. She kept one arm around her, and could hardly bear her out of her sight.

"Had she been content, and not made any trouble, and waited upon Cousin Famie, and helped all she could? She was such a large girl now, and ought to be useful."

Hanny smiled, and kissed her mother, and said: "She had tried to do her best. And she had been very, very happy."

"Cousin Margaret, I do wonder if you appreciate that child," said Roseann, when Hanny had gone out on the porch to have a romp with little Daisy. "She's such a smart little thing, and not a bit set up about it. I've been clear beat to see how she understands books, and people, too. And she's so industrious and pleasant-tempered. She makes me think of Grandmother Underhill and Aunt Eunice. I do hope you'll be able to keep her. It's a providential mercy she hasn't been in the city all summer. The cholera has been just awful! I don't see how you had the courage to stay."

"My sons were there." The tears came to Mrs. Underhill's eyes. "And though they were spared, they often needed me. No one really can know what it was, unless they have been through it. Joe came home one night so worn out that he stayed in bed all the next day. I just prayed every moment; I felt as if I'd never prayed before. And there was all of John's trouble. Yes; many a one has been called upon to part with their nearest and dearest."

John Underhill's wife had lost both father and mother, within twenty-four hours of each other. Then Cleanthe's little baby had been born dead; and they had to move her to Mother Underhill's, more dead than alive; but good care had at last restored her. The old Archer cousins in Henry Street had gone; and many another among friends and relatives.

They did not tell Hanny until she came home who had gone out of the neighbourhood. Mrs. Reed had been among the first. She was getting ready to go away with Charles, when the summons came. But the greatest sorrow of all to her was the loss of Tudie Dean. She had been rather drooping for several days; and one night Doctor Joe had been summoned, but in vain. Two of the prettiest of the little Jewish children who had come to the Whitney house were buried on the same day.

Cleanthe was still at home, as she called her mother-in-law's house. She was very pale and wan, and just hugged Hanny to her heart, and cried over her.

Charlie Reed sorrowed deeply for his mother.

"I don't just know how it came about," he said tremulously; "but we were getting to be such friends; she took such a real interest in my studies; and she seemed to want father to be happy in the things he liked. He's most broken-hearted over it; and the house seems dreadful! Cousin Jane advises father to break up and board; I think she's kind of nervous, and wants a change. Oh, what a terrible time it has been; I am glad you were away. And poor little Tudie Dean!"

They both cried over her. And when she went in to see Josie, she was almost heart-broken; for Josie looked so strange and grown-up, and was so grave.

Mrs. Dean pressed her to her heart.

"Thank God, my little dear," she exclaimed, "that your mother hasn't to sorrow over any loss. Your brother has been heroic; and there was one time when we were all afraid. He was so dead-tired that I know he couldn't have lived if it had been cholera. The doctors were all heroes; and many of them have given their lives."

Yet the world went on, over the thousands who had dropped out of it. Business resumed its sway; even amusements started up. But there were many sad households.

And though the Underhills had not taken Cleanthe to their hearts with quite the fervor Dolly had awakened, they loved her very tenderly now; and she seemed to slip in among them with a new and closer bond.

There would be a good deal of business to settle. John thought it better to look about for a new partner. Mr. Bradley had left quite a fortune for the times. He had been investing in up-town property, and John thought it would be wise to build, and sell or rent as his wife desired. The old home was dismantled, the best of the furniture stored for further use.

He tried to persuade his father to go farther up-town. Joe was also a factor in this matter.

For though the cholera had spared Dr. Fitch, the infirmities of age and hard work had overtaken him. A nephew who had recently graduated, and had the prestige of the