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MARCH, 1910
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■trained, both in and out of the Legisla
ture, had failed to procure such action
■on the part of those in authority as would
have placed Maryland in a position for
‘ultimate union with the Confederacy,
■while yet such action was feasible. The
State was now fast passing under
control of the Northern military, but
there was still much that might be
-done to redeem the day and redound
to Maryland’s fair name. A definite
■program was adopted by the party
-of action for the special session of
■the Legislature now opened in Fred
erick.
This program included an offensive
;and defensive alliance with their sis
ter State, Virginia, herself not yet a
member of the Confederacy or new
union. The treaty was to be con
cluded through Virginia’s special
commissioner, Hon. James M. Mason,
sent by Virginia’s authorities to ap
pear before the Legislature for this
very purpose. Furthermore, the plan
of action decided on contemplated
the appointment of a Committee of
Safety, elected by the Legislature,
-charged with the duty of exercising
the supreme powers of government
and defending the State. Five mil
lion dollars was to be placed at the
disposal of the proposed Committee
for this purpose. Under this ar
rangement the idea was to thorough
ly organize and equip the State mili
tia, so that, though now forever too
late to formally carry Maryland out
of the old Union and into the new,
(where her heart and sympathies
were), she would at least have a gal
lant army of not less than 40,000
men, which would retain its distinct
entity and represent her in the arm
ies of the Confederacy, even though
she were not represented in the Con
federacy’s civil councils.
Thus the vigorous and practical
plan of procedure of such men of
action as Bradley Johnson, Philip
Elliott and their allies. Such was
mot the program of the patriotic but
tradition-governed majority. These
■could not bring themselves to recog
nize the fact that desperate diseases
require desperate remedies. To ap
point a Committee of Safety and en
trust to it the prompt arming of the
militia would be revolutionary; such
methods they could not adopt, even
to meet revolutionary conditions.
They resolved, they protested, they
attempted to resort to Habeas Corpus
to preserve their ancient rights and
liberties. Meantime, Northern bay
onets gleamed in ever increasing
(numbers over the State, Habeas Cor
pus was given a back seat, and many
of the resolvers and protestants soon
found themselves in Northern dun
geons, there to remain at the sweet
will of their captors. Maryland
found the despot’s heel indeed upon
her shore, and it was with truthful
-realism that throughout the South,
iin patriotic tableaux representing the
several Southern States, Maryland
was pictured as a beautiful maiden
bound in chains.
And now, with nothing further
possible to be accomplished for their
beloved State by staying at home,
the Maryland volunteers and minute
men sadly turned their faces and
-steps toward old Virginia and the
southern shore of the Potomac.
.Among these was Phil Elliott, after
a brief sojourn at Frederick watch
ing the proceedings of the Legisla
ture at that place, and taking an ac
tive part in the councils of the party
•of action. But —during his stay there
,he did not put up at Prentiss Hall!
It was a mild, clear night in mid
-spring, that of his departure from
Baltimore and —Marion Palmer. As
he left the sights and sounds of the
busy city behind, and reached the
■country—“ God’s country,”—he re
membered his mother often calling
It in contradistinction to the man
made city—spring was indeed in the
air, the atmosphere was sweet and
fresh and redolent with budding
foliage and smiling flowers. Phil
Elliott loved the country, and he had
within him that spontaneous re-
sponse to the glad springtime that
finds a home in every human breast,
be it that of old or young, civilized
or savage. He loved, too, at times,
to be alone in the solemn night, with
only Nature and his own thoughts
for company—unless it was a tried
and trusty friend in favorite horse
or dog, who could enter into the
spirit of the occasion and yet not
call for conversation.
Ah, how companionable can one of
the brute creation be, at times! And
such a friend he had with him now;
dainty “Southern Lassie,” as he af
fectionately called her, the fleet-foot
ed, gentle-eyed little sorrel that he
had raised as a colt, after the death
of her mother in a runaway accident
when Lassie was but two months
old. With his own hands he had
nurtured her, and she was well con
tent to follow him around like a dog,
though the hand of the friend was
also that of the master, and most
thoroughly had he “broken her” un
der the saddle. But in harness, even
the lightest, she had never been.
Lassie was full of the joy of living,
of the gladness of springtime, of the
pleasure of , her master’s company
once more, and was prepared to en
joy to the utmost this nocturnal out
ing. Her master had met her at the
boat that brought her over from the
Eastern Shore that morning, and he
had seen to it that she was promptly
taken to the best livery stable in
town to be well fed and groomed.
The latter he had attended to with
his own zealous hands, much to the
scandal of the colored stable man,
who couldn’t understand “what done
got in de haid ob dat young white
gem’man, nohow. Reckon he thinks
I don’t know nothin’ ob de quality’s
ridin’ stock, jes’ like I ain’t been
knowed as de best hos’ler in Baltl
mo’ fo’ de las’ twenty years, es I does
sesso myse’f.” But the irate darkey
found the shining dollar which Phil
slipped into his hand upon taking
Lassie away that evening, just as
acceptable, his ivories gleamed just
as brightly, as if the donor had acted
like the rest of the “quality,” and
rested content with the stable hand’s
attention to his pet riding mare.
They had passed at a dangerously
smart pace, from the standpoint of
police regulations, through the city
streets; but now, the open country
once gained, with a delighted whin
ny. the blooded filly broke into a
run and sped like a bird along the
white highway. For a half hour
Phil let her “turn herself loose,” as
he expressed it, and sat like a cen
taur, the rein held lightly yet firmly
in his left hand, while the trees,
houses and telegraph poles kept up a
mad race for the city behind him.
At the end of that thirty minutes’
spurt Lassie was as fresh as at the
start, but Phil, scanning a sign-post
as he passed, slowed her down to an
easy lope.
“Seven miles and more, little gal:
that’s good! But, take it more
quietly now; there are some forty
more of them to be covered, all lying
just ahead.”
He patted the arched, glossy neck
of the mare, and she whinnied con
tentedly. Yet something seemed
wrong with her master’s voice or
manner, and when, a minute later,
he dismounted and adjusted the
girth, she turned her head and laid
a sympathetic muzzle against his
cheek, while Phil gently stroked the
intelligent creature’s nose.
“Yes, you are right, Lassie,” he
said, as if addressing a child, “I am
out of sorts this beautiful spring
night. And I have a lot of thinking
to do, too, before reaching our jour
ney’s end. But don't let that bother
you, little one; enjoy to the full our
outing. I know you would help me
if you could.” With another caress
he was in the saddle again, but this
time he held the mare down to a
walk.
Yes, it was a beautiful, balmy
April night. But it was only in a
Woman’s Work,
very absent, secondary way that Phil
Elliott was conscious of it: as he
had confided to Lassie, he had a good
deal to think out ere reaching his
destination. And through the night
he rode, often in a walk, since there
was, after all, some limit to his
thoroughbred's powers of endurance,
and he had time and to spare in
which to reach Prentiss Hall by sun
rise; again it was in a brisk rack or
canter; once in awhile in a dead run
again: all the while thinking, think
ing, thinking, not alone of the girl
he loved and had just left (perhaps
forever) in mutual sorrow and anger.
His thoughts were also concerned
with the scenes and events just
ahead.
He was bound for Frederick and
the busy and stirring events to trans
pire there in the coming days. Be
ing so bound he had, as a matter of
course, intended stopping at Pren
tiss Hall while there; and yet, on
second thought should he? Per-
haps there were reasons more than
one for the question, but— “Would
it be considerate of Judge Prentiss?”
he asked himself. True, he was the
son of the Judge’s wife, but Prentiss
Hall was the Judge’s property, not
hers; the Judge was a New Yorker,
with all the political bias of his State
and section, and he, Philip Elliott,
was going to Frederick with just one
purpose in view—as one of the
younger and subordinate leaders of
the Southern Maryland party, yet
one of the most ardent .and active.
Should he bring possible embarrass
ment upon the Judge by seeking to
stay under his roof while acting in
such capacity?
“Well, that is settled!”
Phil spoke the words aloud, dis
tinctly, and with emphasis, and
struck the pommel of the saddle a
resounding blow with his fist. And
Lassie, half dozing in the midst of
the slow walk to which her master
had brought her a quarter of an
hour before, pricked up her ears and
broke into a gallop.
Whatever Phil’s decision on that
particular point, it was final (his de
cisions, once reached, were usually
final), and the subject occupied his
mind no longer. But his thoughts
were not idle —not for a single mo
ment. Back to Baltimore they re
verted—to Baltimore and Marion
Palmer, and the parting of a few
hours before! Hours, or —was it
aeons? Whichever it was, it was in
the past, the black, black past, be
tween which and the present a
mighty chasm, an impassable abyss,
seemed yawning. And was he think
ing out a decision on this score, too?
If so, he was much longer reaching
it than in the other instance. Long,
long he rode in absolute silence, with
out so much as a word of control to
Lassie, his head bowed and his un
seeing gaze fixed on the roadbed ten
paces in front of the mare’s nose.
A faint grey light began to steal
over the landscape, and the twitter
of the waking birds in the overhang
ing boughs told of the approach of
another glad spring morning. The
young man straightened up in the
saddle, his eyes no longer unseeing,
but shining with a new light, almost
a smile showing about the yet tightly
compressed lips, the clear cut chin no
more dropped thoughtfully on his
breast, but held proudly up and out.
“I shall do my duty, and do it to
the best of my ability! And in spite
of it —or, because of it—l shall com
mand her respect and win her love,
yes, please God, I will do both!”
He spoke the words under his
breath, and, turning as he surmount
ed a slight rise in the road, he looked
back toward Baltimore and her. Red
and yellow gleamed the eastern sky
as he looked, in all the splendor of
a cloudless springtime morning, and
—pulsing and quivering in the midst
of the sea of rich color —there was
one large, brilliant, silver star.
“The darkest hour before the
dawn, and the star of hope as the
harbinger of coming light and tri
umph!” he murmured, half smiling
to himself at the conceit. But, some
how, a load seemed lifted from his,
mind and heart: the joy and beauty
of Nature and the springtime he now
drank in to the full, and joined—in
spirit, at least —with the feathered
songsters about him in their joyous
psalm of praise.
Descending the next slope a
stream was reached, flowing across
the highway. Here Phil dropped the
rein, and Lassie drank gratefully.
Dismounting, her master also par
took of the sparkling water, first lav
ing his eyes and face and wrists.
“Prentiss Hall is just ahead, Las
sie,” he said, rising to his feet and
patting her neck. “But it is just
yet too early in the morning for
callers on the Judge. We will rest a
little while first, even if we don’t
feel any particular need of it!”
He laughed lightly, yet with a
tinge of sadness, then led the mare
up stream into a sheltered glade of
green grass and budding trees. The
ground was swampy in places, once
the beaten highway was departed
from, and the little sorrel followed
gingerly, picking up her trim white
stockinged feet like a kitten afraid
of the wet, yet anon cropping a
mouthful of the new, succulent grass
here and there as she went.
“And now for a taste of soldier
life, Lassie! We shall likely have
more than a taste of it, you and I,
in the months —or, the years—just
ahead.” Selecting a particularly
grassy spot, Elliott unbuckled the
girth and placed the saddle on the
ground. With this as a pillow and
the saddle cloth as a pallet, he flung
himself down full length, one arm
slipped through the bridle rein, leav
ing Lassie free to browse at will.
She eagerly took two or three
mouthfuls, then stopped short, re
garding the recumbent body of her
master with an inquiring look. Com
ing up to him softly, she was about
to rub her dainty little white nose
against his cheek, as if again to as
sure him of her sympathy in case
everything were not yet just right
with him. But already the young
fellow, so much awake and active a
moment before, was fast asleep—his
head resting on one arm thrown over
the saddle, his breath coming with
the long, deep regularity of a slum
bering child, all trace of doubt and
perplexity gone from his face, and a
smile parting his lips just enough to
show the two rows of even white
teeth within. A half minute, out of
intelligent, loving eyes, Lassie re
garded her unconscious master, then
resumed her grazing. But never by
any chance was the bridle rein,
through which the sleeping man’s
arm was thrown, drawn taut so as
to awaken or disturb him.
An hour later Phil opened his eyes
and lay still a moment, regarding
the pretty picture presented by the
grassy glade in the early morning
sunlight, with the grazing horse in
the midst. Then he arose, and—-
again bathing his head and hands
in the rippling stream—saddled and
mounted Lassie, and proceeded at a
lope up the road that led to Prentiss
Hall.
At the broad gate before the
Judge’s mansion, he dismounted and
flung bridle rein over a post. Booted
and spurred, Phil Elliott strode up
the gravel walk winding among the
trees of the grassy lawn of his step
father’s residence, and, mounting the
steps of the broad, columned piazza,
sounded the brass knocker on the
hall door.
Presently the door was opened, and
Jerry, one of the young tnegroes
brought by Mrs. Prentiss from Eller
ton the summer before, stared In
open-mouthed amazement at his
young master.
“Well, Jerry,” Phil remarked,
good humoredly, “I certainly hope
you will know me next time you see
me! Tell Judge Prentiss lam here
and wish to see him.”
“Yassir; I’ll tell him, Marse Phil.
But fo’ de lan’s sake, whar you done
drap from? An’ bless dis nigger es
dar aint Lassie at de gate! Why
didn’t you bring her up to de do’,
Marse Phil? You want me to take
’er ’roun’ to de stable, I s’pose?”
“No, never mind the mare, Jerry.
Just do as I tell you. I shall take
a seat here on the piazza—where I
can keep an eye on Lassie. And you
may also ask Miss Louisa ( twas
thus Mrs. Prentiss was known to the
servants at Ellerton), “to step out
here.”
He spoke not unkindly, but in a
tone that Jerry knew full well of old
brooked no argument, but called for
instantaneous obedience: so the boy
turned and went into the house, won
dering to himself: “Hi! What in de
name er goodness done come oner
Marse Phil, anyhow? He take and
drap down hyar in de early mornin,
like Gabriel wid de las’ trump, an
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