The literary taste of a simple, half-educated people is never very high, and it is not surprising that this childish composition so nicely equalled the taste of its readers, as to be deemed a marvel9 of genius, and actually to be published with General Magruder’s official report. Miss Mollie became the literary genius of Texas, and her effusions were poured forth10 through the “Houston Telegraph” and the “Tyler Reporter” and the “Crocket 194Quid Nunc” in most lavish11 streams. This strong incentive12 to write, and these ready opportunities to publish were not altogether abused by the young authoress, who rapidly improved. Judging her by the other poems that adorned those papers, she indeed appeared to be the “unrivalled star of Texan literature.” I am fortunate in being able to introduce her to northern readers by an extract from:
AN INVITATION.
TO MISS LIZZIE IRVINE, OF TYLER.
The autumn sunset’s fairy dyes
Have faded from the bonding skies
And trailing garments) passeth by;
And thro’ the cloud-rifts shine the stars,
As sunbeams burst thro’ prison bars;
And on the soft wind, faintly heard,
The warbling of some twilight bird
Comes floating sylph-like, clad with power,
To whisper, “This is love’s own hour!”
’Tis autumn—and with summer fell
Crept over summer; and the fall
Has left the tall trees brown and bare:
And more—at winter’s high behest,
Above the stream, whose crystal pride
195But think not all are faithless! no,
Tho’ Winter grasp each flower and vine—
He cannot claim the fadeless pine,
And high upon our rough hill-steeps,
Ah would that Love could thus defy
The storms that sweep our wintry sky!
Come wander with me where the hill
Slopes downward to the waters still,
Where bright among the curling vines
And on yon brown hill’s bosky side,
With rude persimmons golden show;
And down the dell, where daylight’s beams
Make golden pathways by the streams,
Where whispering winds are never mute,
Come wander with me! near the spring
The partridge whirs on mottled wing,
The wild duck heaves her royal breast,
And when the winds are faintly stirred,
The “sound of dropping nuts” is heard.
Come thou! a bright and golden bar
Comes quivering from yon yellow star,
And sweeps away as spirits flee,
To bear my vesper thought to thee.
Comes whispering where the starlight smiled,
196And floats as Love’s own spirits flee,
To bear my vesper wish to thee.
Come thou! a spirit wanders by,
With gentle brow and tender eye,
And flies as Love alone can flee,
To bear my vesper prayer to thee.
Come thou! and when the hour as now
Hangs heavy shades on day’s cold brow,
When stars are glowing in the skies,
The blessed stars, Love’s radiant eyes,
When faintly on the breeze is heard,
The hymning of some brooding bird—
Ah how the twilight hour will be
Love’s dearest hour to thee and me!
It seems impossible that a young lady able to write such correct and pleasing verse could be brought down by a bad subject to the following inflated31 nonsense, which is a stanza32 from a terrific piece called “The Black Flag,” “Dedicated to the Southern Army:”
Let our flag kiss the breeze! let it float o’er the field,
Not a heart will grow faint, not a bay’net will yield;
Let the foe drive his hosts o’er our land and the sea,
To the banquet of Death prepared by the free!
Unfurl our dark banner! be steady each breast,
Till the red light of Victory hath lit on its crest!
O’er the field where our blades drink the blood of the foe!
Chorus—It shall never be lowered, the black flag we bear,
It shall never, never, never, no never, etc., etc., etc.
197There was a young lieutenant34 among the prisoners given to collecting all sorts of scraps35 and curiosities, and so he addressed a note to Miss Mollie, begging for her autograph and copies of any poems she might be able to spare. Within a reasonable time there came a copy of the “Invitation” and an autograph of the “Black Flag,” and a reproachful letter to Lieutenant Pearson. There was also a letter to Colonel Allen, not intended for Yankee reading. It expressed a little repentance36 for writing so cruelly to an unfortunate prisoner—avowed a wish to treat even invaders37 with politeness, and wound up with the Eve-like conclusion, “But I could not resist the temptation. Yours truly, Mollie E. Moore.”
One or two other causes at the same time combined to induce Miss Mollie to visit Camp Ford38, and one lucky morning Mrs. Allen escorted her in. She was one of those girls that men are a little afraid of, and that other girls do not like; she had a slender figure, a thin face, light hair, light blue, dreamy eyes, and she was accompanied by the object of the “Invitation.” There was not much of the poetess in her bearing, for she was very neatly39 dressed, a ready talker, and quite sharp at repartee40. Yet when Colonel Burrill was presented to her as one of the “haughty foemen,” she colored, and showed a little pretty embarrassment41. The friend was her exact opposite, with dark hair, dark eyes, very shy and silent and reserved, and much the prettiest Texan it was ever my luck to see.
About the same time a second notable incident occurred, 198being no less than a literary contest between prisoners and the outside world. One of our number had received some attention from the Houston editor, in return for which he sent him a few verses, entitled, “Pax Vobiscum.” These lines so exactly accorded with the yearning42 for peace, that they awakened43 great interest, and after a while were re-published, with the editorial avowal44 that they were written by a Yankee prisoner. Another literary lady, middle-aged45, married, and rather stout46 (so I was informed), but who called herself by the infantile name of “Maggie of Marshall,” thereupon came out with a poem, addressed to “the noble prisoner,” in which she styled him, “The northern by birth but the southern in soul,” and urged him to come straight over and fight on their side. The “noble prisoner” had no earthly intention of deserting, so he wrote a second poem for the “Tyler Reporter,” in which he defined his position. “When Mistress Maggie of Marshall found that her blandishments were all thrown away, she became deeply indignant, and immediately wrote her second poem for the “Reporter,” wherein the “noble prisoner” was turned into a puritan and a murderer and a son of Cain, and finally turned adrift with the contemptuous pity:
Let him alone.”
I cannot speak very explicitly48 of our last three months. In telling this story, I have tried to picture only the 199better side of everything, and to make it imprisonment49 with the unpleasant parts left out. The story is “the truth,” but not “the whole truth,” and does not deny or conflict with the narratives50 of others. A sense of honor forbids that the better actions of our late enemies should be hidden, or that the good and the bad should be condemned51 together. Yet I may as well add here, for the benefit of certain persons, that the respect yielded to a southern soldier standing52 by his State, and heroically fighting for that false belief (in which he was bred), does not extend to those cowards who, “sympathizing with the South,” have skulked53 through the war behind the generous protection of the United States.
The Red River prisoners arrived, and were followed by numbers from Arkansas. Our soldiers and sailors of Camp Groce, who, four months before, left us hopefully sure of their release, came back—I need not say how sad and disappointed. Our number swelled54 from a hundred officers, to forty-seven hundred and twenty-five, officers, soldiers and sailors. Then followed a quarter of a year of loathsome55 wretchedness, beside which, the squallor and vice56 of a great city’s worst haunts appeared—and still appear, too bright and pure to yield a comparison.
The healthy character of our camp changed in a single week. Disease and death followed each other quickly in. The friendless sick lay shelterless on the ground around us, the sun scorching57 and blighting58 them by day, and the cold Texan night-wind smiting59 them by 200night. We walked over the dying and the dead, whenever we moved, and saw and heard their miseries60 through every hour. Beside the gate stood a pile of coffins61, reminding all who went out and came in, of their probable impending62 fate. The vice and lawlessness that live in the vile63 haunts of cities sprang up and flourished here. The Confederate troops (idle after their victories on the Red River) came back to scour64 the country for deserters; and our unhappy conscript friends whispered that escape was hopeless now, and sought to comfort us by lamenting65 that no dim prospect66 of exchange cheered them. Our kind friends, the Allens, had gone, and the English Lieutenant-Colonel, who commanded, treated a few with surly civility, but the great mass with brutal67 cruelty. The horrors of these great prison camps are not yet told—will never be.
It is darkest before the dawn. We sat at dinner, one day, and a sailor, whose nick-name was Wax, came to the door, and said to his Captain, “The paroling officer, sir, who was here three months ago, has come back, and the guards say, there are some of us to be exchanged.” The Captain thanked the man, and we went on with our dinner. “I suppose,” some one remarked, “that if exchange ever does come, the news will come through Wax;” and then we dropped the subject; for a hundred times just such stories had been told, and a hundred times they had proved false. Captain Dillingham finished his dinner, and said he would go out and see that officer; perhaps the fellow had brought us some letters. 201The Captain came back in a few minutes, and said, as cheerily as though he were telling good news for himself, “You are to go, and I am to stay—none of us navy fellows to be exchanged.” Our rose had its thorn.
Three days of anxious waiting passed, and we bade our naval68 friends farewell. Some of them had been tried then six months longer than we had been. The trial of all went on for seven months more. They suffered, again and again, the sorest pain that can be inflicted69 on prisoners of war—the sight of those marching out who were captured long subsequent to themselves, and the fear that the injustice70 comes from the neglect of their own government. There was thrown upon them also a strong temptation; for there were desertions, I am sorry to say, from the army. The deserters were chiefly foreign born, but not all. The first, indeed, was a young man in the 2d Rhode Island Cavalry71, a native of another New England State. Yet these sailors never faltered72. If men who have fought bravely in battle, and who have been faithful through suffering, ever deserved to be welcomed home with honors and ovations73, then did these sailors of the “Morning Light,” “Clifton,” and “Sachem.”
One thousand of us marched out of the crowded camp, We inhaled74 long breaths of the pure untainted air, yet dared not believe that this would end in exchange. It was the sixth time that some had marched over the same road, and we might well be incredulous. There was 202weary marching over burning sand, and the long-confined men grew weak and foot-sore, before they had marched an hour. The Confederate officers acted kindly75, but the prisoners had seen chances of exchange lost by a single day’s delay, and they dragged themselves forward with a rigor76 that would have been cruelty had it been enforced on them. The white sand glaring under their feet, and the burning sun beating down through the breathless air, made a fiery77 ordeal78. Shoeless men, with feet seared and blistered79 so that the hot sand felt like coals of fire, tottered80 along, not faster than a mile an hour, yet moving steadily81. A few wagons82, pressed from the harvest-fields, were covered with the sick and dying, and thus appearing, on the fifth day, we marched through the streets of Shreveport.
Here three days of insupportable longness awaited us; for Shreveport had been the dam that had always stopped prisoners and turned them back. On the fourth morning we marched on board of the steamboats that were to carry us down the Red River; and then, when Shreveport was fairly behind us, we breathed freer, and for the first time allowed ourselves to hope. At Alexandria we were stopped and landed, and made to endure two other days of suspense83, but at last we re-embarked for the point of exchange.
The mouth of Red River was the place where our flag-of-truce boat was to meet us. We reached it before sunrise, and saw again the muddy current of the Mississippi. No flag-of-truce boat was in sight. But we saw 203two gun-boats that sentinelled the river, and our eyes rested on the flag that streamed over their decks, and silently proclaimed to us the still sovereign power of the United States. A shot from the gun-boats bade us stop. A small boat was lowered; we saw its crew enter it, and an officer come over the side; and then it pulled toward us. The officer inquired the object of the Confederate flag-of-truce, and told us the disheartening fact that he had heard nothing of this exchange. Then followed nine hours; that seemed as though they would never move away. A crowd of prisoners stood on the upper deck, their eyes strained on the river. The morning passed, the afternoon began, and still nothing could be seen. At two o’clock, a little puff84 of black smoke appeared far down the Mississippi, and a murmur85 ran through the crowd. An hour crawled away, and a large, white steamer pushed around a headland of the river, and came rapidly up against the muddy current. The strained eyes thought they saw a white flag, but it was hard to distinguish it on the white back-ground of the boat. Suddenly the steamer turned and ran in to the bank below us—the white flag streamed out plainly in view, and the decks were covered with Confederate prisoners.
It was on the last day of thirteen months of captivity86 that I re-entered our lines. All that I had seen and learnt was contained in about thirty days. Could these 204thirty days have been brought together, they would have formed an interesting and instructive month. But beside this one were twelve other months, that were a dreary87, idle waste. They formed a year that had brought no pleasure, profit or instruction. Some who entered it young, came out with broken health and shortened lives; some who had entered it in middle age, came out with grey hair, impaired88 memory, and the decrepitude89 of premature90 old age. It was a year that had taken much from us and given to us little in return. A year of ever-disappointed hopes, of barren promises, of a blank and dreary retrospect91. Contemplating92 it, we might almost reverse the meaning of our gently-chiding poet:
“Rich gift of God! A year of time!
What pomp of rise and shut of day—
What airs outblown from ferny dells,
And clover bloom, and sweet-brier smells—
Green woods and moon-lit snows have in its round been ours.”
The End
The End
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1
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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incentive
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| n.刺激；动力；鼓励；诱因；动机 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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sylvan
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| adj.森林的 | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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eddying
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| 涡流，涡流的形成 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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crested
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| adj.有顶饰的，有纹章的，有冠毛的v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的过去式和过去分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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hawthorn
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| 山楂 | |
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oozy
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| adj.软泥的 | |
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marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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zephyr
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| n.和风，微风 | |
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inflated
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| adj.（价格）飞涨的；（通货）膨胀的；言过其实的；充了气的v.使充气（于轮胎、气球等）( inflate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）膨胀；（使）通货膨胀；物价上涨 | |
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stanza
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| n.（诗）节，段 | |
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woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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invaders
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| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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idols
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| 偶像( idol的名词复数 )； 受崇拜的人或物； 受到热爱和崇拜的人或物； 神像 | |
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explicitly
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| ad.明确地，显然地 | |
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imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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narratives
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| 记叙文( narrative的名词复数 )； 故事； 叙述； 叙述部分 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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53
skulked
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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55
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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56
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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blighting
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| 使凋萎( blight的现在分词 )； 使颓丧； 损害； 妨害 | |
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smiting
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的现在分词 ) | |
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miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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coffins
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| n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 )；使某人早亡[死，完蛋，垮台等]之物 | |
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impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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scour
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| v.搜索；擦，洗，腹泻，冲刷 | |
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lamenting
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| adj.悲伤的，悲哀的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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72
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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ovations
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| n.热烈欢迎( ovation的名词复数 ) | |
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inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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rigor
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| n.严酷，严格，严厉 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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blistered
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| adj.水疮状的，泡状的v.（使）起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 )；（使表皮等）涨破，爆裂 | |
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tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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decrepitude
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| n.衰老；破旧 | |
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premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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retrospect
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| n.回顾，追溯；v.回顾，回想，追溯 | |
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contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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brooks
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| n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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