Chapter 2: Marjorie

1859

Roger Brown knew that his attraction to Marjorie Purcell was hopeless. His father had worked his way up to foreman in the paper factory, and that put Roger ahead of most of his agemates, socially. Even some of the other boys in high school were further down in the social scale. Marjorie’s uncle, though, owned the largest store in Dalton, and her father, Gilbert Purcell, had been county clerk of Berkshire County for a decade when Roger was younger. But, damn it, he was an American. Even his father was American-born, if by less than two years, and any American was the equal of any other.

Besides, Marjorie wasn’t going to shoot him. A perfect lady and a nice person to boot, she wasn’t even going to laugh at him. The worst she would do was decline. And how was that worse than his present situation? Even so, the evening of the harvest dance was half over before he approached her.

“Miss Purcell, may I have the next dance?”

Marjorie had thought Roger the best-looking boy in their class the year before. Now, with his pimples gone and his face clear, he was the best-looking boy in the entire high school. She wasn’t going to miss her chance with him, even if she did sound forward.

“I’m taken the next dance. Would you like the dance after?”

He danced acceptably, even if that was not his greatest appeal. In later balls, he asked her earlier and they even danced more than once in an evening. They talked more easily at school and after church. Even so, it was high summer before he asked to walk her home from church. The time talking with him was pleasant. The conversation at dinner afterwards was less so.

“Really, Marjory,” her brother, Patrick, said, “can’t you do better than that Brawn fellow?”

“You’re exhibiting even more ignorance than prejudice,” Pat, Will said. “The Germans’ pronunciation is just like ours—meaning, too. I see nothing wrong with people changing the spelling when they come to new country. It is a benefit to those neighbors who have too little education to know how to pronounce it.”

Will, two years older than she, was back from his first year at Harvard; Pat, three years older, had gone directly from high-school graduation to keeping the books of the family’s store. He was making his way in the practical world of commerce while his brother was extending his childhood playing with books instead of playing with blocks. Or Will was delving into culture that was beyond the capacity of his doltish brother. It depended on which one you asked.

“Even so,” Will said, “while I thoroughly approve of young Roger’s striving to improve himself and of his family’s efforts to fit in, I don’t approve so thoroughly that I think he should improve himself with Marjorie or fit into this family.”

“For heaven’s sake,” she said. “He walked me home from church. You speak as though I were going to marry him.”

“The one has been known to lead o the other,” Father said.

“And you’ve told us about the first time you saw Mother.”

“She was walking down Front Street, carrying packages for her mother. She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen. Still is.”

“Oh, Gilbert,” Mother said.

“Well, that led to marriage. Should I avoid walking down the street lest a man see me who would be an inappropriate spouse? In any event, I shall go to normal school. After that, worry about who accompanies me home from church.”

“Do you plan to be an old maid?” Pat asked.

“No. I plan to be a schoolteacher.”

“Well many men would hesitate to court a woman with more education than themselves.”

“Which would be a good reason to avoid such men,” Will put in.

“What does Harvard think of the election,” Mother asked. Marjorie knew that they would talk later, but she was grateful for the change of subject.

“Being Harvard, there is a division of opinion. Some feel that an anti-slavery bumpkin with a chance is an improvement over The Pathfinder with no chance. Others suspect that the Democratic split is a repeat of ‘24 without the honesty. If Breckenridge is entitled to more electors than Douglas, the Douglas electors will cast their ballots for Breckenridge.”

“And what about this Constitutional Union Party?”

“The Old Gentleman’s Party,” Pat scoffed.

“So, they call it. ‘Second Childhood Party,’ would be more exact. Mother, when you wanted to change the subject, you picked another subject. A child of a certain age would have said, ‘Will, don’t talk about Roger Brown; Pat, don’t talk about Roger Brown.’ The Republican Party is considered a one-issue party, but we know where it stands on tariffs. Where does the Constitutional Union Party stand on tariffs? It’s like the child. ‘Look, I’m not talking about slavery. Watch me not talk about slavery.’ Yet, it’s talking about nothing else but slavery.

Marjorie thought that Will’s example of being childish was just what Will was doing. Still, no one responded to him by mentioning Roger.

“Father, I know you have much respect for Mr. Everett,” Will continued. “I, however, would have more respect if they had a platform saying that one fourth of Federal revenue in each year must be spent on internal improvements with the money apportioned among the states proportionate to the census population.”

“One fourth? That’s crazy,” Pat said. “You need some experience in the real world.”

“And, brother mine, I have succeeded. We are no longer talking about slavery but about budgets and internal improvements.”

“Should you not be 21 before you found your own political party?” Father asked.

“But I don’t want to found a party to avoid the issue of slavery. Besides, you can avoid the issue in campaigns; you cannot avoid the issue while governing. Either the government enforces the Fugitive Slave Law, or it doesn’t; either it forces a fair vote in Kansas, or it does not. ‘Vote for me, and I’ll be true to my principles unless I win,’ doesn’t strike me as a persuasive campaign slogan. I shall stay a Republican.”

“That looks like a wishy-washy position for my more radical son. The Republican position is – at best – free-soil. Slavery is evil, but it must be maintained everywhere it has reached. If it is evil, fight it as evil.”

“But the country is expanding, Father. If the slave power does not expand, it must wither. I shall admit that this is a feeble opposition if you will admit that the Whig Party never achieved even that at a national level. Was it ever even that definite at the Massachusetts state level?” Father still considered himself a Conscience Whig. He voted Republican but refused to identify with the party.

“But the Whigs are a national party with a position on a full range of issues. The Republicans are a one-issue protest party. If you are going to protest, why not go full bore?”

“As I said, Father, the Republicans have a platform which addresses all the current issues. What is the Whig platform? Well, you were able to maintain a principled position within the Whig Party. On turning 21, I shall try to maintain a principled position in the Republican Party. It should be easier. There are no Cotton Republicans and the national party has no officers who are slave-holders.”

“Still, son, to that the country cannot stand half slave and half free; so, it should grow until it is one quarter slave and three quarters free is to counsel those suffering under the lash today to hope that, maybe, some of their grandchildren might be free.”

“That is true, father, but it also counsels the slave-holder’s son to seek a way of life that has a future. Abolition of slavery is to be desired; abolition of the slave trade in the District of Columbia can be achieved.”

Father and the boys went on like that. Mother, however, beckoned when the meal was over. “Honestly, Marjorie, this Brown fellow...”

“Is quite the nicest boy in my grade.” She knew better than to say, “the best looking.” Mother would think that was being quite superficial. How that was more superficial than the objections, she couldn’t tell. The fact was that her parents were committed to social equality. They just had difficulty practicing it when their children were involved.

“There are other grades, you know.”

“There won’t be when school starts again ... Unless you want me involved with a younger boy.”

“Of course not.”

“Then, we are two young people who are friends. He merely escorted me home from church in broad daylight. It is nothing more than that.”

And what of r. Brown’s feelings? Are you sure that he regards it as nothing more than that?”

Considering that it took him months to ask even that, she was not worried that Roger’s feelings were too intense. “Well, he knows that I intend to go to normal school and then to teach. If we do not quarrel – and neither of us is quarrelsome – then I expect us to grow closer over the next year. Then, I expect us to grow less close over the two following years. He might have some intent to continue our relationship when he bids me farewell in the fall of next year. That intent will not continue beyond the winter.”

Which only showed how poor a prophet Marjorie was. For that matter, Father had been well aware that various southern politicians had been threatening secession if Lincoln were elected. He hadn’t mentioned it in the table discussions of politics because southern politicians had been threatening secession for years. It wasn’t Roger who saw Marjorie off to school in the fall; it was Marjorie who saw Roger off to war in the spring. He had enlisted in the same regiment as Pat, though not in the company which had elected Pat captain. (Will had joined a Cambridge regiment.)

“Say that you will wait for me,” he said.

“I shall go to school this September. You will be back before I am.”

“We have enlisted for three years.”

“A wise precaution.” Father had explained at table that three-month enlistments allowed the Confederate government to simply hold on to part of their monstrously-large territory until the troops went home. “Nobody expects the rebellion to last that long.” She hadn’t really answered his question. It would have been vicious to send him off with a ‘no’; it would have been dishonest to send him off with a ‘yes.’

She was much fonder of her handsome hero, though, than she had ever been of her schoolmate. When she went to the normal school – an all-female institution in an area which had sent away all the young but the sickly and the cowardly – she made no competing attachments.

Pat wrote from camp,

Your friend Brown has become
A model soldier. When one sergeant
of Walter’s company died of dysentery,
Walter promoted Brown.

If Roger was a model soldier, he was not a model correspondent, but, then, she had not given him her address at school. He might think it being forward to write her, and her family would be certain to think it forward of him to write her at home.

Pat wrote the family later in the summer,

All the papers say that Gettysburg and
Williamsport were glorious victories. And so, they must have been such.
Up close, though, they seemed to be messes
of blood and confusion.
Still, we are now in Virginia, and Lee and his
devils are on their way to prison camps.
Tell Marjorie that her friend Brown,
having survived Gettysburg where we
lost one in four, was hit twice at Williamsport.
He lost an ear in combat and a leg on the
surgeons’ table.

The news shattered her. She had thought that Roger had a nice form, although a lady does not think about a man’s limb. How appealing would he be with one limb missing? She had seen men with wooden legs – by this stage of the war, everybody had. They did not look graceful.

She had thought about his face. It had been remarkably comely, yet entirely male. Part of the comeliness had been its symmetry. How would he look with one ear missing? And he could not have lost an ear in combat without more damage to his face. (For that matter, how do you lose an ear in combat without losing your life?) The Roger who had marched off had been the handsomest boy in the regiment, and she had not confessed that this was most of his attraction because this would have made her seem terribly superficial to Mother. Her thoughts had sounded superficial even to herself. If liking boy for his looks was superficial, how much more was rejecting a hero for his looks?

She hadn’t really promised to wait for him, even when he was whole and handsome. She had allowed him to think that she would, though. She had allowed herself to think that she might. Now, how could she break with him when he came back maimed from fighting for the right?

She was so caught up in her dilemma that she neglected to write letters of application to schools in western Massachusetts. There was a shortage, though, many schoolmasters having enlisted. Also, her training made her among the most desirable of female teachers. She sat down to write the first of those letters when another letter from Pat came addressed particularly to her. Roger had died.

Her first reaction was grief; the second was relief. She no longer had the dilemma of how to treat the returned, heroic, maimed, Roger Brown. Then she was consumed by shame. She needed to do something to atone for her selfishness and superficiality. Instead of Massachusetts schools, she wrote the American Missionary Association. She was a trained, although not experienced, teacher; she was a member in good standing of First Congregational Church, Dalton. Was there anywhere that they could use her services as a teacher?

Within a month, she was part of the Port Royal Experiment. The colored soldiers drilled most of the day but got a break to come to class. farmers came after dark. Teachers worked through the day. She was teaching adults not children. Many of her students were older than she was. All but the youngest children she had planned to teach, though, knew more than the freedmen did.

She wrote Will,

Your eagerness to learn was the subject of more than
one note from a teacher. Mother saved them.
That eagerness, though, would be quite in the shade
among the students I teach. Pat, though – Pat at 10 --
ad more knowledge than they have. Teaching a slave
to read was a crime in South Carolina. Some of my students
travelled miles to escape. Others had been bought from as
far away as Virginia. Many of them, however, have never been
off this island. Do you remember Father showing you where
Dalton was on the globe? I can remember, and I do not believe
I was yet in school. These men and women have never seen a
globe, never seen a map of the world. They had not seen a map
of the United States before our army arrived.

That said, they are less than ideal students. Part of our instruction
in Normal School was proper responses when your older students
disagreed with you. Our worry is how to respond when our students
agree with us. Slaves, when they are told something, agree at once.
They agree whether they understand or not. Indeed, these freedmen
agree before they have had enough time to find out if they understand.
Master: “Plow the north 40 acres between sunrise and breakfast time.”
Slave: “Yes, Massa.”
Me: “I before E except after C.”
Freedman: “Exactly Miss.”
Now, that rule may seem simple enough to you NOW.
I am certain it was not so obvious the first time you heard it.
And these freedmen don’t spell like it was obvious. The problem is that,
when they say that they understand it before they do, we teachers have
no means save tests of discovering when they do.

Still, she persevered. She was performing a useful service, and few other women were. She wouldn’t make a good nurse, even if Mother allowed her to try. The service of staying home to inspire the boys in the field had always struck her as more of an excuse than an occupation. Besides, the man she could possibly be considered to have inspired – and Roger had never actually written to her – was now dead. Many of the men she taught wore blue uniforms, and they certainly spoke as if learning to spell made all their efforts worthwhile.

Soon after she thought that she had got herself and her classes organized enough so that she was doing more good than harm, word came that Richmond had fallen. The Confederate government hadn’t fallen with it, but the last remnants of The Army of Northern Virginia had. She explained to her classes why the news was important. many of them had only a vague idea what a city was.

They did know who Lincoln was, though. When word reached them of the assassination, the black mourning was as sincere as, and much louder than, the white.

When Savanah fell to the Army of Mississippi, it was Margaret who needed the explanation of why it was so important.

“I don’t say that the surrender of one more Rebel city is of no importance,” Colonel Pederson, commander of one of the white regiments, told her. “But the march far outweighs the destination. There is a strip of the Confederacy 50 or more miles wide which no working railroad crosses. If Jeff Davis wants to send troops, or even supplies, to a battle in Virginia, he has to send them by foot and by wagon at least for that section of the trip. Even if they can scrape together freight cars for the rest of the trip, they have to get the railroad equipment to handle the wagons and draft animals as well as the freight. Any government would be plagued by that; the Confederate government never had the resources. The seceding states totaled nine million, free and slave. Virginia and the Carolinas had well more than a third of that. If those states are effectively separated off, then the Rebels don’t have the resources to continue the fight. They’ve already lost meaningful connection with Texas, Arkansas, and western Louisiana. The Union is occupying Tennessee.”

She enjoyed learning from Colonel Pederson, and she could tell that he enjoyed giving her the benefit of his reading and experience. He had been something in the management of the Pennsylvania Railroad before the war, knowledgeable about American geography. He had applied himself to books on strategy and tactics since, and he had some sense of what the generals were trying to do. He was young for a colonel and good-looking for his age.

Although they never exchanged one morsel of personal information, she thought she might be getting over Roger.

Then the colonel received one piece of information that excited him so much that he shared it. His daughter had just said her first word, and his wife had written him a letter with the news. “You remind me a bit of Lottie,” he said.

Marjorie concentrated on her classroom, with one ear open for the war news. The Union didn’t win every battle, but it seemed to her that they won more than they lost. Colonel Pederson pointed out another distinction. Union victories often led to occupation; on the few occasions when the Confederates conquered a Federal base, the Union brought in more troops and reconquered it within a week or two. Most Confederate victories resulted in them keeping territory which they had already controlled.

Meade finished the occupation of Virginia and readied it for re-entry into the Union with a new constitution. Sherman finished his march through the Carolinas, finally meeting Meade a few miles south of the Virginia border. They divided North Carolina between them and went ahead to eject the organized Confederacy from the state.

“Can they collect taxes in those states?” she asked Colonel Pederson. “Can they support an army if they do not?”

“It doesn’t seem to me that Jeff Davis relies much on taxes. He just prints money. Of course, he needs something real to pay his suppliers in Europe. I suspect that the Rebs can’t borrow enough there to pay the interest they owe. Their real problem is the draft. In Texas, of course, they can keep their ranks filled. What they cannot do is find any Union troops to fight. The rest of the Rebel army must fill its ranks from South Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, and Mississippi. The Union occupies a share of all the states on the Atlantic, probably a smaller share here in South Carolina. Grant seems to go where he wishes in Mississippi. That is a small area from which to replenish an army.”

The news of military victories was so intoxicating that there was talk of taking the colored troops and invading mainland South Carolina. Apparently, that was just talk. The troops went out on several raids and even one conquest, but those were much less ambitious.

To cap it all, there was a report of a bloody battle for Columbia Georgia. Marjorie had never before heard of the Union army involved. Neither had the officers with whom she discussed it. Apparently. General Ben Butler had led an army which soon captured the city and destroyed the gun-powder operation which made it a primary target. She had never approved of Ben Butler who seemed almost the opposite of Father politically, a conscienceless Democrat rather than a Conscience Whig.

Finally came the news that Andersonville had been liberated. The last of the Confederate manufacturing sites were falling. It seemed to her that they were falling once a week. Two armies seemed to be bypassing Montgomery to lay siege to Mobile, Colonel Pederson took to the map of the United States to show why. Montgomery was so far from any Union supply base that a long siege would be plagued by raids along the entire supply line. The natural supply line was through Mobile.

Before that battle, though, she had an interview with an official from the American Missionary Association (AMA).

“The Port Royal Experiment is becoming a second priority,” he told her. “This is not because it is in any way a failure, because it isn’t. It isn’t even because of its success. Events are overtaking it. Today, a small but significant fraction of the freedmen within Union lines are on the Sea Islands. Next year – perhaps early next year – only the merest splinter will be. Then, too, many of the colored soldiers not now in the classroom will want instruction, and they will certainly deserve it.”

“You will want me elsewhere. Where?”

“We shall want you in a hundred places. There were more slaves in the South in 1860 than there were people in New England. Were we to ignore the illiterate adults, not all the schoolteachers in New England could handle the newly-freed children who should be in school next year. We shall only ask you for one of those posts or offer you your choice of two.

“The War Department cannot even tell us what states will be available for peaceable education,” he continued. “The central Confederate government will fall soon. At least, Montgomery will; it’s possible that the government or some fragment of it, will escape. Everybody is certain that some states will fight on and some unofficial groups within other states will maintain some sort of war. Texas is fairly certain, and they are unlikely to leave western Louisiana because the reconstructed state government asks them politely.”

“Well, I want to be of help,” she said. “I am not that committed to Port Royal as a whole, and most of my particular students are in the army.”

“And those are likely to be deployed elsewhere.”

As it turned out, the general Confederate response to the surrender by the government was, “What took you so long to see that it was lost?” The army kept the colored soldiers on the Sea Islands, and the farmers put in a crop. Congress and the President were negotiating the general rules for Reconstruction. A 13th Amendment to the Constitution was wending its way through Congress. It would abolish slavery, even where the Emancipation Proclamation did not. The wildest rumors flew about. The states would be allowed to adopt a version of the permissive – to ex-Confederates -- Louisiana constitution; they would be required to adopt an even-stricter version of the Virginia one and no person who had served in the Confederate army would ever be permitted to vote on amending it. There was a rumor of every stage in between,