Bessie on Her Travels

“Well, I don’t know about that,” said Maggie. “I find poor people in this world are not always grateful when they ought to be. Don’t you remember Mrs. Bent, Bessie?”

“Yes, I do,” said Bessie, in a tone which told that Mrs. Bent’s ingratitude, as she and Maggie thought it, was not to be easily forgotten. Indeed, the way in which Mrs. Bent had received the gift of the hospital-bed for her lame boy, had left a very disagreeable impression on the minds of our two little girls.

“But I s’pose rich people are not always so grateful as they ought to be, either,” added Bessie.

“No,” said Maggie, thoughtfully: “maybe some are not, but I think we are, generally. I think I feel my blessings, Bessie, – I think I do, ’specially being in Newport.”

“There can be no doubt about that,” said Uncle Ruthven, who had overheard this short conversation, to his wife: “if ever there was a grateful, contented, little heart it is that of our sunny Maggie.”

Certainly a more comfortable home, or one more beautifully situated, could scarcely have been found for those who could furnish none for themselves. The grown people, as well as the children, were greatly pleased with the order, neatness, and quiet of the whole place. This visit having been planned, the ladies had come provided with little parcels of tea, fruit, and other small delicacies, as a treat for some of the sick and old people. There were a few toys and books also for such of the children as had behaved well, and these things Maggie and Bessie were allowed to present.

“I b’lieve I’ll change my mind about poor people being grateful,” said Maggie, when she had witnessed the pleasure these trifles gave; “and I’m glad I can, for an ungrateful person is ‘sharper than a serpent’s tooth,’ ’specially if it’s an old woman.”

Bessie looked at her sister in great admiration, as she always did when Maggie made any of these fine speeches; but Harry turned away lest she should see him laughing. For as Maggie was so careful of other people’s feelings, Harry felt bound not to trouble her in that way when he could avoid it.

“The band plays at Fort Adams to-morrow afternoon,” said the Colonel, as they drove homeward: “who will be for a drive over there?”

There was no want of assenting voices; and, the next afternoon, the whole family went over to the fort, – some driving, some on horseback, Mr. Powers and Belle being of the party this time.

Maggie and Bessie had never in their lives been inside of a fort, so that this was quite an event to them. Harry and Fred had visited several; but they were all much smaller than Fort Adams, which indeed is the second in size in the country, only Fortress Monroe being larger. Passing around the road, which runs between the water and the immense earthworks which rise above it, they entered the fort beneath a stone arch, and over a stone pavement on which the horses’ feet rang with a loud clatter. Just without this gateway, was the guard-house, a low stone building, with grated door and loop-holes, where drunken soldiers, and those who have broken the rules, are confined. Two or three sullen-looking men were peeping through the iron bars of the door, for whom Bessie’s tender little heart was much moved; but Maggie was afraid of them, and turned her face away, though they could not possibly have hurt her, and probably had no will to do so.

Within the fort, the children were much astonished at the number of enormous cannon, and at the great black balls and shells piled together in pyramids upon the green in the centre, and beneath the casemates. The side of the fort next the water was entirely taken up with these warlike-looking arrangements; while on the inner side were the officers’ quarters, or little houses where they lived, and the soldiers’ barracks and mess-rooms. All was neat, clean, and orderly; and, in spite of the purpose for which it was intended, the whole place had a bright, cheerful look. The band were playing delightful music on the green, and the drive was filled with gay equipages. The handsome carriages, fine horses, and beautifully dressed ladies and children, made it a pretty and lively scene, and it was all so new to the children, that each moment some exclamation of pleasure or wonder escaped them. Some of the officers were sauntering about, talking to their acquaintances; and the general who commanded the fort, being a friend of Colonel Rush, came and asked the ladies and children to alight from the carriages, and he would show them over the works. They were glad to accept his invitation, and the general took them over the fort, and explained all that was interesting.

But in spite of the many new and curious things she saw, in spite of the lovely music, and the merry crowd, Bessie’s mind was full of the “poor, naughty soldiers in the prison;” and when her older friends were resting in the general’s quarters, while she with the other children stayed without and watched the gay scene, she went quietly to Belle and said, —

“Belle, dear, don’t you feel rather bad about those soldiers shut up in that prison place?”

“Not when I don’t see ’em,” answered Belle. “I guess they were pretty naughty to be put in there.”

“May be so,” said Bessie; “but wouldn’t you like to be kind to them?”

“No,” said Belle. “I b’lieve not. One of them looked so cross.”

“Maybe it makes him cross to be shut up there when the music is playing, and every thing is so nice out here,” said Bessie. “Let’s go and ask them if they will promise to be good if they are let out.”

“We can’t let them out,” said Belle.

“No; but we’ll tell some one they have repented and ask for them to be let out. You know that soldier with a gun, that was walking up and down there? well, I guess he’s a kind of soldier-policeman and we’ll ask him. The prison is just outside of that gate-hole,” said Bessie, pointing to the archway by which the fort was entered; “and we will be back in a moment.”

“Shall we ask Maggie to go?” said Belle.

“No, Maggie was so frightened at them. She is over there with Harry, looking at those ugly black balls; so we won’t ’sturb her, but just go by ourselves.”

So, hand in hand, the two little things ran out under the archway, and over to the guard-house beyond. Not unnoticed, however; for though they were not seen by their own friends, they were by some acquaintances, who were driving past at the moment, and who, fearing that they might be run over by the constantly passing carriages, or fall into some other mischief, told Colonel Rush’s servants to see after the children. One of the men called his master, and the Colonel speedily followed the little runaways.

They made for the grated door, with what purpose Bessie hardly knew herself, save that there was kindness in her heart for the poor prisoners; but, as they reached it, the guard or “soldier-policeman,” as Bessie called him, stopped them by crossing his musket in their way.

Belle was frightened, – partly by this, partly by the two or three astonished faces that peeped at them through the bars, – and would have drawn back, but Bessie stood her ground, and, looking up at the guard with her innocent, serious eyes, said, —

“We only want to speak to the poor shut-up soldiers.”

The man shook his head.

“It’s against the rules, miss,” he said.

“But I’m not in rules,” said Bessie. “I don’t live here you know, and I think I might do it. If you were in prison you would like some one to coax you to be good: wouldn’t you?”

The soldier looked at her in astonished silence; but his gun still barred the way.

“You’ll let them out, won’t you?” she went on with pleading voice and eyes: “you’ll let them out so they can come in there where there is such sweet music, and it is all nice and bright? I think they are sorry now.”

“Yes,” said Belle: “see that poor fellow sitting on the floor with his head down. I’m sure he is sorry, and will be good, and the ofers will too.”

While the little girls were speaking, two more soldiers had come round from the other side of the guard-house. One of them was the corporal; and, hearing what the children said, he answered for the sentry.

“He can’t let them out, little ladies,” he said: “if he did he’d be put there himself.”

As he finished speaking, Colonel Rush stood behind the children. The corporal and the soldiers, even the men behind the grating, saluted the brave English officer, whom they knew by sight, and whom they greatly admired; for the story of his daring and courage were known to the garrison. But the third man, who was hardly more than a lad, still sat with his arms folded, and his head sunk upon his breast.

“My dear children,” said the Colonel, “this is no place for you. What brought you here?”

“Oh! Uncle Horace,” said Bessie, seizing upon his hand; “won’t you ask these policemen-soldiers to let out those poor prisoners? We feel so badly about them.”

“My darling,” answered the Colonel, “they cannot let out these men. They are under arrest, and shut up here because they have done wrong, and the guard are here to keep them from getting out.”

“But see that poor soldier sitting down there,” said Bessie: “he looks so sorry. Maybe, he’s thinking of somebody of his, far away, who will hear he has been in prison, and feel badly about it.”

In her earnestness, she was using every argument she could think of; but she had innocently touched almost the only soft spot in the man’s heart. If he was not at the moment thinking of “somebody of his” who was far away, her words brought the thought of that one to his mind, – that “somebody,” his poor young sister, who would be grieved at his disgrace, hurt at his obstinate wrong-doing, if it ever came to her ears.

He raised his head, and gave a quick glance at the innocent little pleader; and a softened look came over the hard, sullen face.

“He’s not sorry, but just sullen, little lady,” said the corporal: “that fellow has been in the guard-house four times in the last week, for insubordination, and they’ll have to try some harder measures to take it out of him, I’m thinking. Your pity is only wasted.”

“Oh, no!” said Bessie; “for you know Jesus said we must be sorry with people when they are in trouble, and happy with them when they are glad. I’m very sorry for him and the other men too. Who can let them out, Uncle Horace?”

“Only their officers, Bessie; and I fear they must stay here now till their time is up: but we will hope they will do better in future, and not deserve punishment again. Come away now: your mother will be anxious.”

Bessie obeyed; but both she and Belle cast backward pitying looks at the poor prisoners. The man they had noticed most, still sat silent; but the other two, as well as the soldiers without, talked with pleasure and amusement of their pretty ways and innocent simplicity.

But the man who had seemed to pay little or no regard to their words was the one who remembered them the longest, and to whom they brought the most good. He had been hard, obstinate, and disobedient, and, as the corporal said, had been punished four times during the last week. Punishment and persuasion had alike proved useless in bringing him to do better; but he was softened now. He could not resist that sweet little face, the pitying eyes and gentle tones that asked for his release. He thought of them, and of that “somebody of his,” all that night as he lay upon the hard floor of the guard-house; and, when he was set free in the morning, went to his commanding officer whom he had disobeyed and insulted; asked forgiveness, and promised that he would try not to offend again. And he kept his word, striving hard with himself for he always felt, from this time, as if there were two “somebodies” who would be grieved to hear of his bad behavior and disgrace.

“Who could let them out, Uncle Horace?” repeated Bessie as the Colonel led her and Belle away.

“Only the officer who ordered them to be shut up, dear,” said the Colonel.

“And couldn’t we ask him?” said Bessie.

“Not very well, dear: the rules in the army must be strictly kept; and if these men were let out without good reason, it would be a bad example for the other soldiers, who might think they would not be punished if they were disobedient.”