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Updated: May 9, 2025
Merwyn was not taking part with thousands in a battle that would be historic as Strahan and Blauvelt had done at Gettysburg. Every element of romance and martial inspiration was wanting. It was merely a life-and-death encounter between a handful of policemen and a grimy, desperate band of ruffians, cornered like rats, and resolved to sell their lives dearly.
When time hangs heavy on your hands, would it give you any satisfaction to write to me?" "Indeed it will," cried the young officer. "Let me make a suggestion. I will keep a rough journal of what occurs and of the scenes we pass through, and Blauvelt will illustrate it. How should you like that?
"Yes; but is wounded slightly. What is the matter with your arm?" "Only a bullet-hole through it. That's nothing for Gettysburg. I was captured, and escaped on the first night's march. Dark and stormy, you know. But it's a long story, and I'm hungry as a wolf. Where's Blauvelt?" "He's a guest at Mr. Vosburgh's."
Blauvelt then gave Merwyn some suggestions, adding: "If you find no trace of him on the field, I would advise, as your only chance, that you follow the track of Lee's army, especially the roads on which their prisoners were taken. Strahan might have given out by the way, and have been left at some farmhouse or in a village. It would be hopeless to go beyond the Potomac."
Merwyn, with all his money, has made no progress. Her choice will eventually fall on Lane, Blauvelt, or poor little me. Thank Heaven I gave the Johnnies the slip! The other fellows shall have a fair field, but I want one, too." Before they had finished their breakfast Blauvelt came tearing in, and there was a fire of questions between the brother-officers.
Blauvelt has finished a part of its task, that relative to abbreviations, notations, and symbols. It will soon take up the second part, which relates to definitions and agreements."
Lane, and the semi-humorous journal of Strahan and Blauvelt, together with the general claims of society and her interest in her father's deep anxieties, were fast banishing it from her mind, when, to her surprise, his card was handed to her one stormy afternoon, late in January. "I am sorry to intrude upon you, Miss Vosburgh," he began, as she appeared, "but "
You are mistaken if you fancy you can harm any of my moods. Won't you stay and criticise my picture for me?" "Why, Mr. Blauvelt, I'm not an art critic." "Yes, you are, one of the class I paint for. Our best critics are our patrons, cultivated people." "I should never think of patronizing you." "Perhaps you might entertain the thought of encouraging me a little, if you felt that I was worth it."
Strahan, decide the question for themselves, cannot fail to carry my admiration with them." "That's the loudest bugle call I expect to hear," remarked Mr. Blauvelt, who entered at that moment. "Here's the place to open your recruiting-office," added another, laughing. "If Miss Marian would be free with her colors, she could raise a brigade."
Others, besides Blauvelt, obtained the impulse in your presence which decided them. Indeed, your drawing-room has been greatly thinned, and it almost looks as if few would be left to haunt it except Merwyn." "I do not think he will haunt it much longer, and I should prefer solitude to his society." "Well," laughed Strahan, "I think you will have a chance to put one rebel to rout before I do.
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