The Southern Cross by Foxhall Daingerfield, Jr.

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[Illustration]

The Southern Cross

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Bryan Station Chapter D.A.R.
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THE SOUTHERN CROSS

* * * * *

A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS

* * * * *

By

FOXHALL DAINGERFIELD, JR.

* * * * *

_Produced at Opera House, Lexington, Ky., April 13, 1909, for benefit
of Morgan Monument_.

* * * * *

Copyright 1909.

PRESS OF
J.L. RICHARDSON & Co.
LEXINGTON. KY.

* * * * *

TO
THE MEMORY
OF
GENERAL JOHN HUNT MORGAN.
--F.D.

* * * * *

THE PEOPLE OF THE PLAY.

GORDON CABELL MR. McCOMAS
CARTER HILLIARY (Charlotte's brother) MR. HARBISON
COL. PHILIP STUART MR. OBERCHEIN
GEORGE STUART (his son) MR. H. YANCEY
BEVERLY STUART (called "Bev.") MR. ROACH
STEPHEN WINTHROP (of the 12th Mass.) MR. McCONNELL
MAURICE HOPKINS (of his command) MR. SALLEE
CORPORAL EVANS (also of the 12th Mass.) MR. THORNTON
BILL (a turnkey at the prison) MR. MOORE
CUPID (an old negro servant) MR. ADDY
THE FIRST SOLDIER MR. YANCEY
THE SECOND SOLDIER MR. McGEEVER
THE THIRD SOLDIER MR. THIESING
FAIRFAX STUART (called "Fair") MISS WHITE
MRS. STUART MISS DAINGERFIELD
CHARLOTTE HILLIARY (her niece) MISS BUCKNER
AUNT MARTHY (Cupid's wife) MRS. BENNETT

Soldiers of the 12th Massachusetts.
A guard at the prison.

* * * * *

SYNOPSIS.

ACT I.

OUTSIDE THE STUART HOME, MAY 11, 1864.

"_If love were all_!"

ACT II.

THE PARLOUR OF THE STUART HOME. ON THE FOLLOWING NIGHT.

"_The Signal_."

ACT III.

THE PRISON AT COLUMBUS. ONE HOUR BEFORE MIDNIGHT, MAY 22.

"_The heart of a soldier_."

ACT IV.

THE BANKS OF THE ASPEN RIVER, SIX MONTHS AFTERWARD.
LATE IN NOVEMBER.

"_Once more we pass along this way; Once more, 'tis where at first we
met_!"

Time--1864.

Scene--A Southern State.

Production under the personal direction of Miss Julia Connelly.

* * * * *

THE SOUTHERN CROSS.

ACT I.

Outside the Stuart home, May, 1864. The large beautiful lawn of a
typical Southern home. On the left and partly at the back stands the
house, of colonial build, a wide porch running the entire length of
the house, with three broad, low steps leading down to the garden.
Many vines, mostly wisteria, in full bloom, cover the walls and some
climb around the banisters. The porch has four white pillars reaching
to the second story. On the right is a green garden bench, and at the
back may be seen a road leading past the house, a low picket fence
between many trees; box-bushes and shrubs are near the right. It is
near twilight of an afternoon in May. On the right and through the
picket fence a small gate leading to the garden and thence to the
family graveyard. Over the whole scene there is a half look of decay:
the grounds are not in order, the bushes are untrimmed, as though
poverty had come suddenly to its occupants. At rise of curtain Aunt
Marthy, an old negro mammy of the familiar Southern type, is discovered
by the gate leading into the garden; in her hands she holds some roses
and other flowers she has been gathering.

Marthy. 'Clare hit don't seem natural--it suttenly don't. Dis
hyer place ain't what it was; look at dat fence and at dem bushes!
It's gittin run down, dat's what's the matter; it's gittin run down.

[Enter Cupid from the gate at back, leading into the lane.
He is an old negro of about the same age as Marthy.
His clothes are very old and worn, yet there is a
pathetic suggestion of neatness in his ragged dress.

Cupid. Marthy, is you seen dem chullen?

Marthy. Nor I ain't seen um since lunch. Mars Bev and Miss Fair
don suttenly tek dis place since de war brek out. I hear um say dey
gwine down to de mill.

Cupid. How dey go?

Marthy. I hear Miss Fair say she was gwine ter walk, and den Mars
Bev say hit too far for her; dat she got ter ride de mule: and she up an
tell him ef it too far fer her ter walk, she ain't gwine, 'cause it
suttenly too far fer old Jack.

Cupid (indignant). Jack's er good mule yet, ef he is de onliest
one we got lef. Somehow I don't feel exactly rite wid jes dem two hosses
on de place sides dat ole mule; cose he's a good mule yet, onderstan;
but den I can't get used to jes dem three. I often set and study 'bout
dem hosses and wonder whar de is, and ef de soldiers treat um good and
ef dey gits dey feed regular, and ef--

Marthy. Ef dey gits de feed regular hit more dan what we does.
Since de soldiers bin comin' what wid de sewin' and de cookin' and
gibin' way, I wonder dat we gits on er tall. Not dat I grudge hit ter
um--law, no. Wid us got Mars George and dey cousin Mars Carter, and dars
Mars Gorden same as one ob de fambily, to say nothin' ob Old Marster in
de army.

Cupid. And dars Mars Bev, most pester his mar to def ter let him
go; but cose dat chile he too young; he ant more'n fou'teen. But den I'm
frade he gwine: fer ef dat chile set his head on er thing, he good es
got it.

Marthy. Go on wid you! Dat chile ant no mo' gwine in de army dan
what I is. He know hit all but kill Ole Mistis when she let Mars George
and Old Marster go; and den--(her voice grows soft, she looks over
toward the gate (Right)--dar's Mars Phil's grave over dar. She ant neber
bin quite de same since dat ambulance wagen turn in at de gate.

Cupid. Hits bin more'n two years ago; but sometimes hit 'pears
like hit was only yestidy. (Marthy starts toward the gate). Whar you
gwine wid dem flowers?

Marthy. Deys fer Miss Charlotte; she love ter hab um on de table.
'Pears like hit mek hit sorter brighter fer um.

[Cupid goes to gate at back and stands looking anxiously off
down the road (Right).

Cupid. I'm gettin' mighty oneasy 'bout dem chullen. Dey's terbil
careless 'bout demselves.

Marthy (stops on the steps and listens). 'Pears like I hears a hoss.

Cupid. Go on, nigger! Didn't I tell you dey walked to de mill?

[A horse's hoofs are heard.

Marthy (laughs). I hears hit all de same.

Cupid (drops hat in astonishment). Hi! ef dey ant not one er my
kerrige hosses! Hi, dar! Mars Bev! Mars Bev!

[Enter at the back by the road Fair and Bev. She is riding on
a big brown horse with a bag of meal before her. She is
a beautiful young girl of about eighteen, simply dressed
in a pink cotton gown; her hair hangs in loose curls about
her face: her hat is carried loosely in one hand; with the
other she is guiding the old horse. Bev walks at her side,
with one hand on the bridle. He is a very handsome boy of
about fourteen, with a gay, happy manner. He is barefoot,
dressed in a soft white cotton shirt and blue homespun
trousers. He is without hat or coat, and seems in the best
of spirits. They stop at the gate, laughing.

Fair (from her place on the horse). Take me down, Bev. Here,
Cupid, you take the meal.

[Cupid comes forward too surprised to speak, lifts down the bag,
then Bev takes her hands and lifts her to the ground.

Cupid. Whar you git dis hoss?

Bev (laughs and winks at Fair). Why, out of the second stall near
the door. Where'd you think?

[Marthy and Fair laugh.

Cupid. Dis hoss ant never pack no meal fo' in his life; he's er
kerrige hoss.

Fair. Well, Cupid, we had to get the meal, and Jack is so old and
stiff I thought Tony here would enjoy the trip, and he did, all except
the ferry. I don't believe he ever crossed a stream before, not with me
on his back and a bag of meal. Was'nt he funny, Bev? Dear old Tony! (She
throws her arms around his neck). I wish I had some sugar for you.

Marthy. Go'long, child! You talkin' 'bout givin' sugar to dat old
hoss, when we all has to put 'lasses in de coffee and proud ter git hit.

Cupid. You tell Mistis and Marster dey's come.

[He leads horse off (Left) carrying the meal.

Marthy. Yo' pa bin askin' 'bout you; he say he gwine way ter morrow.

Fair (anxious). To-morrow!

Bev. Where is he?

Marthy. He an' you ma done gone for walk round de quarters.

[Exit Marthy into the house.

Bev. Fair, did you know father was going back to his regiment
to-morrow?

Fair. I was afraid of it. The wound is almost healed, but mother
can't bear to have us mention his leaving us again.

Bev. Why, I had hoped to go back with him; I hate to be young.
Why, Fair, do you know sometimes I feel so crazy to go off with the army
I believe I'll run away, except--

Fair. Yes, I know; you mean mother. When father and George are
gone, we're all she's got.

Bev. I wish I'd been twins; then one of me could go.

[Fair laughs.

Fair. But if you had been, 'twould be just twice as hard for us
to give you up.

Bev. I say, let's go find father. They're walking in the lane
down past the quarters.

[Fair hesitates.

Fair. You go, Bev; I'll meet you near the gate. (She smiles at
him). I'm tired, I reckon.

Bev (slightly disappointed). I won't go unless you come.

Fair (sits quietly for a moment, then looks up quickly at him).
Go on, Bev, don't mind if I stay here. (A slight pause). Was there any
news to-day?

Bev. Nothing new. But won't it be splendid if General Morgan
brings his camp near enough for George and Carter and Gordon all to come
by and see us. Gee! I wish they'd come.

Fair. Oh, Bev, do you think they could? 'Twould seem too good to
be true. (She is silent for a moment). Bev, did you know Stephen
Winthrop and his command had been ordered to the South? Doesn't it seem
strange for a man with Southern blood to fight against his people? Of
course he is our cousin, and that ought to make some difference, and
then he was raised in the North with only visits here. And I suppose--I
suppose its natural, but then--I wish--Oh, I wish it were different.

Bev. I don't feel like he was our cousin any more. Didn't it seem
strange that he and Mr. Hopkins should have visited here just before the
war? I liked them fine. I believe I liked Hopkins best. I was awful
sorry when they went away.

Fair (quietly, without looking at him). Does that seem very long
ago to you, Bev?

Bev (surprised). Why, no: not longer than it was.

Fair. I was thinking--I can't help wondering if we shall ever see
him again.

Bev. Who do you mean, Hopkins?

Fair (softly). No; Steve!

Bev. We may, though I hope not.

Fair (surprised). Why?

Bev. He'd be our enemy now.

[Fair seems greatly troubled.

Fair. Somehow I can't help thinking that we shall see him again.
I often wonder if he's changed. He seemed so different from our boys--so
very different, somehow.

Bev. I wonder why you never like to walk down through the lane
any more? I don't believe you've been down there for a long time, not
since Hopkins and Winthrop were here.

Fair (quickly). Oh, yes, I have, lots of times. When Aunt Sally
was sick and when Uncle Joe died, don't you remember?

Bev. So you have; but I was thinking of the last walk we took
down there. Hopkins and I went off through the woods hunting, and you
and Winthrop walked down to the bars and waited for us. 'Twas night when
we got back, and you and he were still standing near the bars. The moon
made you look so white, I was afraid you were sick. That's why I
remember.

Fair (with an effort). Don't let's talk about that any more, will
you, Bev?

Bev. Of course; I didn't know you minded. Was that why you didn't
want to walk there just now?

Fair (rising). Let's go and look for Charlotte: perhaps she's
heard some news.

Bev. I reckon she's in the house; I'll call her.

[He runs towards the house, calling "Charlotte! Charlotte!"
Exit into house.

Fair (sits quietly on the bench looking off before her, greatly
troubled). I couldn't, someway I couldn't go there--to-day. Two years
ago this night! And yet how long, how terribly long ago it seems! He
told me he'd come back. I often wonder why I care: but it was such a
happy time!

[Her head sinks wearily down on her arm on the back of the bench,
covering her face.

[Enter from the back Col. and Mrs. Stuart. Col. Stuart is a
large, handsome, soldierly man of about fifty the typical
Southern Colonel. He wears his uniform and walks with
a slight limp. Mrs. Stuart is a pretty, dignified,
matronly-looking woman, same few years younger than
her husband. She is dressed in a simple black dress of
good material, that has evidently seen better days. Fair
rises quickly, going to them. She places a chair for her
father, who sits.

Fair (slipping one arm around his neck and pressing her cheek to
his). Dear father, Bev and I were just coming to look for you.

Mrs. S. Did you and Bev go to the mill?

Fair. Yes, to get the meal; and 'twas such fun! I rode on Tony.
And if you could have seen old Cupid when we got back; he thought of
course we'd take old Jack.

[She laughs.

Col. S. Dear little girl, what would we do without you? It's hard
for us to see you do the work meant for the slaves. You go to mill and
help them cook and work and sew; and if you and Charlotte ever grieve or
worry--why, we don't find it out.

Fair. Oh, you're praising us too much. We girls can't fight; I
sometimes wish we could. But we can work, and when that work's for
General Morgan, there's nothing that's too hard for us to do.

Mrs. S. We seem to give so little to the cause; we have so little
left, only our work. That's such a comfort to feel we can do something.
When the fighting's near, and all night long we hear the musketry and
cannon, and when the thought comes that you and George are going to the
front, it seems more than we can bear. I fix a light out there on the
front porch, and wonder how the fighting's going on. Bev always stands
out by the gate and listens for the sound of firing coming near. 'Tis
hard to keep him then, he wants so terribly to fight with you and
George. But through those nights that come so often to us now we have
our work, and all night long we sit and sew and knit and listen. Oh,
then the work's a comfort to feel and know we're doing it for you.

Col. S. And we out there, who fight, are called the heroes.

Fair. Father, must you go to-morrow? The wound can't quite be
well. Stay for a few more days. Why, I feel as though I'd hardly seen
you for a moment.

Mrs. S. (who has quietly taken his hand in both her own during
Fair's last speech). To-morrow, dear, and we should thank God he can go.
But let's think of to-night; to-morrow's not here yet, and we have still
to-night.

Fair (rising, starts to the house). I'll go and look for Bev and
Charlotte and bring them here.

[Exit into house.

Mrs. S. (softly, with a great effort). To-morrow--it must be then!

Col. S. To-morrow. (A pause). Yes, then I must go. Word came to
us that Morgan's camp was moving on this way, and as we fight in battles
there, so must you here. Perhaps before so very long I'll come again,
and bring the boys home, too. Why, George is Morgan's right hand man.
They say when Morgan wants a man of special courage, he always calls on
George. When you think of all the trust that Morgan puts in him, it
ought to make us glad we have our boy to give him.

Mrs. S. Yes, glad; I am glad, Phillip. I'm proud of every way we
help the South. And what of Gordon Cabell and Carter Hillary? Are they
with Morgan, too?

Col. S. They're Morgan's scouts. They, with five other men, have
saved the army more than once. They know the roads for miles and miles.
Sometimes they are away for weeks, and then they turn up with some news
that means the life of Morgan's army.

Mrs. S. (looking up). But Phil, the sun has almost set, the dew
is falling: we'd best go in. You musn't take a cold and on the last day
here.

[They rise.

Col. S. We'll walk down through the garden; we must go there.

Mrs. S. I left that for the last. I knew you wanted to go down
to--the grave.

Col. S. (quiet for a moment, then with an effort). He loved this
home, didn't he, mother?

Mrs. S. Yes, he was very happy here. That tree near by the
gate--the one we call "Phil's tree"--is the place I love best now.

[She takes his hand and quietly they exit (Right) by gate leading
to graveyard.

[Enter from the house Aunt Marthy with a small bell in in her
hand. She looks about as though to ring the bell. Stops,
as she glances toward the graveyard.

Aunt M. Dey's down dar by Mars Phil's grave. I know'd
dey'd go dar las' thing, fo' de come in fo' de night. 'Pears like Mistis
got ter go dar every evenin' 'bout sunset. 'Pears like hit comfort
her mightily, arter she set dar fer a while by de grave and smove
down the grass wid her hands and spred out de fresh flowers she
bring him. It seems like she happier den she bin all day. She just
come out smilin' ter herself, like she ant smile since fo' de war brek
out. I reckon de supper kin wait.

[Exit by side of the house.

[Enter from the house Fair, Bev, and Charlotte Hillary. She is
a young girl of some twenty-two or three years, tall,
slender, and very pretty, with somewhat premature dignity.
She is dressed in a soft blue cotton dress, much like
Fair's. She enters smiling and evidently inspired by the
gay mood of Fair and Bev.

Charlotte (laughing). So I'm to be told the great secret, am I?
What can it be? A new dress for Fair, or have some of your soldier
friends made you happy with some trophy of the fight. Bev?

Fair. She came near it, didn't she, Bev? But you couldn't really
guess, not if you tried all night.

Bev. Remember you promised not to say a word to any one.

Char. I promise. But really I can't wait another minute; do tell
me, quick.

Bev (who is searching behind a bush near the house). I say, Fair,
where'd you put it? 'Twas here last night.

Fair. I found Cupid digging round that bush and I knew he'd find
it and tell, so I hid it here. (She reaches under the steps, drawing out
a small paper parcel. She unrolls the paper, drawing out the half
finished coat of a boy's uniform. It is made from pale-blue flannel,
very soft, and evidently from some dress of her own. The armlets are
embroidered in red cotton). Here it is. Now guess, Charlotte, before we
tell you?

Char. I've seen the cloth before--the dress you had last winter.
But what--I don't quite see--what is it now?

Bev (who has been trying to contain himself, comes nearer,
speaking in a glad, excited voice). It's my uniform. I'm going to fight
before so very long, and Fair is making it for me.

Char (taking the little coat tenderly in her hands). But your
mother, Bev!

Fair. Oh, we're going to tell her, but not now. She'll let Bev go
when he is needed, and so I am making this to have it ready. It isn't
very nice, I know. You see, I never made a coat before, and the cloth is
old and thin and not the right color; but it's all I have. I wish I had
the finest uniform in the world for Bev, but this will have to do. (Her
voice falters for a second). And--I'm making it myself.

Bev. Why, Fair, you know I wouldn't wear any uniform but this,
even if I had a dozen. The buttons are those the boys gave me off their
coats, and the rank on the sleeve is all embroidered. I wouldn't trade
with any of them--not even General Morgan.

Char. (putting her arm around Fair). You precious little Fair,
there's not a better uniform in all the South than this, but can't I
help you with it? I'd love to; may I, dear?

Fair. If you'll show me how to put in the sleeve, I'd love it;
but I'd rather do the work all by myself, please. You see, Bev's going
to be such a great, brave soldier in this coat. I'd like to think
I'd made it all myself.

[She begins to sew on the coat.

Char. I suppose I needn't ask in whose command you are going? I
know you will say Morgan's. But how about your rank--will you be just a
private?

Bev. Not just a private; though, of course, I'll be that if I can
be nothing else. George told me when all was ready and my mother said I
might, that I could come with him. I'd be one of the scouts, the color
bearer; that's the place I want--(he grows more and more excited)--to
hold the flag; to feel it was my own, my very own; to feel and touch and
carry. Do you know, Charlotte, I believe I'd think George most as great
a man as Morgan if he'd take me with him in his company and let me have
the flag.

Char. Perhaps he will. I'll speak for you; he loves to do the
things I want; and, yes, I'm sure he'll take you for his color-bearer.

Bev. Where's father, Fair? I must go tell him now before he goes
away. He'll say that I can go; I know he will. And mother: I'll tell
her, too. Where are they?

Fair (quietly). I think they're in the garden by Phil's grave.
They always go there near this time.

[Exit Bev through gate.

Char. Oh, Fair, it's hard, hard for us all, and most of all for
you. I sometimes wonder how you can be so brave. We've given Phil, and
now your father and George and Carter and Gordon--all of them in the
army. Now that Bev wants to go, I don't see how we can bear that.

Fair (quietly). I sometimes think of it, and then a great wave of
terror seems to pass over me and leave me frantic at the thought. I feel
as though I must tear things with my hands and scream, and go out too
with them and fight--just to be near them. And then I feel ashamed to
seem so weak. And then I think about the day they brought Phil's body
home, and how mother didn't shed a tear. She looked so strange and
white, as we walked down through the garden to the grave, I took her
hand; it was like marble! Then she looked down at Bev on one side and at
me close by her on the other, and softly smiled--smiled as she does when
she is very proud and pleased. She spoke just as we came close by the
grave. We three stood very near to Phil, and as they lifted him, she
spoke: "He was the first, and I have loved him best," and then she
smiled again, and softly drew away her hand and laid it for one moment
on the coffin, as though caressing it. Then bending close down by his
side, she spoke, as though to him: "Well done, my own soldier man! The
heavenly hosts are proud of your enlistment!" (A pause). You wonder then
that I'm ashamed to show my fear of losing Bev?

Char. Heroes like that are born--not made.

[Enter from the garden Mrs. S. and Col. S., and Bev who walks
between them. He is talking eagerly, as though afraid of
opposition. Col. S. looks troubled. Mrs. S. looks strangely
pale and quiet.

Bev. And, father, you see it's nearly finished now. Of course,
I'll wait till George has a place for me; but Fair and I just wanted to
be all ready. She did it all herself. (He holds up the coat). And it
fits too, all except one place, and she'll fix that. Oh, father, mother,
you'll let me go--sometime--of course, not now--but when I'm needed.

Col. S. You shall go when the right time comes. When George
comes, have your talk with him. First, your duty as a soldier is always
to obey. Do as he says. Ride straight; you can do that already. Shoot
straight; that you can learn. Live straight; that you will do. And last
of all, if need be, boy, die with your face straight to the front.

Bev (clasping his hand and looking up into his face). Oh, father,
if I only get the chance, I'll show you I can do them all!

Mrs. S. And when you've ridden and fought and lived as straight
as I, your mother, know you will, there's one thing more for me to
ask--(she softly lays her hand on his hair, looking down into his
face)--Oh, little Bev, my own, own little boy, let your last ride be
straight back home to me.

[She kisses him.

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