Alabama -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction; Domestic fiction; War stories
In the shadow of that solitary sentinel peak her life had been passed;
she had gathered chestnuts and chincapins among its wooded clefts, and
clambered over its gray boulders as fearlessly as the young llamas of
the Parime; and now, as it rapidly receded and finally vanished, she
felt as if the last link that bound her to the past had suddenly
snapped; the last friendly face which had daily looked down on her for
twelve years was shut out forever, and she and Grip were indeed alone,
in a great, struggling world of selfishness and sin. The sun shone
dazzlingly over wide fields of grain, whose green billows swelled and
surged under the freshening breeze; golden butterflies fluttered over
the pink and blue morning-glories that festooned the rail-fences; a
brakeman whistled merrily on the platform, and children inside the car
prattled and played, while at one end a slender little girlish figure,
in homespun dress and pink calico bonnet, crouched in a corner of the
seat, staring back in the direction of hooded Lookout, feeling that
each instant bore her farther from the dear graves of her dead; and
oppressed with an intolerable sense of desolation and utter isolation
in the midst of hundreds of her own race, who were too entirely
absorbed in their individual speculations, fears and aims, to spare
even a glance at that solitary young mariner, who saw the last headland
fade from view, and found herself, with no pilot but ambition, drifting
rapidly out on the great, unknown, treacherous Sea of Life, strewn with
mournful human wrecks, whom the charts and buoys of six thousand years
of navigation could not guide to a haven of usefulness and peace.
Interminable seemed the dreary day, which finally drew to a close, and
Edna, who was weary of her cramped position, laid her aching head on
the window-sill, and watched the red light of day die in the west,
where a young moon hung her silvery crescent among the dusky tree-tops,
and the stars flashed out thick and fast. Far away among strangers,
uncared for and unnoticed, come what might, she felt that God's
changeless stars smiled down as lovingly upon her face as on her
grandfather's grave; and that the cosmopolitan language of nature knew
neither the modifications of time and space, the distinctions of social
caste, nor the limitations of national dialects.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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