Their Pilgrimage | Page 4

horizon clouds that prophesied spring. The steamboat, which had

left Baltimore and an arctic temperature the night before, was drawing
near the wharf at Fortress Monroe, and the passengers, most of whom
were seeking a mild climate, were crowding the guards, eagerly
scanning the long facade of the Hygeia Hotel.
"It looks more like a conservatory than a hotel," said Irene to her father,
as she joined him.
"I expect that's about what it is. All those long corridors above and
below enclosed in glass are to protect the hothouse plants of New York
and Boston, who call it a Winter Resort, and I guess there's
considerable winter in it."
"But how charming it is--the soft sea air, the low capes yonder, the sails
in the opening shining in the haze, and the peaceful old fort! I think it's
just enchanting."
"I suppose it is. Get a thousand people crowded into one hotel under
glass, and let 'em buzz around--that seems to be the present notion of
enjoyment. I guess your mother'll like it."
And she did. Mrs. Benson, who appeared at the moment, a little flurried
with her hasty toilet, a stout, matronly person, rather overdressed for
traveling, exclaimed: "What a homelike looking place! I do hope the
Stimpsons are here!"
"No doubt the Stimpsons are on hand," said Mr. Benson. "Catch them
not knowing what's the right thing to do in March! They know just as
well as you do that the Reynoldses and the Van Peagrims are here."
The crowd of passengers, alert to register and secure rooms, hurried up
the windy wharf. The interior of the hotel kept the promise of the
outside for comfort. Behind the glass-defended verandas, in the
spacious office and general lounging-room, sea-coal fires glowed in the
wide grates, tables were heaped with newspapers and the illustrated
pamphlets in which railways and hotels set forth the advantages of
leaving home; luxurious chairs invited the lazy and the tired, and the
hotel-bureau, telegraph-office, railway-office, and post-office showed
the new-comer that even in this resort he was still in the centre of
activity and uneasiness. The Bensons, who had fortunately secured
rooms a month in advance, sat quietly waiting while the crowd filed
before the register, and took its fate from the courteous autocrat behind
the counter. "No room," was the nearly uniform answer, and the
travelers had the satisfaction of writing their names and going their way

in search of entertainment. "We've eight hundred people stowed away,"
said the clerk, "and not a spot left for a hen to roost."
At the end of the file Irene noticed a gentleman, clad in a perfectly-
fitting rough traveling suit, with the inevitable crocodile hand-bag and
tightly-rolled umbrella, who made no effort to enroll ahead of any one
else, but having procured some letters from the post-office clerk,
patiently waited till the rest were turned away, and then put down his
name. He might as well have written it in his hat. The deliberation of
the man, who appeared to be an old traveler, though probably not more
than thirty years of age, attracted Irene's attention, and she could not
help hearing the dialogue that followed.
"What can you do for me?"
"Nothing," said the clerk.
"Can't you stow me away anywhere? It is Saturday, and very
inconvenient for me to go any farther."
"Cannot help that. We haven't an inch of room."
"Well, where can I go?"
"You can go to Baltimore. You can go to Washington; or you can go to
Richmond this afternoon. You can go anywhere."
"Couldn't I," said the stranger, with the same deliberation--"wouldn't
you let me go to Charleston?"
"Why," said the clerk, a little surprised, but disposed to accommodate--
"why, yes, you can go to Charleston. If you take at once the boat you
have just left, I guess you can catch the train at Norfolk."
As the traveler turned and called a porter to reship his baggage, he was
met by a lady, who greeted him with the cordiality of an old
acquaintance and a volley of questions.
"Why, Mr. King, this is good luck. When did you come? have you a
good room? What, no, not going?"
Mr. King explained that he had been a resident of Hampton Roads just
fifteen minutes, and that, having had a pretty good view of the place, he
was then making his way out of the door to Charleston, without any
breakfast, because there was no room in the inn.
"Oh, that never'll do. That cannot be permitted," said his engaging
friend, with an air of determination. "Besides, I want you to go with us
on an excursion today up the James and help me chaperon a lot of
young ladies. No, you cannot go away."

And before Mr. Stanhope King--for that was