Yankee Girl at Fort Sumter | Page 8

a tell-tale. Although I suppose girls who act the way
you do would tell."
"Get down on your knees," commanded Elinor, trying to push the little
girl.
"There's the bell," and they all turned and scampered back to the house,
leaving Sylvia on the path; for Elinor had let go of her so suddenly that
she had fallen forward.
Her knees were hurt, and one of her hands was bruised by the fall. For a
moment she lay sobbing quietly. She was angry and miserable. She had
been brave enough when the girls had seemed to threaten her, but now
her courage was gone. She could not go back to the schoolroom and
face all those enemies. If Miss Rosalie came in search of her she might
not be able to resist telling her what had happened; and, miserable and
unhappy as she was, Sylvia resolved that she would never tell.
"But Elinor Mayhew and all the rest of them shall be sorry for this. Yes,
they shall," she sobbed as she got to her feet and turned toward the
shore. She knew she must either go straight back to the schoolroom or

else find a hiding-place until they had ceased to search for her. There
was a wall at the foot of the garden, covered with fragrant jessamine
and myrtle. If she could only get over that wall, thought Sylvia, she
would be safe. She ran swiftly forward and began to scramble up,
grasping the sturdy vines, and finding a foothold on some bit of rough
brick. She reached the top just as she heard Miss Rosalie's servant
calling her name.
Sylvia looked down to the further side. The vines drooped over and
below the wall a high bank of sand sloped to the shore. Holding tight to
the vines she slid down, hitting her bruised knees against the rough
surface. The vines cut her hands, and when she tumbled into the sand
her dress was torn and soiled, her pretty hair-ribbon was gone, and her
once white stockings were grimy. Beside these misfortunes her hands
were bleeding. Never in all her life had Sylvia been so wretched. She
sat quite still in the warm sand, and wondered what she could do. If she
went home her mother would insist upon an explanation of her untidy
condition. Beside that Sylvia was not sure if she could find her way
home unless she climbed back into the garden. She looked along the
shore at the landing-place not far distant where several boats were
bobbing up and down in the wash of the incoming tide. She could see
boats coming and going between the forts and the city. She could see
grim Fort Sumter, with its guns that seemed to look straight at her. She
watched a schooner coming across the bay, and realized that it was
coming to that very wharf. A number of men landed, and several carts
came down and boxes were unloaded, and negroes carried them to the
schooner.
Sylvia got up and walked along the shore until she was near the wharf,
and stood watching the negroes as they lifted the heavy boxes. She
wished she could ask one of them to tell her the way home. Then she
noticed a tall figure in uniform coming up the wharf.
"It's Captain Carleton!" she exclaimed joyfully, quite forgetting for the
moment her torn dress and scratched hands as she ran toward him.
"Why! Is it Sylvia Fulton?" exclaimed the surprised Captain, looking
down at the untidy little figure. "Why, what has happened?"

"Oh, dear," sobbed Sylvia, "I guess I'm lost."
"Well, well! It's lucky you came down to this wharf. Come on board
the schooner, and we'll see to these little hands first thing," and the
good-natured Captain rested a kindly hand on the little girl's shoulder
and walked down the wharf. Sylvia heard the men talking of the
Charleston Arsenal, and of the boxes of arms which were to be taken
on the schooner to Fort Sumter.
The Captain bathed the little hurt hands and flushed face, talking
pleasantly to the little girl about the schooner, and asking her if she did
not think it a much finer craft than her father's small boat; so in a little
while she was comforted and quite at home.
"Now, sit here by the cabin window, and I will come back and take you
home as soon as I settle this trouble about my supplies," and the
Captain hurried back to the wharf.
Sylvia sat quite still and looked out of the round port-hole. She felt very
tired, and leaned her head against the cushioned wall. She could hear
the monotonous chant of the negroes, and feel the swaying motion of
the vessel, and soon was fast asleep. She did not