A Daughter of the Middle Border by Hamlin Garland

Author:Hamlin Garland [Garland, Hamlin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Western
Published: 2012-02-06T19:40:57+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. The Empty Room

My father was a loyal G. A. R. man. To him, naturally, the literature, the ceremonies and the comradeship of the Grand Army of the Republic were of heroic significance for, notwithstanding all other events of his stirring life, his two years as a soldier remained his most moving, most poetic experience. On all special occasions he wore the regulation blue coat with the bronze button of the Legion in its lapel, and faithfully attended all the local meetings of his “Post,” but he had not been able to take part in the National Conventions for the double reason that they were always too far away from his Dakota home and invariably came at the time when his presence was most needed on the farm. With a feeling of mingled envy and sadness he had seen his comrades, year after year, jubilantly set out for Washington or Boston or San Francisco whilst he remained at work.

Now the case was different. He had the money, he had the leisure and the Grand Review was about to take place in Chicago. “Hamlin,” said he, on the morning after my return from Montana, “I want you to go with me to the G. A. R. meeting in Chicago.”

Although I did not say so, I was sadly averse to making this trip. Aching to write, impatient to get my new conceptions down on paper, I could hardly restrain an expression of reluctance, but I did, for the old soldier, more afraid of towns than of mountains, needed me in the city.

“All right, father,” I said, and put my notes away.

He made a handsome figure in his new suit, and his broad-rimmed hat with its gold cord. He was as excited as a boy when we set out for the station and commented with a tone of satisfaction on the number of his comrades to be seen on the train. He was not in need of me during this part of his excursion for he hailed every old soldier as “Comrade” and made a dozen new friendships before we reached Madison. No one resented his fraternal interest. Occasionally he brought one of his acquaintances over to my seat, explaining with perfectly obvious pride that I had written a history of General Grant and that I lived in Chicago. “I'm taking him along to be my scout,” he declared, at the close of each introduction.

At my lodgings on Elm Street he made himself so beloved that I feared for his digestion. The landlady and the cook were determined that he should eat hot biscuit and jam and pie in addition to roast chicken and gravy, and I was obliged to insist on his going to bed early in order to be up and in good condition for the parade next day.

“I've no desire to march in the ranks,” he said. “I'm perfectly content to sit on the fence and see the columns pass.”

“You needn't sit on the fence,” I replied. “I've got two of the best seats in the Grand Stand.

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