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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/17955-8.txt b/17955-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a7b7494 --- /dev/null +++ b/17955-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8293 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Trials of the Soldier's Wife, by +Alex St. Clair Abrams + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Trials of the Soldier's Wife + A Tale of the Second American Revolution + +Author: Alex St. Clair Abrams + +Release Date: March 10, 2006 [EBook #17955] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRIALS OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE *** + + + + +Produced by Curtis Weyant, Sankar Viswanathan, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images produced by the Wright +American Fiction Project.) + + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + The author states in the Appendix "The book which our + readers have just completed perusing, is filled with many + errors; too many, in fact, for any literary work to + contain." + + Only the very obvious errors have been corrected. + + + + THE TRIALS + + OF + + THE SOLDIER'S WIFE: + + + A TALE OF THE + + SECOND AMERICAN REVOLUTION. + + + + BY ALEX. ST. CLAIR ABRAMS. + + + + + ATLANTA, GEORGIA: + + 1864. + + + Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1864, + + BY THE AUTHOR, + +In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Confederate States + for the Northern District of Georgia. + + + + +DEDICATION + +TO + +COLONEL JOHN H. JOSSEY. + +Of Macon, Georgia. + + +MY DEAR SIR-- + +Accept from me the dedication of this little work as a token of +appreciation for the kind friendship you have ever displayed towards +me. Wishing you all the happiness and prosperity that can fall to +mortal man, believe me. + + Your Friend, + + THE AUTHOR. + + + + +PREFACE. + + +The plot of this little work was first thought of by the writer in the +month of December, 1862, on hearing the story of a soldier from New +Orleans, who arrived from Camp Douglas just in time to see his wife +die at Jackson, Mississippi. Although the Press of that city made no +notice of it, the case presented itself as a fit subject for a +literary work. If the picture drawn in the following pages appears +exaggerated to our readers, they will at least recognize the moral it +contains as truthful. + +Trusting that the public will overlook its many defects, the Author +yet hopes there will be found in this little book, matter of +sufficient interest to while away the idle hour of the reader. + +ATLANTA, April 20th, 1864. + + + + +THE TRIALS + +OF + +THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. + +CHAPTER FIRST. + +THE "CRESCENT CITY"--THE HUSBAND'S DEPARTURE. + + +Kind reader, have you ever been to New Orleans? If not, we will +attempt to describe the metropolis of the Confederate States of +America. + +New Orleans is situated on the Mississippi river, and is built in the +shape of a crescent, from which it derives the appellation of +"Crescent City." The inhabitants--that is, the educated class--are +universally considered as the most refined and aristocratic members of +society on the continent. When we say aristocratic, we do not mean a +pretension of superiority above others, but that elegance and +etiquette which distinguish the _parvenu_ of society, and the vulgar, +but wealthy class of citizens with which this country is infested. The +ladies of New Orleans are noted for their beauty and refinement, and +are certainly, as a general thing, the most accomplished class of +females in the South, except the fair reader into whose hands this +work may fall. + +It was in the month of May, 1861, that our story commences. Secession +had been resorted to as the last chance left the South for a +preservation of her rights. Fort Sumter, had fallen, and from all +parts of the land troops were pouring to meet the threatened invasion +of their homes. As history will record, New Orleans was not idle in +those days of excitement. Thousands of her sons came forward at the +first call, and offered their services for the good of the common +cause, and for weeks the city was one scene of excitement from the +departure of the different companies to Virginia. + +Among the thousands who replied to the first call of their country, +was Alfred Wentworth, the confidential clerk of one of the largest +commission houses in the city. He was of respectable family, and held +a high position in society, both on account of his respectability and +the elevated talent he had displayed during his career in the world. +He had been married for about five years, and two little children--one +a light-eyed girl of four summers, and the other an infant of two +years--were the small family with which heaven had blessed him. + +After joining a company of infantry, and signing the muster roll, +Alfred returned home to his wife and informed her of what he had done, +expecting that she would regret it. But the patriotic heart of his +wife would not reproach him for having performed his duty; so heaving +a sigh as she looked at the child in her arms, and the little girl on +her fathers knee, a tear trickled down her flushed cheek as she bade +him God-speed. The time that elapsed between his enlistment and +departure for the seat of war, was spent by Alfred Wentworth in +providing a home for his family, so that in the event of his being +killed in battle, they should not want. Purchasing a small residence +on Prytania street, he removed his family into it and concluded his +business in time for his departure. + +The morning of the twenty-second of May broke brightly over the +far-famed "Crescent City." Crowds of citizens were seen congregating +on Canal street to witness the departure of two more regiments of +Orleanians. The two regiments were drawn up in line between Camp and +Carondelet streets, and their fine uniforms, glistening muskets and +soldierly appearance created a feeling of pride among the people. They +were composed principally of Creoles and Americans, proper. The +handsome, though dark complexions of the Creoles could be seen lit up +with enthusiasm, in conversation with the dark-eyed Creole beauties of +the city, while the light-haired and fair-faced sons of the Crescent +City were seen mingling among the crowd of anxious relatives who +thronged to bid them farewell. + +Apart from the mass of volunteers--who had previously stacked their +arms--Alfred Wentworth and his wife were bidding that agonizing +farewell, which only those who have parted from loved one can feel. +His little bright-eyed daughter was clasped in his arms, and every +minute he would stoop over his infant and kiss its tiny cheeks. Marks +of tears were on the eyelids of his wife, but she strove to hide them, +and smiled at every remark made by her daughter. They were alone from +the eyes of a curious crowd. Each person present had too much of his +own acquaintances to bid farewell, to notice the speechless farewell +which the soldier gave his wife. With one arm clasped around her, and +the other holding his daughter, Alfred Wentworth gazed long and +earnestly at the features of his wife and children, as if to impress +the features of those loved ones still firmer in his mind. + +"Attention, battalion!" rang along the line in stentorian tones, and +the voices of the company officers calling "fall in, boys, fall in!" +were heard in the streets. Clasping his wife to his heart, and +imprinting a fond, fond kiss of love upon her cheeks, and embracing +his children, the soldier took his place in the ranks, and after the +necessary commands, the volunteers moved forward. A crowd of their +relatives followed them to the depot of the New Orleans, Jackson and +Great Northern Railroad, and remained until the cars were out of +sight. After the troops had entered, and the train was slowly moving +off, one of the soldiers jumped from the platform, and, embracing a +lady who stood near, exclaimed: + +"Farewell, dearest Eva! God bless you and the children--we shall meet +again." As soon as he spoke, Alfred Wentworth sprang into the cars +again and was soon swiftly borne from the city. + +Mrs. Wentworth remained standing where her husband had left her, until +the vast crowd had dispersed, and nothing could be seen of the train +but a thin wreath of smoke emerging from the tree-tops in the +distance. Calling the colored nurse, who had followed with the +children, she bade her return home, and accompanied her back to her +now lonely residence. + + + + +CHAPTER SECOND. + +THE WIFE AND CHILDREN--A VISITOR + + +The weeks passed slowly to Mrs. Wentworth from the departure of her +husband; but her consciousness that he was performing his duty to his +country, and the letters he wrote from Virginia, cheered her spirits, +and, in a measure, made her forget his absence. + +She was alone one evening with her children, who had become the sole +treasures of her heart, and on whom she lavished every attention +possible, when the ringing of the bell notified her of the presence of +a visitor. Calling the servant, she bade her admit the person at the +door. The negro left the room to do her mistress' bidding, and shortly +after, a handsome gentleman of about thirty-five years of age entered. + +"Good morning, Mrs. Wentworth," he said, on entering the room. "I +trust yourself and children are in good health." + +Mrs. Wentworth rose from her chair, and, slightly inclining her head, +replied: "To what circumstance am I indebted for the honor of this +visit, Mr. Awtry?" + +"Nothing very particular, madam," he replied; "but hearing of your +husband's departure, I thought I should lake the liberty of paying a +visit to an old acquaintance, and of offering my services, if you +should ever need them." + +"I thank you for your kindness; and should I _ever_ need your +services, you may depend upon my availing myself of your offer; +although," she added, "I do not think it likely I shall stand in need +of any assistance." + +"I rejoice to hear it, my dear madam," he replied; "but I trust," he +continued, on noticing the look of surprise which covered her +features, "that you will not think my offer in the least insulting; +for I can assure you, it was only prompted by the most friendly +motives, and the recollections of past days." + +Mrs. Wentworth made no reply, and he continued: "I hope that, after an +absence of five years, the memory of the past has been banished from +you. With me things have changed materially. The follies of my youth +have, I trust, been expiated, and I am a different man now to what I +was when I last saw you." + +"Mr. Awtry," replied Mrs. Wentworth, "I feel rather surprised that, +after your presence in New Orleans for so many months, you should not +have thought proper to renew our acquaintance until after the +departure of my husband." + +"Pardon me," he quickly answered. "I was introduced to your husband by +a mutual friend; and as he never thought proper to extend an +invitation to me, I did not think myself authorized to call here. +Learning of his departure this morning, and knowing that his +circumstances were not of so favorable a character as he could wish, I +thought you might pardon my presumption in calling on you when you +learned the motive which actuated this visit--believe me, I am +sincere; and now," he continued, "will you accept my proffered hand of +friendship, and believe that my desire is only to aid the relatives of +one of the gallant men who have gone to struggle for their rights?" + +Mrs. Wentworth paused a moment before she accepted the extended hand, +while her brow appeared clouded. At length, holding out her hand to +him, she said: + +"I accept your offered friendship, Mr. Awtry, in the same spirit, as I +hope, it is given; but, at the same time, trust you shall never be +troubled with any importunities from me." + +"Thank you--thank you," he replied eagerly; "I shall not prove +otherwise than worthy of your friendship. These are your children?" he +continued, changing the conversation. + +"Yes," she replied, with a look of pride upon her little daughter and +the sleeping infant on the sofa; "these are my little family." + +Mr. Awtry took the little girl upon his knees and commenced caressing +it, and, after remaining for a few moments in unimportant +conversation, took his departure with the promise to call at some +future time. + +As soon as he left Mrs. Wentworth sat down, and resting her hands on +the table, spoke to herself on the visit she had received. "What could +have induced him to pay me this visit?" she said, musingly; "it is +strange--very strange that he should choose this particular time to +renew our acquaintance! He spoke honestly, however, and may be sincere +in his offers of assistance, should I ever need anything. He is +wealthy, and can certainly aid me." She sat there musing, until the +little girl, coming up to her, twined her tiny arms round her mother's +neck, and asked if it was not time to light the gas. + +"Yes, darling," said Mrs. Wentworth, kissing her fondly; "call Betsy +and let her get a light." + +After the negro had lit the gas, Mrs. Wentworth said to her, "Should +that gentleman, who was here to-day, call at any time again, let me +know before you admit him." + +"Yes, mistis," replied the negro with a curtsey. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRD. + +MR. HORACE AWTRY. + + +Mr. Horace Awtry was a native of the State of New York, and was, at +the time of writing, about thirty-live years of age. He was a tall and +well-formed man, with light hair clustering in curls on a broad and +noble looking forehead; his features were well chiselled, and his +upper lip was ornamented with a mustache of the same color as his +hair. Notwithstanding his handsome features and extravagant display of +dress, there was an expression in his dark blue eyes, which, though +likely to captivate the young and innocent portion of the fair sex, +was not deemed elegant by those who are accustomed to read the +features of man. He was very wealthy, but was a perfect type of the +_roue_, although a good education and remarkable control of himself +rendered it difficult for his acquaintances to charge him with +dissipation, or any conduct unworthy of ft gentleman. As this +gentleman will occupy a somewhat conspicuous position in our tale, we +deem it necessary to go into these particulars. + +Some seven years previous to her marriage, and while yet a child, Mrs. +Wentworth, with her father, the only surviving relative she had, spent +the summer at Saratoga Springs in the State of New York, and there met +Mr. Awtry, who was then a handsome and dashing young man. Struck by +her beauty, and various accomplishments, he lost no time in making her +acquaintance, and before her departure from the Springs, offered her +his hand. To his utter astonishment, the proposal was rejected, with +the statement that she was already engaged to a gentleman of New +Orleans. This refusal would have satisfied any other person, but +Horace Awtry was not a man to yield so easily; he, therefore, followed +her to New Orleans on her return, and endeavored, by every means in +his power, to supplant Alfred Wentworth in the affections of Eva +Seymour--Mrs. Wentworth's maiden name--and in the confidence of her +father. Failing in this, and having the mortification of seeing them +married, he set to work and succeeded in ruining Mr. Seymour in +business, which accounts for the moderate circumstances in which we +find Mrs. Wentworth and her husband at the commencement of this book. +Worn out by his failure in business and loss of fortune, Mr. Seymour +died shortly after his daughter's marriage, without knowing who caused +his misfortunes, and Horace Awtry returned to the North. After being +absent for several years, he came back to New Orleans some months +before the departure of Mrs. Wentworth's husband, but never called +upon her until after he had left, when she was surprised at the visit +narrated in the foregoing chapter. + +This gentleman was seated in the portico of the St. Charles Hotel a +few mornings after his visit to Mrs. Wentworth, and by his movements +of impatience was evidently awaiting the arrival of some one. At last +a young man ran down the steps leading from the apartments, and he +rose hurriedly to meet him. + +"You are the very man I have been waiting to see," said Horace Awtry; +"you must excuse my apparent neglect in not calling on you before." + +"Certainly, my dear fellow," replied the gentleman. "I am certain your +reasons are good for not attending to your arrangement punctually--by +the way," he continued, "who the deuce was that lady I saw you +escorting to church last Sunday?" + +"An acquaintance of mine that I had not seen for years, until a few +days ago chance threw me in her path and I paid her a visit." + +"Ha, ha, ha," laughed his companion. "I understand; but who is she, +and her name? She is very pretty," he continued, gravely. + +"Hush, Charlie!" replied Horace; "come to my room in the St. Louis +Hotel, and I will tell you all about it." + +"Wait a moment, my friend, and let me get some breakfast," he replied. + +"Pooh!" said Horace, "we can have breakfast at Galpin's after I have +conversed with you at my room; or," he continued, "I will order a +breakfast and champagne to be brought up to my room." + +"As you like," said the other, taking a couple of cigars from his +pocket and offering one to his companion. + +After lighting their cigars, the two men left the hotel, and +purchasing the New York _Herald_ and _News_ from the news-dealer +below, proceeded to the St. Louis Hotel, where Horace ordered a +breakfast and champagne for himself and guest. + +Throwing himself on one of the richly-covered couches that ornamented +the apartment, Charles Bell--for that was the name of the +gentleman--requested his friend to inform him who the lady was that he +escorted to church. + +"Well, my dear friend," said Horace, "as you appear so desirous to +know I will tell you. I met that lady some seven years ago at Saratoga +Springs. If she is now beautiful she was ten times so then, and I +endeavored to gain her affections. She was, however, engaged to +another young man of this city, and on my offering her my hand in +marriage, declined it on that ground. I followed her here with the +intention of supplanting her lover in her affections, but it was of no +avail; they were married, and the only satisfaction I could find was +to ruin her father, which I did, and he died shortly after without a +dollar to his name." + +"So she is married?" interrupted his companion. + +"Yes, and has two children," replied Horace. + +"Where is her husband?" + +"He left for Virginia some time ago, where I sincerely trust he will +get a bullet through his heart," was the very charitable rejoinder. + +"What! do you desire to marry his widow?" asked his friend. + +"No, indeed," he replied; "but you see they are not in very good +circumstances, and if he were once dead she would be compelled to work +for a living, as they have no relatives in this State, and only a few +in Baltimore. To gain my object, I should pretend that I desired to +befriend her--send the two children to some nurse, and then have her +all to myself. This," continued the villain, "is the object with which +I have called upon her"-- + +"And paid a visit to church for the first time in your life," said +Bell, laughing; "but," he resumed, "it is not necessary for you to +wish the husband dead--why not proceed to work at once?" + +"Well, so I would, but she is so very particular, that on the +slightest suspicion she would take the alarm and communicate to her +husband the fact of my having renewed my acquaintance with her, which +would, perhaps, bring him home on furlough." + +"Nonsense," replied his friend, "the secessionists need every man to +assist them in driving back McDowell, and there is no chance of any +furloughs being granted; besides which, we are on the eve of a great +battle, and for any of the men to ask for a furlough would lay him +open to the charge of cowardice." + +"That may be all true," said Horace, "but I shall not venture on +anything more as yet. As far as I have gone, she believes me actuated +by no other motives than the remembrance of my former affection for +her, and, with that belief, places implicit trust in me." + +The conversation was here interrupted by the appearance of two +waiters, one carrying a waiter filled with different descriptions of +food, and the other a small basket containing six bottles of +champagne. After setting them on a table, Horace inquired what the +charges were. + +"Twelve dollars, sah," was the reply. + +Horace took out his pocket book, and throwing the man a twenty dollar +gold piece, told him to pay for the breakfast and champagne, and +purchase cigars with the remainder. + +The negroes having left, Horace Awtry and his friend proceeded to +discuss their breakfast and champagne. After eating for a few minutes +in silence, Horace suddenly said: + +"Charlie, what do you think of this war?" + +"My opinion is, that the South has got in a pretty bad dilemma," +replied that gentleman. + +"That is identically my impression, but for heaven's sake do not let +any one hear you say so. The people are half crazed with excitement, +and the slightest word in favor of the North may lay you at the mercy +of an infuriated mob." + +"What do you intend doing, now the ports are blockaded, and no one can +leave the country?" asked his friend. + +"Why, remain here and pretend all the friendship possible for the +South. Maybe I will get a contract or two, which will further the +design of covering my opinions on this contest." + +"Such was my idea, but I am afraid that the secesh government will +issue their cotton bonds until all the gold is driven from the States, +and then we will have nothing but their worthless paper money," +replied Bell. + +"I have thought of that, and made up my mind to convert all the +property I have here into gold at once, which will give me between +sixty and seventy thousand dollars, and as fast as I make any of the +bonds from contracts, I will sell them for whatever gold they will +bring." + +"That's a capital idea, my dear follow," said Bell, rising from his +chair and slapping Awtry on the shoulder; "I think I shall follow your +plan." + +The cigars having been brought in, after a few minutes of unimportant +conversation, Charles Bell left his friend, with the arrangement to +meet at the Varieties theatre in the evening, and Horace Awtry, +divesting himself of his clothing, retired to sleep until the evening +should come. + + + + +CHAPTER FOURTH. + +A POLITIC STROKE--THE TELEGRAPHIC DISPATCH. + + +June and half of July had sped swiftly away. The great battle, which +everybody daily expected, had been fought, and the Yankee army +ignominiously defeated. As every one of our readers are well +acquainted with this battle, I shall not go into any details; enough; +as history will tell, to know that it resulted in a glorious victory +to the Confederate army, and covered the gallant Southerners with +honor. + +On the arrival of dispatches giving an account of this victory, to use +a vulgar phrase, New Orleans "ran wild." The excitement and exultation +of the people were beyond description, and during the same night that +the news was received, one scene of gayety was observed in the city. +There was one heart, however, that did not share the joy and merriment +so universal among the people. In the privacy of her dwelling, with +her two children near by, Mrs. Wentworth spent a night of prayer and +anxiety, and next morning rose from her bed with the same feeling of +anxiety to know whether her husband had escaped unhurt. At about ten +o'clock in the morning, a knock was heard at the door, and soon after +Mr. Awtry entered. + +"How are you this morning, Mrs. Wentworth?" he said, taking her little +daughter in his arms and kissing her; "so we have gained a great +victory in Virginia." + +"Yes," she replied; "but I do feel so anxious to know if my husband is +safe." + +"Do not think for a moment otherwise," he answered; "why a soldier's +wife should not show half as much solicitude as you do." + +"I am, indeed, very desirous of knowing his fate and I am sure the +fact of being a soldier's wife does not prevent my feeling a desire to +ascertain if he is unhurt, or if he is"--she paused at the thought +which seemed so horrid in her imagination, and lowering her face in +her hands, burst into tears. + +"Mother, what are you crying for?" asked her little daughter, who was +sitting on Mr. Awtry's knees. + +"My dear madam," said Mr. Awtry, "why do you give way to tears? If you +desire," he continued, "I will telegraph to Virginia and learn if your +husband is safe." + +"Thank you--thank you!" she answered eagerly; "I shall feel deeply +obligated if you will." + +"I shall go down to the telegraph office at once," he said, rising +from his seat and placing the child down; "and now, my little +darling," he continued, speaking to the child, "you must tell your ma +not to cry so much." With these words he shook Mrs. Wentworth's hand +and left the house. + +The day passed wearily for Mrs. Wentworth; every hour she would open +one of the windows leading to the street and look out, as if expecting +to see Mr. Awtry with a telegraphic dispatch in his hand, and each +disappointment she met with on these visits would only add to her +intense anxiety. The shades of evening had overshadowed the earth, and +Mrs. Wentworth sat at the window of her dwelling waiting the arrival +of the news, which would either remove her fears or plunge her in +sorrow. Long hours passed, and she had almost despaired of Mr. Awtry's +coming that evening, when he walked up the street, and in a few +minutes was in the house. + +"What news?" gasped Mrs. Wentworth, starting from her seat and meeting +him at the door of the apartment. + +"Read it, my dear madam. I shall leave that pleasure to you," he +replied, handing her a telegraphic dispatch he held in his hand. + +Taking the dispatch, Mrs. Wentworth, with trembling fingers, unfolded +it and read these words: "Mrs. Eva Wentworth, New Orleans, Louisiana: +Yours received. I am safe. Alfred Wentworth." As soon as she had read +the dispatch, her pent up anxiety for his safety was allayed, and +throwing herself on her knees before a couch, regardless of the +presence of Mr. Awtry, who stood looking on, Mrs. Wentworth poured +forth a prayer of thanks at the safety of her husband, while tears of +joy trickled down her cheeks. + +"Allow me to congratulate you, Mrs. Wentworth, on the safety of your +husband," said Horace Awtry, after she had become sufficiently +composed. "I assure you," he continued, "I feel happy at the knowledge +of being the medium through which this welcome intelligence has +reached you." + +"You have, indeed, proved a friend," she said, extending her hand, +which he shook warmly, "and one that I feel I can trust." + +"Do not speak of it," he answered; "it is only a natural act of +kindness towards one whom I desire to befriend." + +"And one I will never cease to forget. Oh! if you had but known how I +felt during these past hours of agonizing suspense, you would not have +thought lightly of your kind attention; and I am sure when I write +Alfred of it, he will not have words sufficient to express his +gratitude." + +"In my haste to impart the good news to you," said Mr. Awtry, rising, +"I almost forgot an engagement I made this evening. It is now getting +late, and I must leave. Good evening." + +"Good evening," she replied. "I trust you will call to see me soon +again." + +"With _your_ permission I will," he answered, laying particular +emphasis on the word "your." + +"Certainly," she said. "I shall be most happy to see you at anytime." + +"I will call soon, then," he replied. "Good night," and he stepped +from the threshold of the house. + +"Good night," she said, closing the door. + +Horace Awtry stood for a moment near the house; then walking on he +muttered: "A politic stroke, that telegraphic dispatch." + + + + +CHAPTER FIFTH. + +JACKSON, MISSISSIPPI--A HAPPY HOME. + + +We will now change the scene of our story, and, using the license of +all writers, transport the reader to Jackson, the Capital of the great +State of Mississippi, and there introduce him or her to other +characters who will bear a prominent part in this book. + +In the parlor of an elegant resident on Main street, a beautiful girl +was sitting with an open book in her hand. She was not, however, +reading, as her bright blue eyes rested not on the pages, but were +gazing at the half-opened door, as if expecting the arrival of some +one. While she is thus musing, we will endeavour to give a description +of the fair maiden. Fancy a slight and elegant figure, richly dressed +in a robe of _moire antique_, from under the folds of which the +daintiest little feet imaginable could be seen. Her features, though +not regularly carved, made her, at the name time, very beautiful, +while her bright blue eyes and rich golden hair, braided smooth to her +forehead, and ornamented with a jewelled tiara, then much worn, lent +additional charm to her appearance. Her hands were small, and as +Byron, we think, has it, was an undoubted mark of gentle birth. + +She remained in this reverie for some time, but was at last aroused by +the entrance, unannounced, of a handsome young man dressed in the +uniform of a lieutenant, when she started up, and meeting him, said in +a half-vexed, half-playful tone: + +"Oh, Harry! why did you not come earlier? I have been waiting for your +arrival over an hour!" + +"Excuse me, dearest," he answered. "I was just on the point of +starting from my office when I received a mass of orders from +regimental headquarters, which detained me until a few minutes ago. +You must, therefore," he continued, "excuse me for this once, and I +shall not offend again," and as he spoke he parted the hair from her +forehead and pressed a kiss upon her lips. + +"I forgive you for this time," she answered, playfully tapping him on +the shoulder with her fan; "but the next offence I will not be so +likely to excuse." + +"I will take good care not to offend again, then," he laughingly said. + +The conversation continued for some time in this light way, which +lovers will sometimes indulge in, when, assuming a serious +countenance, she spoke to him: + +"When does your regiment leave for Virginia?" + +"I hardly know," he replied, "if it will go to Virginia at all. The +Colonel informs me that it is likely the regiment will be sent to +Tennessee; so if it is sent there, I will be nearer than you thought." + +"What a horrid thing war is!" she said, without appearing to notice +his last remarks. + +"You are not inclined to show the white feather now, are you?" he +said, laughing. + +Her bright blue eyes sparkled for a moment, as if repudiating the +question; then lowering them she answered: "No, indeed. I would not +have a single one that I love remain at home while the Abolitionists +are invading our homes." + +"Spoken like a brave girl and a true Southern woman," he replied, "and +I shall remember your words when I go into battle. It will nerve and +inspire me to fight with redoubled courage, when I recollect that I am +battling for you." As he spoke he gazed at her with mingled pride and +affection, and for some minutes they remained gazing at each other +with that affection which springs from + + "Two souls with but a single thought-- + Two hearts that beat as one." + +Oh, Love! ye goddess of all that is blissful and elevating in man! How +thy devotees bow down to thy shrine and offer all that they possess to +purchase but a smile from thee! And when you have cast your favors on +some happy mortal, and the pure feeling of affection becomes centered +on woman, the fairest flower from Eden, how should not mankind cherish +the gift you have bestowed upon him, and look upon it as the first and +priceless object on earth, and but second to one above in heaven! + +The lovers remained in this silence, which spoke more than words could +have done, until the entrance of a tall and venerable looking +gentleman of about fifty years of age. As soon as he entered, they +rose up together, the young lady addressing him as "father," and the +young man as "doctor." + +"How are you, Harry, my boy? give me a kiss, Em'," he said, in one +breath, as he shook the young man warmly by the hand and pressed a +parental kiss on the brow of his daughter. "Pretty warm weather, +this," he continued, speaking to the young man; "it is almost +stifling." + +"Suppose we step out on the balcony, pa," said the young lady; "it is +much cooler there." + +"Ha, ha, ha," he laughed; "you had not found that out until I entered. +However," he went on, "do you both go out there. I am certain you will +do better without than with me." + +His daughter blushed, but made no reply, and the young man removing +two chairs to the balcony, they both left the old gentleman, who, +turning up the gas, proceeded to read his evening _Mississippian_. + +Dr. James Humphries was one of the oldest and most respectable +citizens of Jackson, and was looked upon with great esteem by all who +knew him. He had been a medical practitioner in that city from the +time it was nothing more than a little village, until railroad +connections had raised it to be a place of some consequence, and the +capital of the State. He had married when a young man, but of all his +children, none remained but his daughter Emma, in gaining whom he lost +a much-loved wife, she having died in child-birth. + +At the time we write, Emma Humphries was betrothed to Henry +Shackleford, a young lawyer of fine ability, but who was, like many of +his countrymen, a soldier in the service of his country, and been +elected first lieutenant of the "Mississippi Rifles." + +We will now leave them for the present, and in the next chapter +introduce the reader to two other characters. + + + + +CHAPTER SIXTH + +The Spectator and Extortioner. + + +Mr. Jacob Swartz was sitting in the back room of his store on Main +street counting a heap of gold and silver coins which lay on a table +before him. He was a small, thin-bodied man, with little gray eyes, +light hair and aquiline nose. He was of that nationality generally +known in this country as "Dutch;" but having been there for over +twenty years, he had become naturalized, and was now a citizen of the +chivalrous States of Mississippi, a fact of which he prided himself +considerably. + +Mr. Swartz was busily engaged counting his money, when a little boy, +who seemed, from a similarity of features, to be his son appeared at +the door, and mentioned that Mr. Elder desired to see him. + +"Vot can he vant?" said Mr. Swartz. Then as if recollecting, he +continued: "I suppose it is apout that little shtore he vants to rent +me. Tell him to come in." + +The boy withdrew, and a few seconds after a tall and scrupulously +dressed gentleman, with his coat buttoned up to the throat, and +wearing a broad rimmed hat, entered the room. This was Mr. James +Elder, a citizen of Jackson, but not a native of the State. He came +from Kentucky several years before, and was a man with "Southern +principles." To do him justice, we will say that he was really true +friend to the South, which fact may have been not only from principle, +but from his being a large slaveholder. He was also the possessor of a +considerable amount of landed property and real estate, among which +were several buildings in Jackson.. He was also looked upon by the +_world_, as very charitable man, being always busy collecting money +from the people in aid of some benevolent object, and occasionally his +name would appear in the newspapers, accompanied by a flattering +compliment to his generosity, as the donor of a liberal amount of +money to some charitable institution or society. There were people, +however, who said that the poor families, who hired a series of +tenement buildings he possessed in the lower part of the city, were +very often hard pressed for their rent, and more than once turned out +for non-payment. These reports were considered as slanders, for being +a member, and one of the pillars of the Methodist Church, no one, for +a moment, believed that he would be guilty of so unfeeling an action. + +On entering the room, Mr. James Elder made a stiff bow to Mr. Swartz, +and declining the hand offered to him, as if it were contamination to +touch the person of one of God's likeness, dusted a chair and sat down +opposite his host. + +"Vell, Mr. Elder, have you decided whether I can get the shtore or +not? Tis place of mine is in very pad orter, and I tinks yours vill +shust suit me," began Mr. Swartz, after a silence of about three +minutes. + +"Yes, Mr. Swartz, I think you can have the place, if you and I can +come to terms about the price of the rent, which must be payable +always in advance," replied Mr. Elder. + +"I tont care," answered Mr. Swartz. "I would as soon pay you in +advance as not. But vot price to you charge?" + +"I charge fifty dollars per month," was the short answer. + +"Vell, dat vill do; and I suppose you vill give me the shtore for von +year certain?" + +"I am not decided about that," replied Mr. Elder, "as I do not like to +bind myself for any given time; for," he continued, "there is no +telling what may be the worth of a store in six months." + +"I vould not take it unless I could get a lease by the year," replied +Mr. Swartz; "for the fact is, I have made a large contract with the +government, and vill have to extend by pisness." + +Mr. Elder remained thoughtful for a few moments; then he replied: "As +you wont take it unless I give a lease for twelve months, I will do so +on one condition: that on your failure to pay the rent monthly in +advance, you forfeit the lease, and I am at liberty to demand your +removal without any notice." + +"Shust as you like," he replied, "for I know te monish vill always pe +ready in advance." + +"Well, I shall have the lease drawn out to-day and bring it to you to +sign," said Mr. Elder, rising and putting on his gloves. "Good +morning; be here at three o'clock, as I shall call round at that +hour," and with those words he left the room, and the Dutchman resumed +the counting of his money. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVENTH. + +THE HUSBAND A PRISONER--EXILE OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. + + +Months rolled on, during which time Mrs. Wentworth was cheered by many +kind and affectionate letters from her husband, who had not been sick +a day since his departure from home. One of the letters received from +him stated that he had been detailed from his regiment to act as clerk +in Brigadier General Floyd's adjutant general's office, his superior +intelligence fitting him admirably for such an office; and the next +letter from him was dated at Fort Donelson, whence General Floyd had +been ordered with his brigade. + +Fort Donelson fell. We need not record here the heroic defense and +stubborn fighting of the Confederate forces, and their unfortunate +capture afterwards. These are matters of history, and should be +recorded by the historian, and not the novelist. Sufficient to say, +that in the last day's fight Alfred Wentworth, having received a +severe wound in the arm, was marching to the rear, when an officer, +dressed in the garb of a lieutenant, who was lying on the field, +called faintly to him, and on his going up, he observed that the +lieutenant's left leg was fearfully mangled by a fragment of shell, +and was bleeding so profusely, that, unless medical aid was quickly +procured, he would die. Forgetting his own wound, which was very +painful, he lifted the officer on his shoulder and bore him to the +hospital, where his leg was immediately attended to, and his life +saved. The severity of his own wound, and the length of time which +elapsed before any attention was paid to it, brought on a severe +fever, and on the escape of General Floyd, he was delirious and unable +to accompany him. He was, therefore, sent to Chicago, and placed in +the same hospital with the lieutenant whose life he had saved. + +On their recovery, which was about the same time, Lieutenant +Shackleford--for it was he--and Alfred Wentworth were both sent to +"Camp Douglas," the military prison near Chicago. + +On the receipt of the news in New Orleans, that Fort Donelson and +nearly its entire garrison had surrendered, Mrs. Wentworth underwent +another long suspense of excitement and anxiety, which was, however, +partially allayed by the intelligence that General Floyd and staff had +escaped. But as the weeks rolled on, and she received no letter from +her husband, the old fear that he may have been killed came over her +again, until relieved by seeing his name as being among the wounded at +the Chicago hospital in one of the city papers. + +In mentioning these hours of grief and suspense on the part of Mrs. +Wentworth, it must not be understood that we are representing a +weak-minded and cowardly woman. On the contrary, Mrs. Wentworth would +have rather heard that her husband was killed than one word spoken +derogatory to his courage, and would never have consented to his +remaining at home, while so many of his countrymen were hurrying to +protect their country from invasion. Her suspense and grief at the +intelligence of a battle in which her husband was engaged, were only +the natural feeling of an affectionate wife. At that moment she was no +longer the patriot daughter of the South; she was the wife and mother, +and none should blame her for her anxiety to know the fate of one so +much loved as her husband, and the father of her children. + +Soon after her husband was taken prisoner, Mrs. Wentworth observed +that Horace Awtry became more assiduous in his attentions to her. +Every day he would call with presents for her children, and several +times small packages of bank-bills were found in the parlor, which, +when presented to him, he would always disclaim being the owner of; +and although Mrs. Wentworth truly believed that they had been left +there by him, the kind and respectful tone he used to her, and the +intense interest he appeared to take in the welfare of her children, +were such that she never imagined, for a moment, he was using this +means to cloak a vile and unmanly purpose. Once, and only once, was +she made aware that the scandal tongues of her neighbors were being +used detrimental to her honor; and then the information was given by +her slave Elsy, who overheard a conversation between two of her +neighbors not at all complimentary to her, and which the faithful +negress lost no time in repeating to her mistress, with the very +indignant remark that, "ef dem people nex' doh fancy dey can do +anyting to take away your name, dey's much mistaken, as I will tell +you ebery ting dey say 'bout you, an' you will know what to do." Mrs. +Wentworth made no reply to the negro, but on the next visit of Mr. +Awtry's, she candidly told him what had been said of her in +consequence of his visits. He appeared very much surprised, but told +her that such scandalous remarks, emanating as they did out of pure +malice, should not be noticed, as all who were acquainted with her +knew very well that her character and fair name were above suspicion. +With that the subject was dropped, and he continued paying her his +visits. + +New Orleans fell into the hands of the enemy, and the whole +Confederacy was convulsed, as if shaken by an earthquake. None +anticipated such a thing, and its fall brought misery to thousands. +The enemy had scarcely taken possession, than Horace Awtry and his +bosom friend, Charles Bell, went to the provost marshal's office and +took the oath of allegiance, after proving, entirely to the +satisfaction of the Yankees, that they were Northern, and had always +been Union men. Mr. Awtry immediately received a commission in the +Federal army, and by his willingness to point out prominent +"secession" men and women, soon ingratiated himself in the favor of +"Beast Butler." + +No sooner had he gained the favor of Butler, than his attentions to +Mrs. Wentworth changed to that of unmanly presumption, and at last he +had the baseness to make proposals at once dishonorable to her as a +lady of virtue and position in society, and disgraceful to him as a +man. These propositions were accompanied by a threat to have her +turned out of the house and exiled from New Orleans. With a spirit +worthy of a Southern woman, she indignantly spurned his base offers +and ordered him never to place his feet across the threshold of her +house, at the same time defying to do his worse. He left her, +declaring that she should be turned out of the city, and a few days +after, in proof of his threat, an order was presented to her, signed +by General Butler, commanding her to leave the city. + +Her faithful slave, Elsy, shed bitter tears on hearing that her kind +mistress would have to leave New Orleans, and declared that she would +not remain in the city, but would follow her. + +"But they will not let you go with me, Elsy," said Mrs. Wentworth. +"You are free now, they say, to do as you like--you are no longer +belonging to me." + +"I ain't a gwine to stay here, missis," replied the negro, "for any +money in dis world, and if dey wont let me go out wid you, I will come +arter you by myself." + +"Well, Elsy," said Mrs. Wentworth, "I do not force you to leave New +Orleans, but should you get out, come to me at Jackson. You are a good +girl, and I shall not forget your fidelity." + +"I'll be dere, shure," said the negro, quite pleased at the permission +to follow her mistress if she could. + +Mrs. Wentworth immediately set to work packing up a few necessaries, +and with the small amount of money she had left awaited the next +morning, when she would start for Pass Manchac. + +On the following morning she proceeded to the boat, amid the cries and +lamentations of the faithful Elsy, and with throbbing heart and many +sighs gazed on her loved city until it had receded from her view. + +On arriving at the "Pass" she was about to step from the boat, when a +hand was laid upon her shoulder, and looking round she observed Mr. +Awtry, dressed in the full uniform of a Yankee captain, standing by +her. + +"Are you determined to leave home," he said, "and all its pleasures; +and starve in the rebel lines? Why not accept my offer and lead a life +of ease and affluence. Your husband shall never know of our +connection, and thus you will be spared many a weary day and night +working for bread to feed your children." + +She looked at him for a moment with all that withering scorn and +indignation which outraged virtue and innocence can assume, and then +said: "Leave me! Go to the land from whence you came and make such +offers to the women there, but remember now you are speaking to a +Southern woman." + +"But think a moment, and--" he began. + +"Leave me this instant," she said excitedly, "or I shall call others +with more the heart of men than you to my assistance. Accept your +offer?" she continued with all the scorn she could use. "Accept such +an offer from a _Yankee_! Go, I would despise and hate were you not +too despicable for either feeling of enmity." + +Several persons approaching at that moment, he moved away hurriedly +after hissing in her ear: "Take your choice. In either one way or the +other I am revenged on you for the way you rejected my addresses in +past years." + +She landed on the shore, and a few minutes after the boat moved back +on its way to New Orleans, when taking her small trunk in her hands +the soldier's wife, with her two children, started on their long and +lively march. For where? She knew not. There she was, an utter +stranger with two tender children, far from her home, and with only +two hundred dollars in money. Where could she go to for support. Her +husband was in a foreign prison, and she a wanderer in a strange +State. Her heart sank within her, and the soldier's wife wept. Aye, +wept! Not tears of regret at what she had sacrificed, but tears of +loneliness. Who would not weep if they were parted from those they +love, and were cast in a strange land without a friend, and with +scarcely any means? + +We leave the soldier's wife for a brief while, and transport the +reader to her husband. Her trials have commenced--God help her! + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHTH. + +THE PRISONERS--THE HUSBAND AND THE LOVER. + + +We stated that on the recovery of Alfred Wentworth and Lieutenant +Shackleford from their wounds, both were sent to Camp Douglas +together, and as Alfred had no regiment of his own captured, the +lieutenant promptly requested him to become one of his mess. The +generous courage exhibited by Alfred Wentworth, and the fact that but +for his chivalric attention, he should have died on the bloody field +of Fort Donelson, had created a feeling of gratitude in Lieutenant +Shackleford for his preserver, which, on closer acquaintance, had +ripened into a warm friendship, and he soon made Alfred acquainted +with the fact of his betrothal to Emma Humphries, and Alfred in turn +would speak of his wife and children in such tones of affection as +only those who love can use. They would sit down for hours and +converse on the loved ones at home, thus wiling away the sad and +lonely hours of a prison life, until the news was received in Chicago +of the fall of New Orleans. Although he bitterly regretted his native +city having fallen into the hands of the enemy, the opportunity which +it presented of once more being able to correspond with his wife, made +him feel happier, and as soon as mail communication was received with +the city, he requested and obtained permission to write her. + +Alfred Wentworth had not the slightest idea that Horace Awtry would +ever dare to offend his wife, much less to offer infamous proposals, +and on their being refused have her driven from the home he had placed +her in. It is true that his wife had written to him that Mr. Awtry had +renewed his acquaintance with her, but her statements of his kind +attention to her and the children, and her mentioning the eager manner +in which he had relieved her anxiety after the battle of the 21st of +July, 1861, instead of raising any suspicion on his part of the +honesty and purity of his motives, only made him return thanks in his +heart for the previous kindness shown to his wife. + +On obtaining permission to write her, he immediately penned a long and +affectionate letter which was forwarded. For many days after he +remained in a long suspense for the expected answer, as he never +believed for a moment that she would delay answering him, but as days +rolled into weeks, and no letter came, while the other prisoners from +New Orleans received letters regularly, he became alarmed, and spoke +his fears to Shackleford. + +"Do not be afraid of any harm having occurred to her, Alf," said the +lieutenant, after listening attentively to his friend's words. "You +may depend that your letter never reached her, and she, in ignorance +whether you escaped unhurt from the engagement, cannot write, not +knowing where you are." + +"It is not her silence which troubles me as much as the knowledge that +she possess no other money than Confederate notes," replied Alfred. +"How she will manage to support herself and the children God only +knows." + +"Have you not friends there?" enquired Harry. + +"Yes, but I cannot depend on them for assistance, for two reasons: +first, because from the disordered state of the money market in New +Orleans, they are almost as badly off as she is; and second, I am +quite certain that Eva would rather starve than ask for charity." + +"Charity!", echoed his companion. "Do you call it charity to assist +another situated as your wife is, particularly where her husband is +far from her fighting for his country?" + +"You do not know the people of New Orleans," replied Alfred. "No +matter how kindly a favor may be bestowed on them, it is still +considered charity, and though dire necessity may induce them to +accept aid if proffered, the knowledge that they were eating the bread +of charity, would embitter each mouthful." + +"Pooh, pooh," said his friend, "all these fine notions would do very +well before the war, but at the present time the least we think of +them the better." + +"It is all very well for you to speak that way," answered Alfred, "for +you have no wife and children to cause uneasiness, but I cannot be +otherwise than anxious to know what has become of her, that I receive +no letters, while other prisoners have had theirs regularly by mail." + +"An unfortunate fact, which you may depend has been caused by no other +reason than the neglect of the Yankee officers to forward your +letters," said Harry, then continuing: "Come, cheer up, and throw +aside your dullness. Another battle like that of Shiloh, will give the +South as many Yankee prisoners as they have of us, and then ho! for +home and the "Sunny South!" As soon as we return, I will take you to +Jackson, and then you can write your wife to come out, and she can +live with my mother, if you are not too proud to accept my +hospitality." + +"Thank you," he replied, "but I must first wait until we are +exchanged, and God knows when that will be." + +"Why, man, I tell you there is no doubt of our whipping the Yanks and +capturing a lot of them in the next battle; then adieu to Camp +Douglas, and hurrah for the Confederacy once more!" replied Harry, +taking his companion by the arm, and dragging him to their tent where +dinner had been placed in readiness for them. + + + + +CHAPTER NINTH. + +ROOM TO RENT. + + +We must now return to my heroine, who, with her two children, we left +slowly travelling toward Jackson, Mississippi. On arriving at +Ponchatula, she took the cars on the New Orleans, Jackson and Great +Northern Railroad, and in a few hours was in Jackson. On arriving +there she proceeded to the Bowman House, and purchasing a newspaper +eagerly scanned the columns to find an advertisement of rooms to rent, +knowing full well that, with her limited means, she would never be +able to remain at the hotel, or live at a boarding house. + +After looking for some time, without finding the desired +advertisement, her eye at last lit upon the following notice under the +heading of "To rent:" + + "TO RENT, + + "Unfurnished rooms in the one-story tenement buildings on + ---- street. For particulars, apply to the undersigned at + his office on Main street, near the State House. + + JAMIE ELDER." + +After reading it she folded the paper, and remained musing for several +minutes, when rising up she went to her children, and, kissing them, +told them she was going out for a few minutes, and to play like good +children until her return. She then left the hotel, and, after some +little trouble, at last found out the office of Mr. Elder, which she +entered. + +"Is Mr. Elder in?" she inquired of a clerk. + +"Yes, madam," he replied. + +"Can I see him?" she asked. + +He gave her no answer, but going to an adjoining door, half opened it, +and announced, in a loud voice, that a lady desired to see Mr. Elder. + +"Admit her," was the reply of that gentleman. + +Mrs. Wentworth passed the desk, and, entering the room from whence the +voice proceeded, found herself in the presence of Mr. Elder, who was +seated in an arm chair reading a newspaper. + +"Be seated, madam," he said, rising and handing her a chair. "What can +I have the honor of doing for you this morning?" + +"This is your advertisement, I believe," she replied, handing him the +newspaper. + +"Yes, madam," he answered, looking at her through his spectacles. + +"Well, sir, it is my desire to rent one of the rooms." + +"You, madam!" he replied, evidently surprised at her question. + +"Yes, sir," she replied; "I am a refugee from New Orleans, having been +driven from there by General Butler. My husband is now a prisoner of +war in the hands of the enemy, and my means being limited, I am +compelled to live economically." + +"Ahem, ahem," said Mr. Elder, clearing his throat; "indeed, madam, I +sympathise with you. This war has cast many people homeless and in +need throughout the country. I sympathize with you, _indeed_ I do," +and he looked on her in the most benevolent manner possible. + +"Well, sir, what is the price charged for the rent of one of your +rooms?" asked Mrs. Wentworth after a few moments' silence. + +"Well, ah--well, ah--you see, my dear madam, the price of everything +has gone up immensely," he replied. + +"And what do you charge for the room?" she asked. + +"Well, ah, I think sixteen dollars per month as cheap as I could +possible rent it," he answered finally. + +"I will take it, then, by the month," she answered, rising, "and will +go into possession to-day." + +"Well, ah, my dear madam, it is a rule I have always made, only to +rent my houses for the money, paid in advance--not that I have the +_least_ apprehension of your inability to pay me, but you see it never +does any good to deviate from fixed rules." + +"I am perfectly filling to pay you in advance," she replied, taking +her port-moniæ from her pocket and handing him the advance pay for one +month's rent. + +Calling a clerk, Mr. Elder handed him the money, and ordered a receipt +to be made out; then turning to Mrs. Wentworth, he said: + +"There is another thing, I desire to have you understand, madam, and +agree to. The fall of New Orleans has occasioned the inflation of all +kinds of real estate in price, and this, added to the rapid manner in +which Confederate notes are depreciating in value, may compel me to +raise the price of rent. I would, therefore, like you to agree, that +in no way am I bound for any time longer than the month you have paid +for, to take the present price; and another thing I desire is, that +you agree not to take advantage of the stay law, in the event of +non-payment, or refusal to pay any additional price I may charge. In +making these conditions, madam," he continued, "I must not be +understood to say that the contingencies mentioned are at all likely +to occur, as I trust and hope they will not; but at the same time, I +only desire to avoid all deviation from my usual course of doing +business." + +"Any terms you may desire I will agree to," she replied in an absent +manner, "as I wish to remove from the hotel, the charges there being +above my means." + +"Very well, madam, very well," he responded. + +After the clerk had brought the receipt for the months rent, Mr. Elder +rose from his chair, and, requesting Mrs. Wentworth to remain seated +for a few minutes, left the apartment. He shortly after returned with +a printed document in his hand, which he requested her to sign. +Without reading the paper, she obeyed his request, and, receiving the +key of the room she had just rented, requested that Mr. Elder would +have her shown where it was situated. Calling a negro boy, who was +lounging at the door, he directed him to accompany Mrs. Wentworth to +---- street and show her the rooms. With that he made a low bow, and +she left following the boy. + +"Humph!" said Mr. Elder, half aloud, as soon as she had left. "I do +not care much about hiring my rooms to such tenants. Refugees are +certainly becoming as thick as locusts in the State, and are nearly +all as poor as Job. However, I have made myself secure against any +excuse for pay on the ground of poverty, by the paper she signed," and +with these reflections, that worthy gentleman re-entered his room, and +was soon deeply interested in his newspaper. + + + + +CHAPTER TENTH. + +THE NEW HOME. + + +Mrs. Wentworth followed the boy till he arrived in front of series of +wretched looking rooms, situated on one of the miserable lanes with +which Jackson abounds. Stopping in front of one of them, he pointed to +it, and with no other words than "Dem is de room, ma'm," walked off. +Taking the key, which Mr. Elder had previously given her, she opened +the door and entered. + +Mrs. Wentworth's heart sank within her as she viewed the wretched +looking apartment. The interior of the room was exceedingly dirty, +while the faded paper, which once gaudily adorned it, now hung in +shreds from the walls. The fireplace was broken up, and disgusting +words were written in every part of the room. It had been, in fact, +the lodging of a woman of dissolute character, who had been accustomed +to gather a crowd of debauched characters in her apartment nightly, +but who, from a failure to pay her rent, had been turned out by Mr. +Elder. The other apartments were still occupied by abandoned women; +but of this fact Mrs. Wentworth was not aware. + +As she looked at the room a feeling of indescribable sadness crept +over her, and a sigh of bitterness burst from her throbbing bosom. It +was, however, not to be helped; she had already paid the rent, and was +compelled to keep it for the month. Sadly she left the room, and +locking it after her, repaired to a store to purchase a few necessary +articles of furniture. + +On entering a store, the first person she saw was Mr. Swartz, who had, +by this time, risen from the lowly position of a grocer to that of a +"General wholesale and retail merchant," as the sign over his door +very pompously announced. + +Mr. Swartz remained on his seat at her entrance, barely raising his +eyes to sec who had entered. She stood for a few moments, when, seeing +that no one appeared to notice her presence, she walked up to him and +informed him that she wished to purchase a few pieces of furniture. + +"Vot kind do you vant?" he inquired, without moving from his seat. + +"A small bedstead, three or four chairs, a table and a washstand," she +answered. + +"Look at them and see vich you like te best," he said, "and I vill +tell you te brice." + +After a little search, Mrs. Wentworth selected the plainest and most +homely she could find of all the articles she desired, and, turning to +him, inquired what the price would be. + +"Te pedstead is forty tollars; te chairs is three tollars apiece; te +taple is twenty tollars; and to washstand is fourteen," he replied. + +"And how much will that amount to, altogether?" she asked. + +"Eighty-six tollars," he responded. + +"Can you take no less, sir?" she asked. + +"No, ma'am," he answered. "I have put one brice, and if you don't vant +to pay it you can leave it." + +Taking out the desired amount, she paid him without making any further +remark, and requested that they would be sent after her. Calling a +drayman, Mr. Swartz told him to follow her with the furniture, and he +returned to his seat, satisfied with having made sixty dollars on the +eighty-six, received from Mrs. Wentworth, the furniture having been +bought at sheriff's sale for a mere trifle. + +Having purchased a few other household utensils, Mrs. Wentworth +proceeded to the Bowman House, from which, after paying her bill, she +removed her children, and, followed by the dray with her furniture, +proceeded to the wretched hovel site had rented. Her stock of money +had now been reduced to less than sixty dollars, and with this she +embarked upon the world with two tender children. + +After paying the drayman, who was a kind-hearted negro, and getting +him to erect the bedstead, he departed, and a feeling of desolation +and loneliness spread its dark shadows over the heart of Mrs. +Wentworth. Seating herself on a chair, with her two children clinging +to her knees, the long pent up fountain of grief burst forth, and +tears bedewed the cheeks of the Soldier's Wife; tears, such as only +those who have felt the change of fortune, can shed; tears, which, +like the last despairing cry of the desolate, can only be answered in +heaven! + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVENTH. + +THE ATTEMPTED ESCAPE. + + +We must now return to Alfred, whom we left in a disconsolate mood at +Camp Douglas, with his friend trying to cheer his spirits. But he +could think of nothing else but his absent wife, until at last he +determined to attempt an escape. The idea once in his mind could not +be dismissed. He, therefore, informed Harry of his intention, and +asked if he thought it feasible, or likely to result in success. + +"So far as the feasibility of the attempt is concerned," observed +Harry, as soon as Alfred had concluded, "I think it could be +attempted. But about the result, you will have to trust to luck." + +"I am aware of that," he replied. "But I do not know how the attempt +can possibly be made. The camp is so well guarded, that an attempt to +escape is almost hopeless of success." + +"Pshaw! If you are determined to go, I see nothing to prevent your +making the attempt. If it even fails, the most that will be done to +you by the Federals is closer confinement." + +"I do not care much about that risk," he replied. "My desire is to +form some plan of escape. Can you devise one by which I can get away?" + +"That is a difficult task," said Harry. "But as we are of the same +desire, I suppose something must be done. What do you say about +digging a tunnel, and escaping by that route?" + +"That is a very good idea; but it will take too long," replied Alfred. +"Besides which, what are we to do with the dirt that is dug up?" + +"I never thought of that," he answered. "But now that you have +reminded me of it, I do not believe the plan will suit. Some other +must be devised, but what it is to be, I cannot, for the life of me, +imagine." + +"What do you say to scaling the walls?" asked Alfred. + +"A very good idea it would be, if we had anything to scale them with," +he replied. + +"Suppose we tear up our blankets and make a rope of them." + +"How will you attach the rope to the wall?" asked Harry. + +"We can easily get a hook of wire and throw it over. It will be +certain to catch," he replied. + +"Very likely," observed Harry, drily, "and make such confounded noise, +that the first thing we heard after, it would be a Minie ball +whistling past our ears; or should it catch without making any noise, +the chances are that, when one of us ascends, it will be to meet the +burly form of some Dutch sentinel traversing the walk. The idea is not +feasible; so we must think of something else." + +"I do not know what to think," replied Alfred; "and the probability +is, that if I even did, you would find some objection to its +performance." + +"That is true," answered Harry, laughing, "and I accept the reproach +in the spirit it is given. It will never do for us to be raising +objections to every plan offered, for that will not hasten our +escape." + +"Then think of something else, and I will acquiesce, no matter how +extravagant it may be," said Alfred. "I am tired of this cursed +prison, and intend to get away by some means or other." + +"It is all very good to talk about getting away," said Harry. "For the +matter of that, I am as anxious to leave as you are, but in the name +of wonder, how are we going to manage it?" + +"That is the very thing I desire to consult you about. We certainly +will never escape, unless we make the attempt; but in what manner we +are to attempt it, is exactly what I desire to know." + +"What do you say to bribing one of the sentinels?" asked Harry. + +"Where will we get the means from?" inquired Alfred. "I have some +Confederate Treasury notes, but they will not be any temptation to a +Yankee." + +"Leave me to find the means," replied Harry. "I have a fine gold +watch, and about seventy dollars in gold. These will be sufficient, I +think, to attempt the cupidity of any Dutchman in the Yankee army." + +"And how do you propose offering the bribe?" Alfred inquired. + +"I shall look out for the first chance to speak to the sentinel at the +gate, some time during the day, and will make the necessary +preparations to escape to-night, if the Yankee will accept my offer." + +"That will do very well," observed Alfred, "There is one thing, +however, I must remind you of. It will not do to offer the sentinel +all your gold, for we will require money to pay our way into +Tennessee." + +"Do you never fear that," replied Harry. "I will be certain to reserve +enough funds for our expenses. It does not cost much at any time to +travel through these Northern States." + +"Well, I trust to you to make all the necessary arrangements," replied +Alfred. "I am determined not to remain in this place, with my mind so +disturbed about my wife and children. If I can only reach the +Confederate lines safely, I will have no difficulty in hearing from +New Orleans." + +"I will make every effort to facilitate an escape," remarked Harry; +"and if my penetrating qualities do not deceive me, there is a +sentinel at the gate to-day, who would not be averse to taking a +bribe, even if it permits a "rebel" to escape. Cheer up, my friend," +he continued. "I will guarantee that your wife and children are all +well and happy, except a natural anxiety on your account." + +Alfred made no reply, and the two friends shortly after separated. + +Harry kept an assiduous watch for an opportunity to speak with the +sentinel. The time for the man to remain on guard expired, however, +without any favorable chance presenting itself. He was, therefore, +compelled to wait until the evening, when the same sentinel would be +again on guard, before he could attempt to bribe him. At four o'clock +he was posted, and after some hesitation, Harry determined to address +him. Walking up as soon as he perceived no one near the man, he called +out to him. + +"Vot to deuce do you vant? you rebel," asked the sentinel in a broad +Dutch accent. + +"Will you let me come a little nearer?" Harry inquired, perceiving +that the distance between the guard and himself too great for a +conversation. + +"Vot do you vant to come a leetle nearer for?" asked the sentinel. + +"I want to talk to you," he replied, making a motion of his hand to +indicate that he wished to converse in secret. + +The sentinel, looking carefully around to be certain that no one was +near at hand who could perceive him, beckoned to Harry to approach. +The young man went forward cautiously, as the numerous sentinels +around the wall were likely to perceive him, and would not hesitate to +fire if they imagined he was about to attempt an escape. As soon as he +reached the sentinel, he made known his wishes, and ended by offering +the man his watch and forty dollars in gold if he would permit himself +and his friend to pass the gate at night. At the same time he promised +the man he would take all the responsibility in the event of detection +or re-capture. + +The sentinel listened attentively, and at first appeared unwilling to +receive the bribe, but upon Harry representing to him that there was +no chance of his agency in the escape being discovered, he finally +consented to receive it. It was, therefore, arranged between them, +that at twelve o'clock that night the two prisoners should start. The +signal was to be a faint whistle, which would ultimate to the guard +that they were there, if it was answered they should advance, but if +not they should return, as his silence would either indicate that he +was not alone, or that he was not on his post. Everything having been +amicably arranged between them, Harry promised to pay the bribe as +soon as they had reached the gate. This the fellow demurred to at +first, but as Harry was determined, not to pay over the watch and +forty dollars, until the hour of their departure, he was compelled to +assent. + +On Harry's return to his tent, he found Alfred reading a Yankee +pictorial newspaper. + +"Well," he remarked, looking up from his paper as soon as Harry +entered. + +"Everything progresses finely," replied Harry. + +"Have you been able to speak to the sentinel?" he asked. + +"I have seen him, and made all the necessary arrangements," Harry +replied. + +"And when will we leave," Alfred asked. + +"To-night at twelve is the time fixed between us," he replied. "The +fellow appeared unwilling at first, but a little persuasion with a +sight at the watch and money, was too much for his nature, and he +yielded to my wishes." + +"Then everything goes on well, if the fellow does not play us false," +Alfred remarked. + +"That is a risk we are bound to run," replied Harry. "I think the +fellow means to be honest, if a man can be honest who agrees to allow +a prisoner to escape, who is placed under his charge." + +"Did you inform him there were two of us who desired to leave," asked +Alfred. + +"Yes," was the reply; "I would never have bothered to escape and run +the risk of re-capture and harsh treatment, did not you desire to +leave this place, and the trip could as well be made with you as +otherwise." + +Alfred pressed his friend's hand warmly, as he replied. "Thank you, +Harry, I trust I will be able to return the kindness you have shown +me, at some future and more favorable time." + +"Poh, poh!" he replied. "Don't speak of it. The kindness has been paid +for long ago," pointing to his wound as he spoke. + +"I expect we may as well make preparations to leave," remarked Alfred, +after a moment's pause. + +"Preparations!" echoed his friend, "What in the name of all that is +glorious, do you require any preparations for?" and then, he added +dryly, "there is one thing certain, my trunk (?) is already packed, +although I don't know if yours is." + +"A truce to joking about trunks," replied Alfred, "but seriously you +must be aware that we cannot leave here without being dressed in +citizens clothes." + +"The thunder!" exclaimed Harry, "are you going to raise any more +objections?" + +"No," he replied, "but it is absolutely necessary that we shall be +apparelled in different clothes to those of a soldier." + +"I think we can get a couple of suits to borrow from the officers, but +how I will get them, without their knowing our intention to escape, is +a matter of much difficulty. If they should once know it, the whole +crowd will desire to leave with us." + +"That would be unreasonable on their part," replied Alfred. "They must +be aware that every man cannot get away at the same time, and to +desire or attempt such a thing would be to ensure the re-capture of +every man." + +"Well, I will start now on the borrowing expedition, and by some +subterfuge, be saved the necessity of informing any person of our +intention." + +Having moved off as he spoke, and proceeding to the tent of a brother +officer, succeeded in borrowing a citizens' coat and pants without +exciting any suspicion of his intended escape. At the next place he +went to, a few remarks were made, but upon his informing the Captain +to whom he applied, that he desired to have his uniform renovated, and +had no change of clothing while that was being done. The citizens' +clothes were cordially loaned, and he returned to Alfred with a joyous +heart. + +"What luck have you had?" enquired Alfred as soon as he returned. + +"See for yourself," was the reply of Harry, as he threw down the coats +and pants. + +"Then everything needed is procured," he observed. + +"Yes," replied Harry. "We must now mix with the other prisoners, as if +nothing was transpiring in our minds, like an attempt to escape. It +will be no use keeping away from them, as it is likely to excite +suspicion." + +The two friends left the tent and proceeded to where a group of +prisoners were seated. Their appearance was greeted with cheers, as +Harry was a universal favorite among both officers and men, on account +of his lively and genial temper, combined with a fine voice for +music--an accomplishment that with soldiers endears, and makes a +favorite of any person possessing it. He was soon called upon for a +song, and in accordance with the request commenced a song, and soon +the rich and clear voice of the young man rang out on the air of the +soft twilight. He sang of home, and as each word fell with +distinctness on the ears of the soldiers, who grouped around him, each +heart throbbed with emotion, and each mind wandered back to the +distant land, where, in the mansion, or in the little cottage, loved +ones there dwelt, pining for those who were now prisoners in a foreign +country. + +The hour of nine having arrived, the soldiers dispersed to their +respective quarters, and soon after the command "lights out" was +uttered in stentorian notes. Long and anxiously the two friends +remained lying on their bunks in the tent, awaiting the hour of +twelve. Each moment seemed an hour to Alfred Wentworth, whose mind was +wrought up to a pitch of excitement, almost unendurable. Several times +he rose from his bed and paced the tent. At last the long wished for +hour arrived. Harry who had been smoking all the night, looked at his +watch by the faint light the fire of his segar emitted, and perceived +that it was only five minutes for twelve. Crossing over to the bunk on +which Alfred was lying, he whispered: "It is time." Silently they put +on the citizens clothes borrowed in the evening, and left the tent. +The night had changed from the pleasant, starry evening to a black and +dismal gloom. Heavy clouds covered the skies, giving every indication +of rain. The night was just such a one for an escape, and although the +darkness was so intense, that it was impossible for the eye to +penetrate a distance of five paces, both felt that their chance of +escape was accelerated. + +"Give me your hand," whispered Harry, as soon as they had left the +tent. + +"Do you know the direct way to the gate," asked Alfred, + +"Yes," he replied, "cease speaking now and follow me. The least +whisper may be heard, and then our attempt will be foiled." + +Grasping the hand of his friend, Alfred followed him, and they moved +with noiseless tread toward the gate. As soon as he descried the faint +light of the sentinel's lamp near him, Harry stopped, and stooping +down gave a faint whistle. For some time no answer was returned. The +two friends remained in almost breathless suspense awaiting the +signal. At last it was returned, and moving forward, they reached the +gate. + +"Here," whispered Harry to the sentinel, as he handed him the watch +and money. + +The man raised the little lantern near him, and looked at the bribe to +see that it was all right. "Pass on," he said. + +As Harry and his friend passed the gate, the former perceived several +forms flit across the darkness, and a suspicion of treachery instantly +flashed through his mind. + +"We are betrayed," he whispered to Alfred. + +"No matter, let us push boldly forward," was the reply. + +They had not moved ten paces before the command "Halt" given. + +"Push on!" exclaimed Alfred, darting forward. + +The two friends moved on at a rapid run, when a volley of musketry was +fired at them. Harry escaped unhurt and continued running at the top +of his speed, and not until he had gone a considerable distance, did +he discover that his friend was not with him. It was, however, too +late for him to turn back, and entering Chicago, he made his way +through the city, and continued his journey. + +At the fire of the Federals, Alfred received four wounds; and sunk +without a word to the ground. The enemy shortly after coming up found +him insensible, and conveyed his inanimate body to the hospital. He +was dangerously wounded, and the physicians declared there was but +little hope of his recovery. + +Two weeks after this unfortunate occurrence, a cartel for the exchange +of prisoners was agreed upon between the Federal and Confederate +authorities, and the prisoners at Camp Douglas were transported to +Vicksburg. The doctors declared that Alfred was not in a state to be +removed, and was left at the hospital. His condition at that time was +very precarious. One of the balls that had entered his body could not +be found, and the wound was kept open with the view to discovering +where it had lodged. His agony of mind at the failure of his attempt +to escape had retarded his recovery in a great degree, and when the +information came that the prisoners were about to be exchanged, and he +was declared unable to be removed, it added further to his detriment. +A fever seized him, and for many days he remained on his bed, hovering +between life and death. + + + + +CHAPTER TWELFTH. + +THE STARVING CHILDREN. + + +Long weeks rolled on, and the small sum possessed by Mrs. Wentworth, +had been entirely exhausted. She had, however, by sewing, contrived to +supply herself and children with food. It was the same old tale of +sleepless nights of toil. Often the grey streak which heralds the +morning, would find her still pouring over her work, while her two +children were sleeping on the bed in one corner of the room. At times +she would cease her work, and think for long hours on the loved +husband, now a prisoner in the hands of the Federals. In those hours, +tears would course her cheeks, as the stern reality of her position +presented itself; to know that he was absent, while she was leading a +life of penury and toil. Still she struggled on. When at times despair +rose up before her like a demon, and she felt herself about to succumb +to it, the memory of her absent husband, and the sight of her loved +children, would nerve the soldier's wife to bear with fortitude the +misery to which she had been reduced. + +And thus she toiled on, until the last source of support had vanished. +The Quartermaster from whom she received work, having completed all +the clothing he required, had no further use for her services, and she +then saw nothing but a blank and dreary prospect, looming up before +her. She had no means of purchasing food for her children. Piece by +piece her furniture was sold to supply their wants, until nothing was +left in the room but a solitary bedstead. Starvation in its worst form +stared her in the face, until at last she sold what clothing she had +brought out from New Orleans. This relieved her necessities but a +short time, and then her last resource was gone. + +If her present was dark, the future seemed but one black cloud of +despair. Hope, that _ignis fatuus_, which deceives so many on earth, +left the soldier's wife, and she was indeed wretched. The blooming +woman had become a haggard and care-worn mother. She had no thought +for herself. It was for her children alone she felt solicitous, and +when the day arrived that saw her without the means of purchasing +bread, her long filling cup of misery overflowed, and she wept. + +Yes, she wept. Wept as if her whole life had been changed in a moment, +from one of joy and happiness, to that of sadness and misery. + +Her children in that dark hour clustered around her. _They_ could not +cry. A fast of over twenty-four hours had dried all tears within them. +They only wondered for awhile, until the sharp pangs of hunger +reminded them of another and greater woe. They too had been changed. +The bloom of youth had departed from their little cheeks, while in the +eyes of the oldest an unnatural light burned. She was fast sinking to +the grave, but the mother knew it not. Knew not that her darling child +had contracted a disease, which would shortly take her to Heaven, for +the little Eva spoke no word of complaint. Young, as she was, she saw +her mother's agony of soul, and though the little lips were parched +and dry, she told not her ailing. + +The tears continued to flow from Mrs. Wentworth, and still the +children gazed on in wonderment. They knew not what they meant. + +"Mother," at last said her little infant, "why do you cry?" + +She took her on her knees. "Nothing, my darling," she replied. + +"Then stop crying," he said, pressing his little hand on Mrs. +Wentworth's cheek. "It makes me feel bad." + +"I will stop crying, darling," she replied, drying her tears and +smiling. + +Smiles are not always the reply of the heart. We have seen men smile +whoso whole life was a scene of misfortune, and yet this emblem of +happiness has lit their features. It is outward show--a fruit, whose +surface presents a tempting appearance to the eye, but which is +blasted and withered within. Smiles are often like the fruit called +the _Guava_. It is a beautiful looking fruit which grows in the West +Indies, and to the taste is very luscious, but when examined through a +microscope, it presents the appearance of a moving mass of worms. Its +beauty is deceptive, nothing but a wretched view presents itself, + + "Like dead sea fruit, that tempts the eye, + And falls to ashes on the lips." + +The child saw her mother smile, and the little heart forgot its +hunger, and for a moment beat with joy. The gleam of sunshine that +spread itself over him, did not last, for soon after the face of the +mother assumed the same sad and cheerless expression, it had worn for +many weeks. The child saw it, and again felt his hunger. + +"Mother," she said, "give me a piece of bread." + +"I will get some for you to-morrow," she replied. "There is no bread +in the house this evening." + +"I am _so_ hungry," remarked the child. "Why is there no bread?" + +"Mother has got no money to buy any," she replied. + +The other child had remained quiet all the while. She still nestled to +her mother's side and looked long and earnestly into her face. She was +not thinking, for one of her years knew nothing of thought, but +divined that all was not right with her mother. + +"Eva, my child," the mother said, speaking to her for the first time, +"go to the grocer's, and ask him if he will let me have a loaf of +bread on credit." + +"I am so glad you have sent for bread," exclaimed the infant on her +knees, as he clapped his hand joyfully together. + +Eva left the room, and in a few minutes returned empty handed. + +"Has he refused to let you have it?" asked Mrs. Wentworth. + +"Yes, mother," replied the child sadly. "He says he will not give +credit to anybody." + +"I thought as much," Mrs. Wentworth remarked. + +"Then I won't get any bread?" asked the child on her knees. + +"No, my darling," Mrs. Wentworth answered, "you must wait until +to-morrow." + +"I hav'nt eaten so long, mother," he said. "Why aint you got any +bread?" + +"Because mother is poor and without any money," she replied. + +"But I feel so hungry," again the child remarked. + +"I know it, my sweet boy," replied his mother, "but wait a little +longer and I will give you something to eat." + +Her heart was wrung with agony at the complaint of the child and his +call for bread; but she knew not how to evade his questions or to +procure food. The thought of asking charity had never once entered her +mind, for those with whom she had daily intercourse, were too much +engaged in self-interest to make her hope that any appeal for help +would touch their sordid hearts; and yet food must be had, but how she +knew not. Her promise to give her child food, on the next day, was +made only to silence his call for bread. There was no prospect of +receiving any money, and she could not see her children starve. But +one recourse was left. She must sell the bed--the last piece of +furniture remaining in the room--no matter that in so doing her +wretchedness increased instead of diminished. + +The child was not satisfied with her promise. The pangs he endured +were too much for one of his age, and again he uttered his call for +bread. + +"There is no bread, Willy," said Eva, speaking for the first time. +"Don't ask for any bread. It makes mamma sad." + +The child opened his large blue eyes enquiringly upon his sister. + +"My sweet, darling child," exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, clasping the +little Ella to her heart, and then bursting into tears at this proof +of her child's fortitude, she continued: "Are you not hungry, too?" + +"Yes, mother," she replied, "but"--Here the little girl ceased to +speak as if desirous of sparing her mother pain. + +"But what?" asked Mrs. Wentworth. + +"Mother," exclaimed the child, throwing her arms round her mother's +neck, and evading the question, "father will come back to us, and then +we will not want bread." + +The word "father," brought to Mrs. Wentworth's mind her absent +husband. She thought of the agony he would endure if he knew that his +wife and children were suffering for food. A swelling of her bosom +told of the emotion raging within her, and again the tears started to +her eyes. + +"Come, my sweet boy," she said, dashing away the tears, as they came +like dewdrops from her eyelids, and speaking to the infant on her +knee, "it is time to go to bed." + +"Aint I to get some bread before I go to bed?" he asked. + +"There is none, darling," she answered hastily. "Wait until to-morrow +and you will get some." + +"But I am so hungry," again repeated the child, and again a pang of +wretchedness shot through the mother's breast. + +"Never mind," she observed, kissing him fondly, "if you love me, let +me put you to bed like a good child." + +"I love you!" he said, looking up into her eyes with all that deep +love that instinct gives to children. + +She undressed and put him to bed, where the little Ella followed him +soon after. Mrs. Wentworth sat by the bedside until they had fallen +asleep. + +"I love you, mother, but I am so hungry," were the last words the +infant murmured as he closed his eyes in sleep, and in that slumber +forgot his agonizing pangs for awhile. + +As soon as they were asleep, Mrs. Wentworth removed from the bedside +and seated herself at the window, which she opened. There she sat, +looking at the clouds as they floated by, dark as her own prospects +were. The morning dawned and saw her still there. It was a beautiful +morning, but the warble of the bird in a tree near by, as he poured +forth his morning song, awoke no echo in the heart of the soldier's +wife. All was cheerless within her. The brightness of the morning only +acted like a gleam of light at the mouth of a cavern. It made the +darkness of her thoughts more dismal. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEENTH. + +THE APPEAL FOR CREDIT + + +The first call of the little boy, when he awoke in the morning, was +for bread. He was doubly hungry now. Thirty-six hours had passed since +he had eaten the last mouthful of food that remained in the room. Mrs. +Wentworth on that night of vigils, had determined to make an appeal +for help to the man she had purchased the furniture from, on her +arrival at Jackson, and in the event of his refusing to assist her, to +sell the bed on which her children were wont to sleep. This +determination had not been arrived at without a struggle in the heart +of the soldier's wife. For the first time in her life she was about to +sue for help from a stranger, and the blood rushed to her cheeks, as +she thought of the humiliation that poverty entails upon mortal. It is +true, she was not about to ask for charity, as her object was only to +procure credit for a small quantity of provisions to feed her children +with. The debt would be paid, she knew well enough, but still it was +asking a favor, and the idea of being obligated to a stranger, was +galling to her proud and sensitive nature. + +"Mother," exclaimed the child, as he rose from his bed, "it is morning +now; aint I going to get some bread?" + +"Yes," she replied, "I will go out to the shop directly and get you +some." + +About an hour afterwards she left the room, and bidding Ella to take +care Of her brother, while she was absent, bending her steps towards +the store of Mr. Swartz. This gentleman had become, in a few short +weeks, possessed of three or four times the wealth he owned when we +first introduced him to our readers. The spirit of speculation had +seized him among the vast number of the southern people, who were +drawn into its vortex, and created untold suffering among the poorer +classes of the people. The difference with Mr. Swartz and the great +majority of southern speculators, was the depth to which he descended +for the purpose of making money. No article of trade, however petty, +that he thought himself able to make a few dollars by, was passed +aside unnoticed, while he would sell from the paltry amount of a pound +of flour to the largest quantity of merchandize required. Like all +persons who are suddenly elevated, from comparative dependence, to +wealth, he had become purse proud and ostentatious, as he was humble +and cringing before the war. In this display of the mushroom, could be +easily discovered the vulgar and uneducated favorite of frikle +fortune. Even these displays could have been overlooked and pardoned, +had he shown any charity to the suffering poor. But his heart was as +hard as the flinty rocks against which wash the billows of the +Atlantic. The cry of hunger never reached the inside of his breast. It +was guarded with a covering of iron, impenetrable to the voice of +misery. + +And it was to this man that Mrs. Wentworth, in her hour of bitter need +applied. She entered his store and enquired of the clerk for Mr. +Swartz. + +"You, will find him in that room," he replied, pointing to a chamber +in the rear of the store. + +Mrs. Wentworth entered the room, and found Mr. Swartz seated before a +desk. The office, for it was his private office, was most elegantly +furnished, and exhibited marks of the proprietor's wealth. + +Mr. Swartz elevated his brows with surprise, as he looked at the +care-worn expression and needy attire of the woman before him. + +"Vot can I do for you my coot voman," he enquired, without even +extending the courtesy of offering her a seat. + +Mrs. Wentworth remained for a moment without replying. She was +embarrassed at the uncourteous reception Mr. Swartz gave her. She did +not recollect her altered outward appearance, but thought only of the +fact that she was a lady. Her intention to appeal to him for credit, +wavered for awhile, but the gaunt skeleton, WANT, rose up and +held her two children before her, and she determined to subdue pride, +and ask the obligation. + +"I do not know if you recollect me," she replied at last, and then +added, "I am the lady who purchased a lot of furniture from you a few +weeks ago." + +"I do not remember," Mr. Swartz observed, with a look of surprise. +"But vot can I to for you dis morning?" + +"I am a soldier's wife," Mrs. Wentworth commenced hesitatingly. "My +husband is now a prisoner in the North, and I am here, a refugee from +New Orleans, with two small children. Until a short time ago I had +succeeded in supporting my little family by working on soldiers' +clothing, but the Quartermaster's department having ceased to +manufacture clothing, I have been for several days without work." Here +she paused. It pained her to continue. + +Mr. Swartz looked at her with surprise, and the idea came into his +mind that she was an applicant for charity. + +"Vell, vot has dat got to do vid your pisness," he observed in a cold +tone of voice, determined that she should see no hope in his face. + +"This much," she replied. "For over twenty-four hours my two little +children and myself have been without food, and I have not a dollar to +purchase it." + +"I can't do anything for you," Mr. Swartz said with a frown. + +"Dere is scarce a day but some peoples or anoder vants charity and +I--" + +"I do not come to ask for charity," she interrupted hastily. "I have +only come to ask you a favor." + +"Vat is it?" he enquired. + +"As I told you before, my children and myself are nearly starving," +she replied. "I have not the means of buying food at present, but +think it more than likely I will procure work in a few days. I have +called to ask if you would give me credit for a few articles of food +until then, by which I will be able to sustain my family." + +"I thought it vas something like charity you vanted," he observed, +"but I cannot do vat you vish. It is te same ting every tay mit te +sogers' families. Dey comes here and asks for charity and credit, +shust as if a man vas made of monish.--Gootness gracious! I don't +pelieve dat te peoples who comes here every tay is as pad off as tey +vish to appear." + +"You are mistaken, sir," Mrs. Wentworth replied, "if you think I have +come here without being actually in want of the food, I ask you to let +me have on credit. Necessity, and dire necessity alone, has prompted +me to seek an obligation of you, and if you require it I am willing to +pay double the amount you charge, so that my poor children are saved +from starvation." + +"I reckon you vill," Mr. Swartz said, "but ven you vill pay ish te +question." + +"I could not name any precise day to you," answered Mrs. Wentworth. "I +can only promise that the debt will be paid. If I cannot even pay it +myself, as soon as my husband is exchanged he will pay whatever you +charge." + +"Dat ish a very doubtful vay of doing pisness," he remarked. "I cannot +do as you ask." + +"Consider, sir," she replied. "The amount I ask you to credit me for +is but small, and even if you should not get paid (which I am certain +you will) the loss cannot be felt by a man of your wealth." + +"Dat makes no differenish. I can't give you credit. It ish against my +rules, and if I proke tem for you I vill have to do so for every +body." + +Mrs. Wentworth's heart sank within her at the determined manner in +which he expressed his refusal. Without replying she moved towards the +door, and was about to leave the room when she thought of the +bedstead, on the sale of which she now depended. He may loan money on +it she thought, and she returned to the side of his desk. He looked up +at her impatiently. + +"Vell," he remarked, frowning as he uttered the single word. + +"As you won't give me credit," said Mrs. Wentworth, "I thought you may +be willing to loan me some money if I gave a security for its +payment." + +"Vat kind of security?" he enquired. + +"I have, at my room, a bedstead I purchased from you some time ago," +she replied. "Will you lend a small sum of money on it?" + +"No" he answered. "I am not a pawnbroker." + +"But you might accommodate a destitute mother," remarked Mrs. +Wentworth. "You have refused to give me credit, and now I ask you to +loan me a small sum of money, for the payment of which I offer +security." + +"I cannot do it," he answered. "Ven I says a ting I means it." + +"Will you buy the bedstead then?" asked Mrs. Wentworth in despair. + +"Vat can I do mit it?" he enquired. + +"Why you can sell again," replied Mrs. Wentworth. "It will always find +a purchaser, particularly now that the price of everything has +increased so largely." + +"Veil, I vill puy te pedstead," he said, and then enquired: "How much +monish do you vant for it?" + +"What will you give me?" she asked. + +"I vill give you forty tollars for it," he replied. + +"It must be worth more than that," she remarked. "The price of +everything is so increased that it appears to me as if the bedstead +should command a higher price than that offered by you." + +"Shust as you like, my goot voman," Mr. Swartz remarked, shrugging his +shoulders. "If you vant at mine price, all veil and goot; if not, you +can leave it alone. I only puy te piece of furniture to accommodate +you, and you should pe tankful." + +"I suppose I will be obliged to take your price," replied Mrs. +Wentworth, "although I believe I could get more for it, did I know any +one in town who purchased such things." + +He made no reply, but calling his clerk ordered him to bring forty +dollars from the safe. The clerk having brought the money retired, and +left them alone again. + +"Vere is te pedstead?" asked Swartz. + +"It is at home," Mrs. Wentworth replied. + +"Den you must pring it round here before I can pay for it," he +observed. + +"I am in want of the money now to buy bread," she answered. "If you +will pay me and let your clerk follow with a dray, I would return home +immediately and have the bedstead taken down and sent to you." + +Mr. Swartz called the clerk again, and ordered him to bring a dray to +the front of the store. The clerk did as he was requested, and soon +after returned with the intelligence that the dray was ready. + +"Do you follow dis voman to her house, and she vill give you a +pedstead. Bring it down here," and then he added, speaking to the +clerk who had not yet left the room: "Vat does te trayman sharge." + +"One dollar and a half," was the reply. + +Taking up the forty dollars which had been previously brought to him, +Mr. Swartz counted out thirty-eight and a half dollars, and handed +them to Mrs. Wentworth. + +"De von tollar and a half out ish to pay for te trayage," he remarked +as she received the money. + +She made no reply, but left the room followed by the clerk, when, with +the drayman, they soon arrived at her room. The bedstead was soon +taken down and removed to Mr. Swartz's store. + +"Sharge one huntred tollars for dat pedstead," he remarked to his +clerk as soon as it had arrived. + +While he was rejoicing at the good speculation he had made, the +soldier's wife sat on a box in her room feeding her half famished +children. The room was now utterly destitute of furniture, but the +heart of the mother rejoiced at the knowledge that for a couple of +weeks longer her children would have food. + + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEENTH. + +DR. HUMPHRIES BUYS A SLAVE AND BRINGS HOME NEWS. + + +A few days after Mrs. Wentworth had sold her last piece of furniture, +Dr. Humphries was walking along one of the principal streets in +Jackson when he was stopped by a crowd that had gathered in front of +an auction mart. On walking up he learned that it was a sheriff's sale +of a "likely young negro girl." Remembering that Emma had requested +him to purchase a girl as a waiting maid for her, he examined the +slave and found her in all respects the kind of house servant he +desired. Going up to the auctioneer who had just mounted a bench for +the purpose of selling the slave, he enquired where she had come from. +The auctioneer responded by handing the doctor a small hand bill +setting forth the sale. After reading it he walked up to the slave and +commenced to question her. + +"What is your name?" he enquired. + +"Elsy, sir," she replied. + +"You say that you come from New Orleans," he continued. + +"Yes, sir," she responded. + +"What was your master's name?" asked the doctor. + +"His name is Mr. Alfred Wentworth," the negro answered. + +"Where is your master now?" he enquired, continuing his questions. + +"Massa is a prisner in de Yankee army," she replied. + +"And what made you leave New Orleans?" was the next question. + +"My missis was turned away from de city, and I runaway from dem +Yankees and come here to look for her." + +"Have you not been able to find your mistress?" asked Dr. Humphries. + +"No, sir. Jest as I came here de city police took me up and put me in +jail." + +"Excuse me," interrupted the auctioneer, "but I must sell this girl at +once. Time is precious, so you must excuse me;" then turning to the +crowd he continued: "Here is the slave, gentlemen. She is an +intelligent looking negro, says she understands all that appertains to +the duties of a house servant. What will you bid for her?" + +"Seven hundred dollars," exclaimed a voice in the crowd. + +"Thank you, sir; seven hundred dollars; going at seven hundred +dollars. Look at the girl, gentlemen, going at seven hundred dollars. +Can I get another bid?" exclaimed the auctioneer in the rapid voice +peculiar to his class. + +"Seven hundred and twenty-five," was the next bid. + +"Seven hundred and fifty," Dr. Humphries cried out, having made up his +mind to purchase her. + +In a few minutes the slave was "knocked down" to the doctor for eleven +hundred dollars, and after the proper form was gone through and the +money paid, he ordered her to follow him, and retraced his steps +homeward. + +As our readers must have recognized already, Elsy was no other than +the slave who was left at New Orleans by Mrs. Wentworth, and who +declared that she would follow her mistress into the Confederate +lines. After making several ineffectual attempts she had succeeded in +reaching Baton Rouge, the capital of Louisiana, at which place she +eluded the Federal pickets, and made her way to Jackson. The first +part of her journey being through the country she passed unnoticed, +until on her arrival at Jackson she was stopped by the police, who +demanded her papers. Not having any she was confined in the county +jail, and after due notice in the papers, calling for the owner to +come and take her away, she was sold at auction according to law. The +girl was very much grieved at her failure to find her mistress, but +being of a good disposition soon became contented with her lot. +Accordingly, when Dr. Humphries purchased her, she followed him home +with a cheerful step. + +On entering his house the doctor presented the negro to Emma. + +"Here, Emma," he observed, "is a girl I have bought for you to-day." + +"Thank you," she answered, looking at Elsy. "This is really a nice +looking girl. Who did you buy her from?" + +"She says she is from New Orleans. Her master is a prisoner in the +hands of the Yankees, and her mistress being turned out of her home by +Butler, is now somewhere in the Confederacy, but where, the girl +cannot tell. When her mistress left New Orleans, the Yankees would not +permit the slave to leave with her, but she succeeded in escaping from +their lines, and came to Jackson, where she was arrested, and as no +owner claimed her, she was sold to me at auction this morning +according to law." + +"Then we will not be doing justice to the owner of the girl, if we +keep her constantly. Perhaps her mistress is some poor soldier's wife +who would be glad to get the money you have expended, or may require +her services." + +"I have thought of that before I purchased her, but as she seems +honest, I did not make the thought prevent me from getting her. I have +also made up my mind to give her up should her owner at any time claim +her, and he is a poor man." + +"I am glad you have so decided," Emily replied, "for I should not have +liked the idea of depriving any Confederate soldier of his slave, +particularly if he is a poor man. And now," she continued, speaking to +Elsy, "do you go in the next room and wait there until I come in." + +Making a curtesy, Elsy left the parlor, and entered the room pointed +out by Emily. + +"I have some news for you, Emily," remarked the Doctor as soon as the +negro had left the room. + +"What is it about," she enquired. + +"Something that will interest you considerably," he answered. + +"If it will interest me, let me know what it is," she remarked. + +"I have received a telegraphic dispatch from Harry," Dr. Humphries +replied. + +"Why, how could he have arrived in our lines?" she enquired, as a +smile of joy illumined her features. + +"Here is what the dispatch says:" "I arrived here this morning, having +escaped from prison. Will be in Jackson on to-morrow's train. Show +this to Emily." + +"I am so glad," exclaimed Emily joyfully, as soon as her father had +concluded reading the dispatch, "for," she continued, "I was beginning +to be afraid that our unfortunate prisoners in the hands of the +Yankees, would never be exchanged." + +"You need not have labored under any such fear," Dr. Humphries +observed. "The papers of this morning announce that a cartel has been +arranged, and the prisoners held on both sides will be shortly +exchanged." + +"Nevertheless, I am glad that Harry has made his escape, for it will +bring him to us sooner than we anticipated. Besides which, it is +gratifying to know that he had no occasion to wait for an exchange." + +"That is very true" replied her father, "and as he has safely escaped, +you can rejoice, but the dangers which must have, necessarily +presented themselves in the attempt, were of such a nature, that you +would not have desired him to make the effort had you known them." + +"He is safe, and we can well afford to laugh at them," she answered, +"all I hope is that he may never be taken prisoner again." + +"I do not believe he will relish the idea, much less the reality of +such a thing again occurring," observed Dr. Humphries. "However," he +continued, "he will be here to-morrow, and the little cloud that his +capture had sent over our happiness, will have been removed, and all +will again be bright." + +As he concluded speaking, a servant entered with a letter containing a +summons to attend a patient, and Dr. Humphries kissing his daughter +once more, left the house. + + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEENTH. + +ARRIVAL OF HARRY. + + +The next day Emily prepared herself to welcome the return of her +lover, while Dr. Humphries proceeded to the railroad depot to meet +him. In the meantime, we will give our readers a brief account of +Harry's escape. + +After leaving Chicago, Harry made his way through the country towards +the Tennessee river. His journey was a dangerous one, for the people +of Illinois where then highly elated at the successes which had +attended the Yankee arms, and the few sympathisers that the South had +in their midst, were afraid to express their sympathies. He, luckily, +however, succeeded in finding out a worthy gentleman, who not only +befriended him, but furnished the necessary means for his journey, and +procured a passport for him to visit Nashville. Prepared for a +continuation of his travel, Harry, who had been staying at the +residence of his noble hearted host for three days, bade him adieu, +and started on his way to Nashville. On arriving at Frankfort, +Kentucky, he met with a man he had become acquainted with in +Mississippi, but who, on account of his strong Union proclivities, was +compelled to leave the South at the commencement of the war. This +creature immediately recognized Harry, and knowing that he had always +been an ardent Secessionist, conjectured that he was either a spy, or +an escaped prisoner. Harry was accordingly arrested and carried before +the military authorities, but his persistent denial of any knowledge +of the man who had caused his arrest, and the passport he had received +from the generous Illinoisan, induced the Yankee officer by whom he +was examined, to release him, and permit his departure for Nashville. + +Harry had many hair breadth escapes from detection and capture, but +surmounting all the dangers which beset his path, he succeeded In +reaching the Confederate lines in safety, and immediately started for +Jackson. But one thing marred the joy he experienced at his daringly +won freedom, and that was his ignorance of Alfred's fate. Had not the +love of freedom been too strong in his breast, he would have returned +and endeavored to find his friend, but the success of his escape, and +the idea that Alfred may have pursued a different road, deterred him +from so doing. He determined, however, to make enquiry on his return +to Jackson, whether his friend had arrived there, he having promised +Harry to call on Dr. Humphries after they should arrive in the +Confederate lines. He was not aware of the wound his friend had +received, for though the Chicago papers made a notice of the attempted +escape, and wounding of one of the prisoners, the notice was never +seen by him, as he had no opportunity of getting a newspaper. + +On arriving at Jackson, the evening after he had forwarded his +telegraphic dispatch, Harry found Dr. Humphries at the depot awaiting +his arrival. After they had exchanged hearty expressions of delight at +meeting each other again, they proceeded to the house where Emma was +anxiously looking out for her lover. + +The customary salutations between lovers who have been separated being +over, Harry proceeded to give an account of his escape, which was +listened to with great interest by his hearers. + +"By the way," he remarked, as soon as he had concluded, "has a soldier +giving his name as Wentworth, and claiming to be a friend of mine, +called here within the last ten days." + +"No one has called here of that name," replied Dr. Humphries. + +"I am very anxious to receive some intelligence of him," remarked +Harry, "He was the friend I mentioned, having made my escape with." + +"He may have taken a different road to the one you pursued," Dr. +Humphries observed. + +"If I were satisfied in my mind that he did escape safely, my fears +would be allayed," he answered, "but," he continued, "we left the +gates of the prison together, and were not four yards apart when the +treachery of the guard was discovered. We both started at a full run, +and almost instantaneously the Yankees, who lay in ambush for us, +fired, their muskets in the direction we were going. The bullets +whistled harmless by me, and I continued my flight at the top of my +speed, nor did I discover the absence of my friend until some distance +from the prison, when stopping to take breath, I called him by name, +and receiving no answer found out that he was not with me. I am afraid +he might have been shot." + +"Did you hear no cry after the Yankees had fired," enquired Dr. +Humphries. + +"No, and that is the reason I feel anxious to learn his fate. Had he +uttered any cry, I should be certain that he was wounded, but the +silence on his part may have been caused from instant death." + +"You would have, heard him fall at any rate; had he been struck by the +Yankee bullets," remarked Dr. Humphries. + +"That is very doubtful," he replied. "I was running at such a rapid +rate, and the uproar made by the Yankees was sufficient to drown the +sound that a fall is likely to create." + +"I really trust your friend is safe," said Dr. Humphries. "Perhaps, +after all, he did not make any attempt to escape, but surrendered +himself to the Yankees." + +"There is not the slightest chance of his having done such a thing," +Harry answered. "He was determined to escape, and had told me that he +would rather be shot than be re-captured, after once leaving the +prison. I shall never cease to regret the misfortune should he have +fallen in our attempt to escape. His kindness to me at Fort Donelson +had caused a warm friendship to spring up between us. Besides which, +he has a wife and two small children in New Orleans, who were the sole +cause of his attempting to escape. He informed me that they were not +in very good circumstances, and should Alfred Wentworth have been +killed at Camp Douglas, God help his poor widow and orphans!" + +"Did you say his name was Alfred Wentworth," inquired Emma, for the +first time joining in the conversation. + +"Yes, and do you know anything about him?" he asked. + +"No," she replied, "I know nothing of the gentleman, but father bought +a slave on yesterday, who stated that she has belonged to a gentleman +of New Orleans, of the name you mentioned just now." + +"By what means did you purchase her?" asked Harry addressing himself +to Dr. Humphries. + +The Doctor related to him the circumstances which occasioned the +purchase, as well as the statement of Elsy. Harry listened +attentively, for the friendship he felt for his friend naturally made +him interested in all that concerned Alfred, or his family. + +"Is there no way by which I can discover where Mrs. Wentworth is +residing at present?" he enquired, after a moment of thought. + +"None that I could devise," answered Dr. Humphries. "I know nothing of +the family personally, nor would I have known anything of their +existence, had not chance carried me to the auction sale, at which I +purchased Elsy." + +"Call the girl here for me," Harry said: "I must learn something more +of the departure of Mrs. Wentworth and her children from New Orleans, +and endeavor to obtain a clue to her whereabouts. It is a duty I owe +to the man who saved my life, that everything I can do for his family +shall be performed." + +Emma left the room as he was speaking, and shortly after returned, +followed by Elsy. + +"Here is the girl," she said, as she entered. + +"So you belonged to Mr. Wentworth of New Orleans, did you?" Harry +commenced. + +"I used to belong to him," replied Elsy. + +"What made Mrs. Wentworth leave New Orleans?" he asked, continuing his +questions. + +Elsy gave a long account of the villainy of Awtry, in the usual style +adopted by negroes, but sufficiently intelligible for Harry to +understand the cause of Mrs. Wentworth being compelled to abandon her +home, and take refuge in the Confederate lines. + +"Did not your mistress state where she was going," he asked. + +"No, sah," replied Elsy. "My mistis jest told me good bye when she +left wid de children. I promised her I would get away from de Yankees, +but she forgot to tell me whar she was gwine to lib." + +"Did she bring out plenty of money with her?" he enquired. + +"Yes, sah," Elsy answered. She had seen the sum of money possessed by +Mrs. Wentworth, on her departure from New Orleans, and it being a much +larger amount than she had ever beheld before, made the faithful girl +believe that her mistress had left with quite a fortune. + +"Very well, you can go now," remarked Harry. "It is a satisfaction," +he continued as Elsy left the room, "to know that Wentworth's wife is +well provided with money, although it does appear strange that she +should have a plenty of funds, when her husband informed me, while in +prison, that the money he left her with could not maintain his wife +and children for any great length of time." + +"She may have been furnished with money by some friend, who intending +to remain in the city, had no use for Confederate Treasury notes," Dr. +Humphries remarked. + +"That is very likely, and I trust it is so," observed Harry, +"However," he continued, "I shall take steps on Monday next, to find +out where Mrs. Wentworth is now residing." + +On Monday the following advertisement appeared in the evening papers: + + INFORMATION WANTED. + + Any one knowing where Mrs. Eva Wentworth and her two + children reside, will be liberally rewarded, by addressing + the undersigned at this place. Mrs. Wentworth is a refugee + from New Orleans, and the wife of a gallant soldier, now a + prisoner of war. + + Jackson,----1862. H. SHACKLEFORD. + +It was too late. Extensively published as it was, Mrs. Wentworth never +saw it. Her hardships and trials had increased ten-fold; she was fast +drifting before the storm, with breakers before, threatening to wreck +and sink into the grave the wife and children of Alfred Wentworth. + + + + +CHAPTER SIXTEENTH. + +MR. ELDER DEMANDS HIS RENT.--NOTICE TO QUIT. + + +The money received by Mrs. Wentworth from Mr. Swartz, proved but a +temporary relief for her children and herself. A fatal day was fast +arriving, and she knew not how to avert the impending storm. By a +great deal of labor and deprivation she had heretofore succeeded in +paying the rent of the room she occupied, although Mr. Elder had twice +advanced the price. Now there was no hope of her being able to obtain +a sufficient sum of money to meet the demand of that gentleman, who +would call on her the following day in person, did she not call at his +office and settle for at least one months rent in advance. The month +for which she had paid expired in three days, and she was apprehensive +of being turned out, unless she could collect sufficient money to pay +him. She knew not where to find the means. The room was stripped bare +of furniture to supply the calls of nature; nothing but a mattress in +one corner of the apartment, and a few cooking utensils remained. She +labored day and night, to procure work, but all her efforts were +unavailing. It appeared to her as if the Almighty had forsaken herself +and children, and had left them to perish through want. + +It cannot be that God would place his image on earth, and willingly +leave them to perish from destitution. Many have been known to die of +starvation, and the tales of wretchedness and woe with which the +public ear is often filled attest the fact. Squalid forms and +threadbare garments are seen, alas! too often in this civilised world, +and the grave of the pauper is often opened to receive some unhappy +mortal, whose life had been one scene of suffering and want. +Philanthropy shudders and Christianity believes it to be a punishment, +administered by the hand of God; that the haggard cause of the starved +creature, who has thus miserably died, once contained the spirit of a +mortal undergoing the penalty of Him, who judges mankind on high, and +expiating through his heart-rending bodily agony, crimes committed in +by-gone days. + +This is not so in all cases. What mercy could we attribute to God, did +he willingly entail misery upon the innocent, or punish them for the +crimes of the guilty? Why call it a dispensation of Divine justice, +that would condemn to weeks, months and years of wretchedness, the +mortals he brought in the world himself? Who hath seen the hovel of +the pauper; beheld its wretched inmates, heard their tale of woe, +heard them tell of days passing without their having a crumb of bread +to satisfy the cravings of hunger, or seen them in that last stage of +destitution, when hunger brings on despair, until the mind wanders +from its seat, and madness takes its place; heard the raving of the +maniac, his frenzied call for bread, and his abject desolation, until +death came kindly to relieve his sufferings, and felt not that the +hand of God had never worked so much ill for his people? Is it +profanity to say that the eye of God had wandered from them? We +believe it; for the Book that teaches us of the Almighty, depicts him +as a God of mercy and compassion. The eye of the Omnipotent is not +upon the wretched. "He seeth all things," but there are times when His +eyes are turned from those who endure the storm of a cold and +heartless world, and He knows not of their suffering, until the Angel +of Death brings their spirit before the Judgment seat. + +God had not deserted the soldier's wife, but His eyes were turned +away, and He saw not her condition. Thus was she left unaided by the +hand of Providence. She felt her desolation, for as each day passed +by, and her condition became worse, she knew that her prayers were +unanswered. They reached not the ear of the Almighty, and the innocent +children were allowed to participate of that bitter cup, which the +chances of worldly fortune had placed before the unhappy family. + +Three days sped away quickly, and the fatal morning arrived. She had +no money to pay the rent, and the day passed away without Mr. Elder +receiving a visit from her. She dared not to tell him of her position, +but awaited patiently his arrival on the following day, for she well +knew he would be sure to come. + +The next morning saw him at her door, much annoyed at the trouble she +gave him to call and collect the money. Mrs. Wentworth had nothing to +say, nor had she a dollar to satisfy his demands. + +"Good morning, madam," he said, as she opened the door to admit him, +"I was much surprised at your not calling to pay the rent at my office +on yesterday. I admire punctuality above everything else." + +He entered the room, and cast his eyes on its empty walls. They did +not satisfy him, for the absence of any furniture told the tale of the +soldier's wife in a more graphic manner than words could have done. + +"What does this mean?" he enquired. + +"It means that necessity has compelled a mother to sacrifice +everything to keep her children from starving," Mrs. Wentworth +replied. + +"Humph," said Mr. Elder. "This is singular. So I suppose," he +continued, addressing her, "you will say you have no money to pay your +month's rent in advance." + +"I have not a dollar this day to buy bread," she answered. + +A frown gathered on Mr. Elder's brow, as he remarked: "I suppose you +recollect the arrangement made between us when you first hired the +room from me." + +"What arrangement was that?" she enquired in an absent manner. + +"That on you failing to pay the rent, I should have the power to +resume possession of the room, without giving you notice to leave." + +"I recollect," she said. + +"Well, in accordance with our arrangements, I shall require that you +vacate the room to-day, as I can procure another tenant, who will be +able to pay the rent promptly." + +"Do you mean that I must leave to-day," she asked. + +"Yes," he replied, "I desire to have the room renovated at once." + +"Where can I go to without money," she enquired, in a tone more like +as if she was addressing herself than speaking to him. + +"I really cannot tell my good, woman," he answered, "I am sorry for +your position, but cannot afford to lose the rent of my room, I am +compelled to pay my taxes, and support myself by the money I receive +from rent." + +"I cannot leave to-day," Mrs. Wentworth cried in a despairing tone. "I +cannot leave to-day. Oh, sir! look at my child lying on that wretched +bed, and tell me, if you can have the heart to turn me out, homeless, +friendless and alone." + +"My good Woman," he answered. "I cannot help your misfortunes, nor can +I do anything to assist you. If you can pay the rent, I have no +objection to your remaining, but if you can not, I will be compelled +to get another tenant who will be able." + +"Sir," she remarked, speaking slowly. "I am a woman with two children, +alone in this State. My husband and protector is now pining in a +Yankee prison, a sacrifice on the altar of his country. Let me ask you +as a man, and perhaps a father, to pause ere you turn a helpless woman +from the shelter of your property. You appear wealthy, and the sum +charged for the rent would make but little difference to you, if it +was never paid. Oh! do not eject us from this room. My child lies +there parched with fever, and to remove her may be fatal." + +"There is no necessity for any appeals to me," he replied. "If I were +to give way to such extravagant requests in your case, I should be +necessitated to do so in others, and the result would be, that I +should find myself sheltering all my tenants, without receiving any +pay for house rent. The idea cannot be entertained for a moment." + +"Let your own heart speak," she said, "and not the promptings of +worldly thoughts. All those who rent your houses are not situated as I +am. They are at home among friends, who will aid and succor them, if +ever necessity overtook them. I am far away from home and friends. +There is no one in this town that I can call upon for assistance, and +even now, my children are without food for want of funds to purchase +it. Do not add to my wretchedness by depriving them of shelter. Let me +know that if we are to die of starvation, a roof, at least, will cover +our bodies." + +He looked at her with unchanged countenance. Not even the movement of +a muscle, denoted that his heart was touched at her pathetic appeal. +His expression was as hard and cold as adamantine, nor did a single +feeling of pity move him. He cared for nothing but money; she could +not give him what he wanted, and too sentiment of commiseration, no +spark of charity, no feeling of manly regret at her sufferings entered +his bosom. + +"Be charitable," she continued. "I have prayed night after night to +God to relieve my necessities; I have walked the town through and +through in the effort to procure work, but my prayers have been +unanswered, and my efforts have proven unavailing. At times the +thought of the maelstrom of woe into which I am plunged, has well nigh +driven me to madness. My brain has seemed on fire, and the shrieks of +the maniac would have been heard resounding through the walls of this +room, but my children would come before me, and the light of reason +would again return. But for their sake I should welcome death as a +precious boon. Life has but every charm for me. In the pale and +alternated woman before you, none could recognize a once happy wife. +Oh, sir!" she continued, with energy; "believe me when I tell you that +for my children's sake alone, I now appeal. Hear me, and look with +pity on a mother's pleadings. It is for them I plead. Were I alone, no +word of supplication would you hear. I should leave here, and in the +cold and turbid waters of Pearl river, find the rest I am denied on +earth." + +"This is a very unaccountable thing to me," said Mr. Elder. "You make +an agreement to leave as soon as you fail to pay your rent, and now +that that hour has arrived, instead of conforming to your agreement, I +am beset with a long supplication. My good woman, this effort of yours +to induce me to provide a home for your family at my expense, cannot +be successful. You have no claim upon my charity, and those who have, +are sufficiently numerous already without my desiring to make any +addition. As I mentioned before, you must either find money to pay the +rent, or vacate the room." + +"Give me time," she said, speaking with an effort; "give me but two +days, and I will endeavor either to obtain the money, or to procure +somewhere to stay." + +Mr. Elder knit his brows again as he answered. "I cannot give you two +days, for I intend renting the room by to-morrow. You can, however, +remain here until this evening, at which time you must either be +prepared to leave, or find money to pay for the rent." + +"It is well," she replied. "I will do as you say." + +"Then you may expect me here this evening at dusk," he said, and +turning towards the door left the room muttering; "when will I ever +get rid of this crowd of paupers, who, it is always my luck to rent +rooms to." + +"God of Heaven aid me!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, as she closed the +door in the receding form of Mr. Elder, and sank on her knees before +the bed on which Ella lay in a high fever. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH. + +THE EJECTMENT + + +Mrs. Wentworth knew not where to go to procure money to pay the rent, +and when she asked Mr. Elder to give her time to procure either the +means of paying him, or to procure another place to stay, she did so +only to avert the threatened ejectment for a brief period. Nor did she +know where to procure another shelter. There was no one in the town +that she knew from whom she could have obtained a room to rent, unless +the money was paid in advance. + +After Mr. Elder's departure, she fell on her knees and prayed for +help, but she did so only from habit, not with the belief that an +Omnipotent arm would be stretched out to aid her. There she knelt and +prayed, until the thought of her sick child flashed across her brain, +and rising, she stooped over and enquired how she felt. + +"The same way," answered Ella. "I feel very hot, and my throat is +quite parched." + +"You have got the fever, darling," said Mrs. Wentworth.--"Is there +anything I can do for you?" + +"Nothing," replied Ella, "except," she continued, "you could get me +something sweet to take this bitter taste from my mouth." + +A pang shot through Mrs. Wentworth's heart as she replied, "I cannot +get anything just now. You must wait until a little later in the day." + +She spoke sadly, for it was a deception that she was practicing upon +her child, when she promised to gratify her wishes at a later hour. + +"Never mind," observed Ella. "Do not trouble yourself, my dear mother, +I do not want it very badly." + +The little girl defined the cause of her mother's not acceding to her +request at that moment, and she had no desire to cause her additional +pain, by again asking for anything to moisten her parched lips, or +remove the dry and bitter taste that the fever had caused. + +Mrs. Wentworth had at last found out that Ella was sick.--Not from any +complaint of the child, for the little girl remained suffering in +silence, and never hinted that she was unwell.--But she had become so +weak that one morning, on endeavoring to rise from the bed, she fell +back and fainted from exhaustion, and on her mother's chafing her +forehead with water for the purpose of reviving her, discovered that +Ella had a hot fever. She was very much alarmed, and would have called +a doctor, but knowing no medical man who would attend her child +without remuneration, she was necessitated to content herself with +what knowledge she had of sickness. This had caused the money she had +remaining in her possession to be quickly expended. + +The little girl bore her illness uncomplainingly, and although each +day she sunk lower and felt herself getting weaker, she concealed her +condition, and answered her mother's questions cheerfully. She was a +little angel that God had sent to Mrs. Wentworth. She was too young to +appreciate the extent of her mother's wretchedness, but she saw that +something was wrong and kept silent, and she lay there that day sick. +There was no hope for the child. Death had marked her as his prey, and +nothing could stay or turn away his ruthless hand from this little +flower of earth. Stern fate had decreed that she should die. The +unalterable sentence had been registered in the book of Heaven, and an +angel stood at her bedside ready to take her to God. + +The day passed over the wretched family. Ella lay on the bed in +silence throughout, what appeared to her, the long and weary hours; +the little boy called every few minutes for bread, and as his infant +voice uttered the call, the agony of Mrs. Wentworth increased. Thus +was the day passed, and as the dusk of evening spread its mantle over +the town, the soldier's wife prepared to receive her summons for +ejectment. She was not kept waiting long. No sooner had the darkness +set in, than Mr. Elder, accompanied by another man, opened the door +and entered the room. + +"Well," he said, "have you succeeded in procuring money to pay the +rent." + +"I have not," Mrs. Wentworth answered. + +"I suppose you have made arrangements to go somewhere else then," he +remarked. + +"No," she replied. "My child has been ill all day long, and I was +compelled to remain here and attend to her wants." + +"That is very unfortunate," Mr. Elder remarked, "for this gentleman," +pointing to the stranger who accompanied him, "has made arrangements +to take the room, and will move into it to-night.". + +"Will he not wait until the morning," she enquired. + +"I do wot know," he replied. "Will you," he asked, speaking to the +man, "be willing to wait until to-morrow before you take possession?" + +"Bo jabers! I've got to leave my owld room to-night, and if I cannot +git this I must take another that I can get in town," answered the +man, who was a rough and uneducated son of the Emerald Isle. + +"That settles the matter, then," observed Mr. Elder. "You will have to +leave," he continued, addressing Mrs. Wentworth. "You will perceive +that I cannot lose a tenant through your remaining in the room +to-night." + +"Och!" said the Irishman, "if the lady can't lave to-night, shure ah' +I will take the other room, for be jabers I wouldn't have a woman +turned out of doors for me." + +"You need not fear about that, my good friend," remarked Mr. Elder. +"Does the room suit you?" + +"Yes! It does well enough for myself and my children," was the answer. + +"Then you can consider yourself a tenant from to-night," Mr. Elder +said. "Go and bring your things here. By the time you return I shall +have the room vacated and ready for you." + +"Jist as you say, yer honor," replied the man, as he bowed himself +from the room. + +"And now, my good woman," remarked Mr. Elder, "you will perceive the +necessity of removing your children and whatever articles you may have +here to some other place at once. I cannot be induced to grant any +further time, and lose tenants by the operation." + +"Great God, sir!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, "where am I to go to? I +know of no place where I can find a shelter this night. You cannot, +must not, force me to leave." + +"I trust you will not put me to the necessity of having you ejected by +force," remarked Mr. Elder. "You are fully aware that by the +arrangement entered into between us, when you first rented the room, +that I am doing nothing illegal in requiring you to leave. You will +save me both trouble and pain by doing as I have requested." + +"I cannot," she replied, pressing her hands to her forehead, and then +bursting into tears she exclaimed appealingly: "For the sake of God +have pity, sir! Let not your heart be so hardened, but turn and +befriend a soldiers wretched wife. There is scarce a beast but +contains some touch of feeling, scarce a heart but vibrates in some +degree, and beats with a quicker pulsation at the sight of poverty and +misery. Let me hope that yours contains the same feeling, and beats +with the same sorrow at the miserable scene before you. Look around +you, sir, and see the destitution of my family; go to the side of that +lowly bed and press your hand upon the burning brow of my child; call +that little boy and ask him how long he has been without food, look at +a wretched mother's tears, and lot a gracious God remove the hardness +from your heart, and drive us not homeless from this roof. Think not +that the ragged, woman who now stands before you, weeping and +pleading, would have thus supplicated without a cause. There was a +time when I never dreamed of experiencing such suffering and hardship, +such bitter, bitter woe. Oh! sir, let pity reign dominant in your +heart." + +He was unmoved. Why should he care for the misery of strangers? Was he +not of the world as man generally finds it? The exceptions to the rule +are not of this earth. They occupy a place in the celestial realms, +for, if even they may have committed sins in early life, their deeds +of charity blots out the record, and they enter Heaven welcomed by the +hosts of angels who dwell there, while their absence from this creates +a void not easily filled. + +Mr. Elder answered her not for several minutes. He stood there with +his arms folded, silently gazing upon the thin form of Mrs. Wentworth, +who, with clasped hands and outstretched arms, anxiously awaited his +decision. But he gave no promise of acquiescence, no hope of pity, no +look of charity in his features--they looked cold, stern, and vexed. + +There she stood the picture of grief, awaiting the words that would +either give her hope or plunge her forever into the fathomless depths +of despair. The eyes of the soldier's wife were turned on Mr. Elder +with a sad and supplicating look. In any other but the cold, +calculating creature before her, their look might have moved to pity, +but with him nothing availed; not even a struggle for mastery between +humanity and brutality could be seen, and as she gazed upon him she +felt that there was no chance of her wishes being gratified. + +Her little son clung to her dress half frightened at the attitude of +his mother, and the stern and unforbidding aspect of Mr. Elder. Ella +strove to rise while her mother was speaking, but fell back on her bed +unable to perform the effort. She was, therefore, content to be there +and listen to the conversation as it occurred between Mr. Elder and +her mother. Her little heart was also tortured, for this had been the +first time she had ever heard such passionate and earnest language as +was depicted in Mrs. Wentworth's words. + +At last Mr. Elder spoke, and his words were eagerly listened to by +Mrs. Wentworth. + +"This annoys me very much," he said. "Your importunities are very +disagreeable to me, and I must insist that they shall cease. As I told +you before, I cannot afford to lose tenants in an unnecessary act of +liberality, and through mistaken charity. The fact is," he continued +in a firm and decisive tone, "you _must_ leave this room to-night. I +will not listen to any more of your pleading. Your case is but the +repetition of many others who fled from their homes and left all they +had, under the impression that the people of other States would be +compelled to support them. This is a mistaken idea, and the sooner its +error is made known the better it will be for the people of the South, +whose homes are in the hands of the enemy." + +"Then you are determined that my children and myself shall be turned +from the shelter of this room to-night," she enquired, dropping her +hands by her side, and assuming a standing attitude. + +"You have heard what I have already said, my good woman," he replied. +"And let me repeat, that I will listen to no further supplications." + +"I shall supplicate to you no more," she answered. "I see, alas! too +well, that I might sooner expect pity from the hands of an uncivilized +Indian than charity or aid from you. Nor will I give you any trouble +to forcibly eject me." + +"I am very glad to hear it," he rejoined. + +"Yes," she continued, without noticing his words, "I shall leave of my +own accord, and there," she said, pointing to Ella, "lies my sick +child. Should exposure on this night cause her death, I shall let you +know of it that you may have some subject, accruing from your +heartless conduct, on which to ponder." + +Slowly she removed all the articles that were in the room, and placed +them on the sidewalk. There were but few things in the room, and her +task was soon completed. + +"Come, darling," she said as she wrapped up Ella in a cover-lid and +lifted the child in her arms, "come, and let us go." + +Mr. Elder still stood with folded arms looking on. + +"Farewell, sir," she said, turning to him, "you have driven a +soldier's helpless wife and children from the roof that covered them +into the open streets, with none other than skies above as a covering. +May God pardon you as I do," and speaking to the little boy who still +clung to her dress, she replied, "Come, darling, let us go." + +Go where? She knew not, thought not where. She only knew that she was +now homeless. + +The clouds looked as serene, the stars twinkled as merrily as ever, +and the moon shed as bright a light upon the form of the soldier's +wife, as she walked out of that room, a wanderer upon the earth, as it +did on scenes of peace and happiness. The Ruler of the Universe saw +not the desolate mother and her children; thus there was no change in +the firmament, for had He gazed upon them at that moment, a black +cloud would have been sent to obscure the earth, and darkness would +have taken the place of light. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH. + +THE RESTING PLACE--ANOTHER VISIT TO MR. SWARTZ. + + +The mother and her child walked on in silence. Mrs. Wentworth knew not +where to go. From her heart the harrowing cry of desolation went out, +and mingled with the evening air, filling it with the sound of +wretchedness, until it appeared dull and stifling. But she knew not +this, for to her it had never appeared pleasant. For weeks past her +cup of misery had been filling, and as each drop of sorrow entered the +goblet of her life, so did all sense of what was happy and lovely +depart from her heart. She was, indeed, a breathing figure of all that +could be conceived miserable and unhappy. The flowers that bloomed in +the Spring time of her happy years, had withered in the winter of her +wretched weeks, and over the whole garden of her life, nothing but the +dead and scentless petals remained, to tell of what was once a +paradise of affection--a blooming image of love. + +As she walked on she discovered that the child she carried in her arms +had fainted. She paused not for consideration, but observing a light +in a small cabin near by, she hurriedly bent her steps towards it, and +entered through the half opened door. It was the home of an aged negro +woman, and who looked up much surprised at the intrusion. + +"Here, auntie," Mrs. Wentworth said hastily, "give me some water +quickly, my child has fainted." + +"Goodness, gracious, what could ha' made you bring dem children to dis +part of de town dis time o' night," exclaimed the old negress, as she +hastened to do the bidding of Mrs. Wentworth, who had already placed +the inanimate body of Ella on the negro's humble bed. + +The water being brought, Mrs. Wentworth sprinkled it upon the face of +the child, but without avail. Ella still remained motionless, and to +all appearances lifeless. + +"Great Heaven!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, "my child cannot be dead!" + +"Top a bit, mistis, an' I will fix de little gal for you," said the +old negro, hobbling, to the bedside, with a small bottle filled with +camphor in her hand. "Dis stuff will bring her to. Don't be afeard, +she ain't dead." + +Pouring out some of the stimulant in one hand, the kind-hearted old +woman bathed Ella's face with it, and held the bottle to her nostrils, +until a sigh from the child showed that she still lived. After a few +seconds she opened her eyes, and looked up to her mother, who was, +bending with anxious countenance over her. + +"Dar now," said the old negro in a tone of satisfaction, "did not I +tell you dat de sweet little child was libbing." + +"Thank you, old woman, God in Heaven bless you!" exclaimed Mrs. +Wentworth, as she clapped the old woman's hand in her own. + +"Berry well, berry well," was the answer of the negro, "you welcome +misses." + +There, in the cabin of that good old slave, the soldier's wife heard +the first voice of kindness that had greeted her ears for months. From +the hands of a servile race she had received the first act of charity, +and in a land like this. In the performance of that kindness, the old +slave had done more to elevate herself than all the philanthropists +and abolitionists of the North could have done. Could the cursed race, +whose war upon the South have seen this act, they would have conceded +to her people the justice of their right to slavery, when such a slave +as this existed. + +"What make you come to dis part ob town to-night, missis," asked the +negro, after a few moments of silence. + +"Nothing, nothing, my good woman," replied Mrs. Wentworth hastily. She +could not let a slave know of her trials and misery. + +"Poh ting!" ejaculated the old woman in a compassionate tone, but too +low for Mrs. Wentworth to hear her. "I 'spec her husband been treatin' +her bad. Dem men behave berry bad sometime," and with a sigh she +resumed her silence. + +The soldier's wife sat by the bedside, on one of the rude chairs, that +formed a portion of the furniture, and remained plunged in thought. A +deep sleep had overtaken Ella, although her breathing was heavy, and +the fever raged with redoubled violence. + +"Mother can't I get something to eat?" asked her little son. His words +woke his mother from her thoughts, but before she could reply, the old +negro had forestalled. + +"Is it some ting you want to eat, my little darling," she enquired, +rising from her seat, and going to a little cupboard near the door of +the room. + +"Yes granny," he answered, "I am quite hungry." + +"Bress your little heart," she remarked, giving him a large piece of +bread. "Here is some ting to eat." + +Taking the child on her knees, she watched him until he had completed +eating the food, when putting him down, she opened a trunk, and pulled +out a clean white sheet, which she placed on a little mattress near +the bed. + +"Come now," she said, "go to bed now like a good boy." + +The child obeyed her, and was soon enjoying a refreshing sleep. + +"Where will you sleep to-night, auntie," asked Mrs. Wentworth, who had +been a silent observer of the old woman's proceedings. + +"I got some tings 'bout here; missis, dat will do for a bed," she +answered. + +"I am sorry I have to take away your bed to-night," remarked Mrs. +Wentworth, "but I hope I will be able to pay you for your kindness +some time." + +"Dat's all right," replied the old negress, and spreading a mass of +different articles on the floor, she crept in among them, and shortly +after fell asleep, leaving Mrs. Wentworth alone with her thoughts, +watching over the sleeping forms of her children. + +The next morning the old woman woke up early, and lighting fire, made +a frugal but amply sufficient breakfast, which, she placed before her +uninvited guests. Mrs. Wentworth partook of the meal but slightly, and +her little son ate heartily. Ella being still asleep, she was not +disturbed. Shortly after the meal was over, the old negro left the +cabin, saying she would return some time during the day. + +About nine o'clock, Ella woke, and feebly called her mother. Mrs. +Wentworth approached the bedside, and started back much shocked at the +appearance of her child. The jaws of the little girl had sunk, her +eyes were dull and expressiveless and her breath came thick and +heavily. + +"What do you wish my darling," enquired her mother. + +"I feel quite sick, mother," said the little girl, speaking faintly +and with great difficulty. + +"What is the matter with you?" Mrs. Wentworth asked, her face turning +as pale as her child's. + +"I cannot breathe," she answered, "and my eyes feel dim. What can be +the matter?" + +"Nothing much, my angel," replied her mother. "You have only taken a +cold from exposure in the air last night. Bear up and you will soon +get well again." + +"I feel so different now from what I did before," she remarked. +"Before I was so hot, and now I feel as cold as ice." + +Mrs. Wentworth put her hand upon the face of her child. It was indeed +as cold as ice, and alarmed the mother exceedingly. She knew not how +to act; she was alone in the cabin, and even had the old negro been at +home, she had no money to purchase medicines with. She was determined, +however, that something should be done for her child, and the thought +of again appealing to Mr. Swartz for assistance came into her mind. + +"Perhaps, he will loan me a small sum of money when he learns how +destitute I am, and that my child is very ill," she said musingly, and +then added: "At any rate I will try what I can do with him." + +Turning to Ella Mrs. Wentworth said: "Do you think you could remain +here with your brother until my return. I want to go out and get +something for you to take." + +"Yes, mother, but do not be long," she replied. "I will try and keep +brother by me while you are away." + +"Very well," said Mrs. Wentworth, "I shall make haste and return." + +Admonishing her little son not to leave the room during her absence, +Mrs. Wentworth was on the point of leaving the room when Ella called +to her: "Be sure to come back soon, mother," she said. "I want you +back early particularly." + +"Why, my darling?" enquired her mother. + +"Why, in case I should be going to--" Here her voice sunk to a +whisper, and her mother failed to catch what she said. + +"In case you should be going to, what?" enquired Mrs. Wentworth. + +"Nothing, mother," she replied. "I was only thinking, but make haste +and come back." + +"I will," her mother answered, "I will come back immediately." + +Choking the sob that rose in her throat, Mrs. Wentworth left the room +and proceeded towards Mr. Swartz's office. Her visit was a hopeless +one, but she determined to make the trial. She could not believe that +the heart of every man was turned against the poor and helpless. + +What a world is this we live in! We view with calm indifference the +downfall of our fellow-mortals. We see them struggling in the billows +of adversity, and as our proud bark of wealth glides swiftly by, we +extend no helping hand to the worn swimmer. And yet we can look upon +our past life with complacency, can delight to recall the hours of +happiness we have past, and if some scene of penury and grief is +recalled to our memory, we drive away the thought of what we then +beheld and sought not to better. + +What is that that makes man's heart cold as the mountain tops of +Kamtschatka? It is that cursed greed for gain--that all absorbing +ambition for fortune--that warps the heart and turns to adamant all +those attributes of gentleness with which God has made us. The haggard +beggar and the affluent man of the world, must eventually share the +same fate. No matter that on the grave of the first--"no storied urn +records who rests below," while on the grave of the other, we find in +sculptured marble long eulogies of those who rest beneath, telling us +"not what he was, but what he should have been." Their end is the +same, for beneath the same sod they "sleep the last sleep that knows +no waking," and their spirits wing their flight to the same eternal +realms, there to be judged by their own merits, and not by the station +they occupied below. + +If there are men in this world who cannot be changed by wealth, Swartz +was not of the number. What cared he for the sighs of the desolate, +the appeals of the hungry, or the tears of the helpless? His duty was +but to fill his coffers with money, and not to expend it in aimless +deeds of charity. He looked upon the poor just as we would look upon a +reptile--something to be shunned. + +It was indeed a wild hallucination that induced Mrs. Wentworth to bend +her steps towards his office. Could he have seen her as she was +coming, he would have left his room, for the sight of the mendicant +filled him with greater horror than a decree of God declaring that the +end of the world had come. + + + + +CHAPTER NINETEENTH. + +AN ACT OF DESPAIR. + + +Mrs. Wentworth reached the store of Mr. Swartz and entered. The clerk +looked at her in astonishment. She was unrecognizable. Her dress was +ragged and dirty; the hands and face that once rivalled the Parian +marble in whiteness, were tanned by toil, and lay shrivelled and +dried. Her hair was dishevelled and gathered up in an uncomely heap on +the back of her head. She looked like the beggar, she had become. + +"Some beggar," the clerk said, in a contemptuous tone, as he advanced +towards her. + +"Is Mr. Swartz in?" enquired Mrs. Wentworth in a husky tone. + +"What do you want with him?" he demanded in a gruff voice. + +"I desire to see him privately, for a few moments," she answered. + +"If it is charity you have come to beg, you may as well save yourself +the trouble," observed the clerk. "This house don't undertake to +support all the beggars in Jackson." + +As his brutal words fell on her ear, a spark of womanly dignity filled +her breast, and her eyes kindled with indignation. She looked at him +for a moment sternly and silently, until her gaze caused him to turn +his countenance from her, abashed at the mute rebuke she had +administered. The pride of by-gone days had returned, with the +unfeeling remarks of the clerk, and Mrs. Wentworth again felt all the +bitterness of her position. + +"I did not say I was an applicant for charity," she said at last "All +I desire to know is, if Mr. Swartz is in." + +"I believe he is," replied the clerk. "Do you wish to see him, ma'am." + +His tone was more respectful. Even poverty can command respect at +times, and the threadbare garment be looked upon with as much +difference as the gorgeous silken dress. It was so at this moment. + +"Yes, I desire to see him," answered Mrs. Wentworth. "Be kind enough +to inform Mr. Swartz that a lady has called upon him." + +As she used the word "lady," the clerk elevated his eyebrows, and a +smile of pity stole over his features. Lady! Could the miserable +looking object, who stood before him have any claim to the title. Poor +woman! She knew not that the outward form of woman is the only +recognized title to the term. What though the mind be filled with the +loftiest sentiment, and stored with the richest lore of learning. What +though the heart be purer than the snow which covers the mountain +tops, can they ever claim a position among the favorites of fortune, +when accompanied by beggary? Philanthropists, and philosophers tell us +they can, but the demon, Prejudice, has erected a banner, which can +never be pulled down, until man resumes the patriarchal life of +centuries ago, and society, the mockery by which we claim civilization +was built up, is removed from the earth, and mankind can mingle with +each other in free and unrestricted intercourse. + +That day will never come. + +But to return to our story. The clerk looked pityingly at Mrs. +Wentworth for a moment, then walked to the door of Mr. Swartz's +office, and knocked. + +The door was opened. + +"There is a _lady_ here who wants to see you on private business," he +said with emphasis. + +"Shust tell de lady I will see her in a few minutes," replied the +voice of Mr. Swartz, from the interior of the room. + +The clerk withdrew, after closing the door, and advanced to where Mrs. +Wentworth was standing. + +"Mr. Swartz will see you in a few moments, he said." + +"Go back for me, and tell him my business is urgent, and will admit of +no delay," she answered. + +Her thoughts were of the little girl, who lay ill on the bed in the +negro's cabin, and to whom she had promised to return quickly. + +The clerk withdrew, and announced her wishes, to his employer. + +"Vell," said Mr. Swartz. "Tell her to come in." + +She walked up to the door, and as she reached the threshold it opened +and Mr. Elder, stood before her. She spoke not a word as he started +from surprise at her unexpected appearance. She only gazed upon him +for awhile with a calm and steady gaze. Hastily dropping his eyes to +the ground, Mr. Elder recovered his usual composure, and brushing past +the soldier's wife left the store, while she entered the office where +Mr. Swartz was. + +"Oot tam," he muttered as she entered. "I shall give dat clerk te +tevil for sending dis voman to me. Sum peggar I vill pet." + +"I have called on you again, Mr. Swartz," Mrs. Wentworth began. + +Mr. Swartz looked at her as if trying to remember where they had met +before, but he failed to recognize her features. + +"I don't know dat you vash here to see me pefore," he replied. + +"You do not recognize me," she remarked, and then added: "I am the +lady who sold her last piece of furniture to you some time ago." + +He frowned as she reminded him who she was, for he then surmised what +the object of her visit was. + +"Oh!" he answered, "I recollect you now, and vat do you vant?" + +"I have come upon the same errand," she replied. "I have come once +more to ask you to aid me, but this time come barren of anything to +induce you to comply with my request. Nothing but the generous +promptings of your heart can I hold up before you to extend the +charity I now solicit." + +"You have come here to peg again," he observed, "but I cannot give you +anything. Gootness! ven vill te place pe rid of all te peggers?" + +"I cannot help my position," she said. "A cruel fortune has deprived +my of him who used to support me, and I am now left alone with my +children to eke out the wretched existence of a pauper. Last night I +was turned out of my room by the man who left here a few seconds ago, +because I could not pay for my rent. One of my children was sick, but +he cared not for that. I told him of my poverty, and he turned a deaf +ear towards me. I was forced to leave, and my child has become worse +from exposure in the night air." + +"And vot have I cot to do mit all dis," he enquired. + +"You can give me the means of purchasing medicine for my sick child," +she replied. "The amount thus bestowed cannot cause you any +inconvenience, while it may be the means of saving life." + +"Dis never vill do," Mr. Swartz said, interrupting her. "My goot +woman, you must go to somepody else, I can't give away my monish." + +"You have got a plenty," she persisted, "you are rich. Oh, aid me! If +you believe there is a God above, who rewards the charitable, aid me, +and receive the heartfelt blessings of a mother. Twenty dollars will +be enough to satisfy my present wants, and that sum will make but +little difference to a man of your wealth." + +"Mine Cot!" he exclaimed, "If I make monish I work for it, and don't +go about begging." + +"I know that," she answered, "and it is to the rich that the poor must +appeal for assistance. This has made me come to you this day. Let my +desire be realized. Aid me in saving the life of my child who is now +lying ill, and destitute of medical attendance." + +He could not appreciate her appeal, and he again refused. + +"I can't give you any ding," he answered. + +"There is a virtue which shines far more than all the gold you +possess," replied Mrs. Wentworth. "It is in man what chastity is in a +woman. An act of charity ennobles man more than all the fame bestowed +upon him for any other merit, and his reward is always commensurate +with his works. Let this virtue move you. The ear of God cannot always +be turned against my prayers to Him, and the hour must surely come, +when my husband will be released from prison, and be enabled to repay +any kindness you may show his wife and children. Let me have the money +I have asked you for." "Oh, sir!" she continued, falling on her knees +before him, "believe the words I speak to you, and save my child from +the hands of death. But a short time ago I left her gasping for +breath, with cold drops of perspiration resting on her brow, perhaps +the marks of approaching dissolution. She is very ill, and can only +recover through proper treatment. Place it in my power to call a +physician and to procure medicines, and I shall never cease to bless +you." + +He moved uneasily in his chair, and averted his head from where she +was kneeling, not because he felt touched at her appeal, but because +he felt annoyed at her importuning him for money. + +"Here my voman," he said at last. "Here is von tollar pill, dat is all +I can give you." + +She looked at the note in his extended hand, and felt the mockery. + +"It will not do," she answered. "Let me have the amount I have asked +you for. You can spare it. Do not be hardened. Recollect it is to +provide medicine for the sick." + +"I can't do it," he replied. "You should be shankful for what you +get." + +His motive in offering her the dollar, was not from a charitable +feeling, it was only to get rid of a beggar. + +"Oh God!" she groaned, rising from her knees, and resting her elbow on +an iron safe near by. "Have you a heart?" she exclaimed wildly, "I +tell you my child is ill, perhaps at this moment dying, aid me! aid +me! Do not turn away a miserable mother from your door to witness her +child die through destitution, when it is in your power to relieve its +sufferings, and save it, so that it may live to be a blessing and +solace to me. If not for my sake, if not for the sake of the child, +let me appeal to you for charity, for the sake of him, who is now +imprisoned in a foreign dungeon. He left me to defend you from the +enemy--left his wife and children to starve and suffer, for the +purpose of aiding in that holy cause we are now engaged in conflict +for. For his sake, if for no other, give me the means of saving my +child." + +He did not reply to her passionate words, but simply rang a bell that +stood on the table before which he was seated. His clerk answered the +summons. + +"If you vont quit mithout my making you," he observed to Mrs. +Wentworth in a brutal tone, "I must send for a police officer to take +away. Gootness," he continued, speaking to himself, "I pelieve te +voman is mat." + +"Save yourself the trouble," she replied, "I will leave. I am not yet +mad," she added. "But, oh, God! the hour is fast approaching when +madness must hold possession of my mind. I go to my child--my poor +dying child. Oh, Heaven, help me!" + +As she moved her hand from the safe, she perceived a small package of +money lying on it. She paused and looked around. The clerk had +withdrawn at a sign from Mr. Swartz, while that gentleman was gazing +intently at the open pages of a ledger, that lay before him. For a +moment she hesitated and trembled from head to foot, while the warm +blood rushed to her cheeks, until they were a deep crimson hue. +Swiftly she extended her hand towards the package, and grasped it; in +another instant it was concealed in her dress, and the act of despair +was accomplished. + +"God pity me!" she exclaimed, as she left the room and departed from +the scene of her involuntary crime. + +Despair had induced her to commit a theft, but no angel of God is +purer in mind than was the Soldier's Wife, when she did so. It was the +result of madness, and if the Recording Angel witnessed the act, he +recorded not the transgression against her, for it was a sin only in +the eyes of man; above it was the child of despair, born of a pure and +innocent mind, and there is no punishment for such. + +"Thank God, I have the means of saving my darling child," exclaimed +Mrs. Wentworth, as she bent her steps towards a druggist's store. +Entering it, she purchased a few articles of medicine, and started for +the old negro's cabin, intending to send the old woman for a +physician, as soon as she could reach there. + +Swiftly she sped along the streets. Many passers by stopped and looked +with surprise at her rapid walking. They knew not the sorrows of the +Soldier's Wife. Many there were who gazed upon her threadbare +habiliments and haggard features, who could never surmise that the +light of joy had ceased to burn in her heart. Their life had been one +long dream of happiness, unmarred, save by those light clouds of +sorrow, which at times flit across the horrizon of man's career, but +which are swiftly driven away by the sunshine of happiness, or +dissipated by the gentle winds of life's joyous summer. + +And the crowds passed her in silence and surprise, but she heeded them +not. Her thoughts were of the angel daughter in the negro's lonely +cabin. To her she carried life; at least she thought so, but the +inevitable will of Death had been declared. Ella was dying. + +The eye of God was still turned from the widow and her children. He +saw them not, but his Angels, whose duty it is to chronicle all that +occurs on earth, looked down on that bright autumn day, and a tear +fell from the etherial realms in which they dwelt, and rested upon the +Soldier's Wife. + +It was the tear of pity, not of relief. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTIETH + +THE DYING CHILD. + + +After the departure of Mrs. Wentworth, the little girl lie still upon +the bed, while her little brother played about the room. Nearly one +hour elapsed in silence. The breath of the child became shorter and +harder drawn. Her little face became more pinched, while the cold +drops of perspiration rose larger on her forehead. Instinct told her +she was dying, but young as she was, death created no terrors in her +heart. She lay there, anxious for her mother's return, that she may +die in the arms of the one who gave her birth. Death seemed to her but +the advent to Heaven, that home in which we are told all is goodness +and happiness. She thought herself an Angel dwelling with the Maker, +and in her childish trustfulness and faith almost wished herself +already numbered among the Cherubs of Paradise. + +The old negro returned before Mrs. Wentworth, and walking to the +bedside of the child, looked at her, and recognized the impress of +approaching death. She felt alarmed, but could not remedy the evil. +Looking at the child sorrowfully for a moment, she turned away. + +"Poh chile," she muttered sadly, "she is dyin' sho' and her mammy is +gone out. Da's a ting to take place in my room." + +"Granny," said Ella feebly. + +"What do you want my darlin' chile," answered the old woman, returning +to the bedside. + +"See if mother is coming," she requested. + +The old woman walked to the door, and looked down the street. There +was no sign of Mrs. Wentworth. + +"No missy," she said to Ella, "your mammy is not coming yet." + +"Oh, I do wish she would come," remarked the little girl. + +"Lie still, darlin'," the old woman answered. "Your mammy will come +back directly." + +The child lay still for several minutes, but her mother came not and +she felt that before many hours she would cease to live. + +"Look again, granny, and see if mother is coming," she again +requested, and in a fainter tone. + +The old woman looked out once more, but still there was no sign of +Mrs. Wentworth. + +"Neber mind, darlin' your mammy will cum directly," she said, and then +added. "Let me know what you want and I will git it for you." + +"I don't want anything, granny," Ella answered, and remained silent +for a moment, when she continued: "Granny aint I going to die?" + +The old negro looked at her for a moment, and a tear stole down her +withered features. She could not answer, for ignorant and uneducated +as she was, the signs which betoken the parting of the soul from the +body, were too apparent, not to be easily recognized. + +"Poh chile," she muttered, as she turned her head and brushed away the +falling tear. + +"Answer me, granny," said Ella. "I am not afraid to die, but I would +like to bid mother good-bye, before I went to Heaven." + +"Don't tink of sich tings chile'" observed the old woman. "You is sick +now only; lie still and you will soon see your mother." + +The time sped swiftly, but to the dying child it seemed an age. She +lay there; her life breath ebbing fast, waiting for her mother, that +she may die in her arms. Angels filled the lowly cabin, and held their +outstretched arms to receive the spirit of a sinless babe, as soon as +it would leave the mortal clay it animated. Soon, soon would it have +been borne on high, for the rattle in the child's throat had almost +commenced, when a hurried footstep was heard at the door, and Mrs. +Wentworth, pale and tired entered the room. + +The hand of Death was stayed for awhile, for the presence of the +mother started anew the arteries of life, and the blood once more +rushed to the cheeks of the dying. Ella held out her arms as her +mother approached her, with some medicine in her hand. As she gazed +upon her child, Mrs. Wentworth started back, and uttered a faint +exclamation of anguish. She saw the worst at a glance, and placing +aside the medicine, she seized her child's extended hands, and bending +over her, pressed her darling daughter to her heart. + +"Here aunty," she said, as soon us she had released Ella, "Here is +some money, run and call a physician at once." + +The old negro took the money and moved off. + +"Tell him to come instantly," she called out after the negro. "It is a +matter of life and death, and there is no time to lose." + +"Too late, too late! poor people," said the old woman, as she hurried +on her mission of mercy. + +It was too late. No science on earth could save Ella from death, and +none on high save the Infinite Power, but He knew not of it. His eyes +were still turned away from the Soldier's Wife and her children. + +Mrs. Wentworth remained silent, looking at her child as she gasped for +breath. Of what use was the money she had committed a crime to obtain? +Of what avail were her supplications to God? It were thoughts like +these that passed rapidly through her mind, as she speechlessly gazed +at the fast sinking form of her child. Ella saw her agony, and tried +to soothe her mother. + +"Come nearer to me, mother," she said. "Come near and speak to me." +Mrs. Wentworth drew near the bedside, and bent her face to the child. + +"What do you wish, darling?" she asked. + +"Mother, I am dying--I am going to Heaven," Ella said, speaking with +an effort. + +A smothered sob, was the only response she met with. + +"Don't cry mother," continued the child. "I am going to a good place, +and do not feel afraid to die." + +Shaking off her half maddened feeling, Mrs. Wentworth replied. "Don't +speak that way, darling. You are not going to die. The physician will +soon be here, and he will give you some thing which will get you +better." + +Ella smiled faintly. "No, mother, I cannot get better; I know I am +going to die. Last night, while sleeping, an angel told me in my +dream, that I would sleep with God to-night." + +"That was only a dream, darling," Mrs. Wentworth replied, "you will +get well and live a long time." + +As she spoke the old negro returned, accompanied by a physician. He +was one of these old fashioned gentlemen, who never concern themselves +with another's business, and therefore, he did not enquire the cause +of Mrs. Wentworth, and her family being in so poor a dwelling. His +business was to attend the sick, for which he expected to be paid; not +that he was hard-hearted, for, to the contrary, he was a very +charitable and generous man, but he expected that all persons who +required his advice, should have the means of paying for the same, or +go to the public hospital, where they could be attended to free of +charge. His notions were on a par with those of mankind in general, so +we cannot complain of him. + +Approaching Ella, he took her hand and felt the pulse which was then +feebly beating. A significant shake of the head, told Mrs. Wentworth +that there was no hope for her child's recovery. + +"Doctor," she asked, "will my daughter recover?" + +"Madam," he replied, "your child is very, very ill, in fact, I fear +she has not many hours to live." + +"It cannot be," she said. "Do not tell me there is no hope for my +child." + +"I cannot deceive you, madam," he replied, "the child has been +neglected too long for science to triumph over her disease. When did +you first call in a medical practitioner?" he added. + +"Not until you were sent for," she answered. + +"Then you are much to blame, madam," he observed bluntly. "Had you +sent for a physician three weeks ago, the life of your child would +have been saved, but your criminal neglect to do so, has sacrificed +her life." + +Mrs. Wentworth did not reply to his candid remarks. She did not tell +him that for weeks past her children and herself had scarcely been +able to find bread to eat, much less to pay a doctor's bill. She did +not tell him that she was friendless and unknown; that her husband had +been taken prisoner while struggling for his country's rights; that +Mr. Elder had turned herself and her children from a shelter, because +she had no money to pay him for the rent of the room; nor did she tell +him that the fee he had received, was obtained by theft--was the fruit +of a transgression of God's commandments. + +She forgot all these. The reproach of the physician had fallen like a +thunderbolt from Heaven, in her bosom. Already in her heart she +accused herself with being the murderess of her child. Already she +imagined, because her poverty had prevented her receiving medical +advice, that the accusing Angel stood ready to prefer charges against +her for another and a greater crime, than any she had ever before +committed. + +"Dying! dying!" she uttered at last, her words issuing from her lips, +as if they were mere utterances from some machine. "No hope--no hope!" + +"Accept my commiseration, madam," observed the physician, placing his +hat on, and preparing to depart. "Could I save your child, I would +gladly do so, but there is no hope. She may live until nightfall, but +even that is doubtful." + +Bowing to Mrs. Wentworth, he left the room, in ignorance of the agony +his reproach had caused her, and returned to his office. Dr. Mallard +was the physician's name. They met again. + +Ella had listened attentively to the physicians words, but not the +slightest emotion was manifested by her, when he announced that she +was dying. She listened calmly, and as the doctor had finished +informing her mother of the hopelessness of her case, the little pale +lips moved slowly, and the prayer that had been taught her when all +was joy and happiness, was silently breathed by the dying child. + +"Mother," she said, as soon as Dr. Mallard had left the room. "Come +here and speak to me before I die." + +"Ella! Ella!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth wildly. "Did you not hear what +the physician said?" + +"Yes, mother," she answered, "but I knew it before. Do not look so +sad, come and speak to me, and let me tell you that I am not afraid to +die." + +"Ella, my darling child," continued Mrs. Wentworth in the same strain. +"Did you not hear the physician say it is my neglect that had caused +you to be dying?" + +"I heard him mother, but he was not right," she replied. + +"Come nearer," she continued in an earnest tone. "Sit on the bed and +let me rest my head on your lap." + +Seating herself on the bed, Mrs. Wentworth lifted the body of the +dying child in her arms, and pillowed her head on her breast. The old +negro was standing at the foot of the bed, looking on quietly, while +the tears poured down her aged cheeks. Mrs. Wentworth's little son +climbed on the bed, and gazed in wonder at the sad aspect of his +mother, and the dying features of his sister. + +"Mother," said the child, "I am going to Heaven, say a prayer for me." +She essayed to pray, but could not, her lips moved, but utterance was +denied to her. + +"I cannot pray, darling," she replied, "prayer is denied to me." + +The child asked no more, for she saw her mother's inability to comply +with her wishes. + +The little group remained in the same position until the setting sun +gleamed through the window, and shed a bright ray across the bed. Not +a sound was heard, save the ticking of the old fashioned clock on the +mantle piece, as its hands slowly marked the fleeting minutes. The +eyes of the dying child had been closed at the time, but as the +sunlight shot across her face she opened them, and looked up into her +mother's face. + +"Open the window, granny," she said. + +The old woman opened it, and as she did so, the round red glare of the +sun was revealed, while the aroma of thousands wild flowers that grew +beneath the window, entered the room, and floated its perfume on the +autumn air. + +"Mother," said the dying child. + +Mrs. Wentworth looked down upon her child. + +"What is it darling," she asked. + +"Let brother kiss me," she requested. + +Her little brother was lifted up and held over her. She pressed a soft +kiss upon his lips. + +"Good-bye, granny," she said, holding out her hand to the negro. + +The old woman seized it, and the tears fell faster, on the bed than +they had hitherto done. Her humble heart was touched at the simple, +yet unfearing conduct of the child. + +"Mother, kiss me," she continued. "Do not be sad," she added, +observing her mother's pale and ghastly countenance. "I am going to a +world where no one is sick, and no one knows want." + +Stooping over her dying child, Mrs. Wentworth complied with Ella's +request, and pressed her brow in a long and earnest kiss. She had not +spoken a word from the time her child requested the old woman to open +the window, but she had never for an instant, ceased looking on the +features of her dying daughter, and she saw that the film was fast +gathering on her eyes. + +After her mother had kissed her, Ella remained silent for several +minutes, when suddenly starting, she exclaimed: "I see them, mother! I +see them! See the Angels coming for me--Heaven--mother--Angels!" A +bright smile lit her features, the half-opened eyes lit up with the +last fires of life; then as they faded away, her limbs relaxed, and +still gazing on her mother's face, the breath left the body. + +There was a rush as of wind through the window, but it was the Angels, +who were bearing the child's spirit to a brighter and a better world. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST. + +THE INTRUSION. + + +As soon as the breath had left her child's body, Mrs. Wentworth +removed the corpse from her lap and laid it on the bed; than standing +aside of it, gazed upon all that remained of her little daughter. Not +a tear, not a sigh, not a groan denoted that she felt any grief at her +bereavement. Except a nervous twitching of her mouth, her features +wore a cold and rigid appearance, and her eye looked dull and glassy. +She spoke not a word to those around her who yet lived. Her little boy +was unnoticed, no other object but the dead body appeared to meet her +view. + +There are moments when the fountains of grief become dried up. It was +so with Mrs. Wentworth. The sight of her dead child's face--beautiful +in death--for it wore a calm and placid exterior, too life-like for +death, too rigid for life, awoke no emotion in her bosom; nor did the +knowledge that the infant would soon be placed in the grave, and be +forever hidden from the gaze she now placed on it so steadfastly, +cause a single tear drop to gather in her eye, nor a sigh to burst +from her pale and firmly closed lips. And yet, there raged within her +breast a volcano, the violence of whose fire would soon exhaust, and +leave her scarred and blasted forever. At that moment it kindled with +a blaze, that scorched her heart, but she felt it not. Her whole being +was transformed into a mass of ruin. She felt not the strain on the +tendrils of her mind; that her overwrought brain was swaying between +madness and reason. She only saw the lifeless lineaments of her +child--the first pledge of her wedded affection--dead before her. + +It came to her like a wild dream, a mere hallucination--an imagination +of a distempered mind. She could not believe it. There, on that lowly +bed, her child to die! It was something too horrible for her thoughts, +and though the evidence lay before her, in all its solemn grandeur, +there was something to her eye so unreal and impossible in its silent +magnificence that she doubted its truthfulness. + +The old negro saw her misery. She knew that the waters which run with +a mild and silent surface, are often possessed of greater depth, than +those which rush onward with a mighty noise. + +"Come missis," she said, placing her hand on Mrs. Wentworth's +shoulder. "De Lord will be done. Nebber mind. He know better what to +do dan we do, and we must all be satisfy wid his works." + +Mrs. Wentworth looked at the old woman for a moment, and a bitter +smile swept across her countenance. What were words of consolation to +her? They sounded like a mockery in her heart. She needed them not, +for they brought not to life again the child whose spirit had winged +its flight to eternity, but a short time since. + +"Peace old woman," she replied calmly, "you know not what you say. +That," she continued, pointing to the body of Ella, "that you tell me +not to mourn, but to bend to the will of God. Pshaw! I mourn it not. +Better for the child to die than lead a beggar's life on earth." + +"Shame, shame missis," observed the old woman, very much shocked at +what appeared to her the insensibility of Mrs. Wentworth. "You musn't +talk dat way, it don't do any good." + +"You know not what I mean, auntie," Mrs. Wentworth answered in a +milder tone. "Why did I come here? Why did I bring my child ill and +dying from a shelter, and carry her through the night air, until I +found a home in your lonely cabin? Do you know why?" she continued +with bitterness. "It was because I was a beggar, and could not pay the +demands of the rich." + +"Poh lady!" ejaculated the old woman. "Whar is your husband." + +"My husband?" she replied. "Ah! where is he? Oh, God!" she continued +wildly. "Where is he now while his child lies dead through +destitution, and his wife feels the brand of the _thief_ imprinted +upon her forehead? Why is he not here to succor the infant boy who yet +remains, and who may soon follow his sister? Oh, God! Oh, God! that he +should be far away, and I be here gazing on the dead body of my +child--dead through my neglect to procure her proper medical +attendance; dead through the destitution of her mother." + +"Nebber mind, missis," observed the old negro soothingly, "De chile is +gone to heaben, whar it wont suffer any more." + +"Peace!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth passionately. "Do not talk to me of +Heaven. What has God done to aid me in my misery? Has he not suffered +me to feel the pangs of hunger, to see my children deprived of bread, +to permit me to stain my whole existence with a crime? The child is +gone to Heaven. Aye! there her sinlessness and innocence might give +her a welcome, and she may be happy, but the blank left in my heart, +the darkness of my mind, the cheerless and unpropitious future that +unveils itself before my aching eyes, can never be obliterated until I +am laid in the grave beside her, and my spirit has winged its flight +to the home where she now dwells." + +She spoke slowly and earnestly, but her words were of despair not of +grief. Motioning to the old woman that she desired no further +conversation, Mrs. Wentworth again fixed her gaze upon the dead +features of her child. On them she looked, until the tablet of her +memory contained but one impress, that of her daughter's face. All +records of past suffering, all anxiety for the present, all prayer for +the future, were driven away, and solitary and alone the image of the +dead child filled their place, and in that lone thought was +concentrated all that had transpired in her life for months past. It +was the last remaining bulwark to her tottering mind, and though it +still held reason dominant, the foundation of sanity had been shaken +to such an extent that the slightest touch and the fabric would fall +from its throne and crumble to dust at the feet of madness. But this +was unknown to God. He who knoweth all things still kept his eyes away +from the mother and her children. + +"Dead! dead!" said, Mrs. Wentworth, swaying her body to and fro. "My +angel child dead! Oh, God!"' she continued, passing her hand across +her brow. "That I should live to see this day, that this hour of +bereavement should ever be known to me. Oh! that this should be the +result of my sufferings, that this should be the only reward of my +toils and prayers." + +The blood rushed to her face, and her whole form trembled with an +uncontrollable agitation; her bosom heaved with emotion, and the +beatings of her heart were heard as plain as the click of the clock on +the mantlepiece. Stooping over the dead body she clasped it in her +arms, and pressed the bloodless and inanimate lips in a fond embrace. +It was the promptings of a mother's heart. She had nursed the child +when an infant, and had seen her grow up as beautiful as the fairies +so often described by the writers of fiction. She had looked forward +for the day when the child would bloom into womanhood, and be a +blessing and a comfort in her old age. All these were now forever +blighted. Not even the presence of her son awoke a thought within her +that the living remained to claim her care and affection. He was but a +link in the chain of her paternal love, and the bonds having been +broken she looked on the shattered fragment and sought not to unite +what yet remained in an unhurt state. + +When she rose from her stooping posture her face had resumed its cold +and rigid appearance. Turning to the old negro who was looking on in +silent wonder and grief, she enquired in a calm tone: "Have you any of +the money left that I gave you this morning?" + +"Yes, missis," she replied. "I got some left." + +"How much is it?" asked Mrs. Wentworth. + +"Twelve dollars," she answered, counting the notes that she had taken +from her pocket. + +"Will that be enough to pay for a coffin for my child?" Mrs. Wentworth +enquired. + +"I don't know, but I spect it will do," replied the old negro. + +"To make sure that it will be enough," observed Mrs. Wentworth, "here +is some more money to pay for it." As she spoke she handed several +notes to the old woman. "And now," she continued, "I want you to go +out and order a coffin, as I want the child to be buried to-morrow +morning." + +"I spec I better get de parson to preach over de poor chile," remarked +the old woman, who was a strict member of the church, and very +superstitious in relation to the evils that would accrue from a +departure from all that is laid down in religious tenets. + +"Yes, yes!" Mrs. Wentworth replied. "But there is no necessity of +going for him this evening, wait until early in the morning, that time +will do well enough." + +The old woman curtsied and moved out of the room. Arriving in town she +entered an undertaker's shop and enquired if he could furnish a coffin +by the next morning. On his answering in the affirmative she paid him +twenty dollars, the amount charged, and hastened back to her cabin. +The interest manifested by this old woman, was that usually shown to +all persons in distress by the faithful slave of the South. She had +not even learned Mrs. Wentworth's name, but the sight of her sad and +haggard features, as well as the death of Ella, had awaken a feeling +of sympathy for the unfortunate family; thus we see her obeying the +orders of her accidental guests, without making any objections. But to +return to the dead. + +As soon as Mrs. Wentworth was left alone, her face assumed its natural +appearance, and the rigid expression it had hitherto worn was +dispelled. Opening a bundle she had brought front her room, she took +out a white dress. It was one of the few remaining articles of +clothing she possessed, and had only been saved at the earnest +solicitation of the little Ella. It was her bridal robe; in that she +had walked up to the altar and plighted her troth to the loved husband +who was now a prisoner and far away. The first and last time she had +worn it was on that day, and as she gazed on it the memory of the past +rushed upon her. She thought of the hour when, as a blushing bride, +she leaned on the proud form of her lover, as they walked together in +the sacred edifice to register those vows that bound them in an +indissoluble tie, and unite their hearts in a stronger and holier love +than their lover's vows had done. Then she know not what sorrow was. +No gift of futurity had disclosed to her the wretchedness and penury +that after years had prepared for her. No, then all was joy and +happiness. As she stood by the side of her lover her maiden face +suffused with blushes, and her palpitating heart filled with mingled +felicity and anxiety as she looked down on the bridal dress that +covered her form. No thought, no dream, not even a fear of what after +years would bring to her, stirred the fountain of fear and caused her +a single pang. And now--but why trouble the reader with any further +remarks of the past? That is gone and forever. We have seen her tread +the paths in which all that is dismal and wretched abides; we have +seen herself and her children lead a life, the very thought of which +should cause us to pray it may never be our lot. Words can avail but +little. They only fill the brain with gladness for awhile to turn to +horror afterwards. We have but to write of the present. In it we find +misery enough, we find sorrow and wretchedness, without the hand of +compassion being held forth to help the miserable from the deep and +fearful gulf with which penury and want abound. + +The wedding dress was soiled and crumpled; the bunches of orange +blossoms with which it was adorned, lay crushed upon its folds--a fit +appearance for the heart of the owner--It looked like a relic of +grandeur shining in the midst of poverty, and as its once gaudy folds +rested against the counterpane in the bed, the manifest difference of +the two appeared striking and significant. + +For a moment Mrs. Wentworth gazed upon this last momento of long past +happiness, and a spasm of grief contracted her features. It passed +away, however, in an instant, and she laid the dress across the dead +body of her child. Drawing a chair to the bedside, she took from her +pocket a spool of thread, some needles and her scissors. Selecting one +of the needles, she thread it, and pinning it in the body of her +dress, removed the wedding gown from the body of her child, and +prepared to make a shroud of it. Rapidly she worked at her task, and +before darkness had set in, the burial garment was completed, and the +body of Ella was enclosed in the last robe she would wear on earth. + +The body of the dead child looked beautiful. The snowy folds of the +dress were looped up with the orange blossoms which Mrs. Wentworth had +restored to their natural beauty. On her cold, yet lovely brow, a +wreath of the same flowers was placed, while in her hand was placed a +tiny ivory cross, that Ella had worn around her neck while living. The +transformation was complete. The dress of the young and blooming bride +had become the habiliments of the dead child, and the orange blossoms +that rested on its folds and on the brow of Ella, were not more +emblematical for the dead than they had been for the living. + +"Oh! how pretty sister looks," exclaimed the little boy, who could not +comprehend why the dead body lie so motionless and stiff. "Wake her +up, mother," he continued, "she looks so pretty that I want her to +stand up and see herself." + +Mrs. Wentworth smiled sorrowfully at her son's remarks, but she did +not remove her features from the dead. The saint-like expression of +her child, and the placid and beautiful face that lay before her +devoid of animation, had awoke the benumbed feelings of affection +within her. A bright light flashed across her brain, and the long pent +up tears, were about to flow, when the door was widely opened, and a +dark shadow spread itself over the body of Ella. Checking her emotion, +Mrs. Wentworth looked around and beheld the figure of Mr. Swartz, +accompanied by two police officers. + +She spoke not a word at first, for in an instant the cause of his +visit was known. One look she gave him, which sunk into the inmost +depths of his soul; then turning to the dead child, she slowly +extended her hand and pointed to it. + +"There," she said at last. "Look there," and her face again wore its +former colorless and rigid aspect. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND. + +IMPRISONMENT OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. + + +We must now take a glance back at the time that Mrs. Wentworth +committed her act of despair in taking the package of money from the +safe. Mr. Swartz, as we stated, was then gazing intently at the open +pages of his ledger, and, in her leaving the room hurriedly, did not +take any other notice of her, than mere glance. He then resumed his +calculations, nor did he rise from his seat for nearly three hours +afterwards, so intent was he on the books before him. Rising up at +last, he walked to the safe, and observing that the package of money +was gone, called out to his clerk, who quickly answered the summons +and entered the room. + +"Vere is dat package of money I had on de safe dis morning?" he +enquired, as soon as the clerk had entered. + +"I have not seen anything of it, since I gave it into your hands this +morning at nine o'clock," the clerk replied. + +"Vell, I put it on top of dis safe," observed Mr. Swartz, "and I +forgot to lock it up, ven Mr. Elder came in, and kept me talking +nearly two hours, den de beggar came in and remained for a long time. +After dat I vas busy mit the ledger, and didn't think of it." + +"Perhaps you have placed it somewhere else, and cannot recollect +where," remarked the clerk, who was apprehensive that Mr. Swartz would +charge him with having stolen the money. + +"No, I didn't," answered Mr. Swartz, "De monish vas put down on de top +of the safe, for I remember putting it down here myself," he added, +pointing to the spot where the money had been. + +"You had better search about before you make certain of that," said +the clerk. "See if it is not in your pocket you may have placed it +there, and at the same time believe that you placed it on your safe." + +"Mine Cot!" answered Mr. Swartz, "I tell you I put the package on de +safe. See here," he continued, searching his pockets, and emptying +them of whatever they contained. "Don't you see dat de monish is not +in my pockets. It vas on de safe und unless somebody removed it, it +never could have gone away." + +"You should be certain, sir, before you insist that you placed it on +the safe," remarked the clerk. "Look in the draw of your desk, it may +have been placed there as well as any other place." + +With a gesture of impatience Mr. Swartz opened the drawers of the +desk, and removing everything they contained searched carefully among +the large number of papers for the missing package. It was not there +however, and turning to the clerk who was standing near by, he pointed +to the table to indicate the fact of its absence among the papers he +had taken from the drawers. + +"I told you it vash not tere," he remarked. "Somebody has taken te +monish, and, py Cot! I vill find out who has got it." + +"Don't be so hasty in your conclusions, sir," said the clerk. "Let us +search the room carefully, and see whether it has not been mislaid by +you. It will never do," he added, "to charge anybody with having taken +the money, when it may be lying about the room." + +"Vere can it pe lying?" asked Mr. Swartz angrily. "I tell you it vash +on te safe, and tere ish no use looking any where else." + +"That maybe so, sir," replied the clerk, "but if you will give me +permission I will search the room well before you take any further +steps in the matter." + +"You can look if you like," observed Mr. Swartz, "but I know tere ish +no chance of your finding it, and it ish only giving yourself trouble +for noting." + +"Never do you mind that, sir," the clerk answered. "I am willing to +take the trouble." + +Removing the books from the top of the safe he carefully shook them +out, but the package was not among them. He then replaced them and +turned the safe round, with the hope that the money might have fallen +under it. The same success, however, attended him, and he was +compelled to renew his efforts. Everything in the room was removed +without the package being found. After a minute and diligent search he +was compelled to give up the work in despair, and ceasing he stood +trembling before Mr. Swartz, who, he momentarily expected, would +charge him with having committed a theft. But for this fear he would +never have taken the trouble of upsetting and replacing everything in +the room, but would have been perfectly satisfied for his employer to +sustain the loss. + +"Vell!" said Mr. Swartz. "I suppose you ish satisfied dat te monish +ain't here." + +"Its disappearance is very singular," replied the clerk. "If, as you +say, the package was laid on the safe and never removed by you, +somebody must have taken it away." + +"Of course, somepody tock it," remarked Mr. Swartz. "How te tevil +could it go mitout it vash taken away py somepody?" + +"Do you suspect any one of having stolen it," asked the clerk, turning +as white as the shirt he wore. + +"Did you ever come near de safe to-day," asked Mr. Swartz, abruptly. + +"Me, sir?" said the now thoroughly frightened clerk. "No, I--No +sir--I--never came further than the door each time you called to me." + +"I can't say dat Mr. Elder vould take it," observed Mr. Swartz, "and +all I remember now dat you didn't come anyvere near de safe, I can't +tink who could have taken the monish." + +Assured by his manner that Mr. Swartz had dismissed all idea of +charging him with the theft, the clerk's confidence returned, and he +ceased stuttering and trembling. + +"Do you think the woman who was here could have taken it?" he +enquired, and then added: "The last time I entered this room while she +was here, I remember seeing her standing near the safe, with her elbow +on the top." + +"By Cot!" exclaimed Mr. Swartz, striking the table with his hand. "She +must be de very person. She vanted me to give her monish, and she must +have seen de package lying on the safe and taken it avay." + +"It is no use wasting any time then," said the clerk, "you must +endeavor to find out where she stays, and have her arrested this +evening." + +"Vere can I find her house?" asked Mr. Swartz. + +"You will have to track her," answered the clerk. "The first place you +had better go to is Elkin's drug store, for I saw the woman enter +there after leaving here." + +Mr. Swartz made no reply, but taking up his hat he walked out of his +office, and proceeded to the drug store. The druggist, who had noticed +the wild and haggard appearance of Mrs. Wentworth, informed him, in +reply to his enquiries, that such a person as the one he described had +purchased several descriptions of medicines from him, and on leaving +his store, she had walked up the street. This being the only +information that the druggist could give, Mr. Swartz left the store, +and after many enquiries discovered where Mrs. Wentworth resided. He +immediately returned to his store, and mentioned his discovery to the +clerk. + +"You had better go at once and take out a warrant against her for +robbery;" remarked the clerk, "and take a couple of policemen with you +to arrest her." + +Starting to the City Hall, Mr. Swartz took out a warrant against Mrs. +Wentworth for larceny, and procuring the assistance of two policemen, +he started for the old negro's cabin, determined to prosecute the +thief to the utmost extent of his power and the law. Having informed +our readers of his conduct on discovering that his money had been +stolen, we will continue from where we left off at the close of the +last chapter. + +Mrs. Wentworth on perceiving Mr. Swartz and the two policemen, had +pointed to the dead body of her child, and pronounced the solitary +word, "there," while her face became cold and expressiveless. + +Involuntarily looking in the direction pointed out by Mrs. Wentworth, +the three men started with awe as their eyes fell upon the beautiful +face of the dead child. One of the policemen, who was a devout +Catholic crossed himself, and withdrew from the entrance of the door, +but the other policeman and Mr. Swartz quickly shook off all feelings +of fear that had passed over them. + +"Here is de voman," said Mr. Swartz, pointing to Mrs. Wentworth. "Dis +is de voman who shtole mine monish." + +As he spoke she turned her face towards him, but the mute anguish of +the mother did not cause a sentiment of regret to enter Mr. Swartz's +heart, at the part he was acting towards her. + +"Arrest her," continued Mr. Swartz, "I vant you to take her to de +jail, where she can be examined, and to-morrow morning I can have her +up before de Mayor." + +"Not to-night," exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth in a hollow voice. "Leave me +with the dead body of my child; after she is buried you can do as you +please with me." + +"I knows better tan to do dat," observed Mr. Swartz, "by to-morrow +morning you vould be a pretty far avay from Shackson." + +"I will not move from this cabin an inch further than to the burial +ground," replied Mrs. Wentworth, "but if you fear it is my intention +to escape, let one of your policemen remain here and watch me to +night." + +Mr. Swartz stepped to the threshold of the door, and consulted the two +men on the possibility of complying with her request, but one refused +through superstition, while the other declined in consequence of his +being on the night watch. + +"I can't agree to your vishes," said Mr. Swartz, as soon as the +conference was over, and he returned to the bedside. "De policemen +vont remain here." + +"Then do you trust me," she replied. "By the holy name of God, I +implore you not to tear me from the body of my child, but if that name +has no weight with you, and as I perceive it is useless to appeal to +you by the sacred tenets of Christianity, let me pray you, that as a +man, you will not descend to such brutality as to force me from the +dead body that now lies before you, and deprive me of performing the +last sad rites over her. In the name of all that is humane, I plead to +you, and, oh, God! let my supplications be answered." + +"Dere is no use of you talking in dat vay to me," said Mr. Swartz in a +coarse and brutal tone. "It vas in de same sthyle dat you vent on dis +morning, ven you vas begging me, and den you afterwards shtole my +monish." + +As he finished speaking, the old negro entered the cabin, and +perceiving the intruders, enquired the cause of their presence. The +Catholic who was an Irishman, briefly explained the object of their +visit to the astonished old woman, who never conceived for a moment +that Mrs. Wentworth had been guilty of theft. + +"De Lor!" she exclaimed, as soon as her informant had concluded his +remarks. "Who would'a believe it? Poh people, dey is really bad off," +and she hurried to Mrs. Wentworth's side. + +Mrs. Wentworth had paid no attention to the colloquy between the old +negro and the policeman; she was engaged in appealing to Mr. Swartz, +not to remove her to jail that night. + +"You must have some feelings of humanity within you," she was +observing. "You must have some touch of pity in your heart for my +condition. Do not send me to jail to-night," she continued in an +earnest tone. "If your own heart is steeled against the sorrows of a +helpless and wretched woman; if the sight of that dead face does not +awaken a spark of manly pity within you, let me entreat you, by the +memory of the mother you once had, not to tear me from the body of my +child. The hours of night will pass of rapidly, and by the dawn of +morning my daughter shall be buried." + +This was the first touch of feeling she had manifested, and though no +tears bedewed her cheeks, the swelling of her bosom and the anguished +look she wore, told of sorrow more terrible than if tears had come. + +The wretch was unmoved. He stood there, not thinking of the solemn and +heart-rending scene before him, but of the money he had lost, and the +chance of its being found on the person of Mrs. Wentworth. + +"Do your duty, policemen," he said, without appearing as if he had +heard her remarks. + +"It is well," she said, and walking up to the bedside of her dead +child, she lifted the body until it almost assumed a standing +position. "Farewell child, farewell forever!" she continued, covering +the lifeless face with kisses. "See this!" she said, turning to the +men, "see the result of beggary and starvation. Look upon it, you have +had it in your power to save me from this desolation, and rejoice in +your work. Here, take me," she added, laying down the corpse. "Take me +from the presence of the dead, for if I remain gazing at it much +longer, I will indeed go mad." + +Walking up to the old woman, Mrs. Wentworth continued. "Auntie, I +leave my child's body with you. See that it is buried and mark the +spot where it rests, for oh! I feel that the day is not far distant +when my weary head will rest in peace at last, when that time arrives, +I desire to be buried by the remains of her who now lies there. For +the little boy who is here, keep him Auntie, until his father claims +him, and should his father never return, take him before some man high +in position, and tell him that a wretched mother leaves him to the +care of his country, as a momento of one of the patriot band who died +in her service." + +The old negro fell upon her knees before the speaker, and burst into +tears, while even the rude policemen were touched by her remarks, Mr. +Swartz alone remained unmoved, the only feeling within him was a +desire that the work of confining her in jail should be completed. + +"And now one last farewell," continued Mrs. Wentworth, again embracing +the corpse. Another instant and she was out of the room followed by +the three men, and they proceeded in the direction of the jail. + +The old negro fell on her knees by the side of the bed, burying her +head in the folds of the counterpane, while the tears flowed freely +from her eyes. The little boy nestled by her side sobbing and calling +for his mother. + +"Don't cry chile," said the old negro, endeavoring to console him. +"Your mammy will come back one of dese days," then recollecting the +words of Mrs. Wentworth in reference to him, she took him in her arms, +and continued, "poh chile, I will take care ob you until your father +come for you." + +Thus did the good hearted slave register her promise to take care of +the child, and her action was but the result of the kind treatment she +had received from her owner. She had been taken care of when a child +by the father of her present owner, who was no other than Dr. +Humphries, and now that she had grown old and feeble, he had provided +her with a home, and supported her in return for the long life of +faithful service she had spent as his slave. + +The next morning at about nine o'clock, a hearse might have been seen +in front of the old woman's cabin. Without any assistance the negro +driver lifted a little coffin from the chairs on which it rested in +the room, and conveyed it into the hearse. It then drove off slowly, +followed by the old negro and the infant, and drove to the burial +ground. There a short and simple prayer was breathed over the coffin, +and in a few moments a mound of earth covered it. Thus was buried the +little angel girl, who we have seen suffer uncomplainingly, and die +with a trusting faith in her advent to Heaven. No long procession of +mortals followed her body, but the Angels of God were there, and they +strewed the wood with the flowers of Paradise, which though invisible, +wafted a perfume into the soul sweeter than the choicest exotics of +earth. + +From the grave of the child we turn to the mother, to see if her +sufferings died with the body of the Angel which had just been buried. +They had not, for still the eye of God was turned from the Soldier's +Wife, and he saw not the life of misery and degradation that she was +leading. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD. + +THE COMMITTAL. + + +On the morning that Ella was buried, Mrs. Wentworth was carried before +the Mayor, and charges preferred against her for robbery. The package +containing the remainder of the money had been found on her person the +night previous, and this evidence was brought forward against her. + +"What are your charges against this woman, Mr. Swartz," began his +Honor. + +"Vell your Honor," replied that individual, "I vill tell dem in but +few words. Dis voman called at my shtore yesterday, and begged me for +monish. I gave her von tollar, but she vouldn't take it, and after she +left de shtore I found out dat a package of monish, dat was on de safe +was gone, I den called mine clerk, and I look for de monish, and he +looked for de monish, but ve neider of us find de monish. Den I say +dat certainly somepody must take dish monish, and he say so too; den +ve remember dat dis voman vas leaning against de safe, and he told me +of it, and I remember too, and--" + +"Explain your charges against the woman as briefly as possible, Mr. +Swartz," interrupted the Mayor. "I have not time to stay here +listening to a long round-about story." + +"Von minute your Honor, von minute," replied the wretch. "I will soon +finish de account. As I vas saying, I remember dat dis voman vas +standing leaning by de safe and mine clerk tells me to go to de Trug +Shtore, as de voman vent in dere, and I goes in de Trug Shtore, and +Mr. Elkin he tells me dat de voman did come in dere and py some physic +and dat she valk up de street, and I goes up de street and--" + +"For goodness sake, Mr. Swartz, let me beg of you to conclude your +remarks as soon as possible and not detain the Court with unnecessary +statements," again interrupted the Mayor, "I see no use for you to +repeat all that you did. Just come to the point at once and I will be +able to decide whether this woman is to be committed or not." + +"Shust von minute longer, your Honor," Mr. Swartz answered, "I vill +finish directly. Vell, you see, I vent in te street, and I goes up te +street, and I asks te beoples if tey see tis voman, and von of tem say +he not see te voman, and I ask anoter and he not see te voman, and I +ask anoter again and he not see te voman eider." + +"If you are going to continue this nonsense all day let me know, and I +will prepare myself to listen, as well as to return the other prisoners +to jail until to-morrow," observed His Honor. "It appears as if you can +never get through your tale. Speak quickly and briefly, and do not keep +me waiting." + +"Shust vait a little vile more nor not so musht," replied Mr. Swartz, +and continuing his story he said, "I ask everybody if tey sees dis +voman and dey say dey not sees te voman, and after I ask everybody von +man tell me dat he sees dis voman valk up de shtreet, and I go up de +shtreet von little more vay and--" + +"In the name of Heaven cease your remarks," exclaimed the Mayor, who +had become thoroughly exasperated at the narrative of Mr. Swartz. + +"Gootness," observed that gentleman, "did you not shay I vas for to +tell vy I pring dis voman up?" + +"Yea," replied His Honor, "but I did not expect you to give me a long +narrative of all that occurred during the time while you were looking +for where she lived." + +"Veil, I vill soon finish," he remarked, "as I was saying, I goes up +de shtreet von little more vays and I ask anoder man vere dis voman +vas, and he shust look on me and shay he vould not tell noting to von +tam Tutchman, and I go to von oder man and he show me von little log +cabin, and I goes up dere softly and I sees dis voman in dere." + +"All this has nothing to do with the charge you have preferred against +her," the Mayor said, "let me know upon what grounds you prefer the +charge of robbery against her." + +"Vell, ven I sees her I valks pack to mine Shtore and I talks mit mine +clerk, and he say I vas have to take out a varrant, and I comes to de +City Hall and I takes out de varrant, and I takes two policemen and I +goes to te cabin and finds dis voman dere, and she peg me not to take +her to jail, but I vouldn't pe pegged and I pring her to jail." + +"Mr. Swartz, if you don't conclude your remarks at once I will be +necessitated to postpone your case until to-morrow; I I am tired of +hearing your remarks, every one of which has been to no purpose. You +say the package of money that you lost was found on this woman, and +that she had been in your store the same day and had leaned against +the safe on the top of which the money had been placed by you." + +"Dat's shust it," replied Mr. Swartz. "Ven I go mit te voman to te +jail te jail man search her and find te monish in her pocket, and it +vas te same monish as I had stolen off te safe.--But te monish vas not +all dere; over tirty tollars vas taken out of it, and dat vas vat dis +voman sphent, and I--" + +"That's enough, Mr. Swartz," interrupted the Mayor. "You have said +enough on the subject, and I will now proceed with the accused." + +While Mr. Swartz was speaking Mrs. Wentworth remained as silent as if +she had not heard a word he said. Her appearance was calm, nor was +there anything remarkable about her except a strange unnatural +brightness of the eye. + +"Well, my woman," continued the Mayor, "what have you to say in +extenuation of the charge." + +"Nothing, Sir," she replied, "I have nothing to say in defense of +myself. The money was found on my person, and would alone prove me +guilty of the theft. Besides which, I have neither desire nor +intention to deny having taken the money." + +"What induced you to steal?" asked the Mayor. + +"A greater tempter than I had ever met before," she replied. "It was +necessity that prompted me to take that money." + +"And you sphent tirty-tree tollers of it, py gootness," exclaimed Mr. +Swartz, in an excited tone. + +"As you acknowledge the theft," said the Mayor, "I am compelled to +commit you to prison until the meeting of the Superior Court, which +will be in four days from this." + +Mrs. Wentworth was then committed back to prison, and Mr. Swartz +returned to his store. + +The spirit of the child had reached God and at that moment was +pointing to her mother below. The day of rest is near. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH. + +RETURN OF ALFRED WENTWORTH--A STRANGER. + + +After long weeks of pain and illness Alfred Wentworth became well +enough to return to the Confederacy. He was accordingly sent down by +the first flag of truce that went to Vicksburg after his recovery, and +two days after the committal of his wife arrived at Jackson, where he +was warmly welcomed by Harry. + +"I am delighted to see you, my dear friend," he exclaimed, shaking his +hands warmly, "you have no idea the suspense I have been in since my +escape, to learn whether you were re-captured. It would have +reproached me to the last hour of my life had you been killed by those +cursed Yankees." + +"I came pretty near it," replied Alfred, smiling at his friend's +earnestness. + +"You were not hurt, were you?" enquired his friend. + +"The slight matter of a few minie balls, lodged in different parts of +my body, is all the injury I received," he answered. + +"I suppose that occasioned your not coming with the first lot of +prisoners," Harry remarked. + +"Yes," he replied, "when the cartel was arranged and orders were given +for the prisoners to prepare for their departure from Camp Douglas, I +was still suffering from my wound, and the doctors declared me unable +to move for several days. An excited mind soon brought on fever, which +so prostrated me that the days extended to weeks before I was able to +leave the hospital." + +"I am heartily glad to see you once more safe on Confederate soil, at +any rate," observed Harry, and he added, "as I will insist upon your +staying at my house while you are here, let me know where your baggage +is, that I may hate it removed." + +"I am staying at the Burman House, but what little baggage I possess +is at Vicksburg." + +"Then take a walk with me to the residence of Dr. Humphries," said +Harry, "and I will introduce you to my betrothed." + +"I thank you," Alfred replied, "but the present state of my wardrobe +does not admit of my appearing before ladies." + +"Pshaw," observed Harry, "that is the least part of the question. Let +me know what you desire and I will get it for you directly." + +"I have about seven hundred dollars in Confederate money with me," +answered Alfred, "if you will show me some store where I can purchase +a decent suit of clothes; that will be all I shall trouble you for." + +"Take a walk with me to Lemby's clothing store and you will find a +fine outfit there." + +Drawing Alfred's arm in his, Harry conducted him to Lemby's clothing +store, where a suit of clothing was bought. They then proceeded to the +Bowman House and entered Alfred's room. + +"My furlough is only for thirty days," Alfred remarked, while engaged +in dressing himself, "and how I am to send in a letter to New Orleans +and receive an answer before that time expires I cannot conjecture." + +"What do you wish to write to New Orleans for," asked Harry. + +"Why, to wife," answered Alfred, "I think it is about time that she +should hear from me." + +"My dear friend," replied Harry, "your wife is not in New Orleans, she +is in the Confederate lines." + +"Where is she?" he enquired, eagerly. + +"I could not tell you that," Harry answered, "but of one thing you may +be certain, she is not in New Orleans." + +"How do you know that?" he asked. + +"Dr. Humphries purchased a negro girl the day before I returned; she +gave her name as Elsy, and said she was belonging to Mr. Alfred +Wentworth, of New Orleans. On being questioned why she had left the +city, the girl said that her mistress with your two children had been +forced to leave by Beast Butler, who would not allow her to go also, +but that, being determined to follow your wife, she had ran the +blockade and came into the Confederate lines.". + +"And did my wife sell her to anybody else?" enquired Alfred. + +"Wait a moment, my dear friend, and I will tell you," answered Harry. +"The girl did not see her mistress at all, for she was arrested on her +arrival in this city, and having no papers, as well as no owner, she +was sold according to law, and was purchased by Dr. Humphries, at +whose residence she is now. I would have told you this when we first +met, but it slipped my memory completely." + +"But where could my wife have gone to?" remarked Alfred. "I do not +know of any person in the Confederate lines with whom she is +acquainted, and where she can get the means to support herself and +children I have not the least idea." + +"That she has been to Jackson I am certain," Harry replied, "for no +sooner did I hear what the girl had informed Dr. Humphries, than I +endeavored to find out where she resided. I searched the register of +both the hotels in this city and found that she had been staying at +this hotel; but the clerk did not recollect anything about her, and +could not tell me where she went to on her departure from this city. I +also advertised in several newspapers for her, but receiving no +information, was compelled to give up my search in despair." + +"I thank you for your remembrance of me," observed Alfred. "This +intelligence, however, will compel me to apply for an extension of my +furlough, so that I may be enabled to find out where my wife and +children are. I am very much alarmed at the news you have given me." + +"I hope your wife and children are comfortably situated, wherever they +may be; and could I have discovered their residence, I should have +made it my duty to see that they wanted for nothing." + +"I know it, I know it," said Alfred, pressing his friend's hand, and +he continued, "you will favor me on our arriving at Dr. Humphries' by +obtaining an interview for me with Elsy; I desire to know the cause of +my wife's ejectment from New Orleans." + +"As soon as you are ready let me know and we will start for the +Doctor's," Harry answered, "where you will find the girl. Dr. +Humphries told me that he intended returning her to you or your wife +as soon as he discovered either of you. So in the event of your +finding out where Mrs. Wentworth lives, she will be promptly given +up." + +"No, no," Alfred remarked, hurriedly, "the Doctor has purchased her +and I do not desire the girl unless I can return the money he paid for +her. If you are ready to go," he added, "let us leave at once." + +The two friends left the hotel and soon arrived at the residence of +Dr. Humphries. The Doctor was not at home, but Emma received them. +After introducing Alfred to her, and engaging in a brief conversation, +Harry requested her to call Elsy, as he desired her to speak with his +friend. The fair girl complied with his request by ringing the bell +that lay on the table; her call was answered by the slave in person. + +On entering the room Elsy made a low curtsey to the gentlemen, and +looked at Alfred earnestly for a moment, but the soldier had become so +sunburnt and altered in features that she failed to recognize him. + +"Do you not remember me, Elsy?" enquired Alfred, as soon as he +perceived her. + +His voice was still the same, and running up to him, the girl seized +his hand with joy. + +"I tought I knowed you, sah," she exclaimed, "but you is so change I +didn't remember you." + +"I am indeed changed, Elsy," he replied; "I have been sick for a long +time. And now that I am once more in the Confederacy, it is to find my +wife and children driven from their homes, while God only knows if +they are not wandering all over the South, homeless and friendless. +Tell me Elsy," he continued, "tell me what caused my wife to be turned +out of the city?" + +In compliance with his request, the girl briefly told him of the +villainy of Awtry, and the infamous manner in which he had acted +towards Mrs. Wentworth. She then went on to relate that, failing to +achieve his purpose, Awtry had succeeded in having her expelled from +New Orleans. + +"Did your mistress--I beg pardon--I meant, did my wife tell you where +she was going to?" enquired Alfred. + +"She told me to come to Jackson, after I told her I would be sure to +get away from de city," answered the girl; "but de police ketch me up +before I could look for her; and since I been belonging to Dr. +Humphries I has look for her ebery whar, but I can't find out whar she +am gone to." + +"That is enough," observed Alfred, "you can go now, Elsy, if I should +want to see you again I will send for you." + +"I trust you may succeed in finding your wife, sir," Emma said as the +girl left the parlor. + +"I sincerely hope so myself, Miss Humphries," he answered, "but Heaven +only knows where I am to look for her. It will take me a much longer +time than I can spare to travel over the Confederacy; in fact, I doubt +whether I can get an extension of my furlough, so that I may have +about three months of time to search for her." + +"It is singular that she should have told Elsy to come here to her, +and not to be in the city," observed Emily. + +"I am afraid that my wife has, through prudence, gone into the country +to live; for, with the means I left her, she could not possibly have +afforded to reside in any part of the Confederacy where prices rule so +high as they do here. It is this belief that makes my prospect of +finding her very dim. Harry says he advertised for her in several +newspapers, but that he received no information from any source +respecting where she lived. I am certain she would have seen the +advertisement had she been residing in any of our cities." + +"She may not have noticed the advertising column of the newspaper," +put in Harry, "if ever she did chance to have a copy of one that +contained my notice to her. Ladies, as a general thing, never interest +themselves with advertisements." + +"You are right," Alfred replied, "but it is singular that some person +who knew her did not see it and inform her; she surely must have made +some acquaintances since she arrived in our lines, and I am certain +that there are none who do not sympathize with the unfortunate +refugees who have been driven into exile by our fiendish enemy." + +"I am sorry to say that refugees are not as favorably thought of as +they deserve," Emma remarked. "To the shame of the citizens of our +Confederacy, instead of receiving them as sufferers in a common cause, +they are looked upon as intruders. There are some exceptions, as in +all cases, but I fear they are very few." + +"Your statement will only increase my anxiety to find my wife," +answered Alfred; "for if the people act as unpatriotically as you +represent, there is no telling if my unfortunate family are not +reduced to dire necessity, although it is with surprise that I hear +your remarks on the conduct of our people. I had thought that they +would lose no opportunity to manifest their sympathy with those who +are now exiles from their homes, and that idea had made me feel +satisfied in my mind that my wife and children would, at least, be +able to find shelter." + +"I do not think anyone would refuse to aid your family, my dear +friend," Harry observed, "although I agree with Miss Emma, that our +people do not pay as much attention to refugees as they should; but +the unfortunate exile will always find a sympathizing heart among our +people. You may rest assured that, wherever your wife may be, she has +a home which, if not as comfortable as the one she was driven from, is +at least home enough to keep herself and her children from want." + +Harry Shackleford judged others by the promptings of his own heart, +and as he uttered these words of comfort to his friend, he little +dreamed that Mrs. Wentworth was then the inmate of a prison, awaiting +her trial for robbery, and that the crime had her committed through +the very necessity he had so confidently asserted could never exist in +the country. + +"Will you take a walk to the hotel," enquired Alfred, after a few +minutes of silence, "I desire to settle my bill with the clerk." + +"Certainly," he replied, rising from his chair, "I desire to conduct +you to my home." + +"Good evening to you Miss Humphries," said Alfred, as he walked to the +door with his friend. + +She extended her hand to him as she replied, "Good evening, sir--allow +me to repeat my wishes for your success in finding your wife and +children." + +Bowing to her in reply, he left the room, accompanied by Harry. + +"Do you know, Harry," he observed, as they walked towards the Bowman +House, "I have a strange presentiment that all is not well with my +family." + +"Pshaw," replied his friend, "you are as superstitious as any old +woman of eighty. Why in the name of wonder will you continue to look +upon the dark side of the picture? It is more likely that your family +are now comfortably, if not happily situated. Depend upon it, my dear +friend, the world is not so cold and uncharitable as to refuse a +shelter, or a meal to the unfortunate." + +Alfred made no reply, and they walked on in silence until the hotel +was reached. On entering the sitting room of the Bowman House, the two +gentlemen were attracted by the loud talking of a group of men +standing in the centre of the room. + +"There stands an Englishman who lately run the blockade on a visit to +the Confederacy," observed Harry as they approached the group; "let me +introduce him to you." + +Walking up to where the Englishman was, Harry touched him lightly on +the shoulder. + +"How are you Lieutenant Shackleford," he said, as he turned and +recognized Harry. + +"Very well, Mr. Ellington," answered Harry, and then added, "allow me +to introduce my friend Mr. Wentworth to you--Mr. Wentworth, Mr. +Ellington." + +As the name of Wentworth escaped Harry's lips the Englishman started +and changed color, but quickly resuming his composure, he extended his +hand to Alfred. + +"I am happy to make your acquaintance, sir," he observed, and then +continued, "your features resemble those of a gentleman I have not +seen for years--so much, indeed, that I could not repress a start as +my eyes fell upon your countenance." + +"I was rather surprised at seeing you start," observed Harry, "for I +knew that you were not acquainted with my friend Mr. Wentworth. He was +a prisoner at Camp Douglas--the prison you have read so much +about--when you arrived in this country, and has only returned to the +Confederacy within the last few days." + +"A mere resemblance to one whose intercourse with me was not fraught +with many pleasant recollections," remarked Mr. Ellington. "Indeed +your friend is so much like him, both in form and features, that I +really imagined that he was my old enemy standing before me!" + +"A singular resemblance," said Alfred, "and one which I am rejoiced to +know only exists in form and features. And now," he continued, "allow +me to ask you a question." + +Mr. Ellington bowed an assent. + +"Were you ever in this country before?" asked Alfred. + +"Yes," replied Mr. Ellington, "I visited America a few years ago, but +why do you ask?" + +"Because your features are familiar to me," he answered, and then +enquired, "Were you ever in New Orleans." + +"No, sir--no," replied Mr. Ellington, coloring as he spoke, "I was +always afraid of the climate." + +"The reason of my asking you," observed Alfred, "is because you +resemble a gentleman with whom I was only very slightly acquainted, +but who, like the party you mistook me for, has done me an injury +which neither time nor explanation can repair, but," he added, "now I +recollect you cannot be the party to whom I refer, for he was a +Northern man, while you are an Englishman." + +Before the Englishman could reply, a gentleman at the further end of +the room called him by name, and, bowing to the two friends, he +apologized for leaving them so abruptly, and walked off to where the +call came from. + +As soon as he left them Alfred went up to the clerk's office and paid +his bill. The two friends then left the hotel and proceeded to Harry's +residence. + +"Do you know, Harry," observed Alfred, as they walked along, "I have +an idea that Mr. Ellington is no Englishman, but that he is Awtry, the +scoundrel who caused my wife and children to be driven from New +Orleans?" + +"Why do you imagine such a thing?" asked Harry. + +"Only because his features are very much like those of Awtry; and the +start he gave when you pronounced my name half confirms my suspicion." + +"I feel certain you are mistaken," Harry remarked. "He arrived at +Charleston in a blockade runner a short time ago, and brought letters +of introduction to many prominent men in the South from some of the +first characters in England." + +"That may be," Alfred answered, "still I shall keep my eye on him, and +cultivate his acquaintance. If I am mistaken it will make no +difference, for he shall never know my suspicions; but if I am right +in my surmise he shall answer me for his treatment of my wife and +children." + +"That you can do," said Harry, "but be cautious how you charge him +with being a Yankee spy, and have certain proof of his identity before +you intimate your suspicions to him." As he spoke they reached their +destination and the two friends entered the house. + +Horace Awtry, for the Englishman was none other than he, under an +assumed name, had ventured to enter the Confederate lines as a spy for +Sherman, who was then getting up his expedition against Vicksburg. He +would have left Jackson immediately after the meeting with Alfred, but +upon enquiry he learned that Mrs. Wentworth's place of residence was +unknown, and his services being needed near Vicksburg decided him to +remain. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-FIFTH + +THE TWO SLAVES--THE GLIMMER OF LIGHT. + + +From the time of Mrs. Wentworth's arrest and imprisonment, the old +negro had paid every attention to the little boy left under her care. +Knowing that she would be likely to receive punishment for having a +white child living with her, she had made several efforts to see her +master, but each time she called, both the Doctor and Emma were +absent. She was thus compelled to wait until some opportunity offered +to turn the little boy over to her master, who she knew would promptly +give him a home while he remained unclaimed by his lawful guardians. +In her visits to Dr. Humphries' house the old negro had met Elsy, and +being pleased with the appearance of the girl, had contracted quite a +friendship for her, and on every opportunity would hold a conversation +with her. Having called several times without seeing her master or +Emma, Elsy enquired if she had anything of consequence to impart to +the Doctor, as, if she had, she would inform him on his return home. + +"Yes, gal," replied the old woman, "I got a leetle boy at my cabin dat +was lef dar by him mammy, and I want de boss to take him away and put +him in a better place den my room." + +"What chile is it, Auntie?" enquired Elsy. + +"I do' know what de name is," answered the old woman, "but a lady cum +to my cabin one night wid a berry sick gal chile and de leetle boy, +and next day de gal die, and in de ebening some police come and take +away de lady because 'she 'teal money,' and dey lef de dead chile and +de libing one wid me." + +"Goodness sakes, Auntie," interrupted Elsy, "what did you do wid de +dead chile?" + +"Why, gal, I bury her next mornin," replied the old woman, "and de +leetle boy bin stayin wid me eber since; but I don't want to keep him, +for dis nigger hab no right to hab white chile a keepin to herself." + +"You better see de Doctor, den," Elsy observed. "When he come in I +will tell him dat you want to see him patickler." + +"Dat's a good gal," answered the old negro, "you tell him dat I want +to see him, but don't tell him what I want him for--I rader tell him +dat mysef." + +"Berry well, Auntie," she replied, "de Doctor will come in about +dinner time, and as soon as he is done eatin I will talk to him about +it. But do you tink he will bring de chile home, yah, and take care ob +him?" + +"Ob course he will," said the old woman, "he neber see any body want +but he get him plenty and take care ob him." + +"What kind a chile is de one you had at your cabin?" asked Elsy. + +"Jes de lubliest baby you eber seed in your life," answered the old +negro. "He is one ob de best children I eber had taking care ob." + +"Don't he cry none for his mudder," enquired Elsy. + +"Ob course he cry plenty de first day," she replied, "but aterwards he +behabe well, for I promise him dat he mammy will come back soon. He am +a rale good chile, and I would lub to keep him wid me all time, but I +'fraid de police will get ater me for habin him." + +"Dat's so," remarked Elsy, "but you can take care ob him a'ter you +tell de boss--you can come here and stay." + +"No, gal," she answered, "I can't leab me old cabin; I been libbing +dar dese twelve years, and I got so used to it dat I can't sleep out +ob it." + +"Den I will take care ob de chile for you," said Elsy, "and you can +come ebery now and den and see him." + +"Dat's so," she, replied. "But tell me, gal," she continued, "whar you +come from?" + +"I come from New Orleans, Auntie," replied Elsy. + +"What bring you to Jackson?" continued the old woman. + +Elsy repeated the tale she had told Dr. Humphries and Alfred, and +after she had concluded, the old woman clasped her hands as she +exclaimed, "Sake alibe! what become ob your mistis and de childen?" + +"I don't know, Auntie, but my New Orleans mass'r is here now, and I's +been looking for dem." + +"Why de lady and childen dat come to my cabin was from New Orleans +too," observed the old negro. + +"You say you don't know de name?" remarked Elsy. + +"No, I forget," she answered; "but what name did your mistis hab?" + +"Dey was name Wentworth," she replied. + +"Wantworth--Wentworth," repeated the old woman. "No, dat don't sound +like de name ob de lady, but may be I forget. What was de leetle gal +name?" she added. + +"Ella," replied Elsy. + +"Dat's it," exclaimed the old negro, "dat's de berry name!" + +"Den it was my mistis and her childen," answered Elsy, "and you say de +police take her to prison for stealin." + +"Yes, gal," she answered, "dey take her away from de dead body ob her +chile and take her to prison for stealin." + +"It ain't true," said Elsy, "my mistis is a born lady, and she +wouldn't steal for anyting. I don't beliebe a word ob it." + +"I don't beliebe neider," replied the old woman, "but for all dat, dey +did carry her to prison because dey say she steal money." + +"My poh mistis," remarked Elsy, bursting into tears, "I knowed dat +some bad ting would happen to her--and I was in town so long and neber +eben sawed her." + +"Poh lady," observed the old negro, "she look bery bad and sorrowful +like, aldough she didn't cry when de chile die; but she tan up by de +bedside and look 'pon de dead face widout sayin' a word--it made me +feel bad to see her." + +"I must tell my master," said Elsy, "so dat he can go and take her out +ob prison. It am a shame dat a lady like dat should be locked up in a +prison, and Mr. Wentworth will soon take her out." + +"You better not say anyting to your master about it, yet," observed +the old woman. "See de Doctor and tell him; he will know what to do, +and den he can tell de gemman all about it a'terwards." + +"But you certain it am my mistis?" said Elsy. + +"I ain't quite sure ob dat," she answered, "for de name sound +different to de one I heard, and dats de reason I don't want you to +say noting 'bout it till de Doctor enquire into de matter and find +out. I must go now, gal," she added, "don't forget to tell de Doctor +all 'bout it when he come home." + +"I won't," replied Elsy. + +The old woman then left the house and returned to her cabin, where she +found the little boy amusing himself on the floor with some marbles. + +Dr. Humphries, accompanied by Harry, returned home at the usual hour. +After dinner Elsy requested him to speak to her for a few minutes--a +request which he promptly complied with. + +"Well, my good, girl, what do you wish with me?" he enquired. + +"Oh! sir," she replied, "I hab found out whar my mistis is." + +"You have," answered Dr. Humphries, rather astonished at the +intelligence, "where is she?" he added. + +"In prison, sah," she replied. + +"In prison!" exclaimed the Doctor, "for what?" + +"I don'no, sah," she replied, "but I hear it is for stealing." + +"Who gave you the information?" asked Dr. Humphries. + +"It was your ole slave what libs in de cabin, up town," answered Elsy. + +"And how did she learn anything about Mrs. Wentworth?" enquired Dr. +Humphries. + +"My Mistis went dere wid her chil'en, sah, and her little daughter +died in de ole woman's cabin." + +"Good God!" exclaimed the Doctor, "and how was it that I have heard +nothing about it until now?" + +"It only was a few days ago," replied Elsy, "and Auntie come here +ebery day, but you and Miss Emma was not at home ebery time, and she +only tole me about it dis mornin." + +"Are you certain that the woman who has been carried to jail is your +Mistress?" asked Dr. Humphries. + +"No sah," she answered, "Auntie say dat de name am different, but dat +de name ob de leetle gal am de same." + +"And the little boy you say has been under the care of the old woman +ever since," remarked Dr. Humphries. + +"Yes sah," Elsy replied, "but she want you to take him away from her, +so dat he may be under a white pusson, and das de reason why she been +here wantin' to see you bout it." + +"Very well," said. Dr. Humphries, "I will attend to it this evening; +in the meantime do you remain here and go with me to the cabin and see +if the child is your Mistress'." + +Elsy curtsied as she enquired, "Shall I tell my Master 'bout dis, +sah?" + +"No, no," replied the Doctor, "he must know nothing about it until I +have arranged everything for his wife and removed her from prison. Be +certain," he continued, walking to the door, "that you do not breathe +a word about this until I have seen your Mistress and learned the +reason of her imprisonment." + +On returning to the parlor, where Harry and Emma were seated, Dr. +Humphries called him aside and related what he had heard from Elsy. +The young man listened attentively, and was very much shocked to hear +of Mrs. Wentworth's being imprisoned for theft. He knew that Alfred +was the soul of honor, and he could not conceive that the wife of his +friend would be guilty of such an offense. + +"It is impossible to believe such a thing," he said, after Dr. +Humphries had concluded, "I cannot believe that the wife of such a man +as Alfred Wentworth would commit an offense of such a nature; it must +be some one else, and not Mrs. Wentworth." + +"That we can find out this evening," observed the Doctor. "Let us +first call at the cabin of my old slave and find out whether the child +in her keeping is one of Mrs. Wentworth's children." + +"How will we be able to discover," asked Harry. "It appears by your +account that the boy is a mere infant, and he could hardly be expected +to give an account of himself or his parents." + +"I have removed any difficulty of that nature," replied Dr. Humphries, +"Elsy will accompany us to the cabin, and she will easily recognize +the child if he is the son of your friend." + +"You are right," Harry remarked; and then continued, "I trust he may +not be, for Alfred would almost go crazy at the knowledge that his +wife was the inmate of a prison on the charge of robbery." + +"I hope so myself, for the sake of your friend," said Doctor +Humphries, "Mr. Wentworth appears to be quite a gentleman, and I +should greatly regret his finding his wife in such an unfortunate +position as the woman in prison is represented to be." + +"I know the spirit of the man," remarked Harry, "he is sensitive to +dishonor, no matter in what form or shape it may come, and the +knowledge that his wife was charged with robbery would be a fearful +blow to his pride, stern and unyielding as it is." + +"If it is his wife, and she has committed a theft, I pity her, indeed; +for I am sure if she is the lady her husband represents, nothing but +the most dire necessity could have induced her to descend to crime." + +"Ah, sir," replied Harry, "Heaven only knows if it is not through +want. Alfred Wentworth feared that his wife was living in penury, for +he knew that she was without adequate means. If she has unfortunately +been allowed to suffer, and her children to want with her, what +gratification is it for him to know that he was proving his loyalty to +the South in a foreign prison while his wife and children were wanting +bread to eat in our very midst?" + +"It will indeed be a sad commentary on our patriotism," remarked Dr. +Humphries. "God only knows how willing I should have been to serve the +poor woman and her children had they applied to me for assistance." + +"And I fervently wish that every heart in the State beat with the same +feeling of benevolence that yours does," replied Harry. "However, this +is no time to lament or regret what is inexorable; we must see the +child, and afterwards the mother, for, no matter whether they are the +family of Alfred Wentworth or not, the fact of their being the wife +and child of a soldier entitles them to our assistance, and it is a +debt we should always willingly pay to those who are defending our +country." + +"You are right, Harry, you are right," observed the Doctor, "and it is +a debt that we will pay, if no one else does it. Do you return to +Emma, now," he continued, "while I order the buggy to take us to the +cabin." + +Leaving Harry, Dr. Humphries went to the stable and ordered the groom +to put the horse in the buggy. He was very much moved at the idea of a +friendless woman being necessitated to steal for the purpose of +feeding her children, and in his heart he sincerely wished she would +not prove to be the wife of Alfred Wentworth. Harry's story of his +friend's chivalrous conduct to him at Fort Donelson, as well as the +high toned character evinced by Alfred during the few days +acquaintance he had with him, had combined to procure a favorable +opinion of the soldier by Dr. Humphries; at the same time, he could +not conceive how any one could be so friendless in a land famed for +the generous hospitalities of its people, as the South is; but he knew +not, or rather he had never observed, that there were times when the +eye of benevolence and the hand of charity were strangers to the +unfortunate. + +There are no people on the face of the earth so justly famed for their +charitable actions as that of the Confederate States.--Before the +unfortunate war for separation commenced, every stranger who visited +their shores was received with a cordial welcome. The exile who had +been driven from his home on account of the tyranny of the rulers of +his native land, always found a shelter and protection from the warm +hearts and liberal hands of the people of this sunny land; and though +often times those who have received the aid and comfort of the South, +shared its hospitalities, received protection from their enemies, and +been esteemed as brothers, have turned like vipers and stung their +generous host, still it passed it heedlessly and was ever ready to do +as much in the future as it had done in the past. As genial as their +native clime, as generous as mortals could ever be, those who sought +the assistance of the people of the South would find them ready to +accord to the deserving, all that they desired. It was indeed a +glorious land; blooming with the loveliest blossoms of charity, +flowing with the tears of pity for the unfortunate, and resplendent +with all the attributes of mortal's noblest impulses. Gazing on the +past, we find in the days of which we write no similitude with the +days of the war. A greater curse than had fallen on them when war was +waged on their soil, had fallen on the people of the South; all those +chivalrous ideas which had given to her people a confidence of +superiority over the North had vanished from the minds of those who +had not entered the Army. It was in the "tented field" that could be +found those qualities which make man the true nobility of the world. +It is true that among those who remained aloof from active +participation in the bloody contest were many men whose hearts beat +with as magnanimous a pulsation as could be found in those of the +patriots and braves of the battle-field; but they were only flowers in +a garden of nature, filled with poisonous weeds that had twined +themselves over the land and lifted up their heads above the purer +plants, which, inhaling the tainted odor emitted by them, sickened and +died, or if by chance they remained and bloomed in the midst of +contamination, and eventually rose above until they soared over their +poisonous companions, their members were too few to make an Eden of a +desert, and they were compelled to see the blossoms of humanity perish +before them unrewarded and uncared for, surfeited in the nauseous and +loathsome exhalations of a cold and heartless world, without the hand +of succor being extended or the pitying tear of earth's inhabitants +being shed upon their untimely graves. + +While they, the curse of the world, how was it with them? But one +thought, one desire, filled their hearts; one object, one intention, +was their aim. What of the speculator and extortioner of the South, +Christian as well as Jew, Turk as well as Infidel! From the hour that +the spirit of avarice swept through the hearts of the people, the +South became a vast garden of corruption, in which the pure and +uncorrupted were as pearls among rocks. From the hour that their +fearful work after gain commenced, charity fled weeping from the midst +of the people, and the demons of avarice strode triumphant over the +land, heedless of the cries of the poverty stricken, regardless of the +moanings of hungry children, blind to the sufferings it had occasioned +and indifferent to the woe and desolation it had brought on the poor. + +But all this was seen by God, and the voice of Eternity uttered a +curse which will yet have effect. Even now as we write, the voice of +approaching peace can be heard in the distance, for the waters on +which our bark of State has been tossing for three years begins to +grow calmer, while the haven of independence looms up before us, and +as each mariner directs his gaze on the shore of liberty the mist +which obscured it becomes dispelled, until the blessed resumption of +happiness and prosperity once more presents itself, like a gleam of +sunshine on a dark and cheerless road of life. + +The eye of God is at last turned upon a suffering people. The past +years of bloody warfare were not His work; He had no agency in +stirring up the baser passions of mankind and imbuing the hands of men +in each others blood, nor did He knowingly permit the poor to die of +want and privation. He saw not all these, for the Eye which "seeth all +things" was turned from the scene of our desolation, and fiends +triumphed where Eternity was not, Hell reigned supreme where Heaven +ruled not--Earth was but a plaything in the hands of Destiny. +Philanthropy may deny it--Christianity will declare it heresy--man +will challenge its truth, but it is no less true than is the universe +a fact beyond doubt, and beyond the comprehension of mortals to +discover its secrets. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXTH. + +THE RECOGNITION. + + +As soon as the groom had prepared the buggy, he announced to Dr. +Humphries that it was in readiness. Calling Harry, who was again +seated by the side of his betrothed, indulging in secret conversation, +the Doctor went into the street where the buggy was. + +"I will drive myself this morning, John," he remarked to the groom, +"Mr. Harry will go with me." + +"Berry well, sah," replied the groom, moving off. + +Stepping into the buggy, followed by Harry, the Doctor took the reins +in his hands and was about to drive off. + +"Wait a moment," observed Harry, "has Elsy gone to the cabin?" + +"No, I forgot all about her," answered the Doctor, "and I am glad you +reminded me." + +"You had better send for her at once, and give her orders to proceed +immediately to the cabin," said Harry, "for without her we would be +unable to know whether the child is that of Alfred Wentworth or of +some other unfortunate soldier." + +"Here, John!" called out Dr. Humphries after the retreating form of +the groom, "come here to me." + +The boy turned back and returned to the side of the buggy. + +"Tell Elsy to come here at once," said the Doctor. + +The boy moved off to comply with his master's order, and in a few +moments returned, accompanied by Elsy. + +"Do you go to the old woman's cabin," said Dr. Humphries, as soon as +she had reached the side of the buggy, "and wait there until I arrive. +There is no necessity to mention what I am going there for." + +"Yes sah," replied Elsy, as she turned away to do her master's +bidding. + +"And now," remarked the Doctor, "we will go on and find out who these +people are. But before we go, I had better purchase a few things that +will relieve the necessities of the child." + +With these words the Doctor drove off, and on arriving in front of a +store, drew in the reins and, alighting, shortly after returned with +several packages, which he placed in the buggy and, re-entering it, he +drove to the cabin of the old slave. On arriving there the Doctor and +Harry found the old woman and the child seated in the room talking. +The boy appeared quite contented, now that his grief at the loss of +his sister and departure of his mother had subsided, and was laughing +merrily when they entered. He was dressed very cleanly and neatly by +the old slave, who had expended all her savings in purchasing suitable +cloths for him, and his appearance excited the remark of the Doctor +and his companion the moment they entered the threshold of the room +and saw him. + +"Good day sah," said the old negro, rising and curtseying as soon as +the two gentlemen entered. + +"God day, Auntie," said the doctor, "how are you getting on." + +"Berry well," answered the old woman, and then added, "I'm mighty glad +you come here dis day, for I want to talk wid you 'bout dis here +chile." + +"I have heard all about him, Auntie," said the Doctor, "and have come +here expressly for the purpose of learning something about his +parents." + +"'Spose dat gal Elsy tell you," observed the old woman, snappishly, +nettled because she had not the opportunity of telling her master the +tale of Mrs. Wentworth and her children. + +"Yes, Auntie," he replied, "Elsy told me, but not before I had asked +her all about those unfortunate people, so you must not be mad with +her." + +"She might ha' waited till you see me befo' she say anyting about it," +remarked the old woman. + +"Never mind that, Auntie," replied the Doctor, who knew the old +woman's jealous disposition and wanted to pacify her. "Has Elsy been +here yet?" + +"No sah," she replied, "I aint seen her since mornin'." + +"She will be here directly, then," he remarked, and seating himself +the Doctor waited the arrival of Elsy. + +"Come here my little man," said Harry, who had been sitting on the bed +during the dialogue between the old slave and her master. + +The child walked up to him and placed his arms on Harry's knees. + +"What is your name," enquired the young man, lifting the child up on +his knees. + +"My name is Alf," he replied. + +"Alf what?" asked Harry. + +The child looked at him enquiringly, not understanding the question. + +"What is your mother's name," continued Harry, perceiving that the boy +was unable to answer his question. + +"My ma's name is Eva," he answered. + +"And your sister's?" asked Harry. + +"My sister is named Ella," replied the child, and then added, +mournfully, "but she is gone from here; they took her out in a little +box and put her in the ground, and Granny says she is gone to heaven; +and my ma," he continued, "some bad men carried away, but Granny says +she will soon come back--wont she?" and his innocent face looked up +confidingly in Harry's. + +"Yes, my boy," he answered, "your ma will soon come back to you." + +"There appears no doubt of the identity of this family," remarked +Harry to Dr. Humphries, after a short pause, "everything we have yet +discovered indicates that Alfred Wentworth's wife and children have +passed a fearful life since their expulsion from New Orleans." + +"Poor woman and children," observed the Doctor, dashing away a tear, +"could I have known their penury, I should have been only glad to +relieve them, and even now, it is not too late for us to benefit this +child and his mother. As soon as Elsy arrives here I shall remove the +boy to my house and visit the mother in jail." + +"I do not think it advisable to move the child until you have +succeeded in obtaining the release of Mrs. Wentworth," answered Harry. +"His father may chance to see him, and, under the circumstances, would +discover where his wife was; which discovery I desire to avoid as long +as possible. The best thing that you can do is to leave the boy here +for twenty-four hours longer, by which time bail can be procured for +his mother, and I shall endeavor to silence the charge, so that there +may be no necessity for a trial." + +"May not Mr. Wentworth see the child and recognise him before we have +accomplished his mother's release," enquired the Doctor. + +"I do not think it likely," he replied, "Alfred will not visit so +remote a vicinity, and the child need not be carried into the business +portion of the city." + +"I shall leave him here, then, as you think it advisable," remarked +the Doctor; "it cannot injure him to remain in this cabin for a day +longer, while it might lead to unpleasant discoveries should he be +removed." + +Harry and the old gentleman remained silent for some time, when Elsy +entered the room. No sooner did the girl see the boy than she +recognized her master's child, and taking him in her arms caressed him +with all the exhibitions of affection the negro is capable of. + +"Dis am Mas Alfred own chile" she exclaimed to Harry and the old +gentleman, "and who would thought dat him would be libin' here." + +"I supposed it was your master's child, my good girl," observed the +Doctor, and then added, as he rose from his seat, "you can stay here +with him until dark, when you had better return home; meanwhile, I do +not wish you to let Mr. Wentworth know that his wife and child are in +this city, nor do I wish you to take him out of this cabin. Come +Harry," he continued, "let us go now and see the mother; she will be +able to give us full details of her unfortunate life and to inform us +of the cause for which she is in prison." + +Leaving the cabin, the two gentlemen re-entered the buggy and drove to +the Mayor's office. Finding him absent, they proceeded to his +residence, and, after briefly narrating the tale of Mrs. Wentworth and +her family, requested permission to visit her. + +"Certainly, my dear sirs," replied Mr. Manship, such being the name of +the Mayor, "take a seat while I write you an order of admittance." + +In a few minutes the order to admit Dr. Humphries and his companion in +the female's ward of the prison was written. Returning thanks to the +Mayor, the two gentlemen started for the prison, and on showing the +permit, were ushered into the cell occupied by Mrs. Wentworth. + +"Good God!" exclaimed Harry, as he looked upon the squalid and haggard +form of the broken hearted woman, "this surely cannot be the wife of +Alfred Wentworth." + +Mrs. Wentworth had paid no attention to the visitors when they first +entered, but on hearing her husband's name pronounced, rose from her +crouching position and confronted the speaker. The name of the one she +loved had awoke the slumbering faculties of the woman, and, like a +flash of electricity on a rod of steel, her waning reason flared up +for a moment. + +"You spoke my husband's name," she said in a hoarse tone, "what of +him?" + +"He is my friend, madam," replied Harry, "and as such I have called to +see you, so that you may be removed from this place." + +"Thank you," she answered; "yours is the first voice of charity I have +listened to since I left New Orleans. But it is too late; I have +nothing now to live for. Adversity has visited me until nothing but +disgrace and degradation is left of a woman who was once looked upon +as a lady." + +"There is no necessity for despondency, my good madam," observed Dr. +Humphries. "The misfortunes which have attended you are such as all +who were thrown in your situation are subject to. Our object in coming +here," he continued, "is to learn the true cause of your being in this +wretched place. Disguise nothing, but speak truthfully, for there are +times when crimes in some become necessity in others." + +"My tale is briefly told," she answered. "Forced by the cruelty of a +villain to leave my comfortable home in New Orleans, I sought refuge +in the Confederate lines. I anticipated that refugees would meet with +a welcome from the more fortunate people of the South. In that I was +disappointed; for when my means gave out, and every endeavor to +procure work to feed my children had failed--when I had not a dollar +to purchase bread for my innocent babes, I applied for assistance. +None but the most dire necessity would have prompted me to such a +step, and, Oh, God! when it was refused--when the paltry pittance I +asked for was refused, the hope which I had clung so despairingly to, +vanished, and I felt myself indeed a miserable woman. Piece after +piece of furniture went, until all was gone--my clothing was next +sold to purchase bread. The miserable life I led, the hours spent with +my children around me crying for bread--the agonizing pangs which rent +my mother's heart when I felt I could not comply with their +demand--all--all combined to make me an object of abject misery. But +why describe my sufferings? The balance of my tale is short. I was +forced out of the shelter I occupied because I could not pay the owner +his rent. My oldest child was then ill, and in the bleak night wind, +canopied by heaven alone, I was thrust, homeless, from a shelter owned +by a man whose wealth should have made him pause ere he performed such +an act. With my sick child in my arms I wandered, I knew not where, +until I found she had fainted. Hurrying to a small cabin on the road, +I entered and there discovered an old negro woman. From the lips of a +slave I first heard words of kindness, and for the first time aid was +extended to me. Applying restoratives, my child revived and I waited +until next morning, when I returned once more to ask for aid. A paltry +sum was handed to me, more for the sake of getting rid of the +mendicant than to relieve my distress. I felt that the sum offered was +insufficient to supply the demands of my sick daughter and my starving +boy. I was turning in despair away when my eye lit upon a package of +money resting on the safe. For a moment I hesitated, but the thought +of my children rose uppermost in my mind, and, seizing the package I +hurried from the store." + +"So you did take the money," said Harry. + +"Yes," she replied, "but it did me little good, for when the doctor +was called he pronounced my daughter beyond medical skill. She died +that evening, and all the use to which the money was appropriated, was +the purchase of a coffin." + +"Then the--the--" said Harry, hesitating to use the word theft, "then, +it was not discovered that you had taken the money until your child +was dead and buried." + +"No," she said, "listen--my child lay enrobed in her garment of death, +and the sun was fast declining in the west, when Mr. Swartz and two +constables entered the room and arrested me. On my bended knees I +appealed to him not to tear me from the body of my child. Yes," she +continued, excitedly, "I prayed to him in the most abject manner to +leave me until my child was buried. My prayers were unavailing, and +from the window of this cell I witnessed a lonely hearse pass by, +followed by none other than my infant boy and the kind old negro. Oh +God! Oh God!" she went on, bursting into tears and throwing herself on +the wretched pallet in the cell, "my cup of misery was then full, and +I had drained it to the very dregs. I have nothing more to live for +now, and the few days longer I have to spend on earth can be passed as +well in a prison as in a mansion." + +"Not so," interrupted Dr. Humphries, "I trust you will live many, many +years longer, to be a guardian to your child and a comfort to your +husband." + +"It cannot be," she answered sadly. "The brain, overwrought, will soon +give way to madness, and then a welcome death will spare me the life +of a maniac. I do not speak idly," she continued, observing the look +they cast upon her; "from the depths of my mind, a voice whispers that +my troubles on earth will soon be o'er. I have one desire, however, +and should like to see it granted." + +"Let me know what that is," remarked Dr. Humphries, "and if it lies in +my power it shall be accorded to you with pleasure." + +"Your companion spoke of my husband as his friend; does he know where +he is at present, and if so, can I not see him?" + +"I promise that you shall see your husband before many days. Until you +are removed from this place I do not think it advisable, but," +continued Harry, "I shall, on leaving this place, endeavor to secure +your release." + +Mrs. Wentworth made no answer, and, speaking a few words of +consolation and hope to her, the two gentlemen left the prison. The +next morning Harry called on the Mayor and asked if Mrs. Wentworth +could be bailed, but on his honor mentioning that her trial would come +off the next day, the court having met that evening, he determined to +await the trial, confident that she would be acquitted when the facts +of the case were made known to the jury. On the same day he met Alfred +Wentworth, who informed him that he was more strongly impressed than +ever in the belief that the pretended Englishman was a spy. + +"I will inform you of a plan that will prove whether you are right or +not," observed Harry, when he had concluded. "Tomorrow at about three +o'clock in the evening persuade him to visit the Court House. I will +be present, and if he is really the spy you imagine, will have full +evidence against him." + +"What evidence?" enquired Alfred. + +"Never do you mind," he replied, "just bring him and there will be +plenty of evidence found to convict him if he is a spy. By the way," +he continued, "you said you suspected him to be the same man who +caused your wife to be turned out of New Orleans?" + +"Yes," Alfred answered, "but why do you ask?" + +"Oh, nothing in particular," he replied, "only in the event his being +Awtry, you will have a double motive in finding out whether he is a +spy or not." + +"You are right," observed Alfred, "but whether he is Awtry or not, I +should deem it my duty to the Government to ferret out the true status +of that man, and to have him brought to justice if he is really a spy. +Your request to carry him to the Court House is a strange one, and I +will cheerfully comply with it, although I cannot see how his being +there will enable us to make the discovery." + +"Leave that to me," answered Harry, "and content yourself with +believing that I am certain it will prove whether he is an Englishman +or a Yankee." + +With that the two friends departed and Harry returned home much +perplexed at the manner he had arranged for the husband and wife to +meet. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENTH. + +TRIAL OF MRS. WENTWORTH--THE ADVOCATE. + + +The morning for the trial of Mrs. Wentworth arrived, and at the hour +of ten she appeared in the court. Her appearance was changed since we +last saw her. The kind hearted daughter of Dr. Humphries had visited +her the day before with a supply of clothing, and though her features +retained their haggard and care-worn expression, none who looked upon +her as she entered the court room could have failed to perceive that +she was a lady and unlike a majority of females brought before a jury +to answer grave charges. Her case did not excite any notice until she +appeared, when the pinched and sharp face presented to the spectators, +and the evidence her lady-like demeanor gave of her being a different +subject from that usually presented, awoke a feeling of interest in +the crowd, and many enquiries were made of the nature of the charge +made against her. None, however, could inform the inquisitors, and +they awaited the reading of the charges. + +As Mrs. Wentworth entered the room she cast a look at the jury box, +and a shudder came over her as she perceived Mr. Elder sitting among +the jurymen. She knew that he would not favor the dismissal of the +case; but a gleam of hope presented itself in the person of Dr. +Mallard, who she believed to be a good man, notwithstanding his abrupt +and true remarks at the bedside of her dying child. These were the +only two persons present she knew, save and except Mr. Swartz, who +stood near by, ready to give his evidence against her. But from him +she expected nothing; nor did she intend to ask one word of favor or +mercy. There was no disposition within her to sue for mercy, nor did +she purpose denying or palliating her having taken the money. + +After the usual delay, Mrs. Wentworth was placed in the prisoners' +stand and the charges preferred against her. In his usual style Mr. +Swartz proceeded to narrate his business connection with the accused, +and stated that he had done everything he possibly could for her, but +that, not satisfied with receiving his bounty, she had stolen his +money. His story was given in a conclusive and plausible manner, and +on his clerk certifying to what his employer had said, the chances for +the accused appeared very dim. What added more to the evidence against +her, was the conduct of Mr. Elder, who, rising from his seat briefly +stated that, from his intercourse with her, he believed Mrs. Wentworth +to be an unprincipled and dishonest woman. + +"On what ground do you make that assertion, Mr. Elder?" enquired the +Judge. + +"As I stated before, in my intercourse with her," he replied. + +"And may I ask of what nature your intercourse was?" asked the Judge. + +"It would delay the court were I to state what business transactions +have taken place between this woman and myself," answered Mr. Elder. +"When I arose, it was simply to state my belief in her dishonesty." + +"You should have appeared on the witness' box, if you desired to give +evidence against the accused," remarked the Judge. "As it stands, your +assertions cannot be taken as evidence against her. If you desire to +appear as a witness for the accuser, say so, and I will then be +prepared to hear what you may have to say." + +"I have no such desire," replied Mr. Elder, seating himself. + +"And now my good woman," said the Judge, turning to Mrs. Wentworth, +who had remained a silent listener to all that had been said against +her, "let me know what you may have to say against the charges brought +against you. By your appearance and general demeanor you have seen +better days, and it is a source of regret that I should see any one +bearing evidence of once living in a different sphere from the one you +now occupy, brought before me on a charge of robbery. Let me now know +what you have to say on this charge." + +"I can say nothing," she replied. + +"Well, then, do you plead guilty, or not guilty?" asked the Judge. + +"Not Guilty!" thundered Harry, in an excited manner. He had been +unavoidably delayed from accompanying Mrs. Wentworth to the Court +House, and had just arrived. "Not guilty! I repeat, and, as counsel +for the accused, I beg leave to make a few remarks." + +"Certainly, Lieutenant Shackleford," answered the Judge, who knew +Harry well. + +The remarks of Harry, and his excited manner, awoke the waning +interest in the case, and the crowd clustered closer round the +railings. + +"Your honor, and gentlemen of the Jury," began Harry, as soon as he +had become calm enough to speak: "It is now nearly two years since I +appeared in a civil capacity before a court of justice, and I had +thought that while this war lasted my services would have been solely +on the battle-fields of my country, and not in the halls where law is +dispensed. But the case which I have appeared to defend, is so unlike +those you ordinarily have before your honorable body, that I have, for +a while, thrown off the armor of the soldier, and once more appear as +the lawyer. You will pardon my apparent digression from the subject at +issue, but as I see many looks of surprise at my seemingly strange +conduct, I deem it but justice to myself that I should explain my +motive for so acting. + +"It is now nearly two years ago that a soldier in a happy and +comfortable home in New Orleans bade adieu to a fond wife and two +promising children. As the tear-drop trickled down the cheek of his +lovely and blooming wife, he whispered a word of comfort and solace to +her, and bade her be cheerful, for the dark cloud which covered the +political horizon of his country would soon be dispelled by the bright +sunshine of liberty. But the tear that fell on her cheek was not of +regret; for she felt that in leaving her he obeyed the call of his +country, and was but performing a duty he owed to his native South. +The tear was brushed away, and she smiled in his face at the glowing +words of hope and comfort he spoke to her. They were full of promise, +and as each syllable fell on her ear, they awoke an echo in her heart, +until the love of the wife paled before the enthusiastic patriotism of +the Southern woman, and the dangers of the battle-field became hidden +before the vision of the honor and glory which awaited the patriot +hero. Then she bade him adieu with a smile, and they departed, full of +love and hope.--Oh! gentlemen, let me take a glance back at the home +and household war had then severed. Before our treacherous enemy had +proclaimed war against us, this soldier's home was a model of earthly +joy and felicity. It is true, there was no wealth to be found there, +but there was a bright and more glorious gift than wealth can command; +there was happiness, and this, combined with the love borne by this +soldier for his wife, served to make them pass their years of wedded +life in comfortable union. Years pass over their heads, and two +children are sent to bless them, and they were cherished as priceless +gifts. When the call to arms resounded through the South, this +husband, like thousands of others, ceased his civil pursuits, and +enlisted under the banner of his country. None but the purest and +loftiest motives of patriotism, and a sense of duty, prompted him to +the step; and though he knew that in so doing he would leave his wife +deprived of her natural protector, and subject to privations, he +thought, and with every right, that those who remained at home would +shield a soldier's wife from danger, and he trusted on the means at +his disposal to keep her from penury and destitution. After making +preparation for his wife and children, he bade them adieu, as I have +described already, and departed for Virginia, whose soil had already +been invaded by the vandals of the North. + +"And now, gentlemen, lest you should think by my intimating that this +soldier was not wealthy, I meant he was also poor in society, I will +state that he and his wife held as high a position in the social +circle of New Orleans as the most favored of fortune. His wife, this +unfortunate lady, who now stands before you charged with theft, is the +daughter of one who was once wealthy, but on whom adversity fell +shortly before her marriage. Think not that the haggard and care-worn +features before you were always such. There was a time, not long +distant, when the bloom of youth and beauty could be seen in that +sunken cheek and that sharpened face; but adversity has reduced one of +God's fairest works to the wretched and unfortunate condition she is +now in. Pardon my digression, for the tale I have to tell cannot be +briefly recited; it is necessary that I shall speak in full, and +though I may tire you by my lengthy remarks, you must hear them with +patience, for they are necessary in this defence, and are equally +needed to hold up to the scorn and contempt of every patriotic spirit +in the land, two men who have disgraced their sex and entailed misery, +aye, and degradation, on an unfortunate woman." + +"If his honor, the judge, will permit me," interrupted Mr. Elder, "I +should like to decline serving as a juryman on this case." + +"Silence!" exclaimed Harry, before the judge could reply. "You are +already sworn in, and I desire that you shall remain where you are." + +"I cannot possibly excuse you, Mr. Elder," remarked the judge, in a +tone of surprise, "the case has progressed too far already for any +excuse. Continue, Lieutenant Shackleford," he continued, speaking to +Harry. + +"As I was observing," Harry went on, "this soldier departed for +Virginia, and shortly after his departure, a villain, who had +addressed his wife in former years and been rejected, assumed the +sheep's garb and resumed his acquaintance with her. Many were the +kindnesses he extended towards her, and the delicate manner in which +he performed those little acts of courtesy, that lend a charm to +society, disarmed any suspicion of his sincerity of purpose. But under +the guise of friendship, the villain designed to overcome a lonely +woman. With that subtlety and deception which every _roue_ possesses, +he ingratiated himself in her confidence and favor until she began to +regard him in the light of a brother. But the hour approached when the +mask he had worn so long would be thrown aside and his unhallowed +desires be avowed. The soldier was taken prisoner at Fort Donelson, +and within four months after, New Orleans fell. Then the persecutions +of the unprincipled villain commenced. A Northern man, he did not at +the commencement of the war avow his sympathies to be with the people +of his section, but, pretending friendship for the South, remained in +our midst until Butler and his infamous cohorts had gained possession +of the city, when he proclaimed himself a Unionist, and gaining the +favor of that disgrace to the name of man, was soon able to intimidate +the cowardly or beggar the brave. One of his first attempts was to +compel this lady to yield to his hellish passions. With contempt she +spurned his offers and ordered him never more to cross the threshold +of her house. Swearing vengeance against her, he left, and on the +following morning she received an order to leave the limits of the +city, that day, and prepare to enter the Confederate lines. The +dangers which then threatened her, she deemed vanished, for she feared +more to remain in the midst of our enemies than to enter our lines. +The order was therefore received with joy, and she prepared to depart. +Though a pang of sorrow may have filled her heart at being compelled +to relinquish her comfortable home, though she saw before her days, +weeks, months, perhaps years of hardship, not one feeling of remorse +at having rejected the offers of a libertine, ever entered the mind of +the soldier's wife. The time at length arrived for her to depart, and +with her two children, a few articles of clothing, and a small sum of +money, she was placed within our lines, far from any human habitation, +and left to find a shelter as best she could. + +"To this city she bent her footsteps, and here she anticipated finding +an asylum for herself and children. Gentlemen, we all well know that, +unfortunately for our cause and country, the evils Speculation and +Extortion, had spread their leprous wings and covered our land with +destitution. To a man of this city, who, before the world's eye, +appeared the Christian and the man of benevolence, but who in his +dealings with his fellow-men, was as vile an extortioner as the most +heartless; to this man she went and hired a room in which to find a +shelter. Finding she was a refugee and fearing an evil day, he bound +her down by law to suffer ejectment the moment she could no longer pay +the rent. Ignorant of the weapon she placed in his hands, she signed +the deed, and after paying a portion of the rent in advance, left him +and assumed possession. Mark well, gentlemen, what I have said. In his +action we find no Christianity--no benevolence; nothing but the spirit +of the extortioner is here manifested. There is no feeling of sorrow +shown at her unfortunate position, no disposition evinced to shield +the helpless mother and her babes. No! we find his actions narrowed +down to the sordidness of the miser, the avariciousness of the +extortioner. A feeling of surprise at such conduct may flit across +your bosoms, gentlemen, and you may perchance doubt that I can show a +man of this city, so bereft of charity, so utterly oblivious to all +the better feelings of humanity, but I shall before long call his +name, and give such evidence of the truth of my assertions, as will be +beyond contradiction or doubt. + +"To another man the soldier's wife went for the purpose of purchasing +a few articles of furniture. Of him I have little to say at present. +It is true that without caring who and what she was, his merchandize +was sold to her at the _speculator's_ price. But he had the right to +charge whatever he pleased, and therefore I have nothing to say +against him for that. + +"Weeks passed on, and the soldier's wife found herself without the +means of purchasing food for her children. The hour had at last +arrived when she was utterly destitute. In the meantime her husband +lay in a foreign prison, ignorant of the unhappy fate his wife was +undergoing. Many are the nights we have walked to and fro on the +grounds of Camp Douglas, and often has he spoken to me of his absent +wife and children. I know him, gentlemen, and never in the breast of +man beat a heart truer than his, nor in the minds of God's mortals +were there ever finer and nobler impulses. While he was thus suffering +confinement for his country's sake, his wife and children were +here--in our very midst, _starving_! Aye, starving! Think of it, +gentlemen--that in the midst of those who were supposed to be +friends--the wife and children of a patriot were allowed to starve. +Great God! is there on earth a spectacle so fearful to behold as +_starvation_? And is it not enough to evoke the wrath of the Infinite, +when men, surrounded by all that wealth can afford, refuse to aid and +succor their starving fellow creatures? + +"You may think that no man can be found who would refuse, but I tell +you, gentlemen, that that man who now stands before you, was appealed +to by this lady, the accused, after she had disposed of every piece of +furniture in the room, save and except the bed on which her children +slept. The appeal was rejected, and, despairing of help, she offered +and sold to him the last remaining article of furniture. Here now is +the picture. He could not lend or give her a paltry pittance; and why, +forsooth? Because the money would not yield him a profit, and there +was a chance of his losing it. But the moment she offered to dispose +of the bed, he purchased it, for in it did the profit of the +speculator lie hidden, and on it could he get his money doubled. Think +not, gentlemen, that the tale you have listened to from him is the +true one. It is a varnished and highly colored evidence, beneath which +a wide extent of corruption can be seen, the moment its curtain is +removed. + +"The pittance thus obtained serves but a short time, and they are again +reduced to want. The eldest child--a lovely daughter, is taken ill, and +while lying on a heap of rags in a corner of the room, the man calls and +demands his rent. The poor woman has no money to satisfy his demands and +he orders her to leave. She appeals to him, points to her ill child; but +her prayers are unavailing--and in the hour of night she is thrust from +the room, homeless, penniless, friendless! Yes! he--that man who now +sits in the jury-box--he--Mr. Elder, the so-called _Christian_ and man +of CHARITY--he, ejected this helpless woman from the shelter and forced +her to wander in the night air with her sick child--her starving babes. +He--the _extortioner_"--continued Harry, with every feature expressing +the utmost scorn, "turned her from the wretched home she had found here, +and left her to die on the sidewalks, like the veriest beggar. No touch +of pity for the child, no feeling of sorrow for the innocent angel, no +thought of the patriot lingering in prison, ever entered the mind of the +extortioner. There was nothing but _self_ then, nothing but the +promptings of his own avarice, which could view with indifference the +miseries of others, so long as they should redound to his own benefit +and aggrandizement. I tell you that man dare not deny a word I utter. He +knows that every one is true, and if my language could wither him with +shame, could make him the detestation of the world, I would speak yet +stronger, for pity to him is but contempt for those he has injured. + +"Thus thrust out of home and shelter, the helpless mother conveyed her +fainting child to a negro's cabin and there revived it. The next +morning she once more called upon her accuser and petitioned him for +help. He again refused to aid her, although informed that the money +was intended to procure medical aid for her sick child, until at last, +wearied of her importunities, he handed her the pitiful sum of _one +dollar_! This was not sufficient for the purpose she desired, and she +was about turning away in despair when her eye lit on a package of +notes lying on the safe. Remember, gentlemen, what I have told you. +She was penniless and friendless. Her child was ill and she had no +means to procure medical aid. Her appeal for charity had been +rejected, and can we blame her if she yielded to the tempter and took +the money lying before her? We cannot. Look not on the act, gaze only +on the provocation. If in hearts there dwells a shade of pity, an acme +of sympathy, you cannot return a verdict of guilty. She is not guilty +of theft! I unhesitatingly assert, that if to act as she has, and +under the circumstances she acted, be theft, then such a thief would I +become to-morrow; and in my own conscience, of the opinions of the +world and confident in the forgiveness of an Almighty Father, would I +commit such a theft as she has--just such an offence. I pleaded 'not +guilty,' and it may surprise you that in the face of such a plea, I +should acknowledge that she took the money. Again I repeat my plea. +She is not guilty of theft, and to you who have hearts to you who +sympathize with the sufferings of a soldier's wife--to you, whose +wives and children may to-morrow be placed in a similar position--to +you, I leave a verdict. But one word yet ere I am done. + +"The money which she took, to what use was, it placed? To purchase a +_coffin_ for her child! To place the lifeless body of her daughter in +its last home ere it is covered by the dust--this, and this only, was +the good which accrued from it. And, gentlemen, he--Mr. Elder--is the +MURDERER of that child. As such I charge him, and as such I +brand him to be. But for his brutality--but for his avarice and +selfish lust for gain, the mouldering corpse might now have been a +blooming and happy child. And yet another word. When the so-called +theft was discovered, and the accuser sought the accused, he found her +by the bedside on which the dead child lay clothed in its last earthly +garments. Disregarding her entreaties, she was torn from the corpse, +thrust into prison, and the humble and servile hands of the negro were +left to perform those sad rites which affection is ever the first to +do. This is my tale, and--" + +Here the excitement grew intense, and a strong feeling of indignation +was manifested by the soldiers present against Mr. Swartz and Mr. +Elder, and many threats were made to hang them. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTH. + +THE VERDICT--THE HUSBAND AND WIFE--ARREST OF AWTRY. + + +It was some time before the police could restore order and quiet the +excitement. At length complete silence was restored, and Harry +continued: + +"Such," he continued, "is the tale of this unfortunate woman, and the +position in which she found herself placed should excite, a feeling of +sympathy, and not induce you to punish her for an act which may be +deplored but cannot be condemned. That she took the money is +undeniable, but why did she take it? I have told you it was to save +her child's life, and though that class of philosophers and ultra +moralists who believe that there are no causes sufficient to justify +her act, may declare her guilty of theft, let the promptings of your +own hearts decide whether her position did not excuse, if it does not +render her conduct undeserving of condemnation by a jury. But in +claiming from you a verdict in favor of my client, I must take +occasion to say, that your acquittal will not restore this lady to +that position she formerly occupied, or remove from her mind the +impress left there by an act which necessity, and necessity alone, +caused her to perform. It will not restore to her the innocent child +now lying mouldering in the grave, it will not reunite the broken +links of affection, it will not ease the agony of the soldier when he +discovers that his wife was the inmate of a prison, nor will it +replace on its former firm base the mind of this unfortunate lady, +which, like the pillars of some ancient edifice, totters beneath a +weight of agonizing thought, soon, alas! I fear, to fall, a mass of +ruin, in the vortex of insanity. The patriot soldier must return to +find his daughter dead, his wife a maniac, and his only remaining +child a dependent on the bounty of strangers. But one thing remains; +he must turn from the spectacle thus presented and return to the +battle-field a heart-broken and unhappy man. The spirit with which he +formerly contended for the liberty of his country will have vanished +and fled, for the remembrance of his family's fate must ever remain +uppermost in his mind, and the reflections they will produce must +leave a blighting scar, which no future kindness can remove, sympathy +eradicate, or consolation destroy. I am done. On your good judgment +and the strength of my assertions, which can be proven, if necessary, +I rely for the acquittal of this lady." + +As he concluded, the building shook with applause from the crowd, and +Mr. Swartz and Mr. Elder trembled for their safety. Harry felt that +the acquittal of Mrs. Wentworth was now secure, for the jury itself, +sharing the popular feeling, gave expressions of approbation in many +remarks. If the language of Harry had been simple, it had carried +conviction to every soul, and all present, as they looked upon the +accused, felt that her offense was fully atoned for by the chain of +harrowing circumstances with which she had been bound. + +And for her--the soldier's wife? She had remained a passive spectator +of all that occurred. When the voice of her defender first broke on +her ear, she turned and looked at him for a moment, then, as if +indifferent whether his defense was successful or not, she turned her +head away and listlessly gazed at the crowd. She cared not now for +freedom and acquittal; she felt that the chords of reason were on the +point of breaking, and but one thought, one desire, filled her mind, +before they broke and madness held sway over her. It was to see that +loved form, to gaze once more on those loved features, to be clasped +once again in her HUSBAND'S arms. This was the sole thought, +the only desire. All "fond records," all recollection of past years, +all hope for future happiness, were obliterated, and nothing remained +before her mind's eye but the soldier who had parted from her in New +Orleans. Even the memory of her dead and of her living child had +vanished, and if they were for a while brought to her mind, it was +only in connection with the single desire which kept the chains of +sanity united. The lineaments of every soldier in the crowd were +closely and eagerly scanned, but there were none there who bore the +slightest resemblance to him for whom she yearned. But still she +peered into the assemblage, regardless of the efforts being made in +her behalf, and it was not until the interruption narrated in the last +chapter took place, that she manifested any interest in the +proceedings of the court, and then it was merely by a gesture of +surprise at the uproar. When Harry concluded and sat down, she again +evinced astonishment, but not a syllable escaped from her lips. + +After a few minutes the shouts of the crowd subsided, and at the +request of the judge, silence was restored. His honor then addressed +the jury. + +"Gentlemen of the jury," he began, "the case before your notice has +become, from one of apparent insignificance, one of intense interest +and importance. A merchant of this city, well known to you all, both +by his wealth and his long residence in your midst, appears before +this court and accuses a woman of theft. She is arrested and every +evidence of her guilt is found on her person; she does not deny the +act, and is accordingly brought before you to be tried and sentenced, +or acquitted, as you may, in your good judgment think best." + +"Overwhelming evidence is brought against her to-day, and no doubt of +her having committed the theft exists. There appears little more for +you to do than to find her guilty, and for me to pass the sentence. +But before doing these, it is necessary that the accused shall have a +defense. She is questioned, but informs the court she has nothing to +say. At this stage of the proceedings, a gentleman well known to you +as a rising lawyer of this place before the war commenced, and better +known since then as a gallant and meritorious officer, appears as her +defendant. You have heard his defense. The act of taking the money is +not denied, but in his defense he claims that it was committed through +dire necessity. It is true that a defense of this nature is a somewhat +extraordinary one, and is new in the annals of criminal law. Still he +has given you a tale of hardships and privations which he claims +occurred in this city, and which, coming from any other source, may +well be doubted. It is left for you to decide whether his claim for an +acquittal shall be granted or not. In my remarks I do not intend to +bias you one way or the other. What my opinions are will be given +after your decision is announced. To you I look for that decision." + +"If your honor will permit me," said Dr. Mallard, rising, "I will make +a few remarks before the jury retires. The tale told by Lieut. +Shackleford is correct so far as I know of it. I was called upon to +attend on the sick girl mentioned in the defense, and found her in an +old cabin, almost at the point of death. At the time it did not strike +me as singular that a white family should be found living in such a +hovel, but the tale I have just heard narrated has made me reproach +myself for my blindness in not discovering that the unfortunate family +were of greater respectability than can be found in the residents of +log cabins. Impressed, therefore, with a firm belief in the +truthfulness of the tale I have heard, I shall act accordingly." + +With these remarks he resumed his seat, and in a few minutes the jury +retired to decide on their verdict. Mr. Elder followed reluctantly, +but had made up his mind to give consent to anything the majority +should decide on. He was already apprehensive for his personal safety +and was anxious to be at home again. + +After a short absence the jury returned and announced they had decided +on a verdict. + +"What is that verdict, gentlemen?" inquired the judge. "Do you find +this lady guilty or not guilty?" + +"Taking all the circumstances into consideration," replied the +foreman, "we find the prisoner NOT GUILTY of the charge." + +For a moment the building shook to the very foundation, from the +prolonged cheers of the spectators. It was not rejoicing at the escape +from punishment of the guilty, that they applauded, but it was through +heartfelt exultation at the acquittal of an unfortunate woman. It was +the spontaneous outburst of Southern hearts, bleeding with sympathy +for the oppressed and poverty-stricken soldier's wife, and swelling +with indignation at the brutal and unfeeling conduct of Mr. Elder and +Mr. Swartz. + +Harry's eye moistened as he heard the shouts of applause, and a +feeling of grateful emotion swept over him. He felt no gratification +at his success in gaining her acquittal which did not spring from the +loftiest and most disinterested motives. He rejoiced on account of +Mrs. Wentworth and her child and the gallant soldier he had so proudly +called his friend. He rejoiced to know that the fair fame of the +soldier's wife stood untarnished, and that he could restore her to the +arms of her husband, not as the inmate of a penitentiary, but as the +acquitted accused, who had committed the act she was accused of, but +was still considered by all who had heard of the case, free from +crime, and pure and unstained as before the blighting handy of penury +and suffering were stretched across her sorrow-beaten path. + +"Madam," said the judge, when the cheering had ceased, "you have heard +the verdict of the jury, acquitting you of the charge made against you +by Mr. Swartz, although in your defense, it is acknowledged you did +take the money, and the jury is cognizant of the fact. While your +acquittal, in face of the evidence given, and your own acknowledgment +as well as the acknowledgment of your counsel, may be somewhat +deviating from the letter of the law, it is nevertheless in strict +accordance with its spirit, and with pleasure I inform you that being +acquitted you are no longer held a prisoner, but are free to go where +you will. But before you leave, let me make a few remarks on this +case, which in my judgment are called for by the circumstances, and +which may appear again, in consequence of many parties being similarly +situated. Although the jury has acquitted you, such acquittal must not +be considered a license for others to go and do likewise. Where your +case is one of necessity, another of a like nature may be caused +through dishonesty. Your act is not applauded by thinking minds, nor +did the jury intend to convey the impression that in acquitting you +they considered you had performed a very meritorious act. To the +contrary, they deplore the performance of a deed which cannot be +thought of but with regret; at the same time they took into +consideration the deplorable position into which you were placed, and +declare you innocent of _theft_. + +"Before closing my remarks," he continued, "I would call the attention +of those present, as well as the people in general, to this case. Like +this unfortunate lady, many refugees are sojourning in our midst. They +should be received with welcome by those who are fortunate enough to +live in peace and quiet in their happy homes. But such, I fear, is not +always the case. Many respectable families who had been accustomed to +all that wealth could afford, are now living, if not in absolute +necessity, in very poor circumstances, and could have their position +materially improved if the people of this State would offer them that +assistance they need. It is not an act of charity to lend a helping +hand to the refugee. We are bound together by a sympathy formed on the +battle-field by the gallant men of every State now struggling side by +side for our independence, and it is a matter of duty that the wives +and children of the soldier shall not suffer during his absence. It is +a sordid spirit that refuses to aid a helpless woman because she +happens to be a refugee. This Confederacy is a home for all its sons +and daughters, and when they abandon their native State, and, fleeing +from a brutal enemy, come into our midst for safety and protection, we +should welcome them as suffering patriots and cherish, them as they +deserve. It is a hard struggle for a woman to abandon a home, +surrounded by all the luxuries of life and in which happiness reigns +dominant, to incur hardships and privations. In doing so her +patriotism is severely tested, and nothing but the most exalted +devotion to our country triumphs over her fears. + +"There is yet another subject I will speak on. The two men who have +figured so conspicuously in this case as the cause of this lady's +sufferings, cannot be allowed to pass unnoticed. Mr. Elder is a well +known gentleman of this city and has hitherto borne an irreproachable +character. Did he not stand silent when accused of inhuman conduct +towards this lady, I should hesitate to believe him guilty of such an +atrocity. But as his silence is indicative of guilt, the horrible +nature of his act comes before us with great force, and we shudder to +think that any one wearing the form of humanity could so far debase +the mind as to turn a helpless woman and dying child from a shelter +because she had not the means of paying her debt. In so doing, Mr. +Elder has displayed the spirit of the extortioner, and must feel all +the stings of conscience which haunt the mind of a murderer, should +his heart be not too much hardened already. He has acted a worse part +than a murderer, for the assassin kills his victim through revenge, or +at the worst, for pay. Here, Mr. Elder--a possessor of wealth and not +needing the money--turns a tenant from his roof because she is +penniless. I say nothing against him for doing so, for it was an +indisputable right of his, but when we view the brutality of the +act--when we think of the hardness of the heart that could not +commiserate with the situation of Mrs. Wentworth--that was deaf to the +appeals of a mother--blind to the illness of her child--the soul +sickens with horror at the knowledge that a mortal so debased--so +utterly devoid of the instincts of humanity which govern a +brute--should exist on the earth. But the mask of religion is now torn +from his face, and we see his own lineaments. Henceforth the scorn of +all generous, minds will he receive, and turned from the respectable +position he once held, must reflect on the inevitable exposure of the +hypocrite some day, sooner or later. I shall leave him to the scorn +and indignation of all good men. From them he will receive that +punishment which his brutality, caused from his extorting spirit, +deserves. + +"And for Mr. Swartz, the accuser of this lady, I can see but little in +extenuation of his conduct. If his business is even illegitimate, +there are so many speculators in the South that it should not cause +surprise that his refusal to aid this woman necessitated her taking +his money. The speculator cannot be expected to have a heart tender +enough to perform a charitable act. The man who will speculate on the +necessities of the people, is not likely to feed the hungry. It is too +true that many good men have been drawn into the vortex of +speculation, but these are few in number and are isolated cases. + +"Mr. Swartz has been among us long enough to imbibe the spirit and +sentiments of our people, but from his action towards this lady, he +does not seem to have profited by their example. A foreigner by birth, +he has cast a stigma on his nation, for, with all their faults, I do +not believe there is a more charitable people than the German. I have +found it so, in many years of familiar intercourse with them. But his +last act is the one deserving unqualified condemnation. To tear a +mother from the bedside of her dead child--to incarcerate her in a +prison, while the hands of strangers were performing the last sad +rites over the dead, is an act that Christianity could never believe, +were the evidence not before us, too forcible for denial, too truthful +for contradiction. It is an act that calls for withering rebuke, but +we dismiss him with the belief that on the coming of that inevitable +_Hereafter_, he will receive the punishment he so well merits. + +"My remarks are now concluded, and the prisoner is discharged from +custody." + +There was deep silence for several minutes, during which Harry looked +anxiously in the crowd for his friend; but Alfred was nowhere to be +seen. Mrs. Wentworth retained her passive look of indifference, and +took no further notice of the curious crowd, which gazed upon her with +hearts full of pity and commiseration. Once or twice she slowly raised +her hand and pressed her forehead with it, as if it ached. But she +spoke no word of complaint, nor did she give any other indication of +suffering. + +Harry was about to remove her from the court, when there was a bustle +in the crowd, and the voice of Alfred was heard calling on those +around him to give way. He was followed by Awtry, perfectly +unconscious of the cause of his companions agitation. + +"Make room there, for God's sake," asked Alfred, pressing through the +dense mass of men and women. "Follow me," he continued, speaking to +Awtry. + +The men nearest to him, perceiving his excitement, generally surmised +the truth, and a low murmur ran through the room that it was the +prisoner's husband, and a passage was quickly made to where Mrs. +Wentworth was sitting. + +Awtry heard the words, "it is her husband," and turned back with the +intention of leaving, but his arm was quickly seized by Alfred, who, +still concealing his intention, simply said, "Come on; I will find a +passage for us." He hesitated an instant, but, believing his +appearance sufficiently disguised to prevent Mrs. Wentworth from +recognizing him, he determined to risk proceeding, in the hope of +escaping discovery. + +At last Alfred was by the side of his wife--the soldier had met her he +loved for the first time in nearly two years. Silently and sadly he +gazed at her changed appearance, and the briny tears slowly trickled +down the soldier's cheeks as he noted her sunken features. At last he +spoke. + +"Eva!" he said, in a voice that trembled with emotion, "my wife! my +darling wife! do you not know me?" + +His voice, full of love, sounded in her ear like the sweetest music +ever played by the angels of God. At the sound of her name she turned +round and looked anxiously in his face--a moment more, and he had +scarcely finished speaking, before she had thrown herself in his arms. + +"Alfred! my husband!" she murmured, as she pillowed her head in his +bosom, "at last--at last!" + +"Oh, Heavenly Father!" exclaimed Alfred, raising her head and gazing +fondly at the wan and emaciated features of his wife "_is this_ all I +find?" + +His words were those of anguish, wrung out from a tortured heart. It +was not so he expected to meet his wife. + +"Rise, darling," he continued, "rise, and let us leave this place--let +us go where friends are." She rose up, and leaning on his arm, moved +off, when he suddenly confronted Awtry, who had stood with anxious and +palpitating heart for the closing of the scene. "Stay awhile, +dearest," Alfred went on, as soon as he perceived Awtry, "Look at this +man--do you know him?" + +Mrs. Wentworth looked at him for some time, but failed to recognize +Awtry. "I do not know him," she said, shaking her head. + +"This is very strange conduct on your part, Mr. Wentworth," said Awtry, +believing himself safe. + +"Ha!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, "it is his voice. It is Awtry--there +he is--I know him now," and she fainted in her husband's arms. + +"Seize that man!" thundered Harry, who was standing near Alfred, "he +is a spy." + +In an instant, Awtry was secured and hurried of to prison. Mrs. +Wentworth was conducted by Harry and her husband to Dr. Humphries', +where we leave them for awhile. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-NINTH. + +THE EYE OF GOD--THE MANIAC WIFE. + + +Pardon us, kind reader, for digressing for awhile from the sad tale it +has been our lot to give you, to remark on the strange fancies which +govern the minds of a large majority. So inscrutable do the works of +the Almighty appear, that we believe all the ills of this world are +evoked by Him for some good end. In a measure this is correct. When +sinful mortals are burdened with sorrow and affliction, we can +recognize in them the chastening hand of God, for under such weight of +suffering the soul is apt to pass through purified of the blackness +and corruption which darkened and rendered it odious to the good. Here +we see the benefits accruing from trouble and distress. We behold the +sinner being punished for his transgression, and to the righteous and +good, these afflictions are welcomed as the saving of one more soul +from the grasp of hell. But how is it when the innocent suffer? It is +not the work of the Eternal. High up in the celestial realms, His eyes +are turned towards earth to punish the guilty and reward the innocent, +and in His works we find no instance where the hands of adversity and +suffering have fallen upon those who deserved reward. Where the +guiltless are found suffering, He relieves their necessities, and +brings them once more that happiness which they deserve on earth. + +Why shall it be always said that when a home of happiness is in an +instant hurled from the summit of earthly felicity and buried in the +dark gulf of adversity, that such is the work of God? If that home is +contaminated by grievous sins, there is justice in the claim, but +where the transgressions are not heavier than those good men commit, +it cannot be, for the God who reigns above seeks to build up, and not +to destroy, unless there is no other way of punishing the sinner but +by the infliction of the heaviest penalties. We have painted a +soldier's wife, if not free from sin, at least innocent of crimes +which are calculated to bear upon the conscience and cause remorse or +fear; we have pictured her two children, pure and unsinful, for it +cannot be said that mortal can sin in infancy. We have shown them +plunged in direst misfortunes, and is there not force in the question +when we ask if their months of penury and suffering were the works of +the God of Mercy and Righteousness? + +It cannot be. The innocent do not suffer by the hands of God, while +the guilty revel in all the wealth and affluence that this earth +bestows. How many men are there who live in ease and comfort, while +their souls are burdened with sins? The hypocrite, the liar, the +thief, the murderer; all, and by hundreds they can be counted, appear +to the world + + "A combination and a form, indeed, + Where every god did seem to set his seal," + +but in whose souls the fires of hell rage with remorseless fury. But +their afflictions are not known to man. The eyes of the world gaze not +on them, when the mind is racked by the conflict of sin. We see not +their sufferings; we know not the pangs they feel; we only recognize +them by the outward appearance. They live, surrounded with all that +can make mortal happy, save the happiness of a clear conscience. In +this world they prosper, and many gain the applause and commendation +of their fellow mortals. What are their sufferings? They are unknown +to man, though remembered by God. And if punishment comes at last, it +is just and merited, nor do we regret that sin is scourged by the +avenging hand of a Savior. + +But while we witness the guilty revelling in wealth and affluence, how +often are the innocent plunged in want? Aye, myriads of times. We know +not of them, but over the land there are hundreds of our fellow +mortals whose days are but a repetition of suffering. Famine and +sickness have stalked in the midst of hundreds who are innocent of +crime, and reduced them to the last brink of despair. Is this the work +of God? Forbid it, Heaven! that the charge should be made. There is no +ground on which to assert that the Ruler of the Universe--the God of +Righteousness--the Lord of Mercy, would thrust the innocent into +woe--would blast their earthly prospects--would dash the cup of +happiness from their lips, and leave them to perish through Famine and +Disease--while men steeped in crime, whose consciences, if read, would +show an appalling blackness of guilt--while they, we say, escaped from +earthly punishment and enjoyed all the good of this world! On Earth, +as in Heaven and Hell, man is divided into two bodies, Angels and +Fiends. Both are known to the Almighty, and it is only when His eyes +are turned from the good that Fiends triumph. Only then--it is not His +work--it cannot and can never be. + +And now, kind reader, you may think that the writer is either a +lunatic or a madman to advance a doctrine which claims that God--the +Infinite--the Everlasting--the Omnipotent--the Inscrutable, would turn +awhile from the good and survey them not--allow them to suffer. We are +neither the one nor the other. Perchance our doctrine is a mere +vagary; still, as we glance over our country and see the scenes daily +enacted, we cannot believe they are the work of an Almighty Father. +When our maidens are ravished by the hated foe and despoiled of that +Virtue held sacred in Heaven, is it the work of God? When the creeping +babe is immolated by the savages of the North, is it a dispensation of +Providence? When the homesteads of the people are given to the flames +and the cursed army of Abolitionists exult at their demolition, does +the hand of our Heavenly Father direct the work of destruction? When +our temples are profaned by the bacchanalian orgies of the Northern +hordes, does the Infinite invite them to desecrate His altars? They +are not His works--they never were. These acts which the Christian +world shudders at, are the machinations and promptings of Hell, and +the Fiends who dwell therein triumph for awhile where the Eye of God +is not. + +But the Eye of God is not always turned away from His suffering +people. The cry of the wretched is borne to His ear by the angels, and +Mercy, Charity and Goodness descend to Earth and sweep away the +incarnate spirits infesting it. In this we behold the Greatness and +Righteousness of God, for though He may see not our hardships for +awhile, the cry of the Innocent will ascend to Heaven; their +sufferings will be obliterated, and if even on earth they gain not +happiness, in those realms where sinless Angels abide, all past woes, +all past years of want, all former wretchedness, are removed and +forgotten, in an eternity of peace and celestial felicity. + +And so it was with the soldier's wife whose sad trials we are +narrating to the reader. The spirit of the angel daughter had winged +its flight to the Savior, and the little invisible hand pointed to its +mother on earth below, and the Son of God supplicated the Father to +relieve the miseries of the innocent. We have shown how this was done. +The good of earth was the medium of salvation, and her trials are at +an end. + +Yes, they are at an end! But with them, when she fell fainting in her +husband's arms on recognizing Awtry, the light of reason expired, and +the soldier's wife was a maniac. + +They bore her gently to the residence of Dr. Humphries, and there all +that medical science could perform was done, and every attention was +lavished upon her. But it was of no avail; madness had seized the mind +of Mrs. Wentworth, and the doctor shook his head sadly as he gazed +upon her. Days passed on, and still she continued in this state. + +"I fear she will only recover her reason to die," observed Dr. +Humphries to Harry. "Could her constitution sustain the frenzied +excitement she now labors under, I would have some hope, but the +months of wretchedness she has passed through, has so weakened her +frame that nothing remains but a wreck of what was once a healthy +woman." + +"This is bad news," remarked Harry, "and I fear it will have a sad +effect upon Alfred. I have been overcome with sympathy at observing +his silent grief at the bedside of his raving wife, and several times +I have heard him mutter, 'never mind, my darling, you will soon +recover, and then we will be happy.' Unfortunate man! Could there be +the slightest possibility of saving his wife, I am certain you would +not despair." + +"I do not yet despair," replied the doctor, "although I fear very much +her case is hopeless. I have sent for Dr. Mallard and Dr. Purtell; +when they have seen Mrs. Wentworth, we will have a consultation, and I +trust some good will accrue from it. By the way," he continued, +changing the conversation, "have you heard what has become of the +supposed spy arrested in the court house?" + +"I heard on yesterday that his trunks had been searched, but nothing +had been discovered in them, beyond the fact that he was Mr. Awtry, +and not an Englishman, as he pretended to be." + +"Have they discharged him?" inquired the doctor. + +"Oh no;" Harry replied, "the fact of his assuming a false character +was deemed sufficient evidence to keep him in prison until further +discoveries are made." + +"It is very likely, then, that he will eventually pay the penalty of +his crimes," observed the doctor. + +"Yes; and I trust it will not be long before he suffers death," Harry +answered, and then added: "I am not bloodthirsty, nor do I favor the +hoisting of the black flag, as so many appear desirous of doing. But +for a wretch like Awtry, I have not the slightest pity, and would hear +of his execution with pleasure. If even there is no proof discovered +of his being a spy, his brutality to Mrs. Wentworth merits punishment, +and if only for that, I should desire to see him hung or shot. +However, I have no fear but that the fact of his being a spy will be +discovered, for several of the most expert detectives in the service +are on the search for the necessary evidence to convict him." + +"And which evidence I trust they will soon discover," remarked the +doctor. "Like you, I am averse to a war of extermination, but when +instances like the one before us are brought to our notice, an +outraged and indignant people demand satisfaction and should have it +accorded to them." + +"Ah! my dear sir," replied Harry, "while Awtry's outrage on Mrs. +Wentworth deserves condemnation and punishment, he is not solely the +guilty cause of her sufferings. From the moment she reached our lines, +it was the duty of the people of this city to aid and succor her. Had +this been done, her daughter may have been alive this day. +Unfortunately the philanthropic and charitable were idle and waited +until such cases came to their notice. Had they looked for them, Mrs. +Wentworth never would have fallen into the hands of unprincipled +speculators and extortioners, and would have been spared the load of +affliction which has now periled her life." + +"You are right, Harry," said Dr. Humphries. "It is our duty to search +for the unfortunate poor, and not to wait until they appeal for +assistance. There are many destitute women and children in our midst +who have been driven from their once happy and prosperous homes by the +hated Yankees. Among them are many high-toned and respectable +families, whose pride shrinks from begging for bread, and who now live +a life of penury and starvation rather than become the mendicant. And +if even they bury delicacy at the mandate of stern Want, they are so +apt to be refused assistance by the heartless, that they imagine all +of our people alike, and fearing further refusal, shrink with natural +horror from a second rejection." + +"This can be prevented," observed Harry. "Let the benevolent make it a +business to find out the suffering who are worthy of assistance, and +let such aid be given, not as charity, but as a duty we owe those who +have remained faithful to our cause, and abandoned their homes rather +than submit to the enemy. By so doing, we not only alleviate +hardships, but we render the soldier happy and contented to serve his +country. The knowledge that his family is protected by those at home, +and supplied with all that is necessary, will remove from his mind all +anxiety for their welfare. It will, besides, grasp them from the +clutches of the wretches who are speculating and extorting, and will +not only be an act of everlasting honor to those who perform this good +work, but will aid our cause as much as if the parties were serving in +the field. Many a man who now lies in the deserter's dishonored grave, +would have been this day sharing the glory of his country and been +looked upon as a patriot, had not his starving wife and children +forced him in an evil hour to abandon his post and go to them. It is +true, there is no excuse for the deserter, but where the human +affections are concerned, it is but natural that the soldier will feel +solicitous for the comfort of his wife and children." + +"Something of that sort should, indeed, be done," remarked the doctor, +"and I believe there are many in our midst who would cheerfully aid in +this good work. I cannot believe that the majority of our people are +such inhuman characters as Elder and Swartz. It is true that these men +have a monopoly in our midst, so far as wealth is concerned, but it +would be wrong to blame the majority for the crimes of a few." + +"The majority, if even good and charitable, are to blame," replied +Harry, firmly, "for if they outnumber the miserable creatures whose +sole thought is to amass wealth from the sufferings of our country, it +is their duty to thwart such desires by every possible means, and it +could be done were the proper steps taken. But they have heretofore +displayed an indifference almost criminal, and appear to participate +in the unworthy prejudice against refugees. Forgetful that they may +to-morrow be similarly situated, they lend a moral, if not an active +aid, in the oppression of this unfortunate portion of our people, and +are perfectly careless whether want and misery overtake them or not. +We must not forget that these refugees are as much entitled to a home +in this as in their own State. Their husbands, fathers and brothers +are fighting to protect us from subjugation, and if we are unmindful +of the comfort of their relatives, it not only entails disgrace upon +our name, but renders us deserving of a similar fate, and worse +treatment." + +"I agree with you," said the doctor, "and so far as I am concerned, +everything that can be done for them shall be performed, and--" + +Here a knock at the door interrupted the conversation. Harry opened +it, and Drs. Mallard and Purtell were announced. + +"Good morning to you, gentlemen," said Dr. Humphries, as soon as they +entered. "I am very glad you have answered my call so promptly. The +case I desire you to see is one of great seriousness, but I withhold +any opinion until you have seen the patient and expressed your ideas +about it." + +"I Suppose it is the lady who was accused of theft," said Dr. Mallard. + +"Yes sir," answered Harry, "it is the same person." + +"I observed her features very attentively during the trial," remarked +Dr. Mallard, "and so convinced was I that she would soon be insane, +that I determined, in the event of her being found guilty, to have her +released and placed under my care on that plea. Is she raving?" he +added inquiringly of Dr. Humphries. + +"Yes," replied that gentleman, "but in her ravings she makes no +allusion whatever to her wretched life of the past few months. She +fancies herself at home in New Orleans again, and as all was then +happiness with her, so does everything appear to her mind the reflex +of her past days." + +"We had better see her now," said Dr. Purtell, "for the sooner +something is done towards restoring her reason the better." + +"Certainly," answered Dr. Humphries, "walk this way," he continued, +leading them toward Mrs. Wentworth's chamber. + +At the door he was met by Emma, who had been watching by the bedside +of the maniac all the morning. + +"Walk easily," she whispered as the three gentlemen appeared at the +door. "She is now calmer than ever, but the slightest noise will +excite her again." + +The medical gentlemen entered the room with noiseless steps, and +remained for several minutes watching the sleeping sufferer. Her +emaciated features were flushed from excitement and her breathing was +hard and difficult. In her sleep, she softly murmured words which told +of happy years that were past and vanished forever and could never +more return. The broken sentences told of love and happiness, and a +deep feeling of sympathy stole into the breasts of her hearers as they +listened to her ravings. Alfred was sitting by the bed looking on the +wreck of his wife, and when the doctors entered, he arose and briefly +saluted them. To their words of condolence he made no reply, for his +heart was bitter with grief, and he felt that consolatory language was +a mockery, and however well meant and sincere it may have been, it +could not relieve the agony he felt at witnessing the destruction of +his family's happiness. Oh, let those alone who have felt the burning +of the heart when it was wrung with agony, appreciate the misery of +men struck down from the pedestal of earthly joy and buried in the +gulf of wretchedness. We have known homes where the heart beat high +with joy, and life promised to be a future of happiness and peace; +where the fairest flowers of affection seemed to bloom for us, and +over our pathway floated its perfume, while before our sight, its +loveliness remained undiminished until that fatal delusion, Hope, +intoxicated the senses and made us oblivions to reality. A brief +spell--a charm of short duration, and the hallucination is dispelled, +only to leave us seared and blasted, almost hating mankind, and +wearing the mask of the hypocrite, leading a double life, to hide the +sears left by unsuccessful ambition, or disappointed aspiration. What +were death itself compared with the misery of finding, when too late, +that the hopes and happiness we deemed reality, were but a shadow, not +a substance, which lingered for awhile and Left us to curse our fate. + +And yet it is but life--one hour on the pinnacle, the other on the +ground. But to our tale. + +After remaining by the bedside for several minutes, the doctors were +about to leave, when Mrs. Wentworth awoke from her sleep, and gazed +with an unmeaning look upon the gentlemen. She recognized no one--not +even her husband, who never left her, save when nature imperatively +demanded repose. + +The doctors requested that Alfred and Emma would retire while they +examined the patient. In accordance with their wishes, they did so, +and Alfred, entering the balcony, paced up and down, impatient for the +result of the consultation. The door of Mrs. Wentworth's chamber +remained closed for nearly half an hour, when it opened, and Drs. +Humphries, Mallard and Purtell issued from it, looking grave and sad. + +The heart of the husband sank as he looked at their features. + +"Let me know the worst," he said, huskily, as they approached him. + +"We will not deceive you," replied Dr. Mallard, "your wife, we fear, +will remain a maniac while her strength lasts, and then--" here he +paused. + +"And then--" replied Alfred, inquiringly. + +"We fear she will only recover her reason to die" continued Dr. +Mallard in a tone of sympathy. + +"God help, me," uttered the soldier, as he sunk on a chair and buried +his face in his hands. + +After a few more words full of sympathy and condolence the two doctors +left, and shortly after Dr. Humphries dispatched a servant to bring +the little boy from the old negro's cabin. + +"His presence may rally Mr. Wentworth," the doctor observed to Harry. +"Since the consultation he has remained in the same seat, and has +never once visited the room of his wife. Something must be done to +rouse him from his grief, otherwise it will be fatal to his health." + +"The presence of his son may be beneficial," said Harry, "but I do not +believe the child can while him away from the sorrow he has met with. +It has been a hard--a fatal blow, and has fallen with fearful effect +upon my poor friend." + +In about an hour the servant returned with the child. He had been +neatly dressed in a new suit of clothes and looked the embodiment of +childish innocence. + +Taking him by the hand Dr. Humphries led him into the balcony where +Alfred still sat with his face buried in his hands, deep in thought +and racked with grief. + +"Here," said the old gentleman, "here is your son. The living and well +claim your attention as well as those who are gone and those who +suffer." + +Alfred raised his head and gazed at the child for a moment. + +"My boy," he exclaimed at last, "you are the last link of a once happy +chain." As he spoke he pressed the child to his bosom, and the +strong-hearted soldier found relief in tears. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTIETH. + +DEATH OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. + + +The presence of his child lightened but did not remove the grief of +Alfred Wentworth. The love he bore his wife may be likened to the love +of the eagle for liberty. Cage it, and the noble bird pines away; no +longer allowed to soar on high, but fettered by man, it sickens and +dies, nor can it be tamed sufficiently to become satisfied with the +wires of a cage. So it was with the soldier. His love for his wife was +of so deep and fathomless a nature, that the knowledge of her being a +maniac, and only returning to reason to die, changed the current of +his nature, and from being a friendly and communicative man, he became +a silent and morose being. The world had lost its charms, and the +blank left in his heart, the sear upon his mind, the agony at knowing +that his wife--his pure and peerless wife, had been compelled from her +necessities to take that which was not her own, could never be filled, +never be healed and never be eased. + +A wife! We know not from experience what it means, but there is a +something, an inward voice, which tells, us that a wife is the holiest +gift of God to man. A wife! what is it? A woman to cherish and +protect, to give the heart's affection to, and to receive all the +confiding love with which her bosom is filled. The partner of your +happiness--the source of all that makes man good and binds him to +earth; the solace of woes, the sharer of joys--the gentle nurse in +sickness, and the fond companion in health. Oh! there is a something +in the name, which thrills the heart, and makes it beat with emotion +at the sound of the word. Amid the cares and pleasures of man, there +can be no higher, no worthier desire than to share his triumphs with a +wife. When Ambition tempts him to mount yet higher in this earthly +life, and take his stand among the exalted men of genius, who so +fitting to be the partner of his fame as the gentle woman of this +world, and when disappointed in his aspirations, when the cold frowns +of a callous world drive him from the haunts of men, who so soothing +as a Wife? She will smoothen the wrinkles on his forehead, and by +words of loving cheer inspire him with courage and bid him brave the +censure and mocking of the world, and strive again to reach the summit +of his desires. A Wife! There is no word that appeals with greater +force to the heart than this. From the moment the lover becomes the +Wife, her life becomes a fountain of happiness to a husband, which +gushes out and runs down the path of Time, never to cease, until the +power of the Invisible demands and the Angel of Death removes her from +his side. Age meets them hand in hand, and still imbued with a +reciprocity of affection, her children are taught a lesson from +herself which makes the Wife, from generation to generation, the same +medium of admiration for the world, the same object of our adoration +and homage. We write these lines with homage and respect for the Wife, +and with an undefined emotion in our hearts, which tells us they are +correct, and that the value of a Wife is all the imagination can +depict and the pen indite. + +And to lose one! Oh! what sorrow it must awaken--how the fountains of +grief must fill to overflowing, when the companion of your life is +torn from you by the hand of Death! No wonder, then, that the heart of +Alfred Wentworth bled with woe, and he became a changed man. What +cared he longer for this world? Almost nothing! But one thing urged +him to rally his energies and meet the blow with fortitude whenever it +should come. It was the knowledge that his little boy would need a +father's care. This made him not quite oblivious to this world, for +though his life would be in the front, so soon as he returned to the +battle-field, there were chances for his escaping death, and his +desire was to live, so that the child might grow up and remind him of +his wife. No, not remind! As fresh as the hour when love first entered +his heart for her--as plain as the day he led her to the altar and +registered his vows to Heaven--and as pure as herself, would his +memory ever be for her. Time can soothe woes, obliterate the scars +left by grief, but the memory of a dead wife can never be extinguished +in the mind of a husband, even though her place in his heart may be +filled by another. She must ever be recollected by him, and each hour +he thinks of her, so will her virtues shine brighter and more +transparent, and her faults, if any, become forgotten, as they were +forgiven. But we weary the reader with these digressions, and will +proceed to close our narrative. + +Three additional weeks passed, and still Mrs. Wentworth remained +insane, but her insanity being of a gentle character, Dr. Humphries +would not permit her to be sent to the lunatic asylum, as her husband +advised. It is true, he desired it more for the purpose of avoiding +being the recipient of any further favors, than because he thought it +necessary. This morbid sensitiveness shrank from being obligated to a +comparative stranger like the doctor, and it was not until the old +gentleman absolutely refused to permit Mrs. Wentworth to leave the +house, that he yielded his assent to her remaining. + +"As you insist upon it," he remarked, "I make no further opposition to +her remaining, but I think it an imposition on your benevolence that +your home shall be made gloomy by my wife being in it." + +"Not in the least gloomy, sir," replied the doctor, "nor do I think it +the slightest imposition upon my benevolence. Were it only to repay +the debt Harry owes you for the preservation of his life, I should +insist upon her not being removed. But I deem it a duty we owe to our +suffering fellow mortals, and as long as she remains in her present +state, so long will she be an inmate of my house, and everything that +can lighten and ameliorate her unhappy condition shall be deemed a +pleasant business to perform." + +"I do not doubt it, sir," said Alfred, grasping the doctor's hand and +shaking it heartily, "believe me, the attention of your daughter, +Harry and yourself, has been the oasis in my present desert of life, +and though in a few short weeks I expect all will be over, and she +will no longer need your care, the memory of your kindness in these +gloomy times of sorrow, shall ever remain unfading in memory, and +shall always be spoken of and thought of with the greatest gratitude." + +"No gratitude is necessary," answered the doctor as he returned the +pressure of Alfred Wentworth's hand, "I consider myself performing a +sacred duty, both to God and to humanity, and no gratitude is needed +for the faithful performance of the same." + +"No, no sir," interrupted Alfred, hastily, "it is no duty, and cannot +be looked upon as such--at least by me." + +"Well, well," remarked the doctor, "we will not argue about that. I +only wish it were in my power to do more by giving you assurance that +your wife will recover, but I fear very much she never can." + +"How long do you suppose she will linger?" asked Alfred sadly. + +"I cannot tell," replied the doctor, "Her strength has been failing +very rapidly for the past week, and I do not think she can last much +longer." + +"Could nothing be done to keep her alive, if even it were as a +maniac?" he inquired, and then added, and as he spoke, repressing the +emotion he felt, "Could she but live, it would be some solace to me, +for then I should have her with me, and by procuring a position in +some of the departments, be enabled to remain with her; but the idea +of her dying--it is that which saddens me and almost makes me curse +the hour I left her. My poor, darling wife!" + +The last words were uttered as if he were speaking to himself, and the +tone of sorrow in which he spoke touched Dr. Humphries deeply. + +"Bear with fortitude the dispensations of a Divine Providence," said +the old gentleman. "If He has willed that your wife shall die, you +must bow humbly to the decree. Time will assuage your grief and remove +from your mind, this sad--too sad fate that has befallen her." + +"If you think that time can assuage my grief," replied Alfred, "you +greatly underrate the strength of my affection. When a mere stripling, +I first met my wife, and from that hour all the affection I possessed +was hers. Each day it grew stronger, and at the time I left New +Orleans with my regiment, the love I bore my wife, and for her, my +children, could not have been bartered for the wealth of California. +She was to me a dearer object than all else on earth, and more--" + +He could speak no longer, so overcome was he with emotion. Once more +wringing the doctor's hand, he left the room and entered the chamber +of his wife. + +"Unhappy man," exclaimed the doctor, when he was alone, "his is, +indeed, a bitter grief, and one not easily obliterated." + +With these words the kind-hearted old gentleman retired to his study, +greatly moved at the misfortunes of the family he had been brought in +contact with. + +The furloughs granted to Alfred and Harry had been renewed on the +expiration of the time they had been granted for, but on the +representation of Dr. Humphries, had been renewed. At the time the +above conversation took place, they were again nearly expired and +Harry determined to appeal to the government once more for a second +renewal. Accordingly he took the cars for Richmond and obtaining an +interview with the Secretary of War, he represented the condition of +Mrs. Wentworth, and exhibited the certificates of several doctors that +she could not survive two months longer. For himself, he requested a +further renewal of his furlough on the ground of his approaching +marriage. With that kindness and consideration which distinguished +Gen. Randolph, his applications were granted, and leaves of absence +for Alfred and himself for sixty days longer were cordially granted. + +With the furloughs, he arrived from Richmond the same evening that the +conversation related above took place between the doctor and Alfred, +and on the return of his friend from his wife's chamber, he presented +him with his leave. + +"You are indeed a friend," remarked Alfred, "and I can never +sufficiently repay the kindness you have shown me. But before this +furlough expires I do not suppose I shall have any wife to be with." + +"Why do you speak so?" inquired Harry. + +"She cannot last much longer," he replied. "Although unwillingly and +with sorrow I am compelled to acknowledge that every day she sinks +lower, and to-day her appearance denotes approaching dissolution too +plain, even for me to persuade myself that such is not the case." + +"I cannot tell you I hope you are mistaken," observed his friend, "for +I feel that such language can never lighten nor remove your sorrow. +But be assured that I deeply sympathize with you in your affliction." + +"I know it," he answered. "Would to heaven all in the South were like +you. It might have been different with my poor wife, and my angel girl +might have been alive this day. However, it was not their duty to +succor and protect my family, and I have no right to complain because +they lent her no helping hand. I alone must bear the weight of my +affliction, and from the misery it causes me, I devoutly trust none of +my comrades may ever know it. Here your betrothed comes," he +continued, observing Emma at the door. "I will leave you for the +present, as I suppose you wish to speak with her and I desire to be +alone for awhile." + +"Do not let her presence hasten your departure," said Harry. "She will +be as happy in my company while you are here, as if no third person +was present." + +Alfred smiled faintly as he replied: "Her presence alone does not +impel me to leave, but I desire to be alone for a time. My mind is +very much unsettled, and a few moments of solitary thought will +restore it to its wonted quietude." + +Rising from his seat, he bade Harry adieu, and bowing to Emma, who +entered at the moment, left the house and bent his steps toward his +lodgings. Dr. Humphries had invited him to be a guest at his house, +but he politely but firmly declined the invitation, at the same time +his days were spent there with his wife, and it was only in the +evening he left, to take a few moments of rest. From the time he +discovered his wife, and she was carried to Dr. Humphries' residence, +he had never been to any other place than the doctor's or his +lodgings. + +Four days after Harry's return, he was seated with Emma in the parlor +conversing on the subject of his marriage, which the fair girl desired +put off until after Mrs. Wentworth's death, which her father told her +could not be postponed many weeks. Her lover endeavored to combat her +resolution, by declaring that while Alfred would always get a furlough +if his wife was still alive at the expiration of its time, he could +neither ask nor expect to obtain any further extension. They were in +the midst of a warm discussion, when Dr. Humphries entered. He had +just come from Mrs. Wentworth's room, and appeared exceedingly sad. + +"How is Mrs. Wentworth this morning, father?" inquired Emma, as the +doctor entered, and observing his mournful expression, she added, +"What is the matter." + +"Mrs. Wentworth has recovered her reason, and is dying," he replied. + +"Poor Alfred," observed Harry, "this hour will not take him by +surprise, but it cannot fail to add to his grief." + +"Has he been here this morning," asked the doctor. + +"Not yet," answered Harry, "but," he continued, looking at his watch, +"he will soon be here, for it is now his usual hour of coming." + +"I trust he will not delay," said Dr. Humphries "for his wife cannot +last three hours longer." + +"In that event, I had better go and look for him," Harry observed "he +never leaves his lodgings except to come here, and there will be no +difficulty in finding him." + +Rising from his seat, he took up his hat and departed for his friend. +Before he had gone two squares he met Alfred, and without saying +anything to him, retraced his steps to the doctor's window. + +"My friend" said Doctor Humphries as Alfred entered, "the hour has +come, when you must summon all your fortitude and hear with +resignation the stern decree of the Almighty. Your wife is perfectly +sane this morning but she is dying. On entering her chamber a while +ago, I found her quite composed and perfectly sensible of the life she +had passed through. Though she did not recognize me, an intuitive +knowledge of who I was, possessed her, and her first request was that +you should be sent to her. Your little boy is now with her and she +awaits your arrival." + +Taking Alfred by the hand and followed by Harry, the doctor led the +way to the chamber of the dying wife. The child was sitting on the bed +with his mothers arms around his neck. Emma, Elsie, and the old negro +were standing at the bedside looking sorrowfully at Mrs. Wentworth. As +soon as her husband entered, they made way for him to approach. + +"Alfred, my husband" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, extending her arms, "I +am so glad you have come that I can see you once more before I die." + +"Eva, my heart strings are torn with agony to see you thus" he replied +raising her gently and pillowing his head on her bosom, "Oh! my wife, +that this should be the end of all my hopes. What consolation is there +left to me on earth when you are gone." + +"Speak not so despairingly" she answered, "It were better that I +should die than live with a burning conscience. My husband, the act +for which I have been tried, still haunts me, for here on earth it +will ever be a reproach, while in Heaven, the sin I committed will be +forgiven through the intercession of a divine Savior." + +"Perish the remembrance of that act!" answered her husband. "To me my +darling wife it can make no difference, for I regret only the +necessity which impelled you to do it, and not the act. Live, oh my +wife, live and your fair fame shall never suffer, while your husband +is able to shield you from the reproaches of the world. Though the +proud may affect to scorn you, those in whose hearts beats a single +touch of generosity will forgive and forget it, and if even they do +not, in the happiness of my unfaltering affections, the opinions of +the world, can be easily disregarded." + +"It cannot be" she answered, "I am dying Alfred, and before many +hours, the spirit will be resting in heaven. To have you by my side +ere my breath leaves my body, to grasp your hand, and gaze on your +loved features ere I die, removes all my unhappiness of the weary +months now past, and I leave this world content." + +"Oh my wife" said Alfred, "Is this the end of our married life? Is +this the reward I reap for serving my country! Oh, had I remained in +New Orleans, the eye of the libertine would never have been cast upon +you, and you would have been saved from the grasp of the heartless +speculator and extortioner.--What is independence compared with you my +wife? What have I gained by severing the ties of love and leaving a +happy home, to struggle for the liberty of my country? A dead child--a +dying wife--a child who will now be motherless; while I will be a +wretched heart-broken man. Better, far better, had I resisted the +calls of my country, and remained with you, than to return and find my +happiness gone, and my family beggared, and tossing on the rough +billows of adversity, unheeded by the wealthy, and unfriended by all." + +"Speak not so, my husband," she answered, "my sufferings may be the +price of independence, and I meet them cheerfully. Though in my hours +of destitution, despair may have caused me to utter words of anguish, +never, for a moment, have I regretted that you left me, to struggle +for your country. If in my sufferings; if in the death of my child; if +in my death; and if in the destroying of our once happy family circle, +the cause for which you are a soldier is advanced, welcome them. Woman +can only show her devotion by suffering, and though I cannot struggle +with you on the battle-field, in suffering as I have done, I feel it +has been for our holy cause." + +"Eva, Eva," he exclaimed, "do all these give you back to me? Do they +restore my angel daughter? Do they bring me happiness? Oh, my wife, I +had hoped that old age would meet us calmly floating down the stream +of Time, surrounded by a happy family, and thanking God for the +blessings he had bestowed upon me. When I first led you to the altar, +I dreamed that our lives would be blended together for many, many +years, and though I knew that the 'Lord giveth and the Lord taketh +away,' and that at any time we may die, I never thought that the end +of our happiness would be brought about in such a way as this. You +tell me it is the price of Independence. Aye, and it is a fearful +price. When you are laid in the cold grave aside of Ella, and I am +struggling in the battle-field, what is there to inspire me with +courage, and bid me fight on until liberty is won? And when it is at +last achieved, I cannot share the joy of my comrades. I have no home +to go to, and if even I have, it is desolate. No wife is there to +welcome me, no daughter to thank me, but I must take my orphan boy by +the hand, and leading him to your grave, kneel by its side and weep +together on the sod that covers your remains." + +There was not a dry eye in the room. All wept with the husband, and +even the dying woman could not restrain the tears. + +"Alfred," she said, "do not weep. My husband, up there, in Heaven, we +will meet again, and then the desolation on earth will be more than +repaid by the pleasure of eternal joy. Let not my death cause you to +falter in your duty to the South. Promise me, my husband, that through +all changes you will ever remain steadfast and loyal to her sacred +cause. Look not on the cruelty of a few men as the work of the whole, +and remember that if even you are not made happier by the achievement +of independence, there are others you assist in making so, and other +homes which would have been as desolate as yours, but for you and your +comrades' defense. Promise me, Alfred, that so long as the war lasts, +you will never desert the South." + +"I promise," he replied. + +"There is now but one thing that gives me thought," she continued, her +voice growing weaker each moment, "our little boy--" + +"Shall have a home so long as I live and his father is serving his +country," interrupted Dr. Humphries. "Rest easy on that subject, +madam," he continued, "it will be a pleasure for me to take care of +the boy." + +"Then I die happy," said Mrs. Wentworth, and turning to her husband +she said with difficulty, "Farewell, my husband. Amid all my trials +and sufferings my love for you has ever been as true and pure as the +hour we married. To die in your arms, with my head on your bosom was +all I wished, and my desire is gratified. Farewell." + +Before her husband could reply her reason had vanished, and she +remained oblivious to all around her. Her eyes were closed, and the +moving of her lips alone told that she yet lived. + +"Eva! darling! Wife!" exclaimed Alfred passionately "Speak to me! oh +my angel wife, speak one word to me ere you die. Look at me! say that +you recognize me. Awake to consciousness, and let me hear the sound of +your voice once more. Wake up my wife" he continued wildly, "Oh for +another word--one look before you are no more." + +His wild and passionate words reached the ear of the dying woman, and +her voice came again, but it was the dying flicker of the expiring +lamp. She slowly opened her eyes and looked up in the face of her +husband. + +"Alfred--husband, happiness" she murmured softly, then gently drawing +down his head, her lips touched his for an instant, and the soldier's +wife embraced her husband for the last time on earth. + +Releasing his head Mrs. Wentworth kept her eyes fixed upon those of +her husband. Their glances met and told their tale of deep and +unutterable affection. The look they gave each other pierced their +souls, and lit up each heart with the fires of love. Thus they +continued for several minutes, when Mrs. Wentworth, rising on her +elbow, looked for a moment on the grief struck group around her bed. + +"Farewell," she murmured, and then gazing at her husband, her lips +moved, but her words could not be heard. + +Stooping his ear to her lips, Alfred caught their import, and the +tears coursed down his cheek. + +The words were, "My husband I die happy in your arms." + +As if an Almighty power had occasioned the metamorphosis, the +countenance of the dying woman rapidly changed, and her features bore +the same appearance they had in years gone by. A smile lingered round +her lips, and over her face was a beautiful and saint-like expression. +The husband gazed upon it, and her resemblance to what she was in days +of yore, flashed across his mind with the rapidity of lightning. But +the change did not last long, for soon she closed her eyes and +loosened her grasp on her husband's neck, while her features resumed +their wan and cheerless expression. Nothing but the smile remained, +and that looked heavenly. Alfred still supported her; he thought she +was asleep. + +"She is now in heaven," said Doctor Humphries solemnly. + +Yes, she was dead! No more could the libertine prosecute her with his +hellish passions; no more could his vile and lustful desires wreak +their vengeance on her, because of disappointment. No more could the +heartless extortioner turn her from a shelter to perish in the +streets. No more could the gardened and uncharitable speculator wring +from her the last farthing, nor could suffering and starvation tempt +her any more to commit wrong. No--she is in heaven. _There_ the +libertine is not and can never be. _There_ she will ever find a +shelter, for _there_ the extortioner rules not. There the speculator +can never dwell, and in that holy abode suffering and starvation can +never be known. An eternity of happiness was now hers. To the home of +the Father and to the dwelling of the Son, her spirit had winged its +flight, and henceforth, instead of tears, and lamentations the voice +of another angel would be heard in Paradise chanting the praises of +Jehovah. + +Yes, the eye of God was turned upon the soldiers wife, and she was +made happy. Her months of grief and misery were obliterated, and the +Almighty in his infinite goodness, had taken her to himself--had taken +her to Heaven. The spirit of the mother is with the child, and both +are now in that home, where we all hope to go. In the ear of the +soldier, two angels are whispering words of divine comfort and peace, +and as their gentle voice enter his heart, a feeling of resignation +steals over this mind, and kneeling over the dead body of his wife he +gently murmurs, + +"Thy will be done oh God!" + +Every voice is hushed, every tear is dried, and the prayer of the +soldier ascends to Heaven for strength to hear his affliction. The eye +of God is now upon him, and He can minister to the supplicant. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTY-FIRST. + +CONCLUSION. + + +The dead was buried. The hearse was followed by a large concourse of +Dr. Humphries' friends, who were brought there by the sad tale of the +trials of the Soldier's Wife. The funeral service was read, and after +the grave was closed many grouped around Alfred and offered their +condolence. He only bowed but made no reply. The body of Ella had been +previously disinterred and placed in the same grave which afterward +contained her mother, and on the coffins of his wife and child Alfred +Wentworth took a last look. When the service was over he turned away, +and accompanied by Harry returned to the dwelling of the doctor, +where, with his boy on his knees, he conversed. + +"My furlough does not expire for forty days," he observed, "but I +shall rejoin my regiment in a week from this time. The object for +which it was obtained being no longer there, it is only just that I +shall report for duty." + +"You must do no such thing," answered Harry, "I wish you to remain +until your leave expires." + +"Why?" asked Alfred, in a tone of surprise. + +"Well, the fact is," said Harry, "I will be married in thirty days, +and it is my urgent desire that you shall be with me on my marriage +day, as a guest, if not as a friend." + +"I can make but a poor guest," he replied. "My heart is too full of +grief to willingly join in the mirth and happiness such festivities +bring with them. You must therefore excuse me. I should indeed start +at once did I not desire to find a place to leave this child." + +"You need not trouble yourself about him," remarked Harry, "the doctor +assured your wife that he should take care of the boy, and I feel +certain he will be a father to him during your absence. Nor will I +excuse your absence at my wedding, for I do not see why you should +object if I desire it, and Emma, I know, will be very much pleased at +your presence. So offer no excuses, but prepare yourself to remain." + +"As you appear so much to desire it," he answered. "I will remain, but +I assure you I feel but little inclined for such pleasure at the +present time, particularly a wedding, which cannot fail to bring up +reminiscences of a happy day, not so long gone but that it still +remains in my memory, as fresh and vivid as when I was an actor in a +similar occasion." + +"Let not such thoughts disturb you," said Harry, "let the Past bury +the Past. Look forward only to the Future, and there you will find +objects worthy of your ambition, and if you will pursue them, they +will serve to eradicate from your mind the harrowing scene you have +just passed through. Believe me, Alfred," he continued, "it will never +do to pass your days in vain regrets at what is passed and vanished. +It serves to irritate and keep open the wounds in our lives, while it +never soothes the afflicted, nor gives us a moment of peace. Let the +present and future alone occupy your thoughts. They will give you food +for reflection, sufficient to bury all former unhappiness, and to +entail upon you a return of that earthly joy you once possessed." + +"Your remarks are correct in theory, my friend," replied Alfred, "but +they cannot be put into practice. Sooner can the Mississippi river be +drained of its waters than the inexorable Past be obliterated from the +mind of man. It must ever remain in his memory, and though at times it +may lie dormant, the slightest event will be all that is necessary to +awake it into life. The cares of the present may deprive it of active +participation in the mind; anxiety for the future may prevent the mind +of man from actively recurring to it, but it still remains indelibly +imprinted on the memory, and though a century of years should pass, +and the changes of Time render the Present opposite to the Past, the +latter can never be forgotten. Think not that coming years can render +me oblivious to my present affliction. They may make dull the agony I +now feel, and perchance I will then wear as bright a smile as I did in +years ago, but the remembrance of my wife and child will never be +blunted; no, nor shall a shade cross over my heart, and dim the +affection I had for them, while living, and for their memory now that +they are in the grave." + +Alfred was right. The words of Harry were a theory which sounds well +enough for advice, but which can never be placed into practice. The +Past! who can forget it? The Present, with its load of cares; with its +hours of happiness and prosperity; with its doubts and anxieties, is +not sufficiently powerful to extinguish remembrance of the Past. The +Future, to which we all look for the accomplishment of our +designs--the achievement of our ambitious purposes--cannot remove the +Past. Both combined are unequal to the task, and the daily life of man +proves it so. + +The Past! what a train of thought does it suggest! Aye, the Past, with +its pleasures and misfortunes. It haunts our consciences, and is ever +before our eyes. The murderer, though safely concealed from the world, +and who may have escaped punishment by man for years, still has the +Past to confront and harass his mind. Penitence and prayer may +lighten, but can never remove it. Surrounded though he be with health +and happiness, the demon of the Past will confront him ever, and make +his life wretched. Oh, what a fearful thing is that same Past, we hear +spoken of lightly by those whose lives have been along a smooth and +flowery track over the same, and unmarked by a single adversity or +crime. A single deviation from the path of honor, integrity and +virtue, and as years roll on the memory of those past hours will cause +bitter self-reproach, for it will be irremovable. So with past +happiness as it is with misery and crime. The beggar can never forget +his past joys in contemplating the present or hoping for the future, +but it must ever remain a source of never-failing regret and the +fountain of unhealable wounds. + +The Past!--but no more of it, as we write the recollection of past +happiness and prosperity, of past follies and errors rise up with +vividness, and though it is never forgotten, burns with a brighter +light than before. + +Several days after his conversation with Harry, Alfred received a +message from Dr. Humphries requesting him to meet that gentleman at +ten o'clock the same morning at his residence. Accordingly, at the +appointed hour, he presented himself to the Doctor, by whom he was +received with great cordiality and kindness. + +"I have sent for you, Mr. Wentworth," began the doctor, as soon as +Alfred was seated, "to speak with you on a subject which interests you +as well as myself. As you are aware, I promised your wife when she was +dying that your remaining child should never want a home while I +lived. This promise I now desire you to ratify by gaining your consent +to his remaining with me, at least until he is old enough not to need +the care of a lady." + +"You have placed me under many obligations already, Dr. Humphries," +replied Alfred, "and you will pardon me if I feel loath to add another +to the already long list. I have already formed a plan to place my +child in the hands of the Sisters of Charity at Charleston, by whom he +will be treated with the greatest kindness, and with but small expense +to myself. You must be aware that as a soldier my pay is very small, +while I have no opportunity of increasing my salary by engaging in any +mercantile pursuit. Such being the case, and as I could not consent to +your defraying the expenses of the child, I think it better for him to +be where I shall need only a small sum of money to pay all needed +charges. At the same time let me assure you of my sincere gratitude +for your generous offer." + +"I will not hear of your objections, my good friend," said the doctor; +"it is my desire that you allow me to adopt the boy, if only in part. +My daughter will shortly be married, as you are aware, and then I +shall be left alone. I possess ample means, and would not accept a +dollar in return for the expenses incurred for the child, while his +presence will be a source of happiness to me. Already I have formed an +attachment for him, and it will only be gratifying my sincere wish if +you will give your consent. Believe me, I do not ask it for the +purpose of laying you under any obligations, or from any charitable +motive, but from an earnest desire for him to remain with me. Let me +hope that you will give your consent." + +"I scarcely know what to say," answered Alfred, "for while I feel a +natural delicacy in giving my consent, my heart tells me that the +child will be far more comfortable than if he were at the convent." + +"Why then do you not give your consent in the same spirit the offer is +made," observed the doctor. "My dear sir," he continued, "let no false +idea of delicacy prevent you from giving your consent to that, which +cannot fail to render your child happy and comfortable." + +"I cannot give a decided answer to-day" said Alfred. "You will give me +time to consider your offer--say a week. In the meantime I have no +objection to my child remaining with you until my mind is decided upon +what course I shall pursue." + +"I suppose I must be satisfied to wait" answered doctor Humphries, +"but let me trust your decision will be a favorable one." As I +remarked before, I desire you consent, from none but the purest +motives, and I hope you will grant it. + + * * * * * + +The sad tale with which we have endeavored to entertain the reader is +over. To the writer it has been no pleasant task, but the hope that it +may prove of some service, and of some interest to the public has +cheered us in our work, and disposed us to endure its unpleasantness. +Apart from the dearth of literary productions in the South, we have +believed that a necessity existed for a work of this nature, and with +such belief we have given the foregoing pages to the people, in the +hope that it may prove, not merely a novel to be read, criticised and +laid aside, but to be thought over, and its truth examined, in the +daily lives of hundreds in our midst. It is true, that with the +license of all writers we may have embellished misery _as a whole_ to +a greater extent than reality, but if it is taken to pieces no +exaggeration will be discovered, and each picture drawn herein will be +found as truthful as our pen has depicted. + +As the reader may desire to know what become of the principal +characters remaining, we anticipated their desire, by making enquiry, +and learned the following facts, which we give to make this work as +complete as possible. + +Thirty days after the burial of Mrs. Wentworth, a large assemblage of +gaily dressed ladies and gentlemen assembled at the residence of +doctor Humphries to witness the marriage of Emma. The party was a +brilliant one; the impressive ceremony of the Episcopal church was +read, and Harry Shackleford was the husband of Emma Humphries. The +usual amount of embracing and congratulation occurred on the occasion, +after which the party adjourned to the dining room, where a sumptuous +supper had been prepared, and which was partaken of by the guests with +many compliments to the fair bride and bridegroom, while many toasts +were offered and drank, wishing long life, health and prosperity to +the young couple. The party lasted to a late hour in the night, when +the guests dispersed, all present having spent their hours in gaiety +and happiness. + +No, not all, for apart from the throng, while the marriage ceremony +was being read, was one who looked on the scene with a sad heart. Clad +in deep mourning, and holding his child, by the hand, Alfred Wentworth +standing aloof from the crowd saw Emma and his friend united as man +and wife with deep emotion. It had been only a few years before, that +he led his wife to the altar and the reminiscences of the present +awoke, and stirred his grief, and brought back upon him, with the +greatest force, his sad bereavement. A tear started to his eyes, as he +thought of his present unhappiness, and he turned aside, to hide his +emotion from the crowd. Dashing the tear away, he offered his +congratulation and good wishes to the newly married couple, as he +thought, with calmness, but the quiver of his lips as he spoke, did +not pass unperceived by Harry, and as he clasped the extended hand of +his friend, a feeling of sympathy, which he could afford even in his +happiness, crept over him. + +Shortly after his marriage, Harry returned to his command, and is now +the Lieutenant Colonel of his regiment, having been promoted to that +honorable position for gallantry exhibited on many battle fields. When +last we heard of him he was on furlough, and with his wife in Alabama, +where they now reside, he having removed to that State a short time +previous to the fall of Vicksburg. So far, his wedded life has been +one of unalloyed happiness, and we can only wish that it may continue +so, through many long years. To his wife, though she has not been a +very prominent character in this book, we tender our best wishes for +the continuance of that happiness she now enjoys, and trust the day +will soon arrive when her husband will have no farther need to peril +his life in defence of his country, but turning his sword into a +plough, be enabled to live always with her, and to require no more +"furloughs." + +Shortly after his daughter's marriage and removal to Alabama, Doctor +Humphries found Jackson too lonely for him to reside at. He therefore, +removed into the same State, where he possessed a plantation, and is +now residing there, beloved and respected by all who know him. The +unfortunate life of Mrs. Wentworth, and the sad fate of herself and +the little Ella, did not fail to make him actively alive to the duties +of the wealthy towards those who were driven from their homes by the +enemy, and compelled to seek refuge in the States held by the +Confederate government. Every time a refugee arrived at his locality +he visits the unfortunate family with a view to finding out the state +of their circumstances. If he discovers they are in need, relief is +immediately granted, and the parties placed above want. By his energy +and perseverance he has succeeded in forming a society for the relief +of all refugees coming into the country, and as President of the same, +has infused a spirit of benevolence in the members, which promises to +become a blessing to themselves as well as to the wretched exiles who +are in their midst. + +The little Alfred is still with the Doctor, and is a source of much +pleasure to the old gentleman. It was only after the greatest +persuasions possible that his father consented to his remaining, but +being overcome by the argument of the Doctor and Harry as well as the +solicitations of Emma, he at last gave his consent, feeling at the +same time that his boy would be happier and fare more comfortable than +with the Sisters of Mercy, who, from their austere and religious life, +are ill suited to rear an infant of such tender years. The boy is +happy and can every evening be seen setting on the knees of Doctor +Humphries, who he calls "grandfather" and indulging in innocent +prattle. He has not yet forgotten his mother and sister, and very +often he enquires of the Doctor if they will not come back to him at +some future time. On these occasions the old gentleman shakes his +head, and tells him that they are gone to heaven where he will meet +them at some future time, if he behaves like a good boy. Enjoying good +health and perfectly happy, although anxious for the termination of +the war, and the achievement of our independence, we leave this worthy +gentleman, with the hope that he may long live to receive the +blessings and thanks of those who are daily benefited by his +philanthropic benevolence. + +The good old negro and Elsie accompanied the Doctor to Alabama, and +are now residing on the Doctor's plantation. The old woman still +resides in a cabin by herself, for no amount of persuasion could +induce her to stay at the residence, but every day she may be seen +hobbling to the house with some present for the little Alfred. The +clothes which little Ella died in, and the remainder of the wedding +gown, are kept sacredly by her, and often she narrates, to a group of +open-mouthed negro children, the sad tale of the soldier's wife, +embellishing, as a matter of course, the part she had in the eventful +drama. Her kindness to Mrs. Wentworth and Ella, was not forgotten by +the soldier, and before he left for the army, she received a +substantial reward as a token of his gratitude. She often speaks of +Ella as the little angel who "was not feared to die, case she was a +angel on earf." + +Notwithstanding he had yielded to so many offers of the Doctor, Alfred +would not consent to receive Elsa from him, unless he paid back the +sum of money given for the girl. This he could not do at the time, and +it was decided that she should remain as the slave of Doctor +Humphries, until he could refund the amount. She is now serving +exclusively as the nurse of the little boy, and is as happy and +contented as any slave in the South. Her attachment to the child +increases daily, and nothing in the world could induce her to forego +the pleasure of attending to her wants. The old negro and herself are +often together, conversing of the unfortunate family of her former +master, and their remarks teem with sympathy and abound with the +affection felt by every slave for a kind and indulgent owner. Although +of a servile race, we leave these negroes, regretting that in the +hearts of many of our white people the same generous feelings do not +exist. It is sad to think that, with all the advantages of birth, +education, and position, there should be found men of Caucasian +origin, who are below the negro in all the noble attributes of +mankind. But there are many such, and while they do not elevate the +servile race, they lower, to a considerable degree, the free born and +educated. + +Vicksburg fell on the fourth day of July, 1863, and the anniversary of +American independence was celebrated by the Yankees in a Southern city +which had cost them thousands of lives to capture. A few days after +the surrender, the enemy advanced on Jackson, and compelled General +Johnston to evacuate that city, to save his army. These are matters of +history, and are doubtless well known to the reader. After retaining +possession a short time, the Yankees retreated from the place, but not +before they had given another proof of the vandalism for which they +have been rendered infamous throughout the civilized world, by setting +the city on fire. Luckily only a portion of the town was destroyed, +and we could almost rejoice at being able to write that among the many +buildings burnt were those belonging to Mr. Elder. Did not the homes +of many good and worthy men share the same fate, we would almost +attribute the destruction of his property to the righteous indignation +of God. He lost every residence he possessed, and as the insurance +companies refused to renew, from the aspect of affairs, on the +expiration of his policies, the loss was a total one, and reduced him +to almost beggary. With a few negroes he reached Mobile and is now +living on the income their labor yields. His brutal conduct had +reached the Bay city, before the fall of Jackson, and on his arrival +there, instead of receiving the sympathy and aid of the generous +hearted people, he was coldly met and all rejoiced at his downfall. +Those, in that city, who in heart were like him, might have offered +assistance, did they not fear that such conduct would lead to +suspicion and eventuate the exposition of their enormities. His +punishment is the just reward for his iniquities, and we record almost +with regret that he is not reduced to abject beggary. Though we are +told to "return good for evil" and to "forgive our enemies," we cannot +in the case of Mr. Elder do either, but would like very much to see +the Mosaic law of "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth" put in +force, and in this wish those who are even more charitable than +ourselves will coincide. + +Swartz is now in Augusta, Georgia, living in ease and affluence, like +the majority of Southern speculators. The lesson he received from his +uncharitableness, has not benefited him in the slightest degree. He +still speculates on the wants of the poor, and is as niggardly to the +needy. Though loyal to the Confederacy, we believe his loyalty only +caused from his being the possessor of a large amount of Confederate +funds, but perhaps we judge him wrongfully. At any rate, he has never +done any act, either for the government or for individuals to merit +praise or approbation. In justice to the Germans of the South, we +would state that when his conduct towards Mrs. Wentworth became known, +they generally condemned him.--As we observed in a former chapter, +kindness and benevolence is the general trait of the Germans, and we +would not have it supposed that Swartz is a representative of that +people. The loss sustained by Mr. Swartz, by the fall of Jackson, was +comparatively insignificant, and therefore he has felt no change of +fortune. The punishment that he merits, is not yet meted to him, but +we feel certain that it will be dealt to him at the proper time. + +Further investigation and search resulted in the discovery of +sufficient evidence to convict Awtry of being a spy. When brought +before the court martial convened to try him, he displayed +considerable arrogance, and obstinately persisted in declaring himself +a British subject. With such plausibility did he defend himself, that +the court was at first very much puzzled to decide whether or not he +was a spy, for every evidence brought against the prisoner was +explained and made insignificant by his consummate skill in argument, +and it was only by the opportune arrival of a detective with the most +decided proof of his guilt, that he was condemned to death. Awtry +received the sentence of the court with haughty indifference, and was +led back to prison, to await death by hanging. On the morning of his +execution, the courage and obstinacy which had sustained him from the +day of his arrest, gave way, and to the minister who edited upon him, +he made a full confession of his having been sent to Mississippi as a +spy for Sherman, and that he had already supplied that yankee General +with valuable information of the strength and capacity of Vicksburg +for resistance. He was very much humiliated at being condemned to +death by hanging and made application for the sentence to be changed +to shooting, but the military authorities declined acceding to his +demand, and he was accordingly hanged on the branches of a tree near +Jackson. A small mound of earth in an obscure portion of the +Confederacy is all that is left to mark the remains of Horace Awtry. +The libertine and prosecutor of Mrs. Wentworth is no more, and to God +we leave him. In His hands the soul of the dead will be treated as it +deserves, and the many sins which stain and blacken it will be +punished by the Almighty as they deserve. Black as was his guilt, we +have no word of reproach for the dead. Our maledictions are for the +living alone, and then we give them only when stern necessity demands +it, and when we do, our work of duty is blended with regret, and would +be recalled were it possible, and did not the outraged imperatively +demand it. To our Savior, we leave Awtry Before the Judge of mankind +he will be arraigned for his guilty acts on earth, and the just voice +of the Father, will pronounce on him the punishment he merits. + +But one more character remains for us to notice. Three or four times +in the last twelve months a man dressed in the uniform of a Lieutenant +of the Staff, and wearing a black crape around his arm, may have been +seen with a little boy kneeling by the side of a grave in the cemetery +of Jackson, Mississippi. The grave contains two remains, but is +covered over with one large brick foundation from which ascends a pure +and stainless shaft of marble, with the following inscription on its +snowy front: + +SACRED + +TO THE MEMORY OF + +MY WIFE AND CHILD, + +EVA AND ELLA WENTWORTH. + +"Their troubles o'er, they rest in peace." + +1863. + +A.W. + +As our readers must perceive, the stranger and child, are Alfred +Wentworth and his little boy. About four months after the death of his +wife, he was appointed Inspector General of a Louisiana brigade with +the rank of first Lieutenant, and being stationed for awhile near +Jackson, paid frequent visits to the city, and never failed on such +occasions to take his son to the grave of his wife and child. There, +kneeling before the grave, the broken hearted soldier would offer up a +prayer to God for the repose of the souls of those beneath the sod. +The tears which fell on the grave on such visits, and watered the last +resting place of the loved ones were the holiest that ever flowed from +the eyes of man--they were the homage of a bereaved husband to the +memory of a pure and spotless wife, and an angel daughter. Alfred is +still alive, and has passed unharmed through many a hard fought +battle. Those who know not the tale of his family's sufferings and +unhappy fate, think him moody and unfriendly, but those who are +acquainted with the trials of the soldiers wife, regard his reserved +and silent manners with respect, for though the same sorrows may not +darken the sunshine of their lives, their instinct penetrates the +recess of the soldiers heart, and the sight of its shattered and +wrecked remains often cause a sigh of sorrow, and a tear of +commiseration. Let us trust that a merciful God in His divine wisdom, +may alleviate the poignant grief of the soldier, and restore him to +that happiness he once possessed. + +And now kind reader, we bid you a last farewell; but ere the pages of +this book are closed, let us speak a word to you, for those +unfortunates who abandon their homes on the approach of the enemy to +seek refuge in the Confederate lines. Many--alas! too many of its +citizens consider the term "refugee" synonymous with that of +"_beggar_." In this idea we err. It is true they are in many +instances, reduced to penury, but in their poverty are as different +from the mendicant as the good are from the bad. Many of these +refugees have lost their homes, their wealth--their everything to +retain their patriotism and honor. Some of them adorned the most +polished circles in their midst, and many held an enviable position in +the State of their nativity or residence. For their country, for our +country, for your country, the brave abandoned all they possessed, +preferring to live in want among the people of the South, than to +revel in luxuries in the midst of our enemies. Seek these exiles. Look +upon them as suffering Confederates, and extend the hand of friendship +and assistance to all who are in need. Let the soldier know that his +wife and children are provided for by you. It will cheer him while in +camp, it will inspire him in battle, and if he falls by the hand of +the enemy, the knowledge that those he loves will be cared for, will +lighten the pangs of Death, and he will die, happy in the thought of +falling for his country. Oh! kind reader, turn your ear to the moaning +of the soldier's wife--the cries of his children, and let your heart +throb with kindness and sympathy for their sufferings. Relieve their +wants, alleviate their pains, and earn for yourself a brighter reward +than gold or influence can purchase--the eternal gratitude of the +defenders of our liberties. + +Farewell! if a single tear of sorrow, steals unhidden down your cheek +at the perusal of this sad tale--if in your heart a single chord of +pity is touched at its recital--we shall have been fully rewarded for +the time and labor expended by us. And if at some future day you hear +of some soldier's family suffering; sympathise with their afflictions +and cheerfully aid in ameliorating their condition, by giving a single +thought of "THE TRIALS OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE." + + +FINIS. + + + + +APPENDIX + + +In presenting a work of this nature to the reader, the Author takes +the opportunity of making an apology for the errors, typographical and +otherwise, which may be found therein. The difficulties under which he +labored in procuring the publication of the book at this time, when +the principal publishers of the South are so busily engaged in +publishing works written in foreign parts, and which cost them nothing +but the expense of publication, and the procuring of them through our +blockaded ports. The book which our readers have just completed +perusing, is filled with many errors; too many, in fact, for any +literary work to contain. The excuse of the Author for these, is, that +at the time the book was in press he was with the Army of Tennessee +performing his duties, which prevented him from reading the proof +sheets and correcting all mistakes which crept in during composition. +The party on whom devolved the duty of reading the proof performed his +work as well as could be expected, for, in some instances, the errors +were the fault of the Author, and not that of the printer, who labored +under many disadvantages in deciphering the manuscript copy of the +book; the greater part of which was written on the battle-field, and +under fire of the enemy. It is thus that in the first page we find an +error of the most glaring character possible, but which might have +been the Author's, as well as the printer's omission. Thus, the Author +is made to say that the "aristocracy" of New Orleans were "well known +by that elegance and etiquette which distinguish the _parvenu_ of +society." Now the intention, as well as the words of the author, +represented the "aristocracy" in quite a different light. That line +should have read "that elegance and etiquette which distinguish _the +well-bred_ from the _parvenu_ of society, etc." Nevertheless, the +whole sense of the sentence is destroyed by the omission of the +_italicised_ words, and the reader is left to infer that the +aristocracy of New Orleans are the _parvenu_ of society; rather, we +must admit, a doubtful compliment, and quite in accordance with the +following words, which go on to speak of "the vulgar but wealthy class +of citizens with which this country is infested." Now we do not +pretend for a moment to believe that our readers would imagine that we +meant the sentence quoted in the sense it appears, and they may, +perhaps, pass it over without noticing the errors complained of; but +when such errors should not exist they become a source of much +annoyance to the author, and could they have been rectified before it +was too late, they should never have appeared in print. In fact, after +discovering that an error of so gross a nature existed in the first +pages of the book, the author would have had the entire "form" +reprinted, had not the extravagant price of paper, and its great +scarcity, precluded the possibility of such an idea being carried into +effect. The errors, therefore, remain, and for them we would claim +indulgence, although readily admitting that none is deserved. + +And now we desire to say a few words relative to the work you have +just completed reading. It may appear to you a wild and extravagant +tale of hardships and privations which existed only in the imagination +of the author. Were your supposition correct, we should rejoice, but +unfortunately, every day brings us scenes of poverty that this work +lacks in ability to portray, in sufficient force, the terrible +sufferings borne by thousands of our people. In the plenitude of our +wealth, we think not of poor, and thus we cannot tell or find out the +hundreds of poverty stricken wretches who cover the country. Our +natures may be charitable even, but we only give charity where it is +asked for, and await the coming of the mendicant before our purses are +opened. By these means alone do we judge the extent of suffering in +the land, and, not hearing of many cases of penury, or receiving many +applications for assistance, we believe that the assertions of great +want being among the people are untrue, and we purposely avoid +searching for the truth of such assertions. The design of the author, +in this little book, has been to open the eyes of the people to the +truth. If he has painted the trials of the soldiers wife more highly +colored than reality could permit, it has been because he desired to +present his argument with greater force than he could otherwise have +done; and yet, if we examine well the picture he presents; take it in +its every part, and look on each one, we will find that it does not +exaggerate a single woe. We have seen far greater scenes of +wretchedness than those narrated herein; scenes which defy +description; for their character has been so horrible that to depict +it, a pen mightier than a Bulwer's or a Scott's would be necessary. + +The tale which the reader has just finished perusing is taken from +scenes that _actually occurred_ during the present war--except, +perhaps, that part which relates the tearing of the mother from the +bedside of her dead child. In every other respect all that is narrated +in the foregoing pages are strictly true, and there are parties now in +the South, who, when they read this work, will recognize in +themselves, some of the characters represented herein. The Author +would rejoice, for the sake of humanity and civilization if the tale +he has written was only a fiction of his own imagining; but did it not +contain truths the work would never have been written. No other object +than that of calling attention to the vast misery and wretchedness +which at the present time of writing abounds in the South, prompted +the Author to pen the pages which you have perused. He has witnessed +them himself; he has seen the soldiers wife absolutely starving, and +from a slender purse has himself endeavored to relieve their +necessities. To present before the world the fact that there are +thousands in our midst who are in _absolute beggary_, has been the +object of the writer, and to call on those who are able to do so, to +aid these unfortunates, is his purpose. This book is an appeal to the +Rich in favor of the Poor. It is the voice of Humanity calling upon +Wealth to rise from her sluggish torpor and wrest the hungry and +threadbare victim from the grasp of Famine, and drive desolation from +our midst. If this call is answered; if the wealthy awake to their +duty and save the wretched beings who are in our midst, then the +Author will have gained a richer reward than all the profits accruing +from this work. He will have been more than rewarded by the knowledge +that he has been the instrument, through which charity has once more +visited the South, and swept oppression and want from our land. Such +scenes as those we daily witness were never seen, even in the mildest +form a few short years ago. Prior to the war there was scarcely a +beggar in the South, and from one end of the country to the other +could we walk without hearing the voice of the mendicant appealing to +our benevolence. How changed now! In every city of the South the +streets are filled with ragged boys and girls stopping each passer by +and asking aid. It is a disgrace to humanity and to God, and that such +things should be in our land, whose sons have exhibited such heroism +and devotion.--Many of these beggary are the sons and daughters of our +soldiers--of our honored dead and heroic living. To the soldier who +lies beneath the sod a martyr to his country's cause, their sufferings +are unknown; but if in Heaven he can witness their penury, his soul +must rest ill at peace and weep for those on earth. To the soldier, +who is still alive and struggling for our independence, the letter +that brings him news of his wife's and children's poverty must bring +him discontent, and render him unwilling to longer remain in the army +and struggle for liberty while they are starving. How many times have +not desertion taken place through this very cause. In Mississippi we +witnessed the execution of a soldier for the crime of desertion. On +the morning of his execution he informed the minister that he never +deserted until repeated letters from his wife informed him of her +wretched condition; informed him that herself and her children were +absolutely starving. He could no longer remain in the army; the +dictates of his own heart; the promptings of his affection triumphed +and in an evil hour he deserted and returned home to find her tale, +alas! too true. He was arrested, courtmartialed and _shot_. He had +forfeited his life by his desertion and bore his fate manfully; his +only fear being for the future welfare of that wife and her children +for whom he had lost his life. When he fell, pierced by the bullets of +his comrades, was there not a murder committed? There was, but not by +the men who sentenced him to death. They but performed duty, and, we +are charitable enough to suppose, performed it with regret. The +murderers were the heartless men who are scattered over the land like, +locusts, speculating on the necessities of the people, and their +aiders and abettors are those who calmly sat with folded arms, and +essayed not to aid his family. Rise, O my readers and aid the poor of +our land. Let your hearts be filled with mercy to the unfortunate. +Remember that + + "The quality of mercy is not strain'd + It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven + Upon the place beneath; it is twice blessed, + It blesseth him that gives and him that takes: + 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes + The crowned monarch better than his crown:" + +and in performing an act of charity you bless yourself as well as the +one who is benefited by such charity. + +We shall now close our remarks with the hope that the reader will +appreciate the motive which prompted the writing of this book. As will +be seen, it has no plot--it never was intended to have any. The Author +intended merely to write a simple narrative when he commenced this +work, and to place before the public in the most agreeable form of +reading, a subject of vital importance to the Confederacy, and to +impress upon the minds of the wealthy their duty to the poor. He knows +not whether he has succeeded in the latter hope, and he could have +wished that some other pen had taken up the subject and woven it into +a tale that could have had a better and more lasting effect than the +foregoing is likely to have. Nevertheless he trusts that all his labor +is not lost, but that some attention will be paid to his words and a +kinder feeling be manifested towards refugees and the poor than has +hitherto been shown. If this be done then nothing but the happiest +results can follow, and the blessings of thousands, the heartfelt +blessings of thousands on earth, will follow those who aid in the work +of charity, called for by the present emergency, and from the +celestial realms the voice of God will be heard thanking His children +on earth for their kindness to their fellow mortals. + + * * * * * + +For the publication of this work the Author has to thank the kind +proprietor of the "Atlanta Intelligencer," Col. Jared I. Whitaker. To +this gentleman is he indebted for being able to present the work to +the public, and to him does the Author extend his sincere thanks. In +Col. Whitaker the Confederacy has one son who, uncontaminated by the +vile weeds of mortality which infest us, still remains pure and +undefiled, and, not only the obligations due from the author are +hereby acknowledged, but as one who has witnessed the whole souled +charity of this gentleman, we can record of him the possession of a +heart, unswayed by a sordid motive. To this gentleman are the thanks +of the author tendered, with the wish that he may live many long years +to reap the reward due to those, who, like himself, are ever foremost +in deeds of charity and benevolence. + +END OF APPENDIX + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Trials of the Soldier's Wife, by +Alex St. Clair Abrams + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRIALS OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE *** + +***** This file should be named 17955-8.txt or 17955-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/9/5/17955/ + +Produced by Curtis Weyant, Sankar Viswanathan, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images produced by the Wright +American Fiction Project.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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St. Clair Abrams. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + +a[name] {position:absolute;} + + a:link {color:#0000ff; text-decoration:none} + link {color:#0000ff; + text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:#0000ff; + text-decoration:none} + a:hover {color:#ff0000} + + table { width:80%; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} +.tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: solid black 1px;} + .tocch { text-align: right; vertical-align: top;} + .tocpg {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .sig { margin-left:60%; } + .sig1 { margin-left:80%; } + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i5 {display: block; margin-left: 5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i7 {display: block; margin-left: 7em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i9 {display: block; margin-left: 9em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Trials of the Soldier's Wife, by +Alex St. Clair Abrams + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Trials of the Soldier's Wife + A Tale of the Second American Revolution + +Author: Alex St. Clair Abrams + +Release Date: March 10, 2006 [EBook #17955] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRIALS OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE *** + + + + +Produced by Curtis Weyant, Sankar Viswanathan, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images produced by the Wright +American Fiction Project.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + <div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> + + + <p>The author states in the Appendix "The book which our readers have just + completed perusing, is filled with many errors; too many, in fact, for + any literary work to contain."</p> + + + <p>Only the very obvious errors have been corrected.</p></div> + + + + + + +<h3>THE TRIALS</h3> + + +<h4>OF</h4> + + +<h1>THE SOLDIER'S WIFE:</h1> +<p> </p> +<h4>A TALE OF THE</h4> + + +<h3>SECOND AMERICAN REVOLUTION.</h3> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2>BY ALEX. ST. CLAIR ABRAMS.</h2> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>ATLANTA, GEORGIA:</h3> + + +<h4>INTELLIGENCER STEAM POWER PRESSES.</h4> + + +<h3>1864.</h3> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<p class="center">Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1864,<br /> + + +<span class="smcap">By The Author</span>,<br /> + + +In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Confederate States<br /> + +for the Northern District of Georgia.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<table summary="Contents"> + <tr> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td class="tocpg">PAGE</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td class="tocpg"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#PREFACE">PREFACE</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">I</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_I">THE "CRESCENT CITY"—THE HUSBAND'S DEPARTURE.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">II</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_II">THE WIFE AND CHILDREN—A VISITOR</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">III</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_III">MR. HORACE AWTRY.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">IV</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">A POLITIC STROKE—THE TELEGRAPHIC DISPATCH.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">V</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_V">JACKSON, MISSISSIPPI—A HAPPY HOME.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">VI</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">THE SPECTATOR AND EXTORTIONER.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">VII</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">THE HUSBAND A PRISONER—EXILE OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">VIII</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">THE PRISONERS—THE HUSBAND AND THE LOVER.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">IX</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">ROOM TO RENT.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">X</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_X">THE NEW HOME.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XI</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">THE ATTEMPTED ESCAPE.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XII</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">THE STARVING CHILDREN.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XIII</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">THE APPEAL FOR CREDIT.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XIV</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">DR. HUMPHRIES BUYS A SLAVE AND BRINGS HOME NEWS.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XV</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">ARRIVAL OF HARRY.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XVI</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">MR. ELDER DEMANDS HIS RENT.—NOTICE TO QUIT.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XVII</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">THE EJECTMENT</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XVIII</td> + <td > </td> + <td class="tocch"> </td> + <td ><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">THE RESTING PLACE—ANOTHER VISIT TO MR. SWARTZ.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XIX</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">AN ACT OF DESPAIR.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XX</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">THE DYING CHILD.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XXI</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">THE INTRUSION.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XXII</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">IMPRISONMENT OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XXIII</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">THE COMMITTAL.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XXIV</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">RETURN OF ALFRED WENTWORTH—A STRANGER.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XXV</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">THE TWO SLAVES—THE GLIMMER OF LIGHT.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XXVI</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">THE RECOGNITION.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XXVII</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">TRIAL OF MRS. WENTWORTH—THE ADVOCATE.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XXVIII</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">THE VERDICT—THE HUSBAND AND WIFE—ARREST OF AWTRY.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XXIX</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">THE EYE OF GOD—THE MANIAC WIFE.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XXX</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">DEATH OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocch">XXXI</td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CONCLUSION.</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_168">168</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#APPENDIX">APPENDIX</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><span class="smcap">Dedication</span></h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">To</span></h4> + +<h2><span class="smcap">Colonel John H. Jossey</span>.</h2> + +<h3>Of Macon, Georgia.</h3> + +<p class="blockquot"><span class="smcap">My Dear Sir</span>—</p> + +<p class="blockquot">Accept from me the dedication of this little work as a token of appreciation +for the kind friendship you have ever displayed towards me. +Wishing you all the happiness and prosperity that can fall to mortal +man, believe me.</p> + +<p class="sig" > Your Friend,</p> + +<p class="sig1"> <span class="smcap">The Author</span>.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE.</h2> +<p>The plot of this little work was first thought of by the writer in the +month of December, 1862, on hearing the story of a soldier from New +Orleans, who arrived from Camp Douglas just in time to see his wife +die at Jackson, Mississippi. Although the Press of that city made no +notice of it, the case presented itself as a fit subject for a +literary work. If the picture drawn in the following pages appears +exaggerated to our readers, they will at least recognize the moral it +contains as truthful.</p> + +<p>Trusting that the public will overlook its many defects, the Author +yet hopes there will be found in this little book, matter of +sufficient interest to while away the idle hour of the reader.</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left:2em;"><span class="smcap">Atlanta</span>, April 20th, 1864.</span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE TRIALS OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE.</h2> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER FIRST.</h2> +<h3>THE "CRESCENT CITY"—THE HUSBAND'S DEPARTURE.</h3> +<p>Kind reader, have you ever been to New Orleans? If not, we will +attempt to describe the metropolis of the Confederate States of +America.</p> + +<p>New Orleans is situated on the Mississippi river, and is built in the +shape of a crescent, from which it derives the appellation of +"Crescent City." The inhabitants—that is, the educated class—are +universally considered as the most refined and aristocratic members of +society on the continent. When we say aristocratic, we do not mean a +pretension of superiority above others, but that elegance and +etiquette which distinguish the <i>parvenu</i> of society, and the vulgar, +but wealthy class of citizens with which this country is infested. The +ladies of New Orleans are noted for their beauty and refinement, and +are certainly, as a general thing, the most accomplished class of +females in the South, except the fair reader into whose hands this +work may fall.</p> + +<p>It was in the month of May, 1861, that our story commences. Secession +had been resorted to as the last chance left the South for a +preservation of her rights. Fort Sumter, had fallen, and from all +parts of the land troops were pouring to meet the threatened invasion +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>of their homes. As history will record, New Orleans was not idle in +those days of excitement. Thousands of her sons came forward at the +first call, and offered their services for the good of the common +cause, and for weeks the city was one scene of excitement from the +departure of the different companies to Virginia.</p> + +<p>Among the thousands who replied to the first call of their country, +was Alfred Wentworth, the confidential clerk of one of the largest +commission houses in the city. He was of respectable family, and held +a high position in society, both on account of his respectability and +the elevated talent he had displayed during his career in the world. +He had been married for about five years, and two little children—one +a light-eyed girl of four summers, and the other an infant of two +years—were the small family with which heaven had blessed him.</p> + +<p>After joining a company of infantry, and signing the muster roll, +Alfred returned home to his wife and informed her of what he had done, +expecting that she would regret it. But the patriotic heart of his +wife would not reproach him for having performed his duty; so heaving +a sigh as she looked at the child in her arms, and the little girl on +her fathers knee, a tear trickled down her flushed cheek as she bade +him God-speed. The time that elapsed between his enlistment and +departure for the seat of war, was spent by Alfred Wentworth in +providing a home for his family, so that in the event of his being +killed in battle, they should not want. Purchasing a small residence +on Prytania street, he removed his family into it and concluded his +business in time for his departure.</p> + +<p>The morning of the twenty-second of May broke brightly over the +far-famed "Crescent City." Crowds of citizens were seen congregating +on Canal street to witness the departure of two more regiments of +Orleanians. The two regiments were drawn up in line between Camp and +Carondelet streets, and their fine uniforms, glistening muskets and +soldierly appearance created a feeling of pride among the people. They +were composed principally of Creoles and Americans, proper. The +handsome, though dark complexions of the Creoles could be seen lit up +with enthusiasm, in conversation with the dark-eyed Creole beauties of +the city, while the light-haired and fair-faced sons of the Crescent +City were seen mingling among the crowd of anxious relatives who +thronged to bid them farewell.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> + +<p>Apart from the mass of volunteers—who had previously stacked their +arms—Alfred Wentworth and his wife were bidding that agonizing +farewell, which only those who have parted from loved one can feel. +His little bright-eyed daughter was clasped in his arms, and every +minute he would stoop over his infant and kiss its tiny cheeks. Marks +of tears were on the eyelids of his wife, but she strove to hide them, +and smiled at every remark made by her daughter. They were alone from +the eyes of a curious crowd. Each person present had too much of his +own acquaintances to bid farewell, to notice the speechless farewell +which the soldier gave his wife. With one arm clasped around her, and +the other holding his daughter, Alfred Wentworth gazed long and +earnestly at the features of his wife and children, as if to impress +the features of those loved ones still firmer in his mind.</p> + +<p>"Attention, battalion!" rang along the line in stentorian tones, and +the voices of the company officers calling "fall in, boys, fall in!" +were heard in the streets. Clasping his wife to his heart, and +imprinting a fond, fond kiss of love upon her cheeks, and embracing +his children, the soldier took his place in the ranks, and after the +necessary commands, the volunteers moved forward. A crowd of their +relatives followed them to the depot of the New Orleans, Jackson and +Great Northern Railroad, and remained until the cars were out of +sight. After the troops had entered, and the train was slowly moving +off, one of the soldiers jumped from the platform, and, embracing a +lady who stood near, exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"Farewell, dearest Eva! God bless you and the children—we shall meet +again." As soon as he spoke, Alfred Wentworth sprang into the cars +again and was soon swiftly borne from the city.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth remained standing where her husband had left her, until +the vast crowd had dispersed, and nothing could be seen of the train +but a thin wreath of smoke emerging from the tree-tops in the +distance. Calling the colored nurse, who had followed with the +children, she bade her return home, and accompanied her back to her +now lonely residence.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER SECOND.</h2> +<h3>THE WIFE AND CHILDREN—A VISITOR</h3> +<p>The weeks passed slowly to Mrs. Wentworth from the departure of her +husband; but her consciousness that he was performing his duty to his +country, and the letters he wrote from Virginia, cheered her spirits, +and, in a measure, made her forget his absence.</p> + +<p>She was alone one evening with her children, who had become the sole +treasures of her heart, and on whom she lavished every attention +possible, when the ringing of the bell notified her of the presence of +a visitor. Calling the servant, she bade her admit the person at the +door. The negro left the room to do her mistress' bidding, and shortly +after, a handsome gentleman of about thirty-five years of age entered.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Mrs. Wentworth," he said, on entering the room. "I +trust yourself and children are in good health."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth rose from her chair, and, slightly inclining her head, +replied: "To what circumstance am I indebted for the honor of this +visit, Mr. Awtry?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing very particular, madam," he replied; "but hearing of your +husband's departure, I thought I should lake the liberty of paying a +visit to an old acquaintance, and of offering my services, if you +should ever need them."</p> + +<p>"I thank you for your kindness; and should I <i>ever</i> need your +services, you may depend upon my availing myself of your offer; +although," she added, "I do not think it likely I shall stand in need +of any assistance."</p> + +<p>"I rejoice to hear it, my dear madam," he replied; "but I trust," he +continued, on noticing the look of surprise which covered her +features, "that you will not think my offer in the least insulting; +for I can assure you, it was only prompted by the most friendly +motives, and the recollections of past days."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth made no reply, and he continued: "I hope that, after an +absence of five years, the memory of the past has been banished from +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +you. With me things have changed materially. The follies of my youth +have, I trust, been expiated, and I am a different man now to what I +was when I last saw you."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Awtry," replied Mrs. Wentworth, "I feel rather surprised that, +after your presence in New Orleans for so many months, you should not +have thought proper to renew our acquaintance until after the +departure of my husband."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me," he quickly answered. "I was introduced to your husband by +a mutual friend; and as he never thought proper to extend an +invitation to me, I did not think myself authorized to call here. +Learning of his departure this morning, and knowing that his +circumstances were not of so favorable a character as he could wish, I +thought you might pardon my presumption in calling on you when you +learned the motive which actuated this visit—believe me, I am +sincere; and now," he continued, "will you accept my proffered hand of +friendship, and believe that my desire is only to aid the relatives of +one of the gallant men who have gone to struggle for their rights?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth paused a moment before she accepted the extended hand, +while her brow appeared clouded. At length, holding out her hand to +him, she said:</p> + +<p>"I accept your offered friendship, Mr. Awtry, in the same spirit, as I +hope, it is given; but, at the same time, trust you shall never be +troubled with any importunities from me."</p> + +<p>"Thank you—thank you," he replied eagerly; "I shall not prove +otherwise than worthy of your friendship. These are your children?" he +continued, changing the conversation.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she replied, with a look of pride upon her little daughter and +the sleeping infant on the sofa; "these are my little family."</p> + +<p>Mr. Awtry took the little girl upon his knees and commenced caressing +it, and, after remaining for a few moments in unimportant +conversation, took his departure with the promise to call at some +future time.</p> + +<p>As soon as he left Mrs. Wentworth sat down, and resting her hands on +the table, spoke to herself on the visit she had received. "What could +have induced him to pay me this visit?" she said, musingly; "it is +strange—very strange that he should choose this particular time to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +renew our acquaintance! He spoke honestly, however, and may be sincere +in his offers of assistance, should I ever need anything. He is +wealthy, and can certainly aid me." She sat there musing, until the +little girl, coming up to her, twined her tiny arms round her mother's +neck, and asked if it was not time to light the gas.</p> + +<p>"Yes, darling," said Mrs. Wentworth, kissing her fondly; "call Betsy +and let her get a light."</p> + +<p>After the negro had lit the gas, Mrs. Wentworth said to her, "Should +that gentleman, who was here to-day, call at any time again, let me +know before you admit him."</p> + +<p>"Yes, mistis," replied the negro with a curtsey.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER THIRD.</h2> +<h3>MR. HORACE AWTRY.</h3> +<p>Mr. Horace Awtry was a native of the State of New York, and was, at +the time of writing, about thirty-live years of age. He was a tall and +well-formed man, with light hair clustering in curls on a broad and +noble looking forehead; his features were well chiselled, and his +upper lip was ornamented with a mustache of the same color as his +hair. Notwithstanding his handsome features and extravagant display of +dress, there was an expression in his dark blue eyes, which, though +likely to captivate the young and innocent portion of the fair sex, +was not deemed elegant by those who are accustomed to read the +features of man. He was very wealthy, but was a perfect type of the +<i>roue</i>, although a good education and remarkable control of himself +rendered it difficult for his acquaintances to charge him with +dissipation, or any conduct unworthy of ft gentleman. As this +gentleman will occupy a somewhat conspicuous position in our tale, we +deem it necessary to go into these particulars.</p> + +<p>Some seven years previous to her marriage, and while yet a child, Mrs. +Wentworth, with her father, the only surviving relative she had, spent +the summer at Saratoga Springs in the State of New York, and there met +Mr. Awtry, who was then a handsome and dashing young man. Struck by +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>her beauty, and various accomplishments, he lost no time in making her +acquaintance, and before her departure from the Springs, offered her +his hand. To his utter astonishment, the proposal was rejected, with +the statement that she was already engaged to a gentleman of New +Orleans. This refusal would have satisfied any other person, but +Horace Awtry was not a man to yield so easily; he, therefore, followed +her to New Orleans on her return, and endeavored, by every means in +his power, to supplant Alfred Wentworth in the affections of Eva +Seymour—Mrs. Wentworth's maiden name—and in the confidence of her +father. Failing in this, and having the mortification of seeing them +married, he set to work and succeeded in ruining Mr. Seymour in +business, which accounts for the moderate circumstances in which we +find Mrs. Wentworth and her husband at the commencement of this book. +Worn out by his failure in business and loss of fortune, Mr. Seymour +died shortly after his daughter's marriage, without knowing who caused +his misfortunes, and Horace Awtry returned to the North. After being +absent for several years, he came back to New Orleans some months +before the departure of Mrs. Wentworth's husband, but never called +upon her until after he had left, when she was surprised at the visit +narrated in the foregoing chapter.</p> + +<p>This gentleman was seated in the portico of the St. Charles Hotel a +few mornings after his visit to Mrs. Wentworth, and by his movements +of impatience was evidently awaiting the arrival of some one. At last +a young man ran down the steps leading from the apartments, and he +rose hurriedly to meet him.</p> + +<p>"You are the very man I have been waiting to see," said Horace Awtry; +"you must excuse my apparent neglect in not calling on you before."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, my dear fellow," replied the gentleman. "I am certain your +reasons are good for not attending to your arrangement punctually—by +the way," he continued, "who the deuce was that lady I saw you +escorting to church last Sunday?"</p> + +<p>"An acquaintance of mine that I had not seen for years, until a few +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>days ago chance threw me in her path and I paid her a visit."</p> + +<p>"Ha, ha, ha," laughed his companion. "I understand; but who is she, +and her name? She is very pretty," he continued, gravely.</p> + +<p>"Hush, Charlie!" replied Horace; "come to my room in the St. Louis +Hotel, and I will tell you all about it."</p> + +<p>"Wait a moment, my friend, and let me get some breakfast," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" said Horace, "we can have breakfast at Galpin's after I have +conversed with you at my room; or," he continued, "I will order a +breakfast and champagne to be brought up to my room."</p> + +<p>"As you like," said the other, taking a couple of cigars from his +pocket and offering one to his companion.</p> + +<p>After lighting their cigars, the two men left the hotel, and +purchasing the New York <i>Herald</i> and <i>News</i> from the news-dealer +below, proceeded to the St. Louis Hotel, where Horace ordered a +breakfast and champagne for himself and guest.</p> + +<p>Throwing himself on one of the richly-covered couches that ornamented +the apartment, Charles Bell—for that was the name of the +gentleman—requested his friend to inform him who the lady was that he +escorted to church.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear friend," said Horace, "as you appear so desirous to +know I will tell you. I met that lady some seven years ago at Saratoga +Springs. If she is now beautiful she was ten times so then, and I +endeavored to gain her affections. She was, however, engaged to +another young man of this city, and on my offering her my hand in +marriage, declined it on that ground. I followed her here with the +intention of supplanting her lover in her affections, but it was of no +avail; they were married, and the only satisfaction I could find was +to ruin her father, which I did, and he died shortly after without a +dollar to his name."</p> + +<p>"So she is married?" interrupted his companion.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and has two children," replied Horace.</p> + +<p>"Where is her husband?"</p> + +<p>"He left for Virginia some time ago, where I sincerely trust he will +get a bullet through his heart," was the very charitable rejoinder.</p> + +<p>"What! do you desire to marry his widow?" asked his friend.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> +<p>"No, indeed," he replied; "but you see they are not in very good +circumstances, and if he were once dead she would be compelled to work +for a living, as they have no relatives in this State, and only a few +in Baltimore. To gain my object, I should pretend that I desired to +befriend her—send the two children to some nurse, and then have her +all to myself. This," continued the villain, "is the object with which +I have called upon her"—</p> + +<p>"And paid a visit to church for the first time in your life," said +Bell, laughing; "but," he resumed, "it is not necessary for you to +wish the husband dead—why not proceed to work at once?"</p> + +<p>"Well, so I would, but she is so very particular, that on the +slightest suspicion she would take the alarm and communicate to her +husband the fact of my having renewed my acquaintance with her, which +would, perhaps, bring him home on furlough."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," replied his friend, "the secessionists need every man to +assist them in driving back McDowell, and there is no chance of any +furloughs being granted; besides which, we are on the eve of a great +battle, and for any of the men to ask for a furlough would lay him +open to the charge of cowardice."</p> +<p>"That may be all true," said Horace, "but I shall not venture on + anything more as yet. As far as I have gone, she believes me actuated + by no other motives than the remembrance of my former affection for + her, and, with that belief, places implicit trust in me."</p> +<p>The conversation was here interrupted by the appearance of two +waiters, one carrying a waiter filled with different descriptions of +food, and the other a small basket containing six bottles of +champagne. After setting them on a table, Horace inquired what the +charges were.</p> + +<p>"Twelve dollars, sah," was the reply.</p> + +<p>Horace took out his pocket book, and throwing the man a twenty dollar +gold piece, told him to pay for the breakfast and champagne, and +purchase cigars with the remainder.</p> + +<p>The negroes having left, Horace Awtry and his friend proceeded to +discuss their breakfast and champagne. After eating for a few minutes +in silence, Horace suddenly said:</p> + +<p>"Charlie, what do you think of this war?"</p> + +<p>"My opinion is, that the South has got in a pretty bad dilemma," +replied that gentleman.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> +<p>"That is identically my impression, but for heaven's sake do not let +any one hear you say so. The people are half crazed with excitement, +and the slightest word in favor of the North may lay you at the mercy +of an infuriated mob."</p> + +<p>"What do you intend doing, now the ports are blockaded, and no one can +leave the country?" asked his friend.</p> + +<p>"Why, remain here and pretend all the friendship possible for the +South. Maybe I will get a contract or two, which will further the +design of covering my opinions on this contest."</p> + +<p>"Such was my idea, but I am afraid that the secesh government will +issue their cotton bonds until all the gold is driven from the States, +and then we will have nothing but their worthless paper money," +replied Bell.</p> + +<p>"I have thought of that, and made up my mind to convert all the +property I have here into gold at once, which will give me between +sixty and seventy thousand dollars, and as fast as I make any of the +bonds from contracts, I will sell them for whatever gold they will +bring."</p> + +<p>"That's a capital idea, my dear follow," said Bell, rising from his +chair and slapping Awtry on the shoulder; "I think I shall follow your +plan."</p> + +<p>The cigars having been brought in, after a few minutes of unimportant +conversation, Charles Bell left his friend, with the arrangement to +meet at the Varieties theatre in the evening, and Horace Awtry, +divesting himself of his clothing, retired to sleep until the evening +should come.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER FOURTH.</h2> +<h3>A POLITIC STROKE—THE TELEGRAPHIC DISPATCH.</h3> +<p>June and half of July had sped swiftly away. The great battle, which +everybody daily expected, had been fought, and the Yankee army +ignominiously defeated. As every one of our readers are well +acquainted with this battle, I shall not go into any details; enough; +as history will tell, to know that it resulted in a glorious victory +to the Confederate army, and covered the gallant Southerners with +honor.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> + +<p>On the arrival of dispatches giving an account of this victory, to use +a vulgar phrase, New Orleans "ran wild." The excitement and exultation +of the people were beyond description, and during the same night that +the news was received, one scene of gayety was observed in the city. +There was one heart, however, that did not share the joy and merriment +so universal among the people. In the privacy of her dwelling, with +her two children near by, Mrs. Wentworth spent a night of prayer and +anxiety, and next morning rose from her bed with the same feeling of +anxiety to know whether her husband had escaped unhurt. At about ten +o'clock in the morning, a knock was heard at the door, and soon after +Mr. Awtry entered.</p> + +<p>"How are you this morning, Mrs. Wentworth?" he said, taking her little +daughter in his arms and kissing her; "so we have gained a great +victory in Virginia."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she replied; "but I do feel so anxious to know if my husband is +safe."</p> + +<p>"Do not think for a moment otherwise," he answered; "why a soldier's +wife should not show half as much solicitude as you do."</p> + +<p>"I am, indeed, very desirous of knowing his fate and I am sure the +fact of being a soldier's wife does not prevent my feeling a desire to +ascertain if he is unhurt, or if he is"—she paused at the thought +which seemed so horrid in her imagination, and lowering her face in +her hands, burst into tears.</p> + +<p>"Mother, what are you crying for?" asked her little daughter, who was +sitting on Mr. Awtry's knees.</p> + + + +<p>"My dear madam," said Mr. Awtry, "why do you give way to tears? If you +desire," he continued, "I will telegraph to Virginia and learn if your +husband is safe."</p> + +<p>"Thank you—thank you!" she answered eagerly; "I shall feel deeply +obligated if you will."</p> + +<p>"I shall go down to the telegraph office at once," he said, rising +from his seat and placing the child down; "and now, my little +darling," he continued, speaking to the child, "you must tell your ma +not to cry so much." With these words he shook Mrs. Wentworth's hand +and left the house.</p> + +<p>The day passed wearily for Mrs. Wentworth; every hour she would open +one of the windows leading to the street and look out, as if expecting +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +to see Mr. Awtry with a telegraphic dispatch in his hand, and each +disappointment she met with on these visits would only add to her +intense anxiety. The shades of evening had overshadowed the earth, and +Mrs. Wentworth sat at the window of her dwelling waiting the arrival +of the news, which would either remove her fears or plunge her in +sorrow. Long hours passed, and she had almost despaired of Mr. Awtry's +coming that evening, when he walked up the street, and in a few +minutes was in the house.</p> + +<p>"What news?" gasped Mrs. Wentworth, starting from her seat and meeting +him at the door of the apartment.</p> + +<p>"Read it, my dear madam. I shall leave that pleasure to you," he +replied, handing her a telegraphic dispatch he held in his hand.</p> + +<p>Taking the dispatch, Mrs. Wentworth, with trembling fingers, unfolded +it and read these words: "Mrs. Eva Wentworth, New Orleans, Louisiana: +Yours received. I am safe. Alfred Wentworth." As soon as she had read +the dispatch, her pent up anxiety for his safety was allayed, and +throwing herself on her knees before a couch, regardless of the +presence of Mr. Awtry, who stood looking on, Mrs. Wentworth poured +forth a prayer of thanks at the safety of her husband, while tears of +joy trickled down her cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Allow me to congratulate you, Mrs. Wentworth, on the safety of your +husband," said Horace Awtry, after she had become sufficiently +composed. "I assure you," he continued, "I feel happy at the knowledge +of being the medium through which this welcome intelligence has +reached you."</p> + +<p>"You have, indeed, proved a friend," she said, extending her hand, +which he shook warmly, "and one that I feel I can trust."</p> + +<p>"Do not speak of it," he answered; "it is only a natural act of +kindness towards one whom I desire to befriend."</p> + +<p>"And one I will never cease to forget. Oh! if you had but known how I +felt during these past hours of agonizing suspense, you would not have +thought lightly of your kind attention; and I am sure when I write +Alfred of it, he will not have words sufficient to express his +gratitude."</p> + +<p>"In my haste to impart the good news to you," said Mr. Awtry, rising, +"I almost forgot an engagement I made this evening. It is now getting +late, and I must leave. Good evening."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Good evening," she replied. "I trust you will call to see me soon +again."</p> + +<p>"With <i>your</i> permission I will," he answered, laying particular +emphasis on the word "your."</p> + +<p>"Certainly," she said. "I shall be most happy to see you at anytime."</p> + +<p>"I will call soon, then," he replied. "Good night," and he stepped +from the threshold of the house.</p> + +<p>"Good night," she said, closing the door.</p> + +<p>Horace Awtry stood for a moment near the house; then walking on he +muttered: "A politic stroke, that telegraphic dispatch."</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER FIFTH.</h2> +<h3>JACKSON, MISSISSIPPI—A HAPPY HOME.</h3> +<p>We will now change the scene of our story, and, using the license of +all writers, transport the reader to Jackson, the Capital of the great +State of Mississippi, and there introduce him or her to other +characters who will bear a prominent part in this book.</p> + +<p>In the parlor of an elegant resident on Main street, a beautiful girl +was sitting with an open book in her hand. She was not, however, +reading, as her bright blue eyes rested not on the pages, but were +gazing at the half-opened door, as if expecting the arrival of some +one. While she is thus musing, we will endeavour to give a description +of the fair maiden. Fancy a slight and elegant figure, richly dressed +in a robe of <i>moire antique</i>, from under the folds of which the +daintiest little feet imaginable could be seen. Her features, though +not regularly carved, made her, at the name time, very beautiful, +while her bright blue eyes and rich golden hair, braided smooth to her +forehead, and ornamented with a jewelled tiara, then much worn, lent +additional charm to her appearance. Her hands were small, and as +Byron, we think, has it, was an undoubted mark of gentle birth.</p> + +<p>She remained in this reverie for some time, but was at last aroused by +the entrance, unannounced, of a handsome young man dressed in the +uniform of a lieutenant, when she started up, and meeting him, said in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>a half-vexed, half-playful tone:</p> + +<p>"Oh, Harry! why did you not come earlier? I have been waiting for your +arrival over an hour!"</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, dearest," he answered. "I was just on the point of +starting from my office when I received a mass of orders from +regimental headquarters, which detained me until a few minutes ago. +You must, therefore," he continued, "excuse me for this once, and I +shall not offend again," and as he spoke he parted the hair from her +forehead and pressed a kiss upon her lips.</p> + +<p>"I forgive you for this time," she answered, playfully tapping him on +the shoulder with her fan; "but the next offence I will not be so +likely to excuse."</p> + +<p>"I will take good care not to offend again, then," he laughingly said.</p> + +<p>The conversation continued for some time in this light way, which +lovers will sometimes indulge in, when, assuming a serious +countenance, she spoke to him:</p> + +<p>"When does your regiment leave for Virginia?"</p> + +<p>"I hardly know," he replied, "if it will go to Virginia at all. The +Colonel informs me that it is likely the regiment will be sent to +Tennessee; so if it is sent there, I will be nearer than you thought."</p> + +<p>"What a horrid thing war is!" she said, without appearing to notice +his last remarks.</p> + +<p>"You are not inclined to show the white feather now, are you?" he +said, laughing.</p> + +<p>Her bright blue eyes sparkled for a moment, as if repudiating the +question; then lowering them she answered: "No, indeed. I would not +have a single one that I love remain at home while the Abolitionists +are invading our homes."</p> + +<p>"Spoken like a brave girl and a true Southern woman," he replied, "and +I shall remember your words when I go into battle. It will nerve and +inspire me to fight with redoubled courage, when I recollect that I am +battling for you." As he spoke he gazed at her with mingled pride and +affection, and for some minutes they remained gazing at each other +with that affection which springs from</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + <span class="i0">"Two souls with but a single thought—</span> + <span class="i0">Two hearts that beat as one."</span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> +<p>Oh, Love! ye goddess of all that is blissful and elevating in man! How +thy devotees bow down to thy shrine and offer all that they possess to +purchase but a smile from thee! And when you have cast your favors on +some happy mortal, and the pure feeling of affection becomes centered +on woman, the fairest flower from Eden, how should not mankind cherish +the gift you have bestowed upon him, and look upon it as the first and +priceless object on earth, and but second to one above in heaven!</p> + +<p>The lovers remained in this silence, which spoke more than words could +have done, until the entrance of a tall and venerable looking +gentleman of about fifty years of age. As soon as he entered, they +rose up together, the young lady addressing him as "father," and the +young man as "doctor."</p> + +<p>"How are you, Harry, my boy? give me a kiss, Em'," he said, in one +breath, as he shook the young man warmly by the hand and pressed a +parental kiss on the brow of his daughter. "Pretty warm weather, +this," he continued, speaking to the young man; "it is almost +stifling."</p> + + + +<p>"Suppose we step out on the balcony, pa," said the young lady; "it is +much cooler there."</p> + +<p>"Ha, ha, ha," he laughed; "you had not found that out until I entered. +However," he went on, "do you both go out there. I am certain you will +do better without than with me."</p> + +<p>His daughter blushed, but made no reply, and the young man removing +two chairs to the balcony, they both left the old gentleman, who, +turning up the gas, proceeded to read his evening <i>Mississippian</i>.</p> + +<p>Dr. James Humphries was one of the oldest and most respectable +citizens of Jackson, and was looked upon with great esteem by all who +knew him. He had been a medical practitioner in that city from the +time it was nothing more than a little village, until railroad +connections had raised it to be a place of some consequence, and the +capital of the State. He had married when a young man, but of all his +children, none remained but his daughter Emma, in gaining whom he lost +a much-loved wife, she having died in child-birth.</p> + +<p>At the time we write, Emma Humphries was betrothed to Henry +Shackleford, a young lawyer of fine ability, but who was, like many of +his countrymen, a soldier in the service of his country, and been +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +elected first lieutenant of the "Mississippi Rifles."</p> + +<p>We will now leave them for the present, and in the next chapter +introduce the reader to two other characters.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER SIXTH</h2> +<h3>THE SPECTATOR AND EXTORTIONER.</h3> +<p>Mr. Jacob Swartz was sitting in the back room of his store on Main +street counting a heap of gold and silver coins which lay on a table +before him. He was a small, thin-bodied man, with little gray eyes, +light hair and aquiline nose. He was of that nationality generally +known in this country as "Dutch;" but having been there for over +twenty years, he had become naturalized, and was now a citizen of the +chivalrous States of Mississippi, a fact of which he prided himself +considerably.</p> + +<p>Mr. Swartz was busily engaged counting his money, when a little boy, +who seemed, from a similarity of features, to be his son appeared at +the door, and mentioned that Mr. Elder desired to see him.</p> + +<p>"Vot can he vant?" said Mr. Swartz. Then as if recollecting, he +continued: "I suppose it is apout that little shtore he vants to rent +me. Tell him to come in."</p> + +<p>The boy withdrew, and a few seconds after a tall and scrupulously +dressed gentleman, with his coat buttoned up to the throat, and +wearing a broad rimmed hat, entered the room. This was Mr. James +Elder, a citizen of Jackson, but not a native of the State. He came +from Kentucky several years before, and was a man with "Southern +principles." To do him justice, we will say that he was really true +friend to the South, which fact may have been not only from principle, +but from his being a large slaveholder. He was also the possessor of a +considerable amount of landed property and real estate, among which +were several buildings in Jackson.. He was also looked upon by the +<i>world</i>, as very charitable man, being always busy collecting money +from the people in aid of some benevolent object, and occasionally his +name would appear in the newspapers, accompanied by a flattering +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +compliment to his generosity, as the donor of a liberal amount of +money to some charitable institution or society. There were people, +however, who said that the poor families, who hired a series of +tenement buildings he possessed in the lower part of the city, were +very often hard pressed for their rent, and more than once turned out +for non-payment. These reports were considered as slanders, for being +a member, and one of the pillars of the Methodist Church, no one, for +a moment, believed that he would be guilty of so unfeeling an action.</p> + +<p>On entering the room, Mr. James Elder made a stiff bow to Mr. Swartz, +and declining the hand offered to him, as if it were contamination to +touch the person of one of God's likeness, dusted a chair and sat down +opposite his host.</p> + +<p>"Vell, Mr. Elder, have you decided whether I can get the shtore or +not? Tis place of mine is in very pad orter, and I tinks yours vill +shust suit me," began Mr. Swartz, after a silence of about three +minutes.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Swartz, I think you can have the place, if you and I can +come to terms about the price of the rent, which must be payable +always in advance," replied Mr. Elder.</p> + +<p>"I tont care," answered Mr. Swartz. "I would as soon pay you in +advance as not. But vot price to you charge?"</p> + +<p>"I charge fifty dollars per month," was the short answer.</p> + +<p>"Vell, dat vill do; and I suppose you vill give me the shtore for von +year certain?"</p> + +<p>"I am not decided about that," replied Mr. Elder, "as I do not like to +bind myself for any given time; for," he continued, "there is no +telling what may be the worth of a store in six months."</p> + +<p>"I vould not take it unless I could get a lease by the year," replied +Mr. Swartz; "for the fact is, I have made a large contract with the +government, and vill have to extend by pisness."</p> + +<p>Mr. Elder remained thoughtful for a few moments; then he replied: "As +you wont take it unless I give a lease for twelve months, I will do so +on one condition: that on your failure to pay the rent monthly in +advance, you forfeit the lease, and I am at liberty to demand your +removal without any notice."</p> + +<p>"Shust as you like," he replied, "for I know te monish vill always pe +ready in advance."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> +<p>"Well, I shall have the lease drawn out to-day and bring it to you to +sign," said Mr. Elder, rising and putting on his gloves. "Good +morning; be here at three o'clock, as I shall call round at that +hour," and with those words he left the room, and the Dutchman resumed +the counting of his money.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER SEVENTH.</h2> +<h3>THE HUSBAND A PRISONER—EXILE OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE.</h3> +<p>Months rolled on, during which time Mrs. Wentworth was cheered by many +kind and affectionate letters from her husband, who had not been sick +a day since his departure from home. One of the letters received from +him stated that he had been detailed from his regiment to act as clerk +in Brigadier General Floyd's adjutant general's office, his superior +intelligence fitting him admirably for such an office; and the next +letter from him was dated at Fort Donelson, whence General Floyd had +been ordered with his brigade.</p> + +<p>Fort Donelson fell. We need not record here the heroic defense and +stubborn fighting of the Confederate forces, and their unfortunate +capture afterwards. These are matters of history, and should be +recorded by the historian, and not the novelist. Sufficient to say, +that in the last day's fight Alfred Wentworth, having received a +severe wound in the arm, was marching to the rear, when an officer, +dressed in the garb of a lieutenant, who was lying on the field, +called faintly to him, and on his going up, he observed that the +lieutenant's left leg was fearfully mangled by a fragment of shell, +and was bleeding so profusely, that, unless medical aid was quickly +procured, he would die. Forgetting his own wound, which was very +painful, he lifted the officer on his shoulder and bore him to the +hospital, where his leg was immediately attended to, and his life +saved. The severity of his own wound, and the length of time which +elapsed before any attention was paid to it, brought on a severe +fever, and on the escape of General Floyd, he was delirious and unable +to accompany him. He was, therefore, sent to Chicago, and placed in +the same hospital with the lieutenant whose life he had saved.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> +<p>On their recovery, which was about the same time, Lieutenant +Shackleford—for it was he—and Alfred Wentworth were both sent to +"Camp Douglas," the military prison near Chicago.</p> + +<p>On the receipt of the news in New Orleans, that Fort Donelson and +nearly its entire garrison had surrendered, Mrs. Wentworth underwent +another long suspense of excitement and anxiety, which was, however, +partially allayed by the intelligence that General Floyd and staff had +escaped. But as the weeks rolled on, and she received no letter from +her husband, the old fear that he may have been killed came over her +again, until relieved by seeing his name as being among the wounded at +the Chicago hospital in one of the city papers.</p> + +<p>In mentioning these hours of grief and suspense on the part of Mrs. +Wentworth, it must not be understood that we are representing a +weak-minded and cowardly woman. On the contrary, Mrs. Wentworth would +have rather heard that her husband was killed than one word spoken +derogatory to his courage, and would never have consented to his +remaining at home, while so many of his countrymen were hurrying to +protect their country from invasion. Her suspense and grief at the +intelligence of a battle in which her husband was engaged, were only +the natural feeling of an affectionate wife. At that moment she was no +longer the patriot daughter of the South; she was the wife and mother, +and none should blame her for her anxiety to know the fate of one so +much loved as her husband, and the father of her children.</p> + +<p>Soon after her husband was taken prisoner, Mrs. Wentworth observed +that Horace Awtry became more assiduous in his attentions to her. +Every day he would call with presents for her children, and several +times small packages of bank-bills were found in the parlor, which, +when presented to him, he would always disclaim being the owner of; +and although Mrs. Wentworth truly believed that they had been left +there by him, the kind and respectful tone he used to her, and the +intense interest he appeared to take in the welfare of her children, +were such that she never imagined, for a moment, he was using this +means to cloak a vile and unmanly purpose. Once, and only once, was +she made aware that the scandal tongues of her neighbors were being +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +used detrimental to her honor; and then the information was given by +her slave Elsy, who overheard a conversation between two of her +neighbors not at all complimentary to her, and which the faithful +negress lost no time in repeating to her mistress, with the very +indignant remark that, "ef dem people nex' doh fancy dey can do +anyting to take away your name, dey's much mistaken, as I will tell +you ebery ting dey say 'bout you, an' you will know what to do." Mrs. +Wentworth made no reply to the negro, but on the next visit of Mr. +Awtry's, she candidly told him what had been said of her in +consequence of his visits. He appeared very much surprised, but told +her that such scandalous remarks, emanating as they did out of pure +malice, should not be noticed, as all who were acquainted with her +knew very well that her character and fair name were above suspicion. +With that the subject was dropped, and he continued paying her his +visits.</p> + +<p>New Orleans fell into the hands of the enemy, and the whole +Confederacy was convulsed, as if shaken by an earthquake. None +anticipated such a thing, and its fall brought misery to thousands. +The enemy had scarcely taken possession, than Horace Awtry and his +bosom friend, Charles Bell, went to the provost marshal's office and +took the oath of allegiance, after proving, entirely to the +satisfaction of the Yankees, that they were Northern, and had always +been Union men. Mr. Awtry immediately received a commission in the +Federal army, and by his willingness to point out prominent +"secession" men and women, soon ingratiated himself in the favor of +"Beast Butler."</p> + +<p>No sooner had he gained the favor of Butler, than his attentions to +Mrs. Wentworth changed to that of unmanly presumption, and at last he +had the baseness to make proposals at once dishonorable to her as a +lady of virtue and position in society, and disgraceful to him as a +man. These propositions were accompanied by a threat to have her +turned out of the house and exiled from New Orleans. With a spirit +worthy of a Southern woman, she indignantly spurned his base offers +and ordered him never to place his feet across the threshold of her +house, at the same time defying to do his worse. He left her, +declaring that she should be turned out of the city, and a few days +after, in proof of his threat, an order was presented to her, signed +by General Butler, commanding her to leave the city.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> +<p>Her faithful slave, Elsy, shed bitter tears on hearing that her kind +mistress would have to leave New Orleans, and declared that she would +not remain in the city, but would follow her.</p> + +<p>"But they will not let you go with me, Elsy," said Mrs. Wentworth. +"You are free now, they say, to do as you like—you are no longer +belonging to me."</p> + +<p>"I ain't a gwine to stay here, missis," replied the negro, "for any +money in dis world, and if dey wont let me go out wid you, I will come +arter you by myself."</p> + +<p>"Well, Elsy," said Mrs. Wentworth, "I do not force you to leave New +Orleans, but should you get out, come to me at Jackson. You are a good +girl, and I shall not forget your fidelity."</p> + +<p>"I'll be dere, shure," said the negro, quite pleased at the permission +to follow her mistress if she could.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth immediately set to work packing up a few necessaries, +and with the small amount of money she had left awaited the next +morning, when she would start for Pass Manchac.</p> + +<p>On the following morning she proceeded to the boat, amid the cries and +lamentations of the faithful Elsy, and with throbbing heart and many +sighs gazed on her loved city until it had receded from her view.</p> + +<p>On arriving at the "Pass" she was about to step from the boat, when a +hand was laid upon her shoulder, and looking round she observed Mr. +Awtry, dressed in the full uniform of a Yankee captain, standing by +her.</p> + + + +<p>"Are you determined to leave home," he said, "and all its pleasures; +and starve in the rebel lines? Why not accept my offer and lead a life +of ease and affluence. Your husband shall never know of our +connection, and thus you will be spared many a weary day and night +working for bread to feed your children."</p> + +<p>She looked at him for a moment with all that withering scorn and +indignation which outraged virtue and innocence can assume, and then +said: "Leave me! Go to the land from whence you came and make such +offers to the women there, but remember now you are speaking to a +Southern woman."</p> + +<p>"But think a moment, and—" he began.</p> + +<p>"Leave me this instant," she said excitedly, "or I shall call others +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +with more the heart of men than you to my assistance. Accept your +offer?" she continued with all the scorn she could use. "Accept such +an offer from a <i>Yankee</i>! Go, I would despise and hate were you not +too despicable for either feeling of enmity."</p> + +<p>Several persons approaching at that moment, he moved away hurriedly +after hissing in her ear: "Take your choice. In either one way or the +other I am revenged on you for the way you rejected my addresses in +past years."</p> + +<p>She landed on the shore, and a few minutes after the boat moved back +on its way to New Orleans, when taking her small trunk in her hands +the soldier's wife, with her two children, started on their long and +lively march. For where? She knew not. There she was, an utter +stranger with two tender children, far from her home, and with only +two hundred dollars in money. Where could she go to for support. Her +husband was in a foreign prison, and she a wanderer in a strange +State. Her heart sank within her, and the soldier's wife wept. Aye, +wept! Not tears of regret at what she had sacrificed, but tears of +loneliness. Who would not weep if they were parted from those they +love, and were cast in a strange land without a friend, and with +scarcely any means?</p> + +<p>We leave the soldier's wife for a brief while, and transport the +reader to her husband. Her trials have commenced—God help her!</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER EIGHTH.</h2> +<h3>THE PRISONERS—THE HUSBAND AND THE LOVER.</h3> +<p>We stated that on the recovery of Alfred Wentworth and Lieutenant +Shackleford from their wounds, both were sent to Camp Douglas +together, and as Alfred had no regiment of his own captured, the +lieutenant promptly requested him to become one of his mess. The +generous courage exhibited by Alfred Wentworth, and the fact that but +for his chivalric attention, he should have died on the bloody field +of Fort Donelson, had created a feeling of gratitude in Lieutenant +Shackleford for his preserver, which, on closer acquaintance, had +ripened into a warm friendship, and he soon made Alfred acquainted +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +with the fact of his betrothal to Emma Humphries, and Alfred in turn +would speak of his wife and children in such tones of affection as +only those who love can use. They would sit down for hours and +converse on the loved ones at home, thus wiling away the sad and +lonely hours of a prison life, until the news was received in Chicago +of the fall of New Orleans. Although he bitterly regretted his native +city having fallen into the hands of the enemy, the opportunity which +it presented of once more being able to correspond with his wife, made +him feel happier, and as soon as mail communication was received with +the city, he requested and obtained permission to write her.</p> + +<p>Alfred Wentworth had not the slightest idea that Horace Awtry would +ever dare to offend his wife, much less to offer infamous proposals, +and on their being refused have her driven from the home he had placed +her in. It is true that his wife had written to him that Mr. Awtry had +renewed his acquaintance with her, but her statements of his kind +attention to her and the children, and her mentioning the eager manner +in which he had relieved her anxiety after the battle of the 21st of +July, 1861, instead of raising any suspicion on his part of the +honesty and purity of his motives, only made him return thanks in his +heart for the previous kindness shown to his wife.</p> + +<p>On obtaining permission to write her, he immediately penned a long and +affectionate letter which was forwarded. For many days after he +remained in a long suspense for the expected answer, as he never +believed for a moment that she would delay answering him, but as days +rolled into weeks, and no letter came, while the other prisoners from +New Orleans received letters regularly, he became alarmed, and spoke +his fears to Shackleford.</p> + +<p>"Do not be afraid of any harm having occurred to her, Alf," said the +lieutenant, after listening attentively to his friend's words. "You +may depend that your letter never reached her, and she, in ignorance +whether you escaped unhurt from the engagement, cannot write, not +knowing where you are."</p> + +<p>"It is not her silence which troubles me as much as the knowledge that +she possess no other money than Confederate notes," replied Alfred. +"How she will manage to support herself and the children God only +knows."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> +<p>"Have you not friends there?" enquired Harry.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I cannot depend on them for assistance, for two reasons: +first, because from the disordered state of the money market in New +Orleans, they are almost as badly off as she is; and second, I am +quite certain that Eva would rather starve than ask for charity."</p> + +<p>"Charity!", echoed his companion. "Do you call it charity to assist +another situated as your wife is, particularly where her husband is +far from her fighting for his country?"</p> + +<p>"You do not know the people of New Orleans," replied Alfred. "No +matter how kindly a favor may be bestowed on them, it is still +considered charity, and though dire necessity may induce them to +accept aid if proffered, the knowledge that they were eating the bread +of charity, would embitter each mouthful."</p> + +<p>"Pooh, pooh," said his friend, "all these fine notions would do very +well before the war, but at the present time the least we think of +them the better."</p> + +<p>"It is all very well for you to speak that way," answered Alfred, "for +you have no wife and children to cause uneasiness, but I cannot be +otherwise than anxious to know what has become of her, that I receive +no letters, while other prisoners have had theirs regularly by mail."</p> + +<p>"An unfortunate fact, which you may depend has been caused by no other +reason than the neglect of the Yankee officers to forward your +letters," said Harry, then continuing: "Come, cheer up, and throw +aside your dullness. Another battle like that of Shiloh, will give the +South as many Yankee prisoners as they have of us, and then ho! for +home and the "Sunny South!" As soon as we return, I will take you to +Jackson, and then you can write your wife to come out, and she can +live with my mother, if you are not too proud to accept my +hospitality."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he replied, "but I must first wait until we are +exchanged, and God knows when that will be."</p> + +<p>"Why, man, I tell you there is no doubt of our whipping the Yanks and +capturing a lot of them in the next battle; then adieu to Camp +Douglas, and hurrah for the Confederacy once more!" replied Harry, +taking his companion by the arm, and dragging him to their tent where +dinner had been placed in readiness for them.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER NINTH.</h2> +<h3>ROOM TO RENT.</h3> +<p>We must now return to my heroine, who, with her two children, we left +slowly travelling toward Jackson, Mississippi. On arriving at +Ponchatula, she took the cars on the New Orleans, Jackson and Great +Northern Railroad, and in a few hours was in Jackson. On arriving +there she proceeded to the Bowman House, and purchasing a newspaper +eagerly scanned the columns to find an advertisement of rooms to rent, +knowing full well that, with her limited means, she would never be +able to remain at the hotel, or live at a boarding house.</p> + +<p>After looking for some time, without finding the desired +advertisement, her eye at last lit upon the following notice under the +heading of "To rent:"</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left:60%;"><span style="font-size:smaller"> + "TO RENT,</span></span></p> + +<p class="blockquot"> "Unfurnished rooms in the one-story tenement buildings on + —— street. For particulars, apply to the undersigned at + his office on Main street, near the State House.</p><p> <span class="smcap"><span style="margin-left:70%;">Jamie + Elder</span></span>."</p> + +<p>After reading it she folded the paper, and remained musing for several +minutes, when rising up she went to her children, and, kissing them, +told them she was going out for a few minutes, and to play like good +children until her return. She then left the hotel, and, after some +little trouble, at last found out the office of Mr. Elder, which she +entered.</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Elder in?" she inquired of a clerk.</p> + +<p>"Yes, madam," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Can I see him?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He gave her no answer, but going to an adjoining door, half opened it, +and announced, in a loud voice, that a lady desired to see Mr. Elder.</p> + +<p>"Admit her," was the reply of that gentleman.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth passed the desk, and, entering the room from whence the +voice proceeded, found herself in the presence of Mr. Elder, who was +seated in an arm chair reading a newspaper.</p> + +<p>"Be seated, madam," he said, rising and handing her a chair. "What can +I have the honor of doing for you this morning?"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p> +<p>"This is your advertisement, I believe," she replied, handing him the +newspaper.</p> + +<p>"Yes, madam," he answered, looking at her through his spectacles.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, it is my desire to rent one of the rooms."</p> + +<p>"You, madam!" he replied, evidently surprised at her question.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," she replied; "I am a refugee from New Orleans, having been +driven from there by General Butler. My husband is now a prisoner of +war in the hands of the enemy, and my means being limited, I am +compelled to live economically."</p> + +<p>"Ahem, ahem," said Mr. Elder, clearing his throat; "indeed, madam, I +sympathise with you. This war has cast many people homeless and in +need throughout the country. I sympathize with you, <i>indeed</i> I do," +and he looked on her in the most benevolent manner possible.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, what is the price charged for the rent of one of your +rooms?" asked Mrs. Wentworth after a few moments' silence.</p> + +<p>"Well, ah—well, ah—you see, my dear madam, the price of everything +has gone up immensely," he replied.</p> + +<p>"And what do you charge for the room?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, ah, I think sixteen dollars per month as cheap as I could +possible rent it," he answered finally.</p> + +<p>"I will take it, then, by the month," she answered, rising, "and will +go into possession to-day."</p> + +<p>"Well, ah, my dear madam, it is a rule I have always made, only to +rent my houses for the money, paid in advance—not that I have the +<i>least</i> apprehension of your inability to pay me, but you see it never +does any good to deviate from fixed rules."</p> + +<p>"I am perfectly filling to pay you in advance," she replied, taking +her port-moniæ from her pocket and handing him the advance pay for one +month's rent.</p> + +<p>Calling a clerk, Mr. Elder handed him the money, and ordered a receipt +to be made out; then turning to Mrs. Wentworth, he said:</p> + +<p>"There is another thing, I desire to have you understand, madam, and +agree to. The fall of New Orleans has occasioned the inflation of all +kinds of real estate in price, and this, added to the rapid manner in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +which Confederate notes are depreciating in value, may compel me to +raise the price of rent. I would, therefore, like you to agree, that +in no way am I bound for any time longer than the month you have paid +for, to take the present price; and another thing I desire is, that +you agree not to take advantage of the stay law, in the event of +non-payment, or refusal to pay any additional price I may charge. In +making these conditions, madam," he continued, "I must not be +understood to say that the contingencies mentioned are at all likely +to occur, as I trust and hope they will not; but at the same time, I +only desire to avoid all deviation from my usual course of doing +business."</p> + + + +<p>"Any terms you may desire I will agree to," she replied in an absent +manner, "as I wish to remove from the hotel, the charges there being +above my means."</p> + +<p>"Very well, madam, very well," he responded.</p> + +<p>After the clerk had brought the receipt for the months rent, Mr. Elder +rose from his chair, and, requesting Mrs. Wentworth to remain seated +for a few minutes, left the apartment. He shortly after returned with +a printed document in his hand, which he requested her to sign. +Without reading the paper, she obeyed his request, and, receiving the +key of the room she had just rented, requested that Mr. Elder would +have her shown where it was situated. Calling a negro boy, who was +lounging at the door, he directed him to accompany Mrs. Wentworth to +---- street and show her the rooms. With that he made a low bow, and +she left following the boy.</p> + +<p>"Humph!" said Mr. Elder, half aloud, as soon as she had left. "I do +not care much about hiring my rooms to such tenants. Refugees are +certainly becoming as thick as locusts in the State, and are nearly +all as poor as Job. However, I have made myself secure against any +excuse for pay on the ground of poverty, by the paper she signed," and +with these reflections, that worthy gentleman re-entered his room, and +was soon deeply interested in his newspaper.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER TENTH.</h2> +<h3>THE NEW HOME.</h3> +<p>Mrs. Wentworth followed the boy till he arrived in front of series of +wretched looking rooms, situated on one of the miserable lanes with +which Jackson abounds. Stopping in front of one of them, he pointed to +it, and with no other words than "Dem is de room, ma'm," walked off. +Taking the key, which Mr. Elder had previously given her, she opened +the door and entered.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth's heart sank within her as she viewed the wretched +looking apartment. The interior of the room was exceedingly dirty, +while the faded paper, which once gaudily adorned it, now hung in +shreds from the walls. The fireplace was broken up, and disgusting +words were written in every part of the room. It had been, in fact, +the lodging of a woman of dissolute character, who had been accustomed +to gather a crowd of debauched characters in her apartment nightly, +but who, from a failure to pay her rent, had been turned out by Mr. +Elder. The other apartments were still occupied by abandoned women; +but of this fact Mrs. Wentworth was not aware.</p> + +<p>As she looked at the room a feeling of indescribable sadness crept +over her, and a sigh of bitterness burst from her throbbing bosom. It +was, however, not to be helped; she had already paid the rent, and was +compelled to keep it for the month. Sadly she left the room, and +locking it after her, repaired to a store to purchase a few necessary +articles of furniture.</p> + +<p>On entering a store, the first person she saw was Mr. Swartz, who had, +by this time, risen from the lowly position of a grocer to that of a +"General wholesale and retail merchant," as the sign over his door +very pompously announced.</p> + +<p>Mr. Swartz remained on his seat at her entrance, barely raising his +eyes to sec who had entered. She stood for a few moments, when, seeing +that no one appeared to notice her presence, she walked up to him and +informed him that she wished to purchase a few pieces of furniture.</p> + +<p>"Vot kind do you vant?" he inquired, without moving from his seat.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> +<p>"A small bedstead, three or four chairs, a table and a washstand," she +answered.</p> + +<p>"Look at them and see vich you like te best," he said, "and I vill +tell you te brice."</p> + +<p>After a little search, Mrs. Wentworth selected the plainest and most +homely she could find of all the articles she desired, and, turning to +him, inquired what the price would be.</p> + +<p>"Te pedstead is forty tollars; te chairs is three tollars apiece; te +taple is twenty tollars; and to washstand is fourteen," he replied.</p> + +<p>"And how much will that amount to, altogether?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Eighty-six tollars," he responded.</p> + + + +<p>"Can you take no less, sir?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No, ma'am," he answered. "I have put one brice, and if you don't vant +to pay it you can leave it."</p> + +<p>Taking out the desired amount, she paid him without making any further +remark, and requested that they would be sent after her. Calling a +drayman, Mr. Swartz told him to follow her with the furniture, and he +returned to his seat, satisfied with having made sixty dollars on the +eighty-six, received from Mrs. Wentworth, the furniture having been +bought at sheriff's sale for a mere trifle.</p> + +<p>Having purchased a few other household utensils, Mrs. Wentworth +proceeded to the Bowman House, from which, after paying her bill, she +removed her children, and, followed by the dray with her furniture, +proceeded to the wretched hovel site had rented. Her stock of money +had now been reduced to less than sixty dollars, and with this she +embarked upon the world with two tender children.</p> + +<p>After paying the drayman, who was a kind-hearted negro, and getting +him to erect the bedstead, he departed, and a feeling of desolation +and loneliness spread its dark shadows over the heart of Mrs. +Wentworth. Seating herself on a chair, with her two children clinging +to her knees, the long pent up fountain of grief burst forth, and +tears bedewed the cheeks of the Soldier's Wife; tears, such as only +those who have felt the change of fortune, can shed; tears, which, +like the last despairing cry of the desolate, can only be answered in +heaven!</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER ELEVENTH.</h2> +<h3>THE ATTEMPTED ESCAPE.</h3> +<p>We must now return to Alfred, whom we left in a disconsolate mood at +Camp Douglas, with his friend trying to cheer his spirits. But he +could think of nothing else but his absent wife, until at last he +determined to attempt an escape. The idea once in his mind could not +be dismissed. He, therefore, informed Harry of his intention, and +asked if he thought it feasible, or likely to result in success.</p> + +<p>"So far as the feasibility of the attempt is concerned," observed +Harry, as soon as Alfred had concluded, "I think it could be +attempted. But about the result, you will have to trust to luck."</p> + +<p>"I am aware of that," he replied. "But I do not know how the attempt +can possibly be made. The camp is so well guarded, that an attempt to +escape is almost hopeless of success."</p> + +<p>"Pshaw! If you are determined to go, I see nothing to prevent your +making the attempt. If it even fails, the most that will be done to +you by the Federals is closer confinement."</p> + +<p>"I do not care much about that risk," he replied. "My desire is to +form some plan of escape. Can you devise one by which I can get away?"</p> + +<p>"That is a difficult task," said Harry. "But as we are of the same +desire, I suppose something must be done. What do you say about +digging a tunnel, and escaping by that route?"</p> + +<p>"That is a very good idea; but it will take too long," replied Alfred. +"Besides which, what are we to do with the dirt that is dug up?"</p> + +<p>"I never thought of that," he answered. "But now that you have +reminded me of it, I do not believe the plan will suit. Some other +must be devised, but what it is to be, I cannot, for the life of me, +imagine."</p> + +<p>"What do you say to scaling the walls?" asked Alfred.</p> + +<p>"A very good idea it would be, if we had anything to scale them with," +he replied.</p> + +<p>"Suppose we tear up our blankets and make a rope of them."</p> + +<p>"How will you attach the rope to the wall?" asked Harry.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> +<p>"We can easily get a hook of wire and throw it over. It will be +certain to catch," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Very likely," observed Harry, drily, "and make such confounded noise, +that the first thing we heard after, it would be a Minie ball +whistling past our ears; or should it catch without making any noise, +the chances are that, when one of us ascends, it will be to meet the +burly form of some Dutch sentinel traversing the walk. The idea is not +feasible; so we must think of something else."</p> + +<p>"I do not know what to think," replied Alfred; "and the probability +is, that if I even did, you would find some objection to its +performance."</p> + +<p>"That is true," answered Harry, laughing, "and I accept the reproach +in the spirit it is given. It will never do for us to be raising +objections to every plan offered, for that will not hasten our +escape."</p> + +<p>"Then think of something else, and I will acquiesce, no matter how +extravagant it may be," said Alfred. "I am tired of this cursed +prison, and intend to get away by some means or other."</p> + +<p>"It is all very good to talk about getting away," said Harry. "For the +matter of that, I am as anxious to leave as you are, but in the name +of wonder, how are we going to manage it?"</p> + +<p>"That is the very thing I desire to consult you about. We certainly +will never escape, unless we make the attempt; but in what manner we +are to attempt it, is exactly what I desire to know."</p> + +<p>"What do you say to bribing one of the sentinels?" asked Harry.</p> + +<p>"Where will we get the means from?" inquired Alfred. "I have some +Confederate Treasury notes, but they will not be any temptation to a +Yankee."</p> + +<p>"Leave me to find the means," replied Harry. "I have a fine gold +watch, and about seventy dollars in gold. These will be sufficient, I +think, to attempt the cupidity of any Dutchman in the Yankee army."</p> + +<p>"And how do you propose offering the bribe?" Alfred inquired.</p> + +<p>"I shall look out for the first chance to speak to the sentinel at the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +gate, some time during the day, and will make the necessary +preparations to escape to-night, if the Yankee will accept my offer."</p> + +<p>"That will do very well," observed Alfred, "There is one thing, +however, I must remind you of. It will not do to offer the sentinel +all your gold, for we will require money to pay our way into +Tennessee."</p> + +<p>"Do you never fear that," replied Harry. "I will be certain to reserve +enough funds for our expenses. It does not cost much at any time to +travel through these Northern States."</p> + +<p>"Well, I trust to you to make all the necessary arrangements," replied +Alfred. "I am determined not to remain in this place, with my mind so +disturbed about my wife and children. If I can only reach the +Confederate lines safely, I will have no difficulty in hearing from +New Orleans."</p> + +<p>"I will make every effort to facilitate an escape," remarked Harry; +"and if my penetrating qualities do not deceive me, there is a +sentinel at the gate to-day, who would not be averse to taking a +bribe, even if it permits a "rebel" to escape. Cheer up, my friend," +he continued. "I will guarantee that your wife and children are all +well and happy, except a natural anxiety on your account."</p> + +<p>Alfred made no reply, and the two friends shortly after separated.</p> + +<p>Harry kept an assiduous watch for an opportunity to speak with the +sentinel. The time for the man to remain on guard expired, however, +without any favorable chance presenting itself. He was, therefore, +compelled to wait until the evening, when the same sentinel would be +again on guard, before he could attempt to bribe him. At four o'clock +he was posted, and after some hesitation, Harry determined to address +him. Walking up as soon as he perceived no one near the man, he called +out to him.</p> + +<p>"Vot to deuce do you vant? you rebel," asked the sentinel in a broad +Dutch accent.</p> + +<p>"Will you let me come a little nearer?" Harry inquired, perceiving +that the distance between the guard and himself too great for a +conversation.</p> + +<p>"Vot do you vant to come a leetle nearer for?" asked the sentinel.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I want to talk to you," he replied, making a motion of his hand to +indicate that he wished to converse in secret.</p> + +<p>The sentinel, looking carefully around to be certain that no one was +near at hand who could perceive him, beckoned to Harry to approach. +The young man went forward cautiously, as the numerous sentinels +around the wall were likely to perceive him, and would not hesitate to +fire if they imagined he was about to attempt an escape. As soon as he +reached the sentinel, he made known his wishes, and ended by offering +the man his watch and forty dollars in gold if he would permit himself +and his friend to pass the gate at night. At the same time he promised +the man he would take all the responsibility in the event of detection +or re-capture.</p> + +<p>The sentinel listened attentively, and at first appeared unwilling to +receive the bribe, but upon Harry representing to him that there was +no chance of his agency in the escape being discovered, he finally +consented to receive it. It was, therefore, arranged between them, +that at twelve o'clock that night the two prisoners should start. The +signal was to be a faint whistle, which would ultimate to the guard +that they were there, if it was answered they should advance, but if +not they should return, as his silence would either indicate that he +was not alone, or that he was not on his post. Everything having been +amicably arranged between them, Harry promised to pay the bribe as +soon as they had reached the gate. This the fellow demurred to at +first, but as Harry was determined, not to pay over the watch and +forty dollars, until the hour of their departure, he was compelled to +assent.</p> + +<p>On Harry's return to his tent, he found Alfred reading a Yankee +pictorial newspaper.</p> + +<p>"Well," he remarked, looking up from his paper as soon as Harry +entered.</p> + +<p>"Everything progresses finely," replied Harry.</p> + +<p>"Have you been able to speak to the sentinel?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I have seen him, and made all the necessary arrangements," Harry +replied.</p> + +<p>"And when will we leave," Alfred asked.</p> + +<p>"To-night at twelve is the time fixed between us," he replied. "The +fellow appeared unwilling at first, but a little persuasion with a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +sight at the watch and money, was too much for his nature, and he +yielded to my wishes."</p> + +<p>"Then everything goes on well, if the fellow does not play us false," +Alfred remarked.</p> + +<p>"That is a risk we are bound to run," replied Harry. "I think the +fellow means to be honest, if a man can be honest who agrees to allow +a prisoner to escape, who is placed under his charge."</p> + +<p>"Did you inform him there were two of us who desired to leave," asked +Alfred.</p> + +<p>"Yes," was the reply; "I would never have bothered to escape and run +the risk of re-capture and harsh treatment, did not you desire to +leave this place, and the trip could as well be made with you as +otherwise."</p> + +<p>Alfred pressed his friend's hand warmly, as he replied. "Thank you, +Harry, I trust I will be able to return the kindness you have shown +me, at some future and more favorable time."</p> + +<p>"Poh, poh!" he replied. "Don't speak of it. The kindness has been paid +for long ago," pointing to his wound as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"I expect we may as well make preparations to leave," remarked Alfred, +after a moment's pause.</p> + +<p>"Preparations!" echoed his friend, "What in the name of all that is +glorious, do you require any preparations for?" and then, he added +dryly, "there is one thing certain, my trunk (?) is already packed, +although I don't know if yours is."</p> + +<p>"A truce to joking about trunks," replied Alfred, "but seriously you +must be aware that we cannot leave here without being dressed in +citizens clothes."</p> + +<p>"The thunder!" exclaimed Harry, "are you going to raise any more +objections?"</p> + +<p>"No," he replied, "but it is absolutely necessary that we shall be +apparelled in different clothes to those of a soldier."</p> + +<p>"I think we can get a couple of suits to borrow from the officers, but +how I will get them, without their knowing our intention to escape, is +a matter of much difficulty. If they should once know it, the whole +crowd will desire to leave with us."</p> + +<p>"That would be unreasonable on their part," replied Alfred. "They must +be aware that every man cannot get away at the same time, and to +desire or attempt such a thing would be to ensure the re-capture of +every man."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> +<p>"Well, I will start now on the borrowing expedition, and by some +subterfuge, be saved the necessity of informing any person of our +intention."</p> + +<p>Having moved off as he spoke, and proceeding to the tent of a brother +officer, succeeded in borrowing a citizens' coat and pants without +exciting any suspicion of his intended escape. At the next place he +went to, a few remarks were made, but upon his informing the Captain +to whom he applied, that he desired to have his uniform renovated, and +had no change of clothing while that was being done. The citizens' +clothes were cordially loaned, and he returned to Alfred with a joyous +heart.</p> + +<p>"What luck have you had?" enquired Alfred as soon as he returned.</p> + +<p>"See for yourself," was the reply of Harry, as he threw down the coats +and pants.</p> + +<p>"Then everything needed is procured," he observed.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Harry. "We must now mix with the other prisoners, as if +nothing was transpiring in our minds, like an attempt to escape. It +will be no use keeping away from them, as it is likely to excite +suspicion."</p> + +<p>The two friends left the tent and proceeded to where a group of +prisoners were seated. Their appearance was greeted with cheers, as +Harry was a universal favorite among both officers and men, on account +of his lively and genial temper, combined with a fine voice for +music—an accomplishment that with soldiers endears, and makes a +favorite of any person possessing it. He was soon called upon for a +song, and in accordance with the request commenced a song, and soon +the rich and clear voice of the young man rang out on the air of the +soft twilight. He sang of home, and as each word fell with +distinctness on the ears of the soldiers, who grouped around him, each +heart throbbed with emotion, and each mind wandered back to the +distant land, where, in the mansion, or in the little cottage, loved +ones there dwelt, pining for those who were now prisoners in a foreign +country.</p> + +<p>The hour of nine having arrived, the soldiers dispersed to their +respective quarters, and soon after the command "lights out" was +uttered in stentorian notes. Long and anxiously the two friends +remained lying on their bunks in the tent, awaiting the hour of +twelve. Each moment seemed an hour to Alfred Wentworth, whose mind was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +wrought up to a pitch of excitement, almost unendurable. Several times +he rose from his bed and paced the tent. At last the long wished for +hour arrived. Harry who had been smoking all the night, looked at his +watch by the faint light the fire of his segar emitted, and perceived +that it was only five minutes for twelve. Crossing over to the bunk on +which Alfred was lying, he whispered: "It is time." Silently they put +on the citizens clothes borrowed in the evening, and left the tent. +The night had changed from the pleasant, starry evening to a black and +dismal gloom. Heavy clouds covered the skies, giving every indication +of rain. The night was just such a one for an escape, and although the +darkness was so intense, that it was impossible for the eye to +penetrate a distance of five paces, both felt that their chance of +escape was accelerated.</p> + +<p>"Give me your hand," whispered Harry, as soon as they had left the +tent.</p> + +<p>"Do you know the direct way to the gate," asked Alfred,</p> + +<p>"Yes," he replied, "cease speaking now and follow me. The least +whisper may be heard, and then our attempt will be foiled."</p> + +<p>Grasping the hand of his friend, Alfred followed him, and they moved +with noiseless tread toward the gate. As soon as he descried the faint +light of the sentinel's lamp near him, Harry stopped, and stooping +down gave a faint whistle. For some time no answer was returned. The +two friends remained in almost breathless suspense awaiting the +signal. At last it was returned, and moving forward, they reached the +gate.</p> + +<p>"Here," whispered Harry to the sentinel, as he handed him the watch +and money.</p> + + + +<p>The man raised the little lantern near him, and looked at the bribe to +see that it was all right. "Pass on," he said.</p> + +<p>As Harry and his friend passed the gate, the former perceived several +forms flit across the darkness, and a suspicion of treachery instantly +flashed through his mind.</p> + +<p>"We are betrayed," he whispered to Alfred.</p> + +<p>"No matter, let us push boldly forward," was the reply.</p> + +<p>They had not moved ten paces before the command "Halt" given.</p> + +<p>"Push on!" exclaimed Alfred, darting forward.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + +<p>The two friends moved on at a rapid run, when a volley of musketry was +fired at them. Harry escaped unhurt and continued running at the top +of his speed, and not until he had gone a considerable distance, did +he discover that his friend was not with him. It was, however, too +late for him to turn back, and entering Chicago, he made his way +through the city, and continued his journey.</p> + +<p>At the fire of the Federals, Alfred received four wounds; and sunk +without a word to the ground. The enemy shortly after coming up found +him insensible, and conveyed his inanimate body to the hospital. He +was dangerously wounded, and the physicians declared there was but +little hope of his recovery.</p> + +<p>Two weeks after this unfortunate occurrence, a cartel for the exchange +of prisoners was agreed upon between the Federal and Confederate +authorities, and the prisoners at Camp Douglas were transported to +Vicksburg. The doctors declared that Alfred was not in a state to be +removed, and was left at the hospital. His condition at that time was +very precarious. One of the balls that had entered his body could not +be found, and the wound was kept open with the view to discovering +where it had lodged. His agony of mind at the failure of his attempt +to escape had retarded his recovery in a great degree, and when the +information came that the prisoners were about to be exchanged, and he +was declared unable to be removed, it added further to his detriment. +A fever seized him, and for many days he remained on his bed, hovering +between life and death.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER TWELFTH.</h2> +<h3>THE STARVING CHILDREN.</h3> +<p>Long weeks rolled on, and the small sum possessed by Mrs. Wentworth, +had been entirely exhausted. She had, however, by sewing, contrived to +supply herself and children with food. It was the same old tale of +sleepless nights of toil. Often the grey streak which heralds the +morning, would find her still pouring over her work, while her two +children were sleeping on the bed in one corner of the room. At times +she would cease her work, and think for long hours on the loved +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +husband, now a prisoner in the hands of the Federals. In those hours, +tears would course her cheeks, as the stern reality of her position +presented itself; to know that he was absent, while she was leading a +life of penury and toil. Still she struggled on. When at times despair +rose up before her like a demon, and she felt herself about to succumb +to it, the memory of her absent husband, and the sight of her loved +children, would nerve the soldier's wife to bear with fortitude the +misery to which she had been reduced.</p> + +<p>And thus she toiled on, until the last source of support had vanished. +The Quartermaster from whom she received work, having completed all +the clothing he required, had no further use for her services, and she +then saw nothing but a blank and dreary prospect, looming up before +her. She had no means of purchasing food for her children. Piece by +piece her furniture was sold to supply their wants, until nothing was +left in the room but a solitary bedstead. Starvation in its worst form +stared her in the face, until at last she sold what clothing she had +brought out from New Orleans. This relieved her necessities but a +short time, and then her last resource was gone.</p> + +<p>If her present was dark, the future seemed but one black cloud of +despair. Hope, that <i>ignis fatuus</i>, which deceives so many on earth, +left the soldier's wife, and she was indeed wretched. The blooming +woman had become a haggard and care-worn mother. She had no thought +for herself. It was for her children alone she felt solicitous, and +when the day arrived that saw her without the means of purchasing +bread, her long filling cup of misery overflowed, and she wept.</p> + +<p>Yes, she wept. Wept as if her whole life had been changed in a moment, +from one of joy and happiness, to that of sadness and misery.</p> + +<p>Her children in that dark hour clustered around her. <i>They</i> could not +cry. A fast of over twenty-four hours had dried all tears within them. +They only wondered for awhile, until the sharp pangs of hunger +reminded them of another and greater woe. They too had been changed. +The bloom of youth had departed from their little cheeks, while in the +eyes of the oldest an unnatural light burned. She was fast sinking to +the grave, but the mother knew it not. Knew not that her darling child +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +had contracted a disease, which would shortly take her to Heaven, for +the little Eva spoke no word of complaint. Young, as she was, she saw +her mother's agony of soul, and though the little lips were parched +and dry, she told not her ailing.</p> + +<p>The tears continued to flow from Mrs. Wentworth, and still the +children gazed on in wonderment. They knew not what they meant.</p> + +<p>"Mother," at last said her little infant, "why do you cry?"</p> + +<p>She took her on her knees. "Nothing, my darling," she replied.</p> + +<p>"Then stop crying," he said, pressing his little hand on Mrs. +Wentworth's cheek. "It makes me feel bad."</p> + +<p>"I will stop crying, darling," she replied, drying her tears and +smiling.</p> + +<p>Smiles are not always the reply of the heart. We have seen men smile +whoso whole life was a scene of misfortune, and yet this emblem of +happiness has lit their features. It is outward show—a fruit, whose +surface presents a tempting appearance to the eye, but which is +blasted and withered within. Smiles are often like the fruit called +the <i>Guava</i>. It is a beautiful looking fruit which grows in the West +Indies, and to the taste is very luscious, but when examined through a +microscope, it presents the appearance of a moving mass of worms. Its +beauty is deceptive, nothing but a wretched view presents itself,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + <span class="i0"> "Like dead sea fruit, that tempts the eye,</span> + <span class="i0">And falls to ashes on the lips."</span> +</div></div> + +<p>The child saw her mother smile, and the little heart forgot its +hunger, and for a moment beat with joy. The gleam of sunshine that +spread itself over him, did not last, for soon after the face of the +mother assumed the same sad and cheerless expression, it had worn for +many weeks. The child saw it, and again felt his hunger.</p> + +<p>"Mother," she said, "give me a piece of bread."</p> + +<p>"I will get some for you to-morrow," she replied. "There is no bread +in the house this evening."</p> + +<p>"I am <i>so</i> hungry," remarked the child. "Why is there no bread?"</p> + +<p>"Mother has got no money to buy any," she replied.</p> + +<p>The other child had remained quiet all the while. She still nestled to +her mother's side and looked long and earnestly into her face. She was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +not thinking, for one of her years knew nothing of thought, but +divined that all was not right with her mother.</p> + +<p>"Eva, my child," the mother said, speaking to her for the first time, +"go to the grocer's, and ask him if he will let me have a loaf of +bread on credit."</p> + +<p>"I am so glad you have sent for bread," exclaimed the infant on her +knees, as he clapped his hand joyfully together.</p> + +<p>Eva left the room, and in a few minutes returned empty handed.</p> + +<p>"Has he refused to let you have it?" asked Mrs. Wentworth.</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother," replied the child sadly. "He says he will not give +credit to anybody."</p> + +<p>"I thought as much," Mrs. Wentworth remarked.</p> + +<p>"Then I won't get any bread?" asked the child on her knees.</p> + +<p>"No, my darling," Mrs. Wentworth answered, "you must wait until +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"I hav'nt eaten so long, mother," he said. "Why aint you got any +bread?"</p> + +<p>"Because mother is poor and without any money," she replied.</p> +<p>"But I feel so hungry," again the child remarked.</p> + +<p>"I know it, my sweet boy," replied his mother, "but wait a little +longer and I will give you something to eat."</p> + +<p>Her heart was wrung with agony at the complaint of the child and his +call for bread; but she knew not how to evade his questions or to +procure food. The thought of asking charity had never once entered her +mind, for those with whom she had daily intercourse, were too much +engaged in self-interest to make her hope that any appeal for help +would touch their sordid hearts; and yet food must be had, but how she +knew not. Her promise to give her child food, on the next day, was +made only to silence his call for bread. There was no prospect of +receiving any money, and she could not see her children starve. But +one recourse was left. She must sell the bed—the last piece of +furniture remaining in the room—no matter that in so doing her +wretchedness increased instead of diminished.</p> + +<p>The child was not satisfied with her promise. The pangs he endured +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +were too much for one of his age, and again he uttered his call for +bread.</p> + +<p>"There is no bread, Willy," said Eva, speaking for the first time. +"Don't ask for any bread. It makes mamma sad."</p> + +<p>The child opened his large blue eyes enquiringly upon his sister.</p> + +<p>"My sweet, darling child," exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, clasping the +little Ella to her heart, and then bursting into tears at this proof +of her child's fortitude, she continued: "Are you not hungry, too?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother," she replied, "but"—Here the little girl ceased to +speak as if desirous of sparing her mother pain.</p> + +<p>"But what?" asked Mrs. Wentworth.</p> + +<p>"Mother," exclaimed the child, throwing her arms round her mother's +neck, and evading the question, "father will come back to us, and then +we will not want bread."</p> + +<p>The word "father," brought to Mrs. Wentworth's mind her absent +husband. She thought of the agony he would endure if he knew that his +wife and children were suffering for food. A swelling of her bosom +told of the emotion raging within her, and again the tears started to +her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Come, my sweet boy," she said, dashing away the tears, as they came +like dewdrops from her eyelids, and speaking to the infant on her +knee, "it is time to go to bed."</p> + +<p>"Aint I to get some bread before I go to bed?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"There is none, darling," she answered hastily. "Wait until to-morrow +and you will get some."</p> + +<p>"But I am so hungry," again repeated the child, and again a pang of +wretchedness shot through the mother's breast.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," she observed, kissing him fondly, "if you love me, let +me put you to bed like a good child."</p> + +<p>"I love you!" he said, looking up into her eyes with all that deep +love that instinct gives to children.</p> + +<p>She undressed and put him to bed, where the little Ella followed him +soon after. Mrs. Wentworth sat by the bedside until they had fallen +asleep.</p> + +<p>"I love you, mother, but I am so hungry," were the last words the +infant murmured as he closed his eyes in sleep, and in that slumber +forgot his agonizing pangs for awhile.</p> + +<p>As soon as they were asleep, Mrs. Wentworth removed from the bedside +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +and seated herself at the window, which she opened. There she sat, +looking at the clouds as they floated by, dark as her own prospects +were. The morning dawned and saw her still there. It was a beautiful +morning, but the warble of the bird in a tree near by, as he poured +forth his morning song, awoke no echo in the heart of the soldier's +wife. All was cheerless within her. The brightness of the morning only +acted like a gleam of light at the mouth of a cavern. It made the +darkness of her thoughts more dismal.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER THIRTEENTH.</h2> +<h3>THE APPEAL FOR CREDIT</h3> +<p>The first call of the little boy, when he awoke in the morning, was +for bread. He was doubly hungry now. Thirty-six hours had passed since +he had eaten the last mouthful of food that remained in the room. Mrs. +Wentworth on that night of vigils, had determined to make an appeal +for help to the man she had purchased the furniture from, on her +arrival at Jackson, and in the event of his refusing to assist her, to +sell the bed on which her children were wont to sleep. This +determination had not been arrived at without a struggle in the heart +of the soldier's wife. For the first time in her life she was about to +sue for help from a stranger, and the blood rushed to her cheeks, as +she thought of the humiliation that poverty entails upon mortal. It is +true, she was not about to ask for charity, as her object was only to +procure credit for a small quantity of provisions to feed her children +with. The debt would be paid, she knew well enough, but still it was +asking a favor, and the idea of being obligated to a stranger, was +galling to her proud and sensitive nature.</p> + +<p>"Mother," exclaimed the child, as he rose from his bed, "it is morning +now; aint I going to get some bread?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she replied, "I will go out to the shop directly and get you +some."</p> + +<p>About an hour afterwards she left the room, and bidding Ella to take +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +care of her brother, while she was absent, bending her steps towards +the store of Mr. Swartz. This gentleman had become, in a few short +weeks, possessed of three or four times the wealth he owned when we +first introduced him to our readers. The spirit of speculation had +seized him among the vast number of the southern people, who were +drawn into its vortex, and created untold suffering among the poorer +classes of the people. The difference with Mr. Swartz and the great +majority of southern speculators, was the depth to which he descended +for the purpose of making money. No article of trade, however petty, +that he thought himself able to make a few dollars by, was passed +aside unnoticed, while he would sell from the paltry amount of a pound +of flour to the largest quantity of merchandize required. Like all +persons who are suddenly elevated, from comparative dependence, to +wealth, he had become purse proud and ostentatious, as he was humble +and cringing before the war. In this display of the mushroom, could be +easily discovered the vulgar and uneducated favorite of frikle +fortune. Even these displays could have been overlooked and pardoned, +had he shown any charity to the suffering poor. But his heart was as +hard as the flinty rocks against which wash the billows of the +Atlantic. The cry of hunger never reached the inside of his breast. It +was guarded with a covering of iron, impenetrable to the voice of +misery.</p> + +<p>And it was to this man that Mrs. Wentworth, in her hour of bitter need +applied. She entered his store and enquired of the clerk for Mr. +Swartz.</p> + +<p>"You, will find him in that room," he replied, pointing to a chamber +in the rear of the store.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth entered the room, and found Mr. Swartz seated before a +desk. The office, for it was his private office, was most elegantly +furnished, and exhibited marks of the proprietor's wealth.</p> + +<p>Mr. Swartz elevated his brows with surprise, as he looked at the +care-worn expression and needy attire of the woman before him.</p> + +<p>"Vot can I do for you my coot voman," he enquired, without even +extending the courtesy of offering her a seat.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth remained for a moment without replying. She was +embarrassed at the uncourteous reception Mr. Swartz gave her. She did +not recollect her altered outward appearance, but thought only of the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +fact that she was a lady. Her intention to appeal to him for credit, +wavered for awhile, but the gaunt skeleton, <span class="smcap">Want</span>, rose up and +held her two children before her, and she determined to subdue pride, +and ask the obligation.</p> + +<p>"I do not know if you recollect me," she replied at last, and then +added, "I am the lady who purchased a lot of furniture from you a few +weeks ago."</p> + +<p>"I do not remember," Mr. Swartz observed, with a look of surprise. +"But vot can I to for you dis morning?"</p> + +<p>"I am a soldier's wife," Mrs. Wentworth commenced hesitatingly. "My +husband is now a prisoner in the North, and I am here, a refugee from +New Orleans, with two small children. Until a short time ago I had +succeeded in supporting my little family by working on soldiers' +clothing, but the Quartermaster's department having ceased to +manufacture clothing, I have been for several days without work." Here +she paused. It pained her to continue.</p> + +<p>Mr. Swartz looked at her with surprise, and the idea came into his +mind that she was an applicant for charity.</p> + +<p>"Vell, vot has dat got to do vid your pisness," he observed in a cold +tone of voice, determined that she should see no hope in his face.</p> + +<p>"This much," she replied. "For over twenty-four hours my two little +children and myself have been without food, and I have not a dollar to +purchase it."</p> + +<p>"I can't do anything for you," Mr. Swartz said with a frown.</p> + +<p>"Dere is scarce a day but some peoples or anoder vants charity and +I—"</p> + +<p>"I do not come to ask for charity," she interrupted hastily. "I have +only come to ask you a favor."</p> + +<p>"Vat is it?" he enquired.</p> + +<p>"As I told you before, my children and myself are nearly starving," +she replied. "I have not the means of buying food at present, but +think it more than likely I will procure work in a few days. I have +called to ask if you would give me credit for a few articles of food +until then, by which I will be able to sustain my family."</p> + +<p>"I thought it vas something like charity you vanted," he observed, +"but I cannot do vat you vish. It is te same ting every tay mit te +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +sogers' families. Dey comes here and asks for charity and credit, +shust as if a man vas made of monish.—Gootness gracious! I don't +pelieve dat te peoples who comes here every tay is as pad off as tey +vish to appear."</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken, sir," Mrs. Wentworth replied, "if you think I have +come here without being actually in want of the food, I ask you to let +me have on credit. Necessity, and dire necessity alone, has prompted +me to seek an obligation of you, and if you require it I am willing to +pay double the amount you charge, so that my poor children are saved +from starvation."</p> + +<p>"I reckon you vill," Mr. Swartz said, "but ven you vill pay ish te +question."</p> + +<p>"I could not name any precise day to you," answered Mrs. Wentworth. "I +can only promise that the debt will be paid. If I cannot even pay it +myself, as soon as my husband is exchanged he will pay whatever you +charge."</p> + +<p>"Dat ish a very doubtful vay of doing pisness," he remarked. "I cannot +do as you ask."</p> + +<p>"Consider, sir," she replied. "The amount I ask you to credit me for +is but small, and even if you should not get paid (which I am certain +you will) the loss cannot be felt by a man of your wealth."</p> + +<p>"Dat makes no differenish. I can't give you credit. It ish against my +rules, and if I proke tem for you I vill have to do so for every +body."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth's heart sank within her at the determined manner in +which he expressed his refusal. Without replying she moved towards the +door, and was about to leave the room when she thought of the +bedstead, on the sale of which she now depended. He may loan money on +it she thought, and she returned to the side of his desk. He looked up +at her impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Vell," he remarked, frowning as he uttered the single word.</p> + +<p>"As you won't give me credit," said Mrs. Wentworth, "I thought you may +be willing to loan me some money if I gave a security for its +payment."</p> + +<p>"Vat kind of security?" he enquired.</p> + +<p>"I have, at my room, a bedstead I purchased from you some time ago," +she replied. "Will you lend a small sum of money on it?"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> +<p>"No" he answered. "I am not a pawnbroker."</p> + +<p>"But you might accommodate a destitute mother," remarked Mrs. +Wentworth. "You have refused to give me credit, and now I ask you to +loan me a small sum of money, for the payment of which I offer +security."</p> + +<p>"I cannot do it," he answered. "Ven I says a ting I means it."</p> + +<p>"Will you buy the bedstead then?" asked Mrs. Wentworth in despair.</p> + +<p>"Vat can I do mit it?" he enquired.</p> + +<p>"Why you can sell again," replied Mrs. Wentworth. "It will always find +a purchaser, particularly now that the price of everything has +increased so largely."</p> + +<p>"Veil, I vill puy te pedstead," he said, and then enquired: "How much +monish do you vant for it?"</p> + +<p>"What will you give me?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I vill give you forty tollars for it," he replied.</p> + +<p>"It must be worth more than that," she remarked. "The price of +everything is so increased that it appears to me as if the bedstead +should command a higher price than that offered by you."</p> + +<p>"Shust as you like, my goot voman," Mr. Swartz remarked, shrugging his +shoulders. "If you vant at mine price, all veil and goot; if not, you +can leave it alone. I only puy te piece of furniture to accommodate +you, and you should pe tankful."</p> + +<p>"I suppose I will be obliged to take your price," replied Mrs. +Wentworth, "although I believe I could get more for it, did I know any +one in town who purchased such things."</p> + +<p>He made no reply, but calling his clerk ordered him to bring forty +dollars from the safe. The clerk having brought the money retired, and +left them alone again.</p> + +<p>"Vere is te pedstead?" asked Swartz.</p> + +<p>"It is at home," Mrs. Wentworth replied.</p> + +<p>"Den you must pring it round here before I can pay for it," he +observed.</p> + +<p>"I am in want of the money now to buy bread," she answered. "If you +will pay me and let your clerk follow with a dray, I would return home +immediately and have the bedstead taken down and sent to you."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> +<p>Mr. Swartz called the clerk again, and ordered him to bring a dray to +the front of the store. The clerk did as he was requested, and soon +after returned with the intelligence that the dray was ready.</p> + +<p>"Do you follow dis voman to her house, and she vill give you a +pedstead. Bring it down here," and then he added, speaking to the +clerk who had not yet left the room: "Vat does te trayman sharge."</p> + +<p>"One dollar and a half," was the reply.</p> + +<p>Taking up the forty dollars which had been previously brought to him, +Mr. Swartz counted out thirty-eight and a half dollars, and handed +them to Mrs. Wentworth.</p> + +<p>"De von tollar and a half out ish to pay for te trayage," he remarked +as she received the money.</p> + +<p>She made no reply, but left the room followed by the clerk, when, with +the drayman, they soon arrived at her room. The bedstead was soon +taken down and removed to Mr. Swartz's store.</p> + +<p>"Sharge one huntred tollars for dat pedstead," he remarked to his +clerk as soon as it had arrived.</p> + +<p>While he was rejoicing at the good speculation he had made, the +soldier's wife sat on a box in her room feeding her half famished +children. The room was now utterly destitute of furniture, but the +heart of the mother rejoiced at the knowledge that for a couple of +weeks longer her children would have food.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER FOURTEENTH.</h2> +<h3>DR. HUMPHRIES BUYS A SLAVE AND BRINGS HOME NEWS.</h3> +<p>A few days after Mrs. Wentworth had sold her last piece of furniture, +Dr. Humphries was walking along one of the principal streets in +Jackson when he was stopped by a crowd that had gathered in front of +an auction mart. On walking up he learned that it was a sheriff's sale +of a "likely young negro girl." Remembering that Emma had requested +him to purchase a girl as a waiting maid for her, he examined the +slave and found her in all respects the kind of house servant he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +desired. Going up to the auctioneer who had just mounted a bench for +the purpose of selling the slave, he enquired where she had come from. +The auctioneer responded by handing the doctor a small hand bill +setting forth the sale. After reading it he walked up to the slave and +commenced to question her.</p> + +<p>"What is your name?" he enquired.</p> + +<p>"Elsy, sir," she replied.</p> + +<p>"You say that you come from New Orleans," he continued.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," she responded.</p> + +<p>"What was your master's name?" asked the doctor.</p> + +<p>"His name is Mr. Alfred Wentworth," the negro answered.</p> + +<p>"Where is your master now?" he enquired, continuing his questions.</p> + +<p>"Massa is a prisner in de Yankee army," she replied.</p> + +<p>"And what made you leave New Orleans?" was the next question.</p> + +<p>"My missis was turned away from de city, and I runaway from dem +Yankees and come here to look for her."</p> + +<p>"Have you not been able to find your mistress?" asked Dr. Humphries.</p> + +<p>"No, sir. Jest as I came here de city police took me up and put me in +jail."</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," interrupted the auctioneer, "but I must sell this girl at +once. Time is precious, so you must excuse me;" then turning to the +crowd he continued: "Here is the slave, gentlemen. She is an +intelligent looking negro, says she understands all that appertains to +the duties of a house servant. What will you bid for her?"</p> + +<p>"Seven hundred dollars," exclaimed a voice in the crowd.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir; seven hundred dollars; going at seven hundred +dollars. Look at the girl, gentlemen, going at seven hundred dollars. +Can I get another bid?" exclaimed the auctioneer in the rapid voice +peculiar to his class.</p> + +<p>"Seven hundred and twenty-five," was the next bid.</p> + +<p>"Seven hundred and fifty," Dr. Humphries cried out, having made up his +mind to purchase her.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes the slave was "knocked down" to the doctor for eleven +hundred dollars, and after the proper form was gone through and the +money paid, he ordered her to follow him, and retraced his steps +homeward.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p> +<p>As our readers must have recognized already, Elsy was no other than +the slave who was left at New Orleans by Mrs. Wentworth, and who +declared that she would follow her mistress into the Confederate +lines. After making several ineffectual attempts she had succeeded in +reaching Baton Rouge, the capital of Louisiana, at which place she +eluded the Federal pickets, and made her way to Jackson. The first +part of her journey being through the country she passed unnoticed, +until on her arrival at Jackson she was stopped by the police, who +demanded her papers. Not having any she was confined in the county +jail, and after due notice in the papers, calling for the owner to +come and take her away, she was sold at auction according to law. The +girl was very much grieved at her failure to find her mistress, but +being of a good disposition soon became contented with her lot. +Accordingly, when Dr. Humphries purchased her, she followed him home +with a cheerful step.</p> + +<p>On entering his house the doctor presented the negro to Emma.</p> + +<p>"Here, Emma," he observed, "is a girl I have bought for you to-day."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she answered, looking at Elsy. "This is really a nice +looking girl. Who did you buy her from?"</p> + +<p>"She says she is from New Orleans. Her master is a prisoner in the +hands of the Yankees, and her mistress being turned out of her home by +Butler, is now somewhere in the Confederacy, but where, the girl +cannot tell. When her mistress left New Orleans, the Yankees would not +permit the slave to leave with her, but she succeeded in escaping from +their lines, and came to Jackson, where she was arrested, and as no +owner claimed her, she was sold to me at auction this morning +according to law."</p> + +<p>"Then we will not be doing justice to the owner of the girl, if we +keep her constantly. Perhaps her mistress is some poor soldier's wife +who would be glad to get the money you have expended, or may require +her services."</p> + +<p>"I have thought of that before I purchased her, but as she seems +honest, I did not make the thought prevent me from getting her. I have +also made up my mind to give her up should her owner at any time claim +her, and he is a poor man."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you have so decided," Emily replied, "for I should not have +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +liked the idea of depriving any Confederate soldier of his slave, +particularly if he is a poor man. And now," she continued, speaking to +Elsy, "do you go in the next room and wait there until I come in."</p> + +<p>Making a curtesy, Elsy left the parlor, and entered the room pointed +out by Emily.</p> + +<p>"I have some news for you, Emily," remarked the Doctor as soon as the +negro had left the room.</p> + +<p>"What is it about," she enquired.</p> + +<p>"Something that will interest you considerably," he answered.</p> + +<p>"If it will interest me, let me know what it is," she remarked.</p> + +<p>"I have received a telegraphic dispatch from Harry," Dr. Humphries +replied.</p> + +<p>"Why, how could he have arrived in our lines?" she enquired, as a +smile of joy illumined her features.</p> + +<p>"Here is what the dispatch says:" "I arrived here this morning, having +escaped from prison. Will be in Jackson on to-morrow's train. Show +this to Emily."</p> + +<p>"I am so glad," exclaimed Emily joyfully, as soon as her father had +concluded reading the dispatch, "for," she continued, "I was beginning +to be afraid that our unfortunate prisoners in the hands of the +Yankees, would never be exchanged."</p> + +<p>"You need not have labored under any such fear," Dr. Humphries +observed. "The papers of this morning announce that a cartel has been +arranged, and the prisoners held on both sides will be shortly +exchanged."</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless, I am glad that Harry has made his escape, for it will +bring him to us sooner than we anticipated. Besides which, it is +gratifying to know that he had no occasion to wait for an exchange."</p> + +<p>"That is very true" replied her father, "and as he has safely escaped, +you can rejoice, but the dangers which must have, necessarily +presented themselves in the attempt, were of such a nature, that you +would not have desired him to make the effort had you known them."</p> + +<p>"He is safe, and we can well afford to laugh at them," she answered, +"all I hope is that he may never be taken prisoner again."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> +<p>"I do not believe he will relish the idea, much less the reality of +such a thing again occurring," observed Dr. Humphries. "However," he +continued, "he will be here to-morrow, and the little cloud that his +capture had sent over our happiness, will have been removed, and all +will again be bright."</p> + +<p>As he concluded speaking, a servant entered with a letter containing a +summons to attend a patient, and Dr. Humphries kissing his daughter +once more, left the house.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.</h2> +<h3>ARRIVAL OF HARRY.</h3> +<p>The next day Emily prepared herself to welcome the return of her +lover, while Dr. Humphries proceeded to the railroad depot to meet +him. In the meantime, we will give our readers a brief account of +Harry's escape.</p> + +<p>After leaving Chicago, Harry made his way through the country towards +the Tennessee river. His journey was a dangerous one, for the people +of Illinois where then highly elated at the successes which had +attended the Yankee arms, and the few sympathisers that the South had +in their midst, were afraid to express their sympathies. He, luckily, +however, succeeded in finding out a worthy gentleman, who not only +befriended him, but furnished the necessary means for his journey, and +procured a passport for him to visit Nashville. Prepared for a +continuation of his travel, Harry, who had been staying at the +residence of his noble hearted host for three days, bade him adieu, +and started on his way to Nashville. On arriving at Frankfort, +Kentucky, he met with a man he had become acquainted with in +Mississippi, but who, on account of his strong Union proclivities, was +compelled to leave the South at the commencement of the war. This +creature immediately recognized Harry, and knowing that he had always +been an ardent Secessionist, conjectured that he was either a spy, or +an escaped prisoner. Harry was accordingly arrested and carried before +the military authorities, but his persistent denial of any knowledge +of the man who had caused his arrest, and the passport he had received +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +from the generous Illinoisan, induced the Yankee officer by whom he +was examined, to release him, and permit his departure for Nashville.</p> + +<p>Harry had many hair breadth escapes from detection and capture, but +surmounting all the dangers which beset his path, he succeeded In +reaching the Confederate lines in safety, and immediately started for +Jackson. But one thing marred the joy he experienced at his daringly +won freedom, and that was his ignorance of Alfred's fate. Had not the +love of freedom been too strong in his breast, he would have returned +and endeavored to find his friend, but the success of his escape, and +the idea that Alfred may have pursued a different road, deterred him +from so doing. He determined, however, to make enquiry on his return +to Jackson, whether his friend had arrived there, he having promised +Harry to call on Dr. Humphries after they should arrive in the +Confederate lines. He was not aware of the wound his friend had +received, for though the Chicago papers made a notice of the attempted +escape, and wounding of one of the prisoners, the notice was never +seen by him, as he had no opportunity of getting a newspaper.</p> + +<p>On arriving at Jackson, the evening after he had forwarded his +telegraphic dispatch, Harry found Dr. Humphries at the depot awaiting +his arrival. After they had exchanged hearty expressions of delight at +meeting each other again, they proceeded to the house where Emma was +anxiously looking out for her lover.</p> + +<p>The customary salutations between lovers who have been separated being +over, Harry proceeded to give an account of his escape, which was +listened to with great interest by his hearers.</p> + +<p>"By the way," he remarked, as soon as he had concluded, "has a soldier +giving his name as Wentworth, and claiming to be a friend of mine, +called here within the last ten days."</p> + +<p>"No one has called here of that name," replied Dr. Humphries.</p> + +<p>"I am very anxious to receive some intelligence of him," remarked +Harry, "He was the friend I mentioned, having made my escape with."</p> + +<p>"He may have taken a different road to the one you pursued," Dr. +Humphries observed.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> +<p>"If I were satisfied in my mind that he did escape safely, my fears +would be allayed," he answered, "but," he continued, "we left the +gates of the prison together, and were not four yards apart when the +treachery of the guard was discovered. We both started at a full run, +and almost instantaneously the Yankees, who lay in ambush for us, +fired, their muskets in the direction we were going. The bullets +whistled harmless by me, and I continued my flight at the top of my +speed, nor did I discover the absence of my friend until some distance +from the prison, when stopping to take breath, I called him by name, +and receiving no answer found out that he was not with me. I am afraid +he might have been shot."</p> + +<p>"Did you hear no cry after the Yankees had fired," enquired Dr. +Humphries.</p> + +<p>"No, and that is the reason I feel anxious to learn his fate. Had he +uttered any cry, I should be certain that he was wounded, but the +silence on his part may have been caused from instant death."</p> + +<p>"You would have, heard him fall at any rate; had he been struck by the +Yankee bullets," remarked Dr. Humphries.</p> + +<p>"That is very doubtful," he replied. "I was running at such a rapid +rate, and the uproar made by the Yankees was sufficient to drown the +sound that a fall is likely to create."</p> + +<p>"I really trust your friend is safe," said Dr. Humphries. "Perhaps, +after all, he did not make any attempt to escape, but surrendered +himself to the Yankees."</p> + +<p>"There is not the slightest chance of his having done such a thing," +Harry answered. "He was determined to escape, and had told me that he +would rather be shot than be re-captured, after once leaving the +prison. I shall never cease to regret the misfortune should he have +fallen in our attempt to escape. His kindness to me at Fort Donelson +had caused a warm friendship to spring up between us. Besides which, +he has a wife and two small children in New Orleans, who were the sole +cause of his attempting to escape. He informed me that they were not +in very good circumstances, and should Alfred Wentworth have been +killed at Camp Douglas, God help his poor widow and orphans!"</p> + +<p>"Did you say his name was Alfred Wentworth," inquired Emma, for the +first time joining in the conversation.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> +<p>"Yes, and do you know anything about him?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No," she replied, "I know nothing of the gentleman, but father bought +a slave on yesterday, who stated that she has belonged to a gentleman +of New Orleans, of the name you mentioned just now."</p> + +<p>"By what means did you purchase her?" asked Harry addressing himself +to Dr. Humphries.</p> + +<p>The Doctor related to him the circumstances which occasioned the +purchase, as well as the statement of Elsy. Harry listened +attentively, for the friendship he felt for his friend naturally made +him interested in all that concerned Alfred, or his family.</p> + +<p>"Is there no way by which I can discover where Mrs. Wentworth is +residing at present?" he enquired, after a moment of thought.</p> + +<p>"None that I could devise," answered Dr. Humphries. "I know nothing of +the family personally, nor would I have known anything of their +existence, had not chance carried me to the auction sale, at which I +purchased Elsy."</p> + +<p>"Call the girl here for me," Harry said: "I must learn something more +of the departure of Mrs. Wentworth and her children from New Orleans, +and endeavor to obtain a clue to her whereabouts. It is a duty I owe +to the man who saved my life, that everything I can do for his family +shall be performed."</p> + +<p>Emma left the room as he was speaking, and shortly after returned, +followed by Elsy.</p> + +<p>"Here is the girl," she said, as she entered.</p> + +<p>"So you belonged to Mr. Wentworth of New Orleans, did you?" Harry +commenced.</p> + +<p>"I used to belong to him," replied Elsy.</p> + +<p>"What made Mrs. Wentworth leave New Orleans?" he asked, continuing his +questions.</p> + +<p>Elsy gave a long account of the villainy of Awtry, in the usual style +adopted by negroes, but sufficiently intelligible for Harry to +understand the cause of Mrs. Wentworth being compelled to abandon her +home, and take refuge in the Confederate lines.</p> + +<p>"Did not your mistress state where she was going," he asked.</p> + +<p>"No, sah," replied Elsy. "My mistis jest told me good bye when she +left wid de children. I promised her I would get away from de Yankees, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +but she forgot to tell me whar she was gwine to lib."</p> + +<p>"Did she bring out plenty of money with her?" he enquired.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sah," Elsy answered. She had seen the sum of money possessed by +Mrs. Wentworth, on her departure from New Orleans, and it being a much +larger amount than she had ever beheld before, made the faithful girl +believe that her mistress had left with quite a fortune.</p> + +<p>"Very well, you can go now," remarked Harry. "It is a satisfaction," +he continued as Elsy left the room, "to know that Wentworth's wife is +well provided with money, although it does appear strange that she +should have a plenty of funds, when her husband informed me, while in +prison, that the money he left her with could not maintain his wife +and children for any great length of time."</p> + +<p>"She may have been furnished with money by some friend, who intending +to remain in the city, had no use for Confederate Treasury notes," Dr. +Humphries remarked.</p> + +<p>"That is very likely, and I trust it is so," observed Harry, +"However," he continued, "I shall take steps on Monday next, to find +out where Mrs. Wentworth is now residing."</p> + +<p>On Monday the following advertisement appeared in the evening papers:</p> + +<p class="center"> + INFORMATION WANTED.</p> + + + <p class="blockquot">Any one knowing where Mrs. Eva Wentworth and her two + children reside, will be liberally rewarded, by addressing + the undersigned at this place. Mrs. Wentworth is a refugee + from New Orleans, and the wife of a gallant soldier, now a + prisoner of war.<br /><br /> + + + + Jackson,——1862. </p> + <p class="sig">H. SHACKLEFORD.</p> + +<p>It was too late. Extensively published as it was, Mrs. Wentworth never +saw it. Her hardships and trials had increased ten-fold; she was fast +drifting before the storm, with breakers before, threatening to wreck +and sink into the grave the wife and children of Alfred Wentworth.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER SIXTEENTH.</h2> +<h3>MR. ELDER DEMANDS HIS RENT.—NOTICE TO QUIT.</h3> +<p>The money received by Mrs. Wentworth from Mr. Swartz, proved but a +temporary relief for her children and herself. A fatal day was fast +arriving, and she knew not how to avert the impending storm. By a +great deal of labor and deprivation she had heretofore succeeded in +paying the rent of the room she occupied, although Mr. Elder had twice +advanced the price. Now there was no hope of her being able to obtain +a sufficient sum of money to meet the demand of that gentleman, who +would call on her the following day in person, did she not call at his +office and settle for at least one months rent in advance. The month +for which she had paid expired in three days, and she was apprehensive +of being turned out, unless she could collect sufficient money to pay +him. She knew not where to find the means. The room was stripped bare +of furniture to supply the calls of nature; nothing but a mattress in +one corner of the apartment, and a few cooking utensils remained. She +labored day and night, to procure work, but all her efforts were +unavailing. It appeared to her as if the Almighty had forsaken herself +and children, and had left them to perish through want.</p> + +<p>It cannot be that God would place his image on earth, and willingly +leave them to perish from destitution. Many have been known to die of +starvation, and the tales of wretchedness and woe with which the +public ear is often filled attest the fact. Squalid forms and +threadbare garments are seen, alas! too often in this civilised world, +and the grave of the pauper is often opened to receive some unhappy +mortal, whose life had been one scene of suffering and want. +Philanthropy shudders and Christianity believes it to be a punishment, +administered by the hand of God; that the haggard cause of the starved +creature, who has thus miserably died, once contained the spirit of a +mortal undergoing the penalty of Him, who judges mankind on high, and +expiating through his heart-rending bodily agony, crimes committed in +by-gone days.</p> + +<p>This is not so in all cases. What mercy could we attribute to God, did +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +he willingly entail misery upon the innocent, or punish them for the +crimes of the guilty? Why call it a dispensation of Divine justice, +that would condemn to weeks, months and years of wretchedness, the +mortals he brought in the world himself? Who hath seen the hovel of +the pauper; beheld its wretched inmates, heard their tale of woe, +heard them tell of days passing without their having a crumb of bread +to satisfy the cravings of hunger, or seen them in that last stage of +destitution, when hunger brings on despair, until the mind wanders +from its seat, and madness takes its place; heard the raving of the +maniac, his frenzied call for bread, and his abject desolation, until +death came kindly to relieve his sufferings, and felt not that the +hand of God had never worked so much ill for his people? Is it +profanity to say that the eye of God had wandered from them? We +believe it; for the Book that teaches us of the Almighty, depicts him +as a God of mercy and compassion. The eye of the Omnipotent is not +upon the wretched. "He seeth all things," but there are times when His +eyes are turned from those who endure the storm of a cold and +heartless world, and He knows not of their suffering, until the Angel +of Death brings their spirit before the Judgment seat.</p> + +<p>God had not deserted the soldier's wife, but His eyes were turned +away, and He saw not her condition. Thus was she left unaided by the +hand of Providence. She felt her desolation, for as each day passed +by, and her condition became worse, she knew that her prayers were +unanswered. They reached not the ear of the Almighty, and the innocent +children were allowed to participate of that bitter cup, which the +chances of worldly fortune had placed before the unhappy family.</p> + +<p>Three days sped away quickly, and the fatal morning arrived. She had +no money to pay the rent, and the day passed away without Mr. Elder +receiving a visit from her. She dared not to tell him of her position, +but awaited patiently his arrival on the following day, for she well +knew he would be sure to come.</p> + +<p>The next morning saw him at her door, much annoyed at the trouble she +gave him to call and collect the money. Mrs. Wentworth had nothing to +say, nor had she a dollar to satisfy his demands.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, madam," he said, as she opened the door to admit him, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +"I was much surprised at your not calling to pay the rent at my office +on yesterday. I admire punctuality above everything else."</p> + +<p>He entered the room, and cast his eyes on its empty walls. They did +not satisfy him, for the absence of any furniture told the tale of the +soldier's wife in a more graphic manner than words could have done.</p> + +<p>"What does this mean?" he enquired.</p> + +<p>"It means that necessity has compelled a mother to sacrifice +everything to keep her children from starving," Mrs. Wentworth +replied.</p> + +<p>"Humph," said Mr. Elder. "This is singular. So I suppose," he +continued, addressing her, "you will say you have no money to pay your +month's rent in advance."</p> + +<p>"I have not a dollar this day to buy bread," she answered.</p> + +<p>A frown gathered on Mr. Elder's brow, as he remarked: "I suppose you +recollect the arrangement made between us when you first hired the +room from me."</p> + + + +<p>"What arrangement was that?" she enquired in an absent manner.</p> + +<p>"That on you failing to pay the rent, I should have the power to +resume possession of the room, without giving you notice to leave."</p> + +<p>"I recollect," she said.</p> + +<p>"Well, in accordance with our arrangements, I shall require that you +vacate the room to-day, as I can procure another tenant, who will be +able to pay the rent promptly."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that I must leave to-day," she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he replied, "I desire to have the room renovated at once."</p> + +<p>"Where can I go to without money," she enquired, in a tone more like +as if she was addressing herself than speaking to him.</p> + +<p>"I really cannot tell my good, woman," he answered, "I am sorry for +your position, but cannot afford to lose the rent of my room, I am +compelled to pay my taxes, and support myself by the money I receive +from rent."</p> + +<p>"I cannot leave to-day," Mrs. Wentworth cried in a despairing tone. "I +cannot leave to-day. Oh, sir! look at my child lying on that wretched +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +bed, and tell me, if you can have the heart to turn me out, homeless, +friendless and alone."</p> + +<p>"My good Woman," he answered. "I cannot help your misfortunes, nor can +I do anything to assist you. If you can pay the rent, I have no +objection to your remaining, but if you can not, I will be compelled +to get another tenant who will be able."</p> + +<p>"Sir," she remarked, speaking slowly. "I am a woman with two children, +alone in this State. My husband and protector is now pining in a +Yankee prison, a sacrifice on the altar of his country. Let me ask you +as a man, and perhaps a father, to pause ere you turn a helpless woman +from the shelter of your property. You appear wealthy, and the sum +charged for the rent would make but little difference to you, if it +was never paid. Oh! do not eject us from this room. My child lies +there parched with fever, and to remove her may be fatal."</p> + +<p>"There is no necessity for any appeals to me," he replied. "If I were +to give way to such extravagant requests in your case, I should be +necessitated to do so in others, and the result would be, that I +should find myself sheltering all my tenants, without receiving any +pay for house rent. The idea cannot be entertained for a moment."</p> + +<p>"Let your own heart speak," she said, "and not the promptings of +worldly thoughts. All those who rent your houses are not situated as I +am. They are at home among friends, who will aid and succor them, if +ever necessity overtook them. I am far away from home and friends. +There is no one in this town that I can call upon for assistance, and +even now, my children are without food for want of funds to purchase +it. Do not add to my wretchedness by depriving them of shelter. Let me +know that if we are to die of starvation, a roof, at least, will cover +our bodies."</p> + +<p>He looked at her with unchanged countenance. Not even the movement of +a muscle, denoted that his heart was touched at her pathetic appeal. +His expression was as hard and cold as adamantine, nor did a single +feeling of pity move him. He cared for nothing but money; she could +not give him what he wanted, and too sentiment of commiseration, no +spark of charity, no feeling of manly regret at her sufferings entered +his bosom.</p> + +<p>"Be charitable," she continued. "I have prayed night after night to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +God to relieve my necessities; I have walked the town through and +through in the effort to procure work, but my prayers have been +unanswered, and my efforts have proven unavailing. At times the +thought of the maelstrom of woe into which I am plunged, has well nigh +driven me to madness. My brain has seemed on fire, and the shrieks of +the maniac would have been heard resounding through the walls of this +room, but my children would come before me, and the light of reason +would again return. But for their sake I should welcome death as a +precious boon. Life has but every charm for me. In the pale and +alternated woman before you, none could recognize a once happy wife. +Oh, sir!" she continued, with energy; "believe me when I tell you that +for my children's sake alone, I now appeal. Hear me, and look with +pity on a mother's pleadings. It is for them I plead. Were I alone, no +word of supplication would you hear. I should leave here, and in the +cold and turbid waters of Pearl river, find the rest I am denied on +earth."</p> + +<p>"This is a very unaccountable thing to me," said Mr. Elder. "You make +an agreement to leave as soon as you fail to pay your rent, and now +that that hour has arrived, instead of conforming to your agreement, I +am beset with a long supplication. My good woman, this effort of yours +to induce me to provide a home for your family at my expense, cannot +be successful. You have no claim upon my charity, and those who have, +are sufficiently numerous already without my desiring to make any +addition. As I mentioned before, you must either find money to pay the +rent, or vacate the room."</p> + +<p>"Give me time," she said, speaking with an effort; "give me but two +days, and I will endeavor either to obtain the money, or to procure +somewhere to stay."</p> + +<p>Mr. Elder knit his brows again as he answered. "I cannot give you two +days, for I intend renting the room by to-morrow. You can, however, +remain here until this evening, at which time you must either be +prepared to leave, or find money to pay for the rent."</p> + +<p>"It is well," she replied. "I will do as you say."</p> + +<p>"Then you may expect me here this evening at dusk," he said, and +turning towards the door left the room muttering; "when will I ever +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +get rid of this crowd of paupers, who, it is always my luck to rent +rooms to."</p> + +<p>"God of Heaven aid me!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, as she closed the +door in the receding form of Mr. Elder, and sank on her knees before +the bed on which Ella lay in a high fever.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH.</h2> +<h3>THE EJECTMENT</h3> +<p>Mrs. Wentworth knew not where to go to procure money to pay the rent, +and when she asked Mr. Elder to give her time to procure either the +means of paying him, or to procure another place to stay, she did so +only to avert the threatened ejectment for a brief period. Nor did she +know where to procure another shelter. There was no one in the town +that she knew from whom she could have obtained a room to rent, unless +the money was paid in advance.</p> + + + +<p>After Mr. Elder's departure, she fell on her knees and prayed for +help, but she did so only from habit, not with the belief that an +Omnipotent arm would be stretched out to aid her. There she knelt and +prayed, until the thought of her sick child flashed across her brain, +and rising, she stooped over and enquired how she felt.</p> + +<p>"The same way," answered Ella. "I feel very hot, and my throat is +quite parched."</p> + +<p>"You have got the fever, darling," said Mrs. Wentworth.—"Is there +anything I can do for you?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," replied Ella, "except," she continued, "you could get me +something sweet to take this bitter taste from my mouth."</p> + +<p>A pang shot through Mrs. Wentworth's heart as she replied, "I cannot +get anything just now. You must wait until a little later in the day."</p> + +<p>She spoke sadly, for it was a deception that she was practicing upon +her child, when she promised to gratify her wishes at a later hour.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> +<p>"Never mind," observed Ella. "Do not trouble yourself, my dear mother, +I do not want it very badly."</p> + +<p>The little girl defined the cause of her mother's not acceding to her +request at that moment, and she had no desire to cause her additional +pain, by again asking for anything to moisten her parched lips, or +remove the dry and bitter taste that the fever had caused.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth had at last found out that Ella was sick.—Not from any +complaint of the child, for the little girl remained suffering in +silence, and never hinted that she was unwell.—But she had become so +weak that one morning, on endeavoring to rise from the bed, she fell +back and fainted from exhaustion, and on her mother's chafing her +forehead with water for the purpose of reviving her, discovered that +Ella had a hot fever. She was very much alarmed, and would have called +a doctor, but knowing no medical man who would attend her child +without remuneration, she was necessitated to content herself with +what knowledge she had of sickness. This had caused the money she had +remaining in her possession to be quickly expended.</p> + +<p>The little girl bore her illness uncomplainingly, and although each +day she sunk lower and felt herself getting weaker, she concealed her +condition, and answered her mother's questions cheerfully. She was a +little angel that God had sent to Mrs. Wentworth. She was too young to +appreciate the extent of her mother's wretchedness, but she saw that +something was wrong and kept silent, and she lay there that day sick. +There was no hope for the child. Death had marked her as his prey, and +nothing could stay or turn away his ruthless hand from this little +flower of earth. Stern fate had decreed that she should die. The +unalterable sentence had been registered in the book of Heaven, and an +angel stood at her bedside ready to take her to God.</p> + +<p>The day passed over the wretched family. Ella lay on the bed in +silence throughout, what appeared to her, the long and weary hours; +the little boy called every few minutes for bread, and as his infant +voice uttered the call, the agony of Mrs. Wentworth increased. Thus +was the day passed, and as the dusk of evening spread its mantle over +the town, the soldier's wife prepared to receive her summons for +ejectment. She was not kept waiting long. No sooner had the darkness +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +set in, than Mr. Elder, accompanied by another man, opened the door +and entered the room.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, "have you succeeded in procuring money to pay the +rent."</p> + +<p>"I have not," Mrs. Wentworth answered.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you have made arrangements to go somewhere else then," he +remarked.</p> + +<p>"No," she replied. "My child has been ill all day long, and I was +compelled to remain here and attend to her wants."</p> + +<p>"That is very unfortunate," Mr. Elder remarked, "for this gentleman," +pointing to the stranger who accompanied him, "has made arrangements +to take the room, and will move into it to-night.".</p> + +<p>"Will he not wait until the morning," she enquired.</p> + +<p>"I do wot know," he replied. "Will you," he asked, speaking to the +man, "be willing to wait until to-morrow before you take possession?"</p> + +<p>"Bo jabers! I've got to leave my owld room to-night, and if I cannot +git this I must take another that I can get in town," answered the +man, who was a rough and uneducated son of the Emerald Isle.</p> + + + +<p>"That settles the matter, then," observed Mr. Elder. "You will have to +leave," he continued, addressing Mrs. Wentworth. "You will perceive +that I cannot lose a tenant through your remaining in the room +to-night."</p> + +<p>"Och!" said the Irishman, "if the lady can't lave to-night, shure ah' +I will take the other room, for be jabers I wouldn't have a woman +turned out of doors for me."</p> + +<p>"You need not fear about that, my good friend," remarked Mr. Elder. +"Does the room suit you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes! It does well enough for myself and my children," was the answer.</p> + +<p>"Then you can consider yourself a tenant from to-night," Mr. Elder +said. "Go and bring your things here. By the time you return I shall +have the room vacated and ready for you."</p> + +<p>"Jist as you say, yer honor," replied the man, as he bowed himself +from the room.</p> + +<p>"And now, my good woman," remarked Mr. Elder, "you will perceive the +necessity of removing your children and whatever articles you may have +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +here to some other place at once. I cannot be induced to grant any +further time, and lose tenants by the operation."</p> + +<p>"Great God, sir!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, "where am I to go to? I +know of no place where I can find a shelter this night. You cannot, +must not, force me to leave."</p> + +<p>"I trust you will not put me to the necessity of having you ejected by +force," remarked Mr. Elder. "You are fully aware that by the +arrangement entered into between us, when you first rented the room, +that I am doing nothing illegal in requiring you to leave. You will +save me both trouble and pain by doing as I have requested."</p> + +<p>"I cannot," she replied, pressing her hands to her forehead, and then +bursting into tears she exclaimed appealingly: "For the sake of God +have pity, sir! Let not your heart be so hardened, but turn and +befriend a soldiers wretched wife. There is scarce a beast but +contains some touch of feeling, scarce a heart but vibrates in some +degree, and beats with a quicker pulsation at the sight of poverty and +misery. Let me hope that yours contains the same feeling, and beats +with the same sorrow at the miserable scene before you. Look around +you, sir, and see the destitution of my family; go to the side of that +lowly bed and press your hand upon the burning brow of my child; call +that little boy and ask him how long he has been without food, look at +a wretched mother's tears, and lot a gracious God remove the hardness +from your heart, and drive us not homeless from this roof. Think not +that the ragged, woman who now stands before you, weeping and +pleading, would have thus supplicated without a cause. There was a +time when I never dreamed of experiencing such suffering and hardship, +such bitter, bitter woe. Oh! sir, let pity reign dominant in your +heart."</p> + +<p>He was unmoved. Why should he care for the misery of strangers? Was he +not of the world as man generally finds it? The exceptions to the rule +are not of this earth. They occupy a place in the celestial realms, +for, if even they may have committed sins in early life, their deeds +of charity blots out the record, and they enter Heaven welcomed by the +hosts of angels who dwell there, while their absence from this creates +a void not easily filled.</p> + +<p>Mr. Elder answered her not for several minutes. He stood there with +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +his arms folded, silently gazing upon the thin form of Mrs. Wentworth, +who, with clasped hands and outstretched arms, anxiously awaited his +decision. But he gave no promise of acquiescence, no hope of pity, no +look of charity in his features—they looked cold, stern, and vexed.</p> + +<p>There she stood the picture of grief, awaiting the words that would +either give her hope or plunge her forever into the fathomless depths +of despair. The eyes of the soldier's wife were turned on Mr. Elder +with a sad and supplicating look. In any other but the cold, +calculating creature before her, their look might have moved to pity, +but with him nothing availed; not even a struggle for mastery between +humanity and brutality could be seen, and as she gazed upon him she +felt that there was no chance of her wishes being gratified.</p> + +<p>Her little son clung to her dress half frightened at the attitude of +his mother, and the stern and unforbidding aspect of Mr. Elder. Ella +strove to rise while her mother was speaking, but fell back on her bed +unable to perform the effort. She was, therefore, content to be there +and listen to the conversation as it occurred between Mr. Elder and +her mother. Her little heart was also tortured, for this had been the +first time she had ever heard such passionate and earnest language as +was depicted in Mrs. Wentworth's words.</p> +<p> +At last Mr. Elder spoke, and his words were eagerly listened to by +Mrs. Wentworth.</p> + +<p>"This annoys me very much," he said. "Your importunities are very +disagreeable to me, and I must insist that they shall cease. As I told +you before, I cannot afford to lose tenants in an unnecessary act of +liberality, and through mistaken charity. The fact is," he continued +in a firm and decisive tone, "you <i>must</i> leave this room to-night. I +will not listen to any more of your pleading. Your case is but the +repetition of many others who fled from their homes and left all they +had, under the impression that the people of other States would be +compelled to support them. This is a mistaken idea, and the sooner its +error is made known the better it will be for the people of the South, +whose homes are in the hands of the enemy."</p> + +<p>"Then you are determined that my children and myself shall be turned +from the shelter of this room to-night," she enquired, dropping her +hands by her side, and assuming a standing attitude.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> +<p>"You have heard what I have already said, my good woman," he replied. +"And let me repeat, that I will listen to no further supplications."</p> + +<p>"I shall supplicate to you no more," she answered. "I see, alas! too +well, that I might sooner expect pity from the hands of an uncivilized +Indian than charity or aid from you. Nor will I give you any trouble +to forcibly eject me."</p> + +<p>"I am very glad to hear it," he rejoined.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she continued, without noticing his words, "I shall leave of my +own accord, and there," she said, pointing to Ella, "lies my sick +child. Should exposure on this night cause her death, I shall let you +know of it that you may have some subject, accruing from your +heartless conduct, on which to ponder."</p> + +<p>Slowly she removed all the articles that were in the room, and placed +them on the sidewalk. There were but few things in the room, and her +task was soon completed.</p> + +<p>"Come, darling," she said as she wrapped up Ella in a cover-lid and +lifted the child in her arms, "come, and let us go."</p> + + + +<p>Mr. Elder still stood with folded arms looking on.</p> + +<p>"Farewell, sir," she said, turning to him, "you have driven a +soldier's helpless wife and children from the roof that covered them +into the open streets, with none other than skies above as a covering. +May God pardon you as I do," and speaking to the little boy who still +clung to her dress, she replied, "Come, darling, let us go."</p> + +<p>Go where? She knew not, thought not where. She only knew that she was +now homeless.</p> + +<p>The clouds looked as serene, the stars twinkled as merrily as ever, +and the moon shed as bright a light upon the form of the soldier's +wife, as she walked out of that room, a wanderer upon the earth, as it +did on scenes of peace and happiness. The Ruler of the Universe saw +not the desolate mother and her children; thus there was no change in +the firmament, for had He gazed upon them at that moment, a black +cloud would have been sent to obscure the earth, and darkness would +have taken the place of light.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH.</h2> +<h3>THE RESTING PLACE—ANOTHER VISIT TO MR. SWARTZ.</h3> +<p>The mother and her child walked on in silence. Mrs. Wentworth knew not +where to go. From her heart the harrowing cry of desolation went out, +and mingled with the evening air, filling it with the sound of +wretchedness, until it appeared dull and stifling. But she knew not +this, for to her it had never appeared pleasant. For weeks past her +cup of misery had been filling, and as each drop of sorrow entered the +goblet of her life, so did all sense of what was happy and lovely +depart from her heart. She was, indeed, a breathing figure of all that +could be conceived miserable and unhappy. The flowers that bloomed in +the Spring time of her happy years, had withered in the winter of her +wretched weeks, and over the whole garden of her life, nothing but the +dead and scentless petals remained, to tell of what was once a +paradise of affection—a blooming image of love.</p> + +<p>As she walked on she discovered that the child she carried in her arms +had fainted. She paused not for consideration, but observing a light +in a small cabin near by, she hurriedly bent her steps towards it, and +entered through the half opened door. It was the home of an aged negro +woman, and who looked up much surprised at the intrusion.</p> + +<p>"Here, auntie," Mrs. Wentworth said hastily, "give me some water +quickly, my child has fainted."</p> + +<p>"Goodness, gracious, what could ha' made you bring dem children to dis +part of de town dis time o' night," exclaimed the old negress, as she +hastened to do the bidding of Mrs. Wentworth, who had already placed +the inanimate body of Ella on the negro's humble bed.</p> + +<p>The water being brought, Mrs. Wentworth sprinkled it upon the face of +the child, but without avail. Ella still remained motionless, and to +all appearances lifeless.</p> + +<p>"Great Heaven!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, "my child cannot be dead!"</p> + +<p>"Top a bit, mistis, an' I will fix de little gal for you," said the +old negro, hobbling, to the bedside, with a small bottle filled with +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +camphor in her hand. "Dis stuff will bring her to. Don't be afeard, +she ain't dead."</p> + +<p>Pouring out some of the stimulant in one hand, the kind-hearted old +woman bathed Ella's face with it, and held the bottle to her nostrils, +until a sigh from the child showed that she still lived. After a few +seconds she opened her eyes, and looked up to her mother, who was, +bending with anxious countenance over her.</p> + +<p>"Dar now," said the old negro in a tone of satisfaction, "did not I +tell you dat de sweet little child was libbing."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, old woman, God in Heaven bless you!" exclaimed Mrs. +Wentworth, as she clapped the old woman's hand in her own.</p> + +<p>"Berry well, berry well," was the answer of the negro, "you welcome +misses."</p> + +<p>There, in the cabin of that good old slave, the soldier's wife heard +the first voice of kindness that had greeted her ears for months. From +the hands of a servile race she had received the first act of charity, +and in a land like this. In the performance of that kindness, the old +slave had done more to elevate herself than all the philanthropists +and abolitionists of the North could have done. Could the cursed race, +whose war upon the South have seen this act, they would have conceded +to her people the justice of their right to slavery, when such a slave +as this existed.</p> + +<p>"What make you come to dis part ob town to-night, missis," asked the +negro, after a few moments of silence.</p> + +<p>"Nothing, nothing, my good woman," replied Mrs. Wentworth hastily. She +could not let a slave know of her trials and misery.</p> + +<p>"Poh ting!" ejaculated the old woman in a compassionate tone, but too +low for Mrs. Wentworth to hear her. "I 'spec her husband been treatin' +her bad. Dem men behave berry bad sometime," and with a sigh she +resumed her silence.</p> + +<p>The soldier's wife sat by the bedside, on one of the rude chairs, that +formed a portion of the furniture, and remained plunged in thought. A +deep sleep had overtaken Ella, although her breathing was heavy, and +the fever raged with redoubled violence.</p> + +<p>"Mother can't I get something to eat?" asked her little son. His words +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +woke his mother from her thoughts, but before she could reply, the old +negro had forestalled.</p> + +<p>"Is it some ting you want to eat, my little darling," she enquired, +rising from her seat, and going to a little cupboard near the door of +the room.</p> + +<p>"Yes granny," he answered, "I am quite hungry."</p> + +<p>"Bress your little heart," she remarked, giving him a large piece of +bread. "Here is some ting to eat."</p> + +<p>Taking the child on her knees, she watched him until he had completed +eating the food, when putting him down, she opened a trunk, and pulled +out a clean white sheet, which she placed on a little mattress near +the bed.</p> + +<p>"Come now," she said, "go to bed now like a good boy."</p> + +<p>The child obeyed her, and was soon enjoying a refreshing sleep.</p> + + + +<p>"Where will you sleep to-night, auntie," asked Mrs. Wentworth, who had +been a silent observer of the old woman's proceedings.</p> + +<p>"I got some tings 'bout here; missis, dat will do for a bed," she +answered.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry I have to take away your bed to-night," remarked Mrs. +Wentworth, "but I hope I will be able to pay you for your kindness +some time."</p> + +<p>"Dat's all right," replied the old negress, and spreading a mass of +different articles on the floor, she crept in among them, and shortly +after fell asleep, leaving Mrs. Wentworth alone with her thoughts, +watching over the sleeping forms of her children.</p> + +<p>The next morning the old woman woke up early, and lighting fire, made +a frugal but amply sufficient breakfast, which, she placed before her +uninvited guests. Mrs. Wentworth partook of the meal but slightly, and +her little son ate heartily. Ella being still asleep, she was not +disturbed. Shortly after the meal was over, the old negro left the +cabin, saying she would return some time during the day.</p> + +<p>About nine o'clock, Ella woke, and feebly called her mother. Mrs. +Wentworth approached the bedside, and started back much shocked at the +appearance of her child. The jaws of the little girl had sunk, her +eyes were dull and expressiveless and her breath came thick and +heavily.</p> + +<p>"What do you wish my darling," enquired her mother.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> +<p>"I feel quite sick, mother," said the little girl, speaking faintly +and with great difficulty.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter with you?" Mrs. Wentworth asked, her face turning +as pale as her child's.</p> + +<p>"I cannot breathe," she answered, "and my eyes feel dim. What can be +the matter?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing much, my angel," replied her mother. "You have only taken a +cold from exposure in the air last night. Bear up and you will soon +get well again."</p> + + +<p>"I feel so different now from what I did before," she remarked. +"Before I was so hot, and now I feel as cold as ice."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth put her hand upon the face of her child. It was indeed +as cold as ice, and alarmed the mother exceedingly. She knew not how +to act; she was alone in the cabin, and even had the old negro been at +home, she had no money to purchase medicines with. She was determined, +however, that something should be done for her child, and the thought +of again appealing to Mr. Swartz for assistance came into her mind.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, he will loan me a small sum of money when he learns how +destitute I am, and that my child is very ill," she said musingly, and +then added: "At any rate I will try what I can do with him."</p> + +<p>Turning to Ella Mrs. Wentworth said: "Do you think you could remain +here with your brother until my return. I want to go out and get +something for you to take."</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother, but do not be long," she replied. "I will try and keep +brother by me while you are away."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Mrs. Wentworth, "I shall make haste and return."</p> + +<p>Admonishing her little son not to leave the room during her absence, +Mrs. Wentworth was on the point of leaving the room when Ella called +to her: "Be sure to come back soon, mother," she said. "I want you +back early particularly."</p> + +<p>"Why, my darling?" enquired her mother.</p> + +<p>"Why, in case I should be going to—" Here her voice sunk to a +whisper, and her mother failed to catch what she said.</p> + +<p>"In case you should be going to, what?" enquired Mrs. Wentworth.</p> + +<p>"Nothing, mother," she replied. "I was only thinking, but make haste +and come back."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> +<p>"I will," her mother answered, "I will come back immediately."</p> + +<p>Choking the sob that rose in her throat, Mrs. Wentworth left the room +and proceeded towards Mr. Swartz's office. Her visit was a hopeless +one, but she determined to make the trial. She could not believe that +the heart of every man was turned against the poor and helpless.</p> + +<p>What a world is this we live in! We view with calm indifference the +downfall of our fellow-mortals. We see them struggling in the billows +of adversity, and as our proud bark of wealth glides swiftly by, we +extend no helping hand to the worn swimmer. And yet we can look upon +our past life with complacency, can delight to recall the hours of +happiness we have past, and if some scene of penury and grief is +recalled to our memory, we drive away the thought of what we then +beheld and sought not to better.</p> + +<p>What is that that makes man's heart cold as the mountain tops of +Kamtschatka? It is that cursed greed for gain—that all absorbing +ambition for fortune—that warps the heart and turns to adamant all +those attributes of gentleness with which God has made us. The haggard +beggar and the affluent man of the world, must eventually share the +same fate. No matter that on the grave of the first—"no storied urn +records who rests below," while on the grave of the other, we find in +sculptured marble long eulogies of those who rest beneath, telling us +"not what he was, but what he should have been." Their end is the +same, for beneath the same sod they "sleep the last sleep that knows +no waking," and their spirits wing their flight to the same eternal +realms, there to be judged by their own merits, and not by the station +they occupied below.</p> + +<p>If there are men in this world who cannot be changed by wealth, Swartz +was not of the number. What cared he for the sighs of the desolate, +the appeals of the hungry, or the tears of the helpless? His duty was +but to fill his coffers with money, and not to expend it in aimless +deeds of charity. He looked upon the poor just as we would look upon a +reptile—something to be shunned.</p> + +<p>It was indeed a wild hallucination that induced Mrs. Wentworth to bend +her steps towards his office. Could he have seen her as she was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +coming, he would have left his room, for the sight of the mendicant +filled him with greater horror than a decree of God declaring that the +end of the world had come.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER NINETEENTH.</h2> +<h3>AN ACT OF DESPAIR.</h3> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth reached the store of Mr. Swartz and entered. The clerk +looked at her in astonishment. She was unrecognizable. Her dress was +ragged and dirty; the hands and face that once rivalled the Parian +marble in whiteness, were tanned by toil, and lay shrivelled and +dried. Her hair was dishevelled and gathered up in an uncomely heap on +the back of her head. She looked like the beggar, she had become.</p> + +<p>"Some beggar," the clerk said, in a contemptuous tone, as he advanced +towards her.</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Swartz in?" enquired Mrs. Wentworth in a husky tone.</p> + +<p>"What do you want with him?" he demanded in a gruff voice.</p> + +<p>"I desire to see him privately, for a few moments," she answered.</p> + +<p>"If it is charity you have come to beg, you may as well save yourself +the trouble," observed the clerk. "This house don't undertake to +support all the beggars in Jackson."</p> + +<p>As his brutal words fell on her ear, a spark of womanly dignity filled +her breast, and her eyes kindled with indignation. She looked at him +for a moment sternly and silently, until her gaze caused him to turn +his countenance from her, abashed at the mute rebuke she had +administered. The pride of by-gone days had returned, with the +unfeeling remarks of the clerk, and Mrs. Wentworth again felt all the +bitterness of her position.</p> + +<p>"I did not say I was an applicant for charity," she said at last "All +I desire to know is, if Mr. Swartz is in."</p> + +<p>"I believe he is," replied the clerk. "Do you wish to see him, ma'am."</p> + +<p>His tone was more respectful. Even poverty can command respect at +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +times, and the threadbare garment be looked upon with as much +difference as the gorgeous silken dress. It was so at this moment.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I desire to see him," answered Mrs. Wentworth. "Be kind enough +to inform Mr. Swartz that a lady has called upon him."</p> + +<p>As she used the word "lady," the clerk elevated his eyebrows, and a +smile of pity stole over his features. Lady! Could the miserable +looking object, who stood before him have any claim to the title. Poor +woman! She knew not that the outward form of woman is the only +recognized title to the term. What though the mind be filled with the +loftiest sentiment, and stored with the richest lore of learning. What +though the heart be purer than the snow which covers the mountain +tops, can they ever claim a position among the favorites of fortune, +when accompanied by beggary? Philanthropists, and philosophers tell us +they can, but the demon, Prejudice, has erected a banner, which can +never be pulled down, until man resumes the patriarchal life of +centuries ago, and society, the mockery by which we claim civilization +was built up, is removed from the earth, and mankind can mingle with +each other in free and unrestricted intercourse.</p> + +<p>That day will never come.</p> + +<p>But to return to our story. The clerk looked pityingly at Mrs. +Wentworth for a moment, then walked to the door of Mr. Swartz's +office, and knocked.</p> + +<p>The door was opened.</p> + +<p>"There is a <i>lady</i> here who wants to see you on private business," he +said with emphasis.</p> + +<p>"Shust tell de lady I will see her in a few minutes," replied the +voice of Mr. Swartz, from the interior of the room.</p> + +<p>The clerk withdrew, after closing the door, and advanced to where Mrs. +Wentworth was standing.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Swartz will see you in a few moments, he said."</p> + +<p>"Go back for me, and tell him my business is urgent, and will admit of +no delay," she answered.</p> + +<p>Her thoughts were of the little girl, who lay ill on the bed in the +negro's cabin, and to whom she had promised to return quickly.</p> + +<p>The clerk withdrew, and announced her wishes, to his employer.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> +<p>"Vell," said Mr. Swartz. "Tell her to come in."</p> + + + +<p>She walked up to the door, and as she reached the threshold it opened +and Mr. Elder, stood before her. She spoke not a word as he started +from surprise at her unexpected appearance. She only gazed upon him +for awhile with a calm and steady gaze. Hastily dropping his eyes to +the ground, Mr. Elder recovered his usual composure, and brushing past +the soldier's wife left the store, while she entered the office where +Mr. Swartz was.</p> + +<p>"Oot tam," he muttered as she entered. "I shall give dat clerk te +tevil for sending dis voman to me. Sum peggar I vill pet."</p> + +<p>"I have called on you again, Mr. Swartz," Mrs. Wentworth began.</p> + +<p>Mr. Swartz looked at her as if trying to remember where they had met +before, but he failed to recognize her features.</p> + +<p>"I don't know dat you vash here to see me pefore," he replied.</p> + +<p>"You do not recognize me," she remarked, and then added: "I am the +lady who sold her last piece of furniture to you some time ago."</p> + +<p>He frowned as she reminded him who she was, for he then surmised what +the object of her visit was.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" he answered, "I recollect you now, and vat do you vant?"</p> + +<p>"I have come upon the same errand," she replied. "I have come once +more to ask you to aid me, but this time come barren of anything to +induce you to comply with my request. Nothing but the generous +promptings of your heart can I hold up before you to extend the +charity I now solicit."</p> + +<p>"You have come here to peg again," he observed, "but I cannot give you +anything. Gootness! ven vill te place pe rid of all te peggers?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot help my position," she said. "A cruel fortune has deprived +my of him who used to support me, and I am now left alone with my +children to eke out the wretched existence of a pauper. Last night I +was turned out of my room by the man who left here a few seconds ago, +because I could not pay for my rent. One of my children was sick, but +he cared not for that. I told him of my poverty, and he turned a deaf +ear towards me. I was forced to leave, and my child has become worse +from exposure in the night air." +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +"And vot have I cot to do mit all dis," he enquired.</p> + +<p>"You can give me the means of purchasing medicine for my sick child," +she replied. "The amount thus bestowed cannot cause you any +inconvenience, while it may be the means of saving life."</p> + +<p>"Dis never vill do," Mr. Swartz said, interrupting her. "My goot +woman, you must go to somepody else, I can't give away my monish."</p> + +<p>"You have got a plenty," she persisted, "you are rich. Oh, aid me! If +you believe there is a God above, who rewards the charitable, aid me, +and receive the heartfelt blessings of a mother. Twenty dollars will +be enough to satisfy my present wants, and that sum will make but +little difference to a man of your wealth."</p> + +<p>"Mine Cot!" he exclaimed, "If I make monish I work for it, and don't +go about begging."</p> + +<p>"I know that," she answered, "and it is to the rich that the poor must +appeal for assistance. This has made me come to you this day. Let my +desire be realized. Aid me in saving the life of my child who is now +lying ill, and destitute of medical attendance."</p> + +<p>He could not appreciate her appeal, and he again refused.</p> + +<p>"I can't give you any ding," he answered.</p> + +<p>"There is a virtue which shines far more than all the gold you +possess," replied Mrs. Wentworth. "It is in man what chastity is in a +woman. An act of charity ennobles man more than all the fame bestowed +upon him for any other merit, and his reward is always commensurate +with his works. Let this virtue move you. The ear of God cannot always +be turned against my prayers to Him, and the hour must surely come, +when my husband will be released from prison, and be enabled to repay +any kindness you may show his wife and children. Let me have the money +I have asked you for." "Oh, sir!" she continued, falling on her knees +before him, "believe the words I speak to you, and save my child from +the hands of death. But a short time ago I left her gasping for +breath, with cold drops of perspiration resting on her brow, perhaps +the marks of approaching dissolution. She is very ill, and can only +recover through proper treatment. Place it in my power to call a +physician and to procure medicines, and I shall never cease to bless +you."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> + <p>He moved uneasily in his chair, and averted his head from where she + was kneeling, not because he felt touched at her appeal, but because + he felt annoyed at her importuning him for money.</p> +<p>"Here my voman," he said at last. "Here is von tollar pill, dat is all +I can give you."</p> + +<p>She looked at the note in his extended hand, and felt the mockery.</p> + +<p>"It will not do," she answered. "Let me have the amount I have asked +you for. You can spare it. Do not be hardened. Recollect it is to +provide medicine for the sick."</p> + +<p>"I can't do it," he replied. "You should be shankful for what you +get."</p> + +<p>His motive in offering her the dollar, was not from a charitable +feeling, it was only to get rid of a beggar.</p> + +<p>"Oh God!" she groaned, rising from her knees, and resting her elbow on +an iron safe near by. "Have you a heart?" she exclaimed wildly, "I +tell you my child is ill, perhaps at this moment dying, aid me! aid +me! Do not turn away a miserable mother from your door to witness her +child die through destitution, when it is in your power to relieve its +sufferings, and save it, so that it may live to be a blessing and +solace to me. If not for my sake, if not for the sake of the child, +let me appeal to you for charity, for the sake of him, who is now +imprisoned in a foreign dungeon. He left me to defend you from the +enemy—left his wife and children to starve and suffer, for the +purpose of aiding in that holy cause we are now engaged in conflict +for. For his sake, if for no other, give me the means of saving my +child."</p> + +<p>He did not reply to her passionate words, but simply rang a bell that +stood on the table before which he was seated. His clerk answered the +summons.</p> + +<p>"If you vont quit mithout my making you," he observed to Mrs. +Wentworth in a brutal tone, "I must send for a police officer to take +away. Gootness," he continued, speaking to himself, "I pelieve te +voman is mat."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Save yourself the trouble," she replied, "I will leave. I am not yet +mad," she added. "But, oh, God! the hour is fast approaching when +madness must hold possession of my mind. I go to my child—my poor +dying child. Oh, Heaven, help me!"</p> + +<p>As she moved her hand from the safe, she perceived a small package of +money lying on it. She paused and looked around. The clerk had +withdrawn at a sign from Mr. Swartz, while that gentleman was gazing +intently at the open pages of a ledger, that lay before him. For a +moment she hesitated and trembled from head to foot, while the warm +blood rushed to her cheeks, until they were a deep crimson hue. +Swiftly she extended her hand towards the package, and grasped it; in +another instant it was concealed in her dress, and the act of despair +was accomplished.</p> + +<p>"God pity me!" she exclaimed, as she left the room and departed from +the scene of her involuntary crime.</p> + +<p>Despair had induced her to commit a theft, but no angel of God is +purer in mind than was the Soldier's Wife, when she did so. It was the +result of madness, and if the Recording Angel witnessed the act, he +recorded not the transgression against her, for it was a sin only in +the eyes of man; above it was the child of despair, born of a pure and +innocent mind, and there is no punishment for such.</p> + +<p>"Thank God, I have the means of saving my darling child," exclaimed +Mrs. Wentworth, as she bent her steps towards a druggist's store. +Entering it, she purchased a few articles of medicine, and started for +the old negro's cabin, intending to send the old woman for a +physician, as soon as she could reach there.</p> + +<p>Swiftly she sped along the streets. Many passers by stopped and looked +with surprise at her rapid walking. They knew not the sorrows of the +Soldier's Wife. Many there were who gazed upon her threadbare +habiliments and haggard features, who could never surmise that the +light of joy had ceased to burn in her heart. Their life had been one +long dream of happiness, unmarred, save by those light clouds of +sorrow, which at times flit across the horrizon of man's career, but +which are swiftly driven away by the sunshine of happiness, or +dissipated by the gentle winds of life's joyous summer.</p> + +<p>And the crowds passed her in silence and surprise, but she heeded them +not. Her thoughts were of the angel daughter in the negro's lonely +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>cabin. To her she carried life; at least she thought so, but the +inevitable will of Death had been declared. Ella was dying.</p> + +<p>The eye of God was still turned from the widow and her children. He +saw them not, but his Angels, whose duty it is to chronicle all that +occurs on earth, looked down on that bright autumn day, and a tear +fell from the etherial realms in which they dwelt, and rested upon the +Soldier's Wife.</p> + +<p>It was the tear of pity, not of relief.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER TWENTIETH</h2> +<h3>THE DYING CHILD.</h3> +<p>After the departure of Mrs. Wentworth, the little girl lie still upon +the bed, while her little brother played about the room. Nearly one +hour elapsed in silence. The breath of the child became shorter and +harder drawn. Her little face became more pinched, while the cold +drops of perspiration rose larger on her forehead. Instinct told her +she was dying, but young as she was, death created no terrors in her +heart. She lay there, anxious for her mother's return, that she may +die in the arms of the one who gave her birth. Death seemed to her but +the advent to Heaven, that home in which we are told all is goodness +and happiness. She thought herself an Angel dwelling with the Maker, +and in her childish trustfulness and faith almost wished herself +already numbered among the Cherubs of Paradise.</p> + +<p>The old negro returned before Mrs. Wentworth, and walking to the +bedside of the child, looked at her, and recognized the impress of +approaching death. She felt alarmed, but could not remedy the evil. +Looking at the child sorrowfully for a moment, she turned away.</p> + +<p>"Poh chile," she muttered sadly, "she is dyin' sho' and her mammy is +gone out. Da's a ting to take place in my room."</p> + +<p>"Granny," said Ella feebly.</p> + +<p>"What do you want my darlin' chile," answered the old woman, returning +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>to the bedside.</p> + +<p>"See if mother is coming," she requested.</p> + +<p>The old woman walked to the door, and looked down the street. There +was no sign of Mrs. Wentworth.</p> + +<p>"No missy," she said to Ella, "your mammy is not coming yet."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I do wish she would come," remarked the little girl.</p> + +<p>"Lie still, darlin'," the old woman answered. "Your mammy will come +back directly."</p> + +<p>The child lay still for several minutes, but her mother came not and +she felt that before many hours she would cease to live.</p> + +<p>"Look again, granny, and see if mother is coming," she again +requested, and in a fainter tone.</p> + +<p>The old woman looked out once more, but still there was no sign of +Mrs. Wentworth.</p> + +<p>"Neber mind, darlin' your mammy will cum directly," she said, and then +added. "Let me know what you want and I will git it for you."</p> + +<p>"I don't want anything, granny," Ella answered, and remained silent +for a moment, when she continued: "Granny aint I going to die?"</p> + +<p>The old negro looked at her for a moment, and a tear stole down her +withered features. She could not answer, for ignorant and uneducated +as she was, the signs which betoken the parting of the soul from the +body, were too apparent, not to be easily recognized.</p> + +<p>"Poh chile," she muttered, as she turned her head and brushed away the +falling tear.</p> + +<p>"Answer me, granny," said Ella. "I am not afraid to die, but I would +like to bid mother good-bye, before I went to Heaven."</p> + +<p>"Don't tink of sich tings chile'" observed the old woman. "You is sick +now only; lie still and you will soon see your mother."</p> + +<p>The time sped swiftly, but to the dying child it seemed an age. She +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>lay there; her life breath ebbing fast, waiting for her mother, that +she may die in her arms. Angels filled the lowly cabin, and held their +outstretched arms to receive the spirit of a sinless babe, as soon as +it would leave the mortal clay it animated. Soon, soon would it have +been borne on high, for the rattle in the child's throat had almost +commenced, when a hurried footstep was heard at the door, and Mrs. +Wentworth, pale and tired entered the room.</p> + +<p>The hand of Death was stayed for awhile, for the presence of the +mother started anew the arteries of life, and the blood once more +rushed to the cheeks of the dying. Ella held out her arms as her +mother approached her, with some medicine in her hand. As she gazed +upon her child, Mrs. Wentworth started back, and uttered a faint +exclamation of anguish. She saw the worst at a glance, and placing +aside the medicine, she seized her child's extended hands, and bending +over her, pressed her darling daughter to her heart.</p> + +<p>"Here aunty," she said, as soon us she had released Ella, "Here is +some money, run and call a physician at once."</p> + +<p>The old negro took the money and moved off.</p> + +<p>"Tell him to come instantly," she called out after the negro. "It is a +matter of life and death, and there is no time to lose."</p> + +<p>"Too late, too late! poor people," said the old woman, as she hurried +on her mission of mercy.</p> + +<p>It was too late. No science on earth could save Ella from death, and +none on high save the Infinite Power, but He knew not of it. His eyes +were still turned away from the Soldier's Wife and her children.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth remained silent, looking at her child as she gasped for +breath. Of what use was the money she had committed a crime to obtain? +Of what avail were her supplications to God? It were thoughts like +these that passed rapidly through her mind, as she speechlessly gazed +at the fast sinking form of her child. Ella saw her agony, and tried +to soothe her mother.</p> + +<p>"Come nearer to me, mother," she said. "Come near and speak to me." +Mrs. Wentworth drew near the bedside, and bent her face to the child.</p> + +<p>"What do you wish, darling?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Mother, I am dying—I am going to Heaven," Ella said, speaking with +an effort.</p> + +<p>A smothered sob, was the only response she met with.</p> + +<p>"Don't cry mother," continued the child. "I am going to a good place, +and do not feel afraid to die."</p> + +<p>Shaking off her half maddened feeling, Mrs. Wentworth replied. "Don't +speak that way, darling. You are not going to die. The physician will +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +soon be here, and he will give you some thing which will get you +better."</p> + +<p>Ella smiled faintly. "No, mother, I cannot get better; I know I am +going to die. Last night, while sleeping, an angel told me in my +dream, that I would sleep with God to-night."</p> + +<p>"That was only a dream, darling," Mrs. Wentworth replied, "you will +get well and live a long time."</p> + +<p>As she spoke the old negro returned, accompanied by a physician. He +was one of these old fashioned gentlemen, who never concern themselves +with another's business, and therefore, he did not enquire the cause +of Mrs. Wentworth, and her family being in so poor a dwelling. His +business was to attend the sick, for which he expected to be paid; not +that he was hard-hearted, for, to the contrary, he was a very +charitable and generous man, but he expected that all persons who +required his advice, should have the means of paying for the same, or +go to the public hospital, where they could be attended to free of +charge. His notions were on a par with those of mankind in general, so +we cannot complain of him.</p> + +<p>Approaching Ella, he took her hand and felt the pulse which was then +feebly beating. A significant shake of the head, told Mrs. Wentworth +that there was no hope for her child's recovery.</p> + +<p>"Doctor," she asked, "will my daughter recover?"</p> + +<p>"Madam," he replied, "your child is very, very ill, in fact, I fear +she has not many hours to live."</p> + +<p>"It cannot be," she said. "Do not tell me there is no hope for my +child."</p> + +<p>"I cannot deceive you, madam," he replied, "the child has been +neglected too long for science to triumph over her disease. When did +you first call in a medical practitioner?" he added.</p> + +<p>"Not until you were sent for," she answered.</p> + +<p>"Then you are much to blame, madam," he observed bluntly. "Had you +sent for a physician three weeks ago, the life of your child would +have been saved, but your criminal neglect to do so, has sacrificed +her life."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth did not reply to his candid remarks. She did not tell +him that for weeks past her children and herself had scarcely been +able to find bread to eat, much less to pay a doctor's bill. She did +not tell him that she was friendless and unknown; that her husband had +been taken prisoner while struggling for his country's rights; that +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +Mr. Elder had turned herself and her children from a shelter, because +she had no money to pay him for the rent of the room; nor did she tell +him that the fee he had received, was obtained by theft—was the fruit +of a transgression of God's commandments.</p> + +<p>She forgot all these. The reproach of the physician had fallen like a +thunderbolt from Heaven, in her bosom. Already in her heart she +accused herself with being the murderess of her child. Already she +imagined, because her poverty had prevented her receiving medical +advice, that the accusing Angel stood ready to prefer charges against +her for another and a greater crime, than any she had ever before +committed.</p> + +<p>"Dying! dying!" she uttered at last, her words issuing from her lips, +as if they were mere utterances from some machine. "No hope—no hope!"</p> + +<p>"Accept my commiseration, madam," observed the physician, placing his +hat on, and preparing to depart. "Could I save your child, I would +gladly do so, but there is no hope. She may live until nightfall, but +even that is doubtful."</p> + +<p>Bowing to Mrs. Wentworth, he left the room, in ignorance of the agony +his reproach had caused her, and returned to his office. Dr. Mallard +was the physician's name. They met again.</p> + + + +<p>Ella had listened attentively to the physicians words, but not the +slightest emotion was manifested by her, when he announced that she +was dying. She listened calmly, and as the doctor had finished +informing her mother of the hopelessness of her case, the little pale +lips moved slowly, and the prayer that had been taught her when all +was joy and happiness, was silently breathed by the dying child.</p> + +<p>"Mother," she said, as soon as Dr. Mallard had left the room. "Come +here and speak to me before I die."</p> + +<p>"Ella! Ella!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth wildly. "Did you not hear what +the physician said?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother," she answered, "but I knew it before. Do not look so +sad, come and speak to me, and let me tell you that I am not afraid to +die."</p> + +<p>"Ella, my darling child," continued Mrs. Wentworth in the same strain. +"Did you not hear the physician say it is my neglect that had caused +you to be dying?"</p> + +<p>"I heard him mother, but he was not right," she replied.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> +<p>"Come nearer," she continued in an earnest tone. "Sit on the bed and +let me rest my head on your lap."</p> + +<p>Seating herself on the bed, Mrs. Wentworth lifted the body of the +dying child in her arms, and pillowed her head on her breast. The old +negro was standing at the foot of the bed, looking on quietly, while +the tears poured down her aged cheeks. Mrs. Wentworth's little son +climbed on the bed, and gazed in wonder at the sad aspect of his +mother, and the dying features of his sister.</p> + +<p>"Mother," said the child, "I am going to Heaven, say a prayer for me." +She essayed to pray, but could not, her lips moved, but utterance was +denied to her.</p> + +<p>"I cannot pray, darling," she replied, "prayer is denied to me."</p> + +<p>The child asked no more, for she saw her mother's inability to comply +with her wishes.</p> + +<p>The little group remained in the same position until the setting sun +gleamed through the window, and shed a bright ray across the bed. Not +a sound was heard, save the ticking of the old fashioned clock on the +mantle piece, as its hands slowly marked the fleeting minutes. The +eyes of the dying child had been closed at the time, but as the +sunlight shot across her face she opened them, and looked up into her +mother's face.</p> + +<p>"Open the window, granny," she said.</p> + +<p>The old woman opened it, and as she did so, the round red glare of the +sun was revealed, while the aroma of thousands wild flowers that grew +beneath the window, entered the room, and floated its perfume on the +autumn air.</p> + +<p>"Mother," said the dying child.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth looked down upon her child.</p> + +<p>"What is it darling," she asked.</p> + +<p>"Let brother kiss me," she requested.</p> + +<p>Her little brother was lifted up and held over her. She pressed a soft +kiss upon his lips.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, granny," she said, holding out her hand to the negro.</p> + +<p>The old woman seized it, and the tears fell faster, on the bed than +they had hitherto done. Her humble heart was touched at the simple, +yet unfearing conduct of the child.</p> + +<p>"Mother, kiss me," she continued. "Do not be sad," she added, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +observing her mother's pale and ghastly countenance. "I am going to a +world where no one is sick, and no one knows want."</p> + +<p>Stooping over her dying child, Mrs. Wentworth complied with Ella's +request, and pressed her brow in a long and earnest kiss. She had not +spoken a word from the time her child requested the old woman to open +the window, but she had never for an instant, ceased looking on the +features of her dying daughter, and she saw that the film was fast +gathering on her eyes.</p> + +<p>After her mother had kissed her, Ella remained silent for several +minutes, when suddenly starting, she exclaimed: "I see them, mother! I +see them! See the Angels coming for me—Heaven—mother—Angels!" A +bright smile lit her features, the half-opened eyes lit up with the +last fires of life; then as they faded away, her limbs relaxed, and +still gazing on her mother's face, the breath left the body.</p> + +<p>There was a rush as of wind through the window, but it was the Angels, +who were bearing the child's spirit to a brighter and a better world.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST.</h2> +<h3>THE INTRUSION.</h3> +<p>As soon as the breath had left her child's body, Mrs. Wentworth +removed the corpse from her lap and laid it on the bed; than standing +aside of it, gazed upon all that remained of her little daughter. Not +a tear, not a sigh, not a groan denoted that she felt any grief at her +bereavement. Except a nervous twitching of her mouth, her features +wore a cold and rigid appearance, and her eye looked dull and glassy. +She spoke not a word to those around her who yet lived. Her little boy +was unnoticed, no other object but the dead body appeared to meet her +view.</p> + +<p>There are moments when the fountains of grief become dried up. It was +so with Mrs. Wentworth. The sight of her dead child's face—beautiful +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +in death—for it wore a calm and placid exterior, too life-like for +death, too rigid for life, awoke no emotion in her bosom; nor did the +knowledge that the infant would soon be placed in the grave, and be +forever hidden from the gaze she now placed on it so steadfastly, +cause a single tear drop to gather in her eye, nor a sigh to burst +from her pale and firmly closed lips. And yet, there raged within her +breast a volcano, the violence of whose fire would soon exhaust, and +leave her scarred and blasted forever. At that moment it kindled with +a blaze, that scorched her heart, but she felt it not. Her whole being +was transformed into a mass of ruin. She felt not the strain on the +tendrils of her mind; that her overwrought brain was swaying between +madness and reason. She only saw the lifeless lineaments of her +child—the first pledge of her wedded affection—dead before her.</p> + +<p>It came to her like a wild dream, a mere hallucination—an imagination +of a distempered mind. She could not believe it. There, on that lowly +bed, her child to die! It was something too horrible for her thoughts, +and though the evidence lay before her, in all its solemn grandeur, +there was something to her eye so unreal and impossible in its silent +magnificence that she doubted its truthfulness.</p> + +<p>The old negro saw her misery. She knew that the waters which run with +a mild and silent surface, are often possessed of greater depth, than +those which rush onward with a mighty noise.</p> + +<p>"Come missis," she said, placing her hand on Mrs. Wentworth's +shoulder. "De Lord will be done. Nebber mind. He know better what to +do dan we do, and we must all be satisfy wid his works."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth looked at the old woman for a moment, and a bitter +smile swept across her countenance. What were words of consolation to +her? They sounded like a mockery in her heart. She needed them not, +for they brought not to life again the child whose spirit had winged +its flight to eternity, but a short time since.</p> + +<p>"Peace old woman," she replied calmly, "you know not what you say. +That," she continued, pointing to the body of Ella, "that you tell me +not to mourn, but to bend to the will of God. Pshaw! I mourn it not. +Better for the child to die than lead a beggar's life on earth."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> +<p>"Shame, shame missis," observed the old woman, very much shocked at +what appeared to her the insensibility of Mrs. Wentworth. "You musn't +talk dat way, it don't do any good."</p> + +<p>"You know not what I mean, auntie," Mrs. Wentworth answered in a +milder tone. "Why did I come here? Why did I bring my child ill and +dying from a shelter, and carry her through the night air, until I +found a home in your lonely cabin? Do you know why?" she continued +with bitterness. "It was because I was a beggar, and could not pay the +demands of the rich."</p> + +<p>"Poh lady!" ejaculated the old woman. "Whar is your husband."</p> + +<p>"My husband?" she replied. "Ah! where is he? Oh, God!" she continued +wildly. "Where is he now while his child lies dead through +destitution, and his wife feels the brand of the <i>thief</i> imprinted +upon her forehead? Why is he not here to succor the infant boy who yet +remains, and who may soon follow his sister? Oh, God! Oh, God! that he +should be far away, and I be here gazing on the dead body of my +child—dead through my neglect to procure her proper medical +attendance; dead through the destitution of her mother."</p> + +<p>"Nebber mind, missis," observed the old negro soothingly, "De chile is +gone to heaben, whar it wont suffer any more."</p> + +<p>"Peace!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth passionately. "Do not talk to me of +Heaven. What has God done to aid me in my misery? Has he not suffered +me to feel the pangs of hunger, to see my children deprived of bread, +to permit me to stain my whole existence with a crime? The child is +gone to Heaven. Aye! there her sinlessness and innocence might give +her a welcome, and she may be happy, but the blank left in my heart, +the darkness of my mind, the cheerless and unpropitious future that +unveils itself before my aching eyes, can never be obliterated until I +am laid in the grave beside her, and my spirit has winged its flight +to the home where she now dwells."</p> + +<p>She spoke slowly and earnestly, but her words were of despair not of +grief. Motioning to the old woman that she desired no further +conversation, Mrs. Wentworth again fixed her gaze upon the dead +features of her child. On them she looked, until the tablet of her +memory contained but one impress, that of her daughter's face. All +records of past suffering, all anxiety for the present, all prayer for +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +the future, were driven away, and solitary and alone the image of the +dead child filled their place, and in that lone thought was +concentrated all that had transpired in her life for months past. It +was the last remaining bulwark to her tottering mind, and though it +still held reason dominant, the foundation of sanity had been shaken +to such an extent that the slightest touch and the fabric would fall +from its throne and crumble to dust at the feet of madness. But this +was unknown to God. He who knoweth all things still kept his eyes away +from the mother and her children.</p> + +<p>"Dead! dead!" said, Mrs. Wentworth, swaying her body to and fro. "My +angel child dead! Oh, God!"' she continued, passing her hand across +her brow. "That I should live to see this day, that this hour of +bereavement should ever be known to me. Oh! that this should be the +result of my sufferings, that this should be the only reward of my +toils and prayers."</p> + +<p>The blood rushed to her face, and her whole form trembled with an +uncontrollable agitation; her bosom heaved with emotion, and the +beatings of her heart were heard as plain as the click of the clock on +the mantlepiece. Stooping over the dead body she clasped it in her +arms, and pressed the bloodless and inanimate lips in a fond embrace. +It was the promptings of a mother's heart. She had nursed the child +when an infant, and had seen her grow up as beautiful as the fairies +so often described by the writers of fiction. She had looked forward +for the day when the child would bloom into womanhood, and be a +blessing and a comfort in her old age. All these were now forever +blighted. Not even the presence of her son awoke a thought within her +that the living remained to claim her care and affection. He was but a +link in the chain of her paternal love, and the bonds having been +broken she looked on the shattered fragment and sought not to unite +what yet remained in an unhurt state.</p> + +<p>When she rose from her stooping posture her face had resumed its cold +and rigid appearance. Turning to the old negro who was looking on in +silent wonder and grief, she enquired in a calm tone: "Have you any of +the money left that I gave you this morning?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, missis," she replied. "I got some left."</p> + +<p>"How much is it?" asked Mrs. Wentworth.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> +<p>"Twelve dollars," she answered, counting the notes that she had taken +from her pocket.</p> + +<p>"Will that be enough to pay for a coffin for my child?" Mrs. Wentworth +enquired.</p> + +<p>"I don't know, but I spect it will do," replied the old negro.</p> + +<p>"To make sure that it will be enough," observed Mrs. Wentworth, "here +is some more money to pay for it." As she spoke she handed several +notes to the old woman. "And now," she continued, "I want you to go +out and order a coffin, as I want the child to be buried to-morrow +morning."</p> + +<p>"I spec I better get de parson to preach over de poor chile," remarked +the old woman, who was a strict member of the church, and very +superstitious in relation to the evils that would accrue from a +departure from all that is laid down in religious tenets.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes!" Mrs. Wentworth replied. "But there is no necessity of +going for him this evening, wait until early in the morning, that time +will do well enough."</p> + +<p>The old woman curtsied and moved out of the room. Arriving in town she +entered an undertaker's shop and enquired if he could furnish a coffin +by the next morning. On his answering in the affirmative she paid him +twenty dollars, the amount charged, and hastened back to her cabin. +The interest manifested by this old woman, was that usually shown to +all persons in distress by the faithful slave of the South. She had +not even learned Mrs. Wentworth's name, but the sight of her sad and +haggard features, as well as the death of Ella, had awaken a feeling +of sympathy for the unfortunate family; thus we see her obeying the +orders of her accidental guests, without making any objections. But to +return to the dead.</p> + +<p>As soon as Mrs. Wentworth was left alone, her face assumed its natural +appearance, and the rigid expression it had hitherto worn was +dispelled. Opening a bundle she had brought front her room, she took +out a white dress. It was one of the few remaining articles of +clothing she possessed, and had only been saved at the earnest +solicitation of the little Ella. It was her bridal robe; in that she +had walked up to the altar and plighted her troth to the loved husband +who was now a prisoner and far away. The first and last time she had +worn it was on that day, and as she gazed on it the memory of the past +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +rushed upon her. She thought of the hour when, as a blushing bride, +she leaned on the proud form of her lover, as they walked together in +the sacred edifice to register those vows that bound them in an +indissoluble tie, and unite their hearts in a stronger and holier love +than their lover's vows had done. Then she know not what sorrow was. +No gift of futurity had disclosed to her the wretchedness and penury +that after years had prepared for her. No, then all was joy and +happiness. As she stood by the side of her lover her maiden face +suffused with blushes, and her palpitating heart filled with mingled +felicity and anxiety as she looked down on the bridal dress that +covered her form. No thought, no dream, not even a fear of what after +years would bring to her, stirred the fountain of fear and caused her +a single pang. And now—but why trouble the reader with any further +remarks of the past? That is gone and forever. We have seen her tread +the paths in which all that is dismal and wretched abides; we have +seen herself and her children lead a life, the very thought of which +should cause us to pray it may never be our lot. Words can avail but +little. They only fill the brain with gladness for awhile to turn to +horror afterwards. We have but to write of the present. In it we find +misery enough, we find sorrow and wretchedness, without the hand of +compassion being held forth to help the miserable from the deep and +fearful gulf with which penury and want abound.</p> + +<p>The wedding dress was soiled and crumpled; the bunches of orange +blossoms with which it was adorned, lay crushed upon its folds—a fit +appearance for the heart of the owner—It looked like a relic of +grandeur shining in the midst of poverty, and as its once gaudy folds +rested against the counterpane in the bed, the manifest difference of +the two appeared striking and significant.</p> + +<p>For a moment Mrs. Wentworth gazed upon this last momento of long past +happiness, and a spasm of grief contracted her features. It passed +away, however, in an instant, and she laid the dress across the dead +body of her child. Drawing a chair to the bedside, she took from her +pocket a spool of thread, some needles and her scissors. Selecting one +of the needles, she thread it, and pinning it in the body of her +dress, removed the wedding gown from the body of her child, and +prepared to make a shroud of it. Rapidly she worked at her task, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +before darkness had set in, the burial garment was completed, and the +body of Ella was enclosed in the last robe she would wear on earth.</p> + +<p>The body of the dead child looked beautiful. The snowy folds of the +dress were looped up with the orange blossoms which Mrs. Wentworth had +restored to their natural beauty. On her cold, yet lovely brow, a +wreath of the same flowers was placed, while in her hand was placed a +tiny ivory cross, that Ella had worn around her neck while living. The +transformation was complete. The dress of the young and blooming bride +had become the habiliments of the dead child, and the orange blossoms +that rested on its folds and on the brow of Ella, were not more +emblematical for the dead than they had been for the living.</p> + +<p>"Oh! how pretty sister looks," exclaimed the little boy, who could not +comprehend why the dead body lie so motionless and stiff. "Wake her +up, mother," he continued, "she looks so pretty that I want her to +stand up and see herself."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth smiled sorrowfully at her son's remarks, but she did +not remove her features from the dead. The saint-like expression of +her child, and the placid and beautiful face that lay before her +devoid of animation, had awoke the benumbed feelings of affection +within her. A bright light flashed across her brain, and the long pent +up tears, were about to flow, when the door was widely opened, and a +dark shadow spread itself over the body of Ella. Checking her emotion, +Mrs. Wentworth looked around and beheld the figure of Mr. Swartz, +accompanied by two police officers.</p> + +<p>She spoke not a word at first, for in an instant the cause of his +visit was known. One look she gave him, which sunk into the inmost +depths of his soul; then turning to the dead child, she slowly +extended her hand and pointed to it.</p> + +<p>"There," she said at last. "Look there," and her face again wore its +former colorless and rigid aspect.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND.</h2> +<h3>IMPRISONMENT OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE.</h3> +<p>We must now take a glance back at the time that Mrs. Wentworth +committed her act of despair in taking the package of money from the +safe. Mr. Swartz, as we stated, was then gazing intently at the open +pages of his ledger, and, in her leaving the room hurriedly, did not +take any other notice of her, than mere glance. He then resumed his +calculations, nor did he rise from his seat for nearly three hours +afterwards, so intent was he on the books before him. Rising up at +last, he walked to the safe, and observing that the package of money +was gone, called out to his clerk, who quickly answered the summons +and entered the room.</p> + +<p>"Vere is dat package of money I had on de safe dis morning?" he +enquired, as soon as the clerk had entered.</p> + +<p>"I have not seen anything of it, since I gave it into your hands this +morning at nine o'clock," the clerk replied.</p> + +<p>"Vell, I put it on top of dis safe," observed Mr. Swartz, "and I +forgot to lock it up, ven Mr. Elder came in, and kept me talking +nearly two hours, den de beggar came in and remained for a long time. +After dat I vas busy mit the ledger, and didn't think of it."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you have placed it somewhere else, and cannot recollect +where," remarked the clerk, who was apprehensive that Mr. Swartz would +charge him with having stolen the money.</p> + +<p>"No, I didn't," answered Mr. Swartz, "De monish vas put down on de top +of the safe, for I remember putting it down here myself," he added, +pointing to the spot where the money had been.</p> + +<p>"You had better search about before you make certain of that," said +the clerk. "See if it is not in your pocket you may have placed it +there, and at the same time believe that you placed it on your safe."</p> + +<p>"Mine Cot!" answered Mr. Swartz, "I tell you I put the package on de +safe. See here," he continued, searching his pockets, and emptying +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +them of whatever they contained. "Don't you see dat de monish is not +in my pockets. It vas on de safe und unless somebody removed it, it +never could have gone away."</p> + +<p>"You should be certain, sir, before you insist that you placed it on +the safe," remarked the clerk. "Look in the draw of your desk, it may +have been placed there as well as any other place."</p> + +<p>With a gesture of impatience Mr. Swartz opened the drawers of the +desk, and removing everything they contained searched carefully among +the large number of papers for the missing package. It was not there +however, and turning to the clerk who was standing near by, he pointed +to the table to indicate the fact of its absence among the papers he +had taken from the drawers.</p> + +<p>"I told you it vash not tere," he remarked. "Somebody has taken te +monish, and, py Cot! I vill find out who has got it."</p> + +<p>"Don't be so hasty in your conclusions, sir," said the clerk. "Let us +search the room carefully, and see whether it has not been mislaid by +you. It will never do," he added, "to charge anybody with having taken +the money, when it may be lying about the room."</p> + +<p>"Vere can it pe lying?" asked Mr. Swartz angrily. "I tell you it vash +on te safe, and tere ish no use looking any where else."</p> + +<p>"That maybe so, sir," replied the clerk, "but if you will give me +permission I will search the room well before you take any further +steps in the matter."</p> + +<p>"You can look if you like," observed Mr. Swartz, "but I know tere ish +no chance of your finding it, and it ish only giving yourself trouble +for noting."</p> + +<p>"Never do you mind that, sir," the clerk answered. "I am willing to +take the trouble."</p> + +<p>Removing the books from the top of the safe he carefully shook them +out, but the package was not among them. He then replaced them and +turned the safe round, with the hope that the money might have fallen +under it. The same success, however, attended him, and he was +compelled to renew his efforts. Everything in the room was removed +without the package being found. After a minute and diligent search he +was compelled to give up the work in despair, and ceasing he stood +trembling before Mr. Swartz, who, he momentarily expected, would +charge him with having committed a theft. But for this fear he would +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +never have taken the trouble of upsetting and replacing everything in +the room, but would have been perfectly satisfied for his employer to +sustain the loss.</p> + +<p>"Vell!" said Mr. Swartz. "I suppose you ish satisfied dat te monish +ain't here."</p> + +<p>"Its disappearance is very singular," replied the clerk. "If, as you +say, the package was laid on the safe and never removed by you, +somebody must have taken it away."</p> + +<p>"Of course, somepody tock it," remarked Mr. Swartz. "How te tevil +could it go mitout it vash taken away py somepody?"</p> + +<p>"Do you suspect any one of having stolen it," asked the clerk, turning +as white as the shirt he wore.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever come near de safe to-day," asked Mr. Swartz, abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Me, sir?" said the now thoroughly frightened clerk. "No, I—No +sir—I—never came further than the door each time you called to me."</p> + +<p>"I can't say dat Mr. Elder vould take it," observed Mr. Swartz, "and +all I remember now dat you didn't come anyvere near de safe, I can't +tink who could have taken the monish."</p> + +<p>Assured by his manner that Mr. Swartz had dismissed all idea of +charging him with the theft, the clerk's confidence returned, and he +ceased stuttering and trembling.</p> + +<p>"Do you think the woman who was here could have taken it?" he +enquired, and then added: "The last time I entered this room while she +was here, I remember seeing her standing near the safe, with her elbow +on the top."</p> + +<p>"By Cot!" exclaimed Mr. Swartz, striking the table with his hand. "She +must be de very person. She vanted me to give her monish, and she must +have seen de package lying on the safe and taken it avay."</p> + +<p>"It is no use wasting any time then," said the clerk, "you must +endeavor to find out where she stays, and have her arrested this +evening."</p> + +<p>"Vere can I find her house?" asked Mr. Swartz.</p> + +<p>"You will have to track her," answered the clerk. "The first place you +had better go to is Elkin's drug store, for I saw the woman enter +there after leaving here."</p> + +<p>Mr. Swartz made no reply, but taking up his hat he walked out of his +office, and proceeded to the drug store. The druggist, who had noticed +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +the wild and haggard appearance of Mrs. Wentworth, informed him, in +reply to his enquiries, that such a person as the one he described had +purchased several descriptions of medicines from him, and on leaving +his store, she had walked up the street. This being the only +information that the druggist could give, Mr. Swartz left the store, +and after many enquiries discovered where Mrs. Wentworth resided. He +immediately returned to his store, and mentioned his discovery to the +clerk.</p> + +<p>"You had better go at once and take out a warrant against her for +robbery;" remarked the clerk, "and take a couple of policemen with you +to arrest her."</p> + +<p>Starting to the City Hall, Mr. Swartz took out a warrant against Mrs. +Wentworth for larceny, and procuring the assistance of two policemen, +he started for the old negro's cabin, determined to prosecute the +thief to the utmost extent of his power and the law. Having informed +our readers of his conduct on discovering that his money had been +stolen, we will continue from where we left off at the close of the +last chapter.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth on perceiving Mr. Swartz and the two policemen, had +pointed to the dead body of her child, and pronounced the solitary +word, "there," while her face became cold and expressiveless.</p> + +<p>Involuntarily looking in the direction pointed out by Mrs. Wentworth, +the three men started with awe as their eyes fell upon the beautiful +face of the dead child. One of the policemen, who was a devout +Catholic crossed himself, and withdrew from the entrance of the door, +but the other policeman and Mr. Swartz quickly shook off all feelings +of fear that had passed over them.</p> + +<p>"Here is de voman," said Mr. Swartz, pointing to Mrs. Wentworth. "Dis +is de voman who shtole mine monish."</p> + +<p>As he spoke she turned her face towards him, but the mute anguish of +the mother did not cause a sentiment of regret to enter Mr. Swartz's +heart, at the part he was acting towards her.</p> + +<p>"Arrest her," continued Mr. Swartz, "I vant you to take her to de +jail, where she can be examined, and to-morrow morning I can have her +up before de Mayor."</p> + +<p>"Not to-night," exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth in a hollow voice. "Leave me +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +with the dead body of my child; after she is buried you can do as you +please with me."</p> + +<p>"I knows better tan to do dat," observed Mr. Swartz, "by to-morrow +morning you vould be a pretty far avay from Shackson."</p> + +<p>"I will not move from this cabin an inch further than to the burial +ground," replied Mrs. Wentworth, "but if you fear it is my intention +to escape, let one of your policemen remain here and watch me to +night."</p> + +<p>Mr. Swartz stepped to the threshold of the door, and consulted the two +men on the possibility of complying with her request, but one refused +through superstition, while the other declined in consequence of his +being on the night watch.</p> + +<p>"I can't agree to your vishes," said Mr. Swartz, as soon as the +conference was over, and he returned to the bedside. "De policemen +vont remain here."</p> + +<p>"Then do you trust me," she replied. "By the holy name of God, I +implore you not to tear me from the body of my child, but if that name +has no weight with you, and as I perceive it is useless to appeal to +you by the sacred tenets of Christianity, let me pray you, that as a +man, you will not descend to such brutality as to force me from the +dead body that now lies before you, and deprive me of performing the +last sad rites over her. In the name of all that is humane, I plead to +you, and, oh, God! let my supplications be answered."</p> + +<p>"Dere is no use of you talking in dat vay to me," said Mr. Swartz in a +coarse and brutal tone. "It vas in de same sthyle dat you vent on dis +morning, ven you vas begging me, and den you afterwards shtole my +monish."</p> + +<p>As he finished speaking, the old negro entered the cabin, and +perceiving the intruders, enquired the cause of their presence. The +Catholic who was an Irishman, briefly explained the object of their +visit to the astonished old woman, who never conceived for a moment +that Mrs. Wentworth had been guilty of theft.</p> + +<p>"De Lor!" she exclaimed, as soon as her informant had concluded his +remarks. "Who would'a believe it? Poh people, dey is really bad off," +and she hurried to Mrs. Wentworth's side.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth had paid no attention to the colloquy between the old +negro and the policeman; she was engaged in appealing to Mr. Swartz, +not to remove her to jail that night.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p> +<p>"You must have some feelings of humanity within you," she was +observing. "You must have some touch of pity in your heart for my +condition. Do not send me to jail to-night," she continued in an +earnest tone. "If your own heart is steeled against the sorrows of a +helpless and wretched woman; if the sight of that dead face does not +awaken a spark of manly pity within you, let me entreat you, by the +memory of the mother you once had, not to tear me from the body of my +child. The hours of night will pass of rapidly, and by the dawn of +morning my daughter shall be buried."</p> + +<p>This was the first touch of feeling she had manifested, and though no +tears bedewed her cheeks, the swelling of her bosom and the anguished +look she wore, told of sorrow more terrible than if tears had come.</p> +<p> +The wretch was unmoved. He stood there, not thinking of the solemn and +heart-rending scene before him, but of the money he had lost, and the +chance of its being found on the person of Mrs. Wentworth.</p> + +<p>"Do your duty, policemen," he said, without appearing as if he had +heard her remarks.</p> + +<p>"It is well," she said, and walking up to the bedside of her dead +child, she lifted the body until it almost assumed a standing +position. "Farewell child, farewell forever!" she continued, covering +the lifeless face with kisses. "See this!" she said, turning to the +men, "see the result of beggary and starvation. Look upon it, you have +had it in your power to save me from this desolation, and rejoice in +your work. Here, take me," she added, laying down the corpse. "Take me +from the presence of the dead, for if I remain gazing at it much +longer, I will indeed go mad."</p> + +<p>Walking up to the old woman, Mrs. Wentworth continued. "Auntie, I +leave my child's body with you. See that it is buried and mark the +spot where it rests, for oh! I feel that the day is not far distant +when my weary head will rest in peace at last, when that time arrives, +I desire to be buried by the remains of her who now lies there. For +the little boy who is here, keep him Auntie, until his father claims +him, and should his father never return, take him before some man high +in position, and tell him that a wretched mother leaves him to the +care of his country, as a momento of one of the patriot band who died +in her service."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> +<p>The old negro fell upon her knees before the speaker, and burst into +tears, while even the rude policemen were touched by her remarks, Mr. +Swartz alone remained unmoved, the only feeling within him was a +desire that the work of confining her in jail should be completed.</p> + +<p>"And now one last farewell," continued Mrs. Wentworth, again embracing +the corpse. Another instant and she was out of the room followed by +the three men, and they proceeded in the direction of the jail.</p> + +<p>The old negro fell on her knees by the side of the bed, burying her +head in the folds of the counterpane, while the tears flowed freely +from her eyes. The little boy nestled by her side sobbing and calling +for his mother.</p> + + + +<p>"Don't cry chile," said the old negro, endeavoring to console him. +"Your mammy will come back one of dese days," then recollecting the +words of Mrs. Wentworth in reference to him, she took him in her arms, +and continued, "poh chile, I will take care ob you until your father +come for you."</p> + +<p>Thus did the good hearted slave register her promise to take care of +the child, and her action was but the result of the kind treatment she +had received from her owner. She had been taken care of when a child +by the father of her present owner, who was no other than Dr. +Humphries, and now that she had grown old and feeble, he had provided +her with a home, and supported her in return for the long life of +faithful service she had spent as his slave.</p> + +<p>The next morning at about nine o'clock, a hearse might have been seen +in front of the old woman's cabin. Without any assistance the negro +driver lifted a little coffin from the chairs on which it rested in +the room, and conveyed it into the hearse. It then drove off slowly, +followed by the old negro and the infant, and drove to the burial +ground. There a short and simple prayer was breathed over the coffin, +and in a few moments a mound of earth covered it. Thus was buried the +little angel girl, who we have seen suffer uncomplainingly, and die +with a trusting faith in her advent to Heaven. No long procession of +mortals followed her body, but the Angels of God were there, and they +strewed the wood with the flowers of Paradise, which though invisible, +wafted a perfume into the soul sweeter than the choicest exotics of +earth.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p> +<p>From the grave of the child we turn to the mother, to see if her +sufferings died with the body of the Angel which had just been buried. +They had not, for still the eye of God was turned from the Soldier's +Wife, and he saw not the life of misery and degradation that she was +leading.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD.</h2> +<h3>THE COMMITTAL.</h3> + +<p>On the morning that Ella was buried, Mrs. Wentworth was carried before +the Mayor, and charges preferred against her for robbery. The package +containing the remainder of the money had been found on her person the +night previous, and this evidence was brought forward against her.</p> + +<p>"What are your charges against this woman, Mr. Swartz," began his +Honor.</p> + +<p>"Vell your Honor," replied that individual, "I vill tell dem in but +few words. Dis voman called at my shtore yesterday, and begged me for +monish. I gave her von tollar, but she vouldn't take it, and after she +left de shtore I found out dat a package of monish, dat was on de safe +was gone, I den called mine clerk, and I look for de monish, and he +looked for de monish, but ve neider of us find de monish. Den I say +dat certainly somepody must take dish monish, and he say so too; den +ve remember dat dis voman vas leaning against de safe, and he told me +of it, and I remember too, and—"</p> + +<p>"Explain your charges against the woman as briefly as possible, Mr. +Swartz," interrupted the Mayor. "I have not time to stay here +listening to a long round-about story."</p> + +<p>"Von minute your Honor, von minute," replied the wretch. "I will soon +finish de account. As I vas saying, I remember dat dis voman vas +standing leaning by de safe and mine clerk tells me to go to de Trug +Shtore, as de voman vent in dere, and I goes in de Trug Shtore, and +Mr. Elkin he tells me dat de voman did come in dere and py some physic +and dat she valk up de street, and I goes up de street and—"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> +<p>"For goodness sake, Mr. Swartz, let me beg of you to conclude your +remarks as soon as possible and not detain the Court with unnecessary +statements," again interrupted the Mayor, "I see no use for you to +repeat all that you did. Just come to the point at once and I will be +able to decide whether this woman is to be committed or not."</p> + +<p>"Shust von minute longer, your Honor," Mr. Swartz answered, "I vill +finish directly. Vell, you see, I vent in te street, and I goes up te +street, and I asks te beoples if tey see tis voman, and von of tem say +he not see te voman, and I ask anoter and he not see te voman, and I +ask anoter again and he not see te voman eider."</p> + +<p>"If you are going to continue this nonsense all day let me know, and I +will prepare myself to listen, as well as to return the other +prisoners to jail until to-morrow," observed His Honor. + +"It appears as if you can never get through your tale. Speak quickly +and briefly, and do not keep me waiting."</p> + +<p>"Shust vait a little vile more nor not so musht," replied Mr. Swartz, +and continuing his story he said, "I ask everybody if tey sees dis +voman and dey say dey not sees te voman, and after I ask everybody von +man tell me dat he sees dis voman valk up de shtreet, and I go up de +shtreet von little more vay and—"</p> + +<p>"In the name of Heaven cease your remarks," exclaimed the Mayor, who +had become thoroughly exasperated at the narrative of Mr. Swartz.</p> + +<p>"Gootness," observed that gentleman, "did you not shay I vas for to +tell vy I pring dis voman up?"</p> + +<p>"Yea," replied His Honor, "but I did not expect you to give me a long +narrative of all that occurred during the time while you were looking +for where she lived."</p> + +<p>"Veil, I vill soon finish," he remarked, "as I was saying, I goes up +de shtreet von little more vays and I ask anoder man vere dis voman +vas, and he shust look on me and shay he vould not tell noting to von +tam Tutchman, and I go to von oder man and he show me von little log +cabin, and I goes up dere softly and I sees dis voman in dere."</p> + +<p>"All this has nothing to do with the charge you have preferred against +her," the Mayor said, "let me know upon what grounds you prefer the +charge of robbery against her."</p> + +<p>"Vell, ven I sees her I valks pack to mine Shtore and I talks mit mine +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +clerk, and he say I vas have to take out a varrant, and I comes to de +City Hall and I takes out de varrant, and I takes two policemen and I +goes to te cabin and finds dis voman dere, and she peg me not to take +her to jail, but I vouldn't pe pegged and I pring her to jail."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Swartz, if you don't conclude your remarks at once I will be +necessitated to postpone your case until to-morrow; I I am tired of +hearing your remarks, every one of which has been to no purpose. You +say the package of money that you lost was found on this woman, and +that she had been in your store the same day and had leaned against +the safe on the top of which the money had been placed by you."</p> + +<p>"Dat's shust it," replied Mr. Swartz. "Ven I go mit te voman to te +jail te jail man search her and find te monish in her pocket, and it +vas te same monish as I had stolen off te safe.—But te monish vas not +all dere; over tirty tollars vas taken out of it, and dat vas vat dis +voman sphent, and I—"</p> + +<p>"That's enough, Mr. Swartz," interrupted the Mayor. "You have said +enough on the subject, and I will now proceed with the accused."</p> + +<p>While Mr. Swartz was speaking Mrs. Wentworth remained as silent as if +she had not heard a word he said. Her appearance was calm, nor was +there anything remarkable about her except a strange unnatural +brightness of the eye.</p> + +<p>"Well, my woman," continued the Mayor, "what have you to say in +extenuation of the charge."</p> + +<p>"Nothing, Sir," she replied, "I have nothing to say in defense of +myself. The money was found on my person, and would alone prove me +guilty of the theft. Besides which, I have neither desire nor +intention to deny having taken the money."</p> + +<p>"What induced you to steal?" asked the Mayor.</p> + +<p>"A greater tempter than I had ever met before," she replied. "It was +necessity that prompted me to take that money."</p> + +<p>"And you sphent tirty-tree tollers of it, py gootness," exclaimed Mr. +Swartz, in an excited tone.</p> + +<p>"As you acknowledge the theft," said the Mayor, "I am compelled to +commit you to prison until the meeting of the Superior Court, which +will be in four days from this."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth was then committed back to prison, and Mr. Swartz +returned to his store.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p> +<p>The spirit of the child had reached God and at that moment was +pointing to her mother below. The day of rest is near.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH.</h2> +<h3>RETURN OF ALFRED WENTWORTH—A STRANGER.</h3> +<p>After long weeks of pain and illness Alfred Wentworth became well +enough to return to the Confederacy. He was accordingly sent down by +the first flag of truce that went to Vicksburg after his recovery, and +two days after the committal of his wife arrived at Jackson, where he +was warmly welcomed by Harry.</p> + +<p>"I am delighted to see you, my dear friend," he exclaimed, shaking his +hands warmly, "you have no idea the suspense I have been in since my +escape, to learn whether you were re-captured. It would have +reproached me to the last hour of my life had you been killed by those +cursed Yankees."</p> + +<p>"I came pretty near it," replied Alfred, smiling at his friend's +earnestness.</p> + +<p>"You were not hurt, were you?" enquired his friend.</p> + +<p>"The slight matter of a few minie balls, lodged in different parts of +my body, is all the injury I received," he answered.</p> + +<p>"I suppose that occasioned your not coming with the first lot of +prisoners," Harry remarked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he replied, "when the cartel was arranged and orders were given +for the prisoners to prepare for their departure from Camp Douglas, I +was still suffering from my wound, and the doctors declared me unable +to move for several days. An excited mind soon brought on fever, which +so prostrated me that the days extended to weeks before I was able to +leave the hospital."</p> + +<p>"I am heartily glad to see you once more safe on Confederate soil, at +any rate," observed Harry, and he added, "as I will insist upon your +staying at my house while you are here, let me know where your baggage +is, that I may hate it removed."</p> + +<p>"I am staying at the Burman House, but what little baggage I possess +is at Vicksburg."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> +<p>"Then take a walk with me to the residence of Dr. Humphries," said +Harry, "and I will introduce you to my betrothed."</p> + +<p>"I thank you," Alfred replied, "but the present state of my wardrobe +does not admit of my appearing before ladies."</p> + +<p>"Pshaw," observed Harry, "that is the least part of the question. Let +me know what you desire and I will get it for you directly."</p> + +<p>"I have about seven hundred dollars in Confederate money with me," +answered Alfred, "if you will show me some store where I can purchase +a decent suit of clothes; that will be all I shall trouble you for."</p> + +<p>"Take a walk with me to Lemby's clothing store and you will find a +fine outfit there."</p> + +<p>Drawing Alfred's arm in his, Harry conducted him to Lemby's clothing +store, where a suit of clothing was bought. They then proceeded to the +Bowman House and entered Alfred's room.</p> + +<p>"My furlough is only for thirty days," Alfred remarked, while engaged +in dressing himself, "and how I am to send in a letter to New Orleans +and receive an answer before that time expires I cannot conjecture."</p> + +<p>"What do you wish to write to New Orleans for," asked Harry.</p> + +<p>"Why, to wife," answered Alfred, "I think it is about time that she +should hear from me."</p> + +<p>"My dear friend," replied Harry, "your wife is not in New Orleans, she +is in the Confederate lines."</p> + +<p>"Where is she?" he enquired, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"I could not tell you that," Harry answered, "but of one thing you may +be certain, she is not in New Orleans."</p> + +<p>"How do you know that?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Humphries purchased a negro girl the day before I returned; she +gave her name as Elsy, and said she was belonging to Mr. Alfred +Wentworth, of New Orleans. On being questioned why she had left the +city, the girl said that her mistress with your two children had been +forced to leave by Beast Butler, who would not allow her to go also, +but that, being determined to follow your wife, she had ran the +blockade and came into the Confederate lines.".</p> + +<p>"And did my wife sell her to anybody else?" enquired Alfred.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> +<p>"Wait a moment, my dear friend, and I will tell you," answered Harry. +"The girl did not see her mistress at all, for she was arrested on her +arrival in this city, and having no papers, as well as no owner, she +was sold according to law, and was purchased by Dr. Humphries, at +whose residence she is now. I would have told you this when we first +met, but it slipped my memory completely."</p> + +<p>"But where could my wife have gone to?" remarked Alfred. "I do not +know of any person in the Confederate lines with whom she is +acquainted, and where she can get the means to support herself and +children I have not the least idea."</p> + +<p>"That she has been to Jackson I am certain," Harry replied, "for no +sooner did I hear what the girl had informed Dr. Humphries, than I +endeavored to find out where she resided. I searched the register of +both the hotels in this city and found that she had been staying at +this hotel; but the clerk did not recollect anything about her, and +could not tell me where she went to on her departure from this city. I +also advertised in several newspapers for her, but receiving no +information, was compelled to give up my search in despair."</p> + +<p>"I thank you for your remembrance of me," observed Alfred. "This +intelligence, however, will compel me to apply for an extension of my +furlough, so that I may be enabled to find out where my wife and +children are. I am very much alarmed at the news you have given me."</p> + +<p>"I hope your wife and children are comfortably situated, wherever they +may be; and could I have discovered their residence, I should have +made it my duty to see that they wanted for nothing."</p> + +<p>"I know it, I know it," said Alfred, pressing his friend's hand, and +he continued, "you will favor me on our arriving at Dr. Humphries' by +obtaining an interview for me with Elsy; I desire to know the cause of +my wife's ejectment from New Orleans."</p> + + + +<p>"As soon as you are ready let me know and we will start for the +Doctor's," Harry answered, "where you will find the girl. Dr. +Humphries told me that he intended returning her to you or your wife +as soon as he discovered either of you. So in the event of your +finding out where Mrs. Wentworth lives, she will be promptly given +up."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> +<p>"No, no," Alfred remarked, hurriedly, "the Doctor has purchased her +and I do not desire the girl unless I can return the money he paid for +her. If you are ready to go," he added, "let us leave at once."</p> + +<p>The two friends left the hotel and soon arrived at the residence of +Dr. Humphries. The Doctor was not at home, but Emma received them. +After introducing Alfred to her, and engaging in a brief conversation, +Harry requested her to call Elsy, as he desired her to speak with his +friend. The fair girl complied with his request by ringing the bell +that lay on the table; her call was answered by the slave in person.</p> + +<p>On entering the room Elsy made a low curtsey to the gentlemen, and +looked at Alfred earnestly for a moment, but the soldier had become so +sunburnt and altered in features that she failed to recognize him.</p> + +<p>"Do you not remember me, Elsy?" enquired Alfred, as soon as he +perceived her.</p> + +<p>His voice was still the same, and running up to him, the girl seized +his hand with joy.</p> + +<p>"I tought I knowed you, sah," she exclaimed, "but you is so change I +didn't remember you."</p> + +<p>"I am indeed changed, Elsy," he replied; "I have been sick for a long +time. And now that I am once more in the Confederacy, it is to find my +wife and children driven from their homes, while God only knows if +they are not wandering all over the South, homeless and friendless. +Tell me Elsy," he continued, "tell me what caused my wife to be turned +out of the city?"</p> + +<p>In compliance with his request, the girl briefly told him of the +villainy of Awtry, and the infamous manner in which he had acted +towards Mrs. Wentworth. She then went on to relate that, failing to +achieve his purpose, Awtry had succeeded in having her expelled from +New Orleans.</p> + +<p>"Did your mistress—I beg pardon—I meant, did my wife tell you where +she was going to?" enquired Alfred.</p> + +<p>"She told me to come to Jackson, after I told her I would be sure to +get away from de city," answered the girl; "but de police ketch me up +before I could look for her; and since I been belonging to Dr. +Humphries I has look for her ebery whar, but I can't find out whar she +am gone to."</p> + +<p>"That is enough," observed Alfred, "you can go now, Elsy, if I should +want to see you again I will send for you."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> +<p>"I trust you may succeed in finding your wife, sir," Emma said as the +girl left the parlor.</p> + +<p>"I sincerely hope so myself, Miss Humphries," he answered, "but Heaven +only knows where I am to look for her. It will take me a much longer +time than I can spare to travel over the Confederacy; in fact, I doubt +whether I can get an extension of my furlough, so that I may have +about three months of time to search for her."</p> + +<p>"It is singular that she should have told Elsy to come here to her, +and not to be in the city," observed Emily.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid that my wife has, through prudence, gone into the country +to live; for, with the means I left her, she could not possibly have +afforded to reside in any part of the Confederacy where prices rule so +high as they do here. It is this belief that makes my prospect of +finding her very dim. Harry says he advertised for her in several +newspapers, but that he received no information from any source +respecting where she lived. I am certain she would have seen the +advertisement had she been residing in any of our cities."</p> + +<p>"She may not have noticed the advertising column of the newspaper," +put in Harry, "if ever she did chance to have a copy of one that +contained my notice to her. Ladies, as a general thing, never interest +themselves with advertisements."</p> + +<p>"You are right," Alfred replied, "but it is singular that some person +who knew her did not see it and inform her; she surely must have made +some acquaintances since she arrived in our lines, and I am certain +that there are none who do not sympathize with the unfortunate +refugees who have been driven into exile by our fiendish enemy."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to say that refugees are not as favorably thought of as +they deserve," Emma remarked. "To the shame of the citizens of our +Confederacy, instead of receiving them as sufferers in a common cause, +they are looked upon as intruders. There are some exceptions, as in +all cases, but I fear they are very few."</p> + +<p>"Your statement will only increase my anxiety to find my wife," +answered Alfred; "for if the people act as unpatriotically as you +represent, there is no telling if my unfortunate family are not +reduced to dire necessity, although it is with surprise that I hear +your remarks on the conduct of our people. I had thought that they +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +would lose no opportunity to manifest their sympathy with those who +are now exiles from their homes, and that idea had made me feel +satisfied in my mind that my wife and children would, at least, be +able to find shelter."</p> + +<p>"I do not think anyone would refuse to aid your family, my dear +friend," Harry observed, "although I agree with Miss Emma, that our +people do not pay as much attention to refugees as they should; but +the unfortunate exile will always find a sympathizing heart among our +people. You may rest assured that, wherever your wife may be, she has +a home which, if not as comfortable as the one she was driven from, is +at least home enough to keep herself and her children from want."</p> + +<p>Harry Shackleford judged others by the promptings of his own heart, +and as he uttered these words of comfort to his friend, he little +dreamed that Mrs. Wentworth was then the inmate of a prison, awaiting +her trial for robbery, and that the crime had her committed through +the very necessity he had so confidently asserted could never exist in +the country.</p> + +<p>"Will you take a walk to the hotel," enquired Alfred, after a few +minutes of silence, "I desire to settle my bill with the clerk."</p> + +<p>"Certainly," he replied, rising from his chair, "I desire to conduct +you to my home."</p> + +<p>"Good evening to you Miss Humphries," said Alfred, as he walked to the +door with his friend.</p> + + + +<p>She extended her hand to him as she replied, "Good evening, sir—allow +me to repeat my wishes for your success in finding your wife and +children."</p> + +<p>Bowing to her in reply, he left the room, accompanied by Harry.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Harry," he observed, as they walked towards the Bowman +House, "I have a strange presentiment that all is not well with my +family."</p> + +<p>"Pshaw," replied his friend, "you are as superstitious as any old +woman of eighty. Why in the name of wonder will you continue to look +upon the dark side of the picture? It is more likely that your family +are now comfortably, if not happily situated. Depend upon it, my dear +friend, the world is not so cold and uncharitable as to refuse a +shelter, or a meal to the unfortunate."</p> + +<p>Alfred made no reply, and they walked on in silence until the hotel +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +was reached. On entering the sitting room of the Bowman House, the two +gentlemen were attracted by the loud talking of a group of men +standing in the centre of the room.</p> + +<p>"There stands an Englishman who lately run the blockade on a visit to +the Confederacy," observed Harry as they approached the group; "let me +introduce him to you."</p> + +<p>Walking up to where the Englishman was, Harry touched him lightly on +the shoulder.</p> + +<p>"How are you Lieutenant Shackleford," he said, as he turned and +recognized Harry.</p> + +<p>"Very well, Mr. Ellington," answered Harry, and then added, "allow me +to introduce my friend Mr. Wentworth to you—Mr. Wentworth, Mr. +Ellington."</p> + +<p>As the name of Wentworth escaped Harry's lips the Englishman started +and changed color, but quickly resuming his composure, he extended his +hand to Alfred.</p> + +<p>"I am happy to make your acquaintance, sir," he observed, and then +continued, "your features resemble those of a gentleman I have not +seen for years—so much, indeed, that I could not repress a start as +my eyes fell upon your countenance."</p> + +<p>"I was rather surprised at seeing you start," observed Harry, "for I +knew that you were not acquainted with my friend Mr. Wentworth. He was +a prisoner at Camp Douglas—the prison you have read so much +about—when you arrived in this country, and has only returned to the +Confederacy within the last few days."</p> + +<p>"A mere resemblance to one whose intercourse with me was not fraught +with many pleasant recollections," remarked Mr. Ellington. "Indeed +your friend is so much like him, both in form and features, that I +really imagined that he was my old enemy standing before me!"</p> + +<p>"A singular resemblance," said Alfred, "and one which I am rejoiced to +know only exists in form and features. And now," he continued, "allow +me to ask you a question."</p> + +<p>Mr. Ellington bowed an assent.</p> + +<p>"Were you ever in this country before?" asked Alfred.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Mr. Ellington, "I visited America a few years ago, but +why do you ask?"</p> + +<p>"Because your features are familiar to me," he answered, and then +enquired, "Were you ever in New Orleans."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> +<p>"No, sir—no," replied Mr. Ellington, coloring as he spoke, "I was +always afraid of the climate."</p> + +<p>"The reason of my asking you," observed Alfred, "is because you +resemble a gentleman with whom I was only very slightly acquainted, +but who, like the party you mistook me for, has done me an injury +which neither time nor explanation can repair, but," he added, "now I +recollect you cannot be the party to whom I refer, for he was a +Northern man, while you are an Englishman."</p> + +<p>Before the Englishman could reply, a gentleman at the further end of +the room called him by name, and, bowing to the two friends, he +apologized for leaving them so abruptly, and walked off to where the +call came from.</p> + + + +<p>As soon as he left them Alfred went up to the clerk's office and paid +his bill. The two friends then left the hotel and proceeded to Harry's +residence.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Harry," observed Alfred, as they walked along, "I have +an idea that Mr. Ellington is no Englishman, but that he is Awtry, the +scoundrel who caused my wife and children to be driven from New +Orleans?"</p> + +<p>"Why do you imagine such a thing?" asked Harry.</p> + +<p>"Only because his features are very much like those of Awtry; and the +start he gave when you pronounced my name half confirms my suspicion."</p> + +<p>"I feel certain you are mistaken," Harry remarked. "He arrived at +Charleston in a blockade runner a short time ago, and brought letters +of introduction to many prominent men in the South from some of the +first characters in England."</p> + +<p>"That may be," Alfred answered, "still I shall keep my eye on him, and +cultivate his acquaintance. If I am mistaken it will make no +difference, for he shall never know my suspicions; but if I am right +in my surmise he shall answer me for his treatment of my wife and +children."</p> + +<p>"That you can do," said Harry, "but be cautious how you charge him +with being a Yankee spy, and have certain proof of his identity before +you intimate your suspicions to him." As he spoke they reached their +destination and the two friends entered the house.</p> + +<p>Horace Awtry, for the Englishman was none other than he, under an +assumed name, had ventured to enter the Confederate lines as a spy for +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +Sherman, who was then getting up his expedition against Vicksburg. He +would have left Jackson immediately after the meeting with Alfred, but +upon enquiry he learned that Mrs. Wentworth's place of residence was +unknown, and his services being needed near Vicksburg decided him to +remain.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-FIFTH</h2> + +<h3>THE TWO SLAVES—THE GLIMMER OF LIGHT.</h3> +<p>From the time of Mrs. Wentworth's arrest and imprisonment, the old +negro had paid every attention to the little boy left under her care. +Knowing that she would be likely to receive punishment for having a +white child living with her, she had made several efforts to see her +master, but each time she called, both the Doctor and Emma were +absent. She was thus compelled to wait until some opportunity offered +to turn the little boy over to her master, who she knew would promptly +give him a home while he remained unclaimed by his lawful guardians. +In her visits to Dr. Humphries' house the old negro had met Elsy, and +being pleased with the appearance of the girl, had contracted quite a +friendship for her, and on every opportunity would hold a conversation +with her. Having called several times without seeing her master or +Emma, Elsy enquired if she had anything of consequence to impart to +the Doctor, as, if she had, she would inform him on his return home.</p> + +<p>"Yes, gal," replied the old woman, "I got a leetle boy at my cabin dat +was lef dar by him mammy, and I want de boss to take him away and put +him in a better place den my room."</p> + +<p>"What chile is it, Auntie?" enquired Elsy.</p> + +<p>"I do' know what de name is," answered the old woman, "but a lady cum +to my cabin one night wid a berry sick gal chile and de leetle boy, +and next day de gal die, and in de ebening some police come and take +away de lady because 'she 'teal money,' and dey lef de dead chile and +de libing one wid me."</p> + +<p>"Goodness sakes, Auntie," interrupted Elsy, "what did you do wid de +dead chile?"</p> + +<p>"Why, gal, I bury her next mornin," replied the old woman, "and de +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +leetle boy bin stayin wid me eber since; but I don't want to keep him, +for dis nigger hab no right to hab white chile a keepin to herself."</p> + +<p>"You better see de Doctor, den," Elsy observed. "When he come in I +will tell him dat you want to see him patickler."</p> + +<p>"Dat's a good gal," answered the old negro, "you tell him dat I want +to see him, but don't tell him what I want him for—I rader tell him +dat mysef."</p> + +<p>"Berry well, Auntie," she replied, "de Doctor will come in about +dinner time, and as soon as he is done eatin I will talk to him about +it. But do you tink he will bring de chile home, yah, and take care ob +him?"</p> + +<p>"Ob course he will," said the old woman, "he neber see any body want +but he get him plenty and take care ob him."</p> + +<p>"What kind a chile is de one you had at your cabin?" asked Elsy.</p> + +<p>"Jes de lubliest baby you eber seed in your life," answered the old +negro. "He is one ob de best children I eber had taking care ob."</p> + +<p>"Don't he cry none for his mudder," enquired Elsy.</p> + +<p>"Ob course he cry plenty de first day," she replied, "but aterwards he +behabe well, for I promise him dat he mammy will come back soon. He am +a rale good chile, and I would lub to keep him wid me all time, but I +'fraid de police will get ater me for habin him."</p> + +<p>"Dat's so," remarked Elsy, "but you can take care ob him a'ter you +tell de boss—you can come here and stay."</p> + +<p>"No, gal," she answered, "I can't leab me old cabin; I been libbing +dar dese twelve years, and I got so used to it dat I can't sleep out +ob it."</p> + +<p>"Den I will take care ob de chile for you," said Elsy, "and you can +come ebery now and den and see him."</p> + +<p>"Dat's so," she, replied. "But tell me, gal," she continued, "whar you +come from?"</p> + +<p>"I come from New Orleans, Auntie," replied Elsy.</p> + +<p>"What bring you to Jackson?" continued the old woman.</p> + +<p>Elsy repeated the tale she had told Dr. Humphries and Alfred, and +after she had concluded, the old woman clasped her hands as she +exclaimed, "Sake alibe! what become ob your mistis and de childen?"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> + + +<p>"I don't know, Auntie, but my New Orleans mass'r is here now, and I's +been looking for dem."</p> + +<p>"Why de lady and childen dat come to my cabin was from New Orleans +too," observed the old negro.</p> + +<p>"You say you don't know de name?" remarked Elsy.</p> + +<p>"No, I forget," she answered; "but what name did your mistis hab?"</p> + +<p>"Dey was name Wentworth," she replied.</p> + +<p>"Wantworth—Wentworth," repeated the old woman. "No, dat don't sound +like de name ob de lady, but may be I forget. What was de leetle gal +name?" she added.</p> + +<p>"Ella," replied Elsy.</p> + +<p>"Dat's it," exclaimed the old negro, "dat's de berry name!"</p> + +<p>"Den it was my mistis and her childen," answered Elsy, "and you say de +police take her to prison for stealin."</p> + +<p>"Yes, gal," she answered, "dey take her away from de dead body ob her +chile and take her to prison for stealin."</p> + +<p>"It ain't true," said Elsy, "my mistis is a born lady, and she +wouldn't steal for anyting. I don't beliebe a word ob it."</p> + +<p>"I don't beliebe neider," replied the old woman, "but for all dat, dey +did carry her to prison because dey say she steal money."</p> + +<p>"My poh mistis," remarked Elsy, bursting into tears, "I knowed dat +some bad ting would happen to her—and I was in town so long and neber +eben sawed her."</p> + +<p>"Poh lady," observed the old negro, "she look bery bad and sorrowful +like, aldough she didn't cry when de chile die; but she tan up by de +bedside and look 'pon de dead face widout sayin' a word—it made me +feel bad to see her."</p> + +<p>"I must tell my master," said Elsy, "so dat he can go and take her out +ob prison. It am a shame dat a lady like dat should be locked up in a +prison, and Mr. Wentworth will soon take her out."</p> + +<p>"You better not say anyting to your master about it, yet," observed +the old woman. "See de Doctor and tell him; he will know what to do, +and den he can tell de gemman all about it a'terwards."</p> + +<p>"But you certain it am my mistis?" said Elsy.</p> + +<p>"I ain't quite sure ob dat," she answered, "for de name sound +different to de one I heard, and dats de reason I don't want you to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +say noting 'bout it till de Doctor enquire into de matter and find +out. I must go now, gal," she added, "don't forget to tell de Doctor +all 'bout it when he come home."</p> + +<p>"I won't," replied Elsy.</p> + +<p>The old woman then left the house and returned to her cabin, where she +found the little boy amusing himself on the floor with some marbles.</p> + +<p>Dr. Humphries, accompanied by Harry, returned home at the usual hour. +After dinner Elsy requested him to speak to her for a few minutes—a +request which he promptly complied with.</p> + +<p>"Well, my good, girl, what do you wish with me?" he enquired.</p> + +<p>"Oh! sir," she replied, "I hab found out whar my mistis is."</p> + +<p>"You have," answered Dr. Humphries, rather astonished at the +intelligence, "where is she?" he added.</p> + +<p>"In prison, sah," she replied.</p> + +<p>"In prison!" exclaimed the Doctor, "for what?"</p> + +<p>"I don'no, sah," she replied, "but I hear it is for stealing."</p> + +<p>"Who gave you the information?" asked Dr. Humphries.</p> + +<p>"It was your ole slave what libs in de cabin, up town," answered Elsy.</p> + +<p>"And how did she learn anything about Mrs. Wentworth?" enquired Dr. +Humphries.</p> + + + +<p>"My Mistis went dere wid her chil'en, sah, and her little daughter +died in de ole woman's cabin."</p> + +<p>"Good God!" exclaimed the Doctor, "and how was it that I have heard +nothing about it until now?"</p> + +<p>"It only was a few days ago," replied Elsy, "and Auntie come here +ebery day, but you and Miss Emma was not at home ebery time, and she +only tole me about it dis mornin."</p> + +<p>"Are you certain that the woman who has been carried to jail is your +Mistress?" asked Dr. Humphries.</p> + +<p>"No sah," she answered, "Auntie say dat de name am different, but dat +de name ob de leetle gal am de same."</p> + +<p>"And the little boy you say has been under the care of the old woman +ever since," remarked Dr. Humphries.</p> + +<p>"Yes sah," Elsy replied, "but she want you to take him away from her, +so dat he may be under a white pusson, and das de reason why she been +here wantin' to see you bout it."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> +<p>"Very well," said. Dr. Humphries, "I will attend to it this evening; +in the meantime do you remain here and go with me to the cabin and see +if the child is your Mistress'."</p> + +<p>Elsy curtsied as she enquired, "Shall I tell my Master 'bout dis, +sah?"</p> + +<p>"No, no," replied the Doctor, "he must know nothing about it until I +have arranged everything for his wife and removed her from prison. Be +certain," he continued, walking to the door, "that you do not breathe +a word about this until I have seen your Mistress and learned the +reason of her imprisonment."</p> + +<p>On returning to the parlor, where Harry and Emma were seated, Dr. +Humphries called him aside and related what he had heard from Elsy. +The young man listened attentively, and was very much shocked to hear +of Mrs. Wentworth's being imprisoned for theft. He knew that Alfred +was the soul of honor, and he could not conceive that the wife of his +friend would be guilty of such an offense.</p> +<p>"It is impossible to believe such a thing," he said, after Dr. +Humphries had concluded, "I cannot believe that the wife of such a man +as Alfred Wentworth would commit an offense of such a nature; it must +be some one else, and not Mrs. Wentworth."</p> + +<p>"That we can find out this evening," observed the Doctor. "Let us +first call at the cabin of my old slave and find out whether the child +in her keeping is one of Mrs. Wentworth's children."</p> + +<p>"How will we be able to discover," asked Harry. "It appears by your +account that the boy is a mere infant, and he could hardly be expected +to give an account of himself or his parents."</p> + +<p>"I have removed any difficulty of that nature," replied Dr. Humphries, +"Elsy will accompany us to the cabin, and she will easily recognize +the child if he is the son of your friend."</p> + +<p>"You are right," Harry remarked; and then continued, "I trust he may +not be, for Alfred would almost go crazy at the knowledge that his +wife was the inmate of a prison on the charge of robbery."</p> + +<p>"I hope so myself, for the sake of your friend," said Doctor +Humphries, "Mr. Wentworth appears to be quite a gentleman, and I +should greatly regret his finding his wife in such an unfortunate +position as the woman in prison is represented to be."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> +<p>"I know the spirit of the man," remarked Harry, "he is sensitive to +dishonor, no matter in what form or shape it may come, and the +knowledge that his wife was charged with robbery would be a fearful +blow to his pride, stern and unyielding as it is."</p> + +<p>"If it is his wife, and she has committed a theft, I pity her, indeed; +for I am sure if she is the lady her husband represents, nothing but +the most dire necessity could have induced her to descend to crime."</p> + +<p>"Ah, sir," replied Harry, "Heaven only knows if it is not through +want. Alfred Wentworth feared that his wife was living in penury, for +he knew that she was without adequate means. If she has unfortunately +been allowed to suffer, and her children to want with her, what +gratification is it for him to know that he was proving his loyalty to +the South in a foreign prison while his wife and children were wanting +bread to eat in our very midst?"</p> + +<p>"It will indeed be a sad commentary on our patriotism," remarked Dr. +Humphries. "God only knows how willing I should have been to serve the +poor woman and her children had they applied to me for assistance."</p> + +<p>"And I fervently wish that every heart in the State beat with the same +feeling of benevolence that yours does," replied Harry. "However, this +is no time to lament or regret what is inexorable; we must see the +child, and afterwards the mother, for, no matter whether they are the +family of Alfred Wentworth or not, the fact of their being the wife +and child of a soldier entitles them to our assistance, and it is a +debt we should always willingly pay to those who are defending our +country."</p> + +<p>"You are right, Harry, you are right," observed the Doctor, "and it is +a debt that we will pay, if no one else does it. Do you return to +Emma, now," he continued, "while I order the buggy to take us to the +cabin."</p> + +<p>Leaving Harry, Dr. Humphries went to the stable and ordered the groom +to put the horse in the buggy. He was very much moved at the idea of a +friendless woman being necessitated to steal for the purpose of +feeding her children, and in his heart he sincerely wished she would +not prove to be the wife of Alfred Wentworth. Harry's story of his +friend's chivalrous conduct to him at Fort Donelson, as well as the +high toned character evinced by Alfred during the few days +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +acquaintance he had with him, had combined to procure a favorable +opinion of the soldier by Dr. Humphries; at the same time, he could +not conceive how any one could be so friendless in a land famed for +the generous hospitalities of its people, as the South is; but he knew +not, or rather he had never observed, that there were times when the +eye of benevolence and the hand of charity were strangers to the +unfortunate.</p> + +<p>There are no people on the face of the earth so justly famed for their +charitable actions as that of the Confederate States.—Before the +unfortunate war for separation commenced, every stranger who visited +their shores was received with a cordial welcome. The exile who had +been driven from his home on account of the tyranny of the rulers of +his native land, always found a shelter and protection from the warm +hearts and liberal hands of the people of this sunny land; and though +often times those who have received the aid and comfort of the South, +shared its hospitalities, received protection from their enemies, and +been esteemed as brothers, have turned like vipers and stung their +generous host, still it passed it heedlessly and was ever ready to do +as much in the future as it had done in the past. As genial as their +native clime, as generous as mortals could ever be, those who sought +the assistance of the people of the South would find them ready to +accord to the deserving, all that they desired. It was indeed a +glorious land; blooming with the loveliest blossoms of charity, +flowing with the tears of pity for the unfortunate, and resplendent +with all the attributes of mortal's noblest impulses. Gazing on the +past, we find in the days of which we write no similitude with the +days of the war. A greater curse than had fallen on them when war was +waged on their soil, had fallen on the people of the South; all those +chivalrous ideas which had given to her people a confidence of +superiority over the North had vanished from the minds of those who +had not entered the Army. It was in the "tented field" that could be +found those qualities which make man the true nobility of the world. +It is true that among those who remained aloof from active +participation in the bloody contest were many men whose hearts beat +with as magnanimous a pulsation as could be found in those of the +patriots and braves of the battle-field; but they were only flowers in +a garden of nature, filled with poisonous weeds that had twined +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +themselves over the land and lifted up their heads above the purer +plants, which, inhaling the tainted odor emitted by them, sickened and +died, or if by chance they remained and bloomed in the midst of +contamination, and eventually rose above until they soared over their +poisonous companions, their members were too few to make an Eden of a +desert, and they were compelled to see the blossoms of humanity perish +before them unrewarded and uncared for, surfeited in the nauseous and +loathsome exhalations of a cold and heartless world, without the hand +of succor being extended or the pitying tear of earth's inhabitants +being shed upon their untimely graves.</p> + +<p>While they, the curse of the world, how was it with them? But one +thought, one desire, filled their hearts; one object, one intention, +was their aim. What of the speculator and extortioner of the South, +Christian as well as Jew, Turk as well as Infidel! From the hour that +the spirit of avarice swept through the hearts of the people, the +South became a vast garden of corruption, in which the pure and +uncorrupted were as pearls among rocks. From the hour that their +fearful work after gain commenced, charity fled weeping from the midst +of the people, and the demons of avarice strode triumphant over the +land, heedless of the cries of the poverty stricken, regardless of the +moanings of hungry children, blind to the sufferings it had occasioned +and indifferent to the woe and desolation it had brought on the poor.</p> + +<p>But all this was seen by God, and the voice of Eternity uttered a +curse which will yet have effect. Even now as we write, the voice of +approaching peace can be heard in the distance, for the waters on +which our bark of State has been tossing for three years begins to +grow calmer, while the haven of independence looms up before us, and +as each mariner directs his gaze on the shore of liberty the mist +which obscured it becomes dispelled, until the blessed resumption of +happiness and prosperity once more presents itself, like a gleam of +sunshine on a dark and cheerless road of life.</p> + +<p>The eye of God is at last turned upon a suffering people. The past +years of bloody warfare were not His work; He had no agency in +stirring up the baser passions of mankind and imbuing the hands of men +in each others blood, nor did He knowingly permit the poor to die of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +want and privation. He saw not all these, for the Eye which "seeth all +things" was turned from the scene of our desolation, and fiends +triumphed where Eternity was not, Hell reigned supreme where Heaven +ruled not—Earth was but a plaything in the hands of Destiny. +Philanthropy may deny it—Christianity will declare it heresy—man +will challenge its truth, but it is no less true than is the universe +a fact beyond doubt, and beyond the comprehension of mortals to +discover its secrets.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXTH.</h2> +<h3>THE RECOGNITION.</h3> +<p>As soon as the groom had prepared the buggy, he announced to Dr. +Humphries that it was in readiness. Calling Harry, who was again +seated by the side of his betrothed, indulging in secret conversation, +the Doctor went into the street where the buggy was.</p> + +<p>"I will drive myself this morning, John," he remarked to the groom, +"Mr. Harry will go with me."</p> + +<p>"Berry well, sah," replied the groom, moving off.</p> + +<p>Stepping into the buggy, followed by Harry, the Doctor took the reins +in his hands and was about to drive off.</p> + +<p>"Wait a moment," observed Harry, "has Elsy gone to the cabin?"</p> + +<p>"No, I forgot all about her," answered the Doctor, "and I am glad you +reminded me."</p> + +<p>"You had better send for her at once, and give her orders to proceed +immediately to the cabin," said Harry, "for without her we would be +unable to know whether the child is that of Alfred Wentworth or of +some other unfortunate soldier."</p> + +<p>"Here, John!" called out Dr. Humphries after the retreating form of +the groom, "come here to me."</p> + +<p>The boy turned back and returned to the side of the buggy.</p> + +<p>"Tell Elsy to come here at once," said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>The boy moved off to comply with his master's order, and in a few +moments returned, accompanied by Elsy.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> +<p>"Do you go to the old woman's cabin," said Dr. Humphries, as soon as +she had reached the side of the buggy, "and wait there until I arrive. +There is no necessity to mention what I am going there for."</p> + +<p>"Yes sah," replied Elsy, as she turned away to do her master's +bidding.</p> + +<p>"And now," remarked the Doctor, "we will go on and find out who these +people are. But before we go, I had better purchase a few things that +will relieve the necessities of the child."</p> + +<p>With these words the Doctor drove off, and on arriving in front of a +store, drew in the reins and, alighting, shortly after returned with +several packages, which he placed in the buggy and, re-entering it, he +drove to the cabin of the old slave. On arriving there the Doctor and +Harry found the old woman and the child seated in the room talking. +The boy appeared quite contented, now that his grief at the loss of +his sister and departure of his mother had subsided, and was laughing +merrily when they entered. He was dressed very cleanly and neatly by +the old slave, who had expended all her savings in purchasing suitable +cloths for him, and his appearance excited the remark of the Doctor +and his companion the moment they entered the threshold of the room +and saw him.</p> + +<p>"Good day sah," said the old negro, rising and curtseying as soon as +the two gentlemen entered.</p> + +<p>"God day, Auntie," said the doctor, "how are you getting on."</p> + +<p>"Berry well," answered the old woman, and then added, "I'm mighty glad +you come here dis day, for I want to talk wid you 'bout dis here +chile."</p> + +<p>"I have heard all about him, Auntie," said the Doctor, "and have come +here expressly for the purpose of learning something about his +parents."</p> + +<p>"'Spose dat gal Elsy tell you," observed the old woman, snappishly, +nettled because she had not the opportunity of telling her master the +tale of Mrs. Wentworth and her children.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Auntie," he replied, "Elsy told me, but not before I had asked +her all about those unfortunate people, so you must not be mad with +her."</p> + +<p>"She might ha' waited till you see me befo' she say anyting about it," +remarked the old woman.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> +<p>"Never mind that, Auntie," replied the Doctor, who knew the old +woman's jealous disposition and wanted to pacify her. "Has Elsy been +here yet?"</p> + +<p>"No sah," she replied, "I aint seen her since mornin'."</p> + +<p>"She will be here directly, then," he remarked, and seating himself +the Doctor waited the arrival of Elsy.</p> + +<p>"Come here my little man," said Harry, who had been sitting on the bed +during the dialogue between the old slave and her master.</p> + +<p>The child walked up to him and placed his arms on Harry's knees.</p> + + + +<p>"What is your name," enquired the young man, lifting the child up on +his knees.</p> + +<p>"My name is Alf," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Alf what?" asked Harry.</p> + +<p>The child looked at him enquiringly, not understanding the question.</p> + +<p>"What is your mother's name," continued Harry, perceiving that the boy +was unable to answer his question.</p> + +<p>"My ma's name is Eva," he answered.</p> + +<p>"And your sister's?" asked Harry.</p> + +<p>"My sister is named Ella," replied the child, and then added, +mournfully, "but she is gone from here; they took her out in a little +box and put her in the ground, and Granny says she is gone to heaven; +and my ma," he continued, "some bad men carried away, but Granny says +she will soon come back—wont she?" and his innocent face looked up +confidingly in Harry's.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my boy," he answered, "your ma will soon come back to you."</p> + +<p>"There appears no doubt of the identity of this family," remarked +Harry to Dr. Humphries, after a short pause, "everything we have yet +discovered indicates that Alfred Wentworth's wife and children have +passed a fearful life since their expulsion from New Orleans."</p> + +<p>"Poor woman and children," observed the Doctor, dashing away a tear, +"could I have known their penury, I should have been only glad to +relieve them, and even now, it is not too late for us to benefit this +child and his mother. As soon as Elsy arrives here I shall remove the +boy to my house and visit the mother in jail."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> +<p>"I do not think it advisable to move the child until you have +succeeded in obtaining the release of Mrs. Wentworth," answered Harry. +"His father may chance to see him, and, under the circumstances, would +discover where his wife was; which discovery I desire to avoid as long +as possible. The best thing that you can do is to leave the boy here +for twenty-four hours longer, by which time bail can be procured for +his mother, and I shall endeavor to silence the charge, so that there +may be no necessity for a trial."</p> + +<p>"May not Mr. Wentworth see the child and recognise him before we have +accomplished his mother's release," enquired the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"I do not think it likely," he replied, "Alfred will not visit so +remote a vicinity, and the child need not be carried into the business +portion of the city."</p> + +<p>"I shall leave him here, then, as you think it advisable," remarked +the Doctor; "it cannot injure him to remain in this cabin for a day +longer, while it might lead to unpleasant discoveries should he be +removed."</p> + +<p>Harry and the old gentleman remained silent for some time, when Elsy +entered the room. No sooner did the girl see the boy than she +recognized her master's child, and taking him in her arms caressed him +with all the exhibitions of affection the negro is capable of.</p> + +<p>"Dis am Mas Alfred own chile" she exclaimed to Harry and the old +gentleman, "and who would thought dat him would be libin' here."</p> + +<p>"I supposed it was your master's child, my good girl," observed the +Doctor, and then added, as he rose from his seat, "you can stay here +with him until dark, when you had better return home; meanwhile, I do +not wish you to let Mr. Wentworth know that his wife and child are in +this city, nor do I wish you to take him out of this cabin. Come +Harry," he continued, "let us go now and see the mother; she will be +able to give us full details of her unfortunate life and to inform us +of the cause for which she is in prison."</p> + +<p>Leaving the cabin, the two gentlemen re-entered the buggy and drove to +the Mayor's office. Finding him absent, they proceeded to his +residence, and, after briefly narrating the tale of Mrs. Wentworth and +her family, requested permission to visit her.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> +<p>"Certainly, my dear sirs," replied Mr. Manship, such being the name of +the Mayor, "take a seat while I write you an order of admittance."</p> + +<p>In a few minutes the order to admit Dr. Humphries and his companion in +the female's ward of the prison was written. Returning thanks to the +Mayor, the two gentlemen started for the prison, and on showing the +permit, were ushered into the cell occupied by Mrs. Wentworth.</p> + +<p>"Good God!" exclaimed Harry, as he looked upon the squalid and haggard +form of the broken hearted woman, "this surely cannot be the wife of +Alfred Wentworth."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth had paid no attention to the visitors when they first +entered, but on hearing her husband's name pronounced, rose from her +crouching position and confronted the speaker. The name of the one she +loved had awoke the slumbering faculties of the woman, and, like a +flash of electricity on a rod of steel, her waning reason flared up +for a moment.</p> + +<p>"You spoke my husband's name," she said in a hoarse tone, "what of +him?"</p> + +<p>"He is my friend, madam," replied Harry, "and as such I have called to +see you, so that you may be removed from this place."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she answered; "yours is the first voice of charity I have +listened to since I left New Orleans. But it is too late; I have +nothing now to live for. Adversity has visited me until nothing but +disgrace and degradation is left of a woman who was once looked upon +as a lady."</p> + +<p>"There is no necessity for despondency, my good madam," observed Dr. +Humphries. "The misfortunes which have attended you are such as all +who were thrown in your situation are subject to. Our object in coming +here," he continued, "is to learn the true cause of your being in this +wretched place. Disguise nothing, but speak truthfully, for there are +times when crimes in some become necessity in others."</p> + +<p>"My tale is briefly told," she answered. "Forced by the cruelty of a +villain to leave my comfortable home in New Orleans, I sought refuge +in the Confederate lines. I anticipated that refugees would meet with +a welcome from the more fortunate people of the South. In that I was +disappointed; for when my means gave out, and every endeavor to +procure work to feed my children had failed—when I had not a dollar +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +to purchase bread for my innocent babes, I applied for assistance. +None but the most dire necessity would have prompted me to such a +step, and, Oh, God! when it was refused—when the paltry pittance I +asked for was refused, the hope which I had clung so despairingly to, +vanished, and I felt myself indeed a miserable woman. Piece after +piece of furniture went, until all was gone—my clothing was next +sold to purchase bread. The miserable life I led, the hours spent with +my children around me crying for bread—the agonizing pangs which rent +my mother's heart when I felt I could not comply with their +demand—all—all combined to make me an object of abject misery. But +why describe my sufferings? The balance of my tale is short. I was +forced out of the shelter I occupied because I could not pay the owner +his rent. My oldest child was then ill, and in the bleak night wind, +canopied by heaven alone, I was thrust, homeless, from a shelter owned +by a man whose wealth should have made him pause ere he performed such +an act. With my sick child in my arms I wandered, I knew not where, +until I found she had fainted. Hurrying to a small cabin on the road, +I entered and there discovered an old negro woman. From the lips of a +slave I first heard words of kindness, and for the first time aid was +extended to me. Applying restoratives, my child revived and I waited +until next morning, when I returned once more to ask for aid. A paltry +sum was handed to me, more for the sake of getting rid of the +mendicant than to relieve my distress. I felt that the sum offered was +insufficient to supply the demands of my sick daughter and my starving +boy. I was turning in despair away when my eye lit upon a package of +money resting on the safe. For a moment I hesitated, but the thought +of my children rose uppermost in my mind, and, seizing the package I +hurried from the store."</p> + +<p>"So you did take the money," said Harry.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she replied, "but it did me little good, for when the doctor +was called he pronounced my daughter beyond medical skill. She died +that evening, and all the use to which the money was appropriated, was +the purchase of a coffin."</p> + +<p>"Then the—the—" said Harry, hesitating to use the word theft, "then, +it was not discovered that you had taken the money until your child +was dead and buried."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> +<p>"No," she said, "listen—my child lay enrobed in her garment of death, +and the sun was fast declining in the west, when Mr. Swartz and two +constables entered the room and arrested me. On my bended knees I +appealed to him not to tear me from the body of my child. Yes," she +continued, excitedly, "I prayed to him in the most abject manner to +leave me until my child was buried. My prayers were unavailing, and +from the window of this cell I witnessed a lonely hearse pass by, +followed by none other than my infant boy and the kind old negro. Oh +God! Oh God!" she went on, bursting into tears and throwing herself on +the wretched pallet in the cell, "my cup of misery was then full, and +I had drained it to the very dregs. I have nothing more to live for +now, and the few days longer I have to spend on earth can be passed as +well in a prison as in a mansion."</p> + +<p>"Not so," interrupted Dr. Humphries, "I trust you will live many, many +years longer, to be a guardian to your child and a comfort to your +husband."</p> + +<p>"It cannot be," she answered sadly. "The brain, overwrought, will soon +give way to madness, and then a welcome death will spare me the life +of a maniac. I do not speak idly," she continued, observing the look +they cast upon her; "from the depths of my mind, a voice whispers that +my troubles on earth will soon be o'er. I have one desire, however, +and should like to see it granted."</p> + +<p>"Let me know what that is," remarked Dr. Humphries, "and if it lies in +my power it shall be accorded to you with pleasure."</p> + +<p>"Your companion spoke of my husband as his friend; does he know where +he is at present, and if so, can I not see him?"</p> + +<p>"I promise that you shall see your husband before many days. Until you +are removed from this place I do not think it advisable, but," +continued Harry, "I shall, on leaving this place, endeavor to secure +your release."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth made no answer, and, speaking a few words of +consolation and hope to her, the two gentlemen left the prison. The +next morning Harry called on the Mayor and asked if Mrs. Wentworth +could be bailed, but on his honor mentioning that her trial would come +off the next day, the court having met that evening, he determined to +await the trial, confident that she would be acquitted when the facts +of the case were made known to the jury. On the same day he met Alfred +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +Wentworth, who informed him that he was more strongly impressed than +ever in the belief that the pretended Englishman was a spy.</p> + +<p>"I will inform you of a plan that will prove whether you are right or +not," observed Harry, when he had concluded. "Tomorrow at about three +o'clock in the evening persuade him to visit the Court House. I will +be present, and if he is really the spy you imagine, will have full +evidence against him."</p> + +<p>"What evidence?" enquired Alfred.</p> + +<p>"Never do you mind," he replied, "just bring him and there will be +plenty of evidence found to convict him if he is a spy. By the way," +he continued, "you said you suspected him to be the same man who +caused your wife to be turned out of New Orleans?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Alfred answered, "but why do you ask?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing in particular," he replied, "only in the event his being +Awtry, you will have a double motive in finding out whether he is a +spy or not."</p> + +<p>"You are right," observed Alfred, "but whether he is Awtry or not, I +should deem it my duty to the Government to ferret out the true status +of that man, and to have him brought to justice if he is really a spy. +Your request to carry him to the Court House is a strange one, and I +will cheerfully comply with it, although I cannot see how his being +there will enable us to make the discovery."</p> + +<p>"Leave that to me," answered Harry, "and content yourself with +believing that I am certain it will prove whether he is an Englishman +or a Yankee."</p> + +<p>With that the two friends departed and Harry returned home much +perplexed at the manner he had arranged for the husband and wife to +meet.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENTH.</h2> +<h3>TRIAL OF MRS. WENTWORTH—THE ADVOCATE.</h3> +<p>The morning for the trial of Mrs. Wentworth arrived, and at the hour +of ten she appeared in the court. Her appearance was changed since we +last saw her. The kind hearted daughter of Dr. Humphries had visited +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +her the day before with a supply of clothing, and though her features +retained their haggard and care-worn expression, none who looked upon +her as she entered the court room could have failed to perceive that +she was a lady and unlike a majority of females brought before a jury +to answer grave charges. Her case did not excite any notice until she +appeared, when the pinched and sharp face presented to the spectators, +and the evidence her lady-like demeanor gave of her being a different +subject from that usually presented, awoke a feeling of interest in +the crowd, and many enquiries were made of the nature of the charge +made against her. None, however, could inform the inquisitors, and +they awaited the reading of the charges.</p> + +<p>As Mrs. Wentworth entered the room she cast a look at the jury box, +and a shudder came over her as she perceived Mr. Elder sitting among +the jurymen. She knew that he would not favor the dismissal of the +case; but a gleam of hope presented itself in the person of Dr. +Mallard, who she believed to be a good man, notwithstanding his abrupt +and true remarks at the bedside of her dying child. These were the +only two persons present she knew, save and except Mr. Swartz, who +stood near by, ready to give his evidence against her. But from him +she expected nothing; nor did she intend to ask one word of favor or +mercy. There was no disposition within her to sue for mercy, nor did +she purpose denying or palliating her having taken the money.</p> + +<p>After the usual delay, Mrs. Wentworth was placed in the prisoners' +stand and the charges preferred against her. In his usual style Mr. +Swartz proceeded to narrate his business connection with the accused, +and stated that he had done everything he possibly could for her, but +that, not satisfied with receiving his bounty, she had stolen his +money. His story was given in a conclusive and plausible manner, and +on his clerk certifying to what his employer had said, the chances for +the accused appeared very dim. What added more to the evidence against +her, was the conduct of Mr. Elder, who, rising from his seat briefly +stated that, from his intercourse with her, he believed Mrs. Wentworth +to be an unprincipled and dishonest woman.</p> + +<p>"On what ground do you make that assertion, Mr. Elder?" enquired the +Judge.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> +<p>"As I stated before, in my intercourse with her," he replied.</p> + +<p>"And may I ask of what nature your intercourse was?" asked the Judge.</p> + +<p>"It would delay the court were I to state what business transactions +have taken place between this woman and myself," answered Mr. Elder. +"When I arose, it was simply to state my belief in her dishonesty."</p> + +<p>"You should have appeared on the witness' box, if you desired to give +evidence against the accused," remarked the Judge. "As it stands, your +assertions cannot be taken as evidence against her. If you desire to +appear as a witness for the accuser, say so, and I will then be +prepared to hear what you may have to say."</p> + +<p>"I have no such desire," replied Mr. Elder, seating himself.</p> + +<p>"And now my good woman," said the Judge, turning to Mrs. Wentworth, +who had remained a silent listener to all that had been said against +her, "let me know what you may have to say against the charges brought +against you. By your appearance and general demeanor you have seen +better days, and it is a source of regret that I should see any one +bearing evidence of once living in a different sphere from the one you +now occupy, brought before me on a charge of robbery. Let me now know +what you have to say on this charge."</p> + +<p>"I can say nothing," she replied.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, do you plead guilty, or not guilty?" asked the Judge.</p> + +<p>"Not Guilty!" thundered Harry, in an excited manner. He had been +unavoidably delayed from accompanying Mrs. Wentworth to the Court +House, and had just arrived. "Not guilty! I repeat, and, as counsel +for the accused, I beg leave to make a few remarks."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Lieutenant Shackleford," answered the Judge, who knew +Harry well.</p> + +<p>The remarks of Harry, and his excited manner, awoke the waning +interest in the case, and the crowd clustered closer round the +railings.</p> + +<p>"Your honor, and gentlemen of the Jury," began Harry, as soon as he +had become calm enough to speak: "It is now nearly two years since I +appeared in a civil capacity before a court of justice, and I had +thought that while this war lasted my services would have been solely +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +on the battle-fields of my country, and not in the halls where law is +dispensed. But the case which I have appeared to defend, is so unlike +those you ordinarily have before your honorable body, that I have, for +a while, thrown off the armor of the soldier, and once more appear as +the lawyer. You will pardon my apparent digression from the subject at +issue, but as I see many looks of surprise at my seemingly strange +conduct, I deem it but justice to myself that I should explain my +motive for so acting.</p> + +<p>"It is now nearly two years ago that a soldier in a happy and +comfortable home in New Orleans bade adieu to a fond wife and two +promising children. As the tear-drop trickled down the cheek of his +lovely and blooming wife, he whispered a word of comfort and solace to +her, and bade her be cheerful, for the dark cloud which covered the +political horizon of his country would soon be dispelled by the bright +sunshine of liberty. But the tear that fell on her cheek was not of +regret; for she felt that in leaving her he obeyed the call of his +country, and was but performing a duty he owed to his native South. +The tear was brushed away, and she smiled in his face at the glowing +words of hope and comfort he spoke to her. They were full of promise, +and as each syllable fell on her ear, they awoke an echo in her heart, +until the love of the wife paled before the enthusiastic patriotism of +the Southern woman, and the dangers of the battle-field became hidden +before the vision of the honor and glory which awaited the patriot +hero. Then she bade him adieu with a smile, and they departed, full of +love and hope.—Oh! gentlemen, let me take a glance back at the home +and household war had then severed. Before our treacherous enemy had +proclaimed war against us, this soldier's home was a model of earthly +joy and felicity. It is true, there was no wealth to be found there, +but there was a bright and more glorious gift than wealth can command; +there was happiness, and this, combined with the love borne by this +soldier for his wife, served to make them pass their years of wedded +life in comfortable union. Years pass over their heads, and two +children are sent to bless them, and they were cherished as priceless +gifts. When the call to arms resounded through the South, this +husband, like thousands of others, ceased his civil pursuits, and +enlisted under the banner of his country. None but the purest and +loftiest motives of patriotism, and a sense of duty, prompted him to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +the step; and though he knew that in so doing he would leave his wife +deprived of her natural protector, and subject to privations, he +thought, and with every right, that those who remained at home would +shield a soldier's wife from danger, and he trusted on the means at +his disposal to keep her from penury and destitution. After making +preparation for his wife and children, he bade them adieu, as I have +described already, and departed for Virginia, whose soil had already +been invaded by the vandals of the North.</p> + +<p>"And now, gentlemen, lest you should think by my intimating that this +soldier was not wealthy, I meant he was also poor in society, I will +state that he and his wife held as high a position in the social +circle of New Orleans as the most favored of fortune. His wife, this +unfortunate lady, who now stands before you charged with theft, is the +daughter of one who was once wealthy, but on whom adversity fell +shortly before her marriage. Think not that the haggard and care-worn +features before you were always such. There was a time, not long +distant, when the bloom of youth and beauty could be seen in that +sunken cheek and that sharpened face; but adversity has reduced one of +God's fairest works to the wretched and unfortunate condition she is +now in. Pardon my digression, for the tale I have to tell cannot be +briefly recited; it is necessary that I shall speak in full, and +though I may tire you by my lengthy remarks, you must hear them with +patience, for they are necessary in this defence, and are equally +needed to hold up to the scorn and contempt of every patriotic spirit +in the land, two men who have disgraced their sex and entailed misery, +aye, and degradation, on an unfortunate woman."</p> + +<p>"If his honor, the judge, will permit me," interrupted Mr. Elder, "I +should like to decline serving as a juryman on this case."</p> + +<p>"Silence!" exclaimed Harry, before the judge could reply. "You are +already sworn in, and I desire that you shall remain where you are."</p> + +<p>"I cannot possibly excuse you, Mr. Elder," remarked the judge, in a +tone of surprise, "the case has progressed too far already for any +excuse. Continue, Lieutenant Shackleford," he continued, speaking to +Harry.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> + +<p>"As I was observing," Harry went on, "this soldier departed for +Virginia, and shortly after his departure, a villain, who had +addressed his wife in former years and been rejected, assumed the +sheep's garb and resumed his acquaintance with her. Many were the +kindnesses he extended towards her, and the delicate manner in which +he performed those little acts of courtesy, that lend a charm to +society, disarmed any suspicion of his sincerity of purpose. But under +the guise of friendship, the villain designed to overcome a lonely +woman. With that subtlety and deception which every <i>roue</i> possesses, +he ingratiated himself in her confidence and favor until she began to +regard him in the light of a brother. But the hour approached when the +mask he had worn so long would be thrown aside and his unhallowed +desires be avowed. The soldier was taken prisoner at Fort Donelson, +and within four months after, New Orleans fell. Then the persecutions +of the unprincipled villain commenced. A Northern man, he did not at +the commencement of the war avow his sympathies to be with the people +of his section, but, pretending friendship for the South, remained in +our midst until Butler and his infamous cohorts had gained possession +of the city, when he proclaimed himself a Unionist, and gaining the +favor of that disgrace to the name of man, was soon able to intimidate +the cowardly or beggar the brave. One of his first attempts was to +compel this lady to yield to his hellish passions. With contempt she +spurned his offers and ordered him never more to cross the threshold +of her house. Swearing vengeance against her, he left, and on the +following morning she received an order to leave the limits of the +city, that day, and prepare to enter the Confederate lines. The +dangers which then threatened her, she deemed vanished, for she feared +more to remain in the midst of our enemies than to enter our lines. +The order was therefore received with joy, and she prepared to depart. +Though a pang of sorrow may have filled her heart at being compelled +to relinquish her comfortable home, though she saw before her days, +weeks, months, perhaps years of hardship, not one feeling of remorse +at having rejected the offers of a libertine, ever entered the mind of +the soldier's wife. The time at length arrived for her to depart, and +with her two children, a few articles of clothing, and a small sum of +money, she was placed within our lines, far from any human habitation, +and left to find a shelter as best she could.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p> +<p>"To this city she bent her footsteps, and here she anticipated finding +an asylum for herself and children. Gentlemen, we all well know that, +unfortunately for our cause and country, the evils Speculation and +Extortion, had spread their leprous wings and covered our land with +destitution. To a man of this city, who, before the world's eye, +appeared the Christian and the man of benevolence, but who in his +dealings with his fellow-men, was as vile an extortioner as the most +heartless; to this man she went and hired a room in which to find a +shelter. Finding she was a refugee and fearing an evil day, he bound +her down by law to suffer ejectment the moment she could no longer pay +the rent. Ignorant of the weapon she placed in his hands, she signed +the deed, and after paying a portion of the rent in advance, left him +and assumed possession. Mark well, gentlemen, what I have said. In his +action we find no Christianity—no benevolence; nothing but the spirit +of the extortioner is here manifested. There is no feeling of sorrow +shown at her unfortunate position, no disposition evinced to shield +the helpless mother and her babes. No! we find his actions narrowed +down to the sordidness of the miser, the avariciousness of the +extortioner. A feeling of surprise at such conduct may flit across +your bosoms, gentlemen, and you may perchance doubt that I can show a +man of this city, so bereft of charity, so utterly oblivious to all +the better feelings of humanity, but I shall before long call his +name, and give such evidence of the truth of my assertions, as will be +beyond contradiction or doubt.</p> + +<p>"To another man the soldier's wife went for the purpose of purchasing +a few articles of furniture. Of him I have little to say at present. +It is true that without caring who and what she was, his merchandize +was sold to her at the <i>speculator's</i> price. But he had the right to +charge whatever he pleased, and therefore I have nothing to say +against him for that.</p> + +<p>"Weeks passed on, and the soldier's wife found herself without the +means of purchasing food for her children. The hour had at last +arrived when she was utterly destitute. In the meantime her husband +lay in a foreign prison, ignorant of the unhappy fate his wife was +undergoing. Many are the nights we have walked to and fro on the +grounds of Camp Douglas, and often has he spoken to me of his absent +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> +wife and children. I know him, gentlemen, and never in the breast of +man beat a heart truer than his, nor in the minds of God's mortals +were there ever finer and nobler impulses. While he was thus suffering +confinement for his country's sake, his wife and children were +here—in our very midst, <i>starving</i>! Aye, starving! Think of it, +gentlemen—that in the midst of those who were supposed to be +friends—the wife and children of a patriot were allowed to starve. +Great God! is there on earth a spectacle so fearful to behold as +<i>starvation</i>? And is it not enough to evoke the wrath of the Infinite, +when men, surrounded by all that wealth can afford, refuse to aid and +succor their starving fellow creatures?</p> + +<p>"You may think that no man can be found who would refuse, but I tell +you, gentlemen, that that man who now stands before you, was appealed +to by this lady, the accused, after she had disposed of every piece of +furniture in the room, save and except the bed on which her children +slept. The appeal was rejected, and, despairing of help, she offered +and sold to him the last remaining article of furniture. Here now is +the picture. He could not lend or give her a paltry pittance; and why, +forsooth? Because the money would not yield him a profit, and there +was a chance of his losing it. But the moment she offered to dispose +of the bed, he purchased it, for in it did the profit of the +speculator lie hidden, and on it could he get his money doubled. Think +not, gentlemen, that the tale you have listened to from him is the +true one. It is a varnished and highly colored evidence, beneath which +a wide extent of corruption can be seen, the moment its curtain is +removed.</p> + +<p>"The pittance thus obtained serves but a short time, and they are +again reduced to want. The eldest child—a lovely daughter, is taken +ill, and while lying on a heap of rags in a corner of the room, the +man calls and demands his rent. The poor woman has no money to satisfy +his demands and he orders her to leave. She appeals to him, points to +her ill child; but her prayers are unavailing—and in the hour of +night she is thrust from the room, homeless, penniless, friendless! +Yes! he—that man who now sits in the jury-box—he—Mr. Elder, the +so-called <i>Christian</i> and man of <span class="smcap">Charity</span>—he, ejected this +helpless woman from the shelter and forced her to wander in the night +air with her sick child—her starving babes. He—the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +<i>extortioner</i>"—continued Harry, with every feature expressing the +utmost scorn, "turned her from the wretched home she had found here, +and left her to die on the sidewalks, like the veriest beggar. No +touch of pity for the child, no feeling of sorrow for the innocent +angel, no thought of the patriot lingering in prison, ever entered the +mind of the extortioner. There was nothing but <i>self</i> then, nothing +but the promptings of his own avarice, which could view with +indifference the miseries of others, so long as they should redound to +his own benefit and aggrandizement. I tell you that man dare not deny +a word I utter. He knows that every one is true, and if my language +could wither him with shame, could make him the detestation of the +world, I would speak yet stronger, for pity to him is but contempt for +those he has injured.</p> + +<p>"Thus thrust out of home and shelter, the helpless mother conveyed her +fainting child to a negro's cabin and there revived it. The next +morning she once more called upon her accuser and petitioned him for +help. He again refused to aid her, although informed that the money +was intended to procure medical aid for her sick child, until at last, +wearied of her importunities, he handed her the pitiful sum of <i>one +dollar</i>! This was not sufficient for the purpose she desired, and she +was about turning away in despair when her eye lit on a package of +notes lying on the safe. Remember, gentlemen, what I have told you. +She was penniless and friendless. Her child was ill and she had no +means to procure medical aid. Her appeal for charity had been +rejected, and can we blame her if she yielded to the tempter and took +the money lying before her? We cannot. Look not on the act, gaze only +on the provocation. If in hearts there dwells a shade of pity, an acme +of sympathy, you cannot return a verdict of guilty. She is not guilty +of theft! I unhesitatingly assert, that if to act as she has, and +under the circumstances she acted, be theft, then such a thief would I +become to-morrow; and in my own conscience, of the opinions of the +world and confident in the forgiveness of an Almighty Father, would I +commit such a theft as she has—just such an offence. I pleaded 'not +guilty,' and it may surprise you that in the face of such a plea, I +should acknowledge that she took the money. Again I repeat my plea. +She is not guilty of theft, and to you who have hearts to you who +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +sympathize with the sufferings of a soldier's wife—to you, whose +wives and children may to-morrow be placed in a similar position—to +you, I leave a verdict. But one word yet ere I am done.</p> + +<p>"The money which she took, to what use was, it placed? To purchase a +<i>coffin</i> for her child! To place the lifeless body of her daughter in +its last home ere it is covered by the dust—this, and this only, was +the good which accrued from it. And, gentlemen, he—Mr. Elder—is the +<span class="smcap">murderer</span> of that child. As such I charge him, and as such I +brand him to be. But for his brutality—but for his avarice and +selfish lust for gain, the mouldering corpse might now have been a +blooming and happy child. And yet another word. When the so-called +theft was discovered, and the accuser sought the accused, he found her +by the bedside on which the dead child lay clothed in its last earthly +garments. Disregarding her entreaties, she was torn from the corpse, +thrust into prison, and the humble and servile hands of the negro were +left to perform those sad rites which affection is ever the first to +do. This is my tale, and—"</p> + +<p>Here the excitement grew intense, and a strong feeling of indignation +was manifested by the soldiers present against Mr. Swartz and Mr. +Elder, and many threats were made to hang them.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTH.</h2> +<h3>THE VERDICT—THE HUSBAND AND WIFE—ARREST OF AWTRY.</h3> + +<p>It was some time before the police could restore order and quiet the +excitement. At length complete silence was restored, and Harry +continued:</p> + +<p>"Such," he continued, "is the tale of this unfortunate woman, and the +position in which she found herself placed should excite, a feeling of +sympathy, and not induce you to punish her for an act which may be +deplored but cannot be condemned. That she took the money is +undeniable, but why did she take it? I have told you it was to save +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +her child's life, and though that class of philosophers and ultra +moralists who believe that there are no causes sufficient to justify +her act, may declare her guilty of theft, let the promptings of your +own hearts decide whether her position did not excuse, if it does not +render her conduct undeserving of condemnation by a jury. But in +claiming from you a verdict in favor of my client, I must take +occasion to say, that your acquittal will not restore this lady to +that position she formerly occupied, or remove from her mind the +impress left there by an act which necessity, and necessity alone, +caused her to perform. It will not restore to her the innocent child +now lying mouldering in the grave, it will not reunite the broken +links of affection, it will not ease the agony of the soldier when he +discovers that his wife was the inmate of a prison, nor will it +replace on its former firm base the mind of this unfortunate lady, +which, like the pillars of some ancient edifice, totters beneath a +weight of agonizing thought, soon, alas! I fear, to fall, a mass of +ruin, in the vortex of insanity. The patriot soldier must return to +find his daughter dead, his wife a maniac, and his only remaining +child a dependent on the bounty of strangers. But one thing remains; +he must turn from the spectacle thus presented and return to the +battle-field a heart-broken and unhappy man. The spirit with which he +formerly contended for the liberty of his country will have vanished +and fled, for the remembrance of his family's fate must ever remain +uppermost in his mind, and the reflections they will produce must +leave a blighting scar, which no future kindness can remove, sympathy +eradicate, or consolation destroy. I am done. On your good judgment +and the strength of my assertions, which can be proven, if necessary, +I rely for the acquittal of this lady."</p> + +<p>As he concluded, the building shook with applause from the crowd, and +Mr. Swartz and Mr. Elder trembled for their safety. Harry felt that +the acquittal of Mrs. Wentworth was now secure, for the jury itself, +sharing the popular feeling, gave expressions of approbation in many +remarks. If the language of Harry had been simple, it had carried +conviction to every soul, and all present, as they looked upon the +accused, felt that her offense was fully atoned for by the chain of +harrowing circumstances with which she had been bound.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p> +<p>And for her—the soldier's wife? She had remained a passive spectator +of all that occurred. When the voice of her defender first broke on +her ear, she turned and looked at him for a moment, then, as if +indifferent whether his defense was successful or not, she turned her +head away and listlessly gazed at the crowd. She cared not now for +freedom and acquittal; she felt that the chords of reason were on the +point of breaking, and but one thought, one desire, filled her mind, +before they broke and madness held sway over her. It was to see that +loved form, to gaze once more on those loved features, to be clasped +once again in her <span class="smcap">Husband's</span> arms. This was the sole thought, +the only desire. All "fond records," all recollection of past years, +all hope for future happiness, were obliterated, and nothing remained +before her mind's eye but the soldier who had parted from her in New +Orleans. Even the memory of her dead and of her living child had +vanished, and if they were for a while brought to her mind, it was +only in connection with the single desire which kept the chains of +sanity united. The lineaments of every soldier in the crowd were +closely and eagerly scanned, but there were none there who bore the +slightest resemblance to him for whom she yearned. But still she +peered into the assemblage, regardless of the efforts being made in +her behalf, and it was not until the interruption narrated in the last +chapter took place, that she manifested any interest in the +proceedings of the court, and then it was merely by a gesture of +surprise at the uproar. When Harry concluded and sat down, she again +evinced astonishment, but not a syllable escaped from her lips.</p> + +<p>After a few minutes the shouts of the crowd subsided, and at the +request of the judge, silence was restored. His honor then addressed +the jury.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen of the jury," he began, "the case before your notice has +become, from one of apparent insignificance, one of intense interest +and importance. A merchant of this city, well known to you all, both +by his wealth and his long residence in your midst, appears before +this court and accuses a woman of theft. She is arrested and every +evidence of her guilt is found on her person; she does not deny the +act, and is accordingly brought before you to be tried and sentenced, +or acquitted, as you may, in your good judgment think best." +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +"Overwhelming evidence is brought against her to-day, and no doubt of +her having committed the theft exists. There appears little more for +you to do than to find her guilty, and for me to pass the sentence. +But before doing these, it is necessary that the accused shall have a +defense. She is questioned, but informs the court she has nothing to +say. At this stage of the proceedings, a gentleman well known to you +as a rising lawyer of this place before the war commenced, and better +known since then as a gallant and meritorious officer, appears as her +defendant. You have heard his defense. The act of taking the money is +not denied, but in his defense he claims that it was committed through +dire necessity. It is true that a defense of this nature is a somewhat +extraordinary one, and is new in the annals of criminal law. Still he +has given you a tale of hardships and privations which he claims +occurred in this city, and which, coming from any other source, may +well be doubted. It is left for you to decide whether his claim for an +acquittal shall be granted or not. In my remarks I do not intend to +bias you one way or the other. What my opinions are will be given +after your decision is announced. To you I look for that decision."</p> + +<p>"If your honor will permit me," said Dr. Mallard, rising, "I will make +a few remarks before the jury retires. The tale told by Lieut. +Shackleford is correct so far as I know of it. I was called upon to +attend on the sick girl mentioned in the defense, and found her in an +old cabin, almost at the point of death. At the time it did not strike +me as singular that a white family should be found living in such a +hovel, but the tale I have just heard narrated has made me reproach +myself for my blindness in not discovering that the unfortunate family +were of greater respectability than can be found in the residents of +log cabins. Impressed, therefore, with a firm belief in the +truthfulness of the tale I have heard, I shall act accordingly."</p> + +<p>With these remarks he resumed his seat, and in a few minutes the jury +retired to decide on their verdict. Mr. Elder followed reluctantly, +but had made up his mind to give consent to anything the majority +should decide on. He was already apprehensive for his personal safety +and was anxious to be at home again.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p> +<p>After a short absence the jury returned and announced they had decided +on a verdict.</p> + +<p>"What is that verdict, gentlemen?" inquired the judge. "Do you find +this lady guilty or not guilty?"</p> + +<p>"Taking all the circumstances into consideration," replied the +foreman, "we find the prisoner <span class="smcap">Not Guilty</span> of the charge."</p> + +<p>For a moment the building shook to the very foundation, from the +prolonged cheers of the spectators. It was not rejoicing at the escape +from punishment of the guilty, that they applauded, but it was through +heartfelt exultation at the acquittal of an unfortunate woman. It was +the spontaneous outburst of Southern hearts, bleeding with sympathy +for the oppressed and poverty-stricken soldier's wife, and swelling +with indignation at the brutal and unfeeling conduct of Mr. Elder and +Mr. Swartz.</p> + +<p>Harry's eye moistened as he heard the shouts of applause, and a +feeling of grateful emotion swept over him. He felt no gratification +at his success in gaining her acquittal which did not spring from the +loftiest and most disinterested motives. He rejoiced on account of +Mrs. Wentworth and her child and the gallant soldier he had so proudly +called his friend. He rejoiced to know that the fair fame of the +soldier's wife stood untarnished, and that he could restore her to the +arms of her husband, not as the inmate of a penitentiary, but as the +acquitted accused, who had committed the act she was accused of, but +was still considered by all who had heard of the case, free from +crime, and pure and unstained as before the blighting handy of penury +and suffering were stretched across her sorrow-beaten path.</p> + +<p>"Madam," said the judge, when the cheering had ceased, "you have heard +the verdict of the jury, acquitting you of the charge made against you +by Mr. Swartz, although in your defense, it is acknowledged you did +take the money, and the jury is cognizant of the fact. While your +acquittal, in face of the evidence given, and your own acknowledgment +as well as the acknowledgment of your counsel, may be somewhat +deviating from the letter of the law, it is nevertheless in strict +accordance with its spirit, and with pleasure I inform you that being +acquitted you are no longer held a prisoner, but are free to go where +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +you will. But before you leave, let me make a few remarks on this +case, which in my judgment are called for by the circumstances, and +which may appear again, in consequence of many parties being similarly +situated. Although the jury has acquitted you, such acquittal must not +be considered a license for others to go and do likewise. Where your +case is one of necessity, another of a like nature may be caused +through dishonesty. Your act is not applauded by thinking minds, nor +did the jury intend to convey the impression that in acquitting you +they considered you had performed a very meritorious act. To the +contrary, they deplore the performance of a deed which cannot be +thought of but with regret; at the same time they took into +consideration the deplorable position into which you were placed, and +declare you innocent of <i>theft</i>.</p> + +<p>"Before closing my remarks," he continued, "I would call the attention +of those present, as well as the people in general, to this case. Like +this unfortunate lady, many refugees are sojourning in our midst. They +should be received with welcome by those who are fortunate enough to +live in peace and quiet in their happy homes. But such, I fear, is not +always the case. Many respectable families who had been accustomed to +all that wealth could afford, are now living, if not in absolute +necessity, in very poor circumstances, and could have their position +materially improved if the people of this State would offer them that +assistance they need. It is not an act of charity to lend a helping +hand to the refugee. We are bound together by a sympathy formed on the +battle-field by the gallant men of every State now struggling side by +side for our independence, and it is a matter of duty that the wives +and children of the soldier shall not suffer during his absence. It is +a sordid spirit that refuses to aid a helpless woman because she +happens to be a refugee. This Confederacy is a home for all its sons +and daughters, and when they abandon their native State, and, fleeing +from a brutal enemy, come into our midst for safety and protection, we +should welcome them as suffering patriots and cherish, them as they +deserve. It is a hard struggle for a woman to abandon a home, +surrounded by all the luxuries of life and in which happiness reigns +dominant, to incur hardships and privations. In doing so her +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +patriotism is severely tested, and nothing but the most exalted +devotion to our country triumphs over her fears.</p> + +<p>"There is yet another subject I will speak on. The two men who have +figured so conspicuously in this case as the cause of this lady's +sufferings, cannot be allowed to pass unnoticed. Mr. Elder is a well +known gentleman of this city and has hitherto borne an irreproachable +character. Did he not stand silent when accused of inhuman conduct +towards this lady, I should hesitate to believe him guilty of such an +atrocity. But as his silence is indicative of guilt, the horrible +nature of his act comes before us with great force, and we shudder to +think that any one wearing the form of humanity could so far debase +the mind as to turn a helpless woman and dying child from a shelter +because she had not the means of paying her debt. In so doing, Mr. +Elder has displayed the spirit of the extortioner, and must feel all +the stings of conscience which haunt the mind of a murderer, should +his heart be not too much hardened already. He has acted a worse part +than a murderer, for the assassin kills his victim through revenge, or +at the worst, for pay. Here, Mr. Elder—a possessor of wealth and not +needing the money—turns a tenant from his roof because she is +penniless. I say nothing against him for doing so, for it was an +indisputable right of his, but when we view the brutality of the +act—when we think of the hardness of the heart that could not +commiserate with the situation of Mrs. Wentworth—that was deaf to the +appeals of a mother—blind to the illness of her child—the soul +sickens with horror at the knowledge that a mortal so debased—so +utterly devoid of the instincts of humanity which govern a +brute—should exist on the earth. But the mask of religion is now torn +from his face, and we see his own lineaments. Henceforth the scorn of +all generous, minds will he receive, and turned from the respectable +position he once held, must reflect on the inevitable exposure of the +hypocrite some day, sooner or later. I shall leave him to the scorn +and indignation of all good men. From them he will receive that +punishment which his brutality, caused from his extorting spirit, +deserves.</p> + +<p>"And for Mr. Swartz, the accuser of this lady, I can see but little in +extenuation of his conduct. If his business is even illegitimate, +there are so many speculators in the South that it should not cause +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +surprise that his refusal to aid this woman necessitated her taking +his money. The speculator cannot be expected to have a heart tender +enough to perform a charitable act. The man who will speculate on the +necessities of the people, is not likely to feed the hungry. It is too +true that many good men have been drawn into the vortex of +speculation, but these are few in number and are isolated cases.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Swartz has been among us long enough to imbibe the spirit and +sentiments of our people, but from his action towards this lady, he +does not seem to have profited by their example. A foreigner by birth, +he has cast a stigma on his nation, for, with all their faults, I do +not believe there is a more charitable people than the German. I have +found it so, in many years of familiar intercourse with them. But his +last act is the one deserving unqualified condemnation. To tear a +mother from the bedside of her dead child—to incarcerate her in a +prison, while the hands of strangers were performing the last sad +rites over the dead, is an act that Christianity could never believe, +were the evidence not before us, too forcible for denial, too truthful +for contradiction. It is an act that calls for withering rebuke, but +we dismiss him with the belief that on the coming of that inevitable +<i>Hereafter</i>, he will receive the punishment he so well merits.</p> + +<p>"My remarks are now concluded, and the prisoner is discharged from +custody."</p> + +<p>There was deep silence for several minutes, during which Harry looked +anxiously in the crowd for his friend; but Alfred was nowhere to be +seen. Mrs. Wentworth retained her passive look of indifference, and +took no further notice of the curious crowd, which gazed upon her with +hearts full of pity and commiseration. Once or twice she slowly raised +her hand and pressed her forehead with it, as if it ached. But she +spoke no word of complaint, nor did she give any other indication of +suffering.</p> + +<p>Harry was about to remove her from the court, when there was a bustle +in the crowd, and the voice of Alfred was heard calling on those +around him to give way. He was followed by Awtry, perfectly +unconscious of the cause of his companions agitation.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> +<p>"Make room there, for God's sake," asked Alfred, pressing through the +dense mass of men and women. "Follow me," he continued, speaking to +Awtry.</p> + +<p>The men nearest to him, perceiving his excitement, generally surmised +the truth, and a low murmur ran through the room that it was the +prisoner's husband, and a passage was quickly made to where Mrs. +Wentworth was sitting.</p> + +<p>Awtry heard the words, "it is her husband," and turned back with the +intention of leaving, but his arm was quickly seized by Alfred, who, +still concealing his intention, simply said, "Come on; I will find a +passage for us." He hesitated an instant, but, believing his +appearance sufficiently disguised to prevent Mrs. Wentworth from +recognizing him, he determined to risk proceeding, in the hope of +escaping discovery.</p> + +<p>At last Alfred was by the side of his wife—the soldier had met her he +loved for the first time in nearly two years. Silently and sadly he +gazed at her changed appearance, and the briny tears slowly trickled +down the soldier's cheeks as he noted her sunken features. At last he +spoke.</p> + +<p>"Eva!" he said, in a voice that trembled with emotion, "my wife! my +darling wife! do you not know me?"</p> + +<p>His voice, full of love, sounded in her ear like the sweetest music +ever played by the angels of God. At the sound of her name she turned +round and looked anxiously in his face—a moment more, and he had +scarcely finished speaking, before she had thrown herself in his arms.</p> + +<p>"Alfred! my husband!" she murmured, as she pillowed her head in his +bosom, "at last—at last!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Heavenly Father!" exclaimed Alfred, raising her head and gazing +fondly at the wan and emaciated features of his wife "<i>is this</i> all I +find?"</p> + +<p>His words were those of anguish, wrung out from a tortured heart. It +was not so he expected to meet his wife.</p> + +<p>"Rise, darling," he continued, "rise, and let us leave this place—let +us go where friends are." She rose up, and leaning on his arm, moved +off, when he suddenly confronted Awtry, who had stood with anxious and +palpitating heart for the closing of the scene. "Stay awhile, +dearest," Alfred went on, as soon as he perceived Awtry, "Look at this +man—do you know him?"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Wentworth looked at him for some time, but failed to recognize +Awtry. "I do not know him," she said, shaking her head.</p> + +<p>"This is very strange conduct on your part, Mr. Wentworth," said Awtry, +believing himself safe.</p> + +<p>"Ha!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, "it is his voice. It is Awtry—there +he is—I know him now," and she fainted in her husband's arms.</p> + +<p>"Seize that man!" thundered Harry, who was standing near Alfred, "he +is a spy."</p> + +<p>In an instant, Awtry was secured and hurried of to prison. Mrs. +Wentworth was conducted by Harry and her husband to Dr. Humphries', +where we leave them for awhile.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER TWENTY-NINTH.</h2> +<h3>THE EYE OF GOD—THE MANIAC WIFE.</h3> +<p>Pardon us, kind reader, for digressing for awhile from the sad tale it +has been our lot to give you, to remark on the strange fancies which +govern the minds of a large majority. So inscrutable do the works of +the Almighty appear, that we believe all the ills of this world are +evoked by Him for some good end. In a measure this is correct. When +sinful mortals are burdened with sorrow and affliction, we can +recognize in them the chastening hand of God, for under such weight of +suffering the soul is apt to pass through purified of the blackness +and corruption which darkened and rendered it odious to the good. Here +we see the benefits accruing from trouble and distress. We behold the +sinner being punished for his transgression, and to the righteous and +good, these afflictions are welcomed as the saving of one more soul +from the grasp of hell. But how is it when the innocent suffer? It is +not the work of the Eternal. High up in the celestial realms, His eyes +are turned towards earth to punish the guilty and reward the innocent, +and in His works we find no instance where the hands of adversity and +suffering have fallen upon those who deserved reward. Where the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +guiltless are found suffering, He relieves their necessities, and +brings them once more that happiness which they deserve on earth.</p> + +<p>Why shall it be always said that when a home of happiness is in an +instant hurled from the summit of earthly felicity and buried in the +dark gulf of adversity, that such is the work of God? If that home is +contaminated by grievous sins, there is justice in the claim, but +where the transgressions are not heavier than those good men commit, +it cannot be, for the God who reigns above seeks to build up, and not +to destroy, unless there is no other way of punishing the sinner but +by the infliction of the heaviest penalties. We have painted a +soldier's wife, if not free from sin, at least innocent of crimes +which are calculated to bear upon the conscience and cause remorse or +fear; we have pictured her two children, pure and unsinful, for it +cannot be said that mortal can sin in infancy. We have shown them +plunged in direst misfortunes, and is there not force in the question +when we ask if their months of penury and suffering were the works of +the God of Mercy and Righteousness?</p> +<p> +It cannot be. The innocent do not suffer by the hands of God, while +the guilty revel in all the wealth and affluence that this earth +bestows. How many men are there who live in ease and comfort, while +their souls are burdened with sins? The hypocrite, the liar, the +thief, the murderer; all, and by hundreds they can be counted, appear +to the world</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + <span class="i0">"A combination and a form, indeed,</span> + <span class="i0">Where every god did seem to set his seal,"</span> +</div></div> + +<p>but in whose souls the fires of hell rage with remorseless fury. But +their afflictions are not known to man. The eyes of the world gaze not +on them, when the mind is racked by the conflict of sin. We see not +their sufferings; we know not the pangs they feel; we only recognize +them by the outward appearance. They live, surrounded with all that +can make mortal happy, save the happiness of a clear conscience. In +this world they prosper, and many gain the applause and commendation +of their fellow mortals. What are their sufferings? They are unknown +to man, though remembered by God. And if punishment comes at last, it +is just and merited, nor do we regret that sin is scourged by the +avenging hand of a Savior.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> +<p>But while we witness the guilty revelling in wealth and affluence, how +often are the innocent plunged in want? Aye, myriads of times. We know +not of them, but over the land there are hundreds of our fellow +mortals whose days are but a repetition of suffering. Famine and +sickness have stalked in the midst of hundreds who are innocent of +crime, and reduced them to the last brink of despair. Is this the work +of God? Forbid it, Heaven! that the charge should be made. There is no +ground on which to assert that the Ruler of the Universe—the God of +Righteousness—the Lord of Mercy, would thrust the innocent into +woe—would blast their earthly prospects—would dash the cup of +happiness from their lips, and leave them to perish through Famine and +Disease—while men steeped in crime, whose consciences, if read, would +show an appalling blackness of guilt—while they, we say, escaped from +earthly punishment and enjoyed all the good of this world! On Earth, +as in Heaven and Hell, man is divided into two bodies, Angels and +Fiends. Both are known to the Almighty, and it is only when His eyes +are turned from the good that Fiends triumph. Only then—it is not His +work—it cannot and can never be.</p> +<p> + +And now, kind reader, you may think that the writer is either a +lunatic or a madman to advance a doctrine which claims that God—the +Infinite—the Everlasting—the Omnipotent—the Inscrutable, would turn +awhile from the good and survey them not—allow them to suffer. We are +neither the one nor the other. Perchance our doctrine is a mere +vagary; still, as we glance over our country and see the scenes daily +enacted, we cannot believe they are the work of an Almighty Father. +When our maidens are ravished by the hated foe and despoiled of that +Virtue held sacred in Heaven, is it the work of God? When the creeping +babe is immolated by the savages of the North, is it a dispensation of +Providence? When the homesteads of the people are given to the flames +and the cursed army of Abolitionists exult at their demolition, does +the hand of our Heavenly Father direct the work of destruction? When +our temples are profaned by the bacchanalian orgies of the Northern +hordes, does the Infinite invite them to desecrate His altars? They +are not His works—they never were. These acts which the Christian +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +world shudders at, are the machinations and promptings of Hell, and +the Fiends who dwell therein triumph for awhile where the Eye of God +is not.</p> + +<p>But the Eye of God is not always turned away from His suffering +people. The cry of the wretched is borne to His ear by the angels, and +Mercy, Charity and Goodness descend to Earth and sweep away the +incarnate spirits infesting it. In this we behold the Greatness and +Righteousness of God, for though He may see not our hardships for +awhile, the cry of the Innocent will ascend to Heaven; their +sufferings will be obliterated, and if even on earth they gain not +happiness, in those realms where sinless Angels abide, all past woes, +all past years of want, all former wretchedness, are removed and +forgotten, in an eternity of peace and celestial felicity.</p> + +<p>And so it was with the soldier's wife whose sad trials we are +narrating to the reader. The spirit of the angel daughter had winged +its flight to the Savior, and the little invisible hand pointed to its +mother on earth below, and the Son of God supplicated the Father to +relieve the miseries of the innocent. We have shown how this was done. +The good of earth was the medium of salvation, and her trials are at +an end.</p> + +<p>Yes, they are at an end! But with them, when she fell fainting in her +husband's arms on recognizing Awtry, the light of reason expired, and +the soldier's wife was a maniac.</p> + +<p>They bore her gently to the residence of Dr. Humphries, and there all +that medical science could perform was done, and every attention was +lavished upon her. But it was of no avail; madness had seized the mind +of Mrs. Wentworth, and the doctor shook his head sadly as he gazed +upon her. Days passed on, and still she continued in this state.</p> + +<p>"I fear she will only recover her reason to die," observed Dr. +Humphries to Harry. "Could her constitution sustain the frenzied +excitement she now labors under, I would have some hope, but the +months of wretchedness she has passed through, has so weakened her +frame that nothing remains but a wreck of what was once a healthy +woman."</p> + +<p>"This is bad news," remarked Harry, "and I fear it will have a sad +effect upon Alfred. I have been overcome with sympathy at observing +his silent grief at the bedside of his raving wife, and several times +I have heard him mutter, 'never mind, my darling, you will soon +recover, and then we will be happy.' Unfortunate man! Could there be +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +the slightest possibility of saving his wife, I am certain you would +not despair."</p> + +<p>"I do not yet despair," replied the doctor, "although I fear very much +her case is hopeless. I have sent for Dr. Mallard and Dr. Purtell; +when they have seen Mrs. Wentworth, we will have a consultation, and I +trust some good will accrue from it. By the way," he continued, +changing the conversation, "have you heard what has become of the +supposed spy arrested in the court house?"</p> + +<p>"I heard on yesterday that his trunks had been searched, but nothing +had been discovered in them, beyond the fact that he was Mr. Awtry, +and not an Englishman, as he pretended to be."</p> + +<p>"Have they discharged him?" inquired the doctor.</p> + +<p>"Oh no;" Harry replied, "the fact of his assuming a false character +was deemed sufficient evidence to keep him in prison until further +discoveries are made."</p> + +<p>"It is very likely, then, that he will eventually pay the penalty of +his crimes," observed the doctor.</p> + + + +<p>"Yes; and I trust it will not be long before he suffers death," Harry +answered, and then added: "I am not bloodthirsty, nor do I favor the +hoisting of the black flag, as so many appear desirous of doing. But +for a wretch like Awtry, I have not the slightest pity, and would hear +of his execution with pleasure. If even there is no proof discovered +of his being a spy, his brutality to Mrs. Wentworth merits punishment, +and if only for that, I should desire to see him hung or shot. +However, I have no fear but that the fact of his being a spy will be +discovered, for several of the most expert detectives in the service +are on the search for the necessary evidence to convict him."</p> + +<p>"And which evidence I trust they will soon discover," remarked the +doctor. "Like you, I am averse to a war of extermination, but when +instances like the one before us are brought to our notice, an +outraged and indignant people demand satisfaction and should have it +accorded to them."</p> + +<p>"Ah! my dear sir," replied Harry, "while Awtry's outrage on Mrs. +Wentworth deserves condemnation and punishment, he is not solely the +guilty cause of her sufferings. From the moment she reached our lines, +it was the duty of the people of this city to aid and succor her. Had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +this been done, her daughter may have been alive this day. +Unfortunately the philanthropic and charitable were idle and waited +until such cases came to their notice. Had they looked for them, Mrs. +Wentworth never would have fallen into the hands of unprincipled +speculators and extortioners, and would have been spared the load of +affliction which has now periled her life."</p> + +<p>"You are right, Harry," said Dr. Humphries. "It is our duty to search +for the unfortunate poor, and not to wait until they appeal for +assistance. There are many destitute women and children in our midst +who have been driven from their once happy and prosperous homes by the +hated Yankees. Among them are many high-toned and respectable +families, whose pride shrinks from begging for bread, and who now live +a life of penury and starvation rather than become the mendicant. And +if even they bury delicacy at the mandate of stern Want, they are so +apt to be refused assistance by the heartless, that they imagine all +of our people alike, and fearing further refusal, shrink with natural +horror from a second rejection."</p> + +<p>"This can be prevented," observed Harry. "Let the benevolent make it a +business to find out the suffering who are worthy of assistance, and +let such aid be given, not as charity, but as a duty we owe those who +have remained faithful to our cause, and abandoned their homes rather +than submit to the enemy. By so doing, we not only alleviate +hardships, but we render the soldier happy and contented to serve his +country. The knowledge that his family is protected by those at home, +and supplied with all that is necessary, will remove from his mind all +anxiety for their welfare. It will, besides, grasp them from the +clutches of the wretches who are speculating and extorting, and will +not only be an act of everlasting honor to those who perform this good +work, but will aid our cause as much as if the parties were serving in +the field. Many a man who now lies in the deserter's dishonored grave, +would have been this day sharing the glory of his country and been +looked upon as a patriot, had not his starving wife and children +forced him in an evil hour to abandon his post and go to them. It is +true, there is no excuse for the deserter, but where the human +affections are concerned, it is but natural that the soldier will feel +solicitous for the comfort of his wife and children."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p> +<p>"Something of that sort should, indeed, be done," remarked the doctor, +"and I believe there are many in our midst who would cheerfully aid in +this good work. I cannot believe that the majority of our people are +such inhuman characters as Elder and Swartz. It is true that these men +have a monopoly in our midst, so far as wealth is concerned, but it +would be wrong to blame the majority for the crimes of a few."</p> + +<p>"The majority, if even good and charitable, are to blame," replied +Harry, firmly, "for if they outnumber the miserable creatures whose +sole thought is to amass wealth from the sufferings of our country, it +is their duty to thwart such desires by every possible means, and it +could be done were the proper steps taken. But they have heretofore +displayed an indifference almost criminal, and appear to participate +in the unworthy prejudice against refugees. Forgetful that they may +to-morrow be similarly situated, they lend a moral, if not an active +aid, in the oppression of this unfortunate portion of our people, and +are perfectly careless whether want and misery overtake them or not. +We must not forget that these refugees are as much entitled to a home +in this as in their own State. Their husbands, fathers and brothers +are fighting to protect us from subjugation, and if we are unmindful +of the comfort of their relatives, it not only entails disgrace upon +our name, but renders us deserving of a similar fate, and worse +treatment."</p> + +<p>"I agree with you," said the doctor, "and so far as I am concerned, +everything that can be done for them shall be performed, and—"</p> + +<p>Here a knock at the door interrupted the conversation. Harry opened +it, and Drs. Mallard and Purtell were announced.</p> + +<p>"Good morning to you, gentlemen," said Dr. Humphries, as soon as they +entered. "I am very glad you have answered my call so promptly. The +case I desire you to see is one of great seriousness, but I withhold +any opinion until you have seen the patient and expressed your ideas +about it."</p> + +<p>"I Suppose it is the lady who was accused of theft," said Dr. Mallard.</p> + +<p>"Yes sir," answered Harry, "it is the same person."</p> + +<p>"I observed her features very attentively during the trial," remarked +Dr. Mallard, "and so convinced was I that she would soon be insane, +that I determined, in the event of her being found guilty, to have her +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +released and placed under my care on that plea. Is she raving?" he +added inquiringly of Dr. Humphries.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied that gentleman, "but in her ravings she makes no +allusion whatever to her wretched life of the past few months. She +fancies herself at home in New Orleans again, and as all was then +happiness with her, so does everything appear to her mind the reflex +of her past days."</p> + +<p>"We had better see her now," said Dr. Purtell, "for the sooner +something is done towards restoring her reason the better."</p> + +<p>"Certainly," answered Dr. Humphries, "walk this way," he continued, +leading them toward Mrs. Wentworth's chamber.</p> + +<p>At the door he was met by Emma, who had been watching by the bedside +of the maniac all the morning.</p> + +<p>"Walk easily," she whispered as the three gentlemen appeared at the +door. "She is now calmer than ever, but the slightest noise will +excite her again."</p> + +<p>The medical gentlemen entered the room with noiseless steps, and +remained for several minutes watching the sleeping sufferer. Her +emaciated features were flushed from excitement and her breathing was +hard and difficult. In her sleep, she softly murmured words which told +of happy years that were past and vanished forever and could never +more return. The broken sentences told of love and happiness, and a +deep feeling of sympathy stole into the breasts of her hearers as they +listened to her ravings. Alfred was sitting by the bed looking on the +wreck of his wife, and when the doctors entered, he arose and briefly +saluted them. To their words of condolence he made no reply, for his +heart was bitter with grief, and he felt that consolatory language was +a mockery, and however well meant and sincere it may have been, it +could not relieve the agony he felt at witnessing the destruction of +his family's happiness. Oh, let those alone who have felt the burning +of the heart when it was wrung with agony, appreciate the misery of +men struck down from the pedestal of earthly joy and buried in the +gulf of wretchedness. We have known homes where the heart beat high +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +with joy, and life promised to be a future of happiness and peace; +where the fairest flowers of affection seemed to bloom for us, and +over our pathway floated its perfume, while before our sight, its +loveliness remained undiminished until that fatal delusion, Hope, +intoxicated the senses and made us oblivions to reality. A brief +spell—a charm of short duration, and the hallucination is dispelled, +only to leave us seared and blasted, almost hating mankind, and +wearing the mask of the hypocrite, leading a double life, to hide the +sears left by unsuccessful ambition, or disappointed aspiration. What +were death itself compared with the misery of finding, when too late, +that the hopes and happiness we deemed reality, were but a shadow, not +a substance, which lingered for awhile and Left us to curse our fate.</p> + +<p>And yet it is but life—one hour on the pinnacle, the other on the +ground. But to our tale.</p> + +<p>After remaining by the bedside for several minutes, the doctors were +about to leave, when Mrs. Wentworth awoke from her sleep, and gazed +with an unmeaning look upon the gentlemen. She recognized no one—not +even her husband, who never left her, save when nature imperatively +demanded repose.</p> + +<p>The doctors requested that Alfred and Emma would retire while they +examined the patient. In accordance with their wishes, they did so, +and Alfred, entering the balcony, paced up and down, impatient for the +result of the consultation. The door of Mrs. Wentworth's chamber +remained closed for nearly half an hour, when it opened, and Drs. +Humphries, Mallard and Purtell issued from it, looking grave and sad.</p> + + + +<p>The heart of the husband sank as he looked at their features.</p> + +<p>"Let me know the worst," he said, huskily, as they approached him.</p> + +<p>"We will not deceive you," replied Dr. Mallard, "your wife, we fear, +will remain a maniac while her strength lasts, and then—" here he +paused.</p> + +<p>"And then—" replied Alfred, inquiringly.</p> + +<p>"We fear she will only recover her reason to die" continued Dr. +Mallard in a tone of sympathy.</p> + +<p>"God help, me," uttered the soldier, as he sunk on a chair and buried +his face in his hands.</p> + +<p>After a few more words full of sympathy and condolence the two doctors +left, and shortly after Dr. Humphries dispatched a servant to bring +the little boy from the old negro's cabin.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> +<p>"His presence may rally Mr. Wentworth," the doctor observed to Harry. +"Since the consultation he has remained in the same seat, and has +never once visited the room of his wife. Something must be done to +rouse him from his grief, otherwise it will be fatal to his health."</p> + +<p>"The presence of his son may be beneficial," said Harry, "but I do not +believe the child can while him away from the sorrow he has met with. +It has been a hard—a fatal blow, and has fallen with fearful effect +upon my poor friend."</p> + +<p>In about an hour the servant returned with the child. He had been +neatly dressed in a new suit of clothes and looked the embodiment of +childish innocence.</p> + +<p>Taking him by the hand Dr. Humphries led him into the balcony where +Alfred still sat with his face buried in his hands, deep in thought +and racked with grief.</p> + +<p>"Here," said the old gentleman, "here is your son. The living and well +claim your attention as well as those who are gone and those who +suffer."</p> + + + +<p>Alfred raised his head and gazed at the child for a moment.</p> + +<p>"My boy," he exclaimed at last, "you are the last link of a once happy +chain." As he spoke he pressed the child to his bosom, and the +strong-hearted soldier found relief in tears.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER THIRTIETH.</h2> +<h3>DEATH OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE.</h3> +<p>The presence of his child lightened but did not remove the grief of +Alfred Wentworth. The love he bore his wife may be likened to the love +of the eagle for liberty. Cage it, and the noble bird pines away; no +longer allowed to soar on high, but fettered by man, it sickens and +dies, nor can it be tamed sufficiently to become satisfied with the +wires of a cage. So it was with the soldier. His love for his wife was +of so deep and fathomless a nature, that the knowledge of her being a +maniac, and only returning to reason to die, changed the current of +his nature, and from being a friendly and communicative man, he became +a silent and morose being. The world had lost its charms, and the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +blank left in his heart, the sear upon his mind, the agony at knowing +that his wife—his pure and peerless wife, had been compelled from her +necessities to take that which was not her own, could never be filled, +never be healed and never be eased.</p> + +<p>A wife! We know not from experience what it means, but there is a +something, an inward voice, which tells, us that a wife is the holiest +gift of God to man. A wife! what is it? A woman to cherish and +protect, to give the heart's affection to, and to receive all the +confiding love with which her bosom is filled. The partner of your +happiness—the source of all that makes man good and binds him to +earth; the solace of woes, the sharer of joys—the gentle nurse in +sickness, and the fond companion in health. Oh! there is a something +in the name, which thrills the heart, and makes it beat with emotion +at the sound of the word. Amid the cares and pleasures of man, there +can be no higher, no worthier desire than to share his triumphs with a +wife. When Ambition tempts him to mount yet higher in this earthly +life, and take his stand among the exalted men of genius, who so +fitting to be the partner of his fame as the gentle woman of this +world, and when disappointed in his aspirations, when the cold frowns +of a callous world drive him from the haunts of men, who so soothing +as a Wife? She will smoothen the wrinkles on his forehead, and by +words of loving cheer inspire him with courage and bid him brave the +censure and mocking of the world, and strive again to reach the summit +of his desires. A Wife! There is no word that appeals with greater +force to the heart than this. From the moment the lover becomes the +Wife, her life becomes a fountain of happiness to a husband, which +gushes out and runs down the path of Time, never to cease, until the +power of the Invisible demands and the Angel of Death removes her from +his side. Age meets them hand in hand, and still imbued with a +reciprocity of affection, her children are taught a lesson from +herself which makes the Wife, from generation to generation, the same +medium of admiration for the world, the same object of our adoration +and homage. We write these lines with homage and respect for the Wife, +and with an undefined emotion in our hearts, which tells us they are +correct, and that the value of a Wife is all the imagination can +depict and the pen indite.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p> +<p>And to lose one! Oh! what sorrow it must awaken—how the fountains of +grief must fill to overflowing, when the companion of your life is +torn from you by the hand of Death! No wonder, then, that the heart of +Alfred Wentworth bled with woe, and he became a changed man. What +cared he longer for this world? Almost nothing! But one thing urged +him to rally his energies and meet the blow with fortitude whenever it +should come. It was the knowledge that his little boy would need a +father's care. This made him not quite oblivious to this world, for +though his life would be in the front, so soon as he returned to the +battle-field, there were chances for his escaping death, and his +desire was to live, so that the child might grow up and remind him of +his wife. No, not remind! As fresh as the hour when love first entered +his heart for her—as plain as the day he led her to the altar and +registered his vows to Heaven—and as pure as herself, would his +memory ever be for her. Time can soothe woes, obliterate the scars +left by grief, but the memory of a dead wife can never be extinguished +in the mind of a husband, even though her place in his heart may be +filled by another. She must ever be recollected by him, and each hour +he thinks of her, so will her virtues shine brighter and more +transparent, and her faults, if any, become forgotten, as they were +forgiven. But we weary the reader with these digressions, and will +proceed to close our narrative.</p> + +<p>Three additional weeks passed, and still Mrs. Wentworth remained +insane, but her insanity being of a gentle character, Dr. Humphries +would not permit her to be sent to the lunatic asylum, as her husband +advised. It is true, he desired it more for the purpose of avoiding +being the recipient of any further favors, than because he thought it +necessary. This morbid sensitiveness shrank from being obligated to a +comparative stranger like the doctor, and it was not until the old +gentleman absolutely refused to permit Mrs. Wentworth to leave the +house, that he yielded his assent to her remaining.</p> + +<p>"As you insist upon it," he remarked, "I make no further opposition to +her remaining, but I think it an imposition on your benevolence that +your home shall be made gloomy by my wife being in it."</p> + +<p>"Not in the least gloomy, sir," replied the doctor, "nor do I think it +the slightest imposition upon my benevolence. Were it only to repay +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +the debt Harry owes you for the preservation of his life, I should +insist upon her not being removed. But I deem it a duty we owe to our +suffering fellow mortals, and as long as she remains in her present +state, so long will she be an inmate of my house, and everything that +can lighten and ameliorate her unhappy condition shall be deemed a +pleasant business to perform."</p> + +<p>"I do not doubt it, sir," said Alfred, grasping the doctor's hand and +shaking it heartily, "believe me, the attention of your daughter, +Harry and yourself, has been the oasis in my present desert of life, +and though in a few short weeks I expect all will be over, and she +will no longer need your care, the memory of your kindness in these +gloomy times of sorrow, shall ever remain unfading in memory, and +shall always be spoken of and thought of with the greatest gratitude."</p> + +<p>"No gratitude is necessary," answered the doctor as he returned the +pressure of Alfred Wentworth's hand, "I consider myself performing a +sacred duty, both to God and to humanity, and no gratitude is needed +for the faithful performance of the same."</p> + +<p>"No, no sir," interrupted Alfred, hastily, "it is no duty, and cannot +be looked upon as such—at least by me."</p> + +<p>"Well, well," remarked the doctor, "we will not argue about that. I +only wish it were in my power to do more by giving you assurance that +your wife will recover, but I fear very much she never can."</p> + +<p>"How long do you suppose she will linger?" asked Alfred sadly.</p> +<p> +"I cannot tell," replied the doctor, "Her strength has been failing +very rapidly for the past week, and I do not think she can last much +longer."</p> + +<p>"Could nothing be done to keep her alive, if even it were as a +maniac?" he inquired, and then added, and as he spoke, repressing the +emotion he felt, "Could she but live, it would be some solace to me, +for then I should have her with me, and by procuring a position in +some of the departments, be enabled to remain with her; but the idea +of her dying—it is that which saddens me and almost makes me curse +the hour I left her. My poor, darling wife!"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> + +<p>The last words were uttered as if he were speaking to himself, and the +tone of sorrow in which he spoke touched Dr. Humphries deeply.</p> + +<p>"Bear with fortitude the dispensations of a Divine Providence," said +the old gentleman. "If He has willed that your wife shall die, you +must bow humbly to the decree. Time will assuage your grief and remove +from your mind, this sad—too sad fate that has befallen her."</p> + +<p>"If you think that time can assuage my grief," replied Alfred, "you +greatly underrate the strength of my affection. When a mere stripling, +I first met my wife, and from that hour all the affection I possessed +was hers. Each day it grew stronger, and at the time I left New +Orleans with my regiment, the love I bore my wife, and for her, my +children, could not have been bartered for the wealth of California. +She was to me a dearer object than all else on earth, and more—"</p> + +<p>He could speak no longer, so overcome was he with emotion. Once more +wringing the doctor's hand, he left the room and entered the chamber +of his wife.</p> + +<p>"Unhappy man," exclaimed the doctor, when he was alone, "his is, +indeed, a bitter grief, and one not easily obliterated."</p> + +<p>With these words the kind-hearted old gentleman retired to his study, +greatly moved at the misfortunes of the family he had been brought in +contact with.</p> + +<p>The furloughs granted to Alfred and Harry had been renewed on the +expiration of the time they had been granted for, but on the +representation of Dr. Humphries, had been renewed. At the time the +above conversation took place, they were again nearly expired and +Harry determined to appeal to the government once more for a second +renewal. Accordingly he took the cars for Richmond and obtaining an +interview with the Secretary of War, he represented the condition of +Mrs. Wentworth, and exhibited the certificates of several doctors that +she could not survive two months longer. For himself, he requested a +further renewal of his furlough on the ground of his approaching +marriage. With that kindness and consideration which distinguished +Gen. Randolph, his applications were granted, and leaves of absence +for Alfred and himself for sixty days longer were cordially granted.</p> + +<p>With the furloughs, he arrived from Richmond the same evening that the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +conversation related above took place between the doctor and Alfred, +and on the return of his friend from his wife's chamber, he presented +him with his leave.</p> + +<p>"You are indeed a friend," remarked Alfred, "and I can never +sufficiently repay the kindness you have shown me. But before this +furlough expires I do not suppose I shall have any wife to be with."</p> + +<p>"Why do you speak so?" inquired Harry.</p> + +<p>"She cannot last much longer," he replied. "Although unwillingly and +with sorrow I am compelled to acknowledge that every day she sinks +lower, and to-day her appearance denotes approaching dissolution too +plain, even for me to persuade myself that such is not the case."</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell you I hope you are mistaken," observed his friend, "for +I feel that such language can never lighten nor remove your sorrow. +But be assured that I deeply sympathize with you in your affliction."</p> + +<p>"I know it," he answered. "Would to heaven all in the South were like +you. It might have been different with my poor wife, and my angel girl +might have been alive this day. However, it was not their duty to +succor and protect my family, and I have no right to complain because +they lent her no helping hand. I alone must bear the weight of my +affliction, and from the misery it causes me, I devoutly trust none of +my comrades may ever know it. Here your betrothed comes," he +continued, observing Emma at the door. "I will leave you for the +present, as I suppose you wish to speak with her and I desire to be +alone for awhile."</p> + + + +<p>"Do not let her presence hasten your departure," said Harry. "She will +be as happy in my company while you are here, as if no third person +was present."</p> + +<p>Alfred smiled faintly as he replied: "Her presence alone does not +impel me to leave, but I desire to be alone for a time. My mind is +very much unsettled, and a few moments of solitary thought will +restore it to its wonted quietude."</p> + +<p>Rising from his seat, he bade Harry adieu, and bowing to Emma, who +entered at the moment, left the house and bent his steps toward his +lodgings. Dr. Humphries had invited him to be a guest at his house, +but he politely but firmly declined the invitation, at the same time +his days were spent there with his wife, and it was only in the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +evening he left, to take a few moments of rest. From the time he +discovered his wife, and she was carried to Dr. Humphries' residence, +he had never been to any other place than the doctor's or his +lodgings.</p> + +<p>Four days after Harry's return, he was seated with Emma in the parlor +conversing on the subject of his marriage, which the fair girl desired +put off until after Mrs. Wentworth's death, which her father told her +could not be postponed many weeks. Her lover endeavored to combat her +resolution, by declaring that while Alfred would always get a furlough +if his wife was still alive at the expiration of its time, he could +neither ask nor expect to obtain any further extension. They were in +the midst of a warm discussion, when Dr. Humphries entered. He had +just come from Mrs. Wentworth's room, and appeared exceedingly sad.</p> + +<p>"How is Mrs. Wentworth this morning, father?" inquired Emma, as the +doctor entered, and observing his mournful expression, she added, +"What is the matter."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Wentworth has recovered her reason, and is dying," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Poor Alfred," observed Harry, "this hour will not take him by +surprise, but it cannot fail to add to his grief."</p> + +<p>"Has he been here this morning," asked the doctor.</p> + +<p>"Not yet," answered Harry, "but," he continued, looking at his watch, +"he will soon be here, for it is now his usual hour of coming."</p> + + + +<p>"I trust he will not delay," said Dr. Humphries "for his wife cannot +last three hours longer."</p> + +<p>"In that event, I had better go and look for him," Harry observed "he +never leaves his lodgings except to come here, and there will be no +difficulty in finding him."</p> + +<p>Rising from his seat, he took up his hat and departed for his friend. +Before he had gone two squares he met Alfred, and without saying +anything to him, retraced his steps to the doctor's window.</p> + +<p>"My friend" said Doctor Humphries as Alfred entered, "the hour has +come, when you must summon all your fortitude and hear with +resignation the stern decree of the Almighty. Your wife is perfectly +sane this morning but she is dying. On entering her chamber a while +ago, I found her quite composed and perfectly sensible of the life she +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +had passed through. Though she did not recognize me, an intuitive +knowledge of who I was, possessed her, and her first request was that +you should be sent to her. Your little boy is now with her and she +awaits your arrival."</p> + +<p>Taking Alfred by the hand and followed by Harry, the doctor led the +way to the chamber of the dying wife. The child was sitting on the bed +with his mothers arms around his neck. Emma, Elsie, and the old negro +were standing at the bedside looking sorrowfully at Mrs. Wentworth. As +soon as her husband entered, they made way for him to approach.</p> + +<p>"Alfred, my husband" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, extending her arms, "I +am so glad you have come that I can see you once more before I die."</p> + +<p>"Eva, my heart strings are torn with agony to see you thus" he replied +raising her gently and pillowing his head on her bosom, "Oh! my wife, +that this should be the end of all my hopes. What consolation is there +left to me on earth when you are gone."</p> + +<p>"Speak not so despairingly" she answered, "It were better that I +should die than live with a burning conscience. My husband, the act +for which I have been tried, still haunts me, for here on earth it +will ever be a reproach, while in Heaven, the sin I committed will be +forgiven through the intercession of a divine Savior."</p> + +<p>"Perish the remembrance of that act!" answered her husband. "To me my +darling wife it can make no difference, for I regret only the +necessity which impelled you to do it, and not the act. Live, oh my +wife, live and your fair fame shall never suffer, while your husband +is able to shield you from the reproaches of the world. Though the +proud may affect to scorn you, those in whose hearts beats a single +touch of generosity will forgive and forget it, and if even they do +not, in the happiness of my unfaltering affections, the opinions of +the world, can be easily disregarded."</p> + +<p>"It cannot be" she answered, "I am dying Alfred, and before many +hours, the spirit will be resting in heaven. To have you by my side +ere my breath leaves my body, to grasp your hand, and gaze on your +loved features ere I die, removes all my unhappiness of the weary +months now past, and I leave this world content."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> +<p>"Oh my wife" said Alfred, "Is this the end of our married life? Is +this the reward I reap for serving my country! Oh, had I remained in +New Orleans, the eye of the libertine would never have been cast upon +you, and you would have been saved from the grasp of the heartless +speculator and extortioner.—What is independence compared with you my +wife? What have I gained by severing the ties of love and leaving a +happy home, to struggle for the liberty of my country? A dead child—a +dying wife—a child who will now be motherless; while I will be a +wretched heart-broken man. Better, far better, had I resisted the +calls of my country, and remained with you, than to return and find my +happiness gone, and my family beggared, and tossing on the rough +billows of adversity, unheeded by the wealthy, and unfriended by all."</p> + +<p>"Speak not so, my husband," she answered, "my sufferings may be the +price of independence, and I meet them cheerfully. Though in my hours +of destitution, despair may have caused me to utter words of anguish, +never, for a moment, have I regretted that you left me, to struggle +for your country. If in my sufferings; if in the death of my child; if +in my death; and if in the destroying of our once happy family circle, +the cause for which you are a soldier is advanced, welcome them. Woman +can only show her devotion by suffering, and though I cannot struggle +with you on the battle-field, in suffering as I have done, I feel it +has been for our holy cause."</p> + +<p>"Eva, Eva," he exclaimed, "do all these give you back to me? Do they +restore my angel daughter? Do they bring me happiness? Oh, my wife, I +had hoped that old age would meet us calmly floating down the stream +of Time, surrounded by a happy family, and thanking God for the +blessings he had bestowed upon me. When I first led you to the altar, +I dreamed that our lives would be blended together for many, many +years, and though I knew that the 'Lord giveth and the Lord taketh +away,' and that at any time we may die, I never thought that the end +of our happiness would be brought about in such a way as this. You +tell me it is the price of Independence. Aye, and it is a fearful +price. When you are laid in the cold grave aside of Ella, and I am +struggling in the battle-field, what is there to inspire me with +courage, and bid me fight on until liberty is won? And when it is at +last achieved, I cannot share the joy of my comrades. I have no home +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +to go to, and if even I have, it is desolate. No wife is there to +welcome me, no daughter to thank me, but I must take my orphan boy by +the hand, and leading him to your grave, kneel by its side and weep +together on the sod that covers your remains."</p> + +<p>There was not a dry eye in the room. All wept with the husband, and +even the dying woman could not restrain the tears.</p> + +<p>"Alfred," she said, "do not weep. My husband, up there, in Heaven, we +will meet again, and then the desolation on earth will be more than +repaid by the pleasure of eternal joy. Let not my death cause you to +falter in your duty to the South. Promise me, my husband, that through +all changes you will ever remain steadfast and loyal to her sacred +cause. Look not on the cruelty of a few men as the work of the whole, +and remember that if even you are not made happier by the achievement +of independence, there are others you assist in making so, and other +homes which would have been as desolate as yours, but for you and your +comrades' defense. Promise me, Alfred, that so long as the war lasts, +you will never desert the South."</p> + +<p>"I promise," he replied.</p> + +<p>"There is now but one thing that gives me thought," she continued, her +voice growing weaker each moment, "our little boy—"</p> + +<p>"Shall have a home so long as I live and his father is serving his +country," interrupted Dr. Humphries. "Rest easy on that subject, +madam," he continued, "it will be a pleasure for me to take care of +the boy."</p> + +<p>"Then I die happy," said Mrs. Wentworth, and turning to her husband +she said with difficulty, "Farewell, my husband. Amid all my trials +and sufferings my love for you has ever been as true and pure as the +hour we married. To die in your arms, with my head on your bosom was +all I wished, and my desire is gratified. Farewell."</p> + +<p>Before her husband could reply her reason had vanished, and she +remained oblivious to all around her. Her eyes were closed, and the +moving of her lips alone told that she yet lived.</p> + +<p>"Eva! darling! Wife!" exclaimed Alfred passionately "Speak to me! oh +my angel wife, speak one word to me ere you die. Look at me! say that +you recognize me. Awake to consciousness, and let me hear the sound of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +your voice once more. Wake up my wife" he continued wildly, "Oh for +another word—one look before you are no more."</p> + +<p>His wild and passionate words reached the ear of the dying woman, and +her voice came again, but it was the dying flicker of the expiring +lamp. She slowly opened her eyes and looked up in the face of her +husband.</p> + +<p>"Alfred—husband, happiness" she murmured softly, then gently drawing +down his head, her lips touched his for an instant, and the soldier's +wife embraced her husband for the last time on earth.</p> + +<p>Releasing his head Mrs. Wentworth kept her eyes fixed upon those of +her husband. Their glances met and told their tale of deep and +unutterable affection. The look they gave each other pierced their +souls, and lit up each heart with the fires of love. Thus they +continued for several minutes, when Mrs. Wentworth, rising on her +elbow, looked for a moment on the grief struck group around her bed.</p> + +<p>"Farewell," she murmured, and then gazing at her husband, her lips +moved, but her words could not be heard.</p> + +<p>Stooping his ear to her lips, Alfred caught their import, and the +tears coursed down his cheek.</p> + +<p>The words were, "My husband I die happy in your arms."</p> + +<p>As if an Almighty power had occasioned the metamorphosis, the +countenance of the dying woman rapidly changed, and her features bore +the same appearance they had in years gone by. A smile lingered round +her lips, and over her face was a beautiful and saint-like expression. +The husband gazed upon it, and her resemblance to what she was in days +of yore, flashed across his mind with the rapidity of lightning. But +the change did not last long, for soon she closed her eyes and +loosened her grasp on her husband's neck, while her features resumed +their wan and cheerless expression. Nothing but the smile remained, +and that looked heavenly. Alfred still supported her; he thought she +was asleep.</p> + +<p>"She is now in heaven," said Doctor Humphries solemnly.</p> + +<p>Yes, she was dead! No more could the libertine prosecute her with his +hellish passions; no more could his vile and lustful desires wreak +their vengeance on her, because of disappointment. No more could the +heartless extortioner turn her from a shelter to perish in the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +streets. No more could the gardened and uncharitable speculator wring +from her the last farthing, nor could suffering and starvation tempt +her any more to commit wrong. No—she is in heaven. <i>There</i> the +libertine is not and can never be. <i>There</i> she will ever find a +shelter, for <i>there</i> the extortioner rules not. There the speculator +can never dwell, and in that holy abode suffering and starvation can +never be known. An eternity of happiness was now hers. To the home of +the Father and to the dwelling of the Son, her spirit had winged its +flight, and henceforth, instead of tears, and lamentations the voice +of another angel would be heard in Paradise chanting the praises of +Jehovah.</p> + +<p>Yes, the eye of God was turned upon the soldiers wife, and she was +made happy. Her months of grief and misery were obliterated, and the +Almighty in his infinite goodness, had taken her to himself—had taken +her to Heaven. The spirit of the mother is with the child, and both +are now in that home, where we all hope to go. In the ear of the +soldier, two angels are whispering words of divine comfort and peace, +and as their gentle voice enter his heart, a feeling of resignation +steals over this mind, and kneeling over the dead body of his wife he +gently murmurs,</p> + +<p>"Thy will be done oh God!"</p> + +<p>Every voice is hushed, every tear is dried, and the prayer of the +soldier ascends to Heaven for strength to hear his affliction. The eye +of God is now upon him, and He can minister to the supplicant.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER THIRTY-FIRST.</h2> +<h3>CONCLUSION.</h3> +<p>The dead was buried. The hearse was followed by a large concourse of +Dr. Humphries' friends, who were brought there by the sad tale of the +trials of the Soldier's Wife. The funeral service was read, and after +the grave was closed many grouped around Alfred and offered their +condolence. He only bowed but made no reply. The body of Ella had been +previously disinterred and placed in the same grave which afterward +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +contained her mother, and on the coffins of his wife and child Alfred +Wentworth took a last look. When the service was over he turned away, +and accompanied by Harry returned to the dwelling of the doctor, +where, with his boy on his knees, he conversed.</p> + +<p>"My furlough does not expire for forty days," he observed, "but I +shall rejoin my regiment in a week from this time. The object for +which it was obtained being no longer there, it is only just that I +shall report for duty."</p> + +<p>"You must do no such thing," answered Harry, "I wish you to remain +until your leave expires."</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Alfred, in a tone of surprise.</p> + +<p>"Well, the fact is," said Harry, "I will be married in thirty days, +and it is my urgent desire that you shall be with me on my marriage +day, as a guest, if not as a friend."</p> + +<p>"I can make but a poor guest," he replied. "My heart is too full of +grief to willingly join in the mirth and happiness such festivities +bring with them. You must therefore excuse me. I should indeed start +at once did I not desire to find a place to leave this child."</p> + +<p>"You need not trouble yourself about him," remarked Harry, "the doctor +assured your wife that he should take care of the boy, and I feel +certain he will be a father to him during your absence. Nor will I +excuse your absence at my wedding, for I do not see why you should +object if I desire it, and Emma, I know, will be very much pleased at +your presence. So offer no excuses, but prepare yourself to remain."</p> + + + +<p>"As you appear so much to desire it," he answered. "I will remain, but +I assure you I feel but little inclined for such pleasure at the +present time, particularly a wedding, which cannot fail to bring up +reminiscences of a happy day, not so long gone but that it still +remains in my memory, as fresh and vivid as when I was an actor in a +similar occasion."</p> + +<p>"Let not such thoughts disturb you," said Harry, "let the Past bury +the Past. Look forward only to the Future, and there you will find +objects worthy of your ambition, and if you will pursue them, they +will serve to eradicate from your mind the harrowing scene you have +just passed through. Believe me, Alfred," he continued, "it will never +do to pass your days in vain regrets at what is passed and vanished. +It serves to irritate and keep open the wounds in our lives, while it +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +never soothes the afflicted, nor gives us a moment of peace. Let the +present and future alone occupy your thoughts. They will give you food +for reflection, sufficient to bury all former unhappiness, and to +entail upon you a return of that earthly joy you once possessed."</p> + +<p>"Your remarks are correct in theory, my friend," replied Alfred, "but +they cannot be put into practice. Sooner can the Mississippi river be +drained of its waters than the inexorable Past be obliterated from the +mind of man. It must ever remain in his memory, and though at times it +may lie dormant, the slightest event will be all that is necessary to +awake it into life. The cares of the present may deprive it of active +participation in the mind; anxiety for the future may prevent the mind +of man from actively recurring to it, but it still remains indelibly +imprinted on the memory, and though a century of years should pass, +and the changes of Time render the Present opposite to the Past, the +latter can never be forgotten. Think not that coming years can render +me oblivious to my present affliction. They may make dull the agony I +now feel, and perchance I will then wear as bright a smile as I did in +years ago, but the remembrance of my wife and child will never be +blunted; no, nor shall a shade cross over my heart, and dim the +affection I had for them, while living, and for their memory now that +they are in the grave."</p> + +<p>Alfred was right. The words of Harry were a theory which sounds well +enough for advice, but which can never be placed into practice. The +Past! who can forget it? The Present, with its load of cares; with its +hours of happiness and prosperity; with its doubts and anxieties, is +not sufficiently powerful to extinguish remembrance of the Past. The +Future, to which we all look for the accomplishment of our +designs—the achievement of our ambitious purposes—cannot remove the +Past. Both combined are unequal to the task, and the daily life of man +proves it so.</p> + +<p>The Past! what a train of thought does it suggest! Aye, the Past, with +its pleasures and misfortunes. It haunts our consciences, and is ever +before our eyes. The murderer, though safely concealed from the world, +and who may have escaped punishment by man for years, still has the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +Past to confront and harass his mind. Penitence and prayer may +lighten, but can never remove it. Surrounded though he be with health +and happiness, the demon of the Past will confront him ever, and make +his life wretched. Oh, what a fearful thing is that same Past, we hear +spoken of lightly by those whose lives have been along a smooth and +flowery track over the same, and unmarked by a single adversity or +crime. A single deviation from the path of honor, integrity and +virtue, and as years roll on the memory of those past hours will cause +bitter self-reproach, for it will be irremovable. So with past +happiness as it is with misery and crime. The beggar can never forget +his past joys in contemplating the present or hoping for the future, +but it must ever remain a source of never-failing regret and the +fountain of unhealable wounds.</p> + +<p>The Past!—but no more of it, as we write the recollection of past +happiness and prosperity, of past follies and errors rise up with +vividness, and though it is never forgotten, burns with a brighter +light than before.</p> + +<p>Several days after his conversation with Harry, Alfred received a +message from Dr. Humphries requesting him to meet that gentleman at +ten o'clock the same morning at his residence. Accordingly, at the +appointed hour, he presented himself to the Doctor, by whom he was +received with great cordiality and kindness.</p> + +<p>"I have sent for you, Mr. Wentworth," began the doctor, as soon as +Alfred was seated, "to speak with you on a subject which interests you +as well as myself. As you are aware, I promised your wife when she was +dying that your remaining child should never want a home while I +lived. This promise I now desire you to ratify by gaining your consent +to his remaining with me, at least until he is old enough not to need +the care of a lady."</p> + +<p>"You have placed me under many obligations already, Dr. Humphries," +replied Alfred, "and you will pardon me if I feel loath to add another +to the already long list. I have already formed a plan to place my +child in the hands of the Sisters of Charity at Charleston, by whom he +will be treated with the greatest kindness, and with but small expense +to myself. You must be aware that as a soldier my pay is very small, +while I have no opportunity of increasing my salary by engaging in any +mercantile pursuit. Such being the case, and as I could not consent to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +your defraying the expenses of the child, I think it better for him to +be where I shall need only a small sum of money to pay all needed +charges. At the same time let me assure you of my sincere gratitude +for your generous offer."</p> + +<p>"I will not hear of your objections, my good friend," said the doctor; +"it is my desire that you allow me to adopt the boy, if only in part. +My daughter will shortly be married, as you are aware, and then I +shall be left alone. I possess ample means, and would not accept a +dollar in return for the expenses incurred for the child, while his +presence will be a source of happiness to me. Already I have formed an +attachment for him, and it will only be gratifying my sincere wish if +you will give your consent. Believe me, I do not ask it for the +purpose of laying you under any obligations, or from any charitable +motive, but from an earnest desire for him to remain with me. Let me +hope that you will give your consent."</p> + +<p>"I scarcely know what to say," answered Alfred, "for while I feel a +natural delicacy in giving my consent, my heart tells me that the +child will be far more comfortable than if he were at the convent."</p> + +<p>"Why then do you not give your consent in the same spirit the offer is +made," observed the doctor. "My dear sir," he continued, "let no false +idea of delicacy prevent you from giving your consent to that, which +cannot fail to render your child happy and comfortable."</p> + +<p>"I cannot give a decided answer to-day" said Alfred. "You will give me +time to consider your offer—say a week. In the meantime I have no +objection to my child remaining with you until my mind is decided upon +what course I shall pursue."</p> + +<p>"I suppose I must be satisfied to wait" answered doctor Humphries, +"but let me trust your decision will be a favorable one." As I +remarked before, I desire you consent, from none but the purest +motives, and I hope you will grant it.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The sad tale with which we have endeavored to entertain the reader is +over. To the writer it has been no pleasant task, but the hope that it +may prove of some service, and of some interest to the public has +cheered us in our work, and disposed us to endure its unpleasantness. +Apart from the dearth of literary productions in the South, we have +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +believed that a necessity existed for a work of this nature, and with +such belief we have given the foregoing pages to the people, in the +hope that it may prove, not merely a novel to be read, criticised and +laid aside, but to be thought over, and its truth examined, in the +daily lives of hundreds in our midst. It is true, that with the +license of all writers we may have embellished misery <i>as a whole</i> to +a greater extent than reality, but if it is taken to pieces no +exaggeration will be discovered, and each picture drawn herein will be +found as truthful as our pen has depicted.</p> + +<p>As the reader may desire to know what become of the principal +characters remaining, we anticipated their desire, by making enquiry, +and learned the following facts, which we give to make this work as +complete as possible.</p> + +<p>Thirty days after the burial of Mrs. Wentworth, a large assemblage of +gaily dressed ladies and gentlemen assembled at the residence of +doctor Humphries to witness the marriage of Emma. The party was a +brilliant one; the impressive ceremony of the Episcopal church was +read, and Harry Shackleford was the husband of Emma Humphries. The +usual amount of embracing and congratulation occurred on the occasion, +after which the party adjourned to the dining room, where a sumptuous +supper had been prepared, and which was partaken of by the guests with +many compliments to the fair bride and bridegroom, while many toasts +were offered and drank, wishing long life, health and prosperity to +the young couple. The party lasted to a late hour in the night, when +the guests dispersed, all present having spent their hours in gaiety +and happiness.</p> + +<p>No, not all, for apart from the throng, while the marriage ceremony +was being read, was one who looked on the scene with a sad heart. Clad +in deep mourning, and holding his child, by the hand, Alfred Wentworth +standing aloof from the crowd saw Emma and his friend united as man +and wife with deep emotion. It had been only a few years before, that +he led his wife to the altar and the reminiscences of the present +awoke, and stirred his grief, and brought back upon him, with the +greatest force, his sad bereavement. A tear started to his eyes, as he +thought of his present unhappiness, and he turned aside, to hide his +emotion from the crowd. Dashing the tear away, he offered his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +congratulation and good wishes to the newly married couple, as he +thought, with calmness, but the quiver of his lips as he spoke, did +not pass unperceived by Harry, and as he clasped the extended hand of +his friend, a feeling of sympathy, which he could afford even in his +happiness, crept over him.</p> + +<p>Shortly after his marriage, Harry returned to his command, and is now +the Lieutenant Colonel of his regiment, having been promoted to that +honorable position for gallantry exhibited on many battle fields. When +last we heard of him he was on furlough, and with his wife in Alabama, +where they now reside, he having removed to that State a short time +previous to the fall of Vicksburg. So far, his wedded life has been +one of unalloyed happiness, and we can only wish that it may continue +so, through many long years. To his wife, though she has not been a +very prominent character in this book, we tender our best wishes for +the continuance of that happiness she now enjoys, and trust the day +will soon arrive when her husband will have no farther need to peril +his life in defence of his country, but turning his sword into a +plough, be enabled to live always with her, and to require no more +"furloughs."</p> + +<p>Shortly after his daughter's marriage and removal to Alabama, Doctor +Humphries found Jackson too lonely for him to reside at. He therefore, +removed into the same State, where he possessed a plantation, and is +now residing there, beloved and respected by all who know him. The +unfortunate life of Mrs. Wentworth, and the sad fate of herself and +the little Ella, did not fail to make him actively alive to the duties +of the wealthy towards those who were driven from their homes by the +enemy, and compelled to seek refuge in the States held by the +Confederate government. Every time a refugee arrived at his locality +he visits the unfortunate family with a view to finding out the state +of their circumstances. If he discovers they are in need, relief is +immediately granted, and the parties placed above want. By his energy +and perseverance he has succeeded in forming a society for the relief +of all refugees coming into the country, and as President of the same, +has infused a spirit of benevolence in the members, which promises to +become a blessing to themselves as well as to the wretched exiles who +are in their midst.</p> + + + +<p>The little Alfred is still with the Doctor, and is a source of much +pleasure to the old gentleman. It was only after the greatest +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +persuasions possible that his father consented to his remaining, but +being overcome by the argument of the Doctor and Harry as well as the +solicitations of Emma, he at last gave his consent, feeling at the +same time that his boy would be happier and fare more comfortable than +with the Sisters of Mercy, who, from their austere and religious life, +are ill suited to rear an infant of such tender years. The boy is +happy and can every evening be seen setting on the knees of Doctor +Humphries, who he calls "grandfather" and indulging in innocent +prattle. He has not yet forgotten his mother and sister, and very +often he enquires of the Doctor if they will not come back to him at +some future time. On these occasions the old gentleman shakes his +head, and tells him that they are gone to heaven where he will meet +them at some future time, if he behaves like a good boy. Enjoying good +health and perfectly happy, although anxious for the termination of +the war, and the achievement of our independence, we leave this worthy +gentleman, with the hope that he may long live to receive the +blessings and thanks of those who are daily benefited by his +philanthropic benevolence.</p> + +<p>The good old negro and Elsie accompanied the Doctor to Alabama, and +are now residing on the Doctor's plantation. The old woman still +resides in a cabin by herself, for no amount of persuasion could +induce her to stay at the residence, but every day she may be seen +hobbling to the house with some present for the little Alfred. The +clothes which little Ella died in, and the remainder of the wedding +gown, are kept sacredly by her, and often she narrates, to a group of +open-mouthed negro children, the sad tale of the soldier's wife, +embellishing, as a matter of course, the part she had in the eventful +drama. Her kindness to Mrs. Wentworth and Ella, was not forgotten by +the soldier, and before he left for the army, she received a +substantial reward as a token of his gratitude. She often speaks of +Ella as the little angel who "was not feared to die, case she was a +angel on earf."</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding he had yielded to so many offers of the Doctor, Alfred +would not consent to receive Elsa from him, unless he paid back the +sum of money given for the girl. This he could not do at the time, and +it was decided that she should remain as the slave of Doctor +Humphries, until he could refund the amount. She is now serving +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +exclusively as the nurse of the little boy, and is as happy and +contented as any slave in the South. Her attachment to the child +increases daily, and nothing in the world could induce her to forego +the pleasure of attending to her wants. The old negro and herself are +often together, conversing of the unfortunate family of her former +master, and their remarks teem with sympathy and abound with the +affection felt by every slave for a kind and indulgent owner. Although +of a servile race, we leave these negroes, regretting that in the +hearts of many of our white people the same generous feelings do not +exist. It is sad to think that, with all the advantages of birth, +education, and position, there should be found men of Caucasian +origin, who are below the negro in all the noble attributes of +mankind. But there are many such, and while they do not elevate the +servile race, they lower, to a considerable degree, the free born and +educated.</p> + +<p>Vicksburg fell on the fourth day of July, 1863, and the anniversary of +American independence was celebrated by the Yankees in a Southern city +which had cost them thousands of lives to capture. A few days after +the surrender, the enemy advanced on Jackson, and compelled General +Johnston to evacuate that city, to save his army. These are matters of +history, and are doubtless well known to the reader. After retaining +possession a short time, the Yankees retreated from the place, but not +before they had given another proof of the vandalism for which they +have been rendered infamous throughout the civilized world, by setting +the city on fire. Luckily only a portion of the town was destroyed, +and we could almost rejoice at being able to write that among the many +buildings burnt were those belonging to Mr. Elder. Did not the homes +of many good and worthy men share the same fate, we would almost +attribute the destruction of his property to the righteous indignation +of God. He lost every residence he possessed, and as the insurance +companies refused to renew, from the aspect of affairs, on the +expiration of his policies, the loss was a total one, and reduced him +to almost beggary. With a few negroes he reached Mobile and is now +living on the income their labor yields. His brutal conduct had +reached the Bay city, before the fall of Jackson, and on his arrival +there, instead of receiving the sympathy and aid of the generous +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +hearted people, he was coldly met and all rejoiced at his downfall. +Those, in that city, who in heart were like him, might have offered +assistance, did they not fear that such conduct would lead to +suspicion and eventuate the exposition of their enormities. His +punishment is the just reward for his iniquities, and we record almost +with regret that he is not reduced to abject beggary. Though we are +told to "return good for evil" and to "forgive our enemies," we cannot +in the case of Mr. Elder do either, but would like very much to see +the Mosaic law of "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth" put in +force, and in this wish those who are even more charitable than +ourselves will coincide.</p> + +<p>Swartz is now in Augusta, Georgia, living in ease and affluence, like +the majority of Southern speculators. The lesson he received from his +uncharitableness, has not benefited him in the slightest degree. He +still speculates on the wants of the poor, and is as niggardly to the +needy. Though loyal to the Confederacy, we believe his loyalty only +caused from his being the possessor of a large amount of Confederate +funds, but perhaps we judge him wrongfully. At any rate, he has never +done any act, either for the government or for individuals to merit +praise or approbation. In justice to the Germans of the South, we +would state that when his conduct towards Mrs. Wentworth became known, +they generally condemned him.—As we observed in a former chapter, +kindness and benevolence is the general trait of the Germans, and we +would not have it supposed that Swartz is a representative of that +people. The loss sustained by Mr. Swartz, by the fall of Jackson, was +comparatively insignificant, and therefore he has felt no change of +fortune. The punishment that he merits, is not yet meted to him, but +we feel certain that it will be dealt to him at the proper time.</p> + +<p>Further investigation and search resulted in the discovery of +sufficient evidence to convict Awtry of being a spy. When brought +before the court martial convened to try him, he displayed +considerable arrogance, and obstinately persisted in declaring himself +a British subject. With such plausibility did he defend himself, that +the court was at first very much puzzled to decide whether or not he +was a spy, for every evidence brought against the prisoner was +explained and made insignificant by his consummate skill in argument, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +and it was only by the opportune arrival of a detective with the most +decided proof of his guilt, that he was condemned to death. Awtry +received the sentence of the court with haughty indifference, and was +led back to prison, to await death by hanging. On the morning of his +execution, the courage and obstinacy which had sustained him from the +day of his arrest, gave way, and to the minister who edited upon him, +he made a full confession of his having been sent to Mississippi as a +spy for Sherman, and that he had already supplied that yankee General +with valuable information of the strength and capacity of Vicksburg +for resistance. He was very much humiliated at being condemned to +death by hanging and made application for the sentence to be changed +to shooting, but the military authorities declined acceding to his +demand, and he was accordingly hanged on the branches of a tree near +Jackson. A small mound of earth in an obscure portion of the +Confederacy is all that is left to mark the remains of Horace Awtry. +The libertine and prosecutor of Mrs. Wentworth is no more, and to God +we leave him. In His hands the soul of the dead will be treated as it +deserves, and the many sins which stain and blacken it will be +punished by the Almighty as they deserve. Black as was his guilt, we +have no word of reproach for the dead. Our maledictions are for the +living alone, and then we give them only when stern necessity demands +it, and when we do, our work of duty is blended with regret, and would +be recalled were it possible, and did not the outraged imperatively +demand it. To our Savior, we leave Awtry Before the Judge of mankind +he will be arraigned for his guilty acts on earth, and the just voice +of the Father, will pronounce on him the punishment he merits.</p> + +<p>But one more character remains for us to notice. Three or four times +in the last twelve months a man dressed in the uniform of a Lieutenant +of the Staff, and wearing a black crape around his arm, may have been +seen with a little boy kneeling by the side of a grave in the cemetery +of Jackson, Mississippi. The grave contains two remains, but is +covered over with one large brick foundation from which ascends a pure +and stainless shaft of marble, with the following inscription on its +snowy front:</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width:65%;" /> +<h3> + <b>SACRED</b></h3> +<h4>TO THE MEMORY OF</h4> +<h3>MY WIFE AND CHILD,</h3> +<h2>EVA AND ELLA WENTWORTH.</h2> +<h5>"Their troubles o'er, they rest in peace."</h5> +<h3>1863.</h3> +<p class="sig"><b>A.W.</b></p> +<hr style="width:65%;" /> +<p>As our readers must perceive, the stranger and child, are Alfred +Wentworth and his little boy. About four months after the death of his +wife, he was appointed Inspector General of a Louisiana brigade with +the rank of first Lieutenant, and being stationed for awhile near +Jackson, paid frequent visits to the city, and never failed on such +occasions to take his son to the grave of his wife and child. There, +kneeling before the grave, the broken hearted soldier would offer up a +prayer to God for the repose of the souls of those beneath the sod. +The tears which fell on the grave on such visits, and watered the last +resting place of the loved ones were the holiest that ever flowed from +the eyes of man—they were the homage of a bereaved husband to the +memory of a pure and spotless wife, and an angel daughter. Alfred is +still alive, and has passed unharmed through many a hard fought +battle. Those who know not the tale of his family's sufferings and +unhappy fate, think him moody and unfriendly, but those who are +acquainted with the trials of the soldiers wife, regard his reserved +and silent manners with respect, for though the same sorrows may not +darken the sunshine of their lives, their instinct penetrates the +recess of the soldiers heart, and the sight of its shattered and +wrecked remains often cause a sigh of sorrow, and a tear of +commiseration. Let us trust that a merciful God in His divine wisdom, +may alleviate the poignant grief of the soldier, and restore him to +that happiness he once possessed.</p> + +<p>And now kind reader, we bid you a last farewell; but ere the pages of +this book are closed, let us speak a word to you, for those +unfortunates who abandon their homes on the approach of the enemy to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +seek refuge in the Confederate lines. Many—alas! too many of its +citizens consider the term "refugee" synonymous with that of +"<i>beggar</i>." In this idea we err. It is true they are in many +instances, reduced to penury, but in their poverty are as different +from the mendicant as the good are from the bad. Many of these +refugees have lost their homes, their wealth—their everything to +retain their patriotism and honor. Some of them adorned the most +polished circles in their midst, and many held an enviable position in +the State of their nativity or residence. For their country, for our +country, for your country, the brave abandoned all they possessed, +preferring to live in want among the people of the South, than to +revel in luxuries in the midst of our enemies. Seek these exiles. Look +upon them as suffering Confederates, and extend the hand of friendship +and assistance to all who are in need. Let the soldier know that his +wife and children are provided for by you. It will cheer him while in +camp, it will inspire him in battle, and if he falls by the hand of +the enemy, the knowledge that those he loves will be cared for, will +lighten the pangs of Death, and he will die, happy in the thought of +falling for his country. Oh! kind reader, turn your ear to the moaning +of the soldier's wife—the cries of his children, and let your heart +throb with kindness and sympathy for their sufferings. Relieve their +wants, alleviate their pains, and earn for yourself a brighter reward +than gold or influence can purchase—the eternal gratitude of the +defenders of our liberties.</p> + +<p>Farewell! if a single tear of sorrow, steals unhidden down your cheek +at the perusal of this sad tale—if in your heart a single chord of +pity is touched at its recital—we shall have been fully rewarded for +the time and labor expended by us. And if at some future day you hear +of some soldier's family suffering; sympathise with their afflictions +and cheerfully aid in ameliorating their condition, by giving a single +thought of "<span class="smcap">The Trials of the Soldier's Wife</span>."</p> + + +<h3>FINIS.</h3> + +<hr style="width:65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="APPENDIX" id="APPENDIX"></a>APPENDIX</h2> +<p>In presenting a work of this nature to the reader, the Author takes +the opportunity of making an apology for the errors, typographical and +otherwise, which may be found therein. The difficulties under which he +labored in procuring the publication of the book at this time, when +the principal publishers of the South are so busily engaged in +publishing works written in foreign parts, and which cost them nothing +but the expense of publication, and the procuring of them through our +blockaded ports. The book which our readers have just completed +perusing, is filled with many errors; too many, in fact, for any +literary work to contain. The excuse of the Author for these, is, that +at the time the book was in press he was with the Army of Tennessee +performing his duties, which prevented him from reading the proof +sheets and correcting all mistakes which crept in during composition. +The party on whom devolved the duty of reading the proof performed his +work as well as could be expected, for, in some instances, the errors +were the fault of the Author, and not that of the printer, who labored +under many disadvantages in deciphering the manuscript copy of the +book; the greater part of which was written on the battle-field, and +under fire of the enemy. It is thus that in the first page we find an +error of the most glaring character possible, but which might have +been the Author's, as well as the printer's omission. Thus, the Author +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +is made to say that the "aristocracy" of New Orleans were "well known +by that elegance and etiquette which distinguish the <i>parvenu</i> of +society." Now the intention, as well as the words of the author, +represented the "aristocracy" in quite a different light. That line +should have read "that elegance and etiquette which distinguish <i>the +well-bred</i> from the <i>parvenu</i> of society, etc." Nevertheless, the +whole sense of the sentence is destroyed by the omission of the +<i>italicised</i> words, and the reader is left to infer that the +aristocracy of New Orleans are the <i>parvenu</i> of society; rather, we +must admit, a doubtful compliment, and quite in accordance with the +following words, which go on to speak of "the vulgar but wealthy class +of citizens with which this country is infested." Now we do not +pretend for a moment to believe that our readers would imagine that we +meant the sentence quoted in the sense it appears, and they may, +perhaps, pass it over without noticing the errors complained of; but +when such errors should not exist they become a source of much +annoyance to the author, and could they have been rectified before it +was too late, they should never have appeared in print. In fact, after +discovering that an error of so gross a nature existed in the first +pages of the book, the author would have had the entire "form" +reprinted, had not the extravagant price of paper, and its great +scarcity, precluded the possibility of such an idea being carried into +effect. The errors, therefore, remain, and for them we would claim +indulgence, although readily admitting that none is deserved.</p> + +<p>And now we desire to say a few words relative to the work you have +just completed reading. It may appear to you a wild and extravagant +tale of hardships and privations which existed only in the imagination +of the author. Were your supposition correct, we should rejoice, but +unfortunately, every day brings us scenes of poverty that this work +lacks in ability to portray, in sufficient force, the terrible +sufferings borne by thousands of our people. In the plenitude of our +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +wealth, we think not of poor, and thus we cannot tell or find out the +hundreds of poverty stricken wretches who cover the country. Our +natures may be charitable even, but we only give charity where it is +asked for, and await the coming of the mendicant before our purses are +opened. By these means alone do we judge the extent of suffering in +the land, and, not hearing of many cases of penury, or receiving many +applications for assistance, we believe that the assertions of great +want being among the people are untrue, and we purposely avoid +searching for the truth of such assertions. The design of the author, +in this little book, has been to open the eyes of the people to the +truth. If he has painted the trials of the soldiers wife more highly +colored than reality could permit, it has been because he desired to +present his argument with greater force than he could otherwise have +done; and yet, if we examine well the picture he presents; take it in +its every part, and look on each one, we will find that it does not +exaggerate a single woe. We have seen far greater scenes of +wretchedness than those narrated herein; scenes which defy +description; for their character has been so horrible that to depict +it, a pen mightier than a Bulwer's or a Scott's would be necessary.</p> + +<p>The tale which the reader has just finished perusing is taken from +scenes that <i>actually occurred</i> during the present war—except, +perhaps, that part which relates the tearing of the mother from the +bedside of her dead child. In every other respect all that is narrated +in the foregoing pages are strictly true, and there are parties now in +the South, who, when they read this work, will recognize in +themselves, some of the characters represented herein. The Author +would rejoice, for the sake of humanity and civilization if the tale +he has written was only a fiction of his own imagining; but did it not +contain truths the work would never have been written. No other object +than that of calling attention to the vast misery and wretchedness +which at the present time of writing abounds in the South, prompted +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +the Author to pen the pages which you have perused. He has witnessed +them himself; he has seen the soldiers wife absolutely starving, and +from a slender purse has himself endeavored to relieve their +necessities. To present before the world the fact that there are +thousands in our midst who are in <i>absolute beggary</i>, has been the +object of the writer, and to call on those who are able to do so, to +aid these unfortunates, is his purpose. This book is an appeal to the +Rich in favor of the Poor. It is the voice of Humanity calling upon +Wealth to rise from her sluggish torpor and wrest the hungry and +threadbare victim from the grasp of Famine, and drive desolation from +our midst. If this call is answered; if the wealthy awake to their +duty and save the wretched beings who are in our midst, then the +Author will have gained a richer reward than all the profits accruing +from this work. He will have been more than rewarded by the knowledge +that he has been the instrument, through which charity has once more +visited the South, and swept oppression and want from our land. Such +scenes as those we daily witness were never seen, even in the mildest +form a few short years ago. Prior to the war there was scarcely a +beggar in the South, and from one end of the country to the other +could we walk without hearing the voice of the mendicant appealing to +our benevolence. How changed now! In every city of the South the +streets are filled with ragged boys and girls stopping each passer by +and asking aid. It is a disgrace to humanity and to God, and that such +things should be in our land, whose sons have exhibited such heroism +and devotion.—Many of these beggary are the sons and daughters of our +soldiers—of our honored dead and heroic living. To the soldier who +lies beneath the sod a martyr to his country's cause, their sufferings +are unknown; but if in Heaven he can witness their penury, his soul +must rest ill at peace and weep for those on earth. To the soldier, +who is still alive and struggling for our independence, the letter +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +that brings him news of his wife's and children's poverty must bring +him discontent, and render him unwilling to longer remain in the army +and struggle for liberty while they are starving. How many times have +not desertion taken place through this very cause. In Mississippi we +witnessed the execution of a soldier for the crime of desertion. On +the morning of his execution he informed the minister that he never +deserted until repeated letters from his wife informed him of her +wretched condition; informed him that herself and her children were +absolutely starving. He could no longer remain in the army; the +dictates of his own heart; the promptings of his affection triumphed +and in an evil hour he deserted and returned home to find her tale, +alas! too true. He was arrested, courtmartialed and <i>shot</i>. He had +forfeited his life by his desertion and bore his fate manfully; his +only fear being for the future welfare of that wife and her children +for whom he had lost his life. When he fell, pierced by the bullets of +his comrades, was there not a murder committed? There was, but not by +the men who sentenced him to death. They but performed duty, and, we +are charitable enough to suppose, performed it with regret. The +murderers were the heartless men who are scattered over the land like, +locusts, speculating on the necessities of the people, and their +aiders and abettors are those who calmly sat with folded arms, and +essayed not to aid his family. Rise, O my readers and aid the poor of +our land. Let your hearts be filled with mercy to the unfortunate. +Remember that</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + <span class="i0">"The quality of mercy is not strain'd</span> + <span class="i0">It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven</span> + <span class="i0">Upon the place beneath; it is twice blessed,</span> + <span class="i0">It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:</span> + <span class="i0">'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes</span> + <span class="i0">The crowned monarch better than his crown:"</span> +</div></div> + + +<p>and in performing an act of charity you bless yourself as well as the +one who is benefited by such charity.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> +<p>We shall now close our remarks with the hope that the reader will +appreciate the motive which prompted the writing of this book. As will +be seen, it has no plot—it never was intended to have any. The Author +intended merely to write a simple narrative when he commenced this +work, and to place before the public in the most agreeable form of +reading, a subject of vital importance to the Confederacy, and to +impress upon the minds of the wealthy their duty to the poor. He knows +not whether he has succeeded in the latter hope, and he could have +wished that some other pen had taken up the subject and woven it into +a tale that could have had a better and more lasting effect than the +foregoing is likely to have. Nevertheless he trusts that all his labor +is not lost, but that some attention will be paid to his words and a +kinder feeling be manifested towards refugees and the poor than has +hitherto been shown. If this be done then nothing but the happiest +results can follow, and the blessings of thousands, the heartfelt +blessings of thousands on earth, will follow those who aid in the work +of charity, called for by the present emergency, and from the +celestial realms the voice of God will be heard thanking His children +on earth for their kindness to their fellow mortals.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>For the publication of this work the Author has to thank the kind +proprietor of the "Atlanta Intelligencer," Col. Jared I. Whitaker. To +this gentleman is he indebted for being able to present the work to +the public, and to him does the Author extend his sincere thanks. In +Col. Whitaker the Confederacy has one son who, uncontaminated by the +vile weeds of mortality which infest us, still remains pure and +undefiled, and, not only the obligations due from the author are +hereby acknowledged, but as one who has witnessed the whole souled +charity of this gentleman, we can record of him the possession of a +heart, unswayed by a sordid motive. To this gentleman are the thanks +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +of the author tendered, with the wish that he may live many long years +to reap the reward due to those, who, like himself, are ever foremost +in deeds of charity and benevolence.</p> + +<h3>END OF APPENDIX</h3> +<hr style="width:65%;" /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Trials of the Soldier's Wife, by +Alex St. Clair Abrams + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRIALS OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE *** + +***** This file should be named 17955-h.htm or 17955-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/9/5/17955/ + +Produced by Curtis Weyant, Sankar Viswanathan, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images produced by the Wright +American Fiction Project.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Trials of the Soldier's Wife + A Tale of the Second American Revolution + +Author: Alex St. Clair Abrams + +Release Date: March 10, 2006 [EBook #17955] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRIALS OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE *** + + + + +Produced by Curtis Weyant, Sankar Viswanathan, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images produced by the Wright +American Fiction Project.) + + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + The author states in the Appendix "The book which our + readers have just completed perusing, is filled with many + errors; too many, in fact, for any literary work to + contain." + + Only the very obvious errors have been corrected. + + + + THE TRIALS + + OF + + THE SOLDIER'S WIFE: + + + A TALE OF THE + + SECOND AMERICAN REVOLUTION. + + + + BY ALEX. ST. CLAIR ABRAMS. + + + + + ATLANTA, GEORGIA: + + 1864. + + + Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1864, + + BY THE AUTHOR, + +In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Confederate States + for the Northern District of Georgia. + + + + +DEDICATION + +TO + +COLONEL JOHN H. JOSSEY. + +Of Macon, Georgia. + + +MY DEAR SIR-- + +Accept from me the dedication of this little work as a token of +appreciation for the kind friendship you have ever displayed towards +me. Wishing you all the happiness and prosperity that can fall to +mortal man, believe me. + + Your Friend, + + THE AUTHOR. + + + + +PREFACE. + + +The plot of this little work was first thought of by the writer in the +month of December, 1862, on hearing the story of a soldier from New +Orleans, who arrived from Camp Douglas just in time to see his wife +die at Jackson, Mississippi. Although the Press of that city made no +notice of it, the case presented itself as a fit subject for a +literary work. If the picture drawn in the following pages appears +exaggerated to our readers, they will at least recognize the moral it +contains as truthful. + +Trusting that the public will overlook its many defects, the Author +yet hopes there will be found in this little book, matter of +sufficient interest to while away the idle hour of the reader. + +ATLANTA, April 20th, 1864. + + + + +THE TRIALS + +OF + +THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. + +CHAPTER FIRST. + +THE "CRESCENT CITY"--THE HUSBAND'S DEPARTURE. + + +Kind reader, have you ever been to New Orleans? If not, we will +attempt to describe the metropolis of the Confederate States of +America. + +New Orleans is situated on the Mississippi river, and is built in the +shape of a crescent, from which it derives the appellation of +"Crescent City." The inhabitants--that is, the educated class--are +universally considered as the most refined and aristocratic members of +society on the continent. When we say aristocratic, we do not mean a +pretension of superiority above others, but that elegance and +etiquette which distinguish the _parvenu_ of society, and the vulgar, +but wealthy class of citizens with which this country is infested. The +ladies of New Orleans are noted for their beauty and refinement, and +are certainly, as a general thing, the most accomplished class of +females in the South, except the fair reader into whose hands this +work may fall. + +It was in the month of May, 1861, that our story commences. Secession +had been resorted to as the last chance left the South for a +preservation of her rights. Fort Sumter, had fallen, and from all +parts of the land troops were pouring to meet the threatened invasion +of their homes. As history will record, New Orleans was not idle in +those days of excitement. Thousands of her sons came forward at the +first call, and offered their services for the good of the common +cause, and for weeks the city was one scene of excitement from the +departure of the different companies to Virginia. + +Among the thousands who replied to the first call of their country, +was Alfred Wentworth, the confidential clerk of one of the largest +commission houses in the city. He was of respectable family, and held +a high position in society, both on account of his respectability and +the elevated talent he had displayed during his career in the world. +He had been married for about five years, and two little children--one +a light-eyed girl of four summers, and the other an infant of two +years--were the small family with which heaven had blessed him. + +After joining a company of infantry, and signing the muster roll, +Alfred returned home to his wife and informed her of what he had done, +expecting that she would regret it. But the patriotic heart of his +wife would not reproach him for having performed his duty; so heaving +a sigh as she looked at the child in her arms, and the little girl on +her fathers knee, a tear trickled down her flushed cheek as she bade +him God-speed. The time that elapsed between his enlistment and +departure for the seat of war, was spent by Alfred Wentworth in +providing a home for his family, so that in the event of his being +killed in battle, they should not want. Purchasing a small residence +on Prytania street, he removed his family into it and concluded his +business in time for his departure. + +The morning of the twenty-second of May broke brightly over the +far-famed "Crescent City." Crowds of citizens were seen congregating +on Canal street to witness the departure of two more regiments of +Orleanians. The two regiments were drawn up in line between Camp and +Carondelet streets, and their fine uniforms, glistening muskets and +soldierly appearance created a feeling of pride among the people. They +were composed principally of Creoles and Americans, proper. The +handsome, though dark complexions of the Creoles could be seen lit up +with enthusiasm, in conversation with the dark-eyed Creole beauties of +the city, while the light-haired and fair-faced sons of the Crescent +City were seen mingling among the crowd of anxious relatives who +thronged to bid them farewell. + +Apart from the mass of volunteers--who had previously stacked their +arms--Alfred Wentworth and his wife were bidding that agonizing +farewell, which only those who have parted from loved one can feel. +His little bright-eyed daughter was clasped in his arms, and every +minute he would stoop over his infant and kiss its tiny cheeks. Marks +of tears were on the eyelids of his wife, but she strove to hide them, +and smiled at every remark made by her daughter. They were alone from +the eyes of a curious crowd. Each person present had too much of his +own acquaintances to bid farewell, to notice the speechless farewell +which the soldier gave his wife. With one arm clasped around her, and +the other holding his daughter, Alfred Wentworth gazed long and +earnestly at the features of his wife and children, as if to impress +the features of those loved ones still firmer in his mind. + +"Attention, battalion!" rang along the line in stentorian tones, and +the voices of the company officers calling "fall in, boys, fall in!" +were heard in the streets. Clasping his wife to his heart, and +imprinting a fond, fond kiss of love upon her cheeks, and embracing +his children, the soldier took his place in the ranks, and after the +necessary commands, the volunteers moved forward. A crowd of their +relatives followed them to the depot of the New Orleans, Jackson and +Great Northern Railroad, and remained until the cars were out of +sight. After the troops had entered, and the train was slowly moving +off, one of the soldiers jumped from the platform, and, embracing a +lady who stood near, exclaimed: + +"Farewell, dearest Eva! God bless you and the children--we shall meet +again." As soon as he spoke, Alfred Wentworth sprang into the cars +again and was soon swiftly borne from the city. + +Mrs. Wentworth remained standing where her husband had left her, until +the vast crowd had dispersed, and nothing could be seen of the train +but a thin wreath of smoke emerging from the tree-tops in the +distance. Calling the colored nurse, who had followed with the +children, she bade her return home, and accompanied her back to her +now lonely residence. + + + + +CHAPTER SECOND. + +THE WIFE AND CHILDREN--A VISITOR + + +The weeks passed slowly to Mrs. Wentworth from the departure of her +husband; but her consciousness that he was performing his duty to his +country, and the letters he wrote from Virginia, cheered her spirits, +and, in a measure, made her forget his absence. + +She was alone one evening with her children, who had become the sole +treasures of her heart, and on whom she lavished every attention +possible, when the ringing of the bell notified her of the presence of +a visitor. Calling the servant, she bade her admit the person at the +door. The negro left the room to do her mistress' bidding, and shortly +after, a handsome gentleman of about thirty-five years of age entered. + +"Good morning, Mrs. Wentworth," he said, on entering the room. "I +trust yourself and children are in good health." + +Mrs. Wentworth rose from her chair, and, slightly inclining her head, +replied: "To what circumstance am I indebted for the honor of this +visit, Mr. Awtry?" + +"Nothing very particular, madam," he replied; "but hearing of your +husband's departure, I thought I should lake the liberty of paying a +visit to an old acquaintance, and of offering my services, if you +should ever need them." + +"I thank you for your kindness; and should I _ever_ need your +services, you may depend upon my availing myself of your offer; +although," she added, "I do not think it likely I shall stand in need +of any assistance." + +"I rejoice to hear it, my dear madam," he replied; "but I trust," he +continued, on noticing the look of surprise which covered her +features, "that you will not think my offer in the least insulting; +for I can assure you, it was only prompted by the most friendly +motives, and the recollections of past days." + +Mrs. Wentworth made no reply, and he continued: "I hope that, after an +absence of five years, the memory of the past has been banished from +you. With me things have changed materially. The follies of my youth +have, I trust, been expiated, and I am a different man now to what I +was when I last saw you." + +"Mr. Awtry," replied Mrs. Wentworth, "I feel rather surprised that, +after your presence in New Orleans for so many months, you should not +have thought proper to renew our acquaintance until after the +departure of my husband." + +"Pardon me," he quickly answered. "I was introduced to your husband by +a mutual friend; and as he never thought proper to extend an +invitation to me, I did not think myself authorized to call here. +Learning of his departure this morning, and knowing that his +circumstances were not of so favorable a character as he could wish, I +thought you might pardon my presumption in calling on you when you +learned the motive which actuated this visit--believe me, I am +sincere; and now," he continued, "will you accept my proffered hand of +friendship, and believe that my desire is only to aid the relatives of +one of the gallant men who have gone to struggle for their rights?" + +Mrs. Wentworth paused a moment before she accepted the extended hand, +while her brow appeared clouded. At length, holding out her hand to +him, she said: + +"I accept your offered friendship, Mr. Awtry, in the same spirit, as I +hope, it is given; but, at the same time, trust you shall never be +troubled with any importunities from me." + +"Thank you--thank you," he replied eagerly; "I shall not prove +otherwise than worthy of your friendship. These are your children?" he +continued, changing the conversation. + +"Yes," she replied, with a look of pride upon her little daughter and +the sleeping infant on the sofa; "these are my little family." + +Mr. Awtry took the little girl upon his knees and commenced caressing +it, and, after remaining for a few moments in unimportant +conversation, took his departure with the promise to call at some +future time. + +As soon as he left Mrs. Wentworth sat down, and resting her hands on +the table, spoke to herself on the visit she had received. "What could +have induced him to pay me this visit?" she said, musingly; "it is +strange--very strange that he should choose this particular time to +renew our acquaintance! He spoke honestly, however, and may be sincere +in his offers of assistance, should I ever need anything. He is +wealthy, and can certainly aid me." She sat there musing, until the +little girl, coming up to her, twined her tiny arms round her mother's +neck, and asked if it was not time to light the gas. + +"Yes, darling," said Mrs. Wentworth, kissing her fondly; "call Betsy +and let her get a light." + +After the negro had lit the gas, Mrs. Wentworth said to her, "Should +that gentleman, who was here to-day, call at any time again, let me +know before you admit him." + +"Yes, mistis," replied the negro with a curtsey. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRD. + +MR. HORACE AWTRY. + + +Mr. Horace Awtry was a native of the State of New York, and was, at +the time of writing, about thirty-live years of age. He was a tall and +well-formed man, with light hair clustering in curls on a broad and +noble looking forehead; his features were well chiselled, and his +upper lip was ornamented with a mustache of the same color as his +hair. Notwithstanding his handsome features and extravagant display of +dress, there was an expression in his dark blue eyes, which, though +likely to captivate the young and innocent portion of the fair sex, +was not deemed elegant by those who are accustomed to read the +features of man. He was very wealthy, but was a perfect type of the +_roue_, although a good education and remarkable control of himself +rendered it difficult for his acquaintances to charge him with +dissipation, or any conduct unworthy of ft gentleman. As this +gentleman will occupy a somewhat conspicuous position in our tale, we +deem it necessary to go into these particulars. + +Some seven years previous to her marriage, and while yet a child, Mrs. +Wentworth, with her father, the only surviving relative she had, spent +the summer at Saratoga Springs in the State of New York, and there met +Mr. Awtry, who was then a handsome and dashing young man. Struck by +her beauty, and various accomplishments, he lost no time in making her +acquaintance, and before her departure from the Springs, offered her +his hand. To his utter astonishment, the proposal was rejected, with +the statement that she was already engaged to a gentleman of New +Orleans. This refusal would have satisfied any other person, but +Horace Awtry was not a man to yield so easily; he, therefore, followed +her to New Orleans on her return, and endeavored, by every means in +his power, to supplant Alfred Wentworth in the affections of Eva +Seymour--Mrs. Wentworth's maiden name--and in the confidence of her +father. Failing in this, and having the mortification of seeing them +married, he set to work and succeeded in ruining Mr. Seymour in +business, which accounts for the moderate circumstances in which we +find Mrs. Wentworth and her husband at the commencement of this book. +Worn out by his failure in business and loss of fortune, Mr. Seymour +died shortly after his daughter's marriage, without knowing who caused +his misfortunes, and Horace Awtry returned to the North. After being +absent for several years, he came back to New Orleans some months +before the departure of Mrs. Wentworth's husband, but never called +upon her until after he had left, when she was surprised at the visit +narrated in the foregoing chapter. + +This gentleman was seated in the portico of the St. Charles Hotel a +few mornings after his visit to Mrs. Wentworth, and by his movements +of impatience was evidently awaiting the arrival of some one. At last +a young man ran down the steps leading from the apartments, and he +rose hurriedly to meet him. + +"You are the very man I have been waiting to see," said Horace Awtry; +"you must excuse my apparent neglect in not calling on you before." + +"Certainly, my dear fellow," replied the gentleman. "I am certain your +reasons are good for not attending to your arrangement punctually--by +the way," he continued, "who the deuce was that lady I saw you +escorting to church last Sunday?" + +"An acquaintance of mine that I had not seen for years, until a few +days ago chance threw me in her path and I paid her a visit." + +"Ha, ha, ha," laughed his companion. "I understand; but who is she, +and her name? She is very pretty," he continued, gravely. + +"Hush, Charlie!" replied Horace; "come to my room in the St. Louis +Hotel, and I will tell you all about it." + +"Wait a moment, my friend, and let me get some breakfast," he replied. + +"Pooh!" said Horace, "we can have breakfast at Galpin's after I have +conversed with you at my room; or," he continued, "I will order a +breakfast and champagne to be brought up to my room." + +"As you like," said the other, taking a couple of cigars from his +pocket and offering one to his companion. + +After lighting their cigars, the two men left the hotel, and +purchasing the New York _Herald_ and _News_ from the news-dealer +below, proceeded to the St. Louis Hotel, where Horace ordered a +breakfast and champagne for himself and guest. + +Throwing himself on one of the richly-covered couches that ornamented +the apartment, Charles Bell--for that was the name of the +gentleman--requested his friend to inform him who the lady was that he +escorted to church. + +"Well, my dear friend," said Horace, "as you appear so desirous to +know I will tell you. I met that lady some seven years ago at Saratoga +Springs. If she is now beautiful she was ten times so then, and I +endeavored to gain her affections. She was, however, engaged to +another young man of this city, and on my offering her my hand in +marriage, declined it on that ground. I followed her here with the +intention of supplanting her lover in her affections, but it was of no +avail; they were married, and the only satisfaction I could find was +to ruin her father, which I did, and he died shortly after without a +dollar to his name." + +"So she is married?" interrupted his companion. + +"Yes, and has two children," replied Horace. + +"Where is her husband?" + +"He left for Virginia some time ago, where I sincerely trust he will +get a bullet through his heart," was the very charitable rejoinder. + +"What! do you desire to marry his widow?" asked his friend. + +"No, indeed," he replied; "but you see they are not in very good +circumstances, and if he were once dead she would be compelled to work +for a living, as they have no relatives in this State, and only a few +in Baltimore. To gain my object, I should pretend that I desired to +befriend her--send the two children to some nurse, and then have her +all to myself. This," continued the villain, "is the object with which +I have called upon her"-- + +"And paid a visit to church for the first time in your life," said +Bell, laughing; "but," he resumed, "it is not necessary for you to +wish the husband dead--why not proceed to work at once?" + +"Well, so I would, but she is so very particular, that on the +slightest suspicion she would take the alarm and communicate to her +husband the fact of my having renewed my acquaintance with her, which +would, perhaps, bring him home on furlough." + +"Nonsense," replied his friend, "the secessionists need every man to +assist them in driving back McDowell, and there is no chance of any +furloughs being granted; besides which, we are on the eve of a great +battle, and for any of the men to ask for a furlough would lay him +open to the charge of cowardice." + +"That may be all true," said Horace, "but I shall not venture on +anything more as yet. As far as I have gone, she believes me actuated +by no other motives than the remembrance of my former affection for +her, and, with that belief, places implicit trust in me." + +The conversation was here interrupted by the appearance of two +waiters, one carrying a waiter filled with different descriptions of +food, and the other a small basket containing six bottles of +champagne. After setting them on a table, Horace inquired what the +charges were. + +"Twelve dollars, sah," was the reply. + +Horace took out his pocket book, and throwing the man a twenty dollar +gold piece, told him to pay for the breakfast and champagne, and +purchase cigars with the remainder. + +The negroes having left, Horace Awtry and his friend proceeded to +discuss their breakfast and champagne. After eating for a few minutes +in silence, Horace suddenly said: + +"Charlie, what do you think of this war?" + +"My opinion is, that the South has got in a pretty bad dilemma," +replied that gentleman. + +"That is identically my impression, but for heaven's sake do not let +any one hear you say so. The people are half crazed with excitement, +and the slightest word in favor of the North may lay you at the mercy +of an infuriated mob." + +"What do you intend doing, now the ports are blockaded, and no one can +leave the country?" asked his friend. + +"Why, remain here and pretend all the friendship possible for the +South. Maybe I will get a contract or two, which will further the +design of covering my opinions on this contest." + +"Such was my idea, but I am afraid that the secesh government will +issue their cotton bonds until all the gold is driven from the States, +and then we will have nothing but their worthless paper money," +replied Bell. + +"I have thought of that, and made up my mind to convert all the +property I have here into gold at once, which will give me between +sixty and seventy thousand dollars, and as fast as I make any of the +bonds from contracts, I will sell them for whatever gold they will +bring." + +"That's a capital idea, my dear follow," said Bell, rising from his +chair and slapping Awtry on the shoulder; "I think I shall follow your +plan." + +The cigars having been brought in, after a few minutes of unimportant +conversation, Charles Bell left his friend, with the arrangement to +meet at the Varieties theatre in the evening, and Horace Awtry, +divesting himself of his clothing, retired to sleep until the evening +should come. + + + + +CHAPTER FOURTH. + +A POLITIC STROKE--THE TELEGRAPHIC DISPATCH. + + +June and half of July had sped swiftly away. The great battle, which +everybody daily expected, had been fought, and the Yankee army +ignominiously defeated. As every one of our readers are well +acquainted with this battle, I shall not go into any details; enough; +as history will tell, to know that it resulted in a glorious victory +to the Confederate army, and covered the gallant Southerners with +honor. + +On the arrival of dispatches giving an account of this victory, to use +a vulgar phrase, New Orleans "ran wild." The excitement and exultation +of the people were beyond description, and during the same night that +the news was received, one scene of gayety was observed in the city. +There was one heart, however, that did not share the joy and merriment +so universal among the people. In the privacy of her dwelling, with +her two children near by, Mrs. Wentworth spent a night of prayer and +anxiety, and next morning rose from her bed with the same feeling of +anxiety to know whether her husband had escaped unhurt. At about ten +o'clock in the morning, a knock was heard at the door, and soon after +Mr. Awtry entered. + +"How are you this morning, Mrs. Wentworth?" he said, taking her little +daughter in his arms and kissing her; "so we have gained a great +victory in Virginia." + +"Yes," she replied; "but I do feel so anxious to know if my husband is +safe." + +"Do not think for a moment otherwise," he answered; "why a soldier's +wife should not show half as much solicitude as you do." + +"I am, indeed, very desirous of knowing his fate and I am sure the +fact of being a soldier's wife does not prevent my feeling a desire to +ascertain if he is unhurt, or if he is"--she paused at the thought +which seemed so horrid in her imagination, and lowering her face in +her hands, burst into tears. + +"Mother, what are you crying for?" asked her little daughter, who was +sitting on Mr. Awtry's knees. + +"My dear madam," said Mr. Awtry, "why do you give way to tears? If you +desire," he continued, "I will telegraph to Virginia and learn if your +husband is safe." + +"Thank you--thank you!" she answered eagerly; "I shall feel deeply +obligated if you will." + +"I shall go down to the telegraph office at once," he said, rising +from his seat and placing the child down; "and now, my little +darling," he continued, speaking to the child, "you must tell your ma +not to cry so much." With these words he shook Mrs. Wentworth's hand +and left the house. + +The day passed wearily for Mrs. Wentworth; every hour she would open +one of the windows leading to the street and look out, as if expecting +to see Mr. Awtry with a telegraphic dispatch in his hand, and each +disappointment she met with on these visits would only add to her +intense anxiety. The shades of evening had overshadowed the earth, and +Mrs. Wentworth sat at the window of her dwelling waiting the arrival +of the news, which would either remove her fears or plunge her in +sorrow. Long hours passed, and she had almost despaired of Mr. Awtry's +coming that evening, when he walked up the street, and in a few +minutes was in the house. + +"What news?" gasped Mrs. Wentworth, starting from her seat and meeting +him at the door of the apartment. + +"Read it, my dear madam. I shall leave that pleasure to you," he +replied, handing her a telegraphic dispatch he held in his hand. + +Taking the dispatch, Mrs. Wentworth, with trembling fingers, unfolded +it and read these words: "Mrs. Eva Wentworth, New Orleans, Louisiana: +Yours received. I am safe. Alfred Wentworth." As soon as she had read +the dispatch, her pent up anxiety for his safety was allayed, and +throwing herself on her knees before a couch, regardless of the +presence of Mr. Awtry, who stood looking on, Mrs. Wentworth poured +forth a prayer of thanks at the safety of her husband, while tears of +joy trickled down her cheeks. + +"Allow me to congratulate you, Mrs. Wentworth, on the safety of your +husband," said Horace Awtry, after she had become sufficiently +composed. "I assure you," he continued, "I feel happy at the knowledge +of being the medium through which this welcome intelligence has +reached you." + +"You have, indeed, proved a friend," she said, extending her hand, +which he shook warmly, "and one that I feel I can trust." + +"Do not speak of it," he answered; "it is only a natural act of +kindness towards one whom I desire to befriend." + +"And one I will never cease to forget. Oh! if you had but known how I +felt during these past hours of agonizing suspense, you would not have +thought lightly of your kind attention; and I am sure when I write +Alfred of it, he will not have words sufficient to express his +gratitude." + +"In my haste to impart the good news to you," said Mr. Awtry, rising, +"I almost forgot an engagement I made this evening. It is now getting +late, and I must leave. Good evening." + +"Good evening," she replied. "I trust you will call to see me soon +again." + +"With _your_ permission I will," he answered, laying particular +emphasis on the word "your." + +"Certainly," she said. "I shall be most happy to see you at anytime." + +"I will call soon, then," he replied. "Good night," and he stepped +from the threshold of the house. + +"Good night," she said, closing the door. + +Horace Awtry stood for a moment near the house; then walking on he +muttered: "A politic stroke, that telegraphic dispatch." + + + + +CHAPTER FIFTH. + +JACKSON, MISSISSIPPI--A HAPPY HOME. + + +We will now change the scene of our story, and, using the license of +all writers, transport the reader to Jackson, the Capital of the great +State of Mississippi, and there introduce him or her to other +characters who will bear a prominent part in this book. + +In the parlor of an elegant resident on Main street, a beautiful girl +was sitting with an open book in her hand. She was not, however, +reading, as her bright blue eyes rested not on the pages, but were +gazing at the half-opened door, as if expecting the arrival of some +one. While she is thus musing, we will endeavour to give a description +of the fair maiden. Fancy a slight and elegant figure, richly dressed +in a robe of _moire antique_, from under the folds of which the +daintiest little feet imaginable could be seen. Her features, though +not regularly carved, made her, at the name time, very beautiful, +while her bright blue eyes and rich golden hair, braided smooth to her +forehead, and ornamented with a jewelled tiara, then much worn, lent +additional charm to her appearance. Her hands were small, and as +Byron, we think, has it, was an undoubted mark of gentle birth. + +She remained in this reverie for some time, but was at last aroused by +the entrance, unannounced, of a handsome young man dressed in the +uniform of a lieutenant, when she started up, and meeting him, said in +a half-vexed, half-playful tone: + +"Oh, Harry! why did you not come earlier? I have been waiting for your +arrival over an hour!" + +"Excuse me, dearest," he answered. "I was just on the point of +starting from my office when I received a mass of orders from +regimental headquarters, which detained me until a few minutes ago. +You must, therefore," he continued, "excuse me for this once, and I +shall not offend again," and as he spoke he parted the hair from her +forehead and pressed a kiss upon her lips. + +"I forgive you for this time," she answered, playfully tapping him on +the shoulder with her fan; "but the next offence I will not be so +likely to excuse." + +"I will take good care not to offend again, then," he laughingly said. + +The conversation continued for some time in this light way, which +lovers will sometimes indulge in, when, assuming a serious +countenance, she spoke to him: + +"When does your regiment leave for Virginia?" + +"I hardly know," he replied, "if it will go to Virginia at all. The +Colonel informs me that it is likely the regiment will be sent to +Tennessee; so if it is sent there, I will be nearer than you thought." + +"What a horrid thing war is!" she said, without appearing to notice +his last remarks. + +"You are not inclined to show the white feather now, are you?" he +said, laughing. + +Her bright blue eyes sparkled for a moment, as if repudiating the +question; then lowering them she answered: "No, indeed. I would not +have a single one that I love remain at home while the Abolitionists +are invading our homes." + +"Spoken like a brave girl and a true Southern woman," he replied, "and +I shall remember your words when I go into battle. It will nerve and +inspire me to fight with redoubled courage, when I recollect that I am +battling for you." As he spoke he gazed at her with mingled pride and +affection, and for some minutes they remained gazing at each other +with that affection which springs from + + "Two souls with but a single thought-- + Two hearts that beat as one." + +Oh, Love! ye goddess of all that is blissful and elevating in man! How +thy devotees bow down to thy shrine and offer all that they possess to +purchase but a smile from thee! And when you have cast your favors on +some happy mortal, and the pure feeling of affection becomes centered +on woman, the fairest flower from Eden, how should not mankind cherish +the gift you have bestowed upon him, and look upon it as the first and +priceless object on earth, and but second to one above in heaven! + +The lovers remained in this silence, which spoke more than words could +have done, until the entrance of a tall and venerable looking +gentleman of about fifty years of age. As soon as he entered, they +rose up together, the young lady addressing him as "father," and the +young man as "doctor." + +"How are you, Harry, my boy? give me a kiss, Em'," he said, in one +breath, as he shook the young man warmly by the hand and pressed a +parental kiss on the brow of his daughter. "Pretty warm weather, +this," he continued, speaking to the young man; "it is almost +stifling." + +"Suppose we step out on the balcony, pa," said the young lady; "it is +much cooler there." + +"Ha, ha, ha," he laughed; "you had not found that out until I entered. +However," he went on, "do you both go out there. I am certain you will +do better without than with me." + +His daughter blushed, but made no reply, and the young man removing +two chairs to the balcony, they both left the old gentleman, who, +turning up the gas, proceeded to read his evening _Mississippian_. + +Dr. James Humphries was one of the oldest and most respectable +citizens of Jackson, and was looked upon with great esteem by all who +knew him. He had been a medical practitioner in that city from the +time it was nothing more than a little village, until railroad +connections had raised it to be a place of some consequence, and the +capital of the State. He had married when a young man, but of all his +children, none remained but his daughter Emma, in gaining whom he lost +a much-loved wife, she having died in child-birth. + +At the time we write, Emma Humphries was betrothed to Henry +Shackleford, a young lawyer of fine ability, but who was, like many of +his countrymen, a soldier in the service of his country, and been +elected first lieutenant of the "Mississippi Rifles." + +We will now leave them for the present, and in the next chapter +introduce the reader to two other characters. + + + + +CHAPTER SIXTH + +The Spectator and Extortioner. + + +Mr. Jacob Swartz was sitting in the back room of his store on Main +street counting a heap of gold and silver coins which lay on a table +before him. He was a small, thin-bodied man, with little gray eyes, +light hair and aquiline nose. He was of that nationality generally +known in this country as "Dutch;" but having been there for over +twenty years, he had become naturalized, and was now a citizen of the +chivalrous States of Mississippi, a fact of which he prided himself +considerably. + +Mr. Swartz was busily engaged counting his money, when a little boy, +who seemed, from a similarity of features, to be his son appeared at +the door, and mentioned that Mr. Elder desired to see him. + +"Vot can he vant?" said Mr. Swartz. Then as if recollecting, he +continued: "I suppose it is apout that little shtore he vants to rent +me. Tell him to come in." + +The boy withdrew, and a few seconds after a tall and scrupulously +dressed gentleman, with his coat buttoned up to the throat, and +wearing a broad rimmed hat, entered the room. This was Mr. James +Elder, a citizen of Jackson, but not a native of the State. He came +from Kentucky several years before, and was a man with "Southern +principles." To do him justice, we will say that he was really true +friend to the South, which fact may have been not only from principle, +but from his being a large slaveholder. He was also the possessor of a +considerable amount of landed property and real estate, among which +were several buildings in Jackson.. He was also looked upon by the +_world_, as very charitable man, being always busy collecting money +from the people in aid of some benevolent object, and occasionally his +name would appear in the newspapers, accompanied by a flattering +compliment to his generosity, as the donor of a liberal amount of +money to some charitable institution or society. There were people, +however, who said that the poor families, who hired a series of +tenement buildings he possessed in the lower part of the city, were +very often hard pressed for their rent, and more than once turned out +for non-payment. These reports were considered as slanders, for being +a member, and one of the pillars of the Methodist Church, no one, for +a moment, believed that he would be guilty of so unfeeling an action. + +On entering the room, Mr. James Elder made a stiff bow to Mr. Swartz, +and declining the hand offered to him, as if it were contamination to +touch the person of one of God's likeness, dusted a chair and sat down +opposite his host. + +"Vell, Mr. Elder, have you decided whether I can get the shtore or +not? Tis place of mine is in very pad orter, and I tinks yours vill +shust suit me," began Mr. Swartz, after a silence of about three +minutes. + +"Yes, Mr. Swartz, I think you can have the place, if you and I can +come to terms about the price of the rent, which must be payable +always in advance," replied Mr. Elder. + +"I tont care," answered Mr. Swartz. "I would as soon pay you in +advance as not. But vot price to you charge?" + +"I charge fifty dollars per month," was the short answer. + +"Vell, dat vill do; and I suppose you vill give me the shtore for von +year certain?" + +"I am not decided about that," replied Mr. Elder, "as I do not like to +bind myself for any given time; for," he continued, "there is no +telling what may be the worth of a store in six months." + +"I vould not take it unless I could get a lease by the year," replied +Mr. Swartz; "for the fact is, I have made a large contract with the +government, and vill have to extend by pisness." + +Mr. Elder remained thoughtful for a few moments; then he replied: "As +you wont take it unless I give a lease for twelve months, I will do so +on one condition: that on your failure to pay the rent monthly in +advance, you forfeit the lease, and I am at liberty to demand your +removal without any notice." + +"Shust as you like," he replied, "for I know te monish vill always pe +ready in advance." + +"Well, I shall have the lease drawn out to-day and bring it to you to +sign," said Mr. Elder, rising and putting on his gloves. "Good +morning; be here at three o'clock, as I shall call round at that +hour," and with those words he left the room, and the Dutchman resumed +the counting of his money. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVENTH. + +THE HUSBAND A PRISONER--EXILE OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. + + +Months rolled on, during which time Mrs. Wentworth was cheered by many +kind and affectionate letters from her husband, who had not been sick +a day since his departure from home. One of the letters received from +him stated that he had been detailed from his regiment to act as clerk +in Brigadier General Floyd's adjutant general's office, his superior +intelligence fitting him admirably for such an office; and the next +letter from him was dated at Fort Donelson, whence General Floyd had +been ordered with his brigade. + +Fort Donelson fell. We need not record here the heroic defense and +stubborn fighting of the Confederate forces, and their unfortunate +capture afterwards. These are matters of history, and should be +recorded by the historian, and not the novelist. Sufficient to say, +that in the last day's fight Alfred Wentworth, having received a +severe wound in the arm, was marching to the rear, when an officer, +dressed in the garb of a lieutenant, who was lying on the field, +called faintly to him, and on his going up, he observed that the +lieutenant's left leg was fearfully mangled by a fragment of shell, +and was bleeding so profusely, that, unless medical aid was quickly +procured, he would die. Forgetting his own wound, which was very +painful, he lifted the officer on his shoulder and bore him to the +hospital, where his leg was immediately attended to, and his life +saved. The severity of his own wound, and the length of time which +elapsed before any attention was paid to it, brought on a severe +fever, and on the escape of General Floyd, he was delirious and unable +to accompany him. He was, therefore, sent to Chicago, and placed in +the same hospital with the lieutenant whose life he had saved. + +On their recovery, which was about the same time, Lieutenant +Shackleford--for it was he--and Alfred Wentworth were both sent to +"Camp Douglas," the military prison near Chicago. + +On the receipt of the news in New Orleans, that Fort Donelson and +nearly its entire garrison had surrendered, Mrs. Wentworth underwent +another long suspense of excitement and anxiety, which was, however, +partially allayed by the intelligence that General Floyd and staff had +escaped. But as the weeks rolled on, and she received no letter from +her husband, the old fear that he may have been killed came over her +again, until relieved by seeing his name as being among the wounded at +the Chicago hospital in one of the city papers. + +In mentioning these hours of grief and suspense on the part of Mrs. +Wentworth, it must not be understood that we are representing a +weak-minded and cowardly woman. On the contrary, Mrs. Wentworth would +have rather heard that her husband was killed than one word spoken +derogatory to his courage, and would never have consented to his +remaining at home, while so many of his countrymen were hurrying to +protect their country from invasion. Her suspense and grief at the +intelligence of a battle in which her husband was engaged, were only +the natural feeling of an affectionate wife. At that moment she was no +longer the patriot daughter of the South; she was the wife and mother, +and none should blame her for her anxiety to know the fate of one so +much loved as her husband, and the father of her children. + +Soon after her husband was taken prisoner, Mrs. Wentworth observed +that Horace Awtry became more assiduous in his attentions to her. +Every day he would call with presents for her children, and several +times small packages of bank-bills were found in the parlor, which, +when presented to him, he would always disclaim being the owner of; +and although Mrs. Wentworth truly believed that they had been left +there by him, the kind and respectful tone he used to her, and the +intense interest he appeared to take in the welfare of her children, +were such that she never imagined, for a moment, he was using this +means to cloak a vile and unmanly purpose. Once, and only once, was +she made aware that the scandal tongues of her neighbors were being +used detrimental to her honor; and then the information was given by +her slave Elsy, who overheard a conversation between two of her +neighbors not at all complimentary to her, and which the faithful +negress lost no time in repeating to her mistress, with the very +indignant remark that, "ef dem people nex' doh fancy dey can do +anyting to take away your name, dey's much mistaken, as I will tell +you ebery ting dey say 'bout you, an' you will know what to do." Mrs. +Wentworth made no reply to the negro, but on the next visit of Mr. +Awtry's, she candidly told him what had been said of her in +consequence of his visits. He appeared very much surprised, but told +her that such scandalous remarks, emanating as they did out of pure +malice, should not be noticed, as all who were acquainted with her +knew very well that her character and fair name were above suspicion. +With that the subject was dropped, and he continued paying her his +visits. + +New Orleans fell into the hands of the enemy, and the whole +Confederacy was convulsed, as if shaken by an earthquake. None +anticipated such a thing, and its fall brought misery to thousands. +The enemy had scarcely taken possession, than Horace Awtry and his +bosom friend, Charles Bell, went to the provost marshal's office and +took the oath of allegiance, after proving, entirely to the +satisfaction of the Yankees, that they were Northern, and had always +been Union men. Mr. Awtry immediately received a commission in the +Federal army, and by his willingness to point out prominent +"secession" men and women, soon ingratiated himself in the favor of +"Beast Butler." + +No sooner had he gained the favor of Butler, than his attentions to +Mrs. Wentworth changed to that of unmanly presumption, and at last he +had the baseness to make proposals at once dishonorable to her as a +lady of virtue and position in society, and disgraceful to him as a +man. These propositions were accompanied by a threat to have her +turned out of the house and exiled from New Orleans. With a spirit +worthy of a Southern woman, she indignantly spurned his base offers +and ordered him never to place his feet across the threshold of her +house, at the same time defying to do his worse. He left her, +declaring that she should be turned out of the city, and a few days +after, in proof of his threat, an order was presented to her, signed +by General Butler, commanding her to leave the city. + +Her faithful slave, Elsy, shed bitter tears on hearing that her kind +mistress would have to leave New Orleans, and declared that she would +not remain in the city, but would follow her. + +"But they will not let you go with me, Elsy," said Mrs. Wentworth. +"You are free now, they say, to do as you like--you are no longer +belonging to me." + +"I ain't a gwine to stay here, missis," replied the negro, "for any +money in dis world, and if dey wont let me go out wid you, I will come +arter you by myself." + +"Well, Elsy," said Mrs. Wentworth, "I do not force you to leave New +Orleans, but should you get out, come to me at Jackson. You are a good +girl, and I shall not forget your fidelity." + +"I'll be dere, shure," said the negro, quite pleased at the permission +to follow her mistress if she could. + +Mrs. Wentworth immediately set to work packing up a few necessaries, +and with the small amount of money she had left awaited the next +morning, when she would start for Pass Manchac. + +On the following morning she proceeded to the boat, amid the cries and +lamentations of the faithful Elsy, and with throbbing heart and many +sighs gazed on her loved city until it had receded from her view. + +On arriving at the "Pass" she was about to step from the boat, when a +hand was laid upon her shoulder, and looking round she observed Mr. +Awtry, dressed in the full uniform of a Yankee captain, standing by +her. + +"Are you determined to leave home," he said, "and all its pleasures; +and starve in the rebel lines? Why not accept my offer and lead a life +of ease and affluence. Your husband shall never know of our +connection, and thus you will be spared many a weary day and night +working for bread to feed your children." + +She looked at him for a moment with all that withering scorn and +indignation which outraged virtue and innocence can assume, and then +said: "Leave me! Go to the land from whence you came and make such +offers to the women there, but remember now you are speaking to a +Southern woman." + +"But think a moment, and--" he began. + +"Leave me this instant," she said excitedly, "or I shall call others +with more the heart of men than you to my assistance. Accept your +offer?" she continued with all the scorn she could use. "Accept such +an offer from a _Yankee_! Go, I would despise and hate were you not +too despicable for either feeling of enmity." + +Several persons approaching at that moment, he moved away hurriedly +after hissing in her ear: "Take your choice. In either one way or the +other I am revenged on you for the way you rejected my addresses in +past years." + +She landed on the shore, and a few minutes after the boat moved back +on its way to New Orleans, when taking her small trunk in her hands +the soldier's wife, with her two children, started on their long and +lively march. For where? She knew not. There she was, an utter +stranger with two tender children, far from her home, and with only +two hundred dollars in money. Where could she go to for support. Her +husband was in a foreign prison, and she a wanderer in a strange +State. Her heart sank within her, and the soldier's wife wept. Aye, +wept! Not tears of regret at what she had sacrificed, but tears of +loneliness. Who would not weep if they were parted from those they +love, and were cast in a strange land without a friend, and with +scarcely any means? + +We leave the soldier's wife for a brief while, and transport the +reader to her husband. Her trials have commenced--God help her! + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHTH. + +THE PRISONERS--THE HUSBAND AND THE LOVER. + + +We stated that on the recovery of Alfred Wentworth and Lieutenant +Shackleford from their wounds, both were sent to Camp Douglas +together, and as Alfred had no regiment of his own captured, the +lieutenant promptly requested him to become one of his mess. The +generous courage exhibited by Alfred Wentworth, and the fact that but +for his chivalric attention, he should have died on the bloody field +of Fort Donelson, had created a feeling of gratitude in Lieutenant +Shackleford for his preserver, which, on closer acquaintance, had +ripened into a warm friendship, and he soon made Alfred acquainted +with the fact of his betrothal to Emma Humphries, and Alfred in turn +would speak of his wife and children in such tones of affection as +only those who love can use. They would sit down for hours and +converse on the loved ones at home, thus wiling away the sad and +lonely hours of a prison life, until the news was received in Chicago +of the fall of New Orleans. Although he bitterly regretted his native +city having fallen into the hands of the enemy, the opportunity which +it presented of once more being able to correspond with his wife, made +him feel happier, and as soon as mail communication was received with +the city, he requested and obtained permission to write her. + +Alfred Wentworth had not the slightest idea that Horace Awtry would +ever dare to offend his wife, much less to offer infamous proposals, +and on their being refused have her driven from the home he had placed +her in. It is true that his wife had written to him that Mr. Awtry had +renewed his acquaintance with her, but her statements of his kind +attention to her and the children, and her mentioning the eager manner +in which he had relieved her anxiety after the battle of the 21st of +July, 1861, instead of raising any suspicion on his part of the +honesty and purity of his motives, only made him return thanks in his +heart for the previous kindness shown to his wife. + +On obtaining permission to write her, he immediately penned a long and +affectionate letter which was forwarded. For many days after he +remained in a long suspense for the expected answer, as he never +believed for a moment that she would delay answering him, but as days +rolled into weeks, and no letter came, while the other prisoners from +New Orleans received letters regularly, he became alarmed, and spoke +his fears to Shackleford. + +"Do not be afraid of any harm having occurred to her, Alf," said the +lieutenant, after listening attentively to his friend's words. "You +may depend that your letter never reached her, and she, in ignorance +whether you escaped unhurt from the engagement, cannot write, not +knowing where you are." + +"It is not her silence which troubles me as much as the knowledge that +she possess no other money than Confederate notes," replied Alfred. +"How she will manage to support herself and the children God only +knows." + +"Have you not friends there?" enquired Harry. + +"Yes, but I cannot depend on them for assistance, for two reasons: +first, because from the disordered state of the money market in New +Orleans, they are almost as badly off as she is; and second, I am +quite certain that Eva would rather starve than ask for charity." + +"Charity!", echoed his companion. "Do you call it charity to assist +another situated as your wife is, particularly where her husband is +far from her fighting for his country?" + +"You do not know the people of New Orleans," replied Alfred. "No +matter how kindly a favor may be bestowed on them, it is still +considered charity, and though dire necessity may induce them to +accept aid if proffered, the knowledge that they were eating the bread +of charity, would embitter each mouthful." + +"Pooh, pooh," said his friend, "all these fine notions would do very +well before the war, but at the present time the least we think of +them the better." + +"It is all very well for you to speak that way," answered Alfred, "for +you have no wife and children to cause uneasiness, but I cannot be +otherwise than anxious to know what has become of her, that I receive +no letters, while other prisoners have had theirs regularly by mail." + +"An unfortunate fact, which you may depend has been caused by no other +reason than the neglect of the Yankee officers to forward your +letters," said Harry, then continuing: "Come, cheer up, and throw +aside your dullness. Another battle like that of Shiloh, will give the +South as many Yankee prisoners as they have of us, and then ho! for +home and the "Sunny South!" As soon as we return, I will take you to +Jackson, and then you can write your wife to come out, and she can +live with my mother, if you are not too proud to accept my +hospitality." + +"Thank you," he replied, "but I must first wait until we are +exchanged, and God knows when that will be." + +"Why, man, I tell you there is no doubt of our whipping the Yanks and +capturing a lot of them in the next battle; then adieu to Camp +Douglas, and hurrah for the Confederacy once more!" replied Harry, +taking his companion by the arm, and dragging him to their tent where +dinner had been placed in readiness for them. + + + + +CHAPTER NINTH. + +ROOM TO RENT. + + +We must now return to my heroine, who, with her two children, we left +slowly travelling toward Jackson, Mississippi. On arriving at +Ponchatula, she took the cars on the New Orleans, Jackson and Great +Northern Railroad, and in a few hours was in Jackson. On arriving +there she proceeded to the Bowman House, and purchasing a newspaper +eagerly scanned the columns to find an advertisement of rooms to rent, +knowing full well that, with her limited means, she would never be +able to remain at the hotel, or live at a boarding house. + +After looking for some time, without finding the desired +advertisement, her eye at last lit upon the following notice under the +heading of "To rent:" + + "TO RENT, + + "Unfurnished rooms in the one-story tenement buildings on + ---- street. For particulars, apply to the undersigned at + his office on Main street, near the State House. + + JAMIE ELDER." + +After reading it she folded the paper, and remained musing for several +minutes, when rising up she went to her children, and, kissing them, +told them she was going out for a few minutes, and to play like good +children until her return. She then left the hotel, and, after some +little trouble, at last found out the office of Mr. Elder, which she +entered. + +"Is Mr. Elder in?" she inquired of a clerk. + +"Yes, madam," he replied. + +"Can I see him?" she asked. + +He gave her no answer, but going to an adjoining door, half opened it, +and announced, in a loud voice, that a lady desired to see Mr. Elder. + +"Admit her," was the reply of that gentleman. + +Mrs. Wentworth passed the desk, and, entering the room from whence the +voice proceeded, found herself in the presence of Mr. Elder, who was +seated in an arm chair reading a newspaper. + +"Be seated, madam," he said, rising and handing her a chair. "What can +I have the honor of doing for you this morning?" + +"This is your advertisement, I believe," she replied, handing him the +newspaper. + +"Yes, madam," he answered, looking at her through his spectacles. + +"Well, sir, it is my desire to rent one of the rooms." + +"You, madam!" he replied, evidently surprised at her question. + +"Yes, sir," she replied; "I am a refugee from New Orleans, having been +driven from there by General Butler. My husband is now a prisoner of +war in the hands of the enemy, and my means being limited, I am +compelled to live economically." + +"Ahem, ahem," said Mr. Elder, clearing his throat; "indeed, madam, I +sympathise with you. This war has cast many people homeless and in +need throughout the country. I sympathize with you, _indeed_ I do," +and he looked on her in the most benevolent manner possible. + +"Well, sir, what is the price charged for the rent of one of your +rooms?" asked Mrs. Wentworth after a few moments' silence. + +"Well, ah--well, ah--you see, my dear madam, the price of everything +has gone up immensely," he replied. + +"And what do you charge for the room?" she asked. + +"Well, ah, I think sixteen dollars per month as cheap as I could +possible rent it," he answered finally. + +"I will take it, then, by the month," she answered, rising, "and will +go into possession to-day." + +"Well, ah, my dear madam, it is a rule I have always made, only to +rent my houses for the money, paid in advance--not that I have the +_least_ apprehension of your inability to pay me, but you see it never +does any good to deviate from fixed rules." + +"I am perfectly filling to pay you in advance," she replied, taking +her port-moniae from her pocket and handing him the advance pay for one +month's rent. + +Calling a clerk, Mr. Elder handed him the money, and ordered a receipt +to be made out; then turning to Mrs. Wentworth, he said: + +"There is another thing, I desire to have you understand, madam, and +agree to. The fall of New Orleans has occasioned the inflation of all +kinds of real estate in price, and this, added to the rapid manner in +which Confederate notes are depreciating in value, may compel me to +raise the price of rent. I would, therefore, like you to agree, that +in no way am I bound for any time longer than the month you have paid +for, to take the present price; and another thing I desire is, that +you agree not to take advantage of the stay law, in the event of +non-payment, or refusal to pay any additional price I may charge. In +making these conditions, madam," he continued, "I must not be +understood to say that the contingencies mentioned are at all likely +to occur, as I trust and hope they will not; but at the same time, I +only desire to avoid all deviation from my usual course of doing +business." + +"Any terms you may desire I will agree to," she replied in an absent +manner, "as I wish to remove from the hotel, the charges there being +above my means." + +"Very well, madam, very well," he responded. + +After the clerk had brought the receipt for the months rent, Mr. Elder +rose from his chair, and, requesting Mrs. Wentworth to remain seated +for a few minutes, left the apartment. He shortly after returned with +a printed document in his hand, which he requested her to sign. +Without reading the paper, she obeyed his request, and, receiving the +key of the room she had just rented, requested that Mr. Elder would +have her shown where it was situated. Calling a negro boy, who was +lounging at the door, he directed him to accompany Mrs. Wentworth to +---- street and show her the rooms. With that he made a low bow, and +she left following the boy. + +"Humph!" said Mr. Elder, half aloud, as soon as she had left. "I do +not care much about hiring my rooms to such tenants. Refugees are +certainly becoming as thick as locusts in the State, and are nearly +all as poor as Job. However, I have made myself secure against any +excuse for pay on the ground of poverty, by the paper she signed," and +with these reflections, that worthy gentleman re-entered his room, and +was soon deeply interested in his newspaper. + + + + +CHAPTER TENTH. + +THE NEW HOME. + + +Mrs. Wentworth followed the boy till he arrived in front of series of +wretched looking rooms, situated on one of the miserable lanes with +which Jackson abounds. Stopping in front of one of them, he pointed to +it, and with no other words than "Dem is de room, ma'm," walked off. +Taking the key, which Mr. Elder had previously given her, she opened +the door and entered. + +Mrs. Wentworth's heart sank within her as she viewed the wretched +looking apartment. The interior of the room was exceedingly dirty, +while the faded paper, which once gaudily adorned it, now hung in +shreds from the walls. The fireplace was broken up, and disgusting +words were written in every part of the room. It had been, in fact, +the lodging of a woman of dissolute character, who had been accustomed +to gather a crowd of debauched characters in her apartment nightly, +but who, from a failure to pay her rent, had been turned out by Mr. +Elder. The other apartments were still occupied by abandoned women; +but of this fact Mrs. Wentworth was not aware. + +As she looked at the room a feeling of indescribable sadness crept +over her, and a sigh of bitterness burst from her throbbing bosom. It +was, however, not to be helped; she had already paid the rent, and was +compelled to keep it for the month. Sadly she left the room, and +locking it after her, repaired to a store to purchase a few necessary +articles of furniture. + +On entering a store, the first person she saw was Mr. Swartz, who had, +by this time, risen from the lowly position of a grocer to that of a +"General wholesale and retail merchant," as the sign over his door +very pompously announced. + +Mr. Swartz remained on his seat at her entrance, barely raising his +eyes to sec who had entered. She stood for a few moments, when, seeing +that no one appeared to notice her presence, she walked up to him and +informed him that she wished to purchase a few pieces of furniture. + +"Vot kind do you vant?" he inquired, without moving from his seat. + +"A small bedstead, three or four chairs, a table and a washstand," she +answered. + +"Look at them and see vich you like te best," he said, "and I vill +tell you te brice." + +After a little search, Mrs. Wentworth selected the plainest and most +homely she could find of all the articles she desired, and, turning to +him, inquired what the price would be. + +"Te pedstead is forty tollars; te chairs is three tollars apiece; te +taple is twenty tollars; and to washstand is fourteen," he replied. + +"And how much will that amount to, altogether?" she asked. + +"Eighty-six tollars," he responded. + +"Can you take no less, sir?" she asked. + +"No, ma'am," he answered. "I have put one brice, and if you don't vant +to pay it you can leave it." + +Taking out the desired amount, she paid him without making any further +remark, and requested that they would be sent after her. Calling a +drayman, Mr. Swartz told him to follow her with the furniture, and he +returned to his seat, satisfied with having made sixty dollars on the +eighty-six, received from Mrs. Wentworth, the furniture having been +bought at sheriff's sale for a mere trifle. + +Having purchased a few other household utensils, Mrs. Wentworth +proceeded to the Bowman House, from which, after paying her bill, she +removed her children, and, followed by the dray with her furniture, +proceeded to the wretched hovel site had rented. Her stock of money +had now been reduced to less than sixty dollars, and with this she +embarked upon the world with two tender children. + +After paying the drayman, who was a kind-hearted negro, and getting +him to erect the bedstead, he departed, and a feeling of desolation +and loneliness spread its dark shadows over the heart of Mrs. +Wentworth. Seating herself on a chair, with her two children clinging +to her knees, the long pent up fountain of grief burst forth, and +tears bedewed the cheeks of the Soldier's Wife; tears, such as only +those who have felt the change of fortune, can shed; tears, which, +like the last despairing cry of the desolate, can only be answered in +heaven! + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVENTH. + +THE ATTEMPTED ESCAPE. + + +We must now return to Alfred, whom we left in a disconsolate mood at +Camp Douglas, with his friend trying to cheer his spirits. But he +could think of nothing else but his absent wife, until at last he +determined to attempt an escape. The idea once in his mind could not +be dismissed. He, therefore, informed Harry of his intention, and +asked if he thought it feasible, or likely to result in success. + +"So far as the feasibility of the attempt is concerned," observed +Harry, as soon as Alfred had concluded, "I think it could be +attempted. But about the result, you will have to trust to luck." + +"I am aware of that," he replied. "But I do not know how the attempt +can possibly be made. The camp is so well guarded, that an attempt to +escape is almost hopeless of success." + +"Pshaw! If you are determined to go, I see nothing to prevent your +making the attempt. If it even fails, the most that will be done to +you by the Federals is closer confinement." + +"I do not care much about that risk," he replied. "My desire is to +form some plan of escape. Can you devise one by which I can get away?" + +"That is a difficult task," said Harry. "But as we are of the same +desire, I suppose something must be done. What do you say about +digging a tunnel, and escaping by that route?" + +"That is a very good idea; but it will take too long," replied Alfred. +"Besides which, what are we to do with the dirt that is dug up?" + +"I never thought of that," he answered. "But now that you have +reminded me of it, I do not believe the plan will suit. Some other +must be devised, but what it is to be, I cannot, for the life of me, +imagine." + +"What do you say to scaling the walls?" asked Alfred. + +"A very good idea it would be, if we had anything to scale them with," +he replied. + +"Suppose we tear up our blankets and make a rope of them." + +"How will you attach the rope to the wall?" asked Harry. + +"We can easily get a hook of wire and throw it over. It will be +certain to catch," he replied. + +"Very likely," observed Harry, drily, "and make such confounded noise, +that the first thing we heard after, it would be a Minie ball +whistling past our ears; or should it catch without making any noise, +the chances are that, when one of us ascends, it will be to meet the +burly form of some Dutch sentinel traversing the walk. The idea is not +feasible; so we must think of something else." + +"I do not know what to think," replied Alfred; "and the probability +is, that if I even did, you would find some objection to its +performance." + +"That is true," answered Harry, laughing, "and I accept the reproach +in the spirit it is given. It will never do for us to be raising +objections to every plan offered, for that will not hasten our +escape." + +"Then think of something else, and I will acquiesce, no matter how +extravagant it may be," said Alfred. "I am tired of this cursed +prison, and intend to get away by some means or other." + +"It is all very good to talk about getting away," said Harry. "For the +matter of that, I am as anxious to leave as you are, but in the name +of wonder, how are we going to manage it?" + +"That is the very thing I desire to consult you about. We certainly +will never escape, unless we make the attempt; but in what manner we +are to attempt it, is exactly what I desire to know." + +"What do you say to bribing one of the sentinels?" asked Harry. + +"Where will we get the means from?" inquired Alfred. "I have some +Confederate Treasury notes, but they will not be any temptation to a +Yankee." + +"Leave me to find the means," replied Harry. "I have a fine gold +watch, and about seventy dollars in gold. These will be sufficient, I +think, to attempt the cupidity of any Dutchman in the Yankee army." + +"And how do you propose offering the bribe?" Alfred inquired. + +"I shall look out for the first chance to speak to the sentinel at the +gate, some time during the day, and will make the necessary +preparations to escape to-night, if the Yankee will accept my offer." + +"That will do very well," observed Alfred, "There is one thing, +however, I must remind you of. It will not do to offer the sentinel +all your gold, for we will require money to pay our way into +Tennessee." + +"Do you never fear that," replied Harry. "I will be certain to reserve +enough funds for our expenses. It does not cost much at any time to +travel through these Northern States." + +"Well, I trust to you to make all the necessary arrangements," replied +Alfred. "I am determined not to remain in this place, with my mind so +disturbed about my wife and children. If I can only reach the +Confederate lines safely, I will have no difficulty in hearing from +New Orleans." + +"I will make every effort to facilitate an escape," remarked Harry; +"and if my penetrating qualities do not deceive me, there is a +sentinel at the gate to-day, who would not be averse to taking a +bribe, even if it permits a "rebel" to escape. Cheer up, my friend," +he continued. "I will guarantee that your wife and children are all +well and happy, except a natural anxiety on your account." + +Alfred made no reply, and the two friends shortly after separated. + +Harry kept an assiduous watch for an opportunity to speak with the +sentinel. The time for the man to remain on guard expired, however, +without any favorable chance presenting itself. He was, therefore, +compelled to wait until the evening, when the same sentinel would be +again on guard, before he could attempt to bribe him. At four o'clock +he was posted, and after some hesitation, Harry determined to address +him. Walking up as soon as he perceived no one near the man, he called +out to him. + +"Vot to deuce do you vant? you rebel," asked the sentinel in a broad +Dutch accent. + +"Will you let me come a little nearer?" Harry inquired, perceiving +that the distance between the guard and himself too great for a +conversation. + +"Vot do you vant to come a leetle nearer for?" asked the sentinel. + +"I want to talk to you," he replied, making a motion of his hand to +indicate that he wished to converse in secret. + +The sentinel, looking carefully around to be certain that no one was +near at hand who could perceive him, beckoned to Harry to approach. +The young man went forward cautiously, as the numerous sentinels +around the wall were likely to perceive him, and would not hesitate to +fire if they imagined he was about to attempt an escape. As soon as he +reached the sentinel, he made known his wishes, and ended by offering +the man his watch and forty dollars in gold if he would permit himself +and his friend to pass the gate at night. At the same time he promised +the man he would take all the responsibility in the event of detection +or re-capture. + +The sentinel listened attentively, and at first appeared unwilling to +receive the bribe, but upon Harry representing to him that there was +no chance of his agency in the escape being discovered, he finally +consented to receive it. It was, therefore, arranged between them, +that at twelve o'clock that night the two prisoners should start. The +signal was to be a faint whistle, which would ultimate to the guard +that they were there, if it was answered they should advance, but if +not they should return, as his silence would either indicate that he +was not alone, or that he was not on his post. Everything having been +amicably arranged between them, Harry promised to pay the bribe as +soon as they had reached the gate. This the fellow demurred to at +first, but as Harry was determined, not to pay over the watch and +forty dollars, until the hour of their departure, he was compelled to +assent. + +On Harry's return to his tent, he found Alfred reading a Yankee +pictorial newspaper. + +"Well," he remarked, looking up from his paper as soon as Harry +entered. + +"Everything progresses finely," replied Harry. + +"Have you been able to speak to the sentinel?" he asked. + +"I have seen him, and made all the necessary arrangements," Harry +replied. + +"And when will we leave," Alfred asked. + +"To-night at twelve is the time fixed between us," he replied. "The +fellow appeared unwilling at first, but a little persuasion with a +sight at the watch and money, was too much for his nature, and he +yielded to my wishes." + +"Then everything goes on well, if the fellow does not play us false," +Alfred remarked. + +"That is a risk we are bound to run," replied Harry. "I think the +fellow means to be honest, if a man can be honest who agrees to allow +a prisoner to escape, who is placed under his charge." + +"Did you inform him there were two of us who desired to leave," asked +Alfred. + +"Yes," was the reply; "I would never have bothered to escape and run +the risk of re-capture and harsh treatment, did not you desire to +leave this place, and the trip could as well be made with you as +otherwise." + +Alfred pressed his friend's hand warmly, as he replied. "Thank you, +Harry, I trust I will be able to return the kindness you have shown +me, at some future and more favorable time." + +"Poh, poh!" he replied. "Don't speak of it. The kindness has been paid +for long ago," pointing to his wound as he spoke. + +"I expect we may as well make preparations to leave," remarked Alfred, +after a moment's pause. + +"Preparations!" echoed his friend, "What in the name of all that is +glorious, do you require any preparations for?" and then, he added +dryly, "there is one thing certain, my trunk (?) is already packed, +although I don't know if yours is." + +"A truce to joking about trunks," replied Alfred, "but seriously you +must be aware that we cannot leave here without being dressed in +citizens clothes." + +"The thunder!" exclaimed Harry, "are you going to raise any more +objections?" + +"No," he replied, "but it is absolutely necessary that we shall be +apparelled in different clothes to those of a soldier." + +"I think we can get a couple of suits to borrow from the officers, but +how I will get them, without their knowing our intention to escape, is +a matter of much difficulty. If they should once know it, the whole +crowd will desire to leave with us." + +"That would be unreasonable on their part," replied Alfred. "They must +be aware that every man cannot get away at the same time, and to +desire or attempt such a thing would be to ensure the re-capture of +every man." + +"Well, I will start now on the borrowing expedition, and by some +subterfuge, be saved the necessity of informing any person of our +intention." + +Having moved off as he spoke, and proceeding to the tent of a brother +officer, succeeded in borrowing a citizens' coat and pants without +exciting any suspicion of his intended escape. At the next place he +went to, a few remarks were made, but upon his informing the Captain +to whom he applied, that he desired to have his uniform renovated, and +had no change of clothing while that was being done. The citizens' +clothes were cordially loaned, and he returned to Alfred with a joyous +heart. + +"What luck have you had?" enquired Alfred as soon as he returned. + +"See for yourself," was the reply of Harry, as he threw down the coats +and pants. + +"Then everything needed is procured," he observed. + +"Yes," replied Harry. "We must now mix with the other prisoners, as if +nothing was transpiring in our minds, like an attempt to escape. It +will be no use keeping away from them, as it is likely to excite +suspicion." + +The two friends left the tent and proceeded to where a group of +prisoners were seated. Their appearance was greeted with cheers, as +Harry was a universal favorite among both officers and men, on account +of his lively and genial temper, combined with a fine voice for +music--an accomplishment that with soldiers endears, and makes a +favorite of any person possessing it. He was soon called upon for a +song, and in accordance with the request commenced a song, and soon +the rich and clear voice of the young man rang out on the air of the +soft twilight. He sang of home, and as each word fell with +distinctness on the ears of the soldiers, who grouped around him, each +heart throbbed with emotion, and each mind wandered back to the +distant land, where, in the mansion, or in the little cottage, loved +ones there dwelt, pining for those who were now prisoners in a foreign +country. + +The hour of nine having arrived, the soldiers dispersed to their +respective quarters, and soon after the command "lights out" was +uttered in stentorian notes. Long and anxiously the two friends +remained lying on their bunks in the tent, awaiting the hour of +twelve. Each moment seemed an hour to Alfred Wentworth, whose mind was +wrought up to a pitch of excitement, almost unendurable. Several times +he rose from his bed and paced the tent. At last the long wished for +hour arrived. Harry who had been smoking all the night, looked at his +watch by the faint light the fire of his segar emitted, and perceived +that it was only five minutes for twelve. Crossing over to the bunk on +which Alfred was lying, he whispered: "It is time." Silently they put +on the citizens clothes borrowed in the evening, and left the tent. +The night had changed from the pleasant, starry evening to a black and +dismal gloom. Heavy clouds covered the skies, giving every indication +of rain. The night was just such a one for an escape, and although the +darkness was so intense, that it was impossible for the eye to +penetrate a distance of five paces, both felt that their chance of +escape was accelerated. + +"Give me your hand," whispered Harry, as soon as they had left the +tent. + +"Do you know the direct way to the gate," asked Alfred, + +"Yes," he replied, "cease speaking now and follow me. The least +whisper may be heard, and then our attempt will be foiled." + +Grasping the hand of his friend, Alfred followed him, and they moved +with noiseless tread toward the gate. As soon as he descried the faint +light of the sentinel's lamp near him, Harry stopped, and stooping +down gave a faint whistle. For some time no answer was returned. The +two friends remained in almost breathless suspense awaiting the +signal. At last it was returned, and moving forward, they reached the +gate. + +"Here," whispered Harry to the sentinel, as he handed him the watch +and money. + +The man raised the little lantern near him, and looked at the bribe to +see that it was all right. "Pass on," he said. + +As Harry and his friend passed the gate, the former perceived several +forms flit across the darkness, and a suspicion of treachery instantly +flashed through his mind. + +"We are betrayed," he whispered to Alfred. + +"No matter, let us push boldly forward," was the reply. + +They had not moved ten paces before the command "Halt" given. + +"Push on!" exclaimed Alfred, darting forward. + +The two friends moved on at a rapid run, when a volley of musketry was +fired at them. Harry escaped unhurt and continued running at the top +of his speed, and not until he had gone a considerable distance, did +he discover that his friend was not with him. It was, however, too +late for him to turn back, and entering Chicago, he made his way +through the city, and continued his journey. + +At the fire of the Federals, Alfred received four wounds; and sunk +without a word to the ground. The enemy shortly after coming up found +him insensible, and conveyed his inanimate body to the hospital. He +was dangerously wounded, and the physicians declared there was but +little hope of his recovery. + +Two weeks after this unfortunate occurrence, a cartel for the exchange +of prisoners was agreed upon between the Federal and Confederate +authorities, and the prisoners at Camp Douglas were transported to +Vicksburg. The doctors declared that Alfred was not in a state to be +removed, and was left at the hospital. His condition at that time was +very precarious. One of the balls that had entered his body could not +be found, and the wound was kept open with the view to discovering +where it had lodged. His agony of mind at the failure of his attempt +to escape had retarded his recovery in a great degree, and when the +information came that the prisoners were about to be exchanged, and he +was declared unable to be removed, it added further to his detriment. +A fever seized him, and for many days he remained on his bed, hovering +between life and death. + + + + +CHAPTER TWELFTH. + +THE STARVING CHILDREN. + + +Long weeks rolled on, and the small sum possessed by Mrs. Wentworth, +had been entirely exhausted. She had, however, by sewing, contrived to +supply herself and children with food. It was the same old tale of +sleepless nights of toil. Often the grey streak which heralds the +morning, would find her still pouring over her work, while her two +children were sleeping on the bed in one corner of the room. At times +she would cease her work, and think for long hours on the loved +husband, now a prisoner in the hands of the Federals. In those hours, +tears would course her cheeks, as the stern reality of her position +presented itself; to know that he was absent, while she was leading a +life of penury and toil. Still she struggled on. When at times despair +rose up before her like a demon, and she felt herself about to succumb +to it, the memory of her absent husband, and the sight of her loved +children, would nerve the soldier's wife to bear with fortitude the +misery to which she had been reduced. + +And thus she toiled on, until the last source of support had vanished. +The Quartermaster from whom she received work, having completed all +the clothing he required, had no further use for her services, and she +then saw nothing but a blank and dreary prospect, looming up before +her. She had no means of purchasing food for her children. Piece by +piece her furniture was sold to supply their wants, until nothing was +left in the room but a solitary bedstead. Starvation in its worst form +stared her in the face, until at last she sold what clothing she had +brought out from New Orleans. This relieved her necessities but a +short time, and then her last resource was gone. + +If her present was dark, the future seemed but one black cloud of +despair. Hope, that _ignis fatuus_, which deceives so many on earth, +left the soldier's wife, and she was indeed wretched. The blooming +woman had become a haggard and care-worn mother. She had no thought +for herself. It was for her children alone she felt solicitous, and +when the day arrived that saw her without the means of purchasing +bread, her long filling cup of misery overflowed, and she wept. + +Yes, she wept. Wept as if her whole life had been changed in a moment, +from one of joy and happiness, to that of sadness and misery. + +Her children in that dark hour clustered around her. _They_ could not +cry. A fast of over twenty-four hours had dried all tears within them. +They only wondered for awhile, until the sharp pangs of hunger +reminded them of another and greater woe. They too had been changed. +The bloom of youth had departed from their little cheeks, while in the +eyes of the oldest an unnatural light burned. She was fast sinking to +the grave, but the mother knew it not. Knew not that her darling child +had contracted a disease, which would shortly take her to Heaven, for +the little Eva spoke no word of complaint. Young, as she was, she saw +her mother's agony of soul, and though the little lips were parched +and dry, she told not her ailing. + +The tears continued to flow from Mrs. Wentworth, and still the +children gazed on in wonderment. They knew not what they meant. + +"Mother," at last said her little infant, "why do you cry?" + +She took her on her knees. "Nothing, my darling," she replied. + +"Then stop crying," he said, pressing his little hand on Mrs. +Wentworth's cheek. "It makes me feel bad." + +"I will stop crying, darling," she replied, drying her tears and +smiling. + +Smiles are not always the reply of the heart. We have seen men smile +whoso whole life was a scene of misfortune, and yet this emblem of +happiness has lit their features. It is outward show--a fruit, whose +surface presents a tempting appearance to the eye, but which is +blasted and withered within. Smiles are often like the fruit called +the _Guava_. It is a beautiful looking fruit which grows in the West +Indies, and to the taste is very luscious, but when examined through a +microscope, it presents the appearance of a moving mass of worms. Its +beauty is deceptive, nothing but a wretched view presents itself, + + "Like dead sea fruit, that tempts the eye, + And falls to ashes on the lips." + +The child saw her mother smile, and the little heart forgot its +hunger, and for a moment beat with joy. The gleam of sunshine that +spread itself over him, did not last, for soon after the face of the +mother assumed the same sad and cheerless expression, it had worn for +many weeks. The child saw it, and again felt his hunger. + +"Mother," she said, "give me a piece of bread." + +"I will get some for you to-morrow," she replied. "There is no bread +in the house this evening." + +"I am _so_ hungry," remarked the child. "Why is there no bread?" + +"Mother has got no money to buy any," she replied. + +The other child had remained quiet all the while. She still nestled to +her mother's side and looked long and earnestly into her face. She was +not thinking, for one of her years knew nothing of thought, but +divined that all was not right with her mother. + +"Eva, my child," the mother said, speaking to her for the first time, +"go to the grocer's, and ask him if he will let me have a loaf of +bread on credit." + +"I am so glad you have sent for bread," exclaimed the infant on her +knees, as he clapped his hand joyfully together. + +Eva left the room, and in a few minutes returned empty handed. + +"Has he refused to let you have it?" asked Mrs. Wentworth. + +"Yes, mother," replied the child sadly. "He says he will not give +credit to anybody." + +"I thought as much," Mrs. Wentworth remarked. + +"Then I won't get any bread?" asked the child on her knees. + +"No, my darling," Mrs. Wentworth answered, "you must wait until +to-morrow." + +"I hav'nt eaten so long, mother," he said. "Why aint you got any +bread?" + +"Because mother is poor and without any money," she replied. + +"But I feel so hungry," again the child remarked. + +"I know it, my sweet boy," replied his mother, "but wait a little +longer and I will give you something to eat." + +Her heart was wrung with agony at the complaint of the child and his +call for bread; but she knew not how to evade his questions or to +procure food. The thought of asking charity had never once entered her +mind, for those with whom she had daily intercourse, were too much +engaged in self-interest to make her hope that any appeal for help +would touch their sordid hearts; and yet food must be had, but how she +knew not. Her promise to give her child food, on the next day, was +made only to silence his call for bread. There was no prospect of +receiving any money, and she could not see her children starve. But +one recourse was left. She must sell the bed--the last piece of +furniture remaining in the room--no matter that in so doing her +wretchedness increased instead of diminished. + +The child was not satisfied with her promise. The pangs he endured +were too much for one of his age, and again he uttered his call for +bread. + +"There is no bread, Willy," said Eva, speaking for the first time. +"Don't ask for any bread. It makes mamma sad." + +The child opened his large blue eyes enquiringly upon his sister. + +"My sweet, darling child," exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, clasping the +little Ella to her heart, and then bursting into tears at this proof +of her child's fortitude, she continued: "Are you not hungry, too?" + +"Yes, mother," she replied, "but"--Here the little girl ceased to +speak as if desirous of sparing her mother pain. + +"But what?" asked Mrs. Wentworth. + +"Mother," exclaimed the child, throwing her arms round her mother's +neck, and evading the question, "father will come back to us, and then +we will not want bread." + +The word "father," brought to Mrs. Wentworth's mind her absent +husband. She thought of the agony he would endure if he knew that his +wife and children were suffering for food. A swelling of her bosom +told of the emotion raging within her, and again the tears started to +her eyes. + +"Come, my sweet boy," she said, dashing away the tears, as they came +like dewdrops from her eyelids, and speaking to the infant on her +knee, "it is time to go to bed." + +"Aint I to get some bread before I go to bed?" he asked. + +"There is none, darling," she answered hastily. "Wait until to-morrow +and you will get some." + +"But I am so hungry," again repeated the child, and again a pang of +wretchedness shot through the mother's breast. + +"Never mind," she observed, kissing him fondly, "if you love me, let +me put you to bed like a good child." + +"I love you!" he said, looking up into her eyes with all that deep +love that instinct gives to children. + +She undressed and put him to bed, where the little Ella followed him +soon after. Mrs. Wentworth sat by the bedside until they had fallen +asleep. + +"I love you, mother, but I am so hungry," were the last words the +infant murmured as he closed his eyes in sleep, and in that slumber +forgot his agonizing pangs for awhile. + +As soon as they were asleep, Mrs. Wentworth removed from the bedside +and seated herself at the window, which she opened. There she sat, +looking at the clouds as they floated by, dark as her own prospects +were. The morning dawned and saw her still there. It was a beautiful +morning, but the warble of the bird in a tree near by, as he poured +forth his morning song, awoke no echo in the heart of the soldier's +wife. All was cheerless within her. The brightness of the morning only +acted like a gleam of light at the mouth of a cavern. It made the +darkness of her thoughts more dismal. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEENTH. + +THE APPEAL FOR CREDIT + + +The first call of the little boy, when he awoke in the morning, was +for bread. He was doubly hungry now. Thirty-six hours had passed since +he had eaten the last mouthful of food that remained in the room. Mrs. +Wentworth on that night of vigils, had determined to make an appeal +for help to the man she had purchased the furniture from, on her +arrival at Jackson, and in the event of his refusing to assist her, to +sell the bed on which her children were wont to sleep. This +determination had not been arrived at without a struggle in the heart +of the soldier's wife. For the first time in her life she was about to +sue for help from a stranger, and the blood rushed to her cheeks, as +she thought of the humiliation that poverty entails upon mortal. It is +true, she was not about to ask for charity, as her object was only to +procure credit for a small quantity of provisions to feed her children +with. The debt would be paid, she knew well enough, but still it was +asking a favor, and the idea of being obligated to a stranger, was +galling to her proud and sensitive nature. + +"Mother," exclaimed the child, as he rose from his bed, "it is morning +now; aint I going to get some bread?" + +"Yes," she replied, "I will go out to the shop directly and get you +some." + +About an hour afterwards she left the room, and bidding Ella to take +care Of her brother, while she was absent, bending her steps towards +the store of Mr. Swartz. This gentleman had become, in a few short +weeks, possessed of three or four times the wealth he owned when we +first introduced him to our readers. The spirit of speculation had +seized him among the vast number of the southern people, who were +drawn into its vortex, and created untold suffering among the poorer +classes of the people. The difference with Mr. Swartz and the great +majority of southern speculators, was the depth to which he descended +for the purpose of making money. No article of trade, however petty, +that he thought himself able to make a few dollars by, was passed +aside unnoticed, while he would sell from the paltry amount of a pound +of flour to the largest quantity of merchandize required. Like all +persons who are suddenly elevated, from comparative dependence, to +wealth, he had become purse proud and ostentatious, as he was humble +and cringing before the war. In this display of the mushroom, could be +easily discovered the vulgar and uneducated favorite of frikle +fortune. Even these displays could have been overlooked and pardoned, +had he shown any charity to the suffering poor. But his heart was as +hard as the flinty rocks against which wash the billows of the +Atlantic. The cry of hunger never reached the inside of his breast. It +was guarded with a covering of iron, impenetrable to the voice of +misery. + +And it was to this man that Mrs. Wentworth, in her hour of bitter need +applied. She entered his store and enquired of the clerk for Mr. +Swartz. + +"You, will find him in that room," he replied, pointing to a chamber +in the rear of the store. + +Mrs. Wentworth entered the room, and found Mr. Swartz seated before a +desk. The office, for it was his private office, was most elegantly +furnished, and exhibited marks of the proprietor's wealth. + +Mr. Swartz elevated his brows with surprise, as he looked at the +care-worn expression and needy attire of the woman before him. + +"Vot can I do for you my coot voman," he enquired, without even +extending the courtesy of offering her a seat. + +Mrs. Wentworth remained for a moment without replying. She was +embarrassed at the uncourteous reception Mr. Swartz gave her. She did +not recollect her altered outward appearance, but thought only of the +fact that she was a lady. Her intention to appeal to him for credit, +wavered for awhile, but the gaunt skeleton, WANT, rose up and +held her two children before her, and she determined to subdue pride, +and ask the obligation. + +"I do not know if you recollect me," she replied at last, and then +added, "I am the lady who purchased a lot of furniture from you a few +weeks ago." + +"I do not remember," Mr. Swartz observed, with a look of surprise. +"But vot can I to for you dis morning?" + +"I am a soldier's wife," Mrs. Wentworth commenced hesitatingly. "My +husband is now a prisoner in the North, and I am here, a refugee from +New Orleans, with two small children. Until a short time ago I had +succeeded in supporting my little family by working on soldiers' +clothing, but the Quartermaster's department having ceased to +manufacture clothing, I have been for several days without work." Here +she paused. It pained her to continue. + +Mr. Swartz looked at her with surprise, and the idea came into his +mind that she was an applicant for charity. + +"Vell, vot has dat got to do vid your pisness," he observed in a cold +tone of voice, determined that she should see no hope in his face. + +"This much," she replied. "For over twenty-four hours my two little +children and myself have been without food, and I have not a dollar to +purchase it." + +"I can't do anything for you," Mr. Swartz said with a frown. + +"Dere is scarce a day but some peoples or anoder vants charity and +I--" + +"I do not come to ask for charity," she interrupted hastily. "I have +only come to ask you a favor." + +"Vat is it?" he enquired. + +"As I told you before, my children and myself are nearly starving," +she replied. "I have not the means of buying food at present, but +think it more than likely I will procure work in a few days. I have +called to ask if you would give me credit for a few articles of food +until then, by which I will be able to sustain my family." + +"I thought it vas something like charity you vanted," he observed, +"but I cannot do vat you vish. It is te same ting every tay mit te +sogers' families. Dey comes here and asks for charity and credit, +shust as if a man vas made of monish.--Gootness gracious! I don't +pelieve dat te peoples who comes here every tay is as pad off as tey +vish to appear." + +"You are mistaken, sir," Mrs. Wentworth replied, "if you think I have +come here without being actually in want of the food, I ask you to let +me have on credit. Necessity, and dire necessity alone, has prompted +me to seek an obligation of you, and if you require it I am willing to +pay double the amount you charge, so that my poor children are saved +from starvation." + +"I reckon you vill," Mr. Swartz said, "but ven you vill pay ish te +question." + +"I could not name any precise day to you," answered Mrs. Wentworth. "I +can only promise that the debt will be paid. If I cannot even pay it +myself, as soon as my husband is exchanged he will pay whatever you +charge." + +"Dat ish a very doubtful vay of doing pisness," he remarked. "I cannot +do as you ask." + +"Consider, sir," she replied. "The amount I ask you to credit me for +is but small, and even if you should not get paid (which I am certain +you will) the loss cannot be felt by a man of your wealth." + +"Dat makes no differenish. I can't give you credit. It ish against my +rules, and if I proke tem for you I vill have to do so for every +body." + +Mrs. Wentworth's heart sank within her at the determined manner in +which he expressed his refusal. Without replying she moved towards the +door, and was about to leave the room when she thought of the +bedstead, on the sale of which she now depended. He may loan money on +it she thought, and she returned to the side of his desk. He looked up +at her impatiently. + +"Vell," he remarked, frowning as he uttered the single word. + +"As you won't give me credit," said Mrs. Wentworth, "I thought you may +be willing to loan me some money if I gave a security for its +payment." + +"Vat kind of security?" he enquired. + +"I have, at my room, a bedstead I purchased from you some time ago," +she replied. "Will you lend a small sum of money on it?" + +"No" he answered. "I am not a pawnbroker." + +"But you might accommodate a destitute mother," remarked Mrs. +Wentworth. "You have refused to give me credit, and now I ask you to +loan me a small sum of money, for the payment of which I offer +security." + +"I cannot do it," he answered. "Ven I says a ting I means it." + +"Will you buy the bedstead then?" asked Mrs. Wentworth in despair. + +"Vat can I do mit it?" he enquired. + +"Why you can sell again," replied Mrs. Wentworth. "It will always find +a purchaser, particularly now that the price of everything has +increased so largely." + +"Veil, I vill puy te pedstead," he said, and then enquired: "How much +monish do you vant for it?" + +"What will you give me?" she asked. + +"I vill give you forty tollars for it," he replied. + +"It must be worth more than that," she remarked. "The price of +everything is so increased that it appears to me as if the bedstead +should command a higher price than that offered by you." + +"Shust as you like, my goot voman," Mr. Swartz remarked, shrugging his +shoulders. "If you vant at mine price, all veil and goot; if not, you +can leave it alone. I only puy te piece of furniture to accommodate +you, and you should pe tankful." + +"I suppose I will be obliged to take your price," replied Mrs. +Wentworth, "although I believe I could get more for it, did I know any +one in town who purchased such things." + +He made no reply, but calling his clerk ordered him to bring forty +dollars from the safe. The clerk having brought the money retired, and +left them alone again. + +"Vere is te pedstead?" asked Swartz. + +"It is at home," Mrs. Wentworth replied. + +"Den you must pring it round here before I can pay for it," he +observed. + +"I am in want of the money now to buy bread," she answered. "If you +will pay me and let your clerk follow with a dray, I would return home +immediately and have the bedstead taken down and sent to you." + +Mr. Swartz called the clerk again, and ordered him to bring a dray to +the front of the store. The clerk did as he was requested, and soon +after returned with the intelligence that the dray was ready. + +"Do you follow dis voman to her house, and she vill give you a +pedstead. Bring it down here," and then he added, speaking to the +clerk who had not yet left the room: "Vat does te trayman sharge." + +"One dollar and a half," was the reply. + +Taking up the forty dollars which had been previously brought to him, +Mr. Swartz counted out thirty-eight and a half dollars, and handed +them to Mrs. Wentworth. + +"De von tollar and a half out ish to pay for te trayage," he remarked +as she received the money. + +She made no reply, but left the room followed by the clerk, when, with +the drayman, they soon arrived at her room. The bedstead was soon +taken down and removed to Mr. Swartz's store. + +"Sharge one huntred tollars for dat pedstead," he remarked to his +clerk as soon as it had arrived. + +While he was rejoicing at the good speculation he had made, the +soldier's wife sat on a box in her room feeding her half famished +children. The room was now utterly destitute of furniture, but the +heart of the mother rejoiced at the knowledge that for a couple of +weeks longer her children would have food. + + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEENTH. + +DR. HUMPHRIES BUYS A SLAVE AND BRINGS HOME NEWS. + + +A few days after Mrs. Wentworth had sold her last piece of furniture, +Dr. Humphries was walking along one of the principal streets in +Jackson when he was stopped by a crowd that had gathered in front of +an auction mart. On walking up he learned that it was a sheriff's sale +of a "likely young negro girl." Remembering that Emma had requested +him to purchase a girl as a waiting maid for her, he examined the +slave and found her in all respects the kind of house servant he +desired. Going up to the auctioneer who had just mounted a bench for +the purpose of selling the slave, he enquired where she had come from. +The auctioneer responded by handing the doctor a small hand bill +setting forth the sale. After reading it he walked up to the slave and +commenced to question her. + +"What is your name?" he enquired. + +"Elsy, sir," she replied. + +"You say that you come from New Orleans," he continued. + +"Yes, sir," she responded. + +"What was your master's name?" asked the doctor. + +"His name is Mr. Alfred Wentworth," the negro answered. + +"Where is your master now?" he enquired, continuing his questions. + +"Massa is a prisner in de Yankee army," she replied. + +"And what made you leave New Orleans?" was the next question. + +"My missis was turned away from de city, and I runaway from dem +Yankees and come here to look for her." + +"Have you not been able to find your mistress?" asked Dr. Humphries. + +"No, sir. Jest as I came here de city police took me up and put me in +jail." + +"Excuse me," interrupted the auctioneer, "but I must sell this girl at +once. Time is precious, so you must excuse me;" then turning to the +crowd he continued: "Here is the slave, gentlemen. She is an +intelligent looking negro, says she understands all that appertains to +the duties of a house servant. What will you bid for her?" + +"Seven hundred dollars," exclaimed a voice in the crowd. + +"Thank you, sir; seven hundred dollars; going at seven hundred +dollars. Look at the girl, gentlemen, going at seven hundred dollars. +Can I get another bid?" exclaimed the auctioneer in the rapid voice +peculiar to his class. + +"Seven hundred and twenty-five," was the next bid. + +"Seven hundred and fifty," Dr. Humphries cried out, having made up his +mind to purchase her. + +In a few minutes the slave was "knocked down" to the doctor for eleven +hundred dollars, and after the proper form was gone through and the +money paid, he ordered her to follow him, and retraced his steps +homeward. + +As our readers must have recognized already, Elsy was no other than +the slave who was left at New Orleans by Mrs. Wentworth, and who +declared that she would follow her mistress into the Confederate +lines. After making several ineffectual attempts she had succeeded in +reaching Baton Rouge, the capital of Louisiana, at which place she +eluded the Federal pickets, and made her way to Jackson. The first +part of her journey being through the country she passed unnoticed, +until on her arrival at Jackson she was stopped by the police, who +demanded her papers. Not having any she was confined in the county +jail, and after due notice in the papers, calling for the owner to +come and take her away, she was sold at auction according to law. The +girl was very much grieved at her failure to find her mistress, but +being of a good disposition soon became contented with her lot. +Accordingly, when Dr. Humphries purchased her, she followed him home +with a cheerful step. + +On entering his house the doctor presented the negro to Emma. + +"Here, Emma," he observed, "is a girl I have bought for you to-day." + +"Thank you," she answered, looking at Elsy. "This is really a nice +looking girl. Who did you buy her from?" + +"She says she is from New Orleans. Her master is a prisoner in the +hands of the Yankees, and her mistress being turned out of her home by +Butler, is now somewhere in the Confederacy, but where, the girl +cannot tell. When her mistress left New Orleans, the Yankees would not +permit the slave to leave with her, but she succeeded in escaping from +their lines, and came to Jackson, where she was arrested, and as no +owner claimed her, she was sold to me at auction this morning +according to law." + +"Then we will not be doing justice to the owner of the girl, if we +keep her constantly. Perhaps her mistress is some poor soldier's wife +who would be glad to get the money you have expended, or may require +her services." + +"I have thought of that before I purchased her, but as she seems +honest, I did not make the thought prevent me from getting her. I have +also made up my mind to give her up should her owner at any time claim +her, and he is a poor man." + +"I am glad you have so decided," Emily replied, "for I should not have +liked the idea of depriving any Confederate soldier of his slave, +particularly if he is a poor man. And now," she continued, speaking to +Elsy, "do you go in the next room and wait there until I come in." + +Making a curtesy, Elsy left the parlor, and entered the room pointed +out by Emily. + +"I have some news for you, Emily," remarked the Doctor as soon as the +negro had left the room. + +"What is it about," she enquired. + +"Something that will interest you considerably," he answered. + +"If it will interest me, let me know what it is," she remarked. + +"I have received a telegraphic dispatch from Harry," Dr. Humphries +replied. + +"Why, how could he have arrived in our lines?" she enquired, as a +smile of joy illumined her features. + +"Here is what the dispatch says:" "I arrived here this morning, having +escaped from prison. Will be in Jackson on to-morrow's train. Show +this to Emily." + +"I am so glad," exclaimed Emily joyfully, as soon as her father had +concluded reading the dispatch, "for," she continued, "I was beginning +to be afraid that our unfortunate prisoners in the hands of the +Yankees, would never be exchanged." + +"You need not have labored under any such fear," Dr. Humphries +observed. "The papers of this morning announce that a cartel has been +arranged, and the prisoners held on both sides will be shortly +exchanged." + +"Nevertheless, I am glad that Harry has made his escape, for it will +bring him to us sooner than we anticipated. Besides which, it is +gratifying to know that he had no occasion to wait for an exchange." + +"That is very true" replied her father, "and as he has safely escaped, +you can rejoice, but the dangers which must have, necessarily +presented themselves in the attempt, were of such a nature, that you +would not have desired him to make the effort had you known them." + +"He is safe, and we can well afford to laugh at them," she answered, +"all I hope is that he may never be taken prisoner again." + +"I do not believe he will relish the idea, much less the reality of +such a thing again occurring," observed Dr. Humphries. "However," he +continued, "he will be here to-morrow, and the little cloud that his +capture had sent over our happiness, will have been removed, and all +will again be bright." + +As he concluded speaking, a servant entered with a letter containing a +summons to attend a patient, and Dr. Humphries kissing his daughter +once more, left the house. + + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEENTH. + +ARRIVAL OF HARRY. + + +The next day Emily prepared herself to welcome the return of her +lover, while Dr. Humphries proceeded to the railroad depot to meet +him. In the meantime, we will give our readers a brief account of +Harry's escape. + +After leaving Chicago, Harry made his way through the country towards +the Tennessee river. His journey was a dangerous one, for the people +of Illinois where then highly elated at the successes which had +attended the Yankee arms, and the few sympathisers that the South had +in their midst, were afraid to express their sympathies. He, luckily, +however, succeeded in finding out a worthy gentleman, who not only +befriended him, but furnished the necessary means for his journey, and +procured a passport for him to visit Nashville. Prepared for a +continuation of his travel, Harry, who had been staying at the +residence of his noble hearted host for three days, bade him adieu, +and started on his way to Nashville. On arriving at Frankfort, +Kentucky, he met with a man he had become acquainted with in +Mississippi, but who, on account of his strong Union proclivities, was +compelled to leave the South at the commencement of the war. This +creature immediately recognized Harry, and knowing that he had always +been an ardent Secessionist, conjectured that he was either a spy, or +an escaped prisoner. Harry was accordingly arrested and carried before +the military authorities, but his persistent denial of any knowledge +of the man who had caused his arrest, and the passport he had received +from the generous Illinoisan, induced the Yankee officer by whom he +was examined, to release him, and permit his departure for Nashville. + +Harry had many hair breadth escapes from detection and capture, but +surmounting all the dangers which beset his path, he succeeded In +reaching the Confederate lines in safety, and immediately started for +Jackson. But one thing marred the joy he experienced at his daringly +won freedom, and that was his ignorance of Alfred's fate. Had not the +love of freedom been too strong in his breast, he would have returned +and endeavored to find his friend, but the success of his escape, and +the idea that Alfred may have pursued a different road, deterred him +from so doing. He determined, however, to make enquiry on his return +to Jackson, whether his friend had arrived there, he having promised +Harry to call on Dr. Humphries after they should arrive in the +Confederate lines. He was not aware of the wound his friend had +received, for though the Chicago papers made a notice of the attempted +escape, and wounding of one of the prisoners, the notice was never +seen by him, as he had no opportunity of getting a newspaper. + +On arriving at Jackson, the evening after he had forwarded his +telegraphic dispatch, Harry found Dr. Humphries at the depot awaiting +his arrival. After they had exchanged hearty expressions of delight at +meeting each other again, they proceeded to the house where Emma was +anxiously looking out for her lover. + +The customary salutations between lovers who have been separated being +over, Harry proceeded to give an account of his escape, which was +listened to with great interest by his hearers. + +"By the way," he remarked, as soon as he had concluded, "has a soldier +giving his name as Wentworth, and claiming to be a friend of mine, +called here within the last ten days." + +"No one has called here of that name," replied Dr. Humphries. + +"I am very anxious to receive some intelligence of him," remarked +Harry, "He was the friend I mentioned, having made my escape with." + +"He may have taken a different road to the one you pursued," Dr. +Humphries observed. + +"If I were satisfied in my mind that he did escape safely, my fears +would be allayed," he answered, "but," he continued, "we left the +gates of the prison together, and were not four yards apart when the +treachery of the guard was discovered. We both started at a full run, +and almost instantaneously the Yankees, who lay in ambush for us, +fired, their muskets in the direction we were going. The bullets +whistled harmless by me, and I continued my flight at the top of my +speed, nor did I discover the absence of my friend until some distance +from the prison, when stopping to take breath, I called him by name, +and receiving no answer found out that he was not with me. I am afraid +he might have been shot." + +"Did you hear no cry after the Yankees had fired," enquired Dr. +Humphries. + +"No, and that is the reason I feel anxious to learn his fate. Had he +uttered any cry, I should be certain that he was wounded, but the +silence on his part may have been caused from instant death." + +"You would have, heard him fall at any rate; had he been struck by the +Yankee bullets," remarked Dr. Humphries. + +"That is very doubtful," he replied. "I was running at such a rapid +rate, and the uproar made by the Yankees was sufficient to drown the +sound that a fall is likely to create." + +"I really trust your friend is safe," said Dr. Humphries. "Perhaps, +after all, he did not make any attempt to escape, but surrendered +himself to the Yankees." + +"There is not the slightest chance of his having done such a thing," +Harry answered. "He was determined to escape, and had told me that he +would rather be shot than be re-captured, after once leaving the +prison. I shall never cease to regret the misfortune should he have +fallen in our attempt to escape. His kindness to me at Fort Donelson +had caused a warm friendship to spring up between us. Besides which, +he has a wife and two small children in New Orleans, who were the sole +cause of his attempting to escape. He informed me that they were not +in very good circumstances, and should Alfred Wentworth have been +killed at Camp Douglas, God help his poor widow and orphans!" + +"Did you say his name was Alfred Wentworth," inquired Emma, for the +first time joining in the conversation. + +"Yes, and do you know anything about him?" he asked. + +"No," she replied, "I know nothing of the gentleman, but father bought +a slave on yesterday, who stated that she has belonged to a gentleman +of New Orleans, of the name you mentioned just now." + +"By what means did you purchase her?" asked Harry addressing himself +to Dr. Humphries. + +The Doctor related to him the circumstances which occasioned the +purchase, as well as the statement of Elsy. Harry listened +attentively, for the friendship he felt for his friend naturally made +him interested in all that concerned Alfred, or his family. + +"Is there no way by which I can discover where Mrs. Wentworth is +residing at present?" he enquired, after a moment of thought. + +"None that I could devise," answered Dr. Humphries. "I know nothing of +the family personally, nor would I have known anything of their +existence, had not chance carried me to the auction sale, at which I +purchased Elsy." + +"Call the girl here for me," Harry said: "I must learn something more +of the departure of Mrs. Wentworth and her children from New Orleans, +and endeavor to obtain a clue to her whereabouts. It is a duty I owe +to the man who saved my life, that everything I can do for his family +shall be performed." + +Emma left the room as he was speaking, and shortly after returned, +followed by Elsy. + +"Here is the girl," she said, as she entered. + +"So you belonged to Mr. Wentworth of New Orleans, did you?" Harry +commenced. + +"I used to belong to him," replied Elsy. + +"What made Mrs. Wentworth leave New Orleans?" he asked, continuing his +questions. + +Elsy gave a long account of the villainy of Awtry, in the usual style +adopted by negroes, but sufficiently intelligible for Harry to +understand the cause of Mrs. Wentworth being compelled to abandon her +home, and take refuge in the Confederate lines. + +"Did not your mistress state where she was going," he asked. + +"No, sah," replied Elsy. "My mistis jest told me good bye when she +left wid de children. I promised her I would get away from de Yankees, +but she forgot to tell me whar she was gwine to lib." + +"Did she bring out plenty of money with her?" he enquired. + +"Yes, sah," Elsy answered. She had seen the sum of money possessed by +Mrs. Wentworth, on her departure from New Orleans, and it being a much +larger amount than she had ever beheld before, made the faithful girl +believe that her mistress had left with quite a fortune. + +"Very well, you can go now," remarked Harry. "It is a satisfaction," +he continued as Elsy left the room, "to know that Wentworth's wife is +well provided with money, although it does appear strange that she +should have a plenty of funds, when her husband informed me, while in +prison, that the money he left her with could not maintain his wife +and children for any great length of time." + +"She may have been furnished with money by some friend, who intending +to remain in the city, had no use for Confederate Treasury notes," Dr. +Humphries remarked. + +"That is very likely, and I trust it is so," observed Harry, +"However," he continued, "I shall take steps on Monday next, to find +out where Mrs. Wentworth is now residing." + +On Monday the following advertisement appeared in the evening papers: + + INFORMATION WANTED. + + Any one knowing where Mrs. Eva Wentworth and her two + children reside, will be liberally rewarded, by addressing + the undersigned at this place. Mrs. Wentworth is a refugee + from New Orleans, and the wife of a gallant soldier, now a + prisoner of war. + + Jackson,----1862. H. SHACKLEFORD. + +It was too late. Extensively published as it was, Mrs. Wentworth never +saw it. Her hardships and trials had increased ten-fold; she was fast +drifting before the storm, with breakers before, threatening to wreck +and sink into the grave the wife and children of Alfred Wentworth. + + + + +CHAPTER SIXTEENTH. + +MR. ELDER DEMANDS HIS RENT.--NOTICE TO QUIT. + + +The money received by Mrs. Wentworth from Mr. Swartz, proved but a +temporary relief for her children and herself. A fatal day was fast +arriving, and she knew not how to avert the impending storm. By a +great deal of labor and deprivation she had heretofore succeeded in +paying the rent of the room she occupied, although Mr. Elder had twice +advanced the price. Now there was no hope of her being able to obtain +a sufficient sum of money to meet the demand of that gentleman, who +would call on her the following day in person, did she not call at his +office and settle for at least one months rent in advance. The month +for which she had paid expired in three days, and she was apprehensive +of being turned out, unless she could collect sufficient money to pay +him. She knew not where to find the means. The room was stripped bare +of furniture to supply the calls of nature; nothing but a mattress in +one corner of the apartment, and a few cooking utensils remained. She +labored day and night, to procure work, but all her efforts were +unavailing. It appeared to her as if the Almighty had forsaken herself +and children, and had left them to perish through want. + +It cannot be that God would place his image on earth, and willingly +leave them to perish from destitution. Many have been known to die of +starvation, and the tales of wretchedness and woe with which the +public ear is often filled attest the fact. Squalid forms and +threadbare garments are seen, alas! too often in this civilised world, +and the grave of the pauper is often opened to receive some unhappy +mortal, whose life had been one scene of suffering and want. +Philanthropy shudders and Christianity believes it to be a punishment, +administered by the hand of God; that the haggard cause of the starved +creature, who has thus miserably died, once contained the spirit of a +mortal undergoing the penalty of Him, who judges mankind on high, and +expiating through his heart-rending bodily agony, crimes committed in +by-gone days. + +This is not so in all cases. What mercy could we attribute to God, did +he willingly entail misery upon the innocent, or punish them for the +crimes of the guilty? Why call it a dispensation of Divine justice, +that would condemn to weeks, months and years of wretchedness, the +mortals he brought in the world himself? Who hath seen the hovel of +the pauper; beheld its wretched inmates, heard their tale of woe, +heard them tell of days passing without their having a crumb of bread +to satisfy the cravings of hunger, or seen them in that last stage of +destitution, when hunger brings on despair, until the mind wanders +from its seat, and madness takes its place; heard the raving of the +maniac, his frenzied call for bread, and his abject desolation, until +death came kindly to relieve his sufferings, and felt not that the +hand of God had never worked so much ill for his people? Is it +profanity to say that the eye of God had wandered from them? We +believe it; for the Book that teaches us of the Almighty, depicts him +as a God of mercy and compassion. The eye of the Omnipotent is not +upon the wretched. "He seeth all things," but there are times when His +eyes are turned from those who endure the storm of a cold and +heartless world, and He knows not of their suffering, until the Angel +of Death brings their spirit before the Judgment seat. + +God had not deserted the soldier's wife, but His eyes were turned +away, and He saw not her condition. Thus was she left unaided by the +hand of Providence. She felt her desolation, for as each day passed +by, and her condition became worse, she knew that her prayers were +unanswered. They reached not the ear of the Almighty, and the innocent +children were allowed to participate of that bitter cup, which the +chances of worldly fortune had placed before the unhappy family. + +Three days sped away quickly, and the fatal morning arrived. She had +no money to pay the rent, and the day passed away without Mr. Elder +receiving a visit from her. She dared not to tell him of her position, +but awaited patiently his arrival on the following day, for she well +knew he would be sure to come. + +The next morning saw him at her door, much annoyed at the trouble she +gave him to call and collect the money. Mrs. Wentworth had nothing to +say, nor had she a dollar to satisfy his demands. + +"Good morning, madam," he said, as she opened the door to admit him, +"I was much surprised at your not calling to pay the rent at my office +on yesterday. I admire punctuality above everything else." + +He entered the room, and cast his eyes on its empty walls. They did +not satisfy him, for the absence of any furniture told the tale of the +soldier's wife in a more graphic manner than words could have done. + +"What does this mean?" he enquired. + +"It means that necessity has compelled a mother to sacrifice +everything to keep her children from starving," Mrs. Wentworth +replied. + +"Humph," said Mr. Elder. "This is singular. So I suppose," he +continued, addressing her, "you will say you have no money to pay your +month's rent in advance." + +"I have not a dollar this day to buy bread," she answered. + +A frown gathered on Mr. Elder's brow, as he remarked: "I suppose you +recollect the arrangement made between us when you first hired the +room from me." + +"What arrangement was that?" she enquired in an absent manner. + +"That on you failing to pay the rent, I should have the power to +resume possession of the room, without giving you notice to leave." + +"I recollect," she said. + +"Well, in accordance with our arrangements, I shall require that you +vacate the room to-day, as I can procure another tenant, who will be +able to pay the rent promptly." + +"Do you mean that I must leave to-day," she asked. + +"Yes," he replied, "I desire to have the room renovated at once." + +"Where can I go to without money," she enquired, in a tone more like +as if she was addressing herself than speaking to him. + +"I really cannot tell my good, woman," he answered, "I am sorry for +your position, but cannot afford to lose the rent of my room, I am +compelled to pay my taxes, and support myself by the money I receive +from rent." + +"I cannot leave to-day," Mrs. Wentworth cried in a despairing tone. "I +cannot leave to-day. Oh, sir! look at my child lying on that wretched +bed, and tell me, if you can have the heart to turn me out, homeless, +friendless and alone." + +"My good Woman," he answered. "I cannot help your misfortunes, nor can +I do anything to assist you. If you can pay the rent, I have no +objection to your remaining, but if you can not, I will be compelled +to get another tenant who will be able." + +"Sir," she remarked, speaking slowly. "I am a woman with two children, +alone in this State. My husband and protector is now pining in a +Yankee prison, a sacrifice on the altar of his country. Let me ask you +as a man, and perhaps a father, to pause ere you turn a helpless woman +from the shelter of your property. You appear wealthy, and the sum +charged for the rent would make but little difference to you, if it +was never paid. Oh! do not eject us from this room. My child lies +there parched with fever, and to remove her may be fatal." + +"There is no necessity for any appeals to me," he replied. "If I were +to give way to such extravagant requests in your case, I should be +necessitated to do so in others, and the result would be, that I +should find myself sheltering all my tenants, without receiving any +pay for house rent. The idea cannot be entertained for a moment." + +"Let your own heart speak," she said, "and not the promptings of +worldly thoughts. All those who rent your houses are not situated as I +am. They are at home among friends, who will aid and succor them, if +ever necessity overtook them. I am far away from home and friends. +There is no one in this town that I can call upon for assistance, and +even now, my children are without food for want of funds to purchase +it. Do not add to my wretchedness by depriving them of shelter. Let me +know that if we are to die of starvation, a roof, at least, will cover +our bodies." + +He looked at her with unchanged countenance. Not even the movement of +a muscle, denoted that his heart was touched at her pathetic appeal. +His expression was as hard and cold as adamantine, nor did a single +feeling of pity move him. He cared for nothing but money; she could +not give him what he wanted, and too sentiment of commiseration, no +spark of charity, no feeling of manly regret at her sufferings entered +his bosom. + +"Be charitable," she continued. "I have prayed night after night to +God to relieve my necessities; I have walked the town through and +through in the effort to procure work, but my prayers have been +unanswered, and my efforts have proven unavailing. At times the +thought of the maelstrom of woe into which I am plunged, has well nigh +driven me to madness. My brain has seemed on fire, and the shrieks of +the maniac would have been heard resounding through the walls of this +room, but my children would come before me, and the light of reason +would again return. But for their sake I should welcome death as a +precious boon. Life has but every charm for me. In the pale and +alternated woman before you, none could recognize a once happy wife. +Oh, sir!" she continued, with energy; "believe me when I tell you that +for my children's sake alone, I now appeal. Hear me, and look with +pity on a mother's pleadings. It is for them I plead. Were I alone, no +word of supplication would you hear. I should leave here, and in the +cold and turbid waters of Pearl river, find the rest I am denied on +earth." + +"This is a very unaccountable thing to me," said Mr. Elder. "You make +an agreement to leave as soon as you fail to pay your rent, and now +that that hour has arrived, instead of conforming to your agreement, I +am beset with a long supplication. My good woman, this effort of yours +to induce me to provide a home for your family at my expense, cannot +be successful. You have no claim upon my charity, and those who have, +are sufficiently numerous already without my desiring to make any +addition. As I mentioned before, you must either find money to pay the +rent, or vacate the room." + +"Give me time," she said, speaking with an effort; "give me but two +days, and I will endeavor either to obtain the money, or to procure +somewhere to stay." + +Mr. Elder knit his brows again as he answered. "I cannot give you two +days, for I intend renting the room by to-morrow. You can, however, +remain here until this evening, at which time you must either be +prepared to leave, or find money to pay for the rent." + +"It is well," she replied. "I will do as you say." + +"Then you may expect me here this evening at dusk," he said, and +turning towards the door left the room muttering; "when will I ever +get rid of this crowd of paupers, who, it is always my luck to rent +rooms to." + +"God of Heaven aid me!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, as she closed the +door in the receding form of Mr. Elder, and sank on her knees before +the bed on which Ella lay in a high fever. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH. + +THE EJECTMENT + + +Mrs. Wentworth knew not where to go to procure money to pay the rent, +and when she asked Mr. Elder to give her time to procure either the +means of paying him, or to procure another place to stay, she did so +only to avert the threatened ejectment for a brief period. Nor did she +know where to procure another shelter. There was no one in the town +that she knew from whom she could have obtained a room to rent, unless +the money was paid in advance. + +After Mr. Elder's departure, she fell on her knees and prayed for +help, but she did so only from habit, not with the belief that an +Omnipotent arm would be stretched out to aid her. There she knelt and +prayed, until the thought of her sick child flashed across her brain, +and rising, she stooped over and enquired how she felt. + +"The same way," answered Ella. "I feel very hot, and my throat is +quite parched." + +"You have got the fever, darling," said Mrs. Wentworth.--"Is there +anything I can do for you?" + +"Nothing," replied Ella, "except," she continued, "you could get me +something sweet to take this bitter taste from my mouth." + +A pang shot through Mrs. Wentworth's heart as she replied, "I cannot +get anything just now. You must wait until a little later in the day." + +She spoke sadly, for it was a deception that she was practicing upon +her child, when she promised to gratify her wishes at a later hour. + +"Never mind," observed Ella. "Do not trouble yourself, my dear mother, +I do not want it very badly." + +The little girl defined the cause of her mother's not acceding to her +request at that moment, and she had no desire to cause her additional +pain, by again asking for anything to moisten her parched lips, or +remove the dry and bitter taste that the fever had caused. + +Mrs. Wentworth had at last found out that Ella was sick.--Not from any +complaint of the child, for the little girl remained suffering in +silence, and never hinted that she was unwell.--But she had become so +weak that one morning, on endeavoring to rise from the bed, she fell +back and fainted from exhaustion, and on her mother's chafing her +forehead with water for the purpose of reviving her, discovered that +Ella had a hot fever. She was very much alarmed, and would have called +a doctor, but knowing no medical man who would attend her child +without remuneration, she was necessitated to content herself with +what knowledge she had of sickness. This had caused the money she had +remaining in her possession to be quickly expended. + +The little girl bore her illness uncomplainingly, and although each +day she sunk lower and felt herself getting weaker, she concealed her +condition, and answered her mother's questions cheerfully. She was a +little angel that God had sent to Mrs. Wentworth. She was too young to +appreciate the extent of her mother's wretchedness, but she saw that +something was wrong and kept silent, and she lay there that day sick. +There was no hope for the child. Death had marked her as his prey, and +nothing could stay or turn away his ruthless hand from this little +flower of earth. Stern fate had decreed that she should die. The +unalterable sentence had been registered in the book of Heaven, and an +angel stood at her bedside ready to take her to God. + +The day passed over the wretched family. Ella lay on the bed in +silence throughout, what appeared to her, the long and weary hours; +the little boy called every few minutes for bread, and as his infant +voice uttered the call, the agony of Mrs. Wentworth increased. Thus +was the day passed, and as the dusk of evening spread its mantle over +the town, the soldier's wife prepared to receive her summons for +ejectment. She was not kept waiting long. No sooner had the darkness +set in, than Mr. Elder, accompanied by another man, opened the door +and entered the room. + +"Well," he said, "have you succeeded in procuring money to pay the +rent." + +"I have not," Mrs. Wentworth answered. + +"I suppose you have made arrangements to go somewhere else then," he +remarked. + +"No," she replied. "My child has been ill all day long, and I was +compelled to remain here and attend to her wants." + +"That is very unfortunate," Mr. Elder remarked, "for this gentleman," +pointing to the stranger who accompanied him, "has made arrangements +to take the room, and will move into it to-night.". + +"Will he not wait until the morning," she enquired. + +"I do wot know," he replied. "Will you," he asked, speaking to the +man, "be willing to wait until to-morrow before you take possession?" + +"Bo jabers! I've got to leave my owld room to-night, and if I cannot +git this I must take another that I can get in town," answered the +man, who was a rough and uneducated son of the Emerald Isle. + +"That settles the matter, then," observed Mr. Elder. "You will have to +leave," he continued, addressing Mrs. Wentworth. "You will perceive +that I cannot lose a tenant through your remaining in the room +to-night." + +"Och!" said the Irishman, "if the lady can't lave to-night, shure ah' +I will take the other room, for be jabers I wouldn't have a woman +turned out of doors for me." + +"You need not fear about that, my good friend," remarked Mr. Elder. +"Does the room suit you?" + +"Yes! It does well enough for myself and my children," was the answer. + +"Then you can consider yourself a tenant from to-night," Mr. Elder +said. "Go and bring your things here. By the time you return I shall +have the room vacated and ready for you." + +"Jist as you say, yer honor," replied the man, as he bowed himself +from the room. + +"And now, my good woman," remarked Mr. Elder, "you will perceive the +necessity of removing your children and whatever articles you may have +here to some other place at once. I cannot be induced to grant any +further time, and lose tenants by the operation." + +"Great God, sir!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, "where am I to go to? I +know of no place where I can find a shelter this night. You cannot, +must not, force me to leave." + +"I trust you will not put me to the necessity of having you ejected by +force," remarked Mr. Elder. "You are fully aware that by the +arrangement entered into between us, when you first rented the room, +that I am doing nothing illegal in requiring you to leave. You will +save me both trouble and pain by doing as I have requested." + +"I cannot," she replied, pressing her hands to her forehead, and then +bursting into tears she exclaimed appealingly: "For the sake of God +have pity, sir! Let not your heart be so hardened, but turn and +befriend a soldiers wretched wife. There is scarce a beast but +contains some touch of feeling, scarce a heart but vibrates in some +degree, and beats with a quicker pulsation at the sight of poverty and +misery. Let me hope that yours contains the same feeling, and beats +with the same sorrow at the miserable scene before you. Look around +you, sir, and see the destitution of my family; go to the side of that +lowly bed and press your hand upon the burning brow of my child; call +that little boy and ask him how long he has been without food, look at +a wretched mother's tears, and lot a gracious God remove the hardness +from your heart, and drive us not homeless from this roof. Think not +that the ragged, woman who now stands before you, weeping and +pleading, would have thus supplicated without a cause. There was a +time when I never dreamed of experiencing such suffering and hardship, +such bitter, bitter woe. Oh! sir, let pity reign dominant in your +heart." + +He was unmoved. Why should he care for the misery of strangers? Was he +not of the world as man generally finds it? The exceptions to the rule +are not of this earth. They occupy a place in the celestial realms, +for, if even they may have committed sins in early life, their deeds +of charity blots out the record, and they enter Heaven welcomed by the +hosts of angels who dwell there, while their absence from this creates +a void not easily filled. + +Mr. Elder answered her not for several minutes. He stood there with +his arms folded, silently gazing upon the thin form of Mrs. Wentworth, +who, with clasped hands and outstretched arms, anxiously awaited his +decision. But he gave no promise of acquiescence, no hope of pity, no +look of charity in his features--they looked cold, stern, and vexed. + +There she stood the picture of grief, awaiting the words that would +either give her hope or plunge her forever into the fathomless depths +of despair. The eyes of the soldier's wife were turned on Mr. Elder +with a sad and supplicating look. In any other but the cold, +calculating creature before her, their look might have moved to pity, +but with him nothing availed; not even a struggle for mastery between +humanity and brutality could be seen, and as she gazed upon him she +felt that there was no chance of her wishes being gratified. + +Her little son clung to her dress half frightened at the attitude of +his mother, and the stern and unforbidding aspect of Mr. Elder. Ella +strove to rise while her mother was speaking, but fell back on her bed +unable to perform the effort. She was, therefore, content to be there +and listen to the conversation as it occurred between Mr. Elder and +her mother. Her little heart was also tortured, for this had been the +first time she had ever heard such passionate and earnest language as +was depicted in Mrs. Wentworth's words. + +At last Mr. Elder spoke, and his words were eagerly listened to by +Mrs. Wentworth. + +"This annoys me very much," he said. "Your importunities are very +disagreeable to me, and I must insist that they shall cease. As I told +you before, I cannot afford to lose tenants in an unnecessary act of +liberality, and through mistaken charity. The fact is," he continued +in a firm and decisive tone, "you _must_ leave this room to-night. I +will not listen to any more of your pleading. Your case is but the +repetition of many others who fled from their homes and left all they +had, under the impression that the people of other States would be +compelled to support them. This is a mistaken idea, and the sooner its +error is made known the better it will be for the people of the South, +whose homes are in the hands of the enemy." + +"Then you are determined that my children and myself shall be turned +from the shelter of this room to-night," she enquired, dropping her +hands by her side, and assuming a standing attitude. + +"You have heard what I have already said, my good woman," he replied. +"And let me repeat, that I will listen to no further supplications." + +"I shall supplicate to you no more," she answered. "I see, alas! too +well, that I might sooner expect pity from the hands of an uncivilized +Indian than charity or aid from you. Nor will I give you any trouble +to forcibly eject me." + +"I am very glad to hear it," he rejoined. + +"Yes," she continued, without noticing his words, "I shall leave of my +own accord, and there," she said, pointing to Ella, "lies my sick +child. Should exposure on this night cause her death, I shall let you +know of it that you may have some subject, accruing from your +heartless conduct, on which to ponder." + +Slowly she removed all the articles that were in the room, and placed +them on the sidewalk. There were but few things in the room, and her +task was soon completed. + +"Come, darling," she said as she wrapped up Ella in a cover-lid and +lifted the child in her arms, "come, and let us go." + +Mr. Elder still stood with folded arms looking on. + +"Farewell, sir," she said, turning to him, "you have driven a +soldier's helpless wife and children from the roof that covered them +into the open streets, with none other than skies above as a covering. +May God pardon you as I do," and speaking to the little boy who still +clung to her dress, she replied, "Come, darling, let us go." + +Go where? She knew not, thought not where. She only knew that she was +now homeless. + +The clouds looked as serene, the stars twinkled as merrily as ever, +and the moon shed as bright a light upon the form of the soldier's +wife, as she walked out of that room, a wanderer upon the earth, as it +did on scenes of peace and happiness. The Ruler of the Universe saw +not the desolate mother and her children; thus there was no change in +the firmament, for had He gazed upon them at that moment, a black +cloud would have been sent to obscure the earth, and darkness would +have taken the place of light. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH. + +THE RESTING PLACE--ANOTHER VISIT TO MR. SWARTZ. + + +The mother and her child walked on in silence. Mrs. Wentworth knew not +where to go. From her heart the harrowing cry of desolation went out, +and mingled with the evening air, filling it with the sound of +wretchedness, until it appeared dull and stifling. But she knew not +this, for to her it had never appeared pleasant. For weeks past her +cup of misery had been filling, and as each drop of sorrow entered the +goblet of her life, so did all sense of what was happy and lovely +depart from her heart. She was, indeed, a breathing figure of all that +could be conceived miserable and unhappy. The flowers that bloomed in +the Spring time of her happy years, had withered in the winter of her +wretched weeks, and over the whole garden of her life, nothing but the +dead and scentless petals remained, to tell of what was once a +paradise of affection--a blooming image of love. + +As she walked on she discovered that the child she carried in her arms +had fainted. She paused not for consideration, but observing a light +in a small cabin near by, she hurriedly bent her steps towards it, and +entered through the half opened door. It was the home of an aged negro +woman, and who looked up much surprised at the intrusion. + +"Here, auntie," Mrs. Wentworth said hastily, "give me some water +quickly, my child has fainted." + +"Goodness, gracious, what could ha' made you bring dem children to dis +part of de town dis time o' night," exclaimed the old negress, as she +hastened to do the bidding of Mrs. Wentworth, who had already placed +the inanimate body of Ella on the negro's humble bed. + +The water being brought, Mrs. Wentworth sprinkled it upon the face of +the child, but without avail. Ella still remained motionless, and to +all appearances lifeless. + +"Great Heaven!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, "my child cannot be dead!" + +"Top a bit, mistis, an' I will fix de little gal for you," said the +old negro, hobbling, to the bedside, with a small bottle filled with +camphor in her hand. "Dis stuff will bring her to. Don't be afeard, +she ain't dead." + +Pouring out some of the stimulant in one hand, the kind-hearted old +woman bathed Ella's face with it, and held the bottle to her nostrils, +until a sigh from the child showed that she still lived. After a few +seconds she opened her eyes, and looked up to her mother, who was, +bending with anxious countenance over her. + +"Dar now," said the old negro in a tone of satisfaction, "did not I +tell you dat de sweet little child was libbing." + +"Thank you, old woman, God in Heaven bless you!" exclaimed Mrs. +Wentworth, as she clapped the old woman's hand in her own. + +"Berry well, berry well," was the answer of the negro, "you welcome +misses." + +There, in the cabin of that good old slave, the soldier's wife heard +the first voice of kindness that had greeted her ears for months. From +the hands of a servile race she had received the first act of charity, +and in a land like this. In the performance of that kindness, the old +slave had done more to elevate herself than all the philanthropists +and abolitionists of the North could have done. Could the cursed race, +whose war upon the South have seen this act, they would have conceded +to her people the justice of their right to slavery, when such a slave +as this existed. + +"What make you come to dis part ob town to-night, missis," asked the +negro, after a few moments of silence. + +"Nothing, nothing, my good woman," replied Mrs. Wentworth hastily. She +could not let a slave know of her trials and misery. + +"Poh ting!" ejaculated the old woman in a compassionate tone, but too +low for Mrs. Wentworth to hear her. "I 'spec her husband been treatin' +her bad. Dem men behave berry bad sometime," and with a sigh she +resumed her silence. + +The soldier's wife sat by the bedside, on one of the rude chairs, that +formed a portion of the furniture, and remained plunged in thought. A +deep sleep had overtaken Ella, although her breathing was heavy, and +the fever raged with redoubled violence. + +"Mother can't I get something to eat?" asked her little son. His words +woke his mother from her thoughts, but before she could reply, the old +negro had forestalled. + +"Is it some ting you want to eat, my little darling," she enquired, +rising from her seat, and going to a little cupboard near the door of +the room. + +"Yes granny," he answered, "I am quite hungry." + +"Bress your little heart," she remarked, giving him a large piece of +bread. "Here is some ting to eat." + +Taking the child on her knees, she watched him until he had completed +eating the food, when putting him down, she opened a trunk, and pulled +out a clean white sheet, which she placed on a little mattress near +the bed. + +"Come now," she said, "go to bed now like a good boy." + +The child obeyed her, and was soon enjoying a refreshing sleep. + +"Where will you sleep to-night, auntie," asked Mrs. Wentworth, who had +been a silent observer of the old woman's proceedings. + +"I got some tings 'bout here; missis, dat will do for a bed," she +answered. + +"I am sorry I have to take away your bed to-night," remarked Mrs. +Wentworth, "but I hope I will be able to pay you for your kindness +some time." + +"Dat's all right," replied the old negress, and spreading a mass of +different articles on the floor, she crept in among them, and shortly +after fell asleep, leaving Mrs. Wentworth alone with her thoughts, +watching over the sleeping forms of her children. + +The next morning the old woman woke up early, and lighting fire, made +a frugal but amply sufficient breakfast, which, she placed before her +uninvited guests. Mrs. Wentworth partook of the meal but slightly, and +her little son ate heartily. Ella being still asleep, she was not +disturbed. Shortly after the meal was over, the old negro left the +cabin, saying she would return some time during the day. + +About nine o'clock, Ella woke, and feebly called her mother. Mrs. +Wentworth approached the bedside, and started back much shocked at the +appearance of her child. The jaws of the little girl had sunk, her +eyes were dull and expressiveless and her breath came thick and +heavily. + +"What do you wish my darling," enquired her mother. + +"I feel quite sick, mother," said the little girl, speaking faintly +and with great difficulty. + +"What is the matter with you?" Mrs. Wentworth asked, her face turning +as pale as her child's. + +"I cannot breathe," she answered, "and my eyes feel dim. What can be +the matter?" + +"Nothing much, my angel," replied her mother. "You have only taken a +cold from exposure in the air last night. Bear up and you will soon +get well again." + +"I feel so different now from what I did before," she remarked. +"Before I was so hot, and now I feel as cold as ice." + +Mrs. Wentworth put her hand upon the face of her child. It was indeed +as cold as ice, and alarmed the mother exceedingly. She knew not how +to act; she was alone in the cabin, and even had the old negro been at +home, she had no money to purchase medicines with. She was determined, +however, that something should be done for her child, and the thought +of again appealing to Mr. Swartz for assistance came into her mind. + +"Perhaps, he will loan me a small sum of money when he learns how +destitute I am, and that my child is very ill," she said musingly, and +then added: "At any rate I will try what I can do with him." + +Turning to Ella Mrs. Wentworth said: "Do you think you could remain +here with your brother until my return. I want to go out and get +something for you to take." + +"Yes, mother, but do not be long," she replied. "I will try and keep +brother by me while you are away." + +"Very well," said Mrs. Wentworth, "I shall make haste and return." + +Admonishing her little son not to leave the room during her absence, +Mrs. Wentworth was on the point of leaving the room when Ella called +to her: "Be sure to come back soon, mother," she said. "I want you +back early particularly." + +"Why, my darling?" enquired her mother. + +"Why, in case I should be going to--" Here her voice sunk to a +whisper, and her mother failed to catch what she said. + +"In case you should be going to, what?" enquired Mrs. Wentworth. + +"Nothing, mother," she replied. "I was only thinking, but make haste +and come back." + +"I will," her mother answered, "I will come back immediately." + +Choking the sob that rose in her throat, Mrs. Wentworth left the room +and proceeded towards Mr. Swartz's office. Her visit was a hopeless +one, but she determined to make the trial. She could not believe that +the heart of every man was turned against the poor and helpless. + +What a world is this we live in! We view with calm indifference the +downfall of our fellow-mortals. We see them struggling in the billows +of adversity, and as our proud bark of wealth glides swiftly by, we +extend no helping hand to the worn swimmer. And yet we can look upon +our past life with complacency, can delight to recall the hours of +happiness we have past, and if some scene of penury and grief is +recalled to our memory, we drive away the thought of what we then +beheld and sought not to better. + +What is that that makes man's heart cold as the mountain tops of +Kamtschatka? It is that cursed greed for gain--that all absorbing +ambition for fortune--that warps the heart and turns to adamant all +those attributes of gentleness with which God has made us. The haggard +beggar and the affluent man of the world, must eventually share the +same fate. No matter that on the grave of the first--"no storied urn +records who rests below," while on the grave of the other, we find in +sculptured marble long eulogies of those who rest beneath, telling us +"not what he was, but what he should have been." Their end is the +same, for beneath the same sod they "sleep the last sleep that knows +no waking," and their spirits wing their flight to the same eternal +realms, there to be judged by their own merits, and not by the station +they occupied below. + +If there are men in this world who cannot be changed by wealth, Swartz +was not of the number. What cared he for the sighs of the desolate, +the appeals of the hungry, or the tears of the helpless? His duty was +but to fill his coffers with money, and not to expend it in aimless +deeds of charity. He looked upon the poor just as we would look upon a +reptile--something to be shunned. + +It was indeed a wild hallucination that induced Mrs. Wentworth to bend +her steps towards his office. Could he have seen her as she was +coming, he would have left his room, for the sight of the mendicant +filled him with greater horror than a decree of God declaring that the +end of the world had come. + + + + +CHAPTER NINETEENTH. + +AN ACT OF DESPAIR. + + +Mrs. Wentworth reached the store of Mr. Swartz and entered. The clerk +looked at her in astonishment. She was unrecognizable. Her dress was +ragged and dirty; the hands and face that once rivalled the Parian +marble in whiteness, were tanned by toil, and lay shrivelled and +dried. Her hair was dishevelled and gathered up in an uncomely heap on +the back of her head. She looked like the beggar, she had become. + +"Some beggar," the clerk said, in a contemptuous tone, as he advanced +towards her. + +"Is Mr. Swartz in?" enquired Mrs. Wentworth in a husky tone. + +"What do you want with him?" he demanded in a gruff voice. + +"I desire to see him privately, for a few moments," she answered. + +"If it is charity you have come to beg, you may as well save yourself +the trouble," observed the clerk. "This house don't undertake to +support all the beggars in Jackson." + +As his brutal words fell on her ear, a spark of womanly dignity filled +her breast, and her eyes kindled with indignation. She looked at him +for a moment sternly and silently, until her gaze caused him to turn +his countenance from her, abashed at the mute rebuke she had +administered. The pride of by-gone days had returned, with the +unfeeling remarks of the clerk, and Mrs. Wentworth again felt all the +bitterness of her position. + +"I did not say I was an applicant for charity," she said at last "All +I desire to know is, if Mr. Swartz is in." + +"I believe he is," replied the clerk. "Do you wish to see him, ma'am." + +His tone was more respectful. Even poverty can command respect at +times, and the threadbare garment be looked upon with as much +difference as the gorgeous silken dress. It was so at this moment. + +"Yes, I desire to see him," answered Mrs. Wentworth. "Be kind enough +to inform Mr. Swartz that a lady has called upon him." + +As she used the word "lady," the clerk elevated his eyebrows, and a +smile of pity stole over his features. Lady! Could the miserable +looking object, who stood before him have any claim to the title. Poor +woman! She knew not that the outward form of woman is the only +recognized title to the term. What though the mind be filled with the +loftiest sentiment, and stored with the richest lore of learning. What +though the heart be purer than the snow which covers the mountain +tops, can they ever claim a position among the favorites of fortune, +when accompanied by beggary? Philanthropists, and philosophers tell us +they can, but the demon, Prejudice, has erected a banner, which can +never be pulled down, until man resumes the patriarchal life of +centuries ago, and society, the mockery by which we claim civilization +was built up, is removed from the earth, and mankind can mingle with +each other in free and unrestricted intercourse. + +That day will never come. + +But to return to our story. The clerk looked pityingly at Mrs. +Wentworth for a moment, then walked to the door of Mr. Swartz's +office, and knocked. + +The door was opened. + +"There is a _lady_ here who wants to see you on private business," he +said with emphasis. + +"Shust tell de lady I will see her in a few minutes," replied the +voice of Mr. Swartz, from the interior of the room. + +The clerk withdrew, after closing the door, and advanced to where Mrs. +Wentworth was standing. + +"Mr. Swartz will see you in a few moments, he said." + +"Go back for me, and tell him my business is urgent, and will admit of +no delay," she answered. + +Her thoughts were of the little girl, who lay ill on the bed in the +negro's cabin, and to whom she had promised to return quickly. + +The clerk withdrew, and announced her wishes, to his employer. + +"Vell," said Mr. Swartz. "Tell her to come in." + +She walked up to the door, and as she reached the threshold it opened +and Mr. Elder, stood before her. She spoke not a word as he started +from surprise at her unexpected appearance. She only gazed upon him +for awhile with a calm and steady gaze. Hastily dropping his eyes to +the ground, Mr. Elder recovered his usual composure, and brushing past +the soldier's wife left the store, while she entered the office where +Mr. Swartz was. + +"Oot tam," he muttered as she entered. "I shall give dat clerk te +tevil for sending dis voman to me. Sum peggar I vill pet." + +"I have called on you again, Mr. Swartz," Mrs. Wentworth began. + +Mr. Swartz looked at her as if trying to remember where they had met +before, but he failed to recognize her features. + +"I don't know dat you vash here to see me pefore," he replied. + +"You do not recognize me," she remarked, and then added: "I am the +lady who sold her last piece of furniture to you some time ago." + +He frowned as she reminded him who she was, for he then surmised what +the object of her visit was. + +"Oh!" he answered, "I recollect you now, and vat do you vant?" + +"I have come upon the same errand," she replied. "I have come once +more to ask you to aid me, but this time come barren of anything to +induce you to comply with my request. Nothing but the generous +promptings of your heart can I hold up before you to extend the +charity I now solicit." + +"You have come here to peg again," he observed, "but I cannot give you +anything. Gootness! ven vill te place pe rid of all te peggers?" + +"I cannot help my position," she said. "A cruel fortune has deprived +my of him who used to support me, and I am now left alone with my +children to eke out the wretched existence of a pauper. Last night I +was turned out of my room by the man who left here a few seconds ago, +because I could not pay for my rent. One of my children was sick, but +he cared not for that. I told him of my poverty, and he turned a deaf +ear towards me. I was forced to leave, and my child has become worse +from exposure in the night air." + +"And vot have I cot to do mit all dis," he enquired. + +"You can give me the means of purchasing medicine for my sick child," +she replied. "The amount thus bestowed cannot cause you any +inconvenience, while it may be the means of saving life." + +"Dis never vill do," Mr. Swartz said, interrupting her. "My goot +woman, you must go to somepody else, I can't give away my monish." + +"You have got a plenty," she persisted, "you are rich. Oh, aid me! If +you believe there is a God above, who rewards the charitable, aid me, +and receive the heartfelt blessings of a mother. Twenty dollars will +be enough to satisfy my present wants, and that sum will make but +little difference to a man of your wealth." + +"Mine Cot!" he exclaimed, "If I make monish I work for it, and don't +go about begging." + +"I know that," she answered, "and it is to the rich that the poor must +appeal for assistance. This has made me come to you this day. Let my +desire be realized. Aid me in saving the life of my child who is now +lying ill, and destitute of medical attendance." + +He could not appreciate her appeal, and he again refused. + +"I can't give you any ding," he answered. + +"There is a virtue which shines far more than all the gold you +possess," replied Mrs. Wentworth. "It is in man what chastity is in a +woman. An act of charity ennobles man more than all the fame bestowed +upon him for any other merit, and his reward is always commensurate +with his works. Let this virtue move you. The ear of God cannot always +be turned against my prayers to Him, and the hour must surely come, +when my husband will be released from prison, and be enabled to repay +any kindness you may show his wife and children. Let me have the money +I have asked you for." "Oh, sir!" she continued, falling on her knees +before him, "believe the words I speak to you, and save my child from +the hands of death. But a short time ago I left her gasping for +breath, with cold drops of perspiration resting on her brow, perhaps +the marks of approaching dissolution. She is very ill, and can only +recover through proper treatment. Place it in my power to call a +physician and to procure medicines, and I shall never cease to bless +you." + +He moved uneasily in his chair, and averted his head from where she +was kneeling, not because he felt touched at her appeal, but because +he felt annoyed at her importuning him for money. + +"Here my voman," he said at last. "Here is von tollar pill, dat is all +I can give you." + +She looked at the note in his extended hand, and felt the mockery. + +"It will not do," she answered. "Let me have the amount I have asked +you for. You can spare it. Do not be hardened. Recollect it is to +provide medicine for the sick." + +"I can't do it," he replied. "You should be shankful for what you +get." + +His motive in offering her the dollar, was not from a charitable +feeling, it was only to get rid of a beggar. + +"Oh God!" she groaned, rising from her knees, and resting her elbow on +an iron safe near by. "Have you a heart?" she exclaimed wildly, "I +tell you my child is ill, perhaps at this moment dying, aid me! aid +me! Do not turn away a miserable mother from your door to witness her +child die through destitution, when it is in your power to relieve its +sufferings, and save it, so that it may live to be a blessing and +solace to me. If not for my sake, if not for the sake of the child, +let me appeal to you for charity, for the sake of him, who is now +imprisoned in a foreign dungeon. He left me to defend you from the +enemy--left his wife and children to starve and suffer, for the +purpose of aiding in that holy cause we are now engaged in conflict +for. For his sake, if for no other, give me the means of saving my +child." + +He did not reply to her passionate words, but simply rang a bell that +stood on the table before which he was seated. His clerk answered the +summons. + +"If you vont quit mithout my making you," he observed to Mrs. +Wentworth in a brutal tone, "I must send for a police officer to take +away. Gootness," he continued, speaking to himself, "I pelieve te +voman is mat." + +"Save yourself the trouble," she replied, "I will leave. I am not yet +mad," she added. "But, oh, God! the hour is fast approaching when +madness must hold possession of my mind. I go to my child--my poor +dying child. Oh, Heaven, help me!" + +As she moved her hand from the safe, she perceived a small package of +money lying on it. She paused and looked around. The clerk had +withdrawn at a sign from Mr. Swartz, while that gentleman was gazing +intently at the open pages of a ledger, that lay before him. For a +moment she hesitated and trembled from head to foot, while the warm +blood rushed to her cheeks, until they were a deep crimson hue. +Swiftly she extended her hand towards the package, and grasped it; in +another instant it was concealed in her dress, and the act of despair +was accomplished. + +"God pity me!" she exclaimed, as she left the room and departed from +the scene of her involuntary crime. + +Despair had induced her to commit a theft, but no angel of God is +purer in mind than was the Soldier's Wife, when she did so. It was the +result of madness, and if the Recording Angel witnessed the act, he +recorded not the transgression against her, for it was a sin only in +the eyes of man; above it was the child of despair, born of a pure and +innocent mind, and there is no punishment for such. + +"Thank God, I have the means of saving my darling child," exclaimed +Mrs. Wentworth, as she bent her steps towards a druggist's store. +Entering it, she purchased a few articles of medicine, and started for +the old negro's cabin, intending to send the old woman for a +physician, as soon as she could reach there. + +Swiftly she sped along the streets. Many passers by stopped and looked +with surprise at her rapid walking. They knew not the sorrows of the +Soldier's Wife. Many there were who gazed upon her threadbare +habiliments and haggard features, who could never surmise that the +light of joy had ceased to burn in her heart. Their life had been one +long dream of happiness, unmarred, save by those light clouds of +sorrow, which at times flit across the horrizon of man's career, but +which are swiftly driven away by the sunshine of happiness, or +dissipated by the gentle winds of life's joyous summer. + +And the crowds passed her in silence and surprise, but she heeded them +not. Her thoughts were of the angel daughter in the negro's lonely +cabin. To her she carried life; at least she thought so, but the +inevitable will of Death had been declared. Ella was dying. + +The eye of God was still turned from the widow and her children. He +saw them not, but his Angels, whose duty it is to chronicle all that +occurs on earth, looked down on that bright autumn day, and a tear +fell from the etherial realms in which they dwelt, and rested upon the +Soldier's Wife. + +It was the tear of pity, not of relief. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTIETH + +THE DYING CHILD. + + +After the departure of Mrs. Wentworth, the little girl lie still upon +the bed, while her little brother played about the room. Nearly one +hour elapsed in silence. The breath of the child became shorter and +harder drawn. Her little face became more pinched, while the cold +drops of perspiration rose larger on her forehead. Instinct told her +she was dying, but young as she was, death created no terrors in her +heart. She lay there, anxious for her mother's return, that she may +die in the arms of the one who gave her birth. Death seemed to her but +the advent to Heaven, that home in which we are told all is goodness +and happiness. She thought herself an Angel dwelling with the Maker, +and in her childish trustfulness and faith almost wished herself +already numbered among the Cherubs of Paradise. + +The old negro returned before Mrs. Wentworth, and walking to the +bedside of the child, looked at her, and recognized the impress of +approaching death. She felt alarmed, but could not remedy the evil. +Looking at the child sorrowfully for a moment, she turned away. + +"Poh chile," she muttered sadly, "she is dyin' sho' and her mammy is +gone out. Da's a ting to take place in my room." + +"Granny," said Ella feebly. + +"What do you want my darlin' chile," answered the old woman, returning +to the bedside. + +"See if mother is coming," she requested. + +The old woman walked to the door, and looked down the street. There +was no sign of Mrs. Wentworth. + +"No missy," she said to Ella, "your mammy is not coming yet." + +"Oh, I do wish she would come," remarked the little girl. + +"Lie still, darlin'," the old woman answered. "Your mammy will come +back directly." + +The child lay still for several minutes, but her mother came not and +she felt that before many hours she would cease to live. + +"Look again, granny, and see if mother is coming," she again +requested, and in a fainter tone. + +The old woman looked out once more, but still there was no sign of +Mrs. Wentworth. + +"Neber mind, darlin' your mammy will cum directly," she said, and then +added. "Let me know what you want and I will git it for you." + +"I don't want anything, granny," Ella answered, and remained silent +for a moment, when she continued: "Granny aint I going to die?" + +The old negro looked at her for a moment, and a tear stole down her +withered features. She could not answer, for ignorant and uneducated +as she was, the signs which betoken the parting of the soul from the +body, were too apparent, not to be easily recognized. + +"Poh chile," she muttered, as she turned her head and brushed away the +falling tear. + +"Answer me, granny," said Ella. "I am not afraid to die, but I would +like to bid mother good-bye, before I went to Heaven." + +"Don't tink of sich tings chile'" observed the old woman. "You is sick +now only; lie still and you will soon see your mother." + +The time sped swiftly, but to the dying child it seemed an age. She +lay there; her life breath ebbing fast, waiting for her mother, that +she may die in her arms. Angels filled the lowly cabin, and held their +outstretched arms to receive the spirit of a sinless babe, as soon as +it would leave the mortal clay it animated. Soon, soon would it have +been borne on high, for the rattle in the child's throat had almost +commenced, when a hurried footstep was heard at the door, and Mrs. +Wentworth, pale and tired entered the room. + +The hand of Death was stayed for awhile, for the presence of the +mother started anew the arteries of life, and the blood once more +rushed to the cheeks of the dying. Ella held out her arms as her +mother approached her, with some medicine in her hand. As she gazed +upon her child, Mrs. Wentworth started back, and uttered a faint +exclamation of anguish. She saw the worst at a glance, and placing +aside the medicine, she seized her child's extended hands, and bending +over her, pressed her darling daughter to her heart. + +"Here aunty," she said, as soon us she had released Ella, "Here is +some money, run and call a physician at once." + +The old negro took the money and moved off. + +"Tell him to come instantly," she called out after the negro. "It is a +matter of life and death, and there is no time to lose." + +"Too late, too late! poor people," said the old woman, as she hurried +on her mission of mercy. + +It was too late. No science on earth could save Ella from death, and +none on high save the Infinite Power, but He knew not of it. His eyes +were still turned away from the Soldier's Wife and her children. + +Mrs. Wentworth remained silent, looking at her child as she gasped for +breath. Of what use was the money she had committed a crime to obtain? +Of what avail were her supplications to God? It were thoughts like +these that passed rapidly through her mind, as she speechlessly gazed +at the fast sinking form of her child. Ella saw her agony, and tried +to soothe her mother. + +"Come nearer to me, mother," she said. "Come near and speak to me." +Mrs. Wentworth drew near the bedside, and bent her face to the child. + +"What do you wish, darling?" she asked. + +"Mother, I am dying--I am going to Heaven," Ella said, speaking with +an effort. + +A smothered sob, was the only response she met with. + +"Don't cry mother," continued the child. "I am going to a good place, +and do not feel afraid to die." + +Shaking off her half maddened feeling, Mrs. Wentworth replied. "Don't +speak that way, darling. You are not going to die. The physician will +soon be here, and he will give you some thing which will get you +better." + +Ella smiled faintly. "No, mother, I cannot get better; I know I am +going to die. Last night, while sleeping, an angel told me in my +dream, that I would sleep with God to-night." + +"That was only a dream, darling," Mrs. Wentworth replied, "you will +get well and live a long time." + +As she spoke the old negro returned, accompanied by a physician. He +was one of these old fashioned gentlemen, who never concern themselves +with another's business, and therefore, he did not enquire the cause +of Mrs. Wentworth, and her family being in so poor a dwelling. His +business was to attend the sick, for which he expected to be paid; not +that he was hard-hearted, for, to the contrary, he was a very +charitable and generous man, but he expected that all persons who +required his advice, should have the means of paying for the same, or +go to the public hospital, where they could be attended to free of +charge. His notions were on a par with those of mankind in general, so +we cannot complain of him. + +Approaching Ella, he took her hand and felt the pulse which was then +feebly beating. A significant shake of the head, told Mrs. Wentworth +that there was no hope for her child's recovery. + +"Doctor," she asked, "will my daughter recover?" + +"Madam," he replied, "your child is very, very ill, in fact, I fear +she has not many hours to live." + +"It cannot be," she said. "Do not tell me there is no hope for my +child." + +"I cannot deceive you, madam," he replied, "the child has been +neglected too long for science to triumph over her disease. When did +you first call in a medical practitioner?" he added. + +"Not until you were sent for," she answered. + +"Then you are much to blame, madam," he observed bluntly. "Had you +sent for a physician three weeks ago, the life of your child would +have been saved, but your criminal neglect to do so, has sacrificed +her life." + +Mrs. Wentworth did not reply to his candid remarks. She did not tell +him that for weeks past her children and herself had scarcely been +able to find bread to eat, much less to pay a doctor's bill. She did +not tell him that she was friendless and unknown; that her husband had +been taken prisoner while struggling for his country's rights; that +Mr. Elder had turned herself and her children from a shelter, because +she had no money to pay him for the rent of the room; nor did she tell +him that the fee he had received, was obtained by theft--was the fruit +of a transgression of God's commandments. + +She forgot all these. The reproach of the physician had fallen like a +thunderbolt from Heaven, in her bosom. Already in her heart she +accused herself with being the murderess of her child. Already she +imagined, because her poverty had prevented her receiving medical +advice, that the accusing Angel stood ready to prefer charges against +her for another and a greater crime, than any she had ever before +committed. + +"Dying! dying!" she uttered at last, her words issuing from her lips, +as if they were mere utterances from some machine. "No hope--no hope!" + +"Accept my commiseration, madam," observed the physician, placing his +hat on, and preparing to depart. "Could I save your child, I would +gladly do so, but there is no hope. She may live until nightfall, but +even that is doubtful." + +Bowing to Mrs. Wentworth, he left the room, in ignorance of the agony +his reproach had caused her, and returned to his office. Dr. Mallard +was the physician's name. They met again. + +Ella had listened attentively to the physicians words, but not the +slightest emotion was manifested by her, when he announced that she +was dying. She listened calmly, and as the doctor had finished +informing her mother of the hopelessness of her case, the little pale +lips moved slowly, and the prayer that had been taught her when all +was joy and happiness, was silently breathed by the dying child. + +"Mother," she said, as soon as Dr. Mallard had left the room. "Come +here and speak to me before I die." + +"Ella! Ella!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth wildly. "Did you not hear what +the physician said?" + +"Yes, mother," she answered, "but I knew it before. Do not look so +sad, come and speak to me, and let me tell you that I am not afraid to +die." + +"Ella, my darling child," continued Mrs. Wentworth in the same strain. +"Did you not hear the physician say it is my neglect that had caused +you to be dying?" + +"I heard him mother, but he was not right," she replied. + +"Come nearer," she continued in an earnest tone. "Sit on the bed and +let me rest my head on your lap." + +Seating herself on the bed, Mrs. Wentworth lifted the body of the +dying child in her arms, and pillowed her head on her breast. The old +negro was standing at the foot of the bed, looking on quietly, while +the tears poured down her aged cheeks. Mrs. Wentworth's little son +climbed on the bed, and gazed in wonder at the sad aspect of his +mother, and the dying features of his sister. + +"Mother," said the child, "I am going to Heaven, say a prayer for me." +She essayed to pray, but could not, her lips moved, but utterance was +denied to her. + +"I cannot pray, darling," she replied, "prayer is denied to me." + +The child asked no more, for she saw her mother's inability to comply +with her wishes. + +The little group remained in the same position until the setting sun +gleamed through the window, and shed a bright ray across the bed. Not +a sound was heard, save the ticking of the old fashioned clock on the +mantle piece, as its hands slowly marked the fleeting minutes. The +eyes of the dying child had been closed at the time, but as the +sunlight shot across her face she opened them, and looked up into her +mother's face. + +"Open the window, granny," she said. + +The old woman opened it, and as she did so, the round red glare of the +sun was revealed, while the aroma of thousands wild flowers that grew +beneath the window, entered the room, and floated its perfume on the +autumn air. + +"Mother," said the dying child. + +Mrs. Wentworth looked down upon her child. + +"What is it darling," she asked. + +"Let brother kiss me," she requested. + +Her little brother was lifted up and held over her. She pressed a soft +kiss upon his lips. + +"Good-bye, granny," she said, holding out her hand to the negro. + +The old woman seized it, and the tears fell faster, on the bed than +they had hitherto done. Her humble heart was touched at the simple, +yet unfearing conduct of the child. + +"Mother, kiss me," she continued. "Do not be sad," she added, +observing her mother's pale and ghastly countenance. "I am going to a +world where no one is sick, and no one knows want." + +Stooping over her dying child, Mrs. Wentworth complied with Ella's +request, and pressed her brow in a long and earnest kiss. She had not +spoken a word from the time her child requested the old woman to open +the window, but she had never for an instant, ceased looking on the +features of her dying daughter, and she saw that the film was fast +gathering on her eyes. + +After her mother had kissed her, Ella remained silent for several +minutes, when suddenly starting, she exclaimed: "I see them, mother! I +see them! See the Angels coming for me--Heaven--mother--Angels!" A +bright smile lit her features, the half-opened eyes lit up with the +last fires of life; then as they faded away, her limbs relaxed, and +still gazing on her mother's face, the breath left the body. + +There was a rush as of wind through the window, but it was the Angels, +who were bearing the child's spirit to a brighter and a better world. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST. + +THE INTRUSION. + + +As soon as the breath had left her child's body, Mrs. Wentworth +removed the corpse from her lap and laid it on the bed; than standing +aside of it, gazed upon all that remained of her little daughter. Not +a tear, not a sigh, not a groan denoted that she felt any grief at her +bereavement. Except a nervous twitching of her mouth, her features +wore a cold and rigid appearance, and her eye looked dull and glassy. +She spoke not a word to those around her who yet lived. Her little boy +was unnoticed, no other object but the dead body appeared to meet her +view. + +There are moments when the fountains of grief become dried up. It was +so with Mrs. Wentworth. The sight of her dead child's face--beautiful +in death--for it wore a calm and placid exterior, too life-like for +death, too rigid for life, awoke no emotion in her bosom; nor did the +knowledge that the infant would soon be placed in the grave, and be +forever hidden from the gaze she now placed on it so steadfastly, +cause a single tear drop to gather in her eye, nor a sigh to burst +from her pale and firmly closed lips. And yet, there raged within her +breast a volcano, the violence of whose fire would soon exhaust, and +leave her scarred and blasted forever. At that moment it kindled with +a blaze, that scorched her heart, but she felt it not. Her whole being +was transformed into a mass of ruin. She felt not the strain on the +tendrils of her mind; that her overwrought brain was swaying between +madness and reason. She only saw the lifeless lineaments of her +child--the first pledge of her wedded affection--dead before her. + +It came to her like a wild dream, a mere hallucination--an imagination +of a distempered mind. She could not believe it. There, on that lowly +bed, her child to die! It was something too horrible for her thoughts, +and though the evidence lay before her, in all its solemn grandeur, +there was something to her eye so unreal and impossible in its silent +magnificence that she doubted its truthfulness. + +The old negro saw her misery. She knew that the waters which run with +a mild and silent surface, are often possessed of greater depth, than +those which rush onward with a mighty noise. + +"Come missis," she said, placing her hand on Mrs. Wentworth's +shoulder. "De Lord will be done. Nebber mind. He know better what to +do dan we do, and we must all be satisfy wid his works." + +Mrs. Wentworth looked at the old woman for a moment, and a bitter +smile swept across her countenance. What were words of consolation to +her? They sounded like a mockery in her heart. She needed them not, +for they brought not to life again the child whose spirit had winged +its flight to eternity, but a short time since. + +"Peace old woman," she replied calmly, "you know not what you say. +That," she continued, pointing to the body of Ella, "that you tell me +not to mourn, but to bend to the will of God. Pshaw! I mourn it not. +Better for the child to die than lead a beggar's life on earth." + +"Shame, shame missis," observed the old woman, very much shocked at +what appeared to her the insensibility of Mrs. Wentworth. "You musn't +talk dat way, it don't do any good." + +"You know not what I mean, auntie," Mrs. Wentworth answered in a +milder tone. "Why did I come here? Why did I bring my child ill and +dying from a shelter, and carry her through the night air, until I +found a home in your lonely cabin? Do you know why?" she continued +with bitterness. "It was because I was a beggar, and could not pay the +demands of the rich." + +"Poh lady!" ejaculated the old woman. "Whar is your husband." + +"My husband?" she replied. "Ah! where is he? Oh, God!" she continued +wildly. "Where is he now while his child lies dead through +destitution, and his wife feels the brand of the _thief_ imprinted +upon her forehead? Why is he not here to succor the infant boy who yet +remains, and who may soon follow his sister? Oh, God! Oh, God! that he +should be far away, and I be here gazing on the dead body of my +child--dead through my neglect to procure her proper medical +attendance; dead through the destitution of her mother." + +"Nebber mind, missis," observed the old negro soothingly, "De chile is +gone to heaben, whar it wont suffer any more." + +"Peace!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth passionately. "Do not talk to me of +Heaven. What has God done to aid me in my misery? Has he not suffered +me to feel the pangs of hunger, to see my children deprived of bread, +to permit me to stain my whole existence with a crime? The child is +gone to Heaven. Aye! there her sinlessness and innocence might give +her a welcome, and she may be happy, but the blank left in my heart, +the darkness of my mind, the cheerless and unpropitious future that +unveils itself before my aching eyes, can never be obliterated until I +am laid in the grave beside her, and my spirit has winged its flight +to the home where she now dwells." + +She spoke slowly and earnestly, but her words were of despair not of +grief. Motioning to the old woman that she desired no further +conversation, Mrs. Wentworth again fixed her gaze upon the dead +features of her child. On them she looked, until the tablet of her +memory contained but one impress, that of her daughter's face. All +records of past suffering, all anxiety for the present, all prayer for +the future, were driven away, and solitary and alone the image of the +dead child filled their place, and in that lone thought was +concentrated all that had transpired in her life for months past. It +was the last remaining bulwark to her tottering mind, and though it +still held reason dominant, the foundation of sanity had been shaken +to such an extent that the slightest touch and the fabric would fall +from its throne and crumble to dust at the feet of madness. But this +was unknown to God. He who knoweth all things still kept his eyes away +from the mother and her children. + +"Dead! dead!" said, Mrs. Wentworth, swaying her body to and fro. "My +angel child dead! Oh, God!"' she continued, passing her hand across +her brow. "That I should live to see this day, that this hour of +bereavement should ever be known to me. Oh! that this should be the +result of my sufferings, that this should be the only reward of my +toils and prayers." + +The blood rushed to her face, and her whole form trembled with an +uncontrollable agitation; her bosom heaved with emotion, and the +beatings of her heart were heard as plain as the click of the clock on +the mantlepiece. Stooping over the dead body she clasped it in her +arms, and pressed the bloodless and inanimate lips in a fond embrace. +It was the promptings of a mother's heart. She had nursed the child +when an infant, and had seen her grow up as beautiful as the fairies +so often described by the writers of fiction. She had looked forward +for the day when the child would bloom into womanhood, and be a +blessing and a comfort in her old age. All these were now forever +blighted. Not even the presence of her son awoke a thought within her +that the living remained to claim her care and affection. He was but a +link in the chain of her paternal love, and the bonds having been +broken she looked on the shattered fragment and sought not to unite +what yet remained in an unhurt state. + +When she rose from her stooping posture her face had resumed its cold +and rigid appearance. Turning to the old negro who was looking on in +silent wonder and grief, she enquired in a calm tone: "Have you any of +the money left that I gave you this morning?" + +"Yes, missis," she replied. "I got some left." + +"How much is it?" asked Mrs. Wentworth. + +"Twelve dollars," she answered, counting the notes that she had taken +from her pocket. + +"Will that be enough to pay for a coffin for my child?" Mrs. Wentworth +enquired. + +"I don't know, but I spect it will do," replied the old negro. + +"To make sure that it will be enough," observed Mrs. Wentworth, "here +is some more money to pay for it." As she spoke she handed several +notes to the old woman. "And now," she continued, "I want you to go +out and order a coffin, as I want the child to be buried to-morrow +morning." + +"I spec I better get de parson to preach over de poor chile," remarked +the old woman, who was a strict member of the church, and very +superstitious in relation to the evils that would accrue from a +departure from all that is laid down in religious tenets. + +"Yes, yes!" Mrs. Wentworth replied. "But there is no necessity of +going for him this evening, wait until early in the morning, that time +will do well enough." + +The old woman curtsied and moved out of the room. Arriving in town she +entered an undertaker's shop and enquired if he could furnish a coffin +by the next morning. On his answering in the affirmative she paid him +twenty dollars, the amount charged, and hastened back to her cabin. +The interest manifested by this old woman, was that usually shown to +all persons in distress by the faithful slave of the South. She had +not even learned Mrs. Wentworth's name, but the sight of her sad and +haggard features, as well as the death of Ella, had awaken a feeling +of sympathy for the unfortunate family; thus we see her obeying the +orders of her accidental guests, without making any objections. But to +return to the dead. + +As soon as Mrs. Wentworth was left alone, her face assumed its natural +appearance, and the rigid expression it had hitherto worn was +dispelled. Opening a bundle she had brought front her room, she took +out a white dress. It was one of the few remaining articles of +clothing she possessed, and had only been saved at the earnest +solicitation of the little Ella. It was her bridal robe; in that she +had walked up to the altar and plighted her troth to the loved husband +who was now a prisoner and far away. The first and last time she had +worn it was on that day, and as she gazed on it the memory of the past +rushed upon her. She thought of the hour when, as a blushing bride, +she leaned on the proud form of her lover, as they walked together in +the sacred edifice to register those vows that bound them in an +indissoluble tie, and unite their hearts in a stronger and holier love +than their lover's vows had done. Then she know not what sorrow was. +No gift of futurity had disclosed to her the wretchedness and penury +that after years had prepared for her. No, then all was joy and +happiness. As she stood by the side of her lover her maiden face +suffused with blushes, and her palpitating heart filled with mingled +felicity and anxiety as she looked down on the bridal dress that +covered her form. No thought, no dream, not even a fear of what after +years would bring to her, stirred the fountain of fear and caused her +a single pang. And now--but why trouble the reader with any further +remarks of the past? That is gone and forever. We have seen her tread +the paths in which all that is dismal and wretched abides; we have +seen herself and her children lead a life, the very thought of which +should cause us to pray it may never be our lot. Words can avail but +little. They only fill the brain with gladness for awhile to turn to +horror afterwards. We have but to write of the present. In it we find +misery enough, we find sorrow and wretchedness, without the hand of +compassion being held forth to help the miserable from the deep and +fearful gulf with which penury and want abound. + +The wedding dress was soiled and crumpled; the bunches of orange +blossoms with which it was adorned, lay crushed upon its folds--a fit +appearance for the heart of the owner--It looked like a relic of +grandeur shining in the midst of poverty, and as its once gaudy folds +rested against the counterpane in the bed, the manifest difference of +the two appeared striking and significant. + +For a moment Mrs. Wentworth gazed upon this last momento of long past +happiness, and a spasm of grief contracted her features. It passed +away, however, in an instant, and she laid the dress across the dead +body of her child. Drawing a chair to the bedside, she took from her +pocket a spool of thread, some needles and her scissors. Selecting one +of the needles, she thread it, and pinning it in the body of her +dress, removed the wedding gown from the body of her child, and +prepared to make a shroud of it. Rapidly she worked at her task, and +before darkness had set in, the burial garment was completed, and the +body of Ella was enclosed in the last robe she would wear on earth. + +The body of the dead child looked beautiful. The snowy folds of the +dress were looped up with the orange blossoms which Mrs. Wentworth had +restored to their natural beauty. On her cold, yet lovely brow, a +wreath of the same flowers was placed, while in her hand was placed a +tiny ivory cross, that Ella had worn around her neck while living. The +transformation was complete. The dress of the young and blooming bride +had become the habiliments of the dead child, and the orange blossoms +that rested on its folds and on the brow of Ella, were not more +emblematical for the dead than they had been for the living. + +"Oh! how pretty sister looks," exclaimed the little boy, who could not +comprehend why the dead body lie so motionless and stiff. "Wake her +up, mother," he continued, "she looks so pretty that I want her to +stand up and see herself." + +Mrs. Wentworth smiled sorrowfully at her son's remarks, but she did +not remove her features from the dead. The saint-like expression of +her child, and the placid and beautiful face that lay before her +devoid of animation, had awoke the benumbed feelings of affection +within her. A bright light flashed across her brain, and the long pent +up tears, were about to flow, when the door was widely opened, and a +dark shadow spread itself over the body of Ella. Checking her emotion, +Mrs. Wentworth looked around and beheld the figure of Mr. Swartz, +accompanied by two police officers. + +She spoke not a word at first, for in an instant the cause of his +visit was known. One look she gave him, which sunk into the inmost +depths of his soul; then turning to the dead child, she slowly +extended her hand and pointed to it. + +"There," she said at last. "Look there," and her face again wore its +former colorless and rigid aspect. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND. + +IMPRISONMENT OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. + + +We must now take a glance back at the time that Mrs. Wentworth +committed her act of despair in taking the package of money from the +safe. Mr. Swartz, as we stated, was then gazing intently at the open +pages of his ledger, and, in her leaving the room hurriedly, did not +take any other notice of her, than mere glance. He then resumed his +calculations, nor did he rise from his seat for nearly three hours +afterwards, so intent was he on the books before him. Rising up at +last, he walked to the safe, and observing that the package of money +was gone, called out to his clerk, who quickly answered the summons +and entered the room. + +"Vere is dat package of money I had on de safe dis morning?" he +enquired, as soon as the clerk had entered. + +"I have not seen anything of it, since I gave it into your hands this +morning at nine o'clock," the clerk replied. + +"Vell, I put it on top of dis safe," observed Mr. Swartz, "and I +forgot to lock it up, ven Mr. Elder came in, and kept me talking +nearly two hours, den de beggar came in and remained for a long time. +After dat I vas busy mit the ledger, and didn't think of it." + +"Perhaps you have placed it somewhere else, and cannot recollect +where," remarked the clerk, who was apprehensive that Mr. Swartz would +charge him with having stolen the money. + +"No, I didn't," answered Mr. Swartz, "De monish vas put down on de top +of the safe, for I remember putting it down here myself," he added, +pointing to the spot where the money had been. + +"You had better search about before you make certain of that," said +the clerk. "See if it is not in your pocket you may have placed it +there, and at the same time believe that you placed it on your safe." + +"Mine Cot!" answered Mr. Swartz, "I tell you I put the package on de +safe. See here," he continued, searching his pockets, and emptying +them of whatever they contained. "Don't you see dat de monish is not +in my pockets. It vas on de safe und unless somebody removed it, it +never could have gone away." + +"You should be certain, sir, before you insist that you placed it on +the safe," remarked the clerk. "Look in the draw of your desk, it may +have been placed there as well as any other place." + +With a gesture of impatience Mr. Swartz opened the drawers of the +desk, and removing everything they contained searched carefully among +the large number of papers for the missing package. It was not there +however, and turning to the clerk who was standing near by, he pointed +to the table to indicate the fact of its absence among the papers he +had taken from the drawers. + +"I told you it vash not tere," he remarked. "Somebody has taken te +monish, and, py Cot! I vill find out who has got it." + +"Don't be so hasty in your conclusions, sir," said the clerk. "Let us +search the room carefully, and see whether it has not been mislaid by +you. It will never do," he added, "to charge anybody with having taken +the money, when it may be lying about the room." + +"Vere can it pe lying?" asked Mr. Swartz angrily. "I tell you it vash +on te safe, and tere ish no use looking any where else." + +"That maybe so, sir," replied the clerk, "but if you will give me +permission I will search the room well before you take any further +steps in the matter." + +"You can look if you like," observed Mr. Swartz, "but I know tere ish +no chance of your finding it, and it ish only giving yourself trouble +for noting." + +"Never do you mind that, sir," the clerk answered. "I am willing to +take the trouble." + +Removing the books from the top of the safe he carefully shook them +out, but the package was not among them. He then replaced them and +turned the safe round, with the hope that the money might have fallen +under it. The same success, however, attended him, and he was +compelled to renew his efforts. Everything in the room was removed +without the package being found. After a minute and diligent search he +was compelled to give up the work in despair, and ceasing he stood +trembling before Mr. Swartz, who, he momentarily expected, would +charge him with having committed a theft. But for this fear he would +never have taken the trouble of upsetting and replacing everything in +the room, but would have been perfectly satisfied for his employer to +sustain the loss. + +"Vell!" said Mr. Swartz. "I suppose you ish satisfied dat te monish +ain't here." + +"Its disappearance is very singular," replied the clerk. "If, as you +say, the package was laid on the safe and never removed by you, +somebody must have taken it away." + +"Of course, somepody tock it," remarked Mr. Swartz. "How te tevil +could it go mitout it vash taken away py somepody?" + +"Do you suspect any one of having stolen it," asked the clerk, turning +as white as the shirt he wore. + +"Did you ever come near de safe to-day," asked Mr. Swartz, abruptly. + +"Me, sir?" said the now thoroughly frightened clerk. "No, I--No +sir--I--never came further than the door each time you called to me." + +"I can't say dat Mr. Elder vould take it," observed Mr. Swartz, "and +all I remember now dat you didn't come anyvere near de safe, I can't +tink who could have taken the monish." + +Assured by his manner that Mr. Swartz had dismissed all idea of +charging him with the theft, the clerk's confidence returned, and he +ceased stuttering and trembling. + +"Do you think the woman who was here could have taken it?" he +enquired, and then added: "The last time I entered this room while she +was here, I remember seeing her standing near the safe, with her elbow +on the top." + +"By Cot!" exclaimed Mr. Swartz, striking the table with his hand. "She +must be de very person. She vanted me to give her monish, and she must +have seen de package lying on the safe and taken it avay." + +"It is no use wasting any time then," said the clerk, "you must +endeavor to find out where she stays, and have her arrested this +evening." + +"Vere can I find her house?" asked Mr. Swartz. + +"You will have to track her," answered the clerk. "The first place you +had better go to is Elkin's drug store, for I saw the woman enter +there after leaving here." + +Mr. Swartz made no reply, but taking up his hat he walked out of his +office, and proceeded to the drug store. The druggist, who had noticed +the wild and haggard appearance of Mrs. Wentworth, informed him, in +reply to his enquiries, that such a person as the one he described had +purchased several descriptions of medicines from him, and on leaving +his store, she had walked up the street. This being the only +information that the druggist could give, Mr. Swartz left the store, +and after many enquiries discovered where Mrs. Wentworth resided. He +immediately returned to his store, and mentioned his discovery to the +clerk. + +"You had better go at once and take out a warrant against her for +robbery;" remarked the clerk, "and take a couple of policemen with you +to arrest her." + +Starting to the City Hall, Mr. Swartz took out a warrant against Mrs. +Wentworth for larceny, and procuring the assistance of two policemen, +he started for the old negro's cabin, determined to prosecute the +thief to the utmost extent of his power and the law. Having informed +our readers of his conduct on discovering that his money had been +stolen, we will continue from where we left off at the close of the +last chapter. + +Mrs. Wentworth on perceiving Mr. Swartz and the two policemen, had +pointed to the dead body of her child, and pronounced the solitary +word, "there," while her face became cold and expressiveless. + +Involuntarily looking in the direction pointed out by Mrs. Wentworth, +the three men started with awe as their eyes fell upon the beautiful +face of the dead child. One of the policemen, who was a devout +Catholic crossed himself, and withdrew from the entrance of the door, +but the other policeman and Mr. Swartz quickly shook off all feelings +of fear that had passed over them. + +"Here is de voman," said Mr. Swartz, pointing to Mrs. Wentworth. "Dis +is de voman who shtole mine monish." + +As he spoke she turned her face towards him, but the mute anguish of +the mother did not cause a sentiment of regret to enter Mr. Swartz's +heart, at the part he was acting towards her. + +"Arrest her," continued Mr. Swartz, "I vant you to take her to de +jail, where she can be examined, and to-morrow morning I can have her +up before de Mayor." + +"Not to-night," exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth in a hollow voice. "Leave me +with the dead body of my child; after she is buried you can do as you +please with me." + +"I knows better tan to do dat," observed Mr. Swartz, "by to-morrow +morning you vould be a pretty far avay from Shackson." + +"I will not move from this cabin an inch further than to the burial +ground," replied Mrs. Wentworth, "but if you fear it is my intention +to escape, let one of your policemen remain here and watch me to +night." + +Mr. Swartz stepped to the threshold of the door, and consulted the two +men on the possibility of complying with her request, but one refused +through superstition, while the other declined in consequence of his +being on the night watch. + +"I can't agree to your vishes," said Mr. Swartz, as soon as the +conference was over, and he returned to the bedside. "De policemen +vont remain here." + +"Then do you trust me," she replied. "By the holy name of God, I +implore you not to tear me from the body of my child, but if that name +has no weight with you, and as I perceive it is useless to appeal to +you by the sacred tenets of Christianity, let me pray you, that as a +man, you will not descend to such brutality as to force me from the +dead body that now lies before you, and deprive me of performing the +last sad rites over her. In the name of all that is humane, I plead to +you, and, oh, God! let my supplications be answered." + +"Dere is no use of you talking in dat vay to me," said Mr. Swartz in a +coarse and brutal tone. "It vas in de same sthyle dat you vent on dis +morning, ven you vas begging me, and den you afterwards shtole my +monish." + +As he finished speaking, the old negro entered the cabin, and +perceiving the intruders, enquired the cause of their presence. The +Catholic who was an Irishman, briefly explained the object of their +visit to the astonished old woman, who never conceived for a moment +that Mrs. Wentworth had been guilty of theft. + +"De Lor!" she exclaimed, as soon as her informant had concluded his +remarks. "Who would'a believe it? Poh people, dey is really bad off," +and she hurried to Mrs. Wentworth's side. + +Mrs. Wentworth had paid no attention to the colloquy between the old +negro and the policeman; she was engaged in appealing to Mr. Swartz, +not to remove her to jail that night. + +"You must have some feelings of humanity within you," she was +observing. "You must have some touch of pity in your heart for my +condition. Do not send me to jail to-night," she continued in an +earnest tone. "If your own heart is steeled against the sorrows of a +helpless and wretched woman; if the sight of that dead face does not +awaken a spark of manly pity within you, let me entreat you, by the +memory of the mother you once had, not to tear me from the body of my +child. The hours of night will pass of rapidly, and by the dawn of +morning my daughter shall be buried." + +This was the first touch of feeling she had manifested, and though no +tears bedewed her cheeks, the swelling of her bosom and the anguished +look she wore, told of sorrow more terrible than if tears had come. + +The wretch was unmoved. He stood there, not thinking of the solemn and +heart-rending scene before him, but of the money he had lost, and the +chance of its being found on the person of Mrs. Wentworth. + +"Do your duty, policemen," he said, without appearing as if he had +heard her remarks. + +"It is well," she said, and walking up to the bedside of her dead +child, she lifted the body until it almost assumed a standing +position. "Farewell child, farewell forever!" she continued, covering +the lifeless face with kisses. "See this!" she said, turning to the +men, "see the result of beggary and starvation. Look upon it, you have +had it in your power to save me from this desolation, and rejoice in +your work. Here, take me," she added, laying down the corpse. "Take me +from the presence of the dead, for if I remain gazing at it much +longer, I will indeed go mad." + +Walking up to the old woman, Mrs. Wentworth continued. "Auntie, I +leave my child's body with you. See that it is buried and mark the +spot where it rests, for oh! I feel that the day is not far distant +when my weary head will rest in peace at last, when that time arrives, +I desire to be buried by the remains of her who now lies there. For +the little boy who is here, keep him Auntie, until his father claims +him, and should his father never return, take him before some man high +in position, and tell him that a wretched mother leaves him to the +care of his country, as a momento of one of the patriot band who died +in her service." + +The old negro fell upon her knees before the speaker, and burst into +tears, while even the rude policemen were touched by her remarks, Mr. +Swartz alone remained unmoved, the only feeling within him was a +desire that the work of confining her in jail should be completed. + +"And now one last farewell," continued Mrs. Wentworth, again embracing +the corpse. Another instant and she was out of the room followed by +the three men, and they proceeded in the direction of the jail. + +The old negro fell on her knees by the side of the bed, burying her +head in the folds of the counterpane, while the tears flowed freely +from her eyes. The little boy nestled by her side sobbing and calling +for his mother. + +"Don't cry chile," said the old negro, endeavoring to console him. +"Your mammy will come back one of dese days," then recollecting the +words of Mrs. Wentworth in reference to him, she took him in her arms, +and continued, "poh chile, I will take care ob you until your father +come for you." + +Thus did the good hearted slave register her promise to take care of +the child, and her action was but the result of the kind treatment she +had received from her owner. She had been taken care of when a child +by the father of her present owner, who was no other than Dr. +Humphries, and now that she had grown old and feeble, he had provided +her with a home, and supported her in return for the long life of +faithful service she had spent as his slave. + +The next morning at about nine o'clock, a hearse might have been seen +in front of the old woman's cabin. Without any assistance the negro +driver lifted a little coffin from the chairs on which it rested in +the room, and conveyed it into the hearse. It then drove off slowly, +followed by the old negro and the infant, and drove to the burial +ground. There a short and simple prayer was breathed over the coffin, +and in a few moments a mound of earth covered it. Thus was buried the +little angel girl, who we have seen suffer uncomplainingly, and die +with a trusting faith in her advent to Heaven. No long procession of +mortals followed her body, but the Angels of God were there, and they +strewed the wood with the flowers of Paradise, which though invisible, +wafted a perfume into the soul sweeter than the choicest exotics of +earth. + +From the grave of the child we turn to the mother, to see if her +sufferings died with the body of the Angel which had just been buried. +They had not, for still the eye of God was turned from the Soldier's +Wife, and he saw not the life of misery and degradation that she was +leading. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD. + +THE COMMITTAL. + + +On the morning that Ella was buried, Mrs. Wentworth was carried before +the Mayor, and charges preferred against her for robbery. The package +containing the remainder of the money had been found on her person the +night previous, and this evidence was brought forward against her. + +"What are your charges against this woman, Mr. Swartz," began his +Honor. + +"Vell your Honor," replied that individual, "I vill tell dem in but +few words. Dis voman called at my shtore yesterday, and begged me for +monish. I gave her von tollar, but she vouldn't take it, and after she +left de shtore I found out dat a package of monish, dat was on de safe +was gone, I den called mine clerk, and I look for de monish, and he +looked for de monish, but ve neider of us find de monish. Den I say +dat certainly somepody must take dish monish, and he say so too; den +ve remember dat dis voman vas leaning against de safe, and he told me +of it, and I remember too, and--" + +"Explain your charges against the woman as briefly as possible, Mr. +Swartz," interrupted the Mayor. "I have not time to stay here +listening to a long round-about story." + +"Von minute your Honor, von minute," replied the wretch. "I will soon +finish de account. As I vas saying, I remember dat dis voman vas +standing leaning by de safe and mine clerk tells me to go to de Trug +Shtore, as de voman vent in dere, and I goes in de Trug Shtore, and +Mr. Elkin he tells me dat de voman did come in dere and py some physic +and dat she valk up de street, and I goes up de street and--" + +"For goodness sake, Mr. Swartz, let me beg of you to conclude your +remarks as soon as possible and not detain the Court with unnecessary +statements," again interrupted the Mayor, "I see no use for you to +repeat all that you did. Just come to the point at once and I will be +able to decide whether this woman is to be committed or not." + +"Shust von minute longer, your Honor," Mr. Swartz answered, "I vill +finish directly. Vell, you see, I vent in te street, and I goes up te +street, and I asks te beoples if tey see tis voman, and von of tem say +he not see te voman, and I ask anoter and he not see te voman, and I +ask anoter again and he not see te voman eider." + +"If you are going to continue this nonsense all day let me know, and I +will prepare myself to listen, as well as to return the other prisoners +to jail until to-morrow," observed His Honor. "It appears as if you can +never get through your tale. Speak quickly and briefly, and do not keep +me waiting." + +"Shust vait a little vile more nor not so musht," replied Mr. Swartz, +and continuing his story he said, "I ask everybody if tey sees dis +voman and dey say dey not sees te voman, and after I ask everybody von +man tell me dat he sees dis voman valk up de shtreet, and I go up de +shtreet von little more vay and--" + +"In the name of Heaven cease your remarks," exclaimed the Mayor, who +had become thoroughly exasperated at the narrative of Mr. Swartz. + +"Gootness," observed that gentleman, "did you not shay I vas for to +tell vy I pring dis voman up?" + +"Yea," replied His Honor, "but I did not expect you to give me a long +narrative of all that occurred during the time while you were looking +for where she lived." + +"Veil, I vill soon finish," he remarked, "as I was saying, I goes up +de shtreet von little more vays and I ask anoder man vere dis voman +vas, and he shust look on me and shay he vould not tell noting to von +tam Tutchman, and I go to von oder man and he show me von little log +cabin, and I goes up dere softly and I sees dis voman in dere." + +"All this has nothing to do with the charge you have preferred against +her," the Mayor said, "let me know upon what grounds you prefer the +charge of robbery against her." + +"Vell, ven I sees her I valks pack to mine Shtore and I talks mit mine +clerk, and he say I vas have to take out a varrant, and I comes to de +City Hall and I takes out de varrant, and I takes two policemen and I +goes to te cabin and finds dis voman dere, and she peg me not to take +her to jail, but I vouldn't pe pegged and I pring her to jail." + +"Mr. Swartz, if you don't conclude your remarks at once I will be +necessitated to postpone your case until to-morrow; I I am tired of +hearing your remarks, every one of which has been to no purpose. You +say the package of money that you lost was found on this woman, and +that she had been in your store the same day and had leaned against +the safe on the top of which the money had been placed by you." + +"Dat's shust it," replied Mr. Swartz. "Ven I go mit te voman to te +jail te jail man search her and find te monish in her pocket, and it +vas te same monish as I had stolen off te safe.--But te monish vas not +all dere; over tirty tollars vas taken out of it, and dat vas vat dis +voman sphent, and I--" + +"That's enough, Mr. Swartz," interrupted the Mayor. "You have said +enough on the subject, and I will now proceed with the accused." + +While Mr. Swartz was speaking Mrs. Wentworth remained as silent as if +she had not heard a word he said. Her appearance was calm, nor was +there anything remarkable about her except a strange unnatural +brightness of the eye. + +"Well, my woman," continued the Mayor, "what have you to say in +extenuation of the charge." + +"Nothing, Sir," she replied, "I have nothing to say in defense of +myself. The money was found on my person, and would alone prove me +guilty of the theft. Besides which, I have neither desire nor +intention to deny having taken the money." + +"What induced you to steal?" asked the Mayor. + +"A greater tempter than I had ever met before," she replied. "It was +necessity that prompted me to take that money." + +"And you sphent tirty-tree tollers of it, py gootness," exclaimed Mr. +Swartz, in an excited tone. + +"As you acknowledge the theft," said the Mayor, "I am compelled to +commit you to prison until the meeting of the Superior Court, which +will be in four days from this." + +Mrs. Wentworth was then committed back to prison, and Mr. Swartz +returned to his store. + +The spirit of the child had reached God and at that moment was +pointing to her mother below. The day of rest is near. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH. + +RETURN OF ALFRED WENTWORTH--A STRANGER. + + +After long weeks of pain and illness Alfred Wentworth became well +enough to return to the Confederacy. He was accordingly sent down by +the first flag of truce that went to Vicksburg after his recovery, and +two days after the committal of his wife arrived at Jackson, where he +was warmly welcomed by Harry. + +"I am delighted to see you, my dear friend," he exclaimed, shaking his +hands warmly, "you have no idea the suspense I have been in since my +escape, to learn whether you were re-captured. It would have +reproached me to the last hour of my life had you been killed by those +cursed Yankees." + +"I came pretty near it," replied Alfred, smiling at his friend's +earnestness. + +"You were not hurt, were you?" enquired his friend. + +"The slight matter of a few minie balls, lodged in different parts of +my body, is all the injury I received," he answered. + +"I suppose that occasioned your not coming with the first lot of +prisoners," Harry remarked. + +"Yes," he replied, "when the cartel was arranged and orders were given +for the prisoners to prepare for their departure from Camp Douglas, I +was still suffering from my wound, and the doctors declared me unable +to move for several days. An excited mind soon brought on fever, which +so prostrated me that the days extended to weeks before I was able to +leave the hospital." + +"I am heartily glad to see you once more safe on Confederate soil, at +any rate," observed Harry, and he added, "as I will insist upon your +staying at my house while you are here, let me know where your baggage +is, that I may hate it removed." + +"I am staying at the Burman House, but what little baggage I possess +is at Vicksburg." + +"Then take a walk with me to the residence of Dr. Humphries," said +Harry, "and I will introduce you to my betrothed." + +"I thank you," Alfred replied, "but the present state of my wardrobe +does not admit of my appearing before ladies." + +"Pshaw," observed Harry, "that is the least part of the question. Let +me know what you desire and I will get it for you directly." + +"I have about seven hundred dollars in Confederate money with me," +answered Alfred, "if you will show me some store where I can purchase +a decent suit of clothes; that will be all I shall trouble you for." + +"Take a walk with me to Lemby's clothing store and you will find a +fine outfit there." + +Drawing Alfred's arm in his, Harry conducted him to Lemby's clothing +store, where a suit of clothing was bought. They then proceeded to the +Bowman House and entered Alfred's room. + +"My furlough is only for thirty days," Alfred remarked, while engaged +in dressing himself, "and how I am to send in a letter to New Orleans +and receive an answer before that time expires I cannot conjecture." + +"What do you wish to write to New Orleans for," asked Harry. + +"Why, to wife," answered Alfred, "I think it is about time that she +should hear from me." + +"My dear friend," replied Harry, "your wife is not in New Orleans, she +is in the Confederate lines." + +"Where is she?" he enquired, eagerly. + +"I could not tell you that," Harry answered, "but of one thing you may +be certain, she is not in New Orleans." + +"How do you know that?" he asked. + +"Dr. Humphries purchased a negro girl the day before I returned; she +gave her name as Elsy, and said she was belonging to Mr. Alfred +Wentworth, of New Orleans. On being questioned why she had left the +city, the girl said that her mistress with your two children had been +forced to leave by Beast Butler, who would not allow her to go also, +but that, being determined to follow your wife, she had ran the +blockade and came into the Confederate lines.". + +"And did my wife sell her to anybody else?" enquired Alfred. + +"Wait a moment, my dear friend, and I will tell you," answered Harry. +"The girl did not see her mistress at all, for she was arrested on her +arrival in this city, and having no papers, as well as no owner, she +was sold according to law, and was purchased by Dr. Humphries, at +whose residence she is now. I would have told you this when we first +met, but it slipped my memory completely." + +"But where could my wife have gone to?" remarked Alfred. "I do not +know of any person in the Confederate lines with whom she is +acquainted, and where she can get the means to support herself and +children I have not the least idea." + +"That she has been to Jackson I am certain," Harry replied, "for no +sooner did I hear what the girl had informed Dr. Humphries, than I +endeavored to find out where she resided. I searched the register of +both the hotels in this city and found that she had been staying at +this hotel; but the clerk did not recollect anything about her, and +could not tell me where she went to on her departure from this city. I +also advertised in several newspapers for her, but receiving no +information, was compelled to give up my search in despair." + +"I thank you for your remembrance of me," observed Alfred. "This +intelligence, however, will compel me to apply for an extension of my +furlough, so that I may be enabled to find out where my wife and +children are. I am very much alarmed at the news you have given me." + +"I hope your wife and children are comfortably situated, wherever they +may be; and could I have discovered their residence, I should have +made it my duty to see that they wanted for nothing." + +"I know it, I know it," said Alfred, pressing his friend's hand, and +he continued, "you will favor me on our arriving at Dr. Humphries' by +obtaining an interview for me with Elsy; I desire to know the cause of +my wife's ejectment from New Orleans." + +"As soon as you are ready let me know and we will start for the +Doctor's," Harry answered, "where you will find the girl. Dr. +Humphries told me that he intended returning her to you or your wife +as soon as he discovered either of you. So in the event of your +finding out where Mrs. Wentworth lives, she will be promptly given +up." + +"No, no," Alfred remarked, hurriedly, "the Doctor has purchased her +and I do not desire the girl unless I can return the money he paid for +her. If you are ready to go," he added, "let us leave at once." + +The two friends left the hotel and soon arrived at the residence of +Dr. Humphries. The Doctor was not at home, but Emma received them. +After introducing Alfred to her, and engaging in a brief conversation, +Harry requested her to call Elsy, as he desired her to speak with his +friend. The fair girl complied with his request by ringing the bell +that lay on the table; her call was answered by the slave in person. + +On entering the room Elsy made a low curtsey to the gentlemen, and +looked at Alfred earnestly for a moment, but the soldier had become so +sunburnt and altered in features that she failed to recognize him. + +"Do you not remember me, Elsy?" enquired Alfred, as soon as he +perceived her. + +His voice was still the same, and running up to him, the girl seized +his hand with joy. + +"I tought I knowed you, sah," she exclaimed, "but you is so change I +didn't remember you." + +"I am indeed changed, Elsy," he replied; "I have been sick for a long +time. And now that I am once more in the Confederacy, it is to find my +wife and children driven from their homes, while God only knows if +they are not wandering all over the South, homeless and friendless. +Tell me Elsy," he continued, "tell me what caused my wife to be turned +out of the city?" + +In compliance with his request, the girl briefly told him of the +villainy of Awtry, and the infamous manner in which he had acted +towards Mrs. Wentworth. She then went on to relate that, failing to +achieve his purpose, Awtry had succeeded in having her expelled from +New Orleans. + +"Did your mistress--I beg pardon--I meant, did my wife tell you where +she was going to?" enquired Alfred. + +"She told me to come to Jackson, after I told her I would be sure to +get away from de city," answered the girl; "but de police ketch me up +before I could look for her; and since I been belonging to Dr. +Humphries I has look for her ebery whar, but I can't find out whar she +am gone to." + +"That is enough," observed Alfred, "you can go now, Elsy, if I should +want to see you again I will send for you." + +"I trust you may succeed in finding your wife, sir," Emma said as the +girl left the parlor. + +"I sincerely hope so myself, Miss Humphries," he answered, "but Heaven +only knows where I am to look for her. It will take me a much longer +time than I can spare to travel over the Confederacy; in fact, I doubt +whether I can get an extension of my furlough, so that I may have +about three months of time to search for her." + +"It is singular that she should have told Elsy to come here to her, +and not to be in the city," observed Emily. + +"I am afraid that my wife has, through prudence, gone into the country +to live; for, with the means I left her, she could not possibly have +afforded to reside in any part of the Confederacy where prices rule so +high as they do here. It is this belief that makes my prospect of +finding her very dim. Harry says he advertised for her in several +newspapers, but that he received no information from any source +respecting where she lived. I am certain she would have seen the +advertisement had she been residing in any of our cities." + +"She may not have noticed the advertising column of the newspaper," +put in Harry, "if ever she did chance to have a copy of one that +contained my notice to her. Ladies, as a general thing, never interest +themselves with advertisements." + +"You are right," Alfred replied, "but it is singular that some person +who knew her did not see it and inform her; she surely must have made +some acquaintances since she arrived in our lines, and I am certain +that there are none who do not sympathize with the unfortunate +refugees who have been driven into exile by our fiendish enemy." + +"I am sorry to say that refugees are not as favorably thought of as +they deserve," Emma remarked. "To the shame of the citizens of our +Confederacy, instead of receiving them as sufferers in a common cause, +they are looked upon as intruders. There are some exceptions, as in +all cases, but I fear they are very few." + +"Your statement will only increase my anxiety to find my wife," +answered Alfred; "for if the people act as unpatriotically as you +represent, there is no telling if my unfortunate family are not +reduced to dire necessity, although it is with surprise that I hear +your remarks on the conduct of our people. I had thought that they +would lose no opportunity to manifest their sympathy with those who +are now exiles from their homes, and that idea had made me feel +satisfied in my mind that my wife and children would, at least, be +able to find shelter." + +"I do not think anyone would refuse to aid your family, my dear +friend," Harry observed, "although I agree with Miss Emma, that our +people do not pay as much attention to refugees as they should; but +the unfortunate exile will always find a sympathizing heart among our +people. You may rest assured that, wherever your wife may be, she has +a home which, if not as comfortable as the one she was driven from, is +at least home enough to keep herself and her children from want." + +Harry Shackleford judged others by the promptings of his own heart, +and as he uttered these words of comfort to his friend, he little +dreamed that Mrs. Wentworth was then the inmate of a prison, awaiting +her trial for robbery, and that the crime had her committed through +the very necessity he had so confidently asserted could never exist in +the country. + +"Will you take a walk to the hotel," enquired Alfred, after a few +minutes of silence, "I desire to settle my bill with the clerk." + +"Certainly," he replied, rising from his chair, "I desire to conduct +you to my home." + +"Good evening to you Miss Humphries," said Alfred, as he walked to the +door with his friend. + +She extended her hand to him as she replied, "Good evening, sir--allow +me to repeat my wishes for your success in finding your wife and +children." + +Bowing to her in reply, he left the room, accompanied by Harry. + +"Do you know, Harry," he observed, as they walked towards the Bowman +House, "I have a strange presentiment that all is not well with my +family." + +"Pshaw," replied his friend, "you are as superstitious as any old +woman of eighty. Why in the name of wonder will you continue to look +upon the dark side of the picture? It is more likely that your family +are now comfortably, if not happily situated. Depend upon it, my dear +friend, the world is not so cold and uncharitable as to refuse a +shelter, or a meal to the unfortunate." + +Alfred made no reply, and they walked on in silence until the hotel +was reached. On entering the sitting room of the Bowman House, the two +gentlemen were attracted by the loud talking of a group of men +standing in the centre of the room. + +"There stands an Englishman who lately run the blockade on a visit to +the Confederacy," observed Harry as they approached the group; "let me +introduce him to you." + +Walking up to where the Englishman was, Harry touched him lightly on +the shoulder. + +"How are you Lieutenant Shackleford," he said, as he turned and +recognized Harry. + +"Very well, Mr. Ellington," answered Harry, and then added, "allow me +to introduce my friend Mr. Wentworth to you--Mr. Wentworth, Mr. +Ellington." + +As the name of Wentworth escaped Harry's lips the Englishman started +and changed color, but quickly resuming his composure, he extended his +hand to Alfred. + +"I am happy to make your acquaintance, sir," he observed, and then +continued, "your features resemble those of a gentleman I have not +seen for years--so much, indeed, that I could not repress a start as +my eyes fell upon your countenance." + +"I was rather surprised at seeing you start," observed Harry, "for I +knew that you were not acquainted with my friend Mr. Wentworth. He was +a prisoner at Camp Douglas--the prison you have read so much +about--when you arrived in this country, and has only returned to the +Confederacy within the last few days." + +"A mere resemblance to one whose intercourse with me was not fraught +with many pleasant recollections," remarked Mr. Ellington. "Indeed +your friend is so much like him, both in form and features, that I +really imagined that he was my old enemy standing before me!" + +"A singular resemblance," said Alfred, "and one which I am rejoiced to +know only exists in form and features. And now," he continued, "allow +me to ask you a question." + +Mr. Ellington bowed an assent. + +"Were you ever in this country before?" asked Alfred. + +"Yes," replied Mr. Ellington, "I visited America a few years ago, but +why do you ask?" + +"Because your features are familiar to me," he answered, and then +enquired, "Were you ever in New Orleans." + +"No, sir--no," replied Mr. Ellington, coloring as he spoke, "I was +always afraid of the climate." + +"The reason of my asking you," observed Alfred, "is because you +resemble a gentleman with whom I was only very slightly acquainted, +but who, like the party you mistook me for, has done me an injury +which neither time nor explanation can repair, but," he added, "now I +recollect you cannot be the party to whom I refer, for he was a +Northern man, while you are an Englishman." + +Before the Englishman could reply, a gentleman at the further end of +the room called him by name, and, bowing to the two friends, he +apologized for leaving them so abruptly, and walked off to where the +call came from. + +As soon as he left them Alfred went up to the clerk's office and paid +his bill. The two friends then left the hotel and proceeded to Harry's +residence. + +"Do you know, Harry," observed Alfred, as they walked along, "I have +an idea that Mr. Ellington is no Englishman, but that he is Awtry, the +scoundrel who caused my wife and children to be driven from New +Orleans?" + +"Why do you imagine such a thing?" asked Harry. + +"Only because his features are very much like those of Awtry; and the +start he gave when you pronounced my name half confirms my suspicion." + +"I feel certain you are mistaken," Harry remarked. "He arrived at +Charleston in a blockade runner a short time ago, and brought letters +of introduction to many prominent men in the South from some of the +first characters in England." + +"That may be," Alfred answered, "still I shall keep my eye on him, and +cultivate his acquaintance. If I am mistaken it will make no +difference, for he shall never know my suspicions; but if I am right +in my surmise he shall answer me for his treatment of my wife and +children." + +"That you can do," said Harry, "but be cautious how you charge him +with being a Yankee spy, and have certain proof of his identity before +you intimate your suspicions to him." As he spoke they reached their +destination and the two friends entered the house. + +Horace Awtry, for the Englishman was none other than he, under an +assumed name, had ventured to enter the Confederate lines as a spy for +Sherman, who was then getting up his expedition against Vicksburg. He +would have left Jackson immediately after the meeting with Alfred, but +upon enquiry he learned that Mrs. Wentworth's place of residence was +unknown, and his services being needed near Vicksburg decided him to +remain. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-FIFTH + +THE TWO SLAVES--THE GLIMMER OF LIGHT. + + +From the time of Mrs. Wentworth's arrest and imprisonment, the old +negro had paid every attention to the little boy left under her care. +Knowing that she would be likely to receive punishment for having a +white child living with her, she had made several efforts to see her +master, but each time she called, both the Doctor and Emma were +absent. She was thus compelled to wait until some opportunity offered +to turn the little boy over to her master, who she knew would promptly +give him a home while he remained unclaimed by his lawful guardians. +In her visits to Dr. Humphries' house the old negro had met Elsy, and +being pleased with the appearance of the girl, had contracted quite a +friendship for her, and on every opportunity would hold a conversation +with her. Having called several times without seeing her master or +Emma, Elsy enquired if she had anything of consequence to impart to +the Doctor, as, if she had, she would inform him on his return home. + +"Yes, gal," replied the old woman, "I got a leetle boy at my cabin dat +was lef dar by him mammy, and I want de boss to take him away and put +him in a better place den my room." + +"What chile is it, Auntie?" enquired Elsy. + +"I do' know what de name is," answered the old woman, "but a lady cum +to my cabin one night wid a berry sick gal chile and de leetle boy, +and next day de gal die, and in de ebening some police come and take +away de lady because 'she 'teal money,' and dey lef de dead chile and +de libing one wid me." + +"Goodness sakes, Auntie," interrupted Elsy, "what did you do wid de +dead chile?" + +"Why, gal, I bury her next mornin," replied the old woman, "and de +leetle boy bin stayin wid me eber since; but I don't want to keep him, +for dis nigger hab no right to hab white chile a keepin to herself." + +"You better see de Doctor, den," Elsy observed. "When he come in I +will tell him dat you want to see him patickler." + +"Dat's a good gal," answered the old negro, "you tell him dat I want +to see him, but don't tell him what I want him for--I rader tell him +dat mysef." + +"Berry well, Auntie," she replied, "de Doctor will come in about +dinner time, and as soon as he is done eatin I will talk to him about +it. But do you tink he will bring de chile home, yah, and take care ob +him?" + +"Ob course he will," said the old woman, "he neber see any body want +but he get him plenty and take care ob him." + +"What kind a chile is de one you had at your cabin?" asked Elsy. + +"Jes de lubliest baby you eber seed in your life," answered the old +negro. "He is one ob de best children I eber had taking care ob." + +"Don't he cry none for his mudder," enquired Elsy. + +"Ob course he cry plenty de first day," she replied, "but aterwards he +behabe well, for I promise him dat he mammy will come back soon. He am +a rale good chile, and I would lub to keep him wid me all time, but I +'fraid de police will get ater me for habin him." + +"Dat's so," remarked Elsy, "but you can take care ob him a'ter you +tell de boss--you can come here and stay." + +"No, gal," she answered, "I can't leab me old cabin; I been libbing +dar dese twelve years, and I got so used to it dat I can't sleep out +ob it." + +"Den I will take care ob de chile for you," said Elsy, "and you can +come ebery now and den and see him." + +"Dat's so," she, replied. "But tell me, gal," she continued, "whar you +come from?" + +"I come from New Orleans, Auntie," replied Elsy. + +"What bring you to Jackson?" continued the old woman. + +Elsy repeated the tale she had told Dr. Humphries and Alfred, and +after she had concluded, the old woman clasped her hands as she +exclaimed, "Sake alibe! what become ob your mistis and de childen?" + +"I don't know, Auntie, but my New Orleans mass'r is here now, and I's +been looking for dem." + +"Why de lady and childen dat come to my cabin was from New Orleans +too," observed the old negro. + +"You say you don't know de name?" remarked Elsy. + +"No, I forget," she answered; "but what name did your mistis hab?" + +"Dey was name Wentworth," she replied. + +"Wantworth--Wentworth," repeated the old woman. "No, dat don't sound +like de name ob de lady, but may be I forget. What was de leetle gal +name?" she added. + +"Ella," replied Elsy. + +"Dat's it," exclaimed the old negro, "dat's de berry name!" + +"Den it was my mistis and her childen," answered Elsy, "and you say de +police take her to prison for stealin." + +"Yes, gal," she answered, "dey take her away from de dead body ob her +chile and take her to prison for stealin." + +"It ain't true," said Elsy, "my mistis is a born lady, and she +wouldn't steal for anyting. I don't beliebe a word ob it." + +"I don't beliebe neider," replied the old woman, "but for all dat, dey +did carry her to prison because dey say she steal money." + +"My poh mistis," remarked Elsy, bursting into tears, "I knowed dat +some bad ting would happen to her--and I was in town so long and neber +eben sawed her." + +"Poh lady," observed the old negro, "she look bery bad and sorrowful +like, aldough she didn't cry when de chile die; but she tan up by de +bedside and look 'pon de dead face widout sayin' a word--it made me +feel bad to see her." + +"I must tell my master," said Elsy, "so dat he can go and take her out +ob prison. It am a shame dat a lady like dat should be locked up in a +prison, and Mr. Wentworth will soon take her out." + +"You better not say anyting to your master about it, yet," observed +the old woman. "See de Doctor and tell him; he will know what to do, +and den he can tell de gemman all about it a'terwards." + +"But you certain it am my mistis?" said Elsy. + +"I ain't quite sure ob dat," she answered, "for de name sound +different to de one I heard, and dats de reason I don't want you to +say noting 'bout it till de Doctor enquire into de matter and find +out. I must go now, gal," she added, "don't forget to tell de Doctor +all 'bout it when he come home." + +"I won't," replied Elsy. + +The old woman then left the house and returned to her cabin, where she +found the little boy amusing himself on the floor with some marbles. + +Dr. Humphries, accompanied by Harry, returned home at the usual hour. +After dinner Elsy requested him to speak to her for a few minutes--a +request which he promptly complied with. + +"Well, my good, girl, what do you wish with me?" he enquired. + +"Oh! sir," she replied, "I hab found out whar my mistis is." + +"You have," answered Dr. Humphries, rather astonished at the +intelligence, "where is she?" he added. + +"In prison, sah," she replied. + +"In prison!" exclaimed the Doctor, "for what?" + +"I don'no, sah," she replied, "but I hear it is for stealing." + +"Who gave you the information?" asked Dr. Humphries. + +"It was your ole slave what libs in de cabin, up town," answered Elsy. + +"And how did she learn anything about Mrs. Wentworth?" enquired Dr. +Humphries. + +"My Mistis went dere wid her chil'en, sah, and her little daughter +died in de ole woman's cabin." + +"Good God!" exclaimed the Doctor, "and how was it that I have heard +nothing about it until now?" + +"It only was a few days ago," replied Elsy, "and Auntie come here +ebery day, but you and Miss Emma was not at home ebery time, and she +only tole me about it dis mornin." + +"Are you certain that the woman who has been carried to jail is your +Mistress?" asked Dr. Humphries. + +"No sah," she answered, "Auntie say dat de name am different, but dat +de name ob de leetle gal am de same." + +"And the little boy you say has been under the care of the old woman +ever since," remarked Dr. Humphries. + +"Yes sah," Elsy replied, "but she want you to take him away from her, +so dat he may be under a white pusson, and das de reason why she been +here wantin' to see you bout it." + +"Very well," said. Dr. Humphries, "I will attend to it this evening; +in the meantime do you remain here and go with me to the cabin and see +if the child is your Mistress'." + +Elsy curtsied as she enquired, "Shall I tell my Master 'bout dis, +sah?" + +"No, no," replied the Doctor, "he must know nothing about it until I +have arranged everything for his wife and removed her from prison. Be +certain," he continued, walking to the door, "that you do not breathe +a word about this until I have seen your Mistress and learned the +reason of her imprisonment." + +On returning to the parlor, where Harry and Emma were seated, Dr. +Humphries called him aside and related what he had heard from Elsy. +The young man listened attentively, and was very much shocked to hear +of Mrs. Wentworth's being imprisoned for theft. He knew that Alfred +was the soul of honor, and he could not conceive that the wife of his +friend would be guilty of such an offense. + +"It is impossible to believe such a thing," he said, after Dr. +Humphries had concluded, "I cannot believe that the wife of such a man +as Alfred Wentworth would commit an offense of such a nature; it must +be some one else, and not Mrs. Wentworth." + +"That we can find out this evening," observed the Doctor. "Let us +first call at the cabin of my old slave and find out whether the child +in her keeping is one of Mrs. Wentworth's children." + +"How will we be able to discover," asked Harry. "It appears by your +account that the boy is a mere infant, and he could hardly be expected +to give an account of himself or his parents." + +"I have removed any difficulty of that nature," replied Dr. Humphries, +"Elsy will accompany us to the cabin, and she will easily recognize +the child if he is the son of your friend." + +"You are right," Harry remarked; and then continued, "I trust he may +not be, for Alfred would almost go crazy at the knowledge that his +wife was the inmate of a prison on the charge of robbery." + +"I hope so myself, for the sake of your friend," said Doctor +Humphries, "Mr. Wentworth appears to be quite a gentleman, and I +should greatly regret his finding his wife in such an unfortunate +position as the woman in prison is represented to be." + +"I know the spirit of the man," remarked Harry, "he is sensitive to +dishonor, no matter in what form or shape it may come, and the +knowledge that his wife was charged with robbery would be a fearful +blow to his pride, stern and unyielding as it is." + +"If it is his wife, and she has committed a theft, I pity her, indeed; +for I am sure if she is the lady her husband represents, nothing but +the most dire necessity could have induced her to descend to crime." + +"Ah, sir," replied Harry, "Heaven only knows if it is not through +want. Alfred Wentworth feared that his wife was living in penury, for +he knew that she was without adequate means. If she has unfortunately +been allowed to suffer, and her children to want with her, what +gratification is it for him to know that he was proving his loyalty to +the South in a foreign prison while his wife and children were wanting +bread to eat in our very midst?" + +"It will indeed be a sad commentary on our patriotism," remarked Dr. +Humphries. "God only knows how willing I should have been to serve the +poor woman and her children had they applied to me for assistance." + +"And I fervently wish that every heart in the State beat with the same +feeling of benevolence that yours does," replied Harry. "However, this +is no time to lament or regret what is inexorable; we must see the +child, and afterwards the mother, for, no matter whether they are the +family of Alfred Wentworth or not, the fact of their being the wife +and child of a soldier entitles them to our assistance, and it is a +debt we should always willingly pay to those who are defending our +country." + +"You are right, Harry, you are right," observed the Doctor, "and it is +a debt that we will pay, if no one else does it. Do you return to +Emma, now," he continued, "while I order the buggy to take us to the +cabin." + +Leaving Harry, Dr. Humphries went to the stable and ordered the groom +to put the horse in the buggy. He was very much moved at the idea of a +friendless woman being necessitated to steal for the purpose of +feeding her children, and in his heart he sincerely wished she would +not prove to be the wife of Alfred Wentworth. Harry's story of his +friend's chivalrous conduct to him at Fort Donelson, as well as the +high toned character evinced by Alfred during the few days +acquaintance he had with him, had combined to procure a favorable +opinion of the soldier by Dr. Humphries; at the same time, he could +not conceive how any one could be so friendless in a land famed for +the generous hospitalities of its people, as the South is; but he knew +not, or rather he had never observed, that there were times when the +eye of benevolence and the hand of charity were strangers to the +unfortunate. + +There are no people on the face of the earth so justly famed for their +charitable actions as that of the Confederate States.--Before the +unfortunate war for separation commenced, every stranger who visited +their shores was received with a cordial welcome. The exile who had +been driven from his home on account of the tyranny of the rulers of +his native land, always found a shelter and protection from the warm +hearts and liberal hands of the people of this sunny land; and though +often times those who have received the aid and comfort of the South, +shared its hospitalities, received protection from their enemies, and +been esteemed as brothers, have turned like vipers and stung their +generous host, still it passed it heedlessly and was ever ready to do +as much in the future as it had done in the past. As genial as their +native clime, as generous as mortals could ever be, those who sought +the assistance of the people of the South would find them ready to +accord to the deserving, all that they desired. It was indeed a +glorious land; blooming with the loveliest blossoms of charity, +flowing with the tears of pity for the unfortunate, and resplendent +with all the attributes of mortal's noblest impulses. Gazing on the +past, we find in the days of which we write no similitude with the +days of the war. A greater curse than had fallen on them when war was +waged on their soil, had fallen on the people of the South; all those +chivalrous ideas which had given to her people a confidence of +superiority over the North had vanished from the minds of those who +had not entered the Army. It was in the "tented field" that could be +found those qualities which make man the true nobility of the world. +It is true that among those who remained aloof from active +participation in the bloody contest were many men whose hearts beat +with as magnanimous a pulsation as could be found in those of the +patriots and braves of the battle-field; but they were only flowers in +a garden of nature, filled with poisonous weeds that had twined +themselves over the land and lifted up their heads above the purer +plants, which, inhaling the tainted odor emitted by them, sickened and +died, or if by chance they remained and bloomed in the midst of +contamination, and eventually rose above until they soared over their +poisonous companions, their members were too few to make an Eden of a +desert, and they were compelled to see the blossoms of humanity perish +before them unrewarded and uncared for, surfeited in the nauseous and +loathsome exhalations of a cold and heartless world, without the hand +of succor being extended or the pitying tear of earth's inhabitants +being shed upon their untimely graves. + +While they, the curse of the world, how was it with them? But one +thought, one desire, filled their hearts; one object, one intention, +was their aim. What of the speculator and extortioner of the South, +Christian as well as Jew, Turk as well as Infidel! From the hour that +the spirit of avarice swept through the hearts of the people, the +South became a vast garden of corruption, in which the pure and +uncorrupted were as pearls among rocks. From the hour that their +fearful work after gain commenced, charity fled weeping from the midst +of the people, and the demons of avarice strode triumphant over the +land, heedless of the cries of the poverty stricken, regardless of the +moanings of hungry children, blind to the sufferings it had occasioned +and indifferent to the woe and desolation it had brought on the poor. + +But all this was seen by God, and the voice of Eternity uttered a +curse which will yet have effect. Even now as we write, the voice of +approaching peace can be heard in the distance, for the waters on +which our bark of State has been tossing for three years begins to +grow calmer, while the haven of independence looms up before us, and +as each mariner directs his gaze on the shore of liberty the mist +which obscured it becomes dispelled, until the blessed resumption of +happiness and prosperity once more presents itself, like a gleam of +sunshine on a dark and cheerless road of life. + +The eye of God is at last turned upon a suffering people. The past +years of bloody warfare were not His work; He had no agency in +stirring up the baser passions of mankind and imbuing the hands of men +in each others blood, nor did He knowingly permit the poor to die of +want and privation. He saw not all these, for the Eye which "seeth all +things" was turned from the scene of our desolation, and fiends +triumphed where Eternity was not, Hell reigned supreme where Heaven +ruled not--Earth was but a plaything in the hands of Destiny. +Philanthropy may deny it--Christianity will declare it heresy--man +will challenge its truth, but it is no less true than is the universe +a fact beyond doubt, and beyond the comprehension of mortals to +discover its secrets. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXTH. + +THE RECOGNITION. + + +As soon as the groom had prepared the buggy, he announced to Dr. +Humphries that it was in readiness. Calling Harry, who was again +seated by the side of his betrothed, indulging in secret conversation, +the Doctor went into the street where the buggy was. + +"I will drive myself this morning, John," he remarked to the groom, +"Mr. Harry will go with me." + +"Berry well, sah," replied the groom, moving off. + +Stepping into the buggy, followed by Harry, the Doctor took the reins +in his hands and was about to drive off. + +"Wait a moment," observed Harry, "has Elsy gone to the cabin?" + +"No, I forgot all about her," answered the Doctor, "and I am glad you +reminded me." + +"You had better send for her at once, and give her orders to proceed +immediately to the cabin," said Harry, "for without her we would be +unable to know whether the child is that of Alfred Wentworth or of +some other unfortunate soldier." + +"Here, John!" called out Dr. Humphries after the retreating form of +the groom, "come here to me." + +The boy turned back and returned to the side of the buggy. + +"Tell Elsy to come here at once," said the Doctor. + +The boy moved off to comply with his master's order, and in a few +moments returned, accompanied by Elsy. + +"Do you go to the old woman's cabin," said Dr. Humphries, as soon as +she had reached the side of the buggy, "and wait there until I arrive. +There is no necessity to mention what I am going there for." + +"Yes sah," replied Elsy, as she turned away to do her master's +bidding. + +"And now," remarked the Doctor, "we will go on and find out who these +people are. But before we go, I had better purchase a few things that +will relieve the necessities of the child." + +With these words the Doctor drove off, and on arriving in front of a +store, drew in the reins and, alighting, shortly after returned with +several packages, which he placed in the buggy and, re-entering it, he +drove to the cabin of the old slave. On arriving there the Doctor and +Harry found the old woman and the child seated in the room talking. +The boy appeared quite contented, now that his grief at the loss of +his sister and departure of his mother had subsided, and was laughing +merrily when they entered. He was dressed very cleanly and neatly by +the old slave, who had expended all her savings in purchasing suitable +cloths for him, and his appearance excited the remark of the Doctor +and his companion the moment they entered the threshold of the room +and saw him. + +"Good day sah," said the old negro, rising and curtseying as soon as +the two gentlemen entered. + +"God day, Auntie," said the doctor, "how are you getting on." + +"Berry well," answered the old woman, and then added, "I'm mighty glad +you come here dis day, for I want to talk wid you 'bout dis here +chile." + +"I have heard all about him, Auntie," said the Doctor, "and have come +here expressly for the purpose of learning something about his +parents." + +"'Spose dat gal Elsy tell you," observed the old woman, snappishly, +nettled because she had not the opportunity of telling her master the +tale of Mrs. Wentworth and her children. + +"Yes, Auntie," he replied, "Elsy told me, but not before I had asked +her all about those unfortunate people, so you must not be mad with +her." + +"She might ha' waited till you see me befo' she say anyting about it," +remarked the old woman. + +"Never mind that, Auntie," replied the Doctor, who knew the old +woman's jealous disposition and wanted to pacify her. "Has Elsy been +here yet?" + +"No sah," she replied, "I aint seen her since mornin'." + +"She will be here directly, then," he remarked, and seating himself +the Doctor waited the arrival of Elsy. + +"Come here my little man," said Harry, who had been sitting on the bed +during the dialogue between the old slave and her master. + +The child walked up to him and placed his arms on Harry's knees. + +"What is your name," enquired the young man, lifting the child up on +his knees. + +"My name is Alf," he replied. + +"Alf what?" asked Harry. + +The child looked at him enquiringly, not understanding the question. + +"What is your mother's name," continued Harry, perceiving that the boy +was unable to answer his question. + +"My ma's name is Eva," he answered. + +"And your sister's?" asked Harry. + +"My sister is named Ella," replied the child, and then added, +mournfully, "but she is gone from here; they took her out in a little +box and put her in the ground, and Granny says she is gone to heaven; +and my ma," he continued, "some bad men carried away, but Granny says +she will soon come back--wont she?" and his innocent face looked up +confidingly in Harry's. + +"Yes, my boy," he answered, "your ma will soon come back to you." + +"There appears no doubt of the identity of this family," remarked +Harry to Dr. Humphries, after a short pause, "everything we have yet +discovered indicates that Alfred Wentworth's wife and children have +passed a fearful life since their expulsion from New Orleans." + +"Poor woman and children," observed the Doctor, dashing away a tear, +"could I have known their penury, I should have been only glad to +relieve them, and even now, it is not too late for us to benefit this +child and his mother. As soon as Elsy arrives here I shall remove the +boy to my house and visit the mother in jail." + +"I do not think it advisable to move the child until you have +succeeded in obtaining the release of Mrs. Wentworth," answered Harry. +"His father may chance to see him, and, under the circumstances, would +discover where his wife was; which discovery I desire to avoid as long +as possible. The best thing that you can do is to leave the boy here +for twenty-four hours longer, by which time bail can be procured for +his mother, and I shall endeavor to silence the charge, so that there +may be no necessity for a trial." + +"May not Mr. Wentworth see the child and recognise him before we have +accomplished his mother's release," enquired the Doctor. + +"I do not think it likely," he replied, "Alfred will not visit so +remote a vicinity, and the child need not be carried into the business +portion of the city." + +"I shall leave him here, then, as you think it advisable," remarked +the Doctor; "it cannot injure him to remain in this cabin for a day +longer, while it might lead to unpleasant discoveries should he be +removed." + +Harry and the old gentleman remained silent for some time, when Elsy +entered the room. No sooner did the girl see the boy than she +recognized her master's child, and taking him in her arms caressed him +with all the exhibitions of affection the negro is capable of. + +"Dis am Mas Alfred own chile" she exclaimed to Harry and the old +gentleman, "and who would thought dat him would be libin' here." + +"I supposed it was your master's child, my good girl," observed the +Doctor, and then added, as he rose from his seat, "you can stay here +with him until dark, when you had better return home; meanwhile, I do +not wish you to let Mr. Wentworth know that his wife and child are in +this city, nor do I wish you to take him out of this cabin. Come +Harry," he continued, "let us go now and see the mother; she will be +able to give us full details of her unfortunate life and to inform us +of the cause for which she is in prison." + +Leaving the cabin, the two gentlemen re-entered the buggy and drove to +the Mayor's office. Finding him absent, they proceeded to his +residence, and, after briefly narrating the tale of Mrs. Wentworth and +her family, requested permission to visit her. + +"Certainly, my dear sirs," replied Mr. Manship, such being the name of +the Mayor, "take a seat while I write you an order of admittance." + +In a few minutes the order to admit Dr. Humphries and his companion in +the female's ward of the prison was written. Returning thanks to the +Mayor, the two gentlemen started for the prison, and on showing the +permit, were ushered into the cell occupied by Mrs. Wentworth. + +"Good God!" exclaimed Harry, as he looked upon the squalid and haggard +form of the broken hearted woman, "this surely cannot be the wife of +Alfred Wentworth." + +Mrs. Wentworth had paid no attention to the visitors when they first +entered, but on hearing her husband's name pronounced, rose from her +crouching position and confronted the speaker. The name of the one she +loved had awoke the slumbering faculties of the woman, and, like a +flash of electricity on a rod of steel, her waning reason flared up +for a moment. + +"You spoke my husband's name," she said in a hoarse tone, "what of +him?" + +"He is my friend, madam," replied Harry, "and as such I have called to +see you, so that you may be removed from this place." + +"Thank you," she answered; "yours is the first voice of charity I have +listened to since I left New Orleans. But it is too late; I have +nothing now to live for. Adversity has visited me until nothing but +disgrace and degradation is left of a woman who was once looked upon +as a lady." + +"There is no necessity for despondency, my good madam," observed Dr. +Humphries. "The misfortunes which have attended you are such as all +who were thrown in your situation are subject to. Our object in coming +here," he continued, "is to learn the true cause of your being in this +wretched place. Disguise nothing, but speak truthfully, for there are +times when crimes in some become necessity in others." + +"My tale is briefly told," she answered. "Forced by the cruelty of a +villain to leave my comfortable home in New Orleans, I sought refuge +in the Confederate lines. I anticipated that refugees would meet with +a welcome from the more fortunate people of the South. In that I was +disappointed; for when my means gave out, and every endeavor to +procure work to feed my children had failed--when I had not a dollar +to purchase bread for my innocent babes, I applied for assistance. +None but the most dire necessity would have prompted me to such a +step, and, Oh, God! when it was refused--when the paltry pittance I +asked for was refused, the hope which I had clung so despairingly to, +vanished, and I felt myself indeed a miserable woman. Piece after +piece of furniture went, until all was gone--my clothing was next +sold to purchase bread. The miserable life I led, the hours spent with +my children around me crying for bread--the agonizing pangs which rent +my mother's heart when I felt I could not comply with their +demand--all--all combined to make me an object of abject misery. But +why describe my sufferings? The balance of my tale is short. I was +forced out of the shelter I occupied because I could not pay the owner +his rent. My oldest child was then ill, and in the bleak night wind, +canopied by heaven alone, I was thrust, homeless, from a shelter owned +by a man whose wealth should have made him pause ere he performed such +an act. With my sick child in my arms I wandered, I knew not where, +until I found she had fainted. Hurrying to a small cabin on the road, +I entered and there discovered an old negro woman. From the lips of a +slave I first heard words of kindness, and for the first time aid was +extended to me. Applying restoratives, my child revived and I waited +until next morning, when I returned once more to ask for aid. A paltry +sum was handed to me, more for the sake of getting rid of the +mendicant than to relieve my distress. I felt that the sum offered was +insufficient to supply the demands of my sick daughter and my starving +boy. I was turning in despair away when my eye lit upon a package of +money resting on the safe. For a moment I hesitated, but the thought +of my children rose uppermost in my mind, and, seizing the package I +hurried from the store." + +"So you did take the money," said Harry. + +"Yes," she replied, "but it did me little good, for when the doctor +was called he pronounced my daughter beyond medical skill. She died +that evening, and all the use to which the money was appropriated, was +the purchase of a coffin." + +"Then the--the--" said Harry, hesitating to use the word theft, "then, +it was not discovered that you had taken the money until your child +was dead and buried." + +"No," she said, "listen--my child lay enrobed in her garment of death, +and the sun was fast declining in the west, when Mr. Swartz and two +constables entered the room and arrested me. On my bended knees I +appealed to him not to tear me from the body of my child. Yes," she +continued, excitedly, "I prayed to him in the most abject manner to +leave me until my child was buried. My prayers were unavailing, and +from the window of this cell I witnessed a lonely hearse pass by, +followed by none other than my infant boy and the kind old negro. Oh +God! Oh God!" she went on, bursting into tears and throwing herself on +the wretched pallet in the cell, "my cup of misery was then full, and +I had drained it to the very dregs. I have nothing more to live for +now, and the few days longer I have to spend on earth can be passed as +well in a prison as in a mansion." + +"Not so," interrupted Dr. Humphries, "I trust you will live many, many +years longer, to be a guardian to your child and a comfort to your +husband." + +"It cannot be," she answered sadly. "The brain, overwrought, will soon +give way to madness, and then a welcome death will spare me the life +of a maniac. I do not speak idly," she continued, observing the look +they cast upon her; "from the depths of my mind, a voice whispers that +my troubles on earth will soon be o'er. I have one desire, however, +and should like to see it granted." + +"Let me know what that is," remarked Dr. Humphries, "and if it lies in +my power it shall be accorded to you with pleasure." + +"Your companion spoke of my husband as his friend; does he know where +he is at present, and if so, can I not see him?" + +"I promise that you shall see your husband before many days. Until you +are removed from this place I do not think it advisable, but," +continued Harry, "I shall, on leaving this place, endeavor to secure +your release." + +Mrs. Wentworth made no answer, and, speaking a few words of +consolation and hope to her, the two gentlemen left the prison. The +next morning Harry called on the Mayor and asked if Mrs. Wentworth +could be bailed, but on his honor mentioning that her trial would come +off the next day, the court having met that evening, he determined to +await the trial, confident that she would be acquitted when the facts +of the case were made known to the jury. On the same day he met Alfred +Wentworth, who informed him that he was more strongly impressed than +ever in the belief that the pretended Englishman was a spy. + +"I will inform you of a plan that will prove whether you are right or +not," observed Harry, when he had concluded. "Tomorrow at about three +o'clock in the evening persuade him to visit the Court House. I will +be present, and if he is really the spy you imagine, will have full +evidence against him." + +"What evidence?" enquired Alfred. + +"Never do you mind," he replied, "just bring him and there will be +plenty of evidence found to convict him if he is a spy. By the way," +he continued, "you said you suspected him to be the same man who +caused your wife to be turned out of New Orleans?" + +"Yes," Alfred answered, "but why do you ask?" + +"Oh, nothing in particular," he replied, "only in the event his being +Awtry, you will have a double motive in finding out whether he is a +spy or not." + +"You are right," observed Alfred, "but whether he is Awtry or not, I +should deem it my duty to the Government to ferret out the true status +of that man, and to have him brought to justice if he is really a spy. +Your request to carry him to the Court House is a strange one, and I +will cheerfully comply with it, although I cannot see how his being +there will enable us to make the discovery." + +"Leave that to me," answered Harry, "and content yourself with +believing that I am certain it will prove whether he is an Englishman +or a Yankee." + +With that the two friends departed and Harry returned home much +perplexed at the manner he had arranged for the husband and wife to +meet. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENTH. + +TRIAL OF MRS. WENTWORTH--THE ADVOCATE. + + +The morning for the trial of Mrs. Wentworth arrived, and at the hour +of ten she appeared in the court. Her appearance was changed since we +last saw her. The kind hearted daughter of Dr. Humphries had visited +her the day before with a supply of clothing, and though her features +retained their haggard and care-worn expression, none who looked upon +her as she entered the court room could have failed to perceive that +she was a lady and unlike a majority of females brought before a jury +to answer grave charges. Her case did not excite any notice until she +appeared, when the pinched and sharp face presented to the spectators, +and the evidence her lady-like demeanor gave of her being a different +subject from that usually presented, awoke a feeling of interest in +the crowd, and many enquiries were made of the nature of the charge +made against her. None, however, could inform the inquisitors, and +they awaited the reading of the charges. + +As Mrs. Wentworth entered the room she cast a look at the jury box, +and a shudder came over her as she perceived Mr. Elder sitting among +the jurymen. She knew that he would not favor the dismissal of the +case; but a gleam of hope presented itself in the person of Dr. +Mallard, who she believed to be a good man, notwithstanding his abrupt +and true remarks at the bedside of her dying child. These were the +only two persons present she knew, save and except Mr. Swartz, who +stood near by, ready to give his evidence against her. But from him +she expected nothing; nor did she intend to ask one word of favor or +mercy. There was no disposition within her to sue for mercy, nor did +she purpose denying or palliating her having taken the money. + +After the usual delay, Mrs. Wentworth was placed in the prisoners' +stand and the charges preferred against her. In his usual style Mr. +Swartz proceeded to narrate his business connection with the accused, +and stated that he had done everything he possibly could for her, but +that, not satisfied with receiving his bounty, she had stolen his +money. His story was given in a conclusive and plausible manner, and +on his clerk certifying to what his employer had said, the chances for +the accused appeared very dim. What added more to the evidence against +her, was the conduct of Mr. Elder, who, rising from his seat briefly +stated that, from his intercourse with her, he believed Mrs. Wentworth +to be an unprincipled and dishonest woman. + +"On what ground do you make that assertion, Mr. Elder?" enquired the +Judge. + +"As I stated before, in my intercourse with her," he replied. + +"And may I ask of what nature your intercourse was?" asked the Judge. + +"It would delay the court were I to state what business transactions +have taken place between this woman and myself," answered Mr. Elder. +"When I arose, it was simply to state my belief in her dishonesty." + +"You should have appeared on the witness' box, if you desired to give +evidence against the accused," remarked the Judge. "As it stands, your +assertions cannot be taken as evidence against her. If you desire to +appear as a witness for the accuser, say so, and I will then be +prepared to hear what you may have to say." + +"I have no such desire," replied Mr. Elder, seating himself. + +"And now my good woman," said the Judge, turning to Mrs. Wentworth, +who had remained a silent listener to all that had been said against +her, "let me know what you may have to say against the charges brought +against you. By your appearance and general demeanor you have seen +better days, and it is a source of regret that I should see any one +bearing evidence of once living in a different sphere from the one you +now occupy, brought before me on a charge of robbery. Let me now know +what you have to say on this charge." + +"I can say nothing," she replied. + +"Well, then, do you plead guilty, or not guilty?" asked the Judge. + +"Not Guilty!" thundered Harry, in an excited manner. He had been +unavoidably delayed from accompanying Mrs. Wentworth to the Court +House, and had just arrived. "Not guilty! I repeat, and, as counsel +for the accused, I beg leave to make a few remarks." + +"Certainly, Lieutenant Shackleford," answered the Judge, who knew +Harry well. + +The remarks of Harry, and his excited manner, awoke the waning +interest in the case, and the crowd clustered closer round the +railings. + +"Your honor, and gentlemen of the Jury," began Harry, as soon as he +had become calm enough to speak: "It is now nearly two years since I +appeared in a civil capacity before a court of justice, and I had +thought that while this war lasted my services would have been solely +on the battle-fields of my country, and not in the halls where law is +dispensed. But the case which I have appeared to defend, is so unlike +those you ordinarily have before your honorable body, that I have, for +a while, thrown off the armor of the soldier, and once more appear as +the lawyer. You will pardon my apparent digression from the subject at +issue, but as I see many looks of surprise at my seemingly strange +conduct, I deem it but justice to myself that I should explain my +motive for so acting. + +"It is now nearly two years ago that a soldier in a happy and +comfortable home in New Orleans bade adieu to a fond wife and two +promising children. As the tear-drop trickled down the cheek of his +lovely and blooming wife, he whispered a word of comfort and solace to +her, and bade her be cheerful, for the dark cloud which covered the +political horizon of his country would soon be dispelled by the bright +sunshine of liberty. But the tear that fell on her cheek was not of +regret; for she felt that in leaving her he obeyed the call of his +country, and was but performing a duty he owed to his native South. +The tear was brushed away, and she smiled in his face at the glowing +words of hope and comfort he spoke to her. They were full of promise, +and as each syllable fell on her ear, they awoke an echo in her heart, +until the love of the wife paled before the enthusiastic patriotism of +the Southern woman, and the dangers of the battle-field became hidden +before the vision of the honor and glory which awaited the patriot +hero. Then she bade him adieu with a smile, and they departed, full of +love and hope.--Oh! gentlemen, let me take a glance back at the home +and household war had then severed. Before our treacherous enemy had +proclaimed war against us, this soldier's home was a model of earthly +joy and felicity. It is true, there was no wealth to be found there, +but there was a bright and more glorious gift than wealth can command; +there was happiness, and this, combined with the love borne by this +soldier for his wife, served to make them pass their years of wedded +life in comfortable union. Years pass over their heads, and two +children are sent to bless them, and they were cherished as priceless +gifts. When the call to arms resounded through the South, this +husband, like thousands of others, ceased his civil pursuits, and +enlisted under the banner of his country. None but the purest and +loftiest motives of patriotism, and a sense of duty, prompted him to +the step; and though he knew that in so doing he would leave his wife +deprived of her natural protector, and subject to privations, he +thought, and with every right, that those who remained at home would +shield a soldier's wife from danger, and he trusted on the means at +his disposal to keep her from penury and destitution. After making +preparation for his wife and children, he bade them adieu, as I have +described already, and departed for Virginia, whose soil had already +been invaded by the vandals of the North. + +"And now, gentlemen, lest you should think by my intimating that this +soldier was not wealthy, I meant he was also poor in society, I will +state that he and his wife held as high a position in the social +circle of New Orleans as the most favored of fortune. His wife, this +unfortunate lady, who now stands before you charged with theft, is the +daughter of one who was once wealthy, but on whom adversity fell +shortly before her marriage. Think not that the haggard and care-worn +features before you were always such. There was a time, not long +distant, when the bloom of youth and beauty could be seen in that +sunken cheek and that sharpened face; but adversity has reduced one of +God's fairest works to the wretched and unfortunate condition she is +now in. Pardon my digression, for the tale I have to tell cannot be +briefly recited; it is necessary that I shall speak in full, and +though I may tire you by my lengthy remarks, you must hear them with +patience, for they are necessary in this defence, and are equally +needed to hold up to the scorn and contempt of every patriotic spirit +in the land, two men who have disgraced their sex and entailed misery, +aye, and degradation, on an unfortunate woman." + +"If his honor, the judge, will permit me," interrupted Mr. Elder, "I +should like to decline serving as a juryman on this case." + +"Silence!" exclaimed Harry, before the judge could reply. "You are +already sworn in, and I desire that you shall remain where you are." + +"I cannot possibly excuse you, Mr. Elder," remarked the judge, in a +tone of surprise, "the case has progressed too far already for any +excuse. Continue, Lieutenant Shackleford," he continued, speaking to +Harry. + +"As I was observing," Harry went on, "this soldier departed for +Virginia, and shortly after his departure, a villain, who had +addressed his wife in former years and been rejected, assumed the +sheep's garb and resumed his acquaintance with her. Many were the +kindnesses he extended towards her, and the delicate manner in which +he performed those little acts of courtesy, that lend a charm to +society, disarmed any suspicion of his sincerity of purpose. But under +the guise of friendship, the villain designed to overcome a lonely +woman. With that subtlety and deception which every _roue_ possesses, +he ingratiated himself in her confidence and favor until she began to +regard him in the light of a brother. But the hour approached when the +mask he had worn so long would be thrown aside and his unhallowed +desires be avowed. The soldier was taken prisoner at Fort Donelson, +and within four months after, New Orleans fell. Then the persecutions +of the unprincipled villain commenced. A Northern man, he did not at +the commencement of the war avow his sympathies to be with the people +of his section, but, pretending friendship for the South, remained in +our midst until Butler and his infamous cohorts had gained possession +of the city, when he proclaimed himself a Unionist, and gaining the +favor of that disgrace to the name of man, was soon able to intimidate +the cowardly or beggar the brave. One of his first attempts was to +compel this lady to yield to his hellish passions. With contempt she +spurned his offers and ordered him never more to cross the threshold +of her house. Swearing vengeance against her, he left, and on the +following morning she received an order to leave the limits of the +city, that day, and prepare to enter the Confederate lines. The +dangers which then threatened her, she deemed vanished, for she feared +more to remain in the midst of our enemies than to enter our lines. +The order was therefore received with joy, and she prepared to depart. +Though a pang of sorrow may have filled her heart at being compelled +to relinquish her comfortable home, though she saw before her days, +weeks, months, perhaps years of hardship, not one feeling of remorse +at having rejected the offers of a libertine, ever entered the mind of +the soldier's wife. The time at length arrived for her to depart, and +with her two children, a few articles of clothing, and a small sum of +money, she was placed within our lines, far from any human habitation, +and left to find a shelter as best she could. + +"To this city she bent her footsteps, and here she anticipated finding +an asylum for herself and children. Gentlemen, we all well know that, +unfortunately for our cause and country, the evils Speculation and +Extortion, had spread their leprous wings and covered our land with +destitution. To a man of this city, who, before the world's eye, +appeared the Christian and the man of benevolence, but who in his +dealings with his fellow-men, was as vile an extortioner as the most +heartless; to this man she went and hired a room in which to find a +shelter. Finding she was a refugee and fearing an evil day, he bound +her down by law to suffer ejectment the moment she could no longer pay +the rent. Ignorant of the weapon she placed in his hands, she signed +the deed, and after paying a portion of the rent in advance, left him +and assumed possession. Mark well, gentlemen, what I have said. In his +action we find no Christianity--no benevolence; nothing but the spirit +of the extortioner is here manifested. There is no feeling of sorrow +shown at her unfortunate position, no disposition evinced to shield +the helpless mother and her babes. No! we find his actions narrowed +down to the sordidness of the miser, the avariciousness of the +extortioner. A feeling of surprise at such conduct may flit across +your bosoms, gentlemen, and you may perchance doubt that I can show a +man of this city, so bereft of charity, so utterly oblivious to all +the better feelings of humanity, but I shall before long call his +name, and give such evidence of the truth of my assertions, as will be +beyond contradiction or doubt. + +"To another man the soldier's wife went for the purpose of purchasing +a few articles of furniture. Of him I have little to say at present. +It is true that without caring who and what she was, his merchandize +was sold to her at the _speculator's_ price. But he had the right to +charge whatever he pleased, and therefore I have nothing to say +against him for that. + +"Weeks passed on, and the soldier's wife found herself without the +means of purchasing food for her children. The hour had at last +arrived when she was utterly destitute. In the meantime her husband +lay in a foreign prison, ignorant of the unhappy fate his wife was +undergoing. Many are the nights we have walked to and fro on the +grounds of Camp Douglas, and often has he spoken to me of his absent +wife and children. I know him, gentlemen, and never in the breast of +man beat a heart truer than his, nor in the minds of God's mortals +were there ever finer and nobler impulses. While he was thus suffering +confinement for his country's sake, his wife and children were +here--in our very midst, _starving_! Aye, starving! Think of it, +gentlemen--that in the midst of those who were supposed to be +friends--the wife and children of a patriot were allowed to starve. +Great God! is there on earth a spectacle so fearful to behold as +_starvation_? And is it not enough to evoke the wrath of the Infinite, +when men, surrounded by all that wealth can afford, refuse to aid and +succor their starving fellow creatures? + +"You may think that no man can be found who would refuse, but I tell +you, gentlemen, that that man who now stands before you, was appealed +to by this lady, the accused, after she had disposed of every piece of +furniture in the room, save and except the bed on which her children +slept. The appeal was rejected, and, despairing of help, she offered +and sold to him the last remaining article of furniture. Here now is +the picture. He could not lend or give her a paltry pittance; and why, +forsooth? Because the money would not yield him a profit, and there +was a chance of his losing it. But the moment she offered to dispose +of the bed, he purchased it, for in it did the profit of the +speculator lie hidden, and on it could he get his money doubled. Think +not, gentlemen, that the tale you have listened to from him is the +true one. It is a varnished and highly colored evidence, beneath which +a wide extent of corruption can be seen, the moment its curtain is +removed. + +"The pittance thus obtained serves but a short time, and they are again +reduced to want. The eldest child--a lovely daughter, is taken ill, and +while lying on a heap of rags in a corner of the room, the man calls and +demands his rent. The poor woman has no money to satisfy his demands and +he orders her to leave. She appeals to him, points to her ill child; but +her prayers are unavailing--and in the hour of night she is thrust from +the room, homeless, penniless, friendless! Yes! he--that man who now +sits in the jury-box--he--Mr. Elder, the so-called _Christian_ and man +of CHARITY--he, ejected this helpless woman from the shelter and forced +her to wander in the night air with her sick child--her starving babes. +He--the _extortioner_"--continued Harry, with every feature expressing +the utmost scorn, "turned her from the wretched home she had found here, +and left her to die on the sidewalks, like the veriest beggar. No touch +of pity for the child, no feeling of sorrow for the innocent angel, no +thought of the patriot lingering in prison, ever entered the mind of the +extortioner. There was nothing but _self_ then, nothing but the +promptings of his own avarice, which could view with indifference the +miseries of others, so long as they should redound to his own benefit +and aggrandizement. I tell you that man dare not deny a word I utter. He +knows that every one is true, and if my language could wither him with +shame, could make him the detestation of the world, I would speak yet +stronger, for pity to him is but contempt for those he has injured. + +"Thus thrust out of home and shelter, the helpless mother conveyed her +fainting child to a negro's cabin and there revived it. The next +morning she once more called upon her accuser and petitioned him for +help. He again refused to aid her, although informed that the money +was intended to procure medical aid for her sick child, until at last, +wearied of her importunities, he handed her the pitiful sum of _one +dollar_! This was not sufficient for the purpose she desired, and she +was about turning away in despair when her eye lit on a package of +notes lying on the safe. Remember, gentlemen, what I have told you. +She was penniless and friendless. Her child was ill and she had no +means to procure medical aid. Her appeal for charity had been +rejected, and can we blame her if she yielded to the tempter and took +the money lying before her? We cannot. Look not on the act, gaze only +on the provocation. If in hearts there dwells a shade of pity, an acme +of sympathy, you cannot return a verdict of guilty. She is not guilty +of theft! I unhesitatingly assert, that if to act as she has, and +under the circumstances she acted, be theft, then such a thief would I +become to-morrow; and in my own conscience, of the opinions of the +world and confident in the forgiveness of an Almighty Father, would I +commit such a theft as she has--just such an offence. I pleaded 'not +guilty,' and it may surprise you that in the face of such a plea, I +should acknowledge that she took the money. Again I repeat my plea. +She is not guilty of theft, and to you who have hearts to you who +sympathize with the sufferings of a soldier's wife--to you, whose +wives and children may to-morrow be placed in a similar position--to +you, I leave a verdict. But one word yet ere I am done. + +"The money which she took, to what use was, it placed? To purchase a +_coffin_ for her child! To place the lifeless body of her daughter in +its last home ere it is covered by the dust--this, and this only, was +the good which accrued from it. And, gentlemen, he--Mr. Elder--is the +MURDERER of that child. As such I charge him, and as such I +brand him to be. But for his brutality--but for his avarice and +selfish lust for gain, the mouldering corpse might now have been a +blooming and happy child. And yet another word. When the so-called +theft was discovered, and the accuser sought the accused, he found her +by the bedside on which the dead child lay clothed in its last earthly +garments. Disregarding her entreaties, she was torn from the corpse, +thrust into prison, and the humble and servile hands of the negro were +left to perform those sad rites which affection is ever the first to +do. This is my tale, and--" + +Here the excitement grew intense, and a strong feeling of indignation +was manifested by the soldiers present against Mr. Swartz and Mr. +Elder, and many threats were made to hang them. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTH. + +THE VERDICT--THE HUSBAND AND WIFE--ARREST OF AWTRY. + + +It was some time before the police could restore order and quiet the +excitement. At length complete silence was restored, and Harry +continued: + +"Such," he continued, "is the tale of this unfortunate woman, and the +position in which she found herself placed should excite, a feeling of +sympathy, and not induce you to punish her for an act which may be +deplored but cannot be condemned. That she took the money is +undeniable, but why did she take it? I have told you it was to save +her child's life, and though that class of philosophers and ultra +moralists who believe that there are no causes sufficient to justify +her act, may declare her guilty of theft, let the promptings of your +own hearts decide whether her position did not excuse, if it does not +render her conduct undeserving of condemnation by a jury. But in +claiming from you a verdict in favor of my client, I must take +occasion to say, that your acquittal will not restore this lady to +that position she formerly occupied, or remove from her mind the +impress left there by an act which necessity, and necessity alone, +caused her to perform. It will not restore to her the innocent child +now lying mouldering in the grave, it will not reunite the broken +links of affection, it will not ease the agony of the soldier when he +discovers that his wife was the inmate of a prison, nor will it +replace on its former firm base the mind of this unfortunate lady, +which, like the pillars of some ancient edifice, totters beneath a +weight of agonizing thought, soon, alas! I fear, to fall, a mass of +ruin, in the vortex of insanity. The patriot soldier must return to +find his daughter dead, his wife a maniac, and his only remaining +child a dependent on the bounty of strangers. But one thing remains; +he must turn from the spectacle thus presented and return to the +battle-field a heart-broken and unhappy man. The spirit with which he +formerly contended for the liberty of his country will have vanished +and fled, for the remembrance of his family's fate must ever remain +uppermost in his mind, and the reflections they will produce must +leave a blighting scar, which no future kindness can remove, sympathy +eradicate, or consolation destroy. I am done. On your good judgment +and the strength of my assertions, which can be proven, if necessary, +I rely for the acquittal of this lady." + +As he concluded, the building shook with applause from the crowd, and +Mr. Swartz and Mr. Elder trembled for their safety. Harry felt that +the acquittal of Mrs. Wentworth was now secure, for the jury itself, +sharing the popular feeling, gave expressions of approbation in many +remarks. If the language of Harry had been simple, it had carried +conviction to every soul, and all present, as they looked upon the +accused, felt that her offense was fully atoned for by the chain of +harrowing circumstances with which she had been bound. + +And for her--the soldier's wife? She had remained a passive spectator +of all that occurred. When the voice of her defender first broke on +her ear, she turned and looked at him for a moment, then, as if +indifferent whether his defense was successful or not, she turned her +head away and listlessly gazed at the crowd. She cared not now for +freedom and acquittal; she felt that the chords of reason were on the +point of breaking, and but one thought, one desire, filled her mind, +before they broke and madness held sway over her. It was to see that +loved form, to gaze once more on those loved features, to be clasped +once again in her HUSBAND'S arms. This was the sole thought, +the only desire. All "fond records," all recollection of past years, +all hope for future happiness, were obliterated, and nothing remained +before her mind's eye but the soldier who had parted from her in New +Orleans. Even the memory of her dead and of her living child had +vanished, and if they were for a while brought to her mind, it was +only in connection with the single desire which kept the chains of +sanity united. The lineaments of every soldier in the crowd were +closely and eagerly scanned, but there were none there who bore the +slightest resemblance to him for whom she yearned. But still she +peered into the assemblage, regardless of the efforts being made in +her behalf, and it was not until the interruption narrated in the last +chapter took place, that she manifested any interest in the +proceedings of the court, and then it was merely by a gesture of +surprise at the uproar. When Harry concluded and sat down, she again +evinced astonishment, but not a syllable escaped from her lips. + +After a few minutes the shouts of the crowd subsided, and at the +request of the judge, silence was restored. His honor then addressed +the jury. + +"Gentlemen of the jury," he began, "the case before your notice has +become, from one of apparent insignificance, one of intense interest +and importance. A merchant of this city, well known to you all, both +by his wealth and his long residence in your midst, appears before +this court and accuses a woman of theft. She is arrested and every +evidence of her guilt is found on her person; she does not deny the +act, and is accordingly brought before you to be tried and sentenced, +or acquitted, as you may, in your good judgment think best." + +"Overwhelming evidence is brought against her to-day, and no doubt of +her having committed the theft exists. There appears little more for +you to do than to find her guilty, and for me to pass the sentence. +But before doing these, it is necessary that the accused shall have a +defense. She is questioned, but informs the court she has nothing to +say. At this stage of the proceedings, a gentleman well known to you +as a rising lawyer of this place before the war commenced, and better +known since then as a gallant and meritorious officer, appears as her +defendant. You have heard his defense. The act of taking the money is +not denied, but in his defense he claims that it was committed through +dire necessity. It is true that a defense of this nature is a somewhat +extraordinary one, and is new in the annals of criminal law. Still he +has given you a tale of hardships and privations which he claims +occurred in this city, and which, coming from any other source, may +well be doubted. It is left for you to decide whether his claim for an +acquittal shall be granted or not. In my remarks I do not intend to +bias you one way or the other. What my opinions are will be given +after your decision is announced. To you I look for that decision." + +"If your honor will permit me," said Dr. Mallard, rising, "I will make +a few remarks before the jury retires. The tale told by Lieut. +Shackleford is correct so far as I know of it. I was called upon to +attend on the sick girl mentioned in the defense, and found her in an +old cabin, almost at the point of death. At the time it did not strike +me as singular that a white family should be found living in such a +hovel, but the tale I have just heard narrated has made me reproach +myself for my blindness in not discovering that the unfortunate family +were of greater respectability than can be found in the residents of +log cabins. Impressed, therefore, with a firm belief in the +truthfulness of the tale I have heard, I shall act accordingly." + +With these remarks he resumed his seat, and in a few minutes the jury +retired to decide on their verdict. Mr. Elder followed reluctantly, +but had made up his mind to give consent to anything the majority +should decide on. He was already apprehensive for his personal safety +and was anxious to be at home again. + +After a short absence the jury returned and announced they had decided +on a verdict. + +"What is that verdict, gentlemen?" inquired the judge. "Do you find +this lady guilty or not guilty?" + +"Taking all the circumstances into consideration," replied the +foreman, "we find the prisoner NOT GUILTY of the charge." + +For a moment the building shook to the very foundation, from the +prolonged cheers of the spectators. It was not rejoicing at the escape +from punishment of the guilty, that they applauded, but it was through +heartfelt exultation at the acquittal of an unfortunate woman. It was +the spontaneous outburst of Southern hearts, bleeding with sympathy +for the oppressed and poverty-stricken soldier's wife, and swelling +with indignation at the brutal and unfeeling conduct of Mr. Elder and +Mr. Swartz. + +Harry's eye moistened as he heard the shouts of applause, and a +feeling of grateful emotion swept over him. He felt no gratification +at his success in gaining her acquittal which did not spring from the +loftiest and most disinterested motives. He rejoiced on account of +Mrs. Wentworth and her child and the gallant soldier he had so proudly +called his friend. He rejoiced to know that the fair fame of the +soldier's wife stood untarnished, and that he could restore her to the +arms of her husband, not as the inmate of a penitentiary, but as the +acquitted accused, who had committed the act she was accused of, but +was still considered by all who had heard of the case, free from +crime, and pure and unstained as before the blighting handy of penury +and suffering were stretched across her sorrow-beaten path. + +"Madam," said the judge, when the cheering had ceased, "you have heard +the verdict of the jury, acquitting you of the charge made against you +by Mr. Swartz, although in your defense, it is acknowledged you did +take the money, and the jury is cognizant of the fact. While your +acquittal, in face of the evidence given, and your own acknowledgment +as well as the acknowledgment of your counsel, may be somewhat +deviating from the letter of the law, it is nevertheless in strict +accordance with its spirit, and with pleasure I inform you that being +acquitted you are no longer held a prisoner, but are free to go where +you will. But before you leave, let me make a few remarks on this +case, which in my judgment are called for by the circumstances, and +which may appear again, in consequence of many parties being similarly +situated. Although the jury has acquitted you, such acquittal must not +be considered a license for others to go and do likewise. Where your +case is one of necessity, another of a like nature may be caused +through dishonesty. Your act is not applauded by thinking minds, nor +did the jury intend to convey the impression that in acquitting you +they considered you had performed a very meritorious act. To the +contrary, they deplore the performance of a deed which cannot be +thought of but with regret; at the same time they took into +consideration the deplorable position into which you were placed, and +declare you innocent of _theft_. + +"Before closing my remarks," he continued, "I would call the attention +of those present, as well as the people in general, to this case. Like +this unfortunate lady, many refugees are sojourning in our midst. They +should be received with welcome by those who are fortunate enough to +live in peace and quiet in their happy homes. But such, I fear, is not +always the case. Many respectable families who had been accustomed to +all that wealth could afford, are now living, if not in absolute +necessity, in very poor circumstances, and could have their position +materially improved if the people of this State would offer them that +assistance they need. It is not an act of charity to lend a helping +hand to the refugee. We are bound together by a sympathy formed on the +battle-field by the gallant men of every State now struggling side by +side for our independence, and it is a matter of duty that the wives +and children of the soldier shall not suffer during his absence. It is +a sordid spirit that refuses to aid a helpless woman because she +happens to be a refugee. This Confederacy is a home for all its sons +and daughters, and when they abandon their native State, and, fleeing +from a brutal enemy, come into our midst for safety and protection, we +should welcome them as suffering patriots and cherish, them as they +deserve. It is a hard struggle for a woman to abandon a home, +surrounded by all the luxuries of life and in which happiness reigns +dominant, to incur hardships and privations. In doing so her +patriotism is severely tested, and nothing but the most exalted +devotion to our country triumphs over her fears. + +"There is yet another subject I will speak on. The two men who have +figured so conspicuously in this case as the cause of this lady's +sufferings, cannot be allowed to pass unnoticed. Mr. Elder is a well +known gentleman of this city and has hitherto borne an irreproachable +character. Did he not stand silent when accused of inhuman conduct +towards this lady, I should hesitate to believe him guilty of such an +atrocity. But as his silence is indicative of guilt, the horrible +nature of his act comes before us with great force, and we shudder to +think that any one wearing the form of humanity could so far debase +the mind as to turn a helpless woman and dying child from a shelter +because she had not the means of paying her debt. In so doing, Mr. +Elder has displayed the spirit of the extortioner, and must feel all +the stings of conscience which haunt the mind of a murderer, should +his heart be not too much hardened already. He has acted a worse part +than a murderer, for the assassin kills his victim through revenge, or +at the worst, for pay. Here, Mr. Elder--a possessor of wealth and not +needing the money--turns a tenant from his roof because she is +penniless. I say nothing against him for doing so, for it was an +indisputable right of his, but when we view the brutality of the +act--when we think of the hardness of the heart that could not +commiserate with the situation of Mrs. Wentworth--that was deaf to the +appeals of a mother--blind to the illness of her child--the soul +sickens with horror at the knowledge that a mortal so debased--so +utterly devoid of the instincts of humanity which govern a +brute--should exist on the earth. But the mask of religion is now torn +from his face, and we see his own lineaments. Henceforth the scorn of +all generous, minds will he receive, and turned from the respectable +position he once held, must reflect on the inevitable exposure of the +hypocrite some day, sooner or later. I shall leave him to the scorn +and indignation of all good men. From them he will receive that +punishment which his brutality, caused from his extorting spirit, +deserves. + +"And for Mr. Swartz, the accuser of this lady, I can see but little in +extenuation of his conduct. If his business is even illegitimate, +there are so many speculators in the South that it should not cause +surprise that his refusal to aid this woman necessitated her taking +his money. The speculator cannot be expected to have a heart tender +enough to perform a charitable act. The man who will speculate on the +necessities of the people, is not likely to feed the hungry. It is too +true that many good men have been drawn into the vortex of +speculation, but these are few in number and are isolated cases. + +"Mr. Swartz has been among us long enough to imbibe the spirit and +sentiments of our people, but from his action towards this lady, he +does not seem to have profited by their example. A foreigner by birth, +he has cast a stigma on his nation, for, with all their faults, I do +not believe there is a more charitable people than the German. I have +found it so, in many years of familiar intercourse with them. But his +last act is the one deserving unqualified condemnation. To tear a +mother from the bedside of her dead child--to incarcerate her in a +prison, while the hands of strangers were performing the last sad +rites over the dead, is an act that Christianity could never believe, +were the evidence not before us, too forcible for denial, too truthful +for contradiction. It is an act that calls for withering rebuke, but +we dismiss him with the belief that on the coming of that inevitable +_Hereafter_, he will receive the punishment he so well merits. + +"My remarks are now concluded, and the prisoner is discharged from +custody." + +There was deep silence for several minutes, during which Harry looked +anxiously in the crowd for his friend; but Alfred was nowhere to be +seen. Mrs. Wentworth retained her passive look of indifference, and +took no further notice of the curious crowd, which gazed upon her with +hearts full of pity and commiseration. Once or twice she slowly raised +her hand and pressed her forehead with it, as if it ached. But she +spoke no word of complaint, nor did she give any other indication of +suffering. + +Harry was about to remove her from the court, when there was a bustle +in the crowd, and the voice of Alfred was heard calling on those +around him to give way. He was followed by Awtry, perfectly +unconscious of the cause of his companions agitation. + +"Make room there, for God's sake," asked Alfred, pressing through the +dense mass of men and women. "Follow me," he continued, speaking to +Awtry. + +The men nearest to him, perceiving his excitement, generally surmised +the truth, and a low murmur ran through the room that it was the +prisoner's husband, and a passage was quickly made to where Mrs. +Wentworth was sitting. + +Awtry heard the words, "it is her husband," and turned back with the +intention of leaving, but his arm was quickly seized by Alfred, who, +still concealing his intention, simply said, "Come on; I will find a +passage for us." He hesitated an instant, but, believing his +appearance sufficiently disguised to prevent Mrs. Wentworth from +recognizing him, he determined to risk proceeding, in the hope of +escaping discovery. + +At last Alfred was by the side of his wife--the soldier had met her he +loved for the first time in nearly two years. Silently and sadly he +gazed at her changed appearance, and the briny tears slowly trickled +down the soldier's cheeks as he noted her sunken features. At last he +spoke. + +"Eva!" he said, in a voice that trembled with emotion, "my wife! my +darling wife! do you not know me?" + +His voice, full of love, sounded in her ear like the sweetest music +ever played by the angels of God. At the sound of her name she turned +round and looked anxiously in his face--a moment more, and he had +scarcely finished speaking, before she had thrown herself in his arms. + +"Alfred! my husband!" she murmured, as she pillowed her head in his +bosom, "at last--at last!" + +"Oh, Heavenly Father!" exclaimed Alfred, raising her head and gazing +fondly at the wan and emaciated features of his wife "_is this_ all I +find?" + +His words were those of anguish, wrung out from a tortured heart. It +was not so he expected to meet his wife. + +"Rise, darling," he continued, "rise, and let us leave this place--let +us go where friends are." She rose up, and leaning on his arm, moved +off, when he suddenly confronted Awtry, who had stood with anxious and +palpitating heart for the closing of the scene. "Stay awhile, +dearest," Alfred went on, as soon as he perceived Awtry, "Look at this +man--do you know him?" + +Mrs. Wentworth looked at him for some time, but failed to recognize +Awtry. "I do not know him," she said, shaking her head. + +"This is very strange conduct on your part, Mr. Wentworth," said Awtry, +believing himself safe. + +"Ha!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, "it is his voice. It is Awtry--there +he is--I know him now," and she fainted in her husband's arms. + +"Seize that man!" thundered Harry, who was standing near Alfred, "he +is a spy." + +In an instant, Awtry was secured and hurried of to prison. Mrs. +Wentworth was conducted by Harry and her husband to Dr. Humphries', +where we leave them for awhile. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-NINTH. + +THE EYE OF GOD--THE MANIAC WIFE. + + +Pardon us, kind reader, for digressing for awhile from the sad tale it +has been our lot to give you, to remark on the strange fancies which +govern the minds of a large majority. So inscrutable do the works of +the Almighty appear, that we believe all the ills of this world are +evoked by Him for some good end. In a measure this is correct. When +sinful mortals are burdened with sorrow and affliction, we can +recognize in them the chastening hand of God, for under such weight of +suffering the soul is apt to pass through purified of the blackness +and corruption which darkened and rendered it odious to the good. Here +we see the benefits accruing from trouble and distress. We behold the +sinner being punished for his transgression, and to the righteous and +good, these afflictions are welcomed as the saving of one more soul +from the grasp of hell. But how is it when the innocent suffer? It is +not the work of the Eternal. High up in the celestial realms, His eyes +are turned towards earth to punish the guilty and reward the innocent, +and in His works we find no instance where the hands of adversity and +suffering have fallen upon those who deserved reward. Where the +guiltless are found suffering, He relieves their necessities, and +brings them once more that happiness which they deserve on earth. + +Why shall it be always said that when a home of happiness is in an +instant hurled from the summit of earthly felicity and buried in the +dark gulf of adversity, that such is the work of God? If that home is +contaminated by grievous sins, there is justice in the claim, but +where the transgressions are not heavier than those good men commit, +it cannot be, for the God who reigns above seeks to build up, and not +to destroy, unless there is no other way of punishing the sinner but +by the infliction of the heaviest penalties. We have painted a +soldier's wife, if not free from sin, at least innocent of crimes +which are calculated to bear upon the conscience and cause remorse or +fear; we have pictured her two children, pure and unsinful, for it +cannot be said that mortal can sin in infancy. We have shown them +plunged in direst misfortunes, and is there not force in the question +when we ask if their months of penury and suffering were the works of +the God of Mercy and Righteousness? + +It cannot be. The innocent do not suffer by the hands of God, while +the guilty revel in all the wealth and affluence that this earth +bestows. How many men are there who live in ease and comfort, while +their souls are burdened with sins? The hypocrite, the liar, the +thief, the murderer; all, and by hundreds they can be counted, appear +to the world + + "A combination and a form, indeed, + Where every god did seem to set his seal," + +but in whose souls the fires of hell rage with remorseless fury. But +their afflictions are not known to man. The eyes of the world gaze not +on them, when the mind is racked by the conflict of sin. We see not +their sufferings; we know not the pangs they feel; we only recognize +them by the outward appearance. They live, surrounded with all that +can make mortal happy, save the happiness of a clear conscience. In +this world they prosper, and many gain the applause and commendation +of their fellow mortals. What are their sufferings? They are unknown +to man, though remembered by God. And if punishment comes at last, it +is just and merited, nor do we regret that sin is scourged by the +avenging hand of a Savior. + +But while we witness the guilty revelling in wealth and affluence, how +often are the innocent plunged in want? Aye, myriads of times. We know +not of them, but over the land there are hundreds of our fellow +mortals whose days are but a repetition of suffering. Famine and +sickness have stalked in the midst of hundreds who are innocent of +crime, and reduced them to the last brink of despair. Is this the work +of God? Forbid it, Heaven! that the charge should be made. There is no +ground on which to assert that the Ruler of the Universe--the God of +Righteousness--the Lord of Mercy, would thrust the innocent into +woe--would blast their earthly prospects--would dash the cup of +happiness from their lips, and leave them to perish through Famine and +Disease--while men steeped in crime, whose consciences, if read, would +show an appalling blackness of guilt--while they, we say, escaped from +earthly punishment and enjoyed all the good of this world! On Earth, +as in Heaven and Hell, man is divided into two bodies, Angels and +Fiends. Both are known to the Almighty, and it is only when His eyes +are turned from the good that Fiends triumph. Only then--it is not His +work--it cannot and can never be. + +And now, kind reader, you may think that the writer is either a +lunatic or a madman to advance a doctrine which claims that God--the +Infinite--the Everlasting--the Omnipotent--the Inscrutable, would turn +awhile from the good and survey them not--allow them to suffer. We are +neither the one nor the other. Perchance our doctrine is a mere +vagary; still, as we glance over our country and see the scenes daily +enacted, we cannot believe they are the work of an Almighty Father. +When our maidens are ravished by the hated foe and despoiled of that +Virtue held sacred in Heaven, is it the work of God? When the creeping +babe is immolated by the savages of the North, is it a dispensation of +Providence? When the homesteads of the people are given to the flames +and the cursed army of Abolitionists exult at their demolition, does +the hand of our Heavenly Father direct the work of destruction? When +our temples are profaned by the bacchanalian orgies of the Northern +hordes, does the Infinite invite them to desecrate His altars? They +are not His works--they never were. These acts which the Christian +world shudders at, are the machinations and promptings of Hell, and +the Fiends who dwell therein triumph for awhile where the Eye of God +is not. + +But the Eye of God is not always turned away from His suffering +people. The cry of the wretched is borne to His ear by the angels, and +Mercy, Charity and Goodness descend to Earth and sweep away the +incarnate spirits infesting it. In this we behold the Greatness and +Righteousness of God, for though He may see not our hardships for +awhile, the cry of the Innocent will ascend to Heaven; their +sufferings will be obliterated, and if even on earth they gain not +happiness, in those realms where sinless Angels abide, all past woes, +all past years of want, all former wretchedness, are removed and +forgotten, in an eternity of peace and celestial felicity. + +And so it was with the soldier's wife whose sad trials we are +narrating to the reader. The spirit of the angel daughter had winged +its flight to the Savior, and the little invisible hand pointed to its +mother on earth below, and the Son of God supplicated the Father to +relieve the miseries of the innocent. We have shown how this was done. +The good of earth was the medium of salvation, and her trials are at +an end. + +Yes, they are at an end! But with them, when she fell fainting in her +husband's arms on recognizing Awtry, the light of reason expired, and +the soldier's wife was a maniac. + +They bore her gently to the residence of Dr. Humphries, and there all +that medical science could perform was done, and every attention was +lavished upon her. But it was of no avail; madness had seized the mind +of Mrs. Wentworth, and the doctor shook his head sadly as he gazed +upon her. Days passed on, and still she continued in this state. + +"I fear she will only recover her reason to die," observed Dr. +Humphries to Harry. "Could her constitution sustain the frenzied +excitement she now labors under, I would have some hope, but the +months of wretchedness she has passed through, has so weakened her +frame that nothing remains but a wreck of what was once a healthy +woman." + +"This is bad news," remarked Harry, "and I fear it will have a sad +effect upon Alfred. I have been overcome with sympathy at observing +his silent grief at the bedside of his raving wife, and several times +I have heard him mutter, 'never mind, my darling, you will soon +recover, and then we will be happy.' Unfortunate man! Could there be +the slightest possibility of saving his wife, I am certain you would +not despair." + +"I do not yet despair," replied the doctor, "although I fear very much +her case is hopeless. I have sent for Dr. Mallard and Dr. Purtell; +when they have seen Mrs. Wentworth, we will have a consultation, and I +trust some good will accrue from it. By the way," he continued, +changing the conversation, "have you heard what has become of the +supposed spy arrested in the court house?" + +"I heard on yesterday that his trunks had been searched, but nothing +had been discovered in them, beyond the fact that he was Mr. Awtry, +and not an Englishman, as he pretended to be." + +"Have they discharged him?" inquired the doctor. + +"Oh no;" Harry replied, "the fact of his assuming a false character +was deemed sufficient evidence to keep him in prison until further +discoveries are made." + +"It is very likely, then, that he will eventually pay the penalty of +his crimes," observed the doctor. + +"Yes; and I trust it will not be long before he suffers death," Harry +answered, and then added: "I am not bloodthirsty, nor do I favor the +hoisting of the black flag, as so many appear desirous of doing. But +for a wretch like Awtry, I have not the slightest pity, and would hear +of his execution with pleasure. If even there is no proof discovered +of his being a spy, his brutality to Mrs. Wentworth merits punishment, +and if only for that, I should desire to see him hung or shot. +However, I have no fear but that the fact of his being a spy will be +discovered, for several of the most expert detectives in the service +are on the search for the necessary evidence to convict him." + +"And which evidence I trust they will soon discover," remarked the +doctor. "Like you, I am averse to a war of extermination, but when +instances like the one before us are brought to our notice, an +outraged and indignant people demand satisfaction and should have it +accorded to them." + +"Ah! my dear sir," replied Harry, "while Awtry's outrage on Mrs. +Wentworth deserves condemnation and punishment, he is not solely the +guilty cause of her sufferings. From the moment she reached our lines, +it was the duty of the people of this city to aid and succor her. Had +this been done, her daughter may have been alive this day. +Unfortunately the philanthropic and charitable were idle and waited +until such cases came to their notice. Had they looked for them, Mrs. +Wentworth never would have fallen into the hands of unprincipled +speculators and extortioners, and would have been spared the load of +affliction which has now periled her life." + +"You are right, Harry," said Dr. Humphries. "It is our duty to search +for the unfortunate poor, and not to wait until they appeal for +assistance. There are many destitute women and children in our midst +who have been driven from their once happy and prosperous homes by the +hated Yankees. Among them are many high-toned and respectable +families, whose pride shrinks from begging for bread, and who now live +a life of penury and starvation rather than become the mendicant. And +if even they bury delicacy at the mandate of stern Want, they are so +apt to be refused assistance by the heartless, that they imagine all +of our people alike, and fearing further refusal, shrink with natural +horror from a second rejection." + +"This can be prevented," observed Harry. "Let the benevolent make it a +business to find out the suffering who are worthy of assistance, and +let such aid be given, not as charity, but as a duty we owe those who +have remained faithful to our cause, and abandoned their homes rather +than submit to the enemy. By so doing, we not only alleviate +hardships, but we render the soldier happy and contented to serve his +country. The knowledge that his family is protected by those at home, +and supplied with all that is necessary, will remove from his mind all +anxiety for their welfare. It will, besides, grasp them from the +clutches of the wretches who are speculating and extorting, and will +not only be an act of everlasting honor to those who perform this good +work, but will aid our cause as much as if the parties were serving in +the field. Many a man who now lies in the deserter's dishonored grave, +would have been this day sharing the glory of his country and been +looked upon as a patriot, had not his starving wife and children +forced him in an evil hour to abandon his post and go to them. It is +true, there is no excuse for the deserter, but where the human +affections are concerned, it is but natural that the soldier will feel +solicitous for the comfort of his wife and children." + +"Something of that sort should, indeed, be done," remarked the doctor, +"and I believe there are many in our midst who would cheerfully aid in +this good work. I cannot believe that the majority of our people are +such inhuman characters as Elder and Swartz. It is true that these men +have a monopoly in our midst, so far as wealth is concerned, but it +would be wrong to blame the majority for the crimes of a few." + +"The majority, if even good and charitable, are to blame," replied +Harry, firmly, "for if they outnumber the miserable creatures whose +sole thought is to amass wealth from the sufferings of our country, it +is their duty to thwart such desires by every possible means, and it +could be done were the proper steps taken. But they have heretofore +displayed an indifference almost criminal, and appear to participate +in the unworthy prejudice against refugees. Forgetful that they may +to-morrow be similarly situated, they lend a moral, if not an active +aid, in the oppression of this unfortunate portion of our people, and +are perfectly careless whether want and misery overtake them or not. +We must not forget that these refugees are as much entitled to a home +in this as in their own State. Their husbands, fathers and brothers +are fighting to protect us from subjugation, and if we are unmindful +of the comfort of their relatives, it not only entails disgrace upon +our name, but renders us deserving of a similar fate, and worse +treatment." + +"I agree with you," said the doctor, "and so far as I am concerned, +everything that can be done for them shall be performed, and--" + +Here a knock at the door interrupted the conversation. Harry opened +it, and Drs. Mallard and Purtell were announced. + +"Good morning to you, gentlemen," said Dr. Humphries, as soon as they +entered. "I am very glad you have answered my call so promptly. The +case I desire you to see is one of great seriousness, but I withhold +any opinion until you have seen the patient and expressed your ideas +about it." + +"I Suppose it is the lady who was accused of theft," said Dr. Mallard. + +"Yes sir," answered Harry, "it is the same person." + +"I observed her features very attentively during the trial," remarked +Dr. Mallard, "and so convinced was I that she would soon be insane, +that I determined, in the event of her being found guilty, to have her +released and placed under my care on that plea. Is she raving?" he +added inquiringly of Dr. Humphries. + +"Yes," replied that gentleman, "but in her ravings she makes no +allusion whatever to her wretched life of the past few months. She +fancies herself at home in New Orleans again, and as all was then +happiness with her, so does everything appear to her mind the reflex +of her past days." + +"We had better see her now," said Dr. Purtell, "for the sooner +something is done towards restoring her reason the better." + +"Certainly," answered Dr. Humphries, "walk this way," he continued, +leading them toward Mrs. Wentworth's chamber. + +At the door he was met by Emma, who had been watching by the bedside +of the maniac all the morning. + +"Walk easily," she whispered as the three gentlemen appeared at the +door. "She is now calmer than ever, but the slightest noise will +excite her again." + +The medical gentlemen entered the room with noiseless steps, and +remained for several minutes watching the sleeping sufferer. Her +emaciated features were flushed from excitement and her breathing was +hard and difficult. In her sleep, she softly murmured words which told +of happy years that were past and vanished forever and could never +more return. The broken sentences told of love and happiness, and a +deep feeling of sympathy stole into the breasts of her hearers as they +listened to her ravings. Alfred was sitting by the bed looking on the +wreck of his wife, and when the doctors entered, he arose and briefly +saluted them. To their words of condolence he made no reply, for his +heart was bitter with grief, and he felt that consolatory language was +a mockery, and however well meant and sincere it may have been, it +could not relieve the agony he felt at witnessing the destruction of +his family's happiness. Oh, let those alone who have felt the burning +of the heart when it was wrung with agony, appreciate the misery of +men struck down from the pedestal of earthly joy and buried in the +gulf of wretchedness. We have known homes where the heart beat high +with joy, and life promised to be a future of happiness and peace; +where the fairest flowers of affection seemed to bloom for us, and +over our pathway floated its perfume, while before our sight, its +loveliness remained undiminished until that fatal delusion, Hope, +intoxicated the senses and made us oblivions to reality. A brief +spell--a charm of short duration, and the hallucination is dispelled, +only to leave us seared and blasted, almost hating mankind, and +wearing the mask of the hypocrite, leading a double life, to hide the +sears left by unsuccessful ambition, or disappointed aspiration. What +were death itself compared with the misery of finding, when too late, +that the hopes and happiness we deemed reality, were but a shadow, not +a substance, which lingered for awhile and Left us to curse our fate. + +And yet it is but life--one hour on the pinnacle, the other on the +ground. But to our tale. + +After remaining by the bedside for several minutes, the doctors were +about to leave, when Mrs. Wentworth awoke from her sleep, and gazed +with an unmeaning look upon the gentlemen. She recognized no one--not +even her husband, who never left her, save when nature imperatively +demanded repose. + +The doctors requested that Alfred and Emma would retire while they +examined the patient. In accordance with their wishes, they did so, +and Alfred, entering the balcony, paced up and down, impatient for the +result of the consultation. The door of Mrs. Wentworth's chamber +remained closed for nearly half an hour, when it opened, and Drs. +Humphries, Mallard and Purtell issued from it, looking grave and sad. + +The heart of the husband sank as he looked at their features. + +"Let me know the worst," he said, huskily, as they approached him. + +"We will not deceive you," replied Dr. Mallard, "your wife, we fear, +will remain a maniac while her strength lasts, and then--" here he +paused. + +"And then--" replied Alfred, inquiringly. + +"We fear she will only recover her reason to die" continued Dr. +Mallard in a tone of sympathy. + +"God help, me," uttered the soldier, as he sunk on a chair and buried +his face in his hands. + +After a few more words full of sympathy and condolence the two doctors +left, and shortly after Dr. Humphries dispatched a servant to bring +the little boy from the old negro's cabin. + +"His presence may rally Mr. Wentworth," the doctor observed to Harry. +"Since the consultation he has remained in the same seat, and has +never once visited the room of his wife. Something must be done to +rouse him from his grief, otherwise it will be fatal to his health." + +"The presence of his son may be beneficial," said Harry, "but I do not +believe the child can while him away from the sorrow he has met with. +It has been a hard--a fatal blow, and has fallen with fearful effect +upon my poor friend." + +In about an hour the servant returned with the child. He had been +neatly dressed in a new suit of clothes and looked the embodiment of +childish innocence. + +Taking him by the hand Dr. Humphries led him into the balcony where +Alfred still sat with his face buried in his hands, deep in thought +and racked with grief. + +"Here," said the old gentleman, "here is your son. The living and well +claim your attention as well as those who are gone and those who +suffer." + +Alfred raised his head and gazed at the child for a moment. + +"My boy," he exclaimed at last, "you are the last link of a once happy +chain." As he spoke he pressed the child to his bosom, and the +strong-hearted soldier found relief in tears. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTIETH. + +DEATH OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. + + +The presence of his child lightened but did not remove the grief of +Alfred Wentworth. The love he bore his wife may be likened to the love +of the eagle for liberty. Cage it, and the noble bird pines away; no +longer allowed to soar on high, but fettered by man, it sickens and +dies, nor can it be tamed sufficiently to become satisfied with the +wires of a cage. So it was with the soldier. His love for his wife was +of so deep and fathomless a nature, that the knowledge of her being a +maniac, and only returning to reason to die, changed the current of +his nature, and from being a friendly and communicative man, he became +a silent and morose being. The world had lost its charms, and the +blank left in his heart, the sear upon his mind, the agony at knowing +that his wife--his pure and peerless wife, had been compelled from her +necessities to take that which was not her own, could never be filled, +never be healed and never be eased. + +A wife! We know not from experience what it means, but there is a +something, an inward voice, which tells, us that a wife is the holiest +gift of God to man. A wife! what is it? A woman to cherish and +protect, to give the heart's affection to, and to receive all the +confiding love with which her bosom is filled. The partner of your +happiness--the source of all that makes man good and binds him to +earth; the solace of woes, the sharer of joys--the gentle nurse in +sickness, and the fond companion in health. Oh! there is a something +in the name, which thrills the heart, and makes it beat with emotion +at the sound of the word. Amid the cares and pleasures of man, there +can be no higher, no worthier desire than to share his triumphs with a +wife. When Ambition tempts him to mount yet higher in this earthly +life, and take his stand among the exalted men of genius, who so +fitting to be the partner of his fame as the gentle woman of this +world, and when disappointed in his aspirations, when the cold frowns +of a callous world drive him from the haunts of men, who so soothing +as a Wife? She will smoothen the wrinkles on his forehead, and by +words of loving cheer inspire him with courage and bid him brave the +censure and mocking of the world, and strive again to reach the summit +of his desires. A Wife! There is no word that appeals with greater +force to the heart than this. From the moment the lover becomes the +Wife, her life becomes a fountain of happiness to a husband, which +gushes out and runs down the path of Time, never to cease, until the +power of the Invisible demands and the Angel of Death removes her from +his side. Age meets them hand in hand, and still imbued with a +reciprocity of affection, her children are taught a lesson from +herself which makes the Wife, from generation to generation, the same +medium of admiration for the world, the same object of our adoration +and homage. We write these lines with homage and respect for the Wife, +and with an undefined emotion in our hearts, which tells us they are +correct, and that the value of a Wife is all the imagination can +depict and the pen indite. + +And to lose one! Oh! what sorrow it must awaken--how the fountains of +grief must fill to overflowing, when the companion of your life is +torn from you by the hand of Death! No wonder, then, that the heart of +Alfred Wentworth bled with woe, and he became a changed man. What +cared he longer for this world? Almost nothing! But one thing urged +him to rally his energies and meet the blow with fortitude whenever it +should come. It was the knowledge that his little boy would need a +father's care. This made him not quite oblivious to this world, for +though his life would be in the front, so soon as he returned to the +battle-field, there were chances for his escaping death, and his +desire was to live, so that the child might grow up and remind him of +his wife. No, not remind! As fresh as the hour when love first entered +his heart for her--as plain as the day he led her to the altar and +registered his vows to Heaven--and as pure as herself, would his +memory ever be for her. Time can soothe woes, obliterate the scars +left by grief, but the memory of a dead wife can never be extinguished +in the mind of a husband, even though her place in his heart may be +filled by another. She must ever be recollected by him, and each hour +he thinks of her, so will her virtues shine brighter and more +transparent, and her faults, if any, become forgotten, as they were +forgiven. But we weary the reader with these digressions, and will +proceed to close our narrative. + +Three additional weeks passed, and still Mrs. Wentworth remained +insane, but her insanity being of a gentle character, Dr. Humphries +would not permit her to be sent to the lunatic asylum, as her husband +advised. It is true, he desired it more for the purpose of avoiding +being the recipient of any further favors, than because he thought it +necessary. This morbid sensitiveness shrank from being obligated to a +comparative stranger like the doctor, and it was not until the old +gentleman absolutely refused to permit Mrs. Wentworth to leave the +house, that he yielded his assent to her remaining. + +"As you insist upon it," he remarked, "I make no further opposition to +her remaining, but I think it an imposition on your benevolence that +your home shall be made gloomy by my wife being in it." + +"Not in the least gloomy, sir," replied the doctor, "nor do I think it +the slightest imposition upon my benevolence. Were it only to repay +the debt Harry owes you for the preservation of his life, I should +insist upon her not being removed. But I deem it a duty we owe to our +suffering fellow mortals, and as long as she remains in her present +state, so long will she be an inmate of my house, and everything that +can lighten and ameliorate her unhappy condition shall be deemed a +pleasant business to perform." + +"I do not doubt it, sir," said Alfred, grasping the doctor's hand and +shaking it heartily, "believe me, the attention of your daughter, +Harry and yourself, has been the oasis in my present desert of life, +and though in a few short weeks I expect all will be over, and she +will no longer need your care, the memory of your kindness in these +gloomy times of sorrow, shall ever remain unfading in memory, and +shall always be spoken of and thought of with the greatest gratitude." + +"No gratitude is necessary," answered the doctor as he returned the +pressure of Alfred Wentworth's hand, "I consider myself performing a +sacred duty, both to God and to humanity, and no gratitude is needed +for the faithful performance of the same." + +"No, no sir," interrupted Alfred, hastily, "it is no duty, and cannot +be looked upon as such--at least by me." + +"Well, well," remarked the doctor, "we will not argue about that. I +only wish it were in my power to do more by giving you assurance that +your wife will recover, but I fear very much she never can." + +"How long do you suppose she will linger?" asked Alfred sadly. + +"I cannot tell," replied the doctor, "Her strength has been failing +very rapidly for the past week, and I do not think she can last much +longer." + +"Could nothing be done to keep her alive, if even it were as a +maniac?" he inquired, and then added, and as he spoke, repressing the +emotion he felt, "Could she but live, it would be some solace to me, +for then I should have her with me, and by procuring a position in +some of the departments, be enabled to remain with her; but the idea +of her dying--it is that which saddens me and almost makes me curse +the hour I left her. My poor, darling wife!" + +The last words were uttered as if he were speaking to himself, and the +tone of sorrow in which he spoke touched Dr. Humphries deeply. + +"Bear with fortitude the dispensations of a Divine Providence," said +the old gentleman. "If He has willed that your wife shall die, you +must bow humbly to the decree. Time will assuage your grief and remove +from your mind, this sad--too sad fate that has befallen her." + +"If you think that time can assuage my grief," replied Alfred, "you +greatly underrate the strength of my affection. When a mere stripling, +I first met my wife, and from that hour all the affection I possessed +was hers. Each day it grew stronger, and at the time I left New +Orleans with my regiment, the love I bore my wife, and for her, my +children, could not have been bartered for the wealth of California. +She was to me a dearer object than all else on earth, and more--" + +He could speak no longer, so overcome was he with emotion. Once more +wringing the doctor's hand, he left the room and entered the chamber +of his wife. + +"Unhappy man," exclaimed the doctor, when he was alone, "his is, +indeed, a bitter grief, and one not easily obliterated." + +With these words the kind-hearted old gentleman retired to his study, +greatly moved at the misfortunes of the family he had been brought in +contact with. + +The furloughs granted to Alfred and Harry had been renewed on the +expiration of the time they had been granted for, but on the +representation of Dr. Humphries, had been renewed. At the time the +above conversation took place, they were again nearly expired and +Harry determined to appeal to the government once more for a second +renewal. Accordingly he took the cars for Richmond and obtaining an +interview with the Secretary of War, he represented the condition of +Mrs. Wentworth, and exhibited the certificates of several doctors that +she could not survive two months longer. For himself, he requested a +further renewal of his furlough on the ground of his approaching +marriage. With that kindness and consideration which distinguished +Gen. Randolph, his applications were granted, and leaves of absence +for Alfred and himself for sixty days longer were cordially granted. + +With the furloughs, he arrived from Richmond the same evening that the +conversation related above took place between the doctor and Alfred, +and on the return of his friend from his wife's chamber, he presented +him with his leave. + +"You are indeed a friend," remarked Alfred, "and I can never +sufficiently repay the kindness you have shown me. But before this +furlough expires I do not suppose I shall have any wife to be with." + +"Why do you speak so?" inquired Harry. + +"She cannot last much longer," he replied. "Although unwillingly and +with sorrow I am compelled to acknowledge that every day she sinks +lower, and to-day her appearance denotes approaching dissolution too +plain, even for me to persuade myself that such is not the case." + +"I cannot tell you I hope you are mistaken," observed his friend, "for +I feel that such language can never lighten nor remove your sorrow. +But be assured that I deeply sympathize with you in your affliction." + +"I know it," he answered. "Would to heaven all in the South were like +you. It might have been different with my poor wife, and my angel girl +might have been alive this day. However, it was not their duty to +succor and protect my family, and I have no right to complain because +they lent her no helping hand. I alone must bear the weight of my +affliction, and from the misery it causes me, I devoutly trust none of +my comrades may ever know it. Here your betrothed comes," he +continued, observing Emma at the door. "I will leave you for the +present, as I suppose you wish to speak with her and I desire to be +alone for awhile." + +"Do not let her presence hasten your departure," said Harry. "She will +be as happy in my company while you are here, as if no third person +was present." + +Alfred smiled faintly as he replied: "Her presence alone does not +impel me to leave, but I desire to be alone for a time. My mind is +very much unsettled, and a few moments of solitary thought will +restore it to its wonted quietude." + +Rising from his seat, he bade Harry adieu, and bowing to Emma, who +entered at the moment, left the house and bent his steps toward his +lodgings. Dr. Humphries had invited him to be a guest at his house, +but he politely but firmly declined the invitation, at the same time +his days were spent there with his wife, and it was only in the +evening he left, to take a few moments of rest. From the time he +discovered his wife, and she was carried to Dr. Humphries' residence, +he had never been to any other place than the doctor's or his +lodgings. + +Four days after Harry's return, he was seated with Emma in the parlor +conversing on the subject of his marriage, which the fair girl desired +put off until after Mrs. Wentworth's death, which her father told her +could not be postponed many weeks. Her lover endeavored to combat her +resolution, by declaring that while Alfred would always get a furlough +if his wife was still alive at the expiration of its time, he could +neither ask nor expect to obtain any further extension. They were in +the midst of a warm discussion, when Dr. Humphries entered. He had +just come from Mrs. Wentworth's room, and appeared exceedingly sad. + +"How is Mrs. Wentworth this morning, father?" inquired Emma, as the +doctor entered, and observing his mournful expression, she added, +"What is the matter." + +"Mrs. Wentworth has recovered her reason, and is dying," he replied. + +"Poor Alfred," observed Harry, "this hour will not take him by +surprise, but it cannot fail to add to his grief." + +"Has he been here this morning," asked the doctor. + +"Not yet," answered Harry, "but," he continued, looking at his watch, +"he will soon be here, for it is now his usual hour of coming." + +"I trust he will not delay," said Dr. Humphries "for his wife cannot +last three hours longer." + +"In that event, I had better go and look for him," Harry observed "he +never leaves his lodgings except to come here, and there will be no +difficulty in finding him." + +Rising from his seat, he took up his hat and departed for his friend. +Before he had gone two squares he met Alfred, and without saying +anything to him, retraced his steps to the doctor's window. + +"My friend" said Doctor Humphries as Alfred entered, "the hour has +come, when you must summon all your fortitude and hear with +resignation the stern decree of the Almighty. Your wife is perfectly +sane this morning but she is dying. On entering her chamber a while +ago, I found her quite composed and perfectly sensible of the life she +had passed through. Though she did not recognize me, an intuitive +knowledge of who I was, possessed her, and her first request was that +you should be sent to her. Your little boy is now with her and she +awaits your arrival." + +Taking Alfred by the hand and followed by Harry, the doctor led the +way to the chamber of the dying wife. The child was sitting on the bed +with his mothers arms around his neck. Emma, Elsie, and the old negro +were standing at the bedside looking sorrowfully at Mrs. Wentworth. As +soon as her husband entered, they made way for him to approach. + +"Alfred, my husband" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, extending her arms, "I +am so glad you have come that I can see you once more before I die." + +"Eva, my heart strings are torn with agony to see you thus" he replied +raising her gently and pillowing his head on her bosom, "Oh! my wife, +that this should be the end of all my hopes. What consolation is there +left to me on earth when you are gone." + +"Speak not so despairingly" she answered, "It were better that I +should die than live with a burning conscience. My husband, the act +for which I have been tried, still haunts me, for here on earth it +will ever be a reproach, while in Heaven, the sin I committed will be +forgiven through the intercession of a divine Savior." + +"Perish the remembrance of that act!" answered her husband. "To me my +darling wife it can make no difference, for I regret only the +necessity which impelled you to do it, and not the act. Live, oh my +wife, live and your fair fame shall never suffer, while your husband +is able to shield you from the reproaches of the world. Though the +proud may affect to scorn you, those in whose hearts beats a single +touch of generosity will forgive and forget it, and if even they do +not, in the happiness of my unfaltering affections, the opinions of +the world, can be easily disregarded." + +"It cannot be" she answered, "I am dying Alfred, and before many +hours, the spirit will be resting in heaven. To have you by my side +ere my breath leaves my body, to grasp your hand, and gaze on your +loved features ere I die, removes all my unhappiness of the weary +months now past, and I leave this world content." + +"Oh my wife" said Alfred, "Is this the end of our married life? Is +this the reward I reap for serving my country! Oh, had I remained in +New Orleans, the eye of the libertine would never have been cast upon +you, and you would have been saved from the grasp of the heartless +speculator and extortioner.--What is independence compared with you my +wife? What have I gained by severing the ties of love and leaving a +happy home, to struggle for the liberty of my country? A dead child--a +dying wife--a child who will now be motherless; while I will be a +wretched heart-broken man. Better, far better, had I resisted the +calls of my country, and remained with you, than to return and find my +happiness gone, and my family beggared, and tossing on the rough +billows of adversity, unheeded by the wealthy, and unfriended by all." + +"Speak not so, my husband," she answered, "my sufferings may be the +price of independence, and I meet them cheerfully. Though in my hours +of destitution, despair may have caused me to utter words of anguish, +never, for a moment, have I regretted that you left me, to struggle +for your country. If in my sufferings; if in the death of my child; if +in my death; and if in the destroying of our once happy family circle, +the cause for which you are a soldier is advanced, welcome them. Woman +can only show her devotion by suffering, and though I cannot struggle +with you on the battle-field, in suffering as I have done, I feel it +has been for our holy cause." + +"Eva, Eva," he exclaimed, "do all these give you back to me? Do they +restore my angel daughter? Do they bring me happiness? Oh, my wife, I +had hoped that old age would meet us calmly floating down the stream +of Time, surrounded by a happy family, and thanking God for the +blessings he had bestowed upon me. When I first led you to the altar, +I dreamed that our lives would be blended together for many, many +years, and though I knew that the 'Lord giveth and the Lord taketh +away,' and that at any time we may die, I never thought that the end +of our happiness would be brought about in such a way as this. You +tell me it is the price of Independence. Aye, and it is a fearful +price. When you are laid in the cold grave aside of Ella, and I am +struggling in the battle-field, what is there to inspire me with +courage, and bid me fight on until liberty is won? And when it is at +last achieved, I cannot share the joy of my comrades. I have no home +to go to, and if even I have, it is desolate. No wife is there to +welcome me, no daughter to thank me, but I must take my orphan boy by +the hand, and leading him to your grave, kneel by its side and weep +together on the sod that covers your remains." + +There was not a dry eye in the room. All wept with the husband, and +even the dying woman could not restrain the tears. + +"Alfred," she said, "do not weep. My husband, up there, in Heaven, we +will meet again, and then the desolation on earth will be more than +repaid by the pleasure of eternal joy. Let not my death cause you to +falter in your duty to the South. Promise me, my husband, that through +all changes you will ever remain steadfast and loyal to her sacred +cause. Look not on the cruelty of a few men as the work of the whole, +and remember that if even you are not made happier by the achievement +of independence, there are others you assist in making so, and other +homes which would have been as desolate as yours, but for you and your +comrades' defense. Promise me, Alfred, that so long as the war lasts, +you will never desert the South." + +"I promise," he replied. + +"There is now but one thing that gives me thought," she continued, her +voice growing weaker each moment, "our little boy--" + +"Shall have a home so long as I live and his father is serving his +country," interrupted Dr. Humphries. "Rest easy on that subject, +madam," he continued, "it will be a pleasure for me to take care of +the boy." + +"Then I die happy," said Mrs. Wentworth, and turning to her husband +she said with difficulty, "Farewell, my husband. Amid all my trials +and sufferings my love for you has ever been as true and pure as the +hour we married. To die in your arms, with my head on your bosom was +all I wished, and my desire is gratified. Farewell." + +Before her husband could reply her reason had vanished, and she +remained oblivious to all around her. Her eyes were closed, and the +moving of her lips alone told that she yet lived. + +"Eva! darling! Wife!" exclaimed Alfred passionately "Speak to me! oh +my angel wife, speak one word to me ere you die. Look at me! say that +you recognize me. Awake to consciousness, and let me hear the sound of +your voice once more. Wake up my wife" he continued wildly, "Oh for +another word--one look before you are no more." + +His wild and passionate words reached the ear of the dying woman, and +her voice came again, but it was the dying flicker of the expiring +lamp. She slowly opened her eyes and looked up in the face of her +husband. + +"Alfred--husband, happiness" she murmured softly, then gently drawing +down his head, her lips touched his for an instant, and the soldier's +wife embraced her husband for the last time on earth. + +Releasing his head Mrs. Wentworth kept her eyes fixed upon those of +her husband. Their glances met and told their tale of deep and +unutterable affection. The look they gave each other pierced their +souls, and lit up each heart with the fires of love. Thus they +continued for several minutes, when Mrs. Wentworth, rising on her +elbow, looked for a moment on the grief struck group around her bed. + +"Farewell," she murmured, and then gazing at her husband, her lips +moved, but her words could not be heard. + +Stooping his ear to her lips, Alfred caught their import, and the +tears coursed down his cheek. + +The words were, "My husband I die happy in your arms." + +As if an Almighty power had occasioned the metamorphosis, the +countenance of the dying woman rapidly changed, and her features bore +the same appearance they had in years gone by. A smile lingered round +her lips, and over her face was a beautiful and saint-like expression. +The husband gazed upon it, and her resemblance to what she was in days +of yore, flashed across his mind with the rapidity of lightning. But +the change did not last long, for soon she closed her eyes and +loosened her grasp on her husband's neck, while her features resumed +their wan and cheerless expression. Nothing but the smile remained, +and that looked heavenly. Alfred still supported her; he thought she +was asleep. + +"She is now in heaven," said Doctor Humphries solemnly. + +Yes, she was dead! No more could the libertine prosecute her with his +hellish passions; no more could his vile and lustful desires wreak +their vengeance on her, because of disappointment. No more could the +heartless extortioner turn her from a shelter to perish in the +streets. No more could the gardened and uncharitable speculator wring +from her the last farthing, nor could suffering and starvation tempt +her any more to commit wrong. No--she is in heaven. _There_ the +libertine is not and can never be. _There_ she will ever find a +shelter, for _there_ the extortioner rules not. There the speculator +can never dwell, and in that holy abode suffering and starvation can +never be known. An eternity of happiness was now hers. To the home of +the Father and to the dwelling of the Son, her spirit had winged its +flight, and henceforth, instead of tears, and lamentations the voice +of another angel would be heard in Paradise chanting the praises of +Jehovah. + +Yes, the eye of God was turned upon the soldiers wife, and she was +made happy. Her months of grief and misery were obliterated, and the +Almighty in his infinite goodness, had taken her to himself--had taken +her to Heaven. The spirit of the mother is with the child, and both +are now in that home, where we all hope to go. In the ear of the +soldier, two angels are whispering words of divine comfort and peace, +and as their gentle voice enter his heart, a feeling of resignation +steals over this mind, and kneeling over the dead body of his wife he +gently murmurs, + +"Thy will be done oh God!" + +Every voice is hushed, every tear is dried, and the prayer of the +soldier ascends to Heaven for strength to hear his affliction. The eye +of God is now upon him, and He can minister to the supplicant. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTY-FIRST. + +CONCLUSION. + + +The dead was buried. The hearse was followed by a large concourse of +Dr. Humphries' friends, who were brought there by the sad tale of the +trials of the Soldier's Wife. The funeral service was read, and after +the grave was closed many grouped around Alfred and offered their +condolence. He only bowed but made no reply. The body of Ella had been +previously disinterred and placed in the same grave which afterward +contained her mother, and on the coffins of his wife and child Alfred +Wentworth took a last look. When the service was over he turned away, +and accompanied by Harry returned to the dwelling of the doctor, +where, with his boy on his knees, he conversed. + +"My furlough does not expire for forty days," he observed, "but I +shall rejoin my regiment in a week from this time. The object for +which it was obtained being no longer there, it is only just that I +shall report for duty." + +"You must do no such thing," answered Harry, "I wish you to remain +until your leave expires." + +"Why?" asked Alfred, in a tone of surprise. + +"Well, the fact is," said Harry, "I will be married in thirty days, +and it is my urgent desire that you shall be with me on my marriage +day, as a guest, if not as a friend." + +"I can make but a poor guest," he replied. "My heart is too full of +grief to willingly join in the mirth and happiness such festivities +bring with them. You must therefore excuse me. I should indeed start +at once did I not desire to find a place to leave this child." + +"You need not trouble yourself about him," remarked Harry, "the doctor +assured your wife that he should take care of the boy, and I feel +certain he will be a father to him during your absence. Nor will I +excuse your absence at my wedding, for I do not see why you should +object if I desire it, and Emma, I know, will be very much pleased at +your presence. So offer no excuses, but prepare yourself to remain." + +"As you appear so much to desire it," he answered. "I will remain, but +I assure you I feel but little inclined for such pleasure at the +present time, particularly a wedding, which cannot fail to bring up +reminiscences of a happy day, not so long gone but that it still +remains in my memory, as fresh and vivid as when I was an actor in a +similar occasion." + +"Let not such thoughts disturb you," said Harry, "let the Past bury +the Past. Look forward only to the Future, and there you will find +objects worthy of your ambition, and if you will pursue them, they +will serve to eradicate from your mind the harrowing scene you have +just passed through. Believe me, Alfred," he continued, "it will never +do to pass your days in vain regrets at what is passed and vanished. +It serves to irritate and keep open the wounds in our lives, while it +never soothes the afflicted, nor gives us a moment of peace. Let the +present and future alone occupy your thoughts. They will give you food +for reflection, sufficient to bury all former unhappiness, and to +entail upon you a return of that earthly joy you once possessed." + +"Your remarks are correct in theory, my friend," replied Alfred, "but +they cannot be put into practice. Sooner can the Mississippi river be +drained of its waters than the inexorable Past be obliterated from the +mind of man. It must ever remain in his memory, and though at times it +may lie dormant, the slightest event will be all that is necessary to +awake it into life. The cares of the present may deprive it of active +participation in the mind; anxiety for the future may prevent the mind +of man from actively recurring to it, but it still remains indelibly +imprinted on the memory, and though a century of years should pass, +and the changes of Time render the Present opposite to the Past, the +latter can never be forgotten. Think not that coming years can render +me oblivious to my present affliction. They may make dull the agony I +now feel, and perchance I will then wear as bright a smile as I did in +years ago, but the remembrance of my wife and child will never be +blunted; no, nor shall a shade cross over my heart, and dim the +affection I had for them, while living, and for their memory now that +they are in the grave." + +Alfred was right. The words of Harry were a theory which sounds well +enough for advice, but which can never be placed into practice. The +Past! who can forget it? The Present, with its load of cares; with its +hours of happiness and prosperity; with its doubts and anxieties, is +not sufficiently powerful to extinguish remembrance of the Past. The +Future, to which we all look for the accomplishment of our +designs--the achievement of our ambitious purposes--cannot remove the +Past. Both combined are unequal to the task, and the daily life of man +proves it so. + +The Past! what a train of thought does it suggest! Aye, the Past, with +its pleasures and misfortunes. It haunts our consciences, and is ever +before our eyes. The murderer, though safely concealed from the world, +and who may have escaped punishment by man for years, still has the +Past to confront and harass his mind. Penitence and prayer may +lighten, but can never remove it. Surrounded though he be with health +and happiness, the demon of the Past will confront him ever, and make +his life wretched. Oh, what a fearful thing is that same Past, we hear +spoken of lightly by those whose lives have been along a smooth and +flowery track over the same, and unmarked by a single adversity or +crime. A single deviation from the path of honor, integrity and +virtue, and as years roll on the memory of those past hours will cause +bitter self-reproach, for it will be irremovable. So with past +happiness as it is with misery and crime. The beggar can never forget +his past joys in contemplating the present or hoping for the future, +but it must ever remain a source of never-failing regret and the +fountain of unhealable wounds. + +The Past!--but no more of it, as we write the recollection of past +happiness and prosperity, of past follies and errors rise up with +vividness, and though it is never forgotten, burns with a brighter +light than before. + +Several days after his conversation with Harry, Alfred received a +message from Dr. Humphries requesting him to meet that gentleman at +ten o'clock the same morning at his residence. Accordingly, at the +appointed hour, he presented himself to the Doctor, by whom he was +received with great cordiality and kindness. + +"I have sent for you, Mr. Wentworth," began the doctor, as soon as +Alfred was seated, "to speak with you on a subject which interests you +as well as myself. As you are aware, I promised your wife when she was +dying that your remaining child should never want a home while I +lived. This promise I now desire you to ratify by gaining your consent +to his remaining with me, at least until he is old enough not to need +the care of a lady." + +"You have placed me under many obligations already, Dr. Humphries," +replied Alfred, "and you will pardon me if I feel loath to add another +to the already long list. I have already formed a plan to place my +child in the hands of the Sisters of Charity at Charleston, by whom he +will be treated with the greatest kindness, and with but small expense +to myself. You must be aware that as a soldier my pay is very small, +while I have no opportunity of increasing my salary by engaging in any +mercantile pursuit. Such being the case, and as I could not consent to +your defraying the expenses of the child, I think it better for him to +be where I shall need only a small sum of money to pay all needed +charges. At the same time let me assure you of my sincere gratitude +for your generous offer." + +"I will not hear of your objections, my good friend," said the doctor; +"it is my desire that you allow me to adopt the boy, if only in part. +My daughter will shortly be married, as you are aware, and then I +shall be left alone. I possess ample means, and would not accept a +dollar in return for the expenses incurred for the child, while his +presence will be a source of happiness to me. Already I have formed an +attachment for him, and it will only be gratifying my sincere wish if +you will give your consent. Believe me, I do not ask it for the +purpose of laying you under any obligations, or from any charitable +motive, but from an earnest desire for him to remain with me. Let me +hope that you will give your consent." + +"I scarcely know what to say," answered Alfred, "for while I feel a +natural delicacy in giving my consent, my heart tells me that the +child will be far more comfortable than if he were at the convent." + +"Why then do you not give your consent in the same spirit the offer is +made," observed the doctor. "My dear sir," he continued, "let no false +idea of delicacy prevent you from giving your consent to that, which +cannot fail to render your child happy and comfortable." + +"I cannot give a decided answer to-day" said Alfred. "You will give me +time to consider your offer--say a week. In the meantime I have no +objection to my child remaining with you until my mind is decided upon +what course I shall pursue." + +"I suppose I must be satisfied to wait" answered doctor Humphries, +"but let me trust your decision will be a favorable one." As I +remarked before, I desire you consent, from none but the purest +motives, and I hope you will grant it. + + * * * * * + +The sad tale with which we have endeavored to entertain the reader is +over. To the writer it has been no pleasant task, but the hope that it +may prove of some service, and of some interest to the public has +cheered us in our work, and disposed us to endure its unpleasantness. +Apart from the dearth of literary productions in the South, we have +believed that a necessity existed for a work of this nature, and with +such belief we have given the foregoing pages to the people, in the +hope that it may prove, not merely a novel to be read, criticised and +laid aside, but to be thought over, and its truth examined, in the +daily lives of hundreds in our midst. It is true, that with the +license of all writers we may have embellished misery _as a whole_ to +a greater extent than reality, but if it is taken to pieces no +exaggeration will be discovered, and each picture drawn herein will be +found as truthful as our pen has depicted. + +As the reader may desire to know what become of the principal +characters remaining, we anticipated their desire, by making enquiry, +and learned the following facts, which we give to make this work as +complete as possible. + +Thirty days after the burial of Mrs. Wentworth, a large assemblage of +gaily dressed ladies and gentlemen assembled at the residence of +doctor Humphries to witness the marriage of Emma. The party was a +brilliant one; the impressive ceremony of the Episcopal church was +read, and Harry Shackleford was the husband of Emma Humphries. The +usual amount of embracing and congratulation occurred on the occasion, +after which the party adjourned to the dining room, where a sumptuous +supper had been prepared, and which was partaken of by the guests with +many compliments to the fair bride and bridegroom, while many toasts +were offered and drank, wishing long life, health and prosperity to +the young couple. The party lasted to a late hour in the night, when +the guests dispersed, all present having spent their hours in gaiety +and happiness. + +No, not all, for apart from the throng, while the marriage ceremony +was being read, was one who looked on the scene with a sad heart. Clad +in deep mourning, and holding his child, by the hand, Alfred Wentworth +standing aloof from the crowd saw Emma and his friend united as man +and wife with deep emotion. It had been only a few years before, that +he led his wife to the altar and the reminiscences of the present +awoke, and stirred his grief, and brought back upon him, with the +greatest force, his sad bereavement. A tear started to his eyes, as he +thought of his present unhappiness, and he turned aside, to hide his +emotion from the crowd. Dashing the tear away, he offered his +congratulation and good wishes to the newly married couple, as he +thought, with calmness, but the quiver of his lips as he spoke, did +not pass unperceived by Harry, and as he clasped the extended hand of +his friend, a feeling of sympathy, which he could afford even in his +happiness, crept over him. + +Shortly after his marriage, Harry returned to his command, and is now +the Lieutenant Colonel of his regiment, having been promoted to that +honorable position for gallantry exhibited on many battle fields. When +last we heard of him he was on furlough, and with his wife in Alabama, +where they now reside, he having removed to that State a short time +previous to the fall of Vicksburg. So far, his wedded life has been +one of unalloyed happiness, and we can only wish that it may continue +so, through many long years. To his wife, though she has not been a +very prominent character in this book, we tender our best wishes for +the continuance of that happiness she now enjoys, and trust the day +will soon arrive when her husband will have no farther need to peril +his life in defence of his country, but turning his sword into a +plough, be enabled to live always with her, and to require no more +"furloughs." + +Shortly after his daughter's marriage and removal to Alabama, Doctor +Humphries found Jackson too lonely for him to reside at. He therefore, +removed into the same State, where he possessed a plantation, and is +now residing there, beloved and respected by all who know him. The +unfortunate life of Mrs. Wentworth, and the sad fate of herself and +the little Ella, did not fail to make him actively alive to the duties +of the wealthy towards those who were driven from their homes by the +enemy, and compelled to seek refuge in the States held by the +Confederate government. Every time a refugee arrived at his locality +he visits the unfortunate family with a view to finding out the state +of their circumstances. If he discovers they are in need, relief is +immediately granted, and the parties placed above want. By his energy +and perseverance he has succeeded in forming a society for the relief +of all refugees coming into the country, and as President of the same, +has infused a spirit of benevolence in the members, which promises to +become a blessing to themselves as well as to the wretched exiles who +are in their midst. + +The little Alfred is still with the Doctor, and is a source of much +pleasure to the old gentleman. It was only after the greatest +persuasions possible that his father consented to his remaining, but +being overcome by the argument of the Doctor and Harry as well as the +solicitations of Emma, he at last gave his consent, feeling at the +same time that his boy would be happier and fare more comfortable than +with the Sisters of Mercy, who, from their austere and religious life, +are ill suited to rear an infant of such tender years. The boy is +happy and can every evening be seen setting on the knees of Doctor +Humphries, who he calls "grandfather" and indulging in innocent +prattle. He has not yet forgotten his mother and sister, and very +often he enquires of the Doctor if they will not come back to him at +some future time. On these occasions the old gentleman shakes his +head, and tells him that they are gone to heaven where he will meet +them at some future time, if he behaves like a good boy. Enjoying good +health and perfectly happy, although anxious for the termination of +the war, and the achievement of our independence, we leave this worthy +gentleman, with the hope that he may long live to receive the +blessings and thanks of those who are daily benefited by his +philanthropic benevolence. + +The good old negro and Elsie accompanied the Doctor to Alabama, and +are now residing on the Doctor's plantation. The old woman still +resides in a cabin by herself, for no amount of persuasion could +induce her to stay at the residence, but every day she may be seen +hobbling to the house with some present for the little Alfred. The +clothes which little Ella died in, and the remainder of the wedding +gown, are kept sacredly by her, and often she narrates, to a group of +open-mouthed negro children, the sad tale of the soldier's wife, +embellishing, as a matter of course, the part she had in the eventful +drama. Her kindness to Mrs. Wentworth and Ella, was not forgotten by +the soldier, and before he left for the army, she received a +substantial reward as a token of his gratitude. She often speaks of +Ella as the little angel who "was not feared to die, case she was a +angel on earf." + +Notwithstanding he had yielded to so many offers of the Doctor, Alfred +would not consent to receive Elsa from him, unless he paid back the +sum of money given for the girl. This he could not do at the time, and +it was decided that she should remain as the slave of Doctor +Humphries, until he could refund the amount. She is now serving +exclusively as the nurse of the little boy, and is as happy and +contented as any slave in the South. Her attachment to the child +increases daily, and nothing in the world could induce her to forego +the pleasure of attending to her wants. The old negro and herself are +often together, conversing of the unfortunate family of her former +master, and their remarks teem with sympathy and abound with the +affection felt by every slave for a kind and indulgent owner. Although +of a servile race, we leave these negroes, regretting that in the +hearts of many of our white people the same generous feelings do not +exist. It is sad to think that, with all the advantages of birth, +education, and position, there should be found men of Caucasian +origin, who are below the negro in all the noble attributes of +mankind. But there are many such, and while they do not elevate the +servile race, they lower, to a considerable degree, the free born and +educated. + +Vicksburg fell on the fourth day of July, 1863, and the anniversary of +American independence was celebrated by the Yankees in a Southern city +which had cost them thousands of lives to capture. A few days after +the surrender, the enemy advanced on Jackson, and compelled General +Johnston to evacuate that city, to save his army. These are matters of +history, and are doubtless well known to the reader. After retaining +possession a short time, the Yankees retreated from the place, but not +before they had given another proof of the vandalism for which they +have been rendered infamous throughout the civilized world, by setting +the city on fire. Luckily only a portion of the town was destroyed, +and we could almost rejoice at being able to write that among the many +buildings burnt were those belonging to Mr. Elder. Did not the homes +of many good and worthy men share the same fate, we would almost +attribute the destruction of his property to the righteous indignation +of God. He lost every residence he possessed, and as the insurance +companies refused to renew, from the aspect of affairs, on the +expiration of his policies, the loss was a total one, and reduced him +to almost beggary. With a few negroes he reached Mobile and is now +living on the income their labor yields. His brutal conduct had +reached the Bay city, before the fall of Jackson, and on his arrival +there, instead of receiving the sympathy and aid of the generous +hearted people, he was coldly met and all rejoiced at his downfall. +Those, in that city, who in heart were like him, might have offered +assistance, did they not fear that such conduct would lead to +suspicion and eventuate the exposition of their enormities. His +punishment is the just reward for his iniquities, and we record almost +with regret that he is not reduced to abject beggary. Though we are +told to "return good for evil" and to "forgive our enemies," we cannot +in the case of Mr. Elder do either, but would like very much to see +the Mosaic law of "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth" put in +force, and in this wish those who are even more charitable than +ourselves will coincide. + +Swartz is now in Augusta, Georgia, living in ease and affluence, like +the majority of Southern speculators. The lesson he received from his +uncharitableness, has not benefited him in the slightest degree. He +still speculates on the wants of the poor, and is as niggardly to the +needy. Though loyal to the Confederacy, we believe his loyalty only +caused from his being the possessor of a large amount of Confederate +funds, but perhaps we judge him wrongfully. At any rate, he has never +done any act, either for the government or for individuals to merit +praise or approbation. In justice to the Germans of the South, we +would state that when his conduct towards Mrs. Wentworth became known, +they generally condemned him.--As we observed in a former chapter, +kindness and benevolence is the general trait of the Germans, and we +would not have it supposed that Swartz is a representative of that +people. The loss sustained by Mr. Swartz, by the fall of Jackson, was +comparatively insignificant, and therefore he has felt no change of +fortune. The punishment that he merits, is not yet meted to him, but +we feel certain that it will be dealt to him at the proper time. + +Further investigation and search resulted in the discovery of +sufficient evidence to convict Awtry of being a spy. When brought +before the court martial convened to try him, he displayed +considerable arrogance, and obstinately persisted in declaring himself +a British subject. With such plausibility did he defend himself, that +the court was at first very much puzzled to decide whether or not he +was a spy, for every evidence brought against the prisoner was +explained and made insignificant by his consummate skill in argument, +and it was only by the opportune arrival of a detective with the most +decided proof of his guilt, that he was condemned to death. Awtry +received the sentence of the court with haughty indifference, and was +led back to prison, to await death by hanging. On the morning of his +execution, the courage and obstinacy which had sustained him from the +day of his arrest, gave way, and to the minister who edited upon him, +he made a full confession of his having been sent to Mississippi as a +spy for Sherman, and that he had already supplied that yankee General +with valuable information of the strength and capacity of Vicksburg +for resistance. He was very much humiliated at being condemned to +death by hanging and made application for the sentence to be changed +to shooting, but the military authorities declined acceding to his +demand, and he was accordingly hanged on the branches of a tree near +Jackson. A small mound of earth in an obscure portion of the +Confederacy is all that is left to mark the remains of Horace Awtry. +The libertine and prosecutor of Mrs. Wentworth is no more, and to God +we leave him. In His hands the soul of the dead will be treated as it +deserves, and the many sins which stain and blacken it will be +punished by the Almighty as they deserve. Black as was his guilt, we +have no word of reproach for the dead. Our maledictions are for the +living alone, and then we give them only when stern necessity demands +it, and when we do, our work of duty is blended with regret, and would +be recalled were it possible, and did not the outraged imperatively +demand it. To our Savior, we leave Awtry Before the Judge of mankind +he will be arraigned for his guilty acts on earth, and the just voice +of the Father, will pronounce on him the punishment he merits. + +But one more character remains for us to notice. Three or four times +in the last twelve months a man dressed in the uniform of a Lieutenant +of the Staff, and wearing a black crape around his arm, may have been +seen with a little boy kneeling by the side of a grave in the cemetery +of Jackson, Mississippi. The grave contains two remains, but is +covered over with one large brick foundation from which ascends a pure +and stainless shaft of marble, with the following inscription on its +snowy front: + +SACRED + +TO THE MEMORY OF + +MY WIFE AND CHILD, + +EVA AND ELLA WENTWORTH. + +"Their troubles o'er, they rest in peace." + +1863. + +A.W. + +As our readers must perceive, the stranger and child, are Alfred +Wentworth and his little boy. About four months after the death of his +wife, he was appointed Inspector General of a Louisiana brigade with +the rank of first Lieutenant, and being stationed for awhile near +Jackson, paid frequent visits to the city, and never failed on such +occasions to take his son to the grave of his wife and child. There, +kneeling before the grave, the broken hearted soldier would offer up a +prayer to God for the repose of the souls of those beneath the sod. +The tears which fell on the grave on such visits, and watered the last +resting place of the loved ones were the holiest that ever flowed from +the eyes of man--they were the homage of a bereaved husband to the +memory of a pure and spotless wife, and an angel daughter. Alfred is +still alive, and has passed unharmed through many a hard fought +battle. Those who know not the tale of his family's sufferings and +unhappy fate, think him moody and unfriendly, but those who are +acquainted with the trials of the soldiers wife, regard his reserved +and silent manners with respect, for though the same sorrows may not +darken the sunshine of their lives, their instinct penetrates the +recess of the soldiers heart, and the sight of its shattered and +wrecked remains often cause a sigh of sorrow, and a tear of +commiseration. Let us trust that a merciful God in His divine wisdom, +may alleviate the poignant grief of the soldier, and restore him to +that happiness he once possessed. + +And now kind reader, we bid you a last farewell; but ere the pages of +this book are closed, let us speak a word to you, for those +unfortunates who abandon their homes on the approach of the enemy to +seek refuge in the Confederate lines. Many--alas! too many of its +citizens consider the term "refugee" synonymous with that of +"_beggar_." In this idea we err. It is true they are in many +instances, reduced to penury, but in their poverty are as different +from the mendicant as the good are from the bad. Many of these +refugees have lost their homes, their wealth--their everything to +retain their patriotism and honor. Some of them adorned the most +polished circles in their midst, and many held an enviable position in +the State of their nativity or residence. For their country, for our +country, for your country, the brave abandoned all they possessed, +preferring to live in want among the people of the South, than to +revel in luxuries in the midst of our enemies. Seek these exiles. Look +upon them as suffering Confederates, and extend the hand of friendship +and assistance to all who are in need. Let the soldier know that his +wife and children are provided for by you. It will cheer him while in +camp, it will inspire him in battle, and if he falls by the hand of +the enemy, the knowledge that those he loves will be cared for, will +lighten the pangs of Death, and he will die, happy in the thought of +falling for his country. Oh! kind reader, turn your ear to the moaning +of the soldier's wife--the cries of his children, and let your heart +throb with kindness and sympathy for their sufferings. Relieve their +wants, alleviate their pains, and earn for yourself a brighter reward +than gold or influence can purchase--the eternal gratitude of the +defenders of our liberties. + +Farewell! if a single tear of sorrow, steals unhidden down your cheek +at the perusal of this sad tale--if in your heart a single chord of +pity is touched at its recital--we shall have been fully rewarded for +the time and labor expended by us. And if at some future day you hear +of some soldier's family suffering; sympathise with their afflictions +and cheerfully aid in ameliorating their condition, by giving a single +thought of "THE TRIALS OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE." + + +FINIS. + + + + +APPENDIX + + +In presenting a work of this nature to the reader, the Author takes +the opportunity of making an apology for the errors, typographical and +otherwise, which may be found therein. The difficulties under which he +labored in procuring the publication of the book at this time, when +the principal publishers of the South are so busily engaged in +publishing works written in foreign parts, and which cost them nothing +but the expense of publication, and the procuring of them through our +blockaded ports. The book which our readers have just completed +perusing, is filled with many errors; too many, in fact, for any +literary work to contain. The excuse of the Author for these, is, that +at the time the book was in press he was with the Army of Tennessee +performing his duties, which prevented him from reading the proof +sheets and correcting all mistakes which crept in during composition. +The party on whom devolved the duty of reading the proof performed his +work as well as could be expected, for, in some instances, the errors +were the fault of the Author, and not that of the printer, who labored +under many disadvantages in deciphering the manuscript copy of the +book; the greater part of which was written on the battle-field, and +under fire of the enemy. It is thus that in the first page we find an +error of the most glaring character possible, but which might have +been the Author's, as well as the printer's omission. Thus, the Author +is made to say that the "aristocracy" of New Orleans were "well known +by that elegance and etiquette which distinguish the _parvenu_ of +society." Now the intention, as well as the words of the author, +represented the "aristocracy" in quite a different light. That line +should have read "that elegance and etiquette which distinguish _the +well-bred_ from the _parvenu_ of society, etc." Nevertheless, the +whole sense of the sentence is destroyed by the omission of the +_italicised_ words, and the reader is left to infer that the +aristocracy of New Orleans are the _parvenu_ of society; rather, we +must admit, a doubtful compliment, and quite in accordance with the +following words, which go on to speak of "the vulgar but wealthy class +of citizens with which this country is infested." Now we do not +pretend for a moment to believe that our readers would imagine that we +meant the sentence quoted in the sense it appears, and they may, +perhaps, pass it over without noticing the errors complained of; but +when such errors should not exist they become a source of much +annoyance to the author, and could they have been rectified before it +was too late, they should never have appeared in print. In fact, after +discovering that an error of so gross a nature existed in the first +pages of the book, the author would have had the entire "form" +reprinted, had not the extravagant price of paper, and its great +scarcity, precluded the possibility of such an idea being carried into +effect. The errors, therefore, remain, and for them we would claim +indulgence, although readily admitting that none is deserved. + +And now we desire to say a few words relative to the work you have +just completed reading. It may appear to you a wild and extravagant +tale of hardships and privations which existed only in the imagination +of the author. Were your supposition correct, we should rejoice, but +unfortunately, every day brings us scenes of poverty that this work +lacks in ability to portray, in sufficient force, the terrible +sufferings borne by thousands of our people. In the plenitude of our +wealth, we think not of poor, and thus we cannot tell or find out the +hundreds of poverty stricken wretches who cover the country. Our +natures may be charitable even, but we only give charity where it is +asked for, and await the coming of the mendicant before our purses are +opened. By these means alone do we judge the extent of suffering in +the land, and, not hearing of many cases of penury, or receiving many +applications for assistance, we believe that the assertions of great +want being among the people are untrue, and we purposely avoid +searching for the truth of such assertions. The design of the author, +in this little book, has been to open the eyes of the people to the +truth. If he has painted the trials of the soldiers wife more highly +colored than reality could permit, it has been because he desired to +present his argument with greater force than he could otherwise have +done; and yet, if we examine well the picture he presents; take it in +its every part, and look on each one, we will find that it does not +exaggerate a single woe. We have seen far greater scenes of +wretchedness than those narrated herein; scenes which defy +description; for their character has been so horrible that to depict +it, a pen mightier than a Bulwer's or a Scott's would be necessary. + +The tale which the reader has just finished perusing is taken from +scenes that _actually occurred_ during the present war--except, +perhaps, that part which relates the tearing of the mother from the +bedside of her dead child. In every other respect all that is narrated +in the foregoing pages are strictly true, and there are parties now in +the South, who, when they read this work, will recognize in +themselves, some of the characters represented herein. The Author +would rejoice, for the sake of humanity and civilization if the tale +he has written was only a fiction of his own imagining; but did it not +contain truths the work would never have been written. No other object +than that of calling attention to the vast misery and wretchedness +which at the present time of writing abounds in the South, prompted +the Author to pen the pages which you have perused. He has witnessed +them himself; he has seen the soldiers wife absolutely starving, and +from a slender purse has himself endeavored to relieve their +necessities. To present before the world the fact that there are +thousands in our midst who are in _absolute beggary_, has been the +object of the writer, and to call on those who are able to do so, to +aid these unfortunates, is his purpose. This book is an appeal to the +Rich in favor of the Poor. It is the voice of Humanity calling upon +Wealth to rise from her sluggish torpor and wrest the hungry and +threadbare victim from the grasp of Famine, and drive desolation from +our midst. If this call is answered; if the wealthy awake to their +duty and save the wretched beings who are in our midst, then the +Author will have gained a richer reward than all the profits accruing +from this work. He will have been more than rewarded by the knowledge +that he has been the instrument, through which charity has once more +visited the South, and swept oppression and want from our land. Such +scenes as those we daily witness were never seen, even in the mildest +form a few short years ago. Prior to the war there was scarcely a +beggar in the South, and from one end of the country to the other +could we walk without hearing the voice of the mendicant appealing to +our benevolence. How changed now! In every city of the South the +streets are filled with ragged boys and girls stopping each passer by +and asking aid. It is a disgrace to humanity and to God, and that such +things should be in our land, whose sons have exhibited such heroism +and devotion.--Many of these beggary are the sons and daughters of our +soldiers--of our honored dead and heroic living. To the soldier who +lies beneath the sod a martyr to his country's cause, their sufferings +are unknown; but if in Heaven he can witness their penury, his soul +must rest ill at peace and weep for those on earth. To the soldier, +who is still alive and struggling for our independence, the letter +that brings him news of his wife's and children's poverty must bring +him discontent, and render him unwilling to longer remain in the army +and struggle for liberty while they are starving. How many times have +not desertion taken place through this very cause. In Mississippi we +witnessed the execution of a soldier for the crime of desertion. On +the morning of his execution he informed the minister that he never +deserted until repeated letters from his wife informed him of her +wretched condition; informed him that herself and her children were +absolutely starving. He could no longer remain in the army; the +dictates of his own heart; the promptings of his affection triumphed +and in an evil hour he deserted and returned home to find her tale, +alas! too true. He was arrested, courtmartialed and _shot_. He had +forfeited his life by his desertion and bore his fate manfully; his +only fear being for the future welfare of that wife and her children +for whom he had lost his life. When he fell, pierced by the bullets of +his comrades, was there not a murder committed? There was, but not by +the men who sentenced him to death. They but performed duty, and, we +are charitable enough to suppose, performed it with regret. The +murderers were the heartless men who are scattered over the land like, +locusts, speculating on the necessities of the people, and their +aiders and abettors are those who calmly sat with folded arms, and +essayed not to aid his family. Rise, O my readers and aid the poor of +our land. Let your hearts be filled with mercy to the unfortunate. +Remember that + + "The quality of mercy is not strain'd + It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven + Upon the place beneath; it is twice blessed, + It blesseth him that gives and him that takes: + 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes + The crowned monarch better than his crown:" + +and in performing an act of charity you bless yourself as well as the +one who is benefited by such charity. + +We shall now close our remarks with the hope that the reader will +appreciate the motive which prompted the writing of this book. As will +be seen, it has no plot--it never was intended to have any. The Author +intended merely to write a simple narrative when he commenced this +work, and to place before the public in the most agreeable form of +reading, a subject of vital importance to the Confederacy, and to +impress upon the minds of the wealthy their duty to the poor. He knows +not whether he has succeeded in the latter hope, and he could have +wished that some other pen had taken up the subject and woven it into +a tale that could have had a better and more lasting effect than the +foregoing is likely to have. Nevertheless he trusts that all his labor +is not lost, but that some attention will be paid to his words and a +kinder feeling be manifested towards refugees and the poor than has +hitherto been shown. If this be done then nothing but the happiest +results can follow, and the blessings of thousands, the heartfelt +blessings of thousands on earth, will follow those who aid in the work +of charity, called for by the present emergency, and from the +celestial realms the voice of God will be heard thanking His children +on earth for their kindness to their fellow mortals. + + * * * * * + +For the publication of this work the Author has to thank the kind +proprietor of the "Atlanta Intelligencer," Col. Jared I. Whitaker. To +this gentleman is he indebted for being able to present the work to +the public, and to him does the Author extend his sincere thanks. In +Col. Whitaker the Confederacy has one son who, uncontaminated by the +vile weeds of mortality which infest us, still remains pure and +undefiled, and, not only the obligations due from the author are +hereby acknowledged, but as one who has witnessed the whole souled +charity of this gentleman, we can record of him the possession of a +heart, unswayed by a sordid motive. To this gentleman are the thanks +of the author tendered, with the wish that he may live many long years +to reap the reward due to those, who, like himself, are ever foremost +in deeds of charity and benevolence. + +END OF APPENDIX + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Trials of the Soldier's Wife, by +Alex St. Clair Abrams + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRIALS OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE *** + +***** This file should be named 17955.txt or 17955.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/9/5/17955/ + +Produced by Curtis Weyant, Sankar Viswanathan, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images produced by the Wright +American Fiction Project.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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