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."