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.