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.