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.