FROM the day that Leah first found her husband in the prison, and
observed the coarse, uninviting fare that was served to the
prisoners, she had daily prepared his food herself, and supplied it,
too, from her scanty purse. By the permission of the jailer, this
food was received twice a day from the hands of a trusty negro
woman, known to many of the prison inmates as Aunt Dinah.
On this same evening when Leah parted so sadly from her husband, she
went at once to her lodging place, and quickly prepared the tempting
evening meal. After she had gone, Emile, once more alone, crouched
down in a corner of his shadowy cell, and was lost in sorrowful
revery, till the jailer, unheeded, opened the cell-door and handed
in a basket, saying:
"Le Grande, here's a supper for a king. Cheer up, man, and eat it.
Old Dinah brought it from your wife, and she says the bread is
'perticklar fine.'"
"I want no supper to-night, jailer. But I'll keep it, for my wife's
sake."
"Old Dinah said you must eat, whether you craved food or not; said
you must eat to be strong." The jailer deposited the small basket
that contained the tempting brown buns and some cold slices of ham,
and departed.
For a moment Emile still remained crouched in his corner, and
listened to the dying footsteps of the retreating jailer; then
rousing himself, he moved forward, and lifting up the basket, said:
"For love's sake, I'll taste the bread, not from hunger. Heaven
knows when I shall feel hunger again." The daylight was nearly gone,
but enough light penetrated the dismal cell to reveal the contents
of the basket. Taking up a soft brown loaf, he turned it in his
hand, then laid it down. Again he picked it up, and said, "It is so
nice, for love's sake I'll taste it." Then he broke it gently, and
there fell into his hand from it a small piece of brown paper.
Astonished, he opened it, and read these words:
"An unknown friend wishes to help you. Meet me at midnight at the
prison gate. I'll save you. Skeleton keys and wires will enable you
to escape, Find them in the buns. As you value your life and liberty
meet me."
"What means this?" said the terrified prisoner. "Is Heaven kind at
last?" and then he curiously and cautiously opened the bread that,
sure enough, yielded up the secreted appliances for effecting his
escape. In astonishment, even terror, Emile held these unlawful
little contrivances in his hand for a time, eyeing them curiously,
and then half-fearfully tucked them away in his bosom.
"Who is this unknown friend, I wonder, that so desires my escape?"
pondered Emile, as he watched the darkening twilight as it withdrew
the last vestige of daylight from his cell. "Can it be Leah who has
done this, my own desolate Leah? Can she save me at last? She upon
whose heart I have innocently brought such sorrow and
disappointment? Alas! alas! dear heart! But should it prove some one
else, how can I leave my wife and child? What if it should prove to
be an enemy trying to betray me into further trouble? And yet I do
not fear. This dreary cell has made me tired of life, and death were
welcome if it comes in the struggle for freedom! No, I cannot stay;
I'll leave this cursed place, though I be betrayed again-leave it,
though my escape may take me heaven knows where-leave it, and hope a
brighter future is bringing me prosperity and a peaceful reunion
with those who are so dear to me. Stay I cannot, I dare not. My
tormentors are insatiable, my innocence disbelieved, my friends
gone; money I have none. I shrink from the coming ordeal. The
promise of freedom is offered me. I accept it.
"The clock is striking midnight. It is dark, very dark, little keys;
but perhaps you will not fail me. Now I leave this cursed place;
yes, leave it, I hope, to walk the earth again in freedom. Blast my
accusers!" whispered the excited prisoner as he softly applied the
mysterious, slender-looking key to the heavy lock. "Ha! how the
lock yields to this delicate spring! Softly! softly! or I may
disturb some sleeping inmate! God knows how many weary vigils are
kept in this wretched abode. I'll tread this narrow corridor no
more, I hope. Heavens! The outer bolt, too, withdraws, and God's
blue dome and bright stars are above me! I am free from these cursed
walls! Now the gate yields, too! I am free! free! Thank God, free
once more!"
As Emile emerged from the prison-gate, and it swung noiselessly back
to its place, he gazed anxiously about, and at once descried a dark,
half-bent figure of a man approaching him. His heart trembled.
"Mars' Emile," said a low voice, as the unknown figure approached
close to him, "Mars' Emile Le Grande, don't you know me? I am here
as I promised."
Affrighted at this seeming apparition, Emile shrank back, saying,
"Stand back, man or devil, whatever you may be! Who are you? What do
you want?" he continued, as the unknown figure essayed to lay hold
of his arm.
"Hush! hush! We may be overheard. Don't be afraid. I come to
befriend you. Mars' Emile, don't you know me?" said the little old
man, as he pushed back the slouched hat from his face, and peered
into Emile's eyes. "Don't you know old Peter Martinet?"
"What! old Uncle Peter, who carried the 'Courier' so long ago?" said
Emile in astonishment.
"De very same, Mars' Emile. I'se de same old darkey now dat I was
years ago, only not quite so spry. You see I'se crippled wid de
rheumatiz a little. But come along wid me, man; don't wait here any
longer; we may be found out."
"Is my wife with you?" whispered Emile eagerly.
"La, no, man; your wife knows nuffin ob dis plot. We must hurry."
And can I not see her, Peter?"
"No, man, if you wish to escape de bloodhounds dat are on your
track. You had better be quick, too."
"I must see my wife."
"Be brave, man; be brave. Why did you leave de jail, if you didn't
wish to 'scape? Come along faster."
"But where are you going?" replied Emile, as he mechanically
followed the hobbling guide.
"Here, this way, follow me. I'll tell you by'mby;" and then halting
within the shadow of a protecting building, the old man stooped to
rub the afflicted limbs, and said softly, "You see, Mars' Emile,
I'se kept my eye on you, eber since dey brought you here to jail.
I'se nebber left the Queen City, and nebber will, an' I 'tended all
de w'ile, dat you should git away, if you wanted to. I'se made plan
after plan, and dey would not work, but at last I got help from
inside, an' den I got de keys; den I knew you was safe, if you could
only git 'em. So I hired ole Dinah to make some extry bread and slip
into your basket after your wife had fixed your supper. Dat was all
I could do. I heard de trial was to come off to-morrow, and but for
de rheumatiz, de keys would have been ready a week ago. You know,
Mars' Emile, old Peter part Affikin, and what he can't do, no udder
nigger need try. He, he, he!"
"But where are you going?" interrupted Emile.
"Well, Mars' Emile, der's a blockader lying off de Bar. I'se gwine
to take you to it." Emile shuddered.
"Nebber fear. If you stays on land, dey'll git you, shure, an' I
knows ebry foot ob de harbor as well as I do de city. Ain't Peter
Martinet been here eber since the Revolution War? No man here knows
de harbor better dan me, tripedoes or no tripedoes. Dey can't blow
me up, dat's shure. Come, let's go, be quick, and be sly too."
Emile followed as one in a dream. Not daring, or caring, to question
his guide, until they were safely on the edge of a pier that was
several feet above the sea.
"What now?" he said.
"All right. I have a bateau tied down da, waitin' for us. Her's de
rope to slide down. But as you'se afeerd, mebbe I'd better go down
fust. Here goes! I'se afeerd of nuffin, 'specially in de harbor."
Emile peered over the edge of the pier, and shuddered, as he saw the
dark figure disappear below.
"All right agin, safe and sound. Come on. Mind yer hold. Be brave,
man, don't lose yer courage now, or you may be a jail-bird de rest
of yer days. He, he, he!"
Stimulated to action by this stinging remark of old Peter, Emile
seized the rope, glided slowly down the wall, and landed safely in
the boat below.
"Now I guess we's safe; no one can git us now," chuckled old Peter,
as he grasped the oars and rowed away.
Emile made no reply, and for a time the plash of the oars was the
only sound that broke the stillness.
"Do you know that they'll receive me?" at length said Emile, as he
saw the shore receding.
"Oh, yes; more'n once have I carried men to the blockaders-some who
didn't want to fight, and some who had friends on the udder side.
Dey allus paid ole Peter well, and he nebber fail to git 'em away
safe. He, he, he."
"Why did you do this for me, Peter? For me who had scarcely a friend
in the world; for me, who can repay you in nothing but gratitude?"
asked Emile with emotion.
"Oh, old Peter don't always work for money; sometime he do for love.
It's for love this time, Mars' Emile."
"How far is the vessel away, Peter?"
"Five mile from de pier; you see de lights ob de vessel yonder,
sir."
Emile was silent, thinking of the desolate wife and unfortunate
child whom he was leaving farther behind at every stroke of the
oars.
"I must send a letter back by you, Peter; promise me that my wife
shall get it."
"I promise, Mars' Emile. But be brave, man, be brave; remember
you'se a free man now; freedom mighty sweet, Mars' Emile. I'se ben
free dese twenty years, eber sence old Marster Martinet died. He gin
me freedom. Ship ahoy, here we are," said the old negro, as he came
alongside of the grim iron-clad, that stood like a huge rock in
mid-ocean. Then the old man blew a shrill whistle through his hands
that penetrated to the inmost recess of the man-of-war.
"Halloo! Is it you, Peter?" screamed back the mate, as he swung a
huge lantern over the side of the vessel and looked down into the
water below. "What brings you now, old humpback?"
"A friend, a man, a recruit to your sarvice, if ye wish. Take him,
an' do as you please."
"Won't you come aboard, old Peter?" added the jolly tar, aroused to
receive the escaping prisoner. "It's been so long since we saw you,
we did not know but a shell had picked you up. Come aboard, General,
we'll show you some more bombs."
"Not this time, cap'n, my rheumatiz is rather bad for so much
climbin.' I'll jes' wait down here for a letter. Ole Peter Martinet
ain't feered of fishes. He, he, he!"
Emile's letter was written and handed to old Peter, who was soon
again steering landward. When the sun shone again in the Queen City,
old Peter was hobbling along his daily round of duty, singing
occasionally in his own peculiar way, and wearing an expression as
innocent as though the night-time had been an undisturbed season of
peaceful repose and beautiful dreams.
A letter found upon the door-way of Leah's lodgings, addressed to
her, was picked up and handed to her about the hour that the jail
was thrown into a tumult of consternation over the discovery that
Emile Le Grande had escaped.
How and whence this letter came was ever a mystery. "U. S. BLOCKADER
"THUNDERBOLT." "Two o'clock A. M.
"BELOVED LEAH: The die is cast, that divides us again. Fate, that
has so long seemed cruel, has again been kind. Unlooked-for,
unhoped-for aid reached me in my prison-cell, and enabled me to
escape. I know I am innocent of crime; Heaven knows it; but I feared
my tormentors. Those who sought me on a foreign shore, would
certainly move earth and sky to prove my guilt. I hope for a
brighter day, when we shall be reunited in peace and happiness. I
could do nothing for you, were I to stay and brave the storm that
awaits me. It might engulf me. I go, with the hope of a bright
future yet. Whither I shall go I know not. Maybe to France, where my
father has gone. I have nothing to remain in this country for but
yourself; and I cannot, and dare not stay near you. Heaven shield
and keep you and my child till I can send you succor! If I live, it
will come, though it cost my life to obtain it. I dare not look
ahead; but be hopeful and brave, faithful, loving Leah, and
patiently await a brighter day. When this wretched war is ended, if
I cannot come to you, you shall come to me. Living, longing, hoping,
for that coming time, with a thousand embraces I am, and shall ever
be,
"Your devoted EMILE.
"My time is short, I can write no more."
Bravely, calmly, Leah read this fatal letter; and then, with a
fortitude and heroism peculiar to her own glorious people, she
folded it, and placed it upon her heart, so torn by sorrow and
suspense. After the first shock of disappointment was over, she
turned her thoughts to the formidable question, how she should earn
bread for herself and her child; and when once her plans were made,
she carried them out resolutely, in poverty, weakness, and
obscurity. Of the days, months, and years that passed over her
heroic head, with their trials, struggles, disappointments, tears,
heart-aches, and agonies, before death brought relief, this record,
in pity, is silent.