OLIVIA.
Abner was kept but a few days at Chancellorville, when he was sent to
Libby prison. Here he remained but a few weeks, when, from some cause,
or no cause, unless the hope that change of climate would prove fatal,
he was removed to Mobile. Here he was confined for four months during
the hottest weather; but, Mobile being threatened, he was removed to a
small town in the eastern part of Louisiana, about fifty or sixty miles
north of New Orleans, and near the headwaters of Lake Ponchartrain; here
he was confined in a small stone jail. The town was nearly all French,
and the regiment stationed there were nearly all of French or Spanish
descent.
The colonel of the regiment, Castello Mortimer, was a citizen of the
town. He had formerly been one of the cotton kings of New Orleans; but,
on the capture of that city, had removed to Bay's End, where he had a
large cotton plantation. Colonel Mortimer was half Spanish and half
French, a portly man, open-hearted and pleasant of countenance, with
kindly black eyes and thick, iron gray hair.
He was regarded as a generous, whole-souled man, although he had his
bitter prejudices. He was a most uncompromising rebel, and, although he
knew very little about military tactics, was brave and chivalrous. He
owned an untold number of slaves, and countless acres of cotton fields.
Colonel Mortimer had received his commission, not on account of his
ability as a soldier, but on account of his wealth, and, as he was
thought not fitted for active service, he was assigned to guard this
out-of-the-way place, called Bay's End, and prisoners were brought and
left there to be guarded and kept by him. Those brought to the
colonel's camp fared well, considering the general treatment accorded
prisoners. They were furnished with clean straw to sleep on, and their
food, though not always the amplest in quantity, or the best in quality,
was the best that, in the distressed condition of the country, could be
afforded.
Here Abner lingered for two or three months. The glorious tropical
Winter was coming on; the sun was losing his fiercer heat, and his rays
fell with mellowed luster on the earth. The orange and citron groves
made the air sweet with their perfume. The fields were yet white with
cotton; but there were no slaves left now to gather it. A number of
negroes, hired and forced, and whom the boon of freedom had not yet
reached, were at work in and near Bay's End.
Colonel Mortimer was anxious about his cotton; as some of the negroes
were constantly escaping and flying to the North, he kept a small body
of soldiers detailed to watch them, while they worked in the fields.
Bay's End was a beautiful village, situated on rising ground, that
overlooked distant bayous, lagoons, lakes and sluggish streams, where
the alligator reveled in his glory. The colonel had selected the
village, on account of its healthy location, for his country residence.
He had here a spacious mansion, such as only a Southerner knows how to
construct; and here, every Autumn, he came with his beautiful Spanish
wife. But she had died years before, and the colonel's family consisted
of only one daughter, now a young lady.
At the end of three months, after Abner's arrival at Bay's End, Colonel
Mortimer appeared one morning at his cell door.
"Colonel," he said, "I shall be compelled to remove you from here. More
prisoners are coming, and there is not room for all in this little jug."
"I hope, sir, that you will give me accommodations as good as I have at
present," replied Abner.
"I shall be compelled to take you to my own house, every other place
being occupied," said the fat, old colonel, with a merry twinkle in his
black eyes.
"Surely, if I fare as well as my jailer, I can not complain," said
Abner.
He followed Colonel Mortimer from the prison, and stood still for a
moment, looking about him in the glorious sunshine, up and down the
shaded street, and at the beautiful orange groves in the distance. Never
had nature seemed so beautiful to him before. For weeks at a time he had
not seen the light of the sun, except through grates, for the rays that
had struggled into his dungeon were shorn of their splendor. Now all the
beauty of a tropical clime burst on him at once--the fields of cotton,
the cloudless sky and the sweet scent of flowers, that continually bloom
in this land of endless Summer.
"Oh, beautiful, beautiful!" murmured the prisoner, a moisture gathering
in his eyes.
"What is beautiful?" asked the colonel, who was by his side; two
soldiers walking in the rear.
"This world, which God has given us," was the reply.
"Yes, it is a beautiful world," said the rebel.
"But we know not how to appreciate it, until we have been for a while
deprived of the sight of its beauties," answered Abner.
"Yonder is my home," said the Confederate, pointing to a large granite
building. "It is not, perhaps, in strict accordance with military
discipline, to keep a prisoner in one's own house, but I have no other
place for you."
"I wish your home was farther away," said Abner.
"Why, sir?"
"That I might longer enjoy the free air and sunshine."
The tender-hearted old colonel wiped his face vigorously with his red
bandana, and the rest of the journey was made in silence.
On entering the house, the colonel took his prisoner into a reception
room, opening from the hall, to wait until his prison room could be made
ready.
"You will be granted some privileges here, that you have not had
before," said the colonel. "You will be permitted to walk in the grounds
once in every two or three days for an hour or so."
"I shall be very grateful to you for the favor, Colonel Mortimer," said
Abner.
At this moment his quick ear caught the sound of a gay girlish voice on
the stairway, and the swish of silken draperies. Then the door opened
and a young girl entered. She cast a quick, surprised glance about the
room, as one will, entering a room supposed to be vacant, to find
therein a stranger. For a moment she hesitated.
"Come in, Olivia," said the colonel. "My dear, this is our prisoner,
Colonel Tompkins. My daughter, colonel!"
A look of sorrowing compassion instantly clouded that sweet face--the
sweetest Abner had ever looked on.
Olivia Mortimer was one of those Southern women, over whose beauty
novelists wax enthusiastic, poets rave and painters dream and despair.
Abner forgot that he was a prisoner, forgot past hardships and future
peril, forgot all but this beautiful, unexpected vision, with
outstretched hand, and pitying eyes, and sweet, low voice, that made the
heart throb wildly, that had kept its even beat amid the blasting of
bugles and the sullen roar of cannon. He blushed like an awkward
school-boy, as he bowed before her queenly little figure.
"I am very sorry to see you a prisoner," she said. "It must be very hard
to suffer confinement; to know that the flowers bloom and the birds
sing, without being able to partake of their joy."
The gentle words betrayed a heart, kind and womanly. Abner felt that to
lay down his life at her feet would be the highest bliss a man might
hope for.
"I assure you, Miss Mortimer, that prison life is not desirable, but I
am more fortunate than most prisoners, while I have your father for my
jailer, and his mansion for my jail, I can well endure my captivity."
"Colonel," said the old Confederate impulsively, "I have a notion to
parole you and give you the freedom of the place. It will be pleasanter
for you and easier for me."
"For such a privilege, sir, I should be grateful indeed. I already owe
much to your generosity, but this I can hardly realize."
"And I shall make Olivia your jailer," said the old colonel, with a
quiet laugh, that caused his frame to quiver like agitated jelly.
"Then, sir, my imprisonment will be no punishment at all, but rather a
lot to be envied," replied Abner.
"My dear, do you think you can guard a man who has led a thousand
soldiers to the field of battle?" said the old colonel, with another
quiet laugh.
"He don't look dangerous, papa, and I can find him sufficient
occupation; busy people, you know, are not apt to get into mischief."
"Do you comprehend, colonel?" said Colonel Mortimer. "She means to make
you a galley slave as well as a prisoner."
"Even such servitude, under such a mistress, would be a pleasure,"
answered Abner.
The old Confederate, being part French, was polite, being part Spanish,
was chivalrous, and, when he had taken it into his head to treat his
prisoner well, seemed unable to do enough for him. So Abner remained in
the colonel's mansion, hardly realizing that he was a prisoner, treated
rather as a guest. Since he had been brought to the house of the
commander at Bay's End, Abner had greatly improved in his personal
appearance. By chance he had retained a suit of undress colonel's
uniform, which had not been soiled by the dampness of prison. He had
been close shaved, excepting his light-colored mustache, and he had his
hair trimmed by Colonel Mortimer's own barber. Still when in the
presence of the Confederate's beautiful daughter, he always lost his
self possession; his conversational powers, and, in fact, his common
sense, seemed suddenly to desert him. He could only listen in silence,
or make disjointed, incoherent replies.
Olivia sympathized with the poor prisoner, who was so far from home and
friends. She did every thing in her power to cheer him, she
misunderstanding his feelings and attributing his silence and sadness to
the hardships he had suffered during his imprisonment and his long
absence from home. She sang and played for him, she read to him, she
walked and talked with him, revealing all her past history, telling him
of the years she had passed in one of the New England seminaries, of her
mother's death in her early girlhood, and of many incidents in her
bright pleasant life, to which the war as yet had brought no bitterness.
It was several weeks, after Colonel Mortimer had brought Abner to his
home, that the shattered remnant of a Confederate regiment, passing
through the village, paused to rest. There were not over three hundred
men in the regiment fit for duty, and some of these were battle-scarred.
Colonel Mortimer invited the commander of this brave little band to his
house. He informed his prisoner and his daughter that a very brave and
distinguished officer would dine with them that day--a young man, a
brigadier-general--he could not recall the name, but they would meet him
at dinner. Abner and his fair jailer were in the garden when the guest
arrived, for, although it was in the month of February, the weather on
this particular day was fine, and the garden was yet a pleasant resort.
They went together towards the house, and, passing the low, open window,
saw the rebel general engaged in conversation with Colonel Mortimer--a
young man, with fierce, black eyes, black hair and black moustache.
It was his brother. Abner turned suddenly pale. He detained Olivia for a
moment, told her that he had been taken suddenly ill, begged her to make
his excuses to her father, and left her at the door of the dining-room.
The distinguished general dined, and, later on, left with the gallant
remnant of his regiment. Olivia was too much rejoiced at the prisoner's
rapid recovery to inquire into its cause.