FINDING HUGH
Sweet Anna Millbrook's eyes were dim with tears, and her heart was sore
with pain when told that Alice Johnson, was waiting for her in the
parlor below. Only the day before had she heard of her brother's
disgrace, feeling as she heard it, how much rather she would that he
had died ere there were so many stains upon his name. But Alice would
comfort her, and she hastened to meet her. Sitting down beside her, she
talked with her long of all that had transpired since last they met;
talked, too, of Adah, and then of Willie, who was sent for, and at
Alice's request taken by her to the hotel, where Mrs. Worthington was
stopping. He had grown to be a most beautiful and engaging child, and
Mrs. Worthington justly felt a thrill of pride as she clasped him to her
bosom, weeping over him passionately. She could scarcely bear to lose
him from her sight, and when later in the day Anna came down for him,
she begged hard for him to stay. But Willie was rather shy of his new
grandmother, and preferred returning with Mrs. Millbrook, who promised
that he should come every day so long as Mrs. Worthington remained at
the hotel.
As soon as Mrs. Richards learned that Mrs. Worthington and Alice were in
town, she insisted upon their coming to Terrace Hill. There was room
enough, she said, and her friends were welcome there for as long a time
as they chose to stay. There were the pleasant chambers fitted up for
'Lina, they had never been occupied, and Mrs. Worthington could have
them as well as not; or better yet--could take Anna's old chamber, with
the little room adjoining, where Adah used to sleep. Mrs. Worthington
preferred the latter, and removed with Alice at Terrace Hill, while at
Anna's request Densie went to the Riverside Cottage, where she used to
live, and where she was much happier than she would have been with
strangers.
Not long could Mrs. Worthington stay contentedly at Snowdon, and after a
time Alice started with her and Lulu for Washington, taking Sam also,
partly because he begged so hard to go, and partly because she did not
care to trouble her friends with the old man, who seemed a perfect child
in his delight at the prospect of seeing "Massah Hugh." But to see him
was not so easy a matter. Indeed, he seemed farther off at Washington
than he had done at Spring Bank, and Alice sometimes questioned the
propriety of having left Kentucky at all. They were not very comfortable
at Washington, and as Mrs. Worthington pined for the pure country air,
Alice managed at last to procure board for herself, Mrs. Worthington,
Lulu and Sam, at the house of a friend whose acquaintance she had made
at the time of her visit to Virginia. It was some distance from
Washington, and so near to Bull Run that when at last the second
disastrous battle was fought in that vicinity, the roar of the artillery
was distinctly heard, and they who listened to the noise of that bloody
conflict knew just when the battle ceased, and thought with tearful
anguish of the poor, maimed, suffering wretches left to bleed and die
alone. They knew Hugh must have been in the battle, and Mrs.
Washington's anxiety amounted almost to insanity, while Alice, with
blanched cheek and compressed lip, could only pray silently that he
might be spared, and might yet come back to them. Only Sam thought of
acting.
"Now is the time," he said to Alice, as they stood talking together of
Hugh, and wondering if he were safe. "Something tell me Massah Hugh is
hurted somewhar, and I'se gwine to find him. I knows all de way, an'
every tree around dat place. I can hide from de 'Federacy. Dem Rebels
let ole white-har'd nigger look for young massah, and I'se gwine. P'raps
I not find him, but I does somebody some good. I helps somebody's Massah
Hugh."
It seemed a crazy project, letting that old man start off on so strange
an errand, but Sam was determined.
He had a "'sentiment," as he said, that Hugh was wounded, and he must go
to him.
In his presentiment Alice had no faith; but she did not oppose him, and
at parting she said to him, hesitatingly:
"Sam, if you do find your master wounded, and you think him dying, you
may tell him--tell him--that I said--I loved him; and had he ever come
back, I would have been his wife."
"I tells him, and that raises Massah Hugh from de very jaws of death,"
was Sam's reply, as he departed on his errand of mercy, which proved not
to be a fruitless one, for he did find his master, and falling on his
knees beside him, uttered the joyful words we have before repeated.
To the faint, half-dying Hugh, it seemed more like a dream than a
reality--that familiar voice from home, and that dusky form bending over
him so pityingly. He could not comprehend how Sam came there, or what he
was saying to him. Something he heard of burning houses, and ole miss
and Snowdon, and Washington; but nothing was real until he caught the
name of Alice, and thought Sam said she was there.
"Where, Sam--where?" he asked, trying to raise himself upon his elbow.
"Is Alice here, did you say?"
"No, massah; not 'zactly here--but on de road. If massah could ride, Sam
hold him on, like massah oncet held on ole Sam, and we'll get to her
directly. They's kind o' Secesh folks whar she is, but mighty good to
her. She knowed 'em 'fore, 'case way down here is whar Sam was sold dat
time Miss Ellis comed and show him de road to Can'an. Miss Ellis tell me
somethin' nice for Massah Hugh, ef he's dyin'--suffin make him so glad.
Is you dyin', massah?"
"I hardly think I am as bad as that. Can't you tell unless I am near to
death?" Hugh said; and Sam replied:
"No, massah; dem's my orders. 'Ef he's dyin', Sam, tell him I'--dat's
what she say. Maybe you is dyin', massah. Feel and see!"
"It's possible," and something like his old mischievous smile played
around Hugh's white lips as he asked how a chap felt when he was dying.
"I'se got mizzable mem'ry, and I don't justly 'member," was Sam's
answer; "but I reckons he feel berry queer and choky--berry."
"That's exactly my case, so you may venture to tell," Hugh said; and
getting his face close to that of the young man, Sam whispered: "She
say, 'Tell Massah Hugh--I--I--' You's sure you's dyin'?"
"I'm sure I feel as you said I must," Hugh, continued, and Sam went on:
"'Tell him I loves him; and ef he lives I'll be his wife.' Dem's her
very words, nigh as I can 'member--but what is massah goin' to do?" he
continued in some surprise, as Hugh attempted to rise.
"Do? I'm going to Alice," was Hugh's reply, as with a moan he sank back
again, too weak to rise alone.
"Then you be'nt dyin', after all," was Sam's rueful comment, as he
suggested: "Ef massah only clamber onto Rocket."
This was easier proposed than done, but after several trials Hugh
succeeded; and, with Sam steadying him, while he half lay on Rocket's
neck, Hugh proceeded slowly and safely through the woods, meeting at
last with some Unionists, who gave him what aid they could, and did not
leave him until they saw him safely deposited in an ambulance, which, in
spite of his entreaties, took him direct to Georgetown. It was a bitter
disappointment to Hugh, so bitter, indeed, that he scarcely felt the
pain when his broken arm was set; and when, at last, he was left alone
in his narrow hospital bed, he turned his face to the wall and cried,
just as many a poor, homesick soldier had done before him, and will do
again.
Twenty-four hours had passed, and in Hugh's room it was growing dark
again. All the day he had watched anxiously the door through which
visitors would enter, asking repeatedly if no one had called for him;
but just as the sun was going down he fell away to sleep, dreaming at
last that Golden Hair was there--that her soft, white hands were on his
brow, her sweet lips pressed to his, while her dear voice murmured
softly: "Darling Hugh!"
There was a cry of pain from a distant corner, and Hugh awoke to
consciousness--awoke to know it was no dream--the soft hands on his
brow, the kiss upon his lips--for Golden Hair was there; and by the
tears she dropped upon his face, and the mute caresses she gave him, he
knew that Sam had told him truly. For several minutes there was silence
between them, while the eyes looked into each other with a deeper
meaning than words could have expressed; then, smoothing back his damp
brown hair, and letting her fingers still rest upon his forehead, Alice
whispered to him: "Why did you distrust me, Hugh? But for that we need
not have been separated so long."
Winding his well arm around her neck, and drawing her nearer to him,
Hugh answered:
"It was best just as it is. Had I been sure of your love, I should have
found it harder to leave home. My country needed me. I am glad I have
done what I could to defend it. Glad that I joined the army, for Alice,
darling, Golden Hair, in my lonely tent reading that little Bible you
gave me so long ago, the Savior found me, and now, whether I live or
not, it is well, for if I die, I am sure you will be mine in heaven; and
if I live--"
Alice finished the sentence for him.
"If you live, God willing, I shall be your wife. Dear Hugh, I bless the
Good Father, first for bringing you to Himself, and then restoring you
to me, darling Hugh."