FURTHER LIFTING OF THE VEIL.
In one of those fearful conflicts by which the Mississippi was freed
from Rebel intrusion and opened to commerce Harry was severely wounded,
and forced to leave his place in the ranks for a bed in the hospital.
One day, as he lay in his bed, thinking of his former home in
Mississippi and wondering if the chances of war would ever restore him
to his loved ones, he fell into a quiet slumber. When he awoke he found
a lady bending over him, holding in her hands some fruit and flowers. As
she tenderly bent over Harry's bed their eyes met, and with a thrill of
gladness they recognized each other.
"Oh, my son, my son!" cried Marie, trying to repress her emotion, as she
took his wasted hand in hers, and kissed the pale cheeks that sickness
and suffering had blanched. Harry was very weak, but her presence was a
call to life. He returned the pressure of her hand, kissed it, and his
eyes grew full of sudden light, as he murmured faintly, but joyfully:--
"Mamma; oh, mamma! have I found you at last?"
The effort was too much, and he immediately became unconscious.
Anxious, yet hopeful, Marie sat by the bedside of her son till
consciousness was restored. Caressingly she bent over his couch,
murmuring in her happiness the tenderest, sweetest words of motherly
love. In Harry's veins flowed new life and vigor, calming the
restlessness of his nerves.
As soon as possible Harry was carried to his mother's home; a home
brought into the light of freedom by the victories of General Grant.
Nursed by his mother's tender, loving care, he rapidly recovered, but,
being too disabled to re-enter the army, he was honorably discharged.
Lorraine had taken Marie to Vicksburg, and there allowed her to engage
in confectionery and preserving for the wealthy ladies of the city. He
had at first attempted to refugee with her in Texas, but, being foiled
in the attempt, he was compelled to enlist in the Confederate Army, and
met his fate by being killed just before the surrender of Vicksburg.
"My dear son," Marie would say, as she bent fondly over him, "I am
deeply sorry that you are wounded, but I am glad that the fortunes of
war have brought us together. Poor Iola! I _do_ wonder what has become
of her? Just as soon as this war is over I want you to search the
country all over. Poor child! How my heart has ached for her!"
Time passed on. Harry and his mother searched and inquired for Iola, but
no tidings of her reached them.
Having fully recovered his health, and seeing the great need of
education for the colored people, Harry turned his attention toward
them, and joined the new army of Northern teachers.
He still continued his inquiries for his sister, not knowing whether or
not she had succumbed to the cruel change in her life. He thought she
might have passed into the white basis for the sake of bettering her
fortunes. Hope deferred, which had sickened his mother's heart, had
only roused him to renewed diligence.
A school was offered him in Georgia, and thither he repaired, taking his
mother with him. They were soon established in the city of A----. In
hope of finding Iola he visited all the conferences of the Methodist
Church, but for a long time his search was in vain.
"Mamma," said Harry, one day during his vacation, "there is to be a
Methodist Conference in this State in the city of S----, about one
hundred and fifty miles from here. I intend to go and renew my search
for Iola."
"Poor child!" burst out Marie, as the tears gathered in her eyes, "I
wonder if she is living."
"I think so," said Harry, kissing the pale cheek of his mother; "I don't
feel that Iola is dead. I believe we will find her before long."
"It seems to me my heart would burst with joy to see my dear child just
once more. I am glad that you are going. When will you leave?"
"To-morrow morning."
"Well, my son, go, and my prayers will go with you," was Marie's tender
parting wish.
Early next morning Harry started for the conference, and reached the
church before the morning session was over. Near him sat two ladies, one
fair, the other considerably darker. There was something in the fairer
one that reminded him forcibly of his sister, but she was much older and
graver than he imagined his sister to be. Instantly he dismissed the
thought that had forced itself into his mind, and began to listen
attentively to the proceedings of the conference.
When the regular business of the morning session was over the bishop
arose and said:--
"I have an interesting duty to perform. I wish to introduce a young lady
to the conference, who was the daughter of a Mississippi planter. She is
now in search of her mother and brother, from whom she was sold a few
months before the war. Her father married her mother in Ohio, where he
had taken her to be educated. After his death they were robbed of their
inheritance and enslaved by a distant relative named Lorraine. Miss Iola
Leroy is the young lady's name. If any one can give the least
information respecting the objects of her search it will be thankfully
received."
"I can," exclaimed a young man, rising in the midst of the audience, and
pressing eagerly, almost impetuously, forward. "I am her brother, and I
came here to look for her."
Iola raised her eyes to his face, so flushed and bright with the glow of
recognition, rushed to him, threw her arms around his neck, kissed him
again and again, crying: "O, Harry!" Then she fainted from excitement.
The women gathered around her with expressions of tender sympathy, and
gave her all the care she needed. They called her the "dear child," for
without any effort on her part she had slidden into their hearts and
found a ready welcome in each sympathizing bosom.
Harry at once telegraphed the glad tidings to his mother, who waited
their coming with joyful anticipation. Long before the cars reached the
city, Mrs. Leroy was at the depot, restlessly walking the platform or
eagerly peering into the darkness to catch the first glimpse of the
train which was bearing her treasures.
At length the cars arrived, and, as Harry and Iola alighted, Marie
rushed forward, clasped Iola in her arms and sobbed out her joy in
broken words.
Very happy was the little family that sat together around the
supper-table for the first time for years. They partook of that supper
with thankful hearts and with eyes overflowing with tears of joy. Very
touching were the prayers the mother uttered, when she knelt with her
children that night to return thanks for their happy reunion, and to
seek protection through the slumbers of the night.
The next morning, as they sat at the breakfast-table, Marie said:
"My dear child, you are so changed I do not think I would have known you
if I had met you in the street!"
"And I," said Harry, "can hardly realize that you are our own Iola, whom
I recognized as sister a half dozen years ago."
"Am I so changed?" asked Iola, as a faint sigh escaped her lips.
"Why, Iola," said Harry, "you used to be the most harum-scarum girl I
ever knew, laughing, dancing, and singing from morning until night."
"Yes, I remember," said Iola. "It all comes back to me like a dream. Oh,
mamma! I have passed through a fiery ordeal of suffering since then. But
it is useless," and as she continued her face assumed a brighter look,
"to brood over the past. Let us be happy in the present. Let me tell you
something which will please you. Do you remember telling me about your
mother and brother?"
"Yes," said Marie, in a questioning tone."
"Well," continued Iola, with eyes full of gladness, "I think I have
found them."
"Can it be possible!" exclaimed Marie, in astonishment. "It is more than
thirty years since we parted. I fear you are mistaken."
"No, mamma; I have drawn my conclusions from good circumstantial
evidence. After I was taken from you, I passed through a fearful siege
of suffering, which would only harrow up your soul to hear. I often
shudder at the remembrance. The last man in whose clutches I found
myself was mean, brutal, and cruel. I was in his power when the Union
army came into C----, where I was living. A number of colored men
stampeded to the Union ranks, with a gentleman as a leader, whom I think
is your brother. A friend of his reported my case to the commander of
the post, who instantly gave orders for my release. A place was given me
as nurse in the hospital. I attended that friend in his last illness.
Poor fellow! he was the best friend I had in all the time I have been
tossing about. The gentleman whom I think is your brother appeared to be
very anxious about his friend's recovery, and was deeply affected by his
death. In one of the last terrible battles of the war, that of Five
Forks, he was wounded and put into the hospital ward where I was an
attendant. For awhile he was delirious, and in his delirium he would
sometimes think that I was his mother and at other times his sister. I
humored his fancies, would often sing to him when he was restless, and
my voice almost invariably soothed him to sleep. One day I sang to him
that old hymn we used to sing on the plantation:--
"Drooping souls no longer grieve,
Heaven is propitious;
If on Christ you do believe,
You will find Him precious."
"I remember," said Marie, with a sigh, as memories of the past swept
over her.
"After I had finished the hymn," continued Iola, "he looked earnestly
and inquiringly into my face, and asked, 'Where did you learn that hymn?
I have heard my mother sing it when I was a boy, but I have never heard
it since.' I think, mamma, the words, 'I was lost but now I'm found;
glory! glory! glory!' had imprinted themselves on his memory, and that
his mind was assuming a higher state of intellectuality. He asked me to
sing it again, which I did, until he fell asleep. Then I noticed a
marked resemblance between him and Harry, and I thought, 'Suppose he
should prove to be your long-lost brother?' During his convalescence we
found that we had a common ground of sympathy. We were anxious to be
reunited to our severed relations. We had both been separated from our
mothers. He told me of his little sister, with whom he used to play. She
had a mole on her cheek which he called her beauty spot. He had the red
spot on his forehead which you told me of."