BREAKING OF HOME TIES.
Let the human soul wander where it will with its burden of guilt; let it
try as best it can to hide its deformity under the covering of
complacency, the eye that never slumbers is upon it and an accusing
conscience will continue to repeat "thy sin shall find thee out!" Poor
Mrs. Belmont! Step by step had she been led forward on the path where
she little expected to walk, but in her stepping down from true
womanhood she had been met by the spirit of evil and he had guided her
tremblingly on.
The third evening after the close of our last chapter a tall figure in
feminine attire might have been seen in the street opposite her
residence. A half hour after, the side door of that house opened softly
and closed again as a closely-veiled woman emerged into the darkness.
Passing down the main avenue it came to a street more unfrequented where
the two met and walked on together a few moments in silence. At last
stopping suddenly the voice of Mrs. Belmont inquired in a subdued tone,
"Well--what are you going to say? _Quick!_"
"I'se goin' to tell ye. I took the gal down to the boat, but 'twas a
mighty hard tug. She didn't make no fuss tho', so I took off the
handkerchief and told her to be aisy and I'd treat her well. Then came
lots of questions but I didn't tell her nothin'. The sea was mighty high
and I know'd there was no gettin' to the ship, so I jest hugged the
shore as near as I dast to 'til I got away where nobody could find us,
then I pulled up where I know'd was good shelter to wait for the tide,
when gorry! I'd no more than sot foot on a hard rock than the gal sprung
to her feet and was off quick as a wink! How she got her hands untied
nobody knows! But she couldn't ha' kept up five minutes for the wind was
risin' and the waves was _awful_, so I reckon there's no more trouble
for nobody!"
"You are a blunderer!" gasped his listener.
"I'se done my best, that's all!"
"Here--take that--and remember next week you go to Charleston as a
volunteer to fight, and if you get shot so much the better for you! This
is the bounty to be given your family! Go--and let me and this
transaction die from your memory forever! _Go!_"
They separated and Mrs. Belmont returned to her home with the same
stealthy tread as that with which she had left it. Alone in her chamber
the wretched woman listened once more long and helplessly to the
terrible upbraidings of conscience!
"I did not intend all this," she cried. "O, no! The stain of _murder_
cannot be found on my soul! I only thought--the great Judge knows I
would never have injured my own flesh and blood! The great Judge!" she
repeated, while a tremor ran through her frame. "Yes, He knows I did not
mean all this! I was compelled--having taken the first step there was
no retreating! Ah, that first act! Whither will it lead me?"
In the morning the storm had passed and Mrs. Belmont came forth to light
and life more rigid and stern than before. It was said that "her sorrows
had made her grave; yet more grand and dignified," and soon the
"presumptuous" whispers of blame were hushed, for one so _noble_ as the
"Mistress of Rosedale" _could not_ be guilty of crime! And the wave of
public opinion closed over the scene and the waters of social life were
calm again.
George St. Clair had remained in Charleston during these excitements,
watching the progress of other scenes even more sad and cruel, yet free
from the plague spots of crime, and bearing aloft the banner held to be
of glory and honor for the reason that a nation, not an individual, had
demanded the sacrifice of many lives, not one! South Carolina had drawn
her ample robes more closely about her and with one pitiful leap had
plunged over the fearful precipice down into the dark and unexplored
depths of the yawning chasm of disunion, dragging after her a few of her
unfortunate sisters. No wonder they stood and trembled upon the brink
when it was once reached, for there were mysteries wholly unlooked for
which seemed to lose their golden tints upon nearer approach and assume
the dignity of practical realities. The little "affair" at Fort Sumter
somehow had cast a shadow of foreboding over more than one chivalric
heart.
Col. St. Clair met his commanding officer the morning after the
surrender of the little half-starved garrison, standing alone viewing
through his glass the noble fort with the new emblem of glory floating
over it.
"Well--how do you like the looks of that, Colonel? The Morning Star with
_healing_ in its beams--ha?" Taking down his glass he turned to his
companion, who had not yet spoken, and continued; "what the deuce is the
matter with you St. Clair? Your face ought to be shining with victory,
but instead it presents a perfect blank!"
"As unreadable as our future," he replied with an attempt at a smile.
"Ah! A discovery! Getting tired already! Hope the white feather has not
began to grow as soon as this!" There was a sneer on the face of the
speaker which his companion did not fail to notice.
"General," he said mildly, "I acknowledge with deference your
superiority in military rank, but do not forget that the blood of the
St. Clair's runs through my veins, disseminating through my being no
mean cowardice, as you well know!" The general laughed.
"You are awake now my brave boy and more like yourself! I only wanted to
arouse you! Now tell us, what is the matter? Something more than our
surroundings disturbs you. Out with it!"
"What time do the Eaton's go north?" was the calm inquiry.
"Next Wednesday in the steamer from New Orleans," the general replied in
the same indifferent tone.
Another short silence ensued when St. Clair again remarked: "We have won
such a victory that we can afford to rest for a time, I suppose? The
fact is, general," he continued, "I have received a telegram this
morning that has disturbed me not a little!"
"I am glad your ill humor can be accounted for. I never saw you appear
so unlike yourself; no bad news I hope!"
The manner of his companion was particularly offensive just then, but
smothering his rage St. Clair replied: "You understand that I would like
a furlough to return home for a few days! It seems that my father must
leave Savannah, where he has been an honored and beloved citizen for
nearly half a century, or forfeit his life, for no other reason than
that he cannot at his advanced age learn immediately the act of
dissembling nor tear from his heart the live-long love for the old
flag."
"What do you mean, St. Clair?"
"I mean just _this_! My father was fired upon last night while sitting
quietly in his own library, the ball passing a little above his head and
lodged in the wall opposite."
The general was excited. "A blood-thirsty _wretch_!" escaped from his
lips, while his companion continued calmly: "In order to save our loved
ones we must push them off into the enemy's country; now honestly,
general, has not that a smack of the ridiculous about it?" Without
waiting for a reply he turned, remarking: "It is time that I was at work
if I am permitted to go on the next train."
Anna Pierson was alone in the school room, her head bowed upon the desk
before which she was sitting. A sheet of letter paper with a few lines
written upon it was lying beside her, while the idle pen with the ink
dried upon it had apparently fallen on the page blearing and spoiling
it. Poor Anna! She had sat there a long time silent and motionless,
seemingly unconscious even when little May stole softly into the room to
tell "Miss Anna" that Uncle George had come; she was obliged to run back
with the intelligence that Miss Anna was asleep; neither did the tread
of heavier feet arouse her when nearly half an hour later George St.
Clair quietly pushed back the half-open door and stood irresolutely for
a moment on the threshold. She was not asleep as he well knew, for a
low, deep sigh reached him, and the little hand that hung so listlessly
over the corner of the desk on which her head was resting trembled. In a
moment he was beside her, and taking the bowed head between his hands he
raised it tenderly and looked down into the tear-stained face.
"Anna!"
"George St. Clair!" she exclaimed with almost a shriek, at the same time
attempting to rise. But he held her fast.
"No, Anna! It takes a longer time than you have given me to get a
perfect daguerreotype! I want the memory of this just as I found it,
tear-stained and all! It is no more than I deserve. I should not have
been so cruelly selfish as not to have told you weeks ago to leave
Savannah and return to your northern home."
"Is it too late now?"
"No, but you must be speedy! More than this, you must take my father and
mother and Ellen with you!"
"With me?"
"Yes, Anna; we cannot leave them here after what has happened."
"O, no; I shall be so happy! But George--"
"What, Anna?"
"My mother is a widow in humble circumstances--"
"Do you imagine that I would burden yourself or your mother?"
"Not that," she interrupted. "I was only thinking of the change from a
home of luxury to one of only comfort, yet very peaceful and dear, at
least to me. But it would be delightful if I could make them as happy
and joyous in _my_ humble home as they have made me in theirs. Will they
let me try?"
"Has no one but the three you have mentioned added a morsel to your
enjoyment since you have been an inmate of this home?"
The blood rushed to her cheeks and brow and she struggled to liberate
herself that he might not look so intently down into her swimming eyes,
which she well knew would tell him more than she would have him know.
"Then there was no one else! Well--take them; I will consign them to
your care until the detestable struggle is over! When this is done I
will relieve you. Bertha is a true rebel and will have no fears in
remaining where she is."
The voice of the speaker was low and tremulous as he uttered these
words, and Anna thought that she had never before seen his face so pale
and thin. He had permitted her to rise and she now stood before him. Did
she love him? She had asked herself that question many months
previously, and although her lips were prompt in their denial her heart
had remained silent. It throbbed now as she met his troubled gaze and
beheld the look of sorrow on his face. It was for a moment only. For
the first time her eyes fell upon his military dress; it was a rebel
uniform! A flood of recollections rolled in upon her in deadly combat.
Would that hand which had so lately touched her cheek spill the
life-blood of those who were so dear to her? The thought sent the blood
back to her heart and left cheek and lip pallid and cold! With an
involuntary shudder she laid her trembling hand on his shoulder and
tried to speak, but the words died on her pale lips. George St. Clair
passed his arm about her and drew her to a seat on the sofa. "You are
ill; sit here until I procure some water!"
"No, no; I am not ill; it is over now. You came to talk to me about
going home. It is very kind of you"; and, rising, she extended her hand.
He took it tenderly in his as she continued: "I joyfully accept the
charge you have placed in my care, and will endeavor to be to them all
you could wish; and now, before our last farewell, make me one promise,
will you." Her lips quivered, but with an effort she thrust back the
tears that were welling up from her full heart, while her hand lay
motionless in his. "It is this: Should one or both of my brothers,
through the fickleness of war, be thrown into your power, that you will
let the memories of the last eighteen months soften your heart with
mercy toward them."
"Has this uniform converted me into a monster? I do not wonder? Yet I
promise you all and more! God only knows what those memories of which
you speak will do with me. Now we will go and talk the departure over
with the rest, yet not with that pale face, Anna. It would add a new
pang to the sorrows of my parents, who are now unhappy with the
prospects of expulsion, as they term it. Have you not one kind word for
me now that we are so soon to part, perhaps never to meet again? O,
Anna, I had torn from my life's history several pages which I had
determined to read to you to-day, but cannot now." He raised her hand to
his lips. "Farewell! we will go. To-morrow, no doubt, you will be busy;
the next day we must be in Charleston to intercept a New Orleans steamer
going north. This route will be a little longer but more agreeable, as
every train is thoroughly searched for any who may be going thither with
more information concerning our plans than would be desirable. Again
farewell." He dropped her hand and left the room.
Anna sank down again on the sofa, and for a few moments gave vent to her
pent-up tears. The succeeding day was full of sadness and bustle. Many
tears were shed, and presentiments indulged in. The invincible Bertha
alone stood firm and apparently unmoved. Only once did the son and
brother appear with the family. He came to dinner, but disappeared as
soon as it was over. Anna tried to think of her home, where she would
soon be, of the joy of her fond mother at the reunion, but it was
piercing the cloud to draw the sunshine from beyond.
In one week the little party arrived safely in Washington; from there
they took the cars for Baltimore, and thence to New York.
A few miles back from the noble old Hudson stands a pleasant little
village, nestled in among the green hills and wide-spreading trees, cosy
and quiet, excepting where the rapid stream comes rushing down through
the valley, turning in its course two huge splashing wheels that never
grow weary as they keep on with their work, propelling the machinery of
the massive cotton mills which were the life and pride of the
inhabitants for many miles around. It looked calm and peaceful as seen
from the deck of the steamer, where Anna was sitting, and her heart
bounded with ecstacy as the pleasant remembrances of her home life came
sweeping over her. She had been sitting with the hand of Ellen St. Clair
clasped tightly in her own, apparently listening to her exclamations of
delight at the grand scenery through which they were passing, while in
truth she was harkening to other voices that came up from the past, and
gazing on the many sweet faces that filled her heart with a new joy, and
drew back for a while the dark curtains that seemed to hang between her
and the shadowed future.
"I declare, I do not believe you have heard one word I have been
saying." This from Ellen at last. "All of that ecstasy is wasted; and I
indulge in it so seldom! Tell me, Anna, what were you thinking about?"
"Of home, dear Ellen, and how happy we will all be together."
"But Father thinks we may better take rooms at the hotel; he is afraid."
"I understand all. They will be better acquainted with our habits soon,
and, it may be, will think more leniently of us; but I am responsible
for your safe-keeping, you know, and could not think of extending my
care over more than a mile to the hotel." Anna smiled, while Ellen's
laugh reached the parents who were sitting some distance from them.
"They are happy, wife," suggested Mr. St. Clair, "and I reckon we might
as well be so too, and make the best of circumstances."
The little circle in the widow's cottage would have been happy, yes
joyous, had there not been two vacant chairs at the evening gatherings
and at the morning devotions, while the sound of war came to them from
the distance, telling of bloodshed, of anguish, of heart-strings
breaking and homes made desolate forever. It was sad; but the widow
never ceased to pray, and with her petitions there went up a meed of
praise that He had given her the power to offer, on the altar of
sacrifice, her first born, with his brother, both true and noble.
Colonel St. Clair's letters were frequent, and although full of love and
solicitude for his parents and Ellen, he had never more than casually
mentioned the name of Anna in any of them. But his sister was with her
and she was happy. Having never herself known the love of a sister, she
fancied that in this dear friend she had at last found a recompense for
her years of unsatisfied longing. Milton has said "The happiness of a
nation consists in true religious piety, justice, prudence, temperance,
fortitude, and the contempt of avarice and ambition; they in whom these
virtues dwell eminently need not kings to make them happy; but are the
architects of their own happiness, and whether to themselves or others
are not less than kings." And we add, the country who has these virtues
and lives upon the principles emanating therefrom needs not war to wipe
out injustice and wrong.