LEADING HER ON.
The path downward is easy of descent, even though the end thereof be
eternal ruin! There were thousands at the time of which we are writing
(as well as in all stages of human life) who threw themselves from the
lofty pinnacle of true nobility to grovel awhile in the slough of
wickedness, then perish forever! How terrible must be the awakening of
such a soul, if the kind Ruler should ever permit the awakening to come,
and yet worse, sadly worse, would be the unconscious sleep that plunges
its victim over the precipice of ruin to be aroused at last beyond the
boundaries of hope!
One night after the first signal defeat of the southern army, which
seemed to dim for awhile the bright halo of victory that had darted up
the horizon from northern skies, a circle of ladies were gathered in a
spacious parlor in Charleston, doubtless for business purposes, and
those of no ordinary character, if we should judge by the earnest
debates that were carried on in one corner by a group apart from the
rest, or by the sage countenances and serious deportment of the others.
One of the number, a tall lady in black, had arisen from her seat on the
sofa, where she had been discussing for a long time some important
subject in which all appeared particularly interested, and was now
walking with measured tread and folded arms up and down the long
parlors, seemingly unconscious of the low buzz of subdued voices which
fell on her ear at every turn, for her dark, keen eyes had never once
been raised from the carpet on which she was treading.
Just outside of the window stood a large magnolia tree whose upper
branches reached the narrow opening made by letting down the window to
admit the fragrant air from the blossoms outside. To-night this had not
been neglected, and as the heavy lace curtains were pushed slightly to
one side a pair of dark, wondering eyes peered down upon the scene
below. In the kitchen another group had gathered; their faces were
darker and their clothing coarser and homelier than those upon which the
slave boy was gazing from his elevated seat in the magnolia tree, but
the all-absorbing subject had fired the blood and quickened the pulse
alike of each. Harry had determined to learn as much as possible about
the excitement, and his heart had beat rapidly as he listened to much
that had been said by those who had occupied the sofa directly under the
window; but he could hear little now and he waited impatiently for the
return of the principal speaker who provokingly continued her thoughtful
promenade. He was thinking of the light, frail mulatto girl down stairs
who was nervously waiting for his appearance and the new secret he was
to confide in her; and the half hour seemed to extend to an interminable
length.
It ended at last. The tall figure reseated itself in the chair, and the
eager face of the listener pressed hard to the frame of the window that
his ear might not lose a word.
"Yes; _I will go!_" were the first that reached him.
"You have decided nobly!" exclaimed several in a breath.
"It is just what I knew you would do after deliberating upon it!"
replied the one who seemed to be particularly addressed. "You are so
much better fitted for the mission than any one present! Your queenly
bearing and imperious manners would command the confidence and respect
of strangers. Then your acquaintance in Washington would so materially
assist you! It has been proven that our army must act with skill as well
as power, and as the colonel says, 'we _must_ learn something of their
plans before they are brought against us, if we are to overthrow them.'
For this you are well adapted as you will have no trouble in mingling
with the most refined, or in select circles where such things are ably
discussed." Mrs. Belmont had been sitting during this speech seemingly
absorbed in her meditations, but the listener outside lost not a word.
"You will disguise yourself in some way, I suppose," suggested another.
Mrs. Belmont aroused herself at this.
"I will take one hundred dollars only of the money subscribed, and will
return to this house one week from to-day without a card and my name
shall be 'Mrs. Southey.' If Harry does not recognize me I shall feel
secure. His keen eyes and quick perceptions would penetrate my mask I
know if it could be done. I intend it shall be complete, but this shall
be my test!"
An approving hum went round the circle. "But supposing he _should_ know
you?" suggested the mistress. "I fear that half-blooded rascal--he knows
altogether too much if I can read aright the merry twinkle in his eyes
and the inquiring look with which he scrutinizes every stranger who
visits here. But we will try him. We must not shrink from any imaginary
ill when you are to risk so much for our good," continued the lady.
Harry gave a low chuckle as he thought, "Neber you fear dis chile; he
won't know nothin' dis time su' as de worl'! Jus' you watch his eye when
Mrs.--Mrs.--what de name; well, 'twant Belmont, dat's sartin!
He-he--reckon dis 'half-blood rascal' got 'nuf dis time!" And the nimble
figure scrambled noiselessly down to the ground and darted away to find
Nelly who was anxiously waiting for him.
"O Harry!" she exclaimed as he caught her in his arms; "I was _so_
'feared you'd be wanted! I heard de bell ring and de ladies are agoin'!"
"Let 'em go, Nelly; you'll be a lady some day jes' as good as any on
'em! I heered lots and we's goin' t' be free! Hurrah!"
"O Harry, hush; somebody'll hear ye, sartin'."
"Oh I could yell jus' like de sojers! Hurrah! But dis chile's got to
wait; de good time's comin', Nelly, de good time's comin'; but dar's de
bell--dat means dis rascal, su'," and away the light figure bounded,
leaping up two steps at once as he proceeded to the upper hall where
some ladies were standing ready to take their departure.
"Where were you, boy, to make Mrs. Belmont wait so long? I rang twice,"
exclaimed the mistress, as he came slowly into their presence.
"'Spects I must 'a' fell asleep Missus. Didn't hear only dis once."
"You had better keep awake another time. Now hand the ladies to their
carriages, and see if you cannot be as polite as your young master would
be if he were here." There was a hearty laugh as the servant opened the
door, bowing most obsequiously as several passed out before him, he
following to do the honors of the "young gentleman."
At the appointed time Mrs. Belmont appeared at the door of her friend,
and was ushered into the parlor by the facetious Harry, who bowed as
unconcernedly as the lady herself could desire. Upon extending his hand
for the card he was supposed to expect, she said, blandly: "Tell your
mistress that Mrs. Southey is waiting for her"; and bowing low the
servant left the room to obey her command. On the staircase he halted to
perform several ludicrous gyrations, while the merry twinkle in his eyes
laughed itself out, and when he reached his lady's private boudoir they
told no tale of inward excitement.
"Mis' Southey is a waitin', Missus." The sharp eyes of the mistress were
upon him, but he remained unmoved, whistling a few low notes at the same
time beating a subdued tattoo upon the door.
"Mrs. Southey?" repeated the lady, without removing her gaze, but not a
muscle moved in the face she was scanning.
"Tell her to come to me," she continued, and the servant departed. Great
would have been the chagrin of the mistress had she seen the humble
slave boy as he descended to the parlor below. Catching a glimpse of
Nelly at the farther end of the long hall, he threw himself into the
most laughable contortions, which provoked in her convulsive chuckles
at the same time adding a reproof by a dubious shake of the head. In a
few moments more the door closed behind Mrs. Belmont as she entered her
friend's room and the two were alone together.
"I am sure he had not the least idea who you were, and no wonder! I do
not believe I should recognize you myself if we should meet on the
street"; remarked the lady as her visitor seated herself. "How strangely
you look in that gray traveling suit!"
"Not more so to you than to myself"; was the low reply.
"Your hair put back so plainly, and those glasses, have really added
half a score to your years. No one will doubt your origin, or that you
are an English lady of the old school." The speaker laughed merrily, but
the visitor remained calm and silent, having been led by her companion
far away into the future where new scenes and new duties awaited her. It
was a perilous task she had undertaken, and no one understood it better
than herself. But the last few years had been fitting her for the risks
she were to encounter.
"It was true that no one within the circle of my acquaintances was so
well fitted to act this part in the great drama of war," was her
conclusion, and no one had such a reason for hating the foe as had she,
and while she was performing this great service for her country she
could at the same time pay off the debt of her blighted hopes. During
the short visit quite another scene was being enacted below stairs.
Harry and Nelly were standing together in one corner of the large
kitchen engaged in close conversation, notwithstanding the
protestations of Aunt Nancy, who reiterated a dozen times a day at least
the declaration "Dat boy Harry don't arn de salt in his porridge." For
once her words rattled away in the air and fell unheeded on the ears
they were aimed at.
"I tell you, Nell," said the slave, "dar's somethin' goin' t' happen jes
suits dis chap. We'll have a fine house all our own, and some little
Sambo to take care ob de chilerns, and, and--"
"Go away, you Harry," and the girl slapped his round cheek, with a
yellow hand that delighted to push back the curtains hanging about her
future as well as did her lover.
"Well, I hearn 'em talk, and old Ben sang 'de Good Time's Comin', louder
last Sabba-day dan he eber did afore. It's comin' Nell. I jes
thought--I'll tell Ben, and set him praying for it. He'll make it all
right, sartin, sure; and when we get de big house we'll take old Ben to
mind de chilerns. He'll like dat for pay, sartin." Nelly laughed, and
declared again that Aunt Nancy wanted her, then darted away, followed by
the laugh of her lover.
Three weeks after Mrs. Belmont arrived safely in Washington. In due time
she took up her lodging with the family whom she had known several years
previously, and who well understood her mission in the city.
As the "wealthy English lady who had fled from the South on account of
her anti-war principles," she was admitted to the most private circles,
where she promulgated her "abolition" doctrines to the evident
satisfaction of her numerous admirers. It did seem a very strange thing
that the anticipated movements of the Union army should be known to the
enemy long before they were brought to maturity. But had the puzzled
authorities seen the tall gentleman who came leisurely up the long
avenue three times a week until he reached the farther end, where he
would look carelessly about him, and stopping under a certain tree take
from beneath a stone a folded paper, then walk as slowly on, they would
have easily imagined that in this was the mystery concealed. Yet it
would have required a great amount of credulity to believe that Mrs.
Southey, who had so won the hearts of the people, could have possibly
known of, much less have written, those mysterious epistles. Only once
did her large eyes lose their determined look, or the crimson wave of
self reproach roll over her stern face, but the calm face of our noble
President, as he held her hand in his, scrutinizing her face, brought
them both to view. Did those penetrating eyes pierce the mask she was
wearing? Did that manly soul discover the spirit of rebellion looking
out through those orbs that so shrank back at his gaze? It was only for
a moment. He bowed while the old smile returned to his plain face as he
extended his hand to the next visitor.
Abraham Lincoln sleeps to-day in a martyr's grave, but the touch of his
warm hand, without one stain of human blood upon it, and that look from
those reproachful eyes, so full of love and good will to all, sank with
a heavy weight down into the traitor's heart that night and were living,
real things to the wretched woman, who lived to mourn over the sin of
treachery, not only to her country but her home-loves. Alas! that any
should think to subdue the tempest of remorse which comes to beat upon
it, by prevarication or crime. The eye of justice cannot be deceived.
Did these thoughts sometimes come to the miserable woman, who tossed
upon her bed as the memories from the past came back to torment her?
Where was her child? Her Lillian? It had been many months since she had
heard from her directly, and there were times when the terrible
presentiment of coming disgrace would haunt her dreams and fill her
waking moments with dread. The war--the terrible war! Her son was
probably in it, surrounded with the dangers of a common soldier. George
St. Clair was in it. The mighty wave of devastation was rolling
southward, and Rosedale was cut off from her approach, perhaps forever.
Where was the end to be? What wonder that she trembled at every report
of aggression or conflict that sped towards her! But worse than all this
was the terrible consciousness that sin had stained her soul with blood.
Never for a moment did the awakened conscience cease its upbraidings. In
vain did she answer back: "Say not this of me. Murder is _not_ one of my
transgressions. I did _not_ mean all that!"
But the voice would not be silenced.
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