The Trials of the Soldier's Wife

  CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH.

  THE RESTING PLACE--ANOTHER VISIT TO MR. SWARTZ.

  The mother and her child walked on in silence. Mrs. Wentworth knew notwhere to go. From her heart the harrowing cry of desolation went out,and mingled with the evening air, filling it with the sound ofwretchedness, until it appeared dull and stifling. But she knew notthis, for to her it had never appeared pleasant. For weeks past hercup of misery had been filling, and as each drop of sorrow entered thegoblet of her life, so did all sense of what was happy and lovelydepart from her heart. She was, indeed, a breathing figure of all thatcould be conceived miserable and unhappy. The flowers that bloomed inthe Spring time of her happy years, had withered in the winter of herwretched weeks, and over the whole garden of her life, nothing but thedead and scentless petals remained, to tell of what was once aparadise of affection--a blooming image of love.

  As she walked on she discovered that the child she carried in her armshad fainted. She paused not for consideration, but observing a lightin a small cabin near by, she hurriedly bent her steps towards it, andentered through the half opened door. It was the home of an aged negrowoman, and who looked up much surprised at the intrusion.

  "Here, auntie," Mrs. Wentworth said hastily, "give me some waterquickly, my child has fainted."

  "Goodness, gracious, what could ha' made you bring dem children to dispart of de town dis time o' night," exclaimed the old negress, as shehastened to do the bidding of Mrs. Wentworth, who had already placedthe inanimate body of Ella on the negro's humble bed.

  The water being brought, Mrs. Wentworth sprinkled it upon the face ofthe child, but without avail. Ella still remained motionless, and toall appearances lifeless.

  "Great Heaven!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, "my child cannot be dead!"

  "Top a bit, mistis, an' I will fix de little gal for you," said theold negro, hobbling, to the bedside, with a small bottle filled withcamphor in her hand. "Dis stuff will bring her to. Don't be afeard,she ain't dead."

  Pouring out some of the stimulant in one hand, the kind-hearted oldwoman bathed Ella's face with it, and held the bottle to her nostrils,until a sigh from the child showed that she still lived. After a fewseconds she opened her eyes, and looked up to her mother, who was,bending with anxious countenance over her.

  "Dar now," said the old negro in a tone of satisfaction, "did not Itell you dat de sweet little child was libbing."

  "Thank you, old woman, God in Heaven bless you!" exclaimed Mrs.Wentworth, as she clapped the old woman's hand in her own.

  "Berry well, berry well," was the answer of the negro, "you welcomemisses."

  There, in the cabin of that good old slave, the soldier's wife heardthe first voice of kindness that had greeted her ears for months. Fromthe hands of a servile race she had received the first act of charity,and in a land like this. In the performance of that kindness, the oldslave had done more to elevate herself than all the philanthropistsand abolitionists of the North could have done. Could the cursed race,whose war upon the South have seen this act, they would have concededto her people the justice of their right to slavery, when such a slaveas this existed.

  "What make you come to dis part ob town to-night, missis," asked thenegro, after a few moments of silence.

  "Nothing, nothing, my good woman," replied Mrs. Wentworth hastily. Shecould not let a slave know of her trials and misery.

  "Poh ting!" ejaculated the old woman in a compassionate tone, but toolow for Mrs. Wentworth to hear her. "I 'spec her husband been treatin'her bad. Dem men behave berry bad sometime," and with a sigh sheresumed her silence.

  The soldier's wife sat by the bedside, on one of the rude chairs, thatformed a portion of the furniture, and remained plunged in thought. Adeep sleep had overtaken Ella, although her breathing was heavy, andthe fever raged with redoubled violence.

  "Mother can't I get something to eat?" asked her little son. His wordswoke his mother from her thoughts, but before she could reply, the oldnegro had forestalled.

  "Is it some ting you want to eat, my little darling," she enquired,rising from her seat, and going to a little cupboard near the door ofthe room.

  "Yes granny," he answered, "I am quite hungry."

  "Bress your little heart," she remarked, giving him a large piece ofbread. "Here is some ting to eat."

  Taking the child on her knees, she watched him until he had completedeating the food, when putting him down, she opened a trunk, and pulledout a clean white sheet, which she placed on a little mattress nearthe bed.

  "Come now," she said, "go to bed now like a good boy."

  The child obeyed her, and was soon enjoying a refreshing sleep.

  "Where will you sleep to-night, auntie," asked Mrs. Wentworth, who hadbeen a silent observer of the old woman's proceedings.

  "I got some tings 'bout here; missis, dat will do for a bed," sheanswered.

  "I am sorry I have to take away your bed to-night," remarked Mrs.Wentworth, "but I hope I will be able to pay you for your kindnesssome time."

  "Dat's all right," replied the old negress, and spreading a mass ofdifferent articles on the floor, she crept in among them, and shortlyafter fell asleep, leaving Mrs. Wentworth alone with her thoughts,watching over the sleeping forms of her children.

  The next morning the old woman woke up early, and lighting fire, madea frugal but amply sufficient breakfast, which, she placed before heruninvited guests. Mrs. Wentworth partook of the meal but slightly, andher little son ate heartily. Ella being still asleep, she was notdisturbed. Shortly after the meal was over, the old negro left thecabin, saying she would return some time during the day.

  About nine o'clock, Ella woke, and feebly called her mother. Mrs.Wentworth approached the bedside, and started back much shocked at theappearance of her child. The jaws of the little girl had sunk, hereyes were dull and expressiveless and her breath came thick andheavily.

  "What do you wish my darling," enquired her mother.

  "I feel quite sick, mother," said the little girl, speaking faintlyand with great difficulty.

  "What is the matter with you?" Mrs. Wentworth asked, her face turningas pale as her child's.

  "I cannot breathe," she answered, "and my eyes feel dim. What can bethe matter?"

  "Nothing much, my angel," replied her mother. "You have only taken acold from exposure in the air last night. Bear up and you will soonget well again."

  "I feel so different now from what I did before," she remarked."Before I was so hot, and now I feel as cold as ice."

  Mrs. Wentworth put her hand upon the face of her child. It was indeedas cold as ice, and alarmed the mother exceedingly. She knew not howto act; she was alone in the cabin, and even had the old negro been athome, she had no money to purchase medicines with. She was determined,however, that something should be done for her child, and the thoughtof again appealing to Mr. Swartz for assistance came into her mind.

  "Perhaps, he will loan me a small sum of money when he learns howdestitute I am, and that my child is very ill," she said musingly, andthen added: "At any rate I will try what I can do with him."

  Turning to Ella Mrs. Wentworth said: "Do you think you could remainhere with your brother until my return. I want to go out and getsomething for you to take."

  "Yes, mother, but do not be long," she replied. "I will try and keepbrother by me while you are away."

  "Very well," said Mrs. Wentworth, "I shall make haste and return."

  Admonishing her little son not to leave the room during her absence,Mrs. Wentworth was on the point of leaving the room when Ella calledto her: "Be sure to come back soon, mother," she said. "I want youback early particularly."

  "Why, my darling?" enquired her mother.

  "Why, in case I should be going to--" Here her voice sunk to awhisper, and her mother failed to catch what she said.

  "In case you should be going to, what?" enquired Mrs. Wentworth.

  "Nothing, mother," she replied. "I was only thinking, but make hasteand come back."

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sp; "I will," her mother answered, "I will come back immediately."

  Choking the sob that rose in her throat, Mrs. Wentworth left the roomand proceeded towards Mr. Swartz's office. Her visit was a hopelessone, but she determined to make the trial. She could not believe thatthe heart of every man was turned against the poor and helpless.

  What a world is this we live in! We view with calm indifference thedownfall of our fellow-mortals. We see them struggling in the billowsof adversity, and as our proud bark of wealth glides swiftly by, weextend no helping hand to the worn swimmer. And yet we can look uponour past life with complacency, can delight to recall the hours ofhappiness we have past, and if some scene of penury and grief isrecalled to our memory, we drive away the thought of what we thenbeheld and sought not to better.

  What is that that makes man's heart cold as the mountain tops ofKamtschatka? It is that cursed greed for gain--that all absorbingambition for fortune--that warps the heart and turns to adamant allthose attributes of gentleness with which God has made us. The haggardbeggar and the affluent man of the world, must eventually share thesame fate. No matter that on the grave of the first--"no storied urnrecords who rests below," while on the grave of the other, we find insculptured marble long eulogies of those who rest beneath, telling us"not what he was, but what he should have been." Their end is thesame, for beneath the same sod they "sleep the last sleep that knowsno waking," and their spirits wing their flight to the same eternalrealms, there to be judged by their own merits, and not by the stationthey occupied below.

  If there are men in this world who cannot be changed by wealth, Swartzwas not of the number. What cared he for the sighs of the desolate,the appeals of the hungry, or the tears of the helpless? His duty wasbut to fill his coffers with money, and not to expend it in aimlessdeeds of charity. He looked upon the poor just as we would look upon areptile--something to be shunned.

  It was indeed a wild hallucination that induced Mrs. Wentworth to bendher steps towards his office. Could he have seen her as she wascoming, he would have left his room, for the sight of the mendicantfilled him with greater horror than a decree of God declaring that theend of the world had come.