time stole along. many months had slipped into the past since the day of the lamented colonel marshall's death-months of which this narrative has little to record, save that they were months of blood.
returning to the desolate wife, left by an adverse fate alone in her cuban home, we find her sadly changed. as sudden and unexpected as had been the separation of emile from his family, so shocking and violent had been the affect of this trouble upon leah's delicate nature. from the hour when mr. gardner informed her of her husband's mysterious disappearance, leah sank down, overwhelmed with grief. then for many weeks she lingered through an almost hopeless illness, to recover at length and find herself still alone.
the hope of gaining strength to follow her husband was the one hope that cheered her hours of convalescence, and stimulated the efforts of nature in the work of recovery. at last, time brought relief, and after many months of weary waiting, hoping, watching, the opportunity was at hand for leah to start in pursuit of her husband. committed to the care of a kind-hearted man, himself the captain of a blockade-runner, the anxious wife hoped to reach the shores of her native state in safety. unlike the treacherous joe haralson, the captain of the cotton states, the vessel upon which leah embarked, was not familiar with the sea-coast of many of the blockaded states; but, urged by her importunities, the kind captain determined, if possible, to land her in safety upon the coast of her native state. in this attempt, however, he was disappointed. it was late one afternoon as the cotton states was about to anchor safely in an obscure harbor of a small island near the main-land, when the captain discovered, far off on the sea, the dark form of a pursuing gun-boat. immediately he put to sea, and fortunately, the gathering shades of night obscured the pursued vessel in time to prevent capture. the next day, the cotton states ran ashore on a lone, sparsely inhabited coast, and, anchored at sandy bar, a place known to but few as a possible port of entry.
in this obscure port of entry, the cotton states was the only vessel that had ever cast anchor. here, erected on the shore, was a rude, commodious warehouse, built by the speculators who owned this adventurous craft, and designed for the reception of the cotton that was taken out and the cargoes that were brought in by it. the care of this depot of supplies and unlawful merchandise was committed to a rather decrepit, but trustworthy old man, called familiarly "uncle jack marner." in a rude hut, near by this cache above ground, lived old uncle jack and his wife. scipio, a trusty negro, was also employed by the company to assist uncle jack in watching the depot, and was usually detailed to inform the owners of the vessel as soon as a cargo was landed. in this obscure harbor-the white sandy bar, as it was known to uncle jack, the captain, and the company-the cotton states was anchored and ready to deposit her cargo.
"madam," said the captain to leah, "i have done the best i could. i tried to land you nearer your home, but could not; i trust you will bear me no ill-will."
"i can never forget your kindness, sir; once on land, no matter how far from the queen city, i know i can find my way there. i feel assured my husband is there, if living, and thither i shall go at once."
"not alone?"
"oh, yes; alone, if necessary."
"don't you fear the scouts and straggling soldiers that so infest the land?"
"i fear nothing, captain. i am in search of my husband, and i shall seek him, though i perish in the effort."
"well, madam, i shall intrust you to the care of uncle jack marner, and go away again knowing that you will be well cared for. there's the old man, and scipio, at work with the hands unloading. i'll take you to his hut."
leah thanked him kindly, and taking her child in his arms, the captain led the way to the humble home of uncle jack, and introduced leah to his wife.
without delay the cotton states unloaded; loaded again; and was soon once more out at sea in safety.
"it's a mighty weakly lookin' child, madam," said kind uncle jack, when he returned to the hut, after the work on the ship was ended. "is the little creetur sick?"
"no; but she is not very strong, uncle jack," was leah's reply.
"teethin', maybe? teethin' ginerally goes hard with the little ones."
"yes," leah answered, "teething has made her delicate."
"la, chile, the cap'n tells me you are bound for the queen city; ain't you afeerd to go thar now, sich a power of shellin' goin' on thar?" and without waiting for a response, he continued, "i think, though, the war-dogs are gittin' tired, and will soon haul off. it's no use tryin' to shell and batter down that fine old city. she never was made to surrender to any furrin' power; and surrender she never will. i'll bet on that. but, my chile, i should be afeerd to go thar now, strong and supple a man as i am, much less a poor, weakly lookin' woman like yerself."
"no, uncle jack, i am not afraid. the soldiers would not molest me, and the shells cannot strike me, so i go undaunted. i am seeking my husband, and must find him. how far is it, uncle jack, to the queen city?"
"more'n a hundred mile, chile."
"can i obtain any conveyance about here to take me part of the way, at least?"
"chile, thar's not a critter in twenty miles of this place, as i knows on. nobody lives hereabouts, but me an' the old woman, and scipio and toby-that's the company's mule, you know; and scipio rides toby to --, when the vessel gits in safe, to tell the company. scipio must start to-morrow to let the company know the boat is in agin, and when he gits back i'll take you part of the way to the queen city. you kin ride toby and i kin walk. i tole the cap'n i'd see you on your way as far as i could."
"when will scipio return?" inquired leah timidly.
"mebbe in a week, mebbe sooner."
"oh! i cannot stay here a week. i cannot stay a day. i am so impatient to get on. if my husband is living, i must reach him."
"but how can you go, chile?"
"go alone, uncle jack. i assure you i am not afraid."
by jupiter! jack marner let a weakly lookin' woman like you start alone from his house, with no strong arm to pertect you? never, never, never!" exclaimed the kind old man with emphasis, as he shook his gray locks.
"but there is no one to go with me, uncle jack; and as i cannot tarry, i must go alone. i assure you i fear nothing."
the old man continued to shake his head, though he made no reply; and then, handing little sarah to her mother, he went out of the cabin for some wood, that was needed to prepare the evening meal.
night passed, and morning came soft and bright; and leah, refreshed from her slumber, expressed the determination to pursue her journey at once.
"if you will go, the lord go with you, chile; but i fears you will never git thar. twenty miles from here, you may find lodgings, and you may not; what then?"
"oh, i can take care of that; only give me the proper directions, if you can."
"keep nigh the coast as possible, an' if nothin' devours you, you'll find the queen city after awhile; but it's more'n a hundred mile, remember. i hate to see you go, i do."
"do not detain me, uncle jack. i cannot, must not stay."
"well, if go you must and will, i'll go with you till we reach the open road; but i say again, you are welcome to stay here in my cabin, if you will. it's humble, i know, but old jack marner has had a sight better home than this, in his day. yet i thank the lord i have this one left;" and the old man brushed away a tear with his trembling hand, as he assisted the old woman in preparing some food for leah's lonely journey. at an early hour they were ready to start. uncle jack took little sarah in his arms, and leah bade adieu to the kind old wife, and following uncle jack, stepped out upon the sandy beach and turned her face toward the far-off, hidden road.
for an hour or more, the pedestrians trudged slowly along, uncle jack endeavoring the while to amuse the child in his arms, who would ever and anon stretch out its little arms and cry, "mamma." with downcast eye and heart, leah moved steadily forward, heeding nothing, save the occasional cry of her child. uncle jack, as he walked along, had broken a green bough from a swamp-myrtle, and gathered a spray of blue winter berries, which he bound together as a nosegay for the child. with these he charmed its baby fancy, and foiled every endeavor to reach its mother's arms. at length the trail was ended, and the open road reached.
"now," said uncle jack, "we are here at last. this is the road that leads to sheltonville, the only place that lies in your way to the queen city. keep it straight, chile, an' mebbe you'll reach thar at last; mebbe not; i don't know. here, let's rest a minit under this water-oak. sit down on the log; i'll warrant there's no snakes under it."
leah slightly smiled as she obeyed this command, and sat down on the crumbling, moss-grown wood, saying:
"uncle jack, are there any rivers in my way to the queen city?"
"none, chile, but the little black, and you kin cross that at sheltonville. it's a wonder those dev'lish soldiers hain't destroyed the bridge, 'fore this; but they hadn't, the last i heered from sheltonville."
"oh, i can get across, i guess," replied leah cheerfully. "rivers, nor mountains either, can keep me from my husband now. if he is in the city, i shall find him." here little sarah began to cry, and show signs of weariness. in vain uncle jack flourished the wild nosegay, whistled, sang, chirruped; the little creature would find lodgment in its mother's arms, and sleep on her faithful bosom.
the sun was getting toward the half-way morning hour, when the little child awoke, and clinging around her mother's neck she cunningly averted her face from uncle jack, as if to say, "you shall not have me again. i am tired of your wild nosegay."
"well now," said uncle jack, "the little creetur is awake agin, and as spry as a cricket. come to uncle jack, won't ye?"
"i must be going," said leah. "it's getting late." and rising with the child in her arms, she drew the small bundle of food and clothing that she carried closer to her, and said, "i am ready. good-by. keep straight ahead, must i?"
"yes, chile," replied uncle jack in a tremulous voice, "straight ahead, and the good lord be with ye."
leah was gone. she followed the sandy road pointed out by uncle jack's trembling finger, followed it till a small morass, thick with swamp-growth, hid her from his view; and then the old man said, as he turned sorrowfully back toward his cabin, "poor chile, she seems to have a lot o' trouble in this troublesome world. and she's so young and purty, too. i thank the lord there's a world up yonder"--and he cast his tear-dimmed eyes above--"where no more trouble will never come; an' may ole jack marner be lucky enough to git thar."
for ten long, weary days, leah pursued the way that lay straight and unobstructed before her, every step bringing her nearer and nearer to the city of her childhood. scarcely able, much of the time, to obtain food by day, or lodging by night, still she undauntedly pursued her way, and kept her eyes straight forward toward the end. foraging parties, and straggling soldiers, passed occasionally, yet not one syllable of disrespect or insult was offered to the lonely woman as she passed along, the living impersonation of unfriended helplessness.
at length, in pain, in weariness, in tears, the journey was almost accomplished, and the evening of the tenth day was closing in. the stars were stealing, one by one, into the blue heavens above, and the bright lights of a hundred camp-fires, far and near, announced the welcome fact that the queen city was near at hand. the stray shot, too, of some vigilant sentinel, reminded her that, without passports, one could not easily find ingress to the once peaceful, hospitable city. as this thought came, leah trembled; but she passed forward undaunted to the dreaded sentry line that stretched itself across her pathway. she was too weary to weep, too bewildered to think, too anxious to do aught but look forward toward the advancing city, with its myriad lights, and then down again at the innocent child asleep on her bosom. upon the breeze that came to greet her, as if in kindly welcome, she caught the note of the old familiar music of the chimes of st. angelo. "home, sweet home" rang out upon her weary ear with all the sweetness and familiarity of by-gone days.
"how changed is everything here; and, alas! how changed am i," said she; and tottering beneath the burden of her child and the awakened weight of memories, she would have fallen exhausted to the earth, but for a sharp, ringing voice, that said:
"halt! who comes there?"
recalled to a sense of her true situation by this unexpected inquiry, leah summoned the remnant of her strength and courage, and replied, "only a woman, weak and tired. in heaven's name let me pass."
"advance, and give the countersign."
"i cannot! indeed i cannot! but in mercy's name, give me rest and food within the city this night," she replied with a despairing voice.
"whence do you come?"
"from sandy bar, some hundred miles away, and i have walked the whole distance. i bring you no ill, or good news. i am nothing but a poor, helpless woman, faint and famishing. i pray you, in the name of pity, let me pass, kind sentinel."
touched by these imploring words, the sentry looked furtively around him, and replied softly, "woman, be quick. go on; and mind, if you say that i passed you without the countersign, my head will pay the forfeit. go on, for tom marbray hasn't the heart to say no to such a looking woman as you are."
"god bless you!" murmured leah; "bless you a thousand-fold;" and she hurried forward, and was soon lost in the winding streets of the city, that was now overshadowed by the darkness of night.
once more within the familiar limits of the old city, she paused, and leaning against the angle of a shop, looked curiously about her, as if endeavoring to define certain localities. at length she said softly:
"yes, i see the citadel, and christ church spire. but i must rest. i'll enter yonder inn." she stepped forward toward a shabby looking tavern a few doors off, where a crowd of garrulous soldiers were grouped about the door. too weary to observe any one, leah staggered into the forlorn, miserably furnished reception-room of the good cheer house, and called for food and lodging for herself and child for the night.
