HOW SHE KEPT HER VOW: A NARRATIVE OF FACTS.
It was a long and arduous journey that lay before her: unknown difficulties and adventures were to be encountered, but urgent family considerations forced Helen Gerard to leave her home in the South, and her brother who was engaged in the service of the Confederacy, and, to make her way through the enemy's lines to New York. She left Mobile on the evening-train for Meridian, Mississippi, after taking an affecting farewell of her brother, whom she never spoke to again. As they stood on the platform of the railway-station, waiting for the hour of departure, she vowed at his earnest solicitation, and out of the depth of her affection, that never, under any possible circumstances, would she be induced to take the oath of allegiance to the Federal government.
It was three o'clock in the morning when the train reached Meridian, and Miss Gerard was guided by the feeble light of a smoky lantern to a dilapidated inn miscalled an hotel. She was shown to an apartment the darkness of which was scarcely relieved by a smouldering pine-brand in the fireplace, a mere flickering, expiring glimmer. Forlorn and exhausted, Helen hastily threw off part of her clothing and crept into a spacious bed; which she had scarcely done when the room was left in total darkness. The boisterous breakfast-bell awoke her in the gray of an October morning, and at the same time aroused her to the horrified consciousness that she had a bedfellow. Be it said, to the credit of the house, that it was a woman, as Helen was immediately assured by the voice of the stranger inquiring whether Miss Gerard was to leave on an early train. Hastily catching her breath, Helen replied, "Yes."
"Then you cannot make your toilet and take your breakfast too quickly," said the woman.
Springing to her feet and hastily adjusting the rich masses of curls that rippled over her shoulders to her waist, Miss Gerard was able to catch the morning-train to Jackson, Mississippi, crossing Pearl River on a pontoon-bridge. In a nondescript vehicle between a carriage and a cart she climbed the sandy hill on which Jackson is situated, and was soon established in a moderately good boarding-house. Both here and elsewhere during her journey she bore herself in such manner as to convey little idea of her actual circumstances, partly to elude any suspicion that she carried concealed on her person four bags of gold to defray the expenses of her journey to New York.
On the morning of the sixth day Mr. Firth, the guide whom Miss Gerard's brother had sent to pilot her through the lines, arrived at Jackson. He was a Scotchman by birth, although long a resident in the South, and was between fifty and sixty years of age: his beard and locks were sprinkled with gray; under bushy eyebrows his keen eyes flashed with intelligence and indicated decision and reserve; but the gravity of his features showed the imprint of perpetual sadness. Heavily built and athletic, he was withal a handsome and very noticeable man. At this time Mr. Firth was in the secret service of President Davis, but exactly in what department Helen could not learn.
Giving her his hand with a hearty, honest grasp, Mr. Firth announced himself to Miss Gerard as the guide her brother had appointed by telegraph to conduct her to the Mississippi. He requested her to have her small trunk ready to forward at once by army transportation, stating that she would find it at the destined point on the river, and that as soon as she herself was ready they would start. In less than an hour she was prepared, and seating herself in a low, old-fashioned country vehicle drawn by one horse, they soon left Jackson in the distance.
All that day they journeyed through rough, untrodden forests. Often they were forced to ford streams which came up to the box of the wagon and obliged the travellers to lift their feet on the seat to escape a ducking. Between one and two in the morning they reached Raymond, and found a hospitable welcome in the house of a Mr. Moore on the edge of the town.
Although the hour was so unseasonable, a warm supper was at once prepared for the weary travellers. On the following morning Mr. Firth informed Helen that he should leave her in those quarters for four days while he went away on business of the secret service. But instead of four days, three weeks had passed before he returned. Early on the morning following his arrival they were up and prepared to start, provided by their hospitable friends with lunches of cornbread and meat stowed in the pouches of the saddles, as for the future they were to journey on horseback; and Miss Gerard was also furnished with a black skirt of Mrs. Moore's remodelled into a riding-habit. With eyes swimming in tears Helen bade farewell to those who, though strangers, had welcomed her as a friend, and with downcast heads, under the rays of the hot morning sun, the travellers rode away, prepared to penetrate the tangled forests of Mississippi. But first they crossed the clearing memorable as the battle-field of Raymond, fought over when General Grant was making his march on Vicksburg. The traces of the conflict that terminated so sadly for the Confederate States were still everywhere visible, and the trees showed abundant signs of the hailstorm of war which had swept over them. Little thought Helen as she rode over those trampled fields that her fate was mysteriously linked with one who had bravely borne himself in that battle, and whose face she had not yet seen, while here it was that, unknown to her, his destiny first crossed her life.
During the daytime the travellers made their way through the forests by compass, ignoring roads and paths and avoiding all traces of civilization. Helen now found it of inestimable service to her that from childhood she had been a thoroughly-accomplished and enthusiastic horsewoman. As they forced their way through the densely-woven brake and underwood, shreds of her riding-habit were left on the logs, trees and under-brush which they were compelled to jump, until actually nothing was left of it but the binding and the pocket; and her under-dress being now too short to protect her ankles, she soon saw her stockings dashed with blood from the rude scratches made by the merciless twigs and thorns.
Hunger and thirst at last overtook the travellers, but before they could find a clear brook out of which to drink it was three o'clock in the afternoon. After feeding the horses and resting an hour they journeyed on till midnight, when, wellnigh exhausted, they halted in the gleam of a pale moon under a venerable oak tree on the brow of a hill at whose foot murmured a stream lazily waiting to be their lavatory at daybreak.
A dwelling of some sort was indistinctly visible in the distance, and the guide, to sound the character of the inmates, proceeded thither on the plea of asking for a match. But their manner was so distant and inhospitable that his suspicions were aroused, and he deemed it advisable to camp out for the night under the shelter of the oak tree. With Mr. Firth's army-cloak so adjusted as to serve her both for covering and pillow, Helen slept without waking until dawn, while her faithful guide kept half an eye open and slept but little. At daybreak they bathed their faces in the creek and breakfasted on the mossy banks, while the horses champed their oats under the breezy oak.
The travellers now followed a course at right angles to that of the preceding days, heading directly for the Mississippi River. But when noon-time arrived, and, half famished, they looked to their pouches for refreshment, they found only a gaping emptiness, which compelled them to stop at the first house and buy some pones and raw bacon. Helen was obliged to eat even this frugal and not wholly palatable fare in the saddle, for Mr. Firth urged the necessity of unremitting travel, having a certain point in the plan he had laid out which must be reached that night. This was a sparse, uncanny settlement of two or three shanties occupied by a disreputable set of squatters who bore a very bad name. The most important dwelling was a wayside dram-shop, called, in local vernacular, a "coffee-house." Before alighting Mr. Firth cautioned Miss Gerard to look well to the door of her chamber, to nerve her courage, and on no account to enter into conversation with any of the inmates. At the same time he handed her one of his revolvers to lay under her pillow.
Passing at once through a dusky, noisome hall and up a steep flight of stairs under the guidance of a heavily-bearded ruffian whose appearance boded no good, Helen reached the room she was to occupy. It was separated from the adjoining apartment only by a partition of thin boards full of seams and cracks. But she was too much fatigued by the exhausting ride of two days to lie awake long worrying over possible dangers, and, throwing herself on the rough pallet in her clothing, she was soon fast asleep. She was summoned at dawn by her trusty guide, who was so impressed with the dangerous character of the house that he would not allow her to eat before mounting, or even to be seen by the men who were tarrying there. Leading her at once to the stable, he hastily saddled the horses and urged her away while the gray light was still so faint they could hardly distinguish one object from another. Helen took a scanty breakfast in the saddle—a meagre preparation for the perils and hardships that must be encountered before another sun should set. At the next settlement fresh horses were procured, and a man engaged to return to Raymond with the jaded steeds they had ridden thus far. They were informed that several miles in advance there had been a great freshet which had swollen all the streams and made them wellnigh impassable. But time was pressing, and, finding that Miss Gerard was willing to face the rushing waters, the guide decided to go on.
After fifteen miles of hard riding they found themselves on the edge of a wide stream dangerously swollen and rushing by with great turbulence, shooting roots and branches of dislodged trees along its seething current. But this was no time for hesitation or dismay. Hugging her horse's neck and laying herself length-wise along his back, the heroic girl urged him into the stream and gave him the rein. The horses swam gallantly, and succeeded in making a landing on the other side far below where they had plunged in. Struck by rushing logs, sometimes almost hurled from her precarious seat, Helen preserved her presence of mind, nor was she disheartened by the thrilling peril she had escaped, but with the same fortitude guided her horse across several other dangerous streams before night.
Twilight found the travellers entering the plantation of Mr. Clayton, a domain so vast in extent that several miles had yet to be traversed in the gloom of starlight before the mansion was reached. On alighting Helen expected to pass only one night, or at most a day and a night, enjoying the warm welcome of these kind people, but was told, to her dismay, that the freshets had so swollen the streams that further advance would be impossible for some days. Finding that delay would be disadvantageous to the service upon which he was engaged, Mr. Firth announced to Miss Gerard that he must reluctantly leave her there, but would return for her when the fords became more passable. Being a man of action, no sooner had he informed her of his determination on the following afternoon than he ordered his horse to be saddled and led up. To Helen's surprise, her horse was also brought to the house saddled and bridled, and Mr. Firth gracefully invited her to accompany him a short distance—a proposal which she gladly accepted, because it was not without a slight regret that she felt that the only one in the neighborhood in whom she could confide was about to leave her among total strangers.
In a moment Miss Gerard had donned her riding-habit and was ready to mount. But on reaching the portico her guide strangely lingered, and showed a hesitation altogether unusual in his ordinarily abrupt though courteous manner. Taking her hand in both of his, he looked down into her eyes with a meaning which spoke more than words. Then for the first time Helen realized with a shock that burned her cheeks and made her tremble that he who had been her guide through such varying scenes for weeks past now craved the boon of filling the same calling for her through life.
With a few tenderly-spoken words Mr. Firth made known the love that had been aroused in his bosom by the steadfast heroism of the beautiful girl whom it had been his lot to learn to appreciate under such peculiar circumstances. Helen was quite overcome by the singular and altogether unforeseen turn which affairs had so suddenly taken, while she was at a loss to know what action of hers might have led him to mistake expressions of gratitude for utterances of a love which she did not feel; and difficult indeed was her present task, requiring even more than the usual tact which so rarely failed her in critical moments, to explain the delicate distinction between love and esteem. After making her real sentiments known, Miss Gerard, fearing further to wound the feelings of a man for whom she entertained so high a respect, consented to ride a short distance with him, and with the golden light of the setting sun glinting among the trees they were soon in the forest once more.
On the way Mr. Firth explained the cause of his habitual melancholy, giving her certain details of a tragical career which are now buried with him in the grave where he has lain for these twelve years past. When they had reached a spot some five miles distant from the house where two roads met and divided, "Here we part," Mr. Firth said; and Helen watched his receding form in the golden haze of the setting sun as he passed from her sight for ever.
Miss Gerard returned alone to linger among strangers, upon whose hospitality she must be dependent until the floods should subside and a favorable occasion present itself for her to proceed on her journey. These excellent people treated the fair girl so singularly entrusted to their care less as a guest than as a member of the family: they lent her all the clothing she required and took her out daily on their hunting-parties. But, pleasantly as the time seemed to pass, she was impatient for the opportunity to continue her journey, and at last it occurred in the week after the New Year. A proposition was made to her by the widowed sister of Judge Clayton, whose husband had died suddenly in New Orleans, leaving his affairs in such a condition that her presence was required in that city. It was suggested to Helen that if she would chaperon the mother, daughter and little son across the lines they would provide the mules and vehicle necessary for the journey. She adopted the plan without hesitation, little thinking when she did so that she was accepting troubles greater than any she had yet braved.
Everything was speedily arranged for departure on the following morning. A plain country-wagon with board seats, drawn by two mules driven by a negro, held the Clayton family of three, while Helen accompanied them in the saddle. They passed over roads of the roughest description, in parts almost impassable on account of the recent storms, but Helen often shortened the distance when they came to a curve in the road by urging her fleet horse by a short cut across the fields.
Much fatigued, the party lodged comfortably that night with an acquaintance of the Claytons. Similar hardships the following day brought our travellers at noon to the banks of the Bayou River, opposite Port Gibson. The bridge had been burned by the Confederates on the approach of Grant's army, and a few small wherries now offered the only available means for crossing to the town. So small, indeed, were these boats that the wagon had to be taken apart in order to be ferried over, the body being placed in one boat, the wheels in another and a mule in a third. And thus, one by one, women and child, driver, mules and wagon, were taken across. Here once more Miss Gerard came into unconscious contact with one already alluded to whose future was mysteriously interwoven with hers.
Within five miles of Rodney, Helen, happening to precede the wagon, was suddenly confronted by a scout who cried, "Halt! Whither?" She responded, "To Rodney," and with rare presence of mind added the ambiguous language of her old guide, Mr. Firth, in the hope of repeating the password, which in reality was unknown to her; and before the scout had time to interrogate her further she asked him in whose command he was, if there was any news, and trusted that he would be vigilant in his duties. At once he respectfully touched his hat and turned to halt the party in the wagon, which was now just coming up. Helen, turning in the saddle, cried out to Mrs. Clayton, "Mother, I'm glad to see you safe thus far on our journey, as we are within sight of Rodney." Completely deceived by this ruse, the scout permitted them to pass on without further parley. In another hour the party stood on the brow of the steep bluff overlooking Rodney, up whose slope the climbing roofs of that city are built, and Helen for the first time gazed on the waters of the Mississippi.
The following morning she went to the bank of the river and, sentinel-like, awaited the welcome appearance of a gunboat. Soon she was rewarded by discovering one approaching. Vigorously waving her handkerchief, she had the gratification of seeing her signal recognized. A small boat was lowered, and in charge of an officer in Federal uniform was rowed toward the young girl on the shore. After the usual salutations Helen made her wishes known, and was awaiting the officer's reply when she was most unexpectedly interrupted by the voice of Mrs. Clayton, who had come behind her unobserved, and now, with unmeasured volubility, detailed all her grievances to the officer, whether domestic or otherwise, adding a long tirade of abuse, and even attributing the loss of her husband, who had died peacefully in his bed, to Federal interference.
When the old lady stopped to take breath the officer, astounded at such impudence and folly on the part of one who was looking to him for assistance, said, "Ladies, I cannot do anything for you," and ordered the crew to row back to the gunboat. In silence Miss Gerard and her companion walked back to the hotel. Silence was judicious in a strange place in time of war, and so Helen gave no expression to her indignant feelings until they had reached their apartment. She then locked the door, and, quietly laying aside her hat and gloves, seated herself on a trunk. Thoroughly aroused, she opened her batteries on Mrs. Clayton, assuring her in forcible terms that a repetition of such unseasonable loquacity during their journey would cost her her liberty. She turned to the daughter and made an appeal to her for aid in the matter. At that moment a tap at the door was heard, and she turned her wrath to smiles, for on opening the door her long-lost trunk stood before her. How or whence it came she was not able to learn, but its welcome appearance was like the magic apparition in a fairy-tale.
Many days were passed on the river-bank watching vainly for a steamboat. Helen decided that a dormer-window in the attic of the hotel would be a better point of observation, and with field-glass in hand spent many weary days before she saw the smoke of a steamer puffing down the river. While it was making the bend in the river our anxious heroine hastened to the bank and once more floated her white handkerchief in the air. In her simple dress of homespun and palmetto hat she was indeed an object to gratify the eye of an artist or a poet. The signal was seen, and this time the gunboat herself bore down and came alongside the bank. After the plank had been thrown out an officer stepped on shore and inquired what was wanted. Helen replied, "A New Yorker desires to return to her home after an absence of some years. Family matters alone make it imperative she should do so."
"Are you alone?" he asked.
"No: Judge Clayton's widow and family accompany me to New Orleans. I wish from your captain transportation for us all to that point."
"I will speak to the commanding officer: wait for me here," he replied.
"One moment," exclaimed Helen: "what is the name of your commander? and where from?"
"Captain Belknap of New York," he answered.
In another moment the officer returned with orders to escort Miss Gerard on board. She was led into the presence of a gentleman six feet tall and of herculean frame, with light hair, blue eyes and a face that wore an expression as gentle as that of a woman. Glancing at the lady from head to foot, Captain Belknap asked how so young and interesting a woman could be so far from her mother.
"A sister's love carried me away, and a daughter's love takes me back," she replied.
"Are you travelling with the baggage of a Saratoga belle?" he asked.
"No. Such might be the case if I were the belle. My baggage consists of two trunks for four persons."
"I fear, my young miss, I can render you no assistance," he said. Then ensued a silence which carried despair to her heart. "I might consent to take you," he resumed, "but the taking of a Confederate family is another matter."
"Unless they can accompany me I refuse any such offer," said Helen.
She turned to leave him, when he said, looking at his watch at the same time, "In fifteen minutes my plank will be taken in and my boat headed up the river: if you and your friends are here within that time I will take you on board."
With a hearty "Thank you," Helen fairly ran from his presence, down the plank and through the streets up to the hotel with the fleetness of a gazelle. On the way she encountered a wheelbarrow drawn by a decrepit old negro. Accosting him hastily, she exclaimed, "Here, uncle: I'll give you five dollars for the use of your wheelbarrow for ten minutes," and, snatching the handles out of his grasp, left him to follow as best he could, for she far outran him. Rushing into Mrs. Clayton's room, in a few hurried words she gave the news. She had kept her own trunk in readiness for departure at a moment's notice, and had advised the Claytons to do the same—advice they had taken care to neglect, as she now discovered to her dismay. While Miss Adèle gathered the loose articles about the room and jammed them into their trunk, Helen seized the street-garments of the mother and hurriedly threw them on the old lady. By this time the negro had arrived, breathless with astonishment.
"Here, uncle," exclaimed Miss Gerard: "catch hold of the other handle of this trunk while I take this one—and you, my friends, follow;" and in the next instant she was wheeling the barrow and both trunks through the streets in the van of the party, watched by a gaping crowd, with the dogs barking at her heels and the old man bringing up the rear.
As they reached the bank the whistle of the steamer was blown for departure. While the crew hastily carried the trunks on board the negro hove in sight. Helen waved the five-dollar Confederate note over her head, which made the old fellow quicken his tottering steps, and he tumbled ahead as if in the last efforts of Nature, his short gray hair blowing like an aureole around his head.
After Miss Gerard and Mrs. Clayton had introduced each other to the captain he courteously invited them to lay aside their bonnets and make themselves as comfortable as his limited accommodations would allow. When he left them to give some orders on deck Helen took advantage of his absence to admonish the old lady to maintain a discreet control over her tongue. When the captain returned he found Helen looking at the pictures hanging on the panels. Coming to her side, he kindly explained some of them which represented scenes in his life, and by the frank courtesy of his manner soon relieved her of whatever fears she might have had as to the treatment they were to receive on board a United States ship of war.
While they were thus engaged a waiter spread the table for supper, and, singular as it may seem for one of her social position, Helen questioned in her mind whether a place would be assigned to her at the captain's table or elsewhere; but those were times of war, and the heavy pressure of the mailed hand of the North on the South made the people of the latter section imagine that discourtesy toward ladies would characterize the conduct of Northern sailors and soldiers. Hence, Miss Gerard, as she cast furtive glances toward the table, could not help questioning whether the four additional covers were for the officers or for herself and her companions. Meeting the eyes of Mrs. Clayton, Helen perceived the old lady was also revolving similar thoughts in her mind. Could it be that enemies would be permitted to eat with so high a functionary?
Their suspense was soon relieved by supper being announced. Captain Belknap gallantly invited Miss Gerard to preside as his vis-à-vis, Mrs. Clayton being seated on his right and the daughter and son on his left. A delicate meal on white china and silver gave zest to the appetite of our heroine, while her mind reverted to the dry bread and raw bacon she had so recently eaten in the saddle, not without a relish.
Four delightful days passed rapidly while they glided over the waters of the Mississippi. Then, as the gunboat was patrolling to and fro, watching the banks of the river, our party had to be transferred to a packet bound for New Orleans, and were told to be in readiness, as one was only three miles distant.
"The packet is alongside, ladies: are you ready?" inquired Captain Belknap, coming into the cabin. "I see you are," he added, and turning to Miss Gerard, "You remain while I escort the others on board." And she was left standing in a dazed condition, listening to the footsteps passing away as in funeral procession to her further hopes, wondering what new skeleton she was now to encounter. Could there be a conspiracy against her liberty concealed under this semblance of hospitality? and would her companions thus selfishly abandon her without so much as an adieu?
These gloomy forebodings were not lessened when Captain Belknap returned to her side and with an authoritative voice requested Miss Gerard to show him every letter or document she might have about her person, for he had already searched her trunk and found none, and the presumption was she must have them concealed in her dress. Without a word she handed him a package of unsealed letters from her pocket. He opened one and a bit of tape dropped to the floor. Picking it up, he commenced reading the letter, but before finishing it replaced the tape and opened another, when a Quaker-colored scrap of silk, the size of a dollar-bill, pasted at one end to the paper, met his scrutiny. Lifting the other end of the silk, he glanced over the first few lines of a closely-filled sheet of foolscap and impatiently exclaimed, "Are all these letters of the same character—dress-patterns and waist-ornaments?"
Helen answered, "No doubt, although I have not read them."
Returning her the letters, he said, "I shall be compelled to detain you, while I have given your friends a pass to their destination."
Tears fell fast from her eyes as she turned them from his gaze and realized her helplessness and the futility of all she had thus far endured. For the first time her courage failed her. After an interval of several moments she looked up and discovered the packet still alongside; which astonishing fact caused her to inquire why it lingered.
Evidently, Captain Belknap thought this circumstance would have evaded even her keen observation. Laying his hand gently on her shoulder and looking kindly into her tear-streaming eyes, he said with a quiet laugh, "I'm only joking with you, and yet in my dreary sailor life the past four days have been too happy for me willingly to part with you."
"Please let me go! please let me go!" she pleaded.
"Why, certainly," he replied, "though I shall miss you more than you can ever know. Forgive me for this joke and let us part friends."
Wiping away the tears, which had given place to smiles, she laid both her hands in his and said, "I will not only forgive, but bless you for your kindness."
Drawing her hand into his arm, the captain took her on board the packet and gave her a pass to New Orleans.
The passage down the river occupied several days, the boat touching at only a few points. The little party from Rodney, still under the direction of Miss Gerard, who never relaxed the discipline of her authority, were chiefly dependent on each other for society: for obvious reasons she was reluctant to form acquaintances on board, and so great was her vigilance that whenever Mrs. Clayton's voice became too animated or her language of a nature to attract suspicion she would pinch her arm with a severity that could not be mistaken.
One evening the purser, Mr. Anderson, came to Miss Gerard with a book in his hand. After introducing himself he remarked that he had with him a most entertaining novel, and it had occurred to him that perhaps she would like to read it. Naturally, after passing through so many ordeals, Helen asked herself, "Now, what can this man want?" However, she replied without hesitation, "With pleasure: after a couple of days, when I have read it, I wish you would come to the cabin and I will return it to you;" and again she said to herself, "In this way I shall see more of this man and learn his motive." At a later day she discovered that he was from New Orleans, a paroled Confederate prisoner who knew of the Claytons. How he became an ally at a critical moment will presently appear.
Helen found the book sufficiently interesting to divert her thoughts from dwelling on the further perplexities which she knew were yet to come to vex her soul and perhaps hinder her journey. Retiring to her state-room on the following morning after breakfast, she had again become absorbed in the pages of the novel when she was startled by a loud, authoritative voice in the cabin. Curious to know who it could be, she opened the state-room door, and a glance revealed a new danger. She saw an officer in Federal uniform and with a conspicuously large military moustache about to seat himself at the centre-table, at the same time spreading a large book before him. She perceived that the hour had arrived which was to put to the test all her courage and ingenuity. Unnoticed, she stepped back and locked the door, and climbing up to the highest berth quietly awaited events. Nervously turning the leaves of her novel, she noticed some words written with a pencil on the fly-leaf. With eager eyes she read, "Should you need a friend call on me," signed "Purser," and dated on the previous day. At that instant she was shocked by hearing Mrs. Clayton's loud voice in the cabin. Putting her face close to the lattice over the door of the state-room, she saw the portly Southern dame, who up to this hour had stoutly affirmed that never would she take the horrid oath of allegiance to the wicked Yankee government, standing by the table with her right hand uplifted and deliberately repeating the words dictated by the officer. Few people have a conception of what an exquisite instrument of torture was invented when the famous "iron-clad oath," as it was called, was devised for unrepentant rebels. To refuse it was to abridge liberty and privilege, while to take and keep it was to abandon a cause bred into the bone and sinew of the Southerner.
Descending softly but in all haste, Helen unlocked the door, and then climbing back to the berth again she drew her form out to its full length and carefully covered herself with the bed-clothing, smoothing out the wrinkles and entirely concealing herself. Scarcely had she completed this arrangement when the door was opened, and she recognized the voice of the colored chambermaid inquiring if any one was in the state-room who had not yet taken the oath. Fortunately, she did not enter the room for the purpose of making a close inspection. Aware that the woman would return, Helen, as soon as the door was closed, lost no time in getting down from the upper to the lower berth and taking an easy position with the open book in her hand, in order that she might be seen on the next visit. No sooner had she done this than the chambermaid again peered through the door, and seeing Miss Gerard inquired if she had taken the oath.
With a yawn Helen answered, "Aunty, that matter has all been attended to."
"All right, honey;" and the negress left, satisfied with having thoroughly done her duty. In another moment the Federal functionary, with the great book under his arm, departed, evincing evident gratification at having performed his duty.
One great danger had been successfully avoided by Helen, but another was not far distant before she could be permitted to land, of which she was forcibly reminded when Mr. Anderson came that evening for his book. She rose to meet him, in order that they might not be overheard. When she handed the book to him he said in an undertone, "Are you furnished with the necessary documents to go ashore, as in a few hours we shall be in New Orleans?"
Avoiding a direct answer, Helen replied, "I do need a friend."
He answered, "Rely upon me, and when going ashore cling closely to my side."
She gave a searching look at his face, and instinctively divining that she might hazard herself in his power, replied, "Many thanks: I will do so," and returned to her seat, not without a vague uneasiness, however.
The spires of New Orleans appeared gleaming in the rising sun of the following morning, and the steamboat, with all her freight of hopes and fears, glided up to the levee. Each holding in his hand the official permit to leave, the passengers pressed into the gangway, where two officers with crossed swords barred the passage and carefully examined every paper. The Claytons, having taken the oath, went through without difficulty, while Helen hastened forward to Mr. Anderson, whom she found waiting for her in the gangway. He motioned to her to pass in advance of him. When she came to the crossed swords he cried, "Let this lady, my sister, pass." The swords separated like magic, and with a fast-throbbing heart she stepped on shore, and in another moment was seated in a carriage with her companions. She alighted at the City Hotel, where she parted with the Claytons.
Once more entirely alone in a strange city, Helen considered the next step to be taken in her eventful journey. The following morning, the 4th of February, she proceeded to the agency of the steamer Morning Star, advertised to sail on the 8th, and purchased a ticket, but was informed that she must procure a pass from the provost-marshal before attempting to go on board the steamship. The pass could only be obtained in person. Here was indeed a difficulty, but she soon decided to confront the danger boldly, and trust to unforeseen circumstances to suggest some way of extricating herself. Without delay our heroine reached Carondelet street. Ascending to the second story of a conspicuous building where the marshal's office was located, she became one of a crowd impatiently pressing for an audience and separated by an iron railing from the functionary who presided over the scene. While awaiting her chance she had an opportunity carefully to study his handsome features, and quickly discerned him to be a man of action and decision. His keen, dark-gray eye—that gray so often mistaken for black—also cautioned her to beware.
It was soon apparent that he had singled out the attractive young lady from the motley crowd as one who merited unusual attention, for he ordered his clerk to open the gate and admit her within the official domain. As she entered the marshal signalled to her to take a seat at his side, while he continued signing passes. But Helen was conscious that he was furtively observing her quite as much as the paper on which he was writing.
Suddenly he turned and inquired of her, "To what place do you wish a pass?"
"To New York," she answered.
"Have you taken the oath?" he asked again.
"Not yet," she said: "I should like to do so unobserved."
Folding and placing a large folio under his arm, the officer said, "Follow me to my private office, where I will administer it." So saying, he led the way up another flight of stairs to a spacious room. Spreading the registry of oaths on the table, he bade her be seated.
"Never in the presence of a Yankee officer," she exclaimed.
"Well, as you please," he said impatiently: "now hold up your right hand."
"Nor will I take the oath of allegiance," she added with an emphasis and audacity that made him start.
"What?" he exclaimed. "Who are you? and where did you come from?"
In a few brief words Miss Gerard told her story.
"And after this you presume to ask a pass of me!" said the officer; and, putting his pen behind his ear and springing impetuously to his feet, he led her by one hand to the window, while with his other he pointed to a gloomy-looking brick building plainly in sight, and sternly said, "Do you see that parish prison?"
"I do."
"Well, I shall have to put you there unless you consent to take the oath of allegiance."
Thinking to mollify his wrath, Helen replied in a winning tone, as only a woman can, "I shall not object to prison if you will be my jailer"—words that had a prophetic import, as the event proved.
To conceal his feelings, for while she aroused his anger this fascinatingly perverse girl also strangely attracted him, the marshal said, "I shall leave you here for a few moments to consider the matter," and suddenly left the room, but he took the precaution to lock the door, taking the key with him.
Her eye caught sight of some books and photograph-albums on the table. Taking up one of the latter and turning over the leaves at random, her heart stood pulseless for a moment when she saw the photograph of her own brother; and now she was impatient for Captain McDowell, the provost-marshal, to return and explain to her this singular possession. The unexpected sight of a face she loved more than her own life was enough in this critical situation; not for worlds would she be untrue to the vow she had given him, whatever might be the result of such firmness; and she trembled with these violent emotions while she rose and walked the floor.
After two hours' imprisonment Miss Gerard heard the key turn in the door, and the captain entered. He asked at what hotel she was staying and what hour she dined.
"The City Hotel—at five o'clock," she replied.
"I beg your pardon for keeping you here so long," he said. "You may go now, and I will be there at that hour to dine with you."
Gladly did she avail herself of the permission, saying to herself, "At dinner I will learn how he came to have brother's picture;" and she was stimulated in the idea of entertaining the handsome officer by the thought that she was to show courtesy to one who was perhaps her brother's friend, and might therefore prove himself an assistant on her way home.
Helen paid unusual attention to her toilette on this occasion. All weapons are lawful in war, and none are more conclusive than those fair woman employs to the confusion of the peace of the masculine mind. Scarcely were her preparations for the campaign completed when Captain McDowell was announced. She descended into the parlor to meet him, full of eagerness to learn about the picture, but she controlled her curiosity until dinner was over and they were seated in the parlor. She was then informed that her brother had been a paroled prisoner under the charge of Captain McDowell until exchanged. A friendship had sprung up between them, and when parting they had exchanged photographs. The captain assured her of his pleasure at meeting with the sister of one he so highly regarded, and that he was ready to assist her out of her present predicament in every way consistent with his official duties. He left her with the promise of dining with her on the day of sailing and of seeing her on board.
The hour of departure found Miss Gerard at the wharf with Captain McDowell at her side. When they reached the plank leading to the steamer's deck the provost-marshal's authoritative voice to the officers detailed there with crossed swords was a sufficient open sesame to enable Helen to walk quietly on board. After they were in the cabin the gallant captain lingered at her side until he obtained from her a promise to correspond with him. Strange inconsistency! one may say of our fair girl, but not singular in a woman, that after such fidelity to the cause of the South, and bound by such an inflexible vow to her brother, which she never verbally broke, she was at that very hour actually touched by a tenderness for one who was doing all in his power to overthrow the Confederacy, and had proved his earnestness on many a hard-fought field, especially at Raymond and Fort Gibson, where they had already trodden the same path without being aware of each other's existence. But this very inconsistency is, after all, the strongest proof that politics holds a secondary place in the heart of woman, and that love is always the first necessity of her being.
Helen, after such various and hazardous adventures, found herself once more in her native city, New York. Many solicitous and finally tender letters passed between the captain and Miss Gerard, but when the formal proposal of marriage was made she placed the missive in her father's hands.
"Daughter, is your heart in this?" he asked.
"Yes," was her modest reply; and the next steamer carried a joint letter from father and daughter extending a cordial invitation to Captain McDowell to make them a visit. In the following autumn one of October's fairest days saw Helen the bride of the officer in blue coat and brass buttons.
S.G.W. Benjamin.