Her mission accomplished, Rebecca, leaving the distressed family to find solace for their sorrow as best they could, returned home to gloat on the perfection of a scheme that would bring sorrow and desolation to the happy Cuban home.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE war still raged. The whole world, one might dare to say, was more or less agitated by this conflict. Vigilance, tightening its grasp here, redoubling its blows there, watching the inlets and outlets everywhere, had taught a once happy people that war was no holiday sport. But the great end must be reached, the end of the "War of the Rebellion" with the government intact. To accomplish this, every means was deemed fair and honorable. Blockading, starvation, destruction of property, the torch-yea, any and every appliance that would tend to subdue a hostile people, was brought into requisition to maintain the Union.
So, before the third year of the memorable civil war had run its bloody course, want almost stalked abroad in this fair Southern land. But for the successful, though occasional ventures of some friendly vessel, that succeeded in running the blockade, bringing stores necessary for the comfort of a war-worn people, dire want might have reigned supreme in many a household, where wealth and luxury once dwelt. So much for the good accomplished by those bold adventurers of the sea. And yet there were blockade-runners-a few, a very few, thank Heaven-who were but a set of human vultures, preying upon their fellow-beings, and who, for a sum of gold, would lend their hand to any deed of darkness. To this latter class belonged Joe Haralson, the well-known captain of the Tigress, the most successful blockade-runner on all the southern coast. Haralson himself was a native of one of the fertile cotton islands off the coast of the Palmetto State, and, in an hour of danger, had deserted his country, and fled to the West Indies. There he equipped a vessel for blockade-running, and being familiar with much of the southern coast, he was always successful in eluding the guns of the blockading fleets, and entering safely with his cargo. The supplies of merchandise, and the munitions of war that he occasionally landed, were exchanged for cotton, which he sold for gold at a fabulous profit.
It was the summer after the removal of Mr. Mordecai's family to Inglewood. In the month of June, Joe Haralson anchored the Tigress safely within the port of Havana. New Providence was his usual harbor of refuge; but now, other business than the successful disposal of his cargo of cotton had brought him thither. One soft, sweet morning, in this land where spring and summer alternate, Leah had been out driving with her husband, enjoying the early morning breeze, and hoping that it would benefit the delicate little Sarah, then in her second summer. They drew near the Plaza de la Mar, and Emile remarked, as he surveyed the endless rows of shipping:
"There, Leah, see the countless numbers of flags."
"Yes, all but the flag of our struggling country," she replied. "I wonder if that will ever become a recognized flag among nations?"
"I fear not," Emile replied gravely. "But there! our darling has fallen asleep! We must hasten home."
On reaching home, Emile kissed his wife, and softly kissed his sleeping baby too, before alighting from the light volante; and then, throwing the lines to Petro, the slave, who was awaiting their return, he said, "Take care of the pony, Petro;" and turning to his wife—"You take care of my wee lamb, Leah, till I come again," and left them.
An hour later, and a thick-set, rough-visaged man entered the banking-house of Gardner & Company, and asked, in faltering English, "Is Se¤or Le Grande in?"