In a couple of weeks Mrs. Hartley rallied, and ere long she became convalescent, and even cheerful. She used to chat with her mother for hours together, and the fourth week after the latter’s arrival she was able to go out for a drive accompanied by her and the baby, who had accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Hartley in all their travels. The little girl and her grandmother soon became great friends, and when, Beatrice being strong enough, her mother would have returned to her convent life, the baby’s smiling face did what all persuasion had failed to do, and bursting into tears, the aged penitent folded the darling to her breast and declared that she would never part from it again. Beatrice’s joy knew no bounds; and as for Mr. Hartley, he was perfectly satisfied to know that his wife was happy. In a few days they made preparations for a journey to the South, and ere long Mrs. Hartley had the satisfaction of seeing her mother snugly ensconced at her own fireside, living as it were over again, and enjoying in the care of her daughter’s child, the maternal pleasure which had hitherto been denied her. Ere leaving Montreal Mr. Hartley, at his wife’s request, erected a handsome monument in Mount Royal Cemetery to the memory of the humane man, who, regardless of the jeers and scoffing of gossiping scandal mongers, had braved public opinion, and saved to the world a good wife, an affectionate daughter and a loving and tenderhearted mother.
During all this time, it may be asked, what had become of Jack Rogers, one of the principals in my narrative?
Jack was fairly wild at the thought of his sweetheart going into an institution. He would have married her on the spot and braved all his father’s anger. But the girl showed equal self-denial, and was much more sensible; she saw that, by consenting to marry a penniless gentleman, she would certainly injure him, without in any way benefiting herself. She knew his father sufficiently well to feel sure that, were he aware of his son’s relations with her, not one but both of them, would be ignominiously turned out of doors. So, consoling her paramour with this questionable bit of comfort, she tore herself away, saying coolly that he would soon forget and marry some one in his own station in life. But, though she nerved herself to speak in this strain before him, when alone she broke down entirely, and sobbed till her heart nearly broke, for the poor girl loved him dearly, and, poor though he was, would have married him and worked for him, if necessary. She saw, however, that his prospects would be utterly blasted were he to disclose his position to his father; and she unselfishly took on herself the whole of the punishment for a sin of which she was scarcely guilty, or, at any rate, less highly culpable than he.
Jack would fain have put a pistol ball through his head, and doubtless would have done so had the pistol been handy; but his pistols, like everything else he possessed, were out of order, and were at the moment in Mr. Costen’s hands, where they lay in a disintegrated condition till the young gentleman’s blood had got some degrees cooler. Still, he could not help thinking how his folly and thoughtlessness had ruined the hopes of a poor innocent girl, and he longed for some opportunity for going abroad, or participating in some excitement to enable him to muse less moodily on the past.
The American civil war was at this time in full blast, and large bounties were offered for volunteers. An American agent, meeting Jack Rogers in a saloon, which the latter frequented, offered him two hundred dollars and an outfit if he would go as a substitute for a young gentleman in New York. This offer Jack readily accepted, and within a short time found himself en route to Richmond to join the Federal Army. He was not long in the service when his superior intelligence and daring exploits made him conspicuous among his fellows, and he was promoted from one grade to another till he was placed in command of his company. This was a position Jack was eminently fitted for, and his reckless bravery was talked of far and wide throughout the army.
For a long time, in spite of his foolhardiness, Jack remained without a scratch, save a slight wound from a rifle ball at Gettysburg, where he made himself particularly conspicuous. Just before the close of the great struggle, however, he was sent in command of a foraging party consisting of about forty-five rank and file and the usual complement of officers. Their path lay through a deed ravine in which high wooded cliffs looked down on each side. These cliffs were in possession of a Louisiana regiment, who were stationed there in the hope of cutting off supplies from the Northerners, and, just as Captain Rogers with his handful of men, entered the ravine a murderous fire was opened on them from both sides. Rogers ordered his men to reply, but, as the ravine afforded little or no cover, they were finally obliged to make their way as quickly as possible to the end of the pass and fight their way through. They found their way completely blocked by a force of two or three hundred rebels, but, as to return would have proved equally disastrous, there was nothing for it but to surrender, or cut a path for themselves through, the enemy. Bracing themselves for a terrible struggle, Rogers and his little band advanced to within a few yards of the open, where their foes, with rifles loaded and bayonets fixed, stood demanding their surrender. Captain Jack ordered his men to fire at a given signal, and then to advance; and, firing his own pistols by way of signal, he dashed through the smoke, followed by his daring band, cutting and slashing right and left.
But courage will not enable men to do impossibilities. Out of the handful who entered the ravine but three managed to cut their way through the opposing forces, and these were all more or less injured by rifle balls or sabre cuts. Poor Rogers fought like a lion; but, being the centre of attraction on account of his uniform, he had his hands more than full, and though he pistoled two men and knocked an officer who would have seized him senseless with the butt-end of his empty revolver, he was finally brought off his horse with a pistol shot, and captured, more dead than alive, by the enemy.
The officer in charge was so struck with the bravery of the poor fellow that he had endeavored to take him prisoner, and had stayed some of his men who had essayed to run the fiery captain through with their bayonets; his impetuous charge, however, led them in self defence to disable him, and the young lieutenant who shot him had no alternative except to be brained by a blow from Jack’s pistol. The excitement over, however, the colonel of the victorious corps sent a detachment in search of the wounded of both sides, and ordered a litter to be prepared for Captain Rogers’ removal to his own quarters. Poor Jack was severely injured. The ball had entered his left arm close to the shoulder, and was not necessarily fatal; but his horse had fallen on him and bruised him so that he could scarcely breathe. The march to the camp was about two miles, and, although the men moved as gently as possible, yet Captain Rogers suffered agony as he felt every motion. Arrived at Colonel De Beaumont’s quarters (for the brave commander was the husband of Mrs. De Beaumont) a surgeon was sent for and the invalid’s wounds were attended to. Although a prisoner of war Captain Rogers’ received every attention from Colonel De Beaumont and the officers under his command, and when, the regiment being ordered to head-quarters, the Colonel was obliged to send Rogers to prison with the rest of his captured force, the parting was more like that of two brothers than that of a victor and his fallen foe.
After the close of the war, which, event took place shortly after these occurrences, Colonel De Beaumont, disgusted and sick at heart, returned to New Orleans. He was obliged to bow to fortune, and to swear allegiance once more to what he considered the oppressor. Almost his first thought after his return was to enquire concerning the Federal troops who had been captured by his men, especially the gallant Rogers, for whom he had formed a more than passing attachment. He learned that of those who had been placed in confinement, some had died of their wounds, others, as soon as the proclamation of Northern supremacy gave them their liberty, had returned to their homes, but that the Captain, having contracted a dangerous fever, had been unable to accompany them. De Beaumont lost no time in seeking out the poor soldier’s quarters, and was grieved to find him barely alive, he having scarcely recovered from the fever, besides suffering from partially healed and badly-dressed wounds. The Colonel persuaded him, so soon as he could move, to accompany him to his own house, where he would receive proper attention, and, in a short time, the sufferer was installed in De Beaumont’s comfortable house, the kind hostess doing all in her power to alleviate his sufferings.
It was about this time that Mrs. Hartley, accompanied by her mother, had returned to her husband’s residence, and one day as she was visiting Mrs. De Beaumont she learnt the story concerning the wounded officer, who, though in the service of the North, was compassionately treated by the whole household, having made friends of them all by his cheerful uncomplaining disposition, and his grateful acknowledgment of even the slightest service. While recounting the story to her husband and mother at dinner, the latter grasped the table convulsively with both her hands, and breathlessly demanded of her daughter all the particulars; with a wild exclamation of terror, she rushed up to her room, hastily followed by her bewildered daughter. The latter found her mother in the act of dressing hurriedly, and on enquiring for an explanation the poor woman fell on her child’s neck, and with bitter tears explained that it was her own father who lay so near them at death’s door, and that, whatever it might cost, she would rush to his side.