CHAPTER XVIII.
THE RICHMOND CAPTIVES.
How close, and dirty, and terrible it was on that third floor of the dingy tobacco house, where Isaac, as a private, was first confined, and as the summer days glided by and the August sun came pouring into the great, disorderly room, how the young boy panted and pined for a breath of sweet, pure air, such as swept over the far-off Eastern hills, and how full of wistful yearning were the glances he cast toward the grated windows, seeking to catch glimpses of the busy world without, in which he could not mingle. Not very near those windows did he dare approach, for more than one had already paid the penalty of such transgression, and in his dreams, Isaac saw yet the white death agony which stole over the face of the Fire Zouave shot by the inhuman guard while looking from the window.
No wonder that the homesick boy grew sadder, wearier each day amid such horrors as these, praying, sometimes, that he might die, even though he must be buried far from the quiet Rockland churchyard, where the cypress and the willow were growing so green and fair, and where a mother could sometimes come and weep over her soldier boy’s grave. It would matter little where he slept, he thought, or what indignities were heaped upon his lifeless form, for his soul could not be touched; that would be safe with Him, whom Isaac, in his captivity, had found to be indeed the Friend which sticketh closer than a brother. The Saviour, honored since early childhood, did not desert the captive, and this it was which made him strong to bear, through the long summer days, during which there came to him no tidings of his home, and his eye was greeted with no sight of a familiar face, for Captain Carleton was yet an inmate of the hospital. Neither did any friendly message come to tell he was remembered by the man whose fortunes he had voluntarily shared, when he might, perhaps, have escaped, for though Tom thought often of the generous lad, and sent to him many a word of comfort through mistake or negligence only one brief message had ever reached its destination, and so forsaken by every human aid, poor Isaac looked to Heaven for help, finding there a peace which kept his heart from breaking.
But as the summer days glided into September, and the heat grew more and more intense, until at last September, too, was gone, and the Virginia woods were blazing in the light of the October sun, and still there was no token of relief, oh! who, save those who have felt it, can tell of the loneliness, the dreary despair, which crept into the captive’s soul, driving out all hope, and making life as it existed in those walls a burden, which would be gladly shaken off. How Isaac paled and drooped as the weary hours stole on; how he loathed the sickening food; and how at night he shuddered with horror, and shrank away from the vermin-covered floor, his only pillow unless he substituted the coat, now scarcely less filthy than its surroundings! As Tom wrote to the New Hampshire woman, Mrs. Simms would scarcely have recognized her son in the haggard, emaciated boy, who, on one October afternoon, sat crouching in his corner, grasping the little Testament given by the Rockland ladies, and repeating its precious truths to the poor, sick, worn-out youth, whose head lay on his lap, and whose eyes, blistered with homesick tears, were fastened with a kind of hungry wistfulness upon the girlish face above him, the face of Isaac Simms, pointing the dying soldier to the only source of life. It was thus Tom Carleton found him, Tom, just released from the hospital, and transferred to the first floor of that dark prison.
With Tom it had fared better, for Yankee-like in his precautions, he had gone into the battle with a quantity of gold fastened securely around his person, and gold has a mighty power to unlock the hardest heart. As a commissioned officer, and a man of wealth and rank, many privileges were accorded to him which were denied the common soldiers, and his first act after entering the tobacco house was to seek out his late companion and ask after his welfare. He did not know him at first, though directed to that locality as the one where the “Preacher” would probably be found. He could not think he had ever seen either of these famished, miserable looking creatures, but touched by the impressive scene, he stood a moment listening, while Isaac read,
“I am the way, the truth, and the life. No man cometh to the Father but by me.”
“Yes, but how shall I go to Him? Where is He?” the sick boy asked, and bending lower, Isaac answered:
“He’s here. He’s standing close by you. He hears all I say. He knows you want him, and he will not cast you off, for he has said he wouldn’t. Only believe, and take him at his word, that’s all.”
There was an evident lifting up of both souls to God, and Tom felt that even in that horrid place, there were angels dwelling. He knew now that one was Isaac, and the great tears rolled down his cheeks as he saw the fearful change wrought in little more than two short months.