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 wistfulyearning 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 thoughTomthought 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 ofgoldfastened 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 thecommon 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.
“Isaac,” he said, softly, “Isaac, my boy, don’t you know me?”
Not till then had Isaac observed the tall figure standing near, but at the sound of the well-remembered voice he looked quickly up, and putting gently from him the head of his comrade, sprang to his feet with a scream of joy, and threw himself into the open arms of Tom, who held and soothed him, while he sobbed out his delight.
“Oh, Captain Carleton!” he cried, his body quivering with emotion, “I am so glad! I thought you had,—I didn’t know,—Oh,whyhaven’t you come before, I’m so sick, so sick and tired, that I almost want to die! Willwe ever be exchanged; have they forgotten us at Washington? Shall we never go home again?”
These were questions which more than one poor captive had asked, and which none could answer. Tom, however, did the best he could, and hushing Isaac as he would have hushed and quieted a grieving child, he spoke to him many a word of comfort, promising to care for him as for a younger brother, and speaking of various ways in which his forlorn condition should be bettered, now that he was an inmate of the same prison. It was a blissful interview, and its good effects were seen in the brightness of Isaac’s face, and the cheerful smile which played around his mouth, even after Tom had gone to his quarters below.
Softer than downy pillow seemed the hard bare floor, that night, as with his arm thrown round his invalid friend, Isaac lay dreaming of the frost-tipped trees at home, and the brown nuts ripening on the hill, where he, perhaps, might pick them yet, for Tom had given some encouragement that an exchange would ere long be effected, and as each believed his own name would be upon the list, so Isaac hoped his would, and in slumber’s fitful fancy he was at home again, and saw his mother come softly in to tuck the bed-clothes round him, or see if he were sleeping, just as she used to do. How still he lay to make her think hewasasleep! How real seemed the vision, how life-like the kiss pressed upon his lips, and the tear-drop that came with it! In a corner of the room there were groans and imprecations, and with a nervous start the dreamer woke to find it all a horrid delusion. That stifling, fetid atmosphere had in it no odor of Rockland’s healthful breezes, and the star, shining on him through the iron bars, though familiar to him, was not the same which he used to watch from the windowbeneath the eaves, facing to the north. No home, no mother, no soft feathery pillow for his head, or blanket for his body—nothing but that feverish hand still upon his forehead, and that tear on his cheek, forthesewere real, and the sick soldier at his side, who gave the kiss and tear, was whispering in his ear, that the way so tearfully sought was found at last; that the gloomy, desolate prison was like the gates of Paradise, and death disarmed of all its terror.
“If mother could only know it,” he said, “I should be so glad, and you’ll tell her, won’t you, when you get home again? Tell her it wasn’t very hard to die, even in this dingy hole; that Heaven and Jesus are as near to me here on the floor, as if I were lying on my own bed at home, with her standing by. Tell her I’m glad I fought for the Stars and Stripes, but sorry I ran away without her consent, for I did. I got out on the wood-shed roof, and so came off unseen. She’s prayed for me every day and every night, and God has heard her prayers. He sent you here to lead me in the way, and after I am gone, he’ll let you go back again.”
There were a few more whispered words on either side, and then the exhausted but happy youth fell away to sleep, while Isaac wept with thankfulness that his confinement there had not been all in vain.
Faithful to his promise, Tom, as far as was possible, alleviated the hardships so long and so meekly borne by Isaac, and with his gold bought many a delicacy for Isaac’s end, the poor, sick Massachusetts boy, who, one night ere the physician had fairly decided that he was in need of medical care, laid his head on Isaac’s lap as he was wont to do, and with another whispered message for the mother far away, and another assurance ofperfect peace, went where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest!
While he lived there had been something to take Isaac’s mind—something to excite his sympathy, and in ministering to Henry’s wants, he had more than half forgotten his own, but now that he was gone, and the corner where he had sat or lain was empty, Isaac, too, faded rapidly, and not all Tom’s efforts had power to save him from the apathy which came stealing over him so fast. Touched with pity at his forlorn, dejected appearance, his comrades made him a little bed in the corner where the dead boy had been, and there all the day long he lay, rarely noticing any one except Tom Carleton, who came often to his side, and whose own warm blanket formed the pillow for his head. From the first floor to the third there was not one who was not more or less interested in the pale invalid, bearing his pain so patiently, never complaining, never repining, but thanking those about him for any kindness rendered with such childlike, touching sweetness, that even the rough jailer regarded him with favor, and paused sometimes to speak to him a word of encouragement.
In this state of feeling it was not a difficult matter for Tom to obtain permission for Isaac to be removed from the dirty corner above to his own comparatively comfortable cot in the officers’ apartments below. But this did not effect a cure. Nothing could do that save a sight of home and mother.
“Could I seeher,” Isaac said one day, “or even stand again beneath the Federal Flag, I might get better, but here I shall surely die, and if I do, oh, Captain Carleton, you’ll get them to send me home, won’t you? I don’t care for myself where I am buried, but my mother—it would break her heart to hear I was put with thenegroes. She’s a rough woman, and folks who don’t know her much, thinks she’s cross and queer, but she’s beensogood to me, and I love her so much! Oh, mother, mother, I wish she was here now,” and the sick boy turned his white face to the wall, sobbing out choking sobs which seemed to come from the lowest depths of his heart.
Cries for home and mother were not uncommon in that prison house, but there was something so piteous in his childlike wail that other officers than Tom bent over the poor lad, trying to comfort him by telling of an exchange which, it was hoped would ere long be effected, and by painting happy pictures of the glad rejoicing which would greet the returning captives. For an instant the great tears, dropping so fast from Isaac’s lids, were staid in their course, and a smile of hope shone on his pallid face, but quickly passed away as he suggested,
“Yes, but who knows ifIwill be on the list?”
No one could tell him that. All would not go, they knew, and they could only wait patiently, each hopinghewould be the favored one. At last there came a day, never to be forgotten by the inmates of that tobacco house, a day on which was read the names of those who were to be released and breathe again the air of freedom. Oh, how anxiously the sick boy listened as one after another was called. “Captain Thomas Carleton” was among the number, and a deep flush stole to the young man’s face as uncertainty was thus made sure.Hewas going home, and like waves upon the beach, the throbs of joy beat around his heart, making him glad as a little child when returning to its mother after a long separation.
But oh, who shall tell Isaac’s emotions as name after name was called, and none that sounded like his.Would they never reach it, never sayIsaac Simms?Could it be he was not there? Larger and thicker grew the drops of sweat, quivering about his mouth, and standing upon his forehead. Whiter, more death-like grew his face: heavier, sadder, more mournful the eyes, fixed so wistfully upon the caller of that roll, growing less so fast. There could not be many more, and the head drooped upon the heaving bosom, with a discouraged, disheartened feeling, just as the last was read, nothis, not Isaac Simms.He was not there, and with a moan, which smote painfully on Tom’s ear, the disappointed boy turned away, and wept bitterly, while his pale lips moved feebly with the prayer for help he essayed to make. To be left there alone, with no kind Captain Carleton to soothe the weary hours, to be returned, most likely, to the noisy floor above, to die some night when nobody knew or cared,—it was terrible,—and Widow Simms would have shrieked in anguish could she have seen the look of despair settling down on her darling’s face.
But though she did not see it, there was one who did, and guessing at the thoughts which prompted it, he walked away to be alone, and gather strength for the sacrifice he must make. Tom Carleton could not desert the boy who had clung so faithfully to him, and as Isaac had once staid by him in the Virginia woods, when he might have gone away, so he now would stay with Isaac. Still it was hard to give up going home, and for a moment he felt as if he could not. There was a fierce struggle between duty and inclination,—a mighty combat between Tom’s selfishness and his better nature,—and then the latter conquered. He must stay. It would not be difficult to find some person to take his place clandestinely, for already were the unfortunate ones seeking to buy such chances, and offering every possible inducementto any who would accept. A young lieutenant about his age and appearance, and whose wife and child were suffering from his absence, was the one selected by Tom as his substitute, and the matter soon arranged. Then, with a forced cheerfulness he did not feel, Tom went back to Isaac, who was still weeping silently on his couch, and whispering to an unseen presence, “You’llnever leave me, will you? and when I die you’ll take me up to Heaven?”
Here was a faith, a trust, to which Tom Carleton was a stranger, and wishing himself more like that sick boy, he bent over the cot, and said cheerily,
“Isaac, are you asleep?”
In the tone of his voice there was something so kind and sympathetic, that Isaac started up, and winding his feeble arms around Tom’s neck, sobbed out,
“Forgive me, Captain Carleton; I’m glad you are going home, but I wasn’t at first; the bad, hard lumps kept rising in my throat as I thought of staying here alone without you, but they’re gone now. I prayed them all away, and I am glad you are going. I shall miss you dreadfully, but God will not forsake me. And, Captain Carleton, if you ever do,—see—my,—my”——
Isaac’s voice was choked with tears, and he could not at first articulate that dear word, but soon recovering, he went on—“see my mother, you’ll tell her about me. Tell her everything except how I’ve suffered. That would do no good—’twould only make her cry, and when she hears, as she maybe will, that I am dead, tell I wasn’t afraid, for the Saviour was with me. I’d rather you shouldn’t say good-bye at the last. It would make me feel so bad, only sometime before you go I want to tell you how much I love you for your goodness, and to ask you to be a”——
He did not finish the sentence, for Tom knew what he would say, and wiping both sweat and tears from off the worn face, looking so lovingly at him, he answered, “Iwilltry to be a better man. I never felt the need of it so much till I came here, and Isaac, I am going to stay till you, too, are exchanged. Did you think I would desert the boy who, but for me, would not have been a prisoner?”
Isaac did not reply; only the soft, blue eyes lighted up with sudden, eager joy; the lips trembled as if they would speak, there was a perceptible shudder, and then Tom held in his arms a fainting, unconscious form. The revulsion of feeling was too great, and for many minutes Isaac gave no sign of life, but when at last he was restored again, he tried to dissuade Tom from making so great a sacrifice, but all in vain. Tom silenced every objection, and when the 3d of January came, and prisoners were released, another than Tom Carleton answered to his name, and marched from Richmond in his stead.
Tom had once spent several months in Richmond, and in the higher circles he numbered many personal friends, who, until quite recently, were ignorant of the fact that he was a prisoner in their midst. Of these the more loyal to the new Confederacy ignored him entirely. Others, remembering his genial humor, and quiet, gentlemanly manner which had won their admiration for the elegant Bostonian and his gentle wife, threw their prejudice aside, and respecting him because he had stood firmly by his own State, visited him in his prison, while others sent playful messages that though they denounced him as an intruder upon their rights, they owned him as a friend, and would gladly ameliorate his condition. To these acquaintance it was soon known how great a sacrificeTom had made for the sake of a young boy, and the result was a gradual abatement of the surveillance held over Tom, while many privileges hitherto denied by the strict jail discipline, were accorded to him. Isaac, too, was benefited through him, and more than one fair lady visited the invalid, growing strangely interested in the gentle “Yankee boy,” and bringing many a delicacy with which to tempt his capricious appetite. But no amount of kindness could win him back to health so long as he breathed the atmosphere of prison walls. To go home was all he desired, and day after day the flesh shrivelled from his bones, and the blue veins stood out round and full upon his wasted hands until there came a night when the physician told the jailer, whom he met upon the stairs, that “the Yankee boy was dying.”
There were not many now in prison, and ere long the sad news was known throughout the building, causing the riotous ones to hush their noisy revels, and tread softly across the uncovered floor, lest they should disturb the sufferer below. The jailer, too, remembering his own son, afar in Southern Tennessee, wiped a tear from his rough face, and drew nearer to the humble cot where Tom sat watching the panting and seemingly dying boy. There were moments of feverish delirium, when the prison, with its surrounding horrors, faded away, and Isaac was at home, bathing his burning brow with the snow covering the Northern hills, or talking to his mother of all that had transpired since the April morning when, followed by her prayers and tears, he left her for the battle. Then, reason came back again, as clear as ever, and with Tom Carleton’s hand pressed between his own he dictated what Tom should say to the mother when he went back to her alone and left her boy behind.
“I shall never go home any more,” he said, “and I’vebuilt such bright castles about it, too, fancying how nice it would seem to lie on mother’s soft, warm bed, and watch the sun shining through the windows, or the grass springing by the door. The snow will melt from the garden before long, and the flowers I used to tend come up again, but I shan’t be there to see them. I shall be lying here so quiet and so still that I shall not even hear the cannon’s roar, or the loud huzzahs when peace is at last declared, and the cruel war is ended. Oh, if all the dead ones could know, it would be something worth fighting for, but when the troops are marching home, and the bells ring out a welcome, there’ll be many a one missing in the ranks, and almost every graveyard, both North and South, will hold a soldier’s grave, but you will not forget us, will you?” and the sunken eyes turned pleadingly on Tom. “When the bonfires are kindled at the North, and the glad rejoicings are made, you will think of the poor boys who fought and died that you might enjoy just such a holiday?”
Tom could only answer by pressing the thin hands he held, and Isaac continued:
“Tell mother not to fret too much for me. I guess she did love me best, because I was the youngest, but Eli and John will comfort her old age. Tell them, too, how much I love them, and how proud I was of them that day at Bull Run. They used to plague me sometimes, and call me a girl baby, but I’ve forgiven that, for I know they did not mean it. I hope they’ll both be spared. It would kill mother to lose us all. Tell her how I bless her for the lessons of my childhood, the prayers said at her knee before I knew their meaning, the Sunday School she sent me to, and the Bible stories told in the winter twilight. Tell her I was not afraid to die, only I wanted her so much, but everybody’s beengood. There are kind folks here in Richmond, and God will bless them for it. Oh, Captain Carleton, I’m a poor ignorant boy, and you a proud, rich man, but you will heed me, won’t you, and when I’m gone, you’ll take my little Testament and read it every day. Read it first for Isaac’s sake, but it won’t be long before you’ll read it for its precious truths, and you will come to Heaven where we can meet again—promise, won’t you?”
There was a moment’s silence, during which Tom choked down the tears he could scarcely suppress, so strongly this scene reminded him of another, when he sat by Mary’s side, and heard her dying voice urging him to meet her. Four years the Southern sun had shone upon her grave, and he had made no preparation yet, but now he would put it off no longer, and bending over Isaac, he replied:
“I promise; and if you see my darling in the better land, tell her, God helping me, I’ll find my way to where she has gone.”
The white lips feebly murmured their thanks, and then suddenly asked:
“Do you think mother’s got the letter you sent, and knows how sick I am? If so, she’s praying for me now, and maybe her prayers will save. I’m not afraid to die, but if I could go home to Rockland first, it would not seem so bad. Pray, mother, pray—pray, pray hard,” and too much exhausted to talk longer, the half-delirious boy turned upon the pillow furnished by some kind lady, and fell into a heavy sleep, from which the physician said he would never waken.
Midnight in Richmond, and Tom, counting off the strokes, bent lower to watch for the expected change.There was no color in the parted lips, and about the nose there was a pinched, contracted look, which Tom remembered to have seen in Mary’s face, when by her bedside he had sat, just as he sat by Isaac’s, but where Mary’s hands were cold and dry Isaac’s were moist and warm, while the rapid pulses were not as wiry, and irregular as hers had been. There was hope, and falling on his knees, Tom Carleton asked that the life almost gone out might be restored, and promised that if it were he would not forget this lesson as he had forgotten the one learned by Mary’s death-bed. He would be a better man, he said, and God, as he sometimes does, took him at his word. Gradually the sharp expression passed away, the hair grew damp with a more healthful moisture, the pulses were slower, the breathing more regular, and when at last the heavy slumber was broken, and Isaac looked up again, Tom knew that he would live.
There was a murmured prayer of thanksgiving, a renewal of his pledge, and then he bent every energy to sustain the life coming so slowly back. Softly the morning broke over the prison walls, and they who had expected to look on Isaac dead, rejoiced to hear that he was better.
“It may be I shall see mother yet,” he whispered, faintly, when Tom told him that the dreaded crisis was past; “and if I do, I’ll tell her of your kindness.”
“Would you like very much to go home to your mother?” Tom asked, and with a quivering lip and chin Isaac answered:
“Yes, oh, yes, if I only could! I was willing to die, but I guess we all cling to life at the last, don’t you?”
Tom did not reply to this, but spoke instead of a rumor that all were soon to be discharged and sent back to Washington.
“We’ll go together, then,” he said, “you and I, for I shall visit Rockland first and see my sister Rose.”
The prospect of release was meat and drink for Isaac who rallied so fast that when the joyful news of an exchangedidcome, he was able, with Tom’s help, to walk across the floor of what had been his home so long.
Haggard, wasted, weary, and worn were those prisoners as they filed down the stairs and out into the streets, but with each moment which brought them nearer home, their spirits rose, and when at last they stood again on Federal soil and saw the Stars and Stripes waving in the morning breeze, long and deafening were the huzzas which rent the air as one after another gave vent to his great joy at finding himself free once more. Isaac, however, could neither shout, nor laugh, nor speak, and only the large eyes, brimming with tears, told of joy unutterable, but when arrived at Washington, his two stalwart brothers took him in their arms, hugging and crying over him as over one come back to them from the grave, his calmness all gave way, and laying his tired head on Eli’s bosom, while John held and caressed his wasted hands, he sobbed out the happiness too great to be expressed in words. To him a full discharge from service was readily accorded, while to Tom a furlough of several weeks was given, and after a few days at Washington both started northward to join the friends waiting so impatiently for their arrival.