THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA LIBRARY THE WILMER COLLECTION OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS PRESENTED BY RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. €^t Iflnrftiaq. "There was a pleading earnestness in his eyes which caused Agnes to tremble vnih. uncontrollable emotion, and she covered her face with her hands, and would have fled from liim," fPage 1C4. THE SANCTUARY:. A STORY OF TIIECIVIL WAR, GEORGE WARD NICHOLS, AUTHOE OP "THE STORY OP THE GEEAT MAROH. Witft fiUustratfons. NEW YORK: IIAEPER & BROTHEES, PUBLISHERS, FUANKLIN SQUARE. 18G6. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred and sixty-six, hy HARPER & BROTHERS, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of New York. PREFACE, ^t:^M^ff^-^^^ ^^^ ™y g^^^ fortune, several years ago, to visit the Old World* While crossing the English Channel upon my journey toward home, my mind im- pressed with the glory of splendid arch- itecture and beautiful pictures, I saw a ship under full sail, with our national ban- ner flying at the mast-head. "While the vision thrilled me with emotions of pride and exultation, which all the wonders of Eu- ropean art had failed to inspire, yet there was min- gled with them a sense of humiliation at the thought that it floated over four millions of human beings in slavery. During the years of our Civil War, it has been my duty to make longer journeys in my native land, not, as in Europe years ago, a spectator merely, but as an actor in scenes where the beautiful, the heroic, and A2 603161 X Preface. the terrible were strangely mingled. Day after day I saw the sj^mbol of our national unity outspread by a thousand patriot hands, or when tossing amid the fray of battle, I have watched its surge as token of victory ; and grander than all, as crowds of refugees, white and black, sought its folds for protection and liberty, I no longer felt humiliated nor ashamed, for the flag of our union symbolized to me, as it must to all the world. Liberty, in its widest, purest, noblest meaning. • I was impressed by this thought more than by any other during my experiences in the war, and the story herein narrated, which is founded upon inci- dents within my own knowledge, has suggested to me the title of Zl)t Sanrtuarg. ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE SCENE AT BONAVENTURA FfVUtispiece. THE OLD SLAVE 149 ZIMRI AND CHARLOTTE 1 78 ZIMRl'S REVENGE 1 88 HORTON AND KATE 254 DALTON AND AGNES 280 THE SANCTUARY. I. N the fall of 1864, a detachment of the Fed- eral Army in pursuit of Hood was encamped on a plantation near the entrance to a pass in the mountains of Northern Alabama. By one of those chances incident to a marching army, officers and men, separated from their transportation wagons, had gone into bivou- ac, and were making such preparations for the night's rest as their perseverance and energy could secure. The immediate locality from which this story com- mences was a huge camp-fire, made from logs and rails, which crackled, and sizzled, and roared as the gathering flames were swayed about by the fitful wind, which, governed apparently by no regular laws, came moanino: from the forest and hill-sides. 14 The Sanctuary. shifting this way and then that, the whirling vol- umes of flame and smoke giving little comfort and less rest t© the party of officers grouped about, who, hungry and tired, were making the most of their poor circumstances. Off in the deep gorge could be heard the click and thug of many axes in the hands of pioneers, striving to remove the obstructions which the retreating army had interposed by felling thou- sands of trees across the single wagon-road, in hope of checking the swift pursuit. In the valley below, and on the slopes of the hills, which, upon all sides but one, formed an amphitheatre, were many other gleaming camp-fires, and fa"r above, from a jutting mountain cliff, the torches from a signal-station were waving rapidly to and fro, sending messages across the intervening hills to some distant correspondent miles away with the extreme advance of the army. The sky, which had been so clear at sunset, was now darkened by swiftly drifting masses of clouds, and in a spiteful, threatening way, a few scattered rain-drops — the skirmishers from advancing columns of storm — sputtered in the desolate camp-fires. Near our special camp-fire — for the gathering darkness now shuts us in to the group with which our story is concerned — was a log hut, and attached to the fruit-trees about it, to the fences, and to stakes m !cti The Sanctuary. 15 driven into the ground, were the horses of the party, more contented than their masters in the enjoyment of the bountiful supplies of forage and grain which were found upon the place. Around the fire the officers were grouped in attitudes more picturesque than comfortable. One, the luckiest of all, had se- cured possession of a large feed-trough, into which he had thrust himself bodily. Another had obtain- ed a claim in fee-simple to a bee-hive which had that day been rifled of its inhabitants and sweets, and whose present tenant adhered to his property more closely than he at the moment was aware. Others sat or were stretched upon rails, while others still lay upon the bare ground, first offering one portion and then another of their bodies to the grateful warmth of the fire. Taken at the best, the time, place, and circum- stances were not especially calculated to enamour a neophyte with a soldier's life. But there were few of these men who had not gone through with half a dozen hard campaigns, and they had many a remem- bered glory, recent or remote, of victories won from the very skirts of defeat, of the overmastering siege, or of charges that defied death, to balance against their immediate discomfort. After all, it was not so much the glories of the battle-field that were recalled 16 The Sanctuary. as a compeusation for their present dreary situation, but rather, by that curious eccentricity of human na- ture which leads men in their miseries, in a kind of malicious self-torture, to draw vivid images of de- lights beyond their reach, they set over against the hardships of the camp the delicious comforts of a dis- tant home, or the refinements of civilized life, from which they had been so long divorced. " How I would like," said Captain Oakland, from his huge feed-trough, "to crawl between the clean sheets of a bed that I know of in that dear old home of mine in New York." "A bed is a charming institution on a night like this," replied Major Cramer, who had not asked for leave of absence during four years of service, and who had left a wife and two little ones in a quiet home in Ohio. " Yes," he continued, as he pushed into the fire a half-burned rail, which every moment threatened to roll over upon an unconscious, half- asleep comrade, "Oakland's wish includes many other comforts the opposite of the present situation. A grate-fire, dressing-gown, the evening paper, babies, and all that; but at this moment there is a gnawing sensation at the stomach, which induces me to be- lieve that, next to 'standing in the deadly breach,' the highest aspiration of the soldier is to eat !" The Sanctuary. 17 "Eat!" shouted Leveridge, a corps inspector of unusual height, whose slender body, buttoned close into a forage-jacket, and whose thin legs, tightly in- cased in high Wellington boots, were in comical con- trast with a huge mustache that overhung an exten- sive mouth, which suggested extraordinary capacities for mastication. " I imagine myself seated at one of those neat little tables at the Maison Doree, with that blessed old Martini proposing gombo-soup, poulet a I'Espagnol, with all the entremets^ jeltyj and a bottle of Beaune or Burgundy — " " Stop there ! That'll do !" was the cry from sev- eral suffering listeners. "I'll compromise for a piece of hard tack and a cup of coffee," said Cramer. " Halloo, here's Horton !" as a young man dismount- ed from a horse which showed signs of having been hard ridden. " Well, Horton, where have you been all day, and where are our wagons ? The last ques- tion first." " The wagons are a good mile back, and I don't know how many trees are to be chopped up before they can arrive at this point. They'll be here by morning, no doubt, if there's any satisfaction in that. As to your other question, it would be easier to tell where I have not been. You know the Fifteenth Corps got on the wrong road this morning, and I 18 The Sanctuary. had to go back and steer them right. Has there been any fighting?" " No. Hood made a twenty-five mile march of it yesterday, and passed this paradise just m time to save himself." Rest — such as the soldier has under the roughest of circumstances — had for some time settled down upon our encampment, when the sentinel, who, wrap- ped m his overcoat, had been pacing his beat across the entrance to the road, called out, " Halt ! who comes there ?" " Ofiicers and guard with prisoners from the front," was the reply which came from a group of men thus suddenly brought to a stand in the deep shadow. A few words passed between the sentinel and the guard, and the party emerged from the shadow into the glare of the fire-light, and then plunged into the darkness again. An officer, wearing the insignia of a major of artillery, who, during the evening, had been lying upon the ground, gazing with a preoccu- pied air into the fire, and who had apparently paid little heed to any thing which had been going on thus far, and who had sprung to his feet at the reply to the sentinel's challenge, followed rapidly the steps of the squad of prisoners as they disappeared over the brow of the hill. The Sanctuary. 19 " There goes Major Dal ton again upon his almost hopeless search after his lost brother," murmured Horton, as he composed himself for the brief inter- val of slumber yet left him before daybreak. Still on the mountain's crest the flaming signal torches told their mysterious story to their distant correspondents, and the sound of the axes could still be heard in the forest as the watchful sentinel paced back and forth. II. A TALL young man of twenty-three, who, being -^^^ the son of a prosperous merchant in the city of Savannah, had known little of the sharp conflict of life ; whose gentle face disclosed, in a large meas- ure, the spirit of the beautiful, and gave prophetic signals of a possible heroism upon which, as 3'et, no call had been made, and whose soft dark blue eyes seemed rather to reflect the flowery savannas of his native South than to give token of the stern Saxon strength that really lurked in their hidden depths — such was the David Dalton of our story in the month of April, 1861, when the evil star of Rebel- lion rose and stood defiant above dismantled Fort Sumter, in Charleston Harbor. A young woman of eighteen years, in this self- same evil hour, who seemed almost a child — for the storm that was hurtling in the air above her had not vet revealed the misrht of her womanhood — with The Sanctuary. 21 hazel eyes, solemn, reflective, and as subtle and se- rene as the sea, with a face that showed a capacity for passion equaled only by its capacity for sorrow — this was Agnes Saumur, toward whom the heart of Dalton had been driftiiig for years. To both these the South, and the possible destiny of the South, was ineffably dear; it was to them both an inspiration, a rapturous dream. But in this revolutionary crisis they differed widely in their esti- mate of the situation, according to the difference of their education and intimate personal associations, and according to the difference which there always is between a man's judgment of events and a woman's. In the attempt on the part of the national govern- ment to command the allegiance of Southern citizens she could see only a tyrannical aggression. He saw at the root of secession a despotism as bitter and re- lentless as any of which history holds a record. He knew that his father, and many other citizens of Sa- vannah, though in ordinary times they wielded that moral influence which alwayg accompanies respecta- bility and honesty, were surrounded by a wall of hatred. He 'knew that the time had already come when the diabolic spirit which had been hitherto under restraint would break through all barriers and become a consuming fire. He saw the wolves even 22 The Sanctuary. under their sheep's clothing. His great anxiety was for his family. They must, at any hazard, be re- moved to a haven of security, where ' the coming strife could not reach them. He at length saw them leave their old homestead and their native city, knowing that for miles and miles in their journey northward they must run the gauntlet of fierce, sus- picious faces, and, trembling for the result, he had no rest until he heard of their safety. One night Dalton's heart was relieved. He had received a letter from the North, written by his lit- tle sister Nellie. It ran as follows : "Louisville, May 2, 1861. " Dear Brother Davy,— "We reached this smoky, dingy pile of a Louis- ville yesterday eve. I have half a mind to scold you, dear Davy, for sending us off from our beauti- ful Savannah. But papa was so glad to get here ! One would think, from his manner, that Louisville was next door to heaven. We have had such a dreary journey, it is pleasant to find rest almost any where. Mamma is quite ill from the excitement. Oh, my dear Davy, what does it all mean ? What have we been running away from? And why are not you and Harold here ? We are all so anxious The Sanctuary. 23 about you. I am so worried, it seems as if some dreadful thing were going to happen. Won't you and Harold come straight away here to your dear little Nellie? Mamma sends kisses for you both, and papa writes a postscript to this. Every body here is in the greatest excitement, talking about Fort Sumter, and papa says there is going to be a great war. What does it all mean ? I have teased papa dreadfully about it, but can get nothing sensible out of him. Do, please, write and tell me every thing, and take the. greatest care of Harold. ''From your dear sister, Nellie Dalton." '^ Papa's postscript" simply, and in few words, de- scribed the flight of the family from Georgia across the mountains of East Tennessee, and their safe ar- rival at Louisville. ''Do not be anxious about us," he said. " I have taken enough of my small fortune to keep us in comfort through this season of trouble, which I know will not be over for years yet. We are very anxious about you and Harold. I have no advice to give you, but if you feel compelled to take an active part in this struggle, I know it will be on the side of the dear old Union. And remember, my dear son, if you fight for that, you are at the same time fighting for the South." 2J: The Sanctuary. "Well might little Kellie ask what it all meant, thought Dalton, as, on the ^evening of the receipt of this letter, he turned the corner of Pulaski Square. He had just left Sarah, the old family servant of the Daltons, with the usual injunction of secrecy as to the movement of the family northward, and with the promise that he would be back before midnight. He was on his way to see Agnes Saumur. Sa- vannah was feverish with excitement. On all sides were to be seen preparations for war. On all sides were to be heard the most confident predictions as to any issue at arms with the cowardly Yankees, and a multitude of curses heaped upon Southern Unionists. What was Agnes thinking of all this time? How would she regard the position which he had resolved to take ? "Oh, here is Mr. Dalton!" was the cry which greeted him as he entered the drawing-room of Agnes Saumur's home. "We were discussing," said Agnes, "what shall be the true flag of the Southern Republic. Your artistic taste is unquestionable. You shall give us your opinion." "What is this new flag supposed to represent?" he asked, scarcely venturing at that moment to meet her gaze. The Sanctuary. 25 " Why, liberty, of course — the liberty of the South from Lincoln and Yankee abolitionists," said Major Ghils<> The Sanctuahy. negroes would rise in insurrection upon the first op- portunity, there is no evidence of any attempt on their part to throw off their yoke by rising against their masters, even after the Emancipation Proclama- tion was issued, the knowledge of which, in a few days, had spread over every plantation in the South. The truth is, there was a philosophy, or what Swe- denborg calls a clearness of interior judgment, in the negro character, which was never understood by the masters, on account of the servile circumstances which partially stifled and wholly disguised its de- velopment. Because the negro was led by the Christian faith, which took deep root in his gentle, yielding heart, to displaj^ unexampled forbearance, it must not there- fore be supposed that he was destitute of the stronger elements of human nature. These also were per- verted and disguised by their servitude. As the affection of a slave is lowh^, and seems therefore of a baser sort, so his pride, from the very necessit}^ of concealment, creeps rather than climbs, and not un- frequently assumes the mask of revenge, sinTply be- cause, being pressed down to the earth, and driven into dark ways, it naturall}^ uses base means for the accomplishment of its ends. Zimri was an exceptional character under the slave The Sanctuary. 61 system. Altlioiigh less than tLrce fourths white, he gave few external indications of African descent. Usually his nature was gentle, almost as a woman's, but from his father he had inherited — unhappily for one doomed to slavery — a proud determination, which, under other circumstances, might have won him success and fame in almost any sphere of life, but which, in slavery, proved a curse. When Zimri left Captain Hortou, he traveled wcst- w^ard, directly across the hills and through the woods, avoiding the main roads and even the forest paths, for he had no desire to come into contact with de- tachments or foraging parties of either arm}^ He journeyed thus for hours steadily on, until he came upon a road wdiich, from the distance he had trav- ersed, he felt sure must be the route leading north from Gadsden, where, three days before, he had left Hood's arm}'. Dismounting from his mule, he ex- amined by the moonlight the w\ngon tracks which here and there had cut deep into the yielding earth. The footmarks all pointed northward, but Zimii had doubts to which army they belonged. Leading his patient mule by the bridle, he w\nlked along the road for several rods, when he came upon the carcass of a mule who, worn out wnth a too exhausting pilgrim- age, had sunk down and died by the roadside. Lift- G2 The Saxctl'aky. ing one of its feet, Zimri counted the nails in its shoes. " One, two, three on a side. The Yankees are more generous with their heel-taps. The rebels must have passed here, and not long since cither, for the body of the poor beast is scarcely cold." The sun had risen above the mountain-tops behind him ere Zimri came upon the pickets guarding the rear of Hood's army. " Oh, it's onlv that cursed white nifrcrer of the !]fen- eral's," remarked a sentinel to a companion. " You've come to the right place, nig. Yer mas- ter's in that ar cabin yonder across the creek." " Yes, I see the house. Have there been any Yan- kees round here?" '^ Nary a Yank. The blue-bellies keep clar of the Eattlesnake Brigade. Cuss 'em, they don't like the smell of powder — hey, Smithers?" The last part of this remark was addressed to a comrade, for Zimri had pushed on toward the house, which could be seen in the middle of a patch of cleared ground a few hundred j^ards up the road. As he approached the place he noticed an unusual bustle, betokening a hasty movement forward. A trumpeter stood near the corner of the house, ringing out from his bugle, in shrill notes, the call, "To boot and saddle." On the roadside, and in the meadow bordering upon the Tke Sanctuahy. 63 creek, hundreds of men were gathering in haste, pre- paring to mount. Negroes were rushing about the yard, and in and out of the cabin, packing mess- chests in the wagons, with other camp equijDage. In front of the house, booted and spurred, stood a tall man of dark complexion, whose dress of gray cloth bore the insignia of a general of cavalry. Long and^ thin black hair fell in profusion over his shoulders. In his hands, small as a woman's, he held a paper, which he was reading attentively. The most pecul- iar feature of this altogether striking physiognomy was the nose. It did not seem to belong of right to the face, which had a haughty and despotic expres- sion. It was broad and flat, as if it had been bor- rowed from the blackest negro about the camp. This was General Ealph Buford. And he had come by his nose legitimately, for his grandmother had been one of a class who are by courtesy designated as " Creole." By that inexplicable freak of nature which causes a physical or mental characteristic to leap over one generation and then reappear, the Af- rican blood of his ancestors boldly proclaimed itself in General Buford's most prominent feature. Look- ing at the two brothers, a stranger would have found it difficult to determine which was the master and which the slave. 64 The Sanctuary. As Zimri passed up a side-path leading to the rear of the house, he gave little heed to the presence of the general, for his quick eye had caught sight of a flattering handkerchief waved by Charlotte in token of recognition. He had scarcel}^ dismounted before his wife, running from the shelter of a tent, had ^caught him in her arms, exclaiming, in broken words of love and gladness, "Ob, Zimri! thank God you's come back. I was afraid you might be killed or wounded. You's come back now. Oh, don't go away again !" Zimri made no answer, but pressed her in silence, and almost convulsively, to his heart, and then, hold- ing her away, looked into her face with his tender, searching eyes. In truth it was a lovely picture, as she stood there with the rich blood mantling her neck and face to the temples, and as the flush died away, leaving a golden light upon her countenance, as if the sunlight had just passed over and kissed it. Her dress of coarse homespun showed marks of camp life, but its dinginess could not disguise her beaut}^, nor conceal the contour of her graceful form ; while her eyes, which were neither black nor brown, but black and brown — a golden color — modestlj^ droop- ing, shone out with a clear pure light, which banish- ed from her husband's mind all doubt and misgiving. His voice trembled as he said. The Sanctuary. 65 " Charlotte, if I had my own wa}^, we should never be parted from each other. Only twice have I met and caressed you thus since we left the plantation, but you know it is no fault of mine." Charlotte was really glad to see her husband, and would gladly have fled with* him any where, even into the lines of the Union army. But their meeting was soon interrupted by a higher power, which claim- ed submission from them both. "General, I see your man Zimri has come back," said Major Ghilson, w^ho stood near Buford, giving orders to those about him. " Zimri !" shouted the general, his eyes angrily resting upon the couple, whom he had for the first time discovered, "come here!" Zimri did not answer immediatel}^, but, drawing Charlotte closer to him, kissed her most tenderly and affectionately. " We will escape, if it is possible," he said, and then advanced to where his brother stood, whose thin lips and distended nostrils gave evidence of un- controllable passion and rage. " When did you come back from the scout?" o-'" " Five minutes a^ro "Is Nelson here?" "No, sir." GQ The Sanctuary. ''Where did you leave him?"' "Back near the Coosa. We were attacked, be- came separated, and I escaped." "Yes, you manage always to return with a whole skin. Which way were the d — d Yankees mov- ing?" " It was impossible to ascertain." Buford was disappointed, and in the worst of hu- mors. But he had just received explicit orders from Hood indicating that a column of the enemy was moving toward Chattanooga, and that there was a rumor that a still larger column was somewhere in the vicinity of Eome, and commanding him to report to Wheeler at once, who had been instructed to keep in front of this latter column in the event of its mov- ing southward. He had no time, therefore, to waste upon Zimri. "Ghilson, I want you to move your regiment south of the Coosa. I shall follow quickl3^" "Zimri, j'ou will go with Ghilson. Charlotte will follow with my head-quarters." Zimri made no answer, but there was that in his face which his master did not take the trouble to in- terpret, but which surely boded the latter no good, and was in strikino- contrast with the slave's submis- o sive silence. The Sanctuary. 67 And so Zimri rode off with Gbilson, unable to speak one word of hope or encouragement to Char- lotte. Many weary weeks and months of suffering passed before he saw her again, and then — yiiL 'lVTAPOLEOiSI''S maxim, that "an army may pass ■^^ wherever a man can plant liis foot/' is of easier application to the mountainous district of which he was speaking than to the swamps and marshes before Savannah, where Sherman's army settled down after the bold march from Atlanta. These morasses stretch away on a dead level for many miles from the sea-coast. Here and there by some river's side, a bluif, formed perhaps ages ago by the action of the sea, raises its head above the monotonous level, but with these rare exceptions the country was low, and covered with the decayed veg- etation of centuries. The sun of this tropical climate, and an unfailing supply of water, have caused the growth of the most luxuriant foliage. Vast forests of pine, groves of live-oak and water-oak, clusters of the beautiful magnolia, of the gloomy cypress, and of the ugly and unfruitful palmetto, with a thousand The Sanctuahy. G9 varieties of weed matted together into an almost im- penetrable undergrowth, encompassed the army in its march through this region. In the summer sea- son, this luxuriant combination of curious and ever- varying shapes wath the most magical colors must appear like a miracle of beauty. But in the Decem- ber of 1864, when the Korthern army traversed these illimitable marshes, the spectacle was unattractive. For many miles the roads — or, rather, the raised causeways — led through, these gloomy shades in un- deviating straight lines. The w^eary soldier found it impossible to turn aside to right or left, for on either side of him lay the treacherous swamp. Here and there, at wdde intervals, upon some oasis in the dreary desert, a few negro cabins marked the site of a rice or a cotton plantation, affording relief both to the eye and to the weary feet of the wanderers. Off to the right, upon the banks of the Ogeechee, wxre open rice-fields, througb whicli ran numerous canals used for flooding the rice at certain stages of its growth. Eaised causeways, carefully constructed, traversed these plantations, leading from the negro quarters to the various mills situated on the banks of the small stream.s. It is true that up to this point the army had en- joyed an uninterrupted succession of holidays, living 70 The Saxctuaky. upon turkeys, chickens, and "soft-tack,'' as the sol- diers term the bread which they make for them- selves. But the transportation was limited, and the abundant supply of food in the earlier stages of the march could not be made available for any future needs ; and although Sherman had foreseen the pos- sibility of such an emergency as now arose, and had given repeated instructions to the subordinate com- manders always to keep the supplj- -trains full, and to issue rations from them only when it vras absolute- ly necessary, 3'et, when the necessitj^ came, these sup- plies were soon exhausted. The sixty thousand sol- diers, twenty thousand black refugees, and the horses, mules, and cattle, quickly emptied the wagons. Act- ual suffering there was none, because there was plen- ty of rice and a large number of beeves; yet rice and beef formed a diet whose long continuance would soon have decimated the ranks. The change from abundance to scarcity was marked, and produced much illness and demoralization. Bat, under all difficulties, the army was saved from perilous discon- tent by the sublime faith which it had in its great leader. Colonel Barnard's brigade formed a part of the ex- treme left of the line toward the Ogeechee. The plantation on which his camp was located afforded The Sanctuaky. 7X little in the way of forage; the reserved rations Lad been consumed, and both the men and the cattle were compelled to resort to the rice and rice-straw left on the place in large quantities. The colonel, with several of his officers, one even- ing sat w\atching a group of soldiers and negroes who were pounding the rice in big mortars made from the trunks of trees. "These mortars come into good play just now. since our soldiers can not have patent labor-saving machines to carry with them," said Oakland. "See that soldier there, he's making the most out of4he situation." The soldier referred to had cut a bit of pork from a hog slaughtered not ten minutes before. This he was now. frying in a tin plate, dexterously balanced between two logs, over a bed of live coals. Into the pan he poured the bruised rice, which had been mix- ed into a sort of paste. The batter was soon nicely browned and removed, making w\ay for a slice of fresh beef. This cooked, a kettle of boiling coffee w\as lifted from the fire, and a plain but delectable meal was set before the small group of soldiers. The notice of the officers was soon diverted from this and other similar scenes of the hour by the sound of heavy artillery and musketry firing in the 72 The Sanctuary. direction of the front, filling the woods with a thou- sand sharp and resonant echoes. " We must see what this means," said Barnard, turning toward Oakland; but his young adjutant had already started up the pathway cut through the bushes, and leading to the trenches. 'Til go with you, colonel," said Leveridge, as he threw into the fire the blazing brand from which he had lighted his pipe. As the two officers strode away into the timber, the firing, which had lulled for an instant, burst forth afresh. Screaming shells whirled and smashed through the branches of the trees overhead, while the z-z-z-ip of some overshot bullet sped pleasantly and harmlessly along among the leaves and twigs. Very soon they encountered wounded men- limping along, and then the stretchers with their freight of men hurt to the death. ''Are you badly hurt, Morton?" asked Barnard of a solitary soldier leaning against a tree for partial support, the red blood streaming down his fiice from a wound in the forehead. " iSTo, colonel, thank you. It's only a flesh-wound; but the bandage came off." " What's the row out there ?" "Our picket line saw an opening, and made for The Sanctuary. 73 the enemy's rifle-pits, and, by George ! we got 'em. They're trying to take 'em back, but they'll have a tough job of it." The two oflScers were approaching a dangerous quarter, and were obliged to creep along for a little distance to a line of earth-works, behind which lay a long line of soldiers, who were taking an active part in the engagement. "What's the situation, major?" asked Barnard of an officer busily engaged in giving orders to the com- mand, " Well, you see," replied the officer, " the Eebs have been trying to drive back our picket line, to prevent our shutting up that sixty-four pounder which bothered us so much yesterday. The hoys are a little mad, and have been giving them ' Hail Columbia,' driving them back thus far, and I think we can hold our own, though it's an important posi- tion for them to recover. We've got the dead wood on 'em, sir, if you can get up the right of the line. Our left rests on a swamp as rotten as the cursed Confederacy." ''You've done a splendid thing, major; but we must cover the right, or they'll find our weak spot, and double on us." " No fear for to-night, colonel. They've made two D 7-i The Sanctuary. assaults, and about as many have taken up ground in eternity as went back." The prostrate figures in gray and brown uniforms in the stubble-field just ahead corroborated the state- ment of the major. '* Barnard," said Leveridge, " I am going back, and will report the situation to the general, and you shall have all the support you want in less than half an hour." "Oakland," said Barnard, "you'd better go with Leveridge." As Oakland moved away from under the hottest fire, he saw one Kelly, a private of his regiment, who had established a reputation for cowardice which was unworthy his Irish blood. He was accompany- ing to the rear a soldier who had received a flesh- wound in the arm. " Where are you going, Kelly ?" he asked. " You are wanted here. Don't you see the rebels coming again ?" " Yis, I say the murthering blackguards," answer- ed the frightened Irishman, ducking his head to a •twelve-pound round-shot. "Shure an' don't I both say and hear? but — oh. Holy Mother, protect me! — you wouldn't have me leave a wounded comrade to die upon the faild of battle, would you?" The Sanctuary. 75 " Kelly, you are a disgrace to the regiment. You are not seriously wounded?" turning to the comrade whom Kelly had taken in charge. " No, sir," was the reply. " I did not see Kelly until I had reached the timber. It's all humbug about his helping me, colonel." " I thought so. As you pass head-quarters, give him over to the guard." The assistance which Leveridge had promised was soon sent to Barnard, who, with this support, was able to keep his new vantage-ground. Upon his return to camp, Oakland made it one of his first duties to look after the recreant Kelly. This fellow had been severely punished upon several occasions for cowardice and drunkenness. He pos- sessed few of the virtues of his countrymen, and many of their vices. Remarkably reticent and shy during an engagement, after the danger was all over he gave full play to his tongue and to his imagina- tion, describing feats of valor performed by himself which were more remarkable than the deeds of San- cho Panza. On this particular night, Kelly and a brother Mi- lesian had obtained some apple-jack, and found them- selves joyously drunk in a guard-tent. Oakland had snatched a few hours' sleep, and was 76 The Sanctuary. walking back and forth with anxious thought. The shouts of the victory of the afternoon could not hush the night-wind, which brought to his ears the moans of wounded and dying men, broken in upon continu- ally by the firing of the faithful pickets, or the smoth- ered distant boom of cannon. He had several times checked the boisterous noise of the drunken Irishmen. By-and-by their talk was carried on in a lower tone — "I say," whispered Kelly, "O'Brien, are you aslape at such a time? Don't you hear the roar of the ine- my's cannon?" " Oh, bother the inemy's cannon. Don't I know that I'm in the guard-house for getthing thrunk ?" "An' you're right there, my boy. It all comes o' them officers. An' sure, ar'n't they stuck up all the while — a puttin' on airs as if they owned the whorld ? Faith, O'Brien, the soldiers and officers nowadays are not so patriotic and self-sacrificing as the heroes of the Revolution were. Didn't they give up the last cint, and sujffer ? Arrah, there was no six-hoss mule transportation-wagons in them days. Shure, O'Brien, and didn't George Washington, the fay ther, sir, of his counthry, walk inter the city of Boston with his va- leese in his hand?" "You say that Gineral Washington walked inter The Sanctuary. 77 the strates of Boston with a valeese in his hand? Now, how do you know that, Kelly? Shure an' you wasn't there." This rather bothered Kelly for a moment, but he rallied and said, " N"oa, but me forefaythers wos, thank God." Soon, by the capture of Fort McAllister, the sole hinderance to the outlet seaward had been overcome. Just after this event, a party of officers, several par- ticipants, and others, witnesses of the grand achieve- ment, were threading their way among the dead and wounded, who lay as they fell near the fort. They were escorted by an orderly through the mesh of limbs of trees which had been thrown together for an abatis, and through the thickly-planted torpedoes, and were then guided to a light foot-bridge which spanned the wide ditch, and led to the sally-port cut in the parapet. " There is a row-boat moored in' the river near the fort?" said the commanding general of the army, who spoke as if he knew that a boat ought to be there. ''Yes, general." "Select four good men to man the boat. I must go down the river," he continued, addressing one of 78 The Sanctuary. his principal subordinate ofl&cers, "and find the steamer which we signaled this afternoon. Our communication with the fleet must be established at once." It was a hazardous undertaking for the general to face the peril of guerrillas along the banks, and the still more dangerous torpedoes in the river. He was not familiar with the windings of the stream even in the daytime. For all that, he certainly knew the boat might as easily lose its way, and ascend some bay or estuary into the enemy's lines, as go directly to the little steamer, which lay, an undistinguishable spot, upon the water many miles toward Ossibaw Sound. " But," said he, as some of his staff alluded to the perils of the expedition, "over there in those swamps are sixty thousand of my men, who are hun- gry to-night. I must see for myself what means are provided for giving them food. Besides, danger is the rule and not the exception in our soldier-life, 3'ou know." Hardly had the words been spoken when a loud explosion was heard immediately behind the group. All turned quickly at the sound, and saw a stream of flame shoot up from the earth into the darkness, and by its lurid light could be distinguished the ago- nized face and mano:led form of a soldier who had The Sanctuary. 79 trod upon one of the buried torpedoes. It was a sig- nificant response to tlie sentiment just expressed by the general, and no one ventured to break the silence, but all watched with bated breath the preparations for launching the boat. In a few moments all was ready, and the general descended the bank and en- tered the boat, accomjDanied only by the distinguish- ed commander of his right wing. That officer, al- ways calm, brave, and just, called out to the group upon the shore, and said, "Gentlemen,. if we should not return, you will remember that General Slocum is in command of this army. Good-night !" and the boat, with its precious freight, shot off into the dark- ness. Horton wandered away from the party of officers to the parapet of the fort, on one of the sides which had been assaulted that day. Bomb-proofs and trav- erses loomed up against a sky partially illumined by the moonlight. At his feet, dark, placid, and treacherous, ran the Ogeechee. "Within the fort, around flickering fires, leaning against ponderous cannon, were groups of soldiers, talking over the ex- citing incidents of the day. Stretched upon the ground all around him lay dead and dying men. Just at his 'feet, dressed in Union blue, lay a sergeant of the line. His white face wore a sweet and gentle 80 The Sanctuary. expression, and, but for the fixed stare of the eyes, one would have thought him sleeping. He lay just as he had fallen when he received that ragged wound near the heart. It was a weird and solemn spectacle, and, as Hor- ton gazed around and down into the face of the dead, an indescribable awe crept over him. Finally, as if seeking a contrast to such terrible scenes, his thoughts reverted to the dear old home. Again he lived over the parting scene with Kate in the library; again the words of the blue-eyed, flaxen-haired girl sound- ed in his ears, "You will come back to me. God bless you !" — and again, also, more vividly than ever before, he saw another face intruding itself upon the picture. It was a selfish face, and, as Horton recalled it, the man to whom it belonged seemed to be telling some story of meanness or dishonor, for his lips wore a cold, cynical sneer, while his eyes gleamed with a wicked stare, as if he were glad to pierce and crush the fresh-blooming flower before him, while she, de- fiant, yet in tears, repelled the accusation. About midnight the general returned up the river. He had succeeded in communicating with the fleet. In three days from that time, Captain Boutelle, of the Coast Survey, had removed a score of torpedoes from the river, and steam-boats, heavily laden with army The Sanctuary. q-, supplies of every description, came safely up the tor- tuous chaanel to King's Bridge, where suitable pre; bution of their welcome freight. D2 i^^p ^ ^ s ^ ||^^] i^^p^ ^o ^ r?2j to57*l ^^ ^^^^ iHwLjyrs^lfc^^ ^^ c ^SiSffli IX. A T this moment, when Savannah was almost, but •^-^ not quite in the possession of the Union army, let us enter the streets of the beleaguered city, and, shutting our ears to the rumors of every sort that are flying as fast and as tumultuously as the Confederate cavalry, this way and that, over the city, let us follow the footsteps of Agnes Saumur as she moves along Bull Street, then down Brighton, and across the mar- ket square out toward the stockade, near the railroad depot. She was dressed in black, and closely veiled. "You can't see any o^the pris'ners to-day, ma'am," was the response of the sentinel, as she was about to enter the gate. "You do not recognize me. I have been in the habit of coming here for two years past." " I know'd you well 'nuff, but thar's a new officer in command. He says thar's too much of this stuffin' the cursed Yanks. He's put a stop to it." The Sanctuary. 83 "Where is the officer? May I not be permitted to speak to him ?" " Oh, he'll see you. He likes ter look at pretty wimmen. We found that out soon 'nuff. That's his office, near that gun, ter the rig^it." Agnes gathered her veil still closer about her face, and, having been admitted to the officer's quarters, and glanced at the face of its military occupant, she would have retreated, but it was too late. " Can I be of service to you, madam ?" "Yes, sir; I wish to visit a prisoner under your charge." "That, I regret to say, madam, is against the rules," said the officer, while he sought to penetrate the thick crape veil which concealed the face of the applicant; "but I may make an exception in your case. Whom do you wish to see?" Agnes hesitated a brief instant, and then replied, " Harold Dalton." "Harold Dalton," repeated the officer, and then, turning to an adjutant who was sitting at a desk, he inquired, "Is that Dalton a brother of the Dalton who is in the Yankee army ?" "Yes, sir," replied the adjutant. "They used to live in this city before the war. This Dalton was 8-i The Sanctuary. condemned to be shot a year ago, but was reprieved, and has been in hospital ever since." "Is David Dalton in the Federal army?" asked Agnes, stepping forward. '' Where? in what army?" " Yes, miss, David Dalton is in the Yankee army," replied the officer. "Why are you interested in his whereabouts ? Excuse me, but when a person comes to visit a criminal whose brother is a traitor to the South, I have a right to ask questions." "I wish to inform this sick brother, who for four years has not heard a word from his family." As Agnes concluded her last remark, which came tremblingly from her lips, an expression of recogni- tion passed across the officer's dark face. "Captain," he said to the adjutant, "I shall not need you for a while." As soon as the door closed, he lifted a crutch from the table, and, leaning upon it, advanced toward Agnes. " If I am not mistaken, I am speaking to Agnes Saumur?" She withdrew her veil, and answered with calm- ness, " You are right, Major Ghilson, but I would much rather have avoided this recognition. I thought you were in the field." The Sanctuary. 85 "I was in the field, Agnes," he said, with some bitterness, " until a fortnight since, and, if it had not been for a cursed Yankee bullet, you might have been spared the pain of seeing me here. But, so far was I from understanding that such, a meeting w^ould give you pain, I have tried to find you out, that I might renew a pleasant acquaintance. But I was bafiled in my search. Town friends seem to have been deserted by you — at least they could give me no information. But I seem to have made a great mistake. You appear to have more sympathy with these Yankees than with your former friends." " Since my uncle's death I have been secluded. I do not desire to go into society. Besides, it is un- doubtedly true that my opinions in regard to the events of the last four years have undergone a de- cided change." " Well, I do not wish to discuss with you about these matters, Agnes. Do you remember that, three years ago, you encouraged me in the belief that you would one day be my wife? To all my letters to you you have vouchsafed but one reply, and that came two summers ago. I was in the mountains of Tennessee. The words were, ' You have presumed too much upon my friendship. I did not love you. I can not be you wife.' " 86 The Saxctuarv. Ghilson's face expressed bitter disappointment and burned with vehement passion as he tore from a packet drawn from his pocket a letter — the one to which he had just alluded — and held it before this woman, who shrank from the paper with an expres- sion of agon J. *'God help me," she moaned, "but I never antici- pated this. I loved, but. Major Ghilson, I did not love you. I — " Ghilson interrupted her with an oath, while the letter held in his nervous fingers fell crumpled at her feet. " I believe you all the time loved that scoundrel Dalton!" he exclaimed. This outburst roused Agnes from her grief She no longer thought of the unhappy past. ''What right," she asked, " had this man to call David Dal- ton a scoundrel?" "He may differ with you as to what constitutes patriotism, but you know him to be a loyal-hearted man. He is incapable of a mean word or act. He is no scoundrel. Major Ghilson. But let us not talk of these things longer. It can only embitter my life, which. Heaven knows, has seen enough of sorrow. I beg of you, sir, to permit me to visit Harold Dal- ton. He is just recovering from a long illness, and The Sanctuary. 87 needs such nursing as the attendants here arc unable to give liim." "Agnes Saumur, it is an easy thing for you to ask me to forget the past. Do you think I can also for- give ? No ; the words of that cruel letter are burn- ed into my soul. ISTo ; this Harold Dalton may parch with thirst, but you shall not give him a drop of wa- ter. He may die of want — of the hunger of body and soul, but you shall not minister to him. Hear me—" But Agnes, chilled with horror at Ghilson's fearful rage, would not listen longer, but hastened from the room, across the yard, and out of the gate. Her first thought was simply to fly from Ghilson's presence, the second was to obtain succor for her friend Dal- ton. Impelled by this latter thought, she sought General Hardee's head -quarters. But the general conld not be seen that day ; he would be at leisure on the morrow. But she did not know that the morrow would witness the evacuation of the city by the Confederates, and the triumphant entry of Sher- man's army. X. TT^ITHER General Hardee received information of -■-^ some new movement of the besieging army which would have closed the only avenue of escape left him, or else his military judgment divined that a flanking operation was the next thing in order. Certainly, whatever influenced him, on the morning of the 21st of December he had decamped from the city, and the Federal army was soon in possession of the magnificent prize — "a Christmas present to the nation," as Sherman called it. For two days the na- tional troops poured through the streets of the city. For two long, weary days Agnes Saumur sat at her window watching, with tearful eyes, the throng of soldiers, and the flags that seemed to wave gentle recognition to her ; but the one presence after which her heart yearned now with the fondest longings was not there, and there was occasion enough for despair in this to spoil for her what otherwise would have been the most joyous drama of her life. The Sanctuary. 89 "What right have I to love him?" she asked her- self, and she stared hopelessly out upon the long train of wagons that followed the column of troops. "I tinks Massa Dalton's not in that 'ar comp'ny, Miss Agnes," ejaculated the old negress Sarah, who had been for some time sitting behind her mistress. Sarah had remained in Agnes's service after the Daltons had left Savannah. During the long four years no word had passed between them concerning David Dalton, yet underneath her rough, scarred skin there beat a big, sympathizing heart. In the keenness of her perceptions, which had been sharp- ened by years of secret observation, and with that womanly instinct which divines more than it sees, she had penetrated the inmost heart of Agnes Sau- mur. But Agnes did not turn her face from the window. " Who spoke of Mr. Dalton, Sarah ?" "Dar's nobody dat I knows on; but I heerd dat he's in the Yankee army. God bress me, missus, see de beautiful flag, and de music. Dat's de greatest sight dese eyes ebber saw. An' dey's cum here ter set all de cullud pussons free. De Lord be praised !" and poor old Sarah, quite forgetful of her mistress's presence, began swaying to and fro, chanting a song of her race — 90 The Sanctuary. "De LorJ, lie's cum ter set us free, An' take us to de haben of bliss, Way down in de Promised Land." The twilight had faded into night before Agnes Saumur left her post at the window. The paleness of baffled hope was on her face as she asked herself the one great . question ever upon her lips in these troubled days, " Shall I ever see David Dalton a.srain V XL "rXOETON" sat looking out from a bay window of ^-^ bis room in tbe splendid mansion wbicb bad been taken for bead-quarters. Tbe cbange from tbe rougb experience of campaigning, wbere tbe soldier rarely ever sees tbe inside of a bouse except to re- gret its utter wreck, for tbe luxury of civilized abodes, affords a contrast wbicb can only be appre- ciated by an old campaigner. As Horton glanced from tbe window to tbe comfortable coal fire glow- ing in tbe grate, be wondered tbat be could ever bave tbougbt a camp-fire of pine logs tbe beigbtb of luxury. A library of cboice books filled one of tbose curiously carved armoires wbicb are seldom seen except in tbe palaces of tbe Old World. On tbe buffet near w^ere grouped in a singular collection bottles and decanters containing a rare selection of exquisite wines, many of wbicb migbt, by reason of tbeir many voyages by sea, bave been considered old 92 The Sanctuary. travelers. Others had grown gray with dust and age in the cellars of old magnates, who were prouder of their wines than of their children, and, in many cases, doubtless with good reason. Costly pictures hung upon the wall. Upon a proud pedestal near the window was set that eternal embodiment of grace and beauty, the Venus de Milo. Altogether it was an apartment well suited to its occupant, who was, at the same time, a soldier and an artist. It was early in January, and the spectacle with- out was cold and bleak. The wind rustled among the green leaves of the cypress and the pine, whirl incf the dust and twio^s into the box-wood bordered o o garden-beds, and spreading out the ample folds of the stars and stripes above a regiment quartered in the public square, where the soldiers were building with amazing ingenuity and rapidity their wooden huts for shelter. Groups of soldiers wandered about the streets, curiously regarding the fine houses, and the parks and monuments. Children, guarded by their negro nurses, played among the trees as regard- less of the biting air as of the " blood thirsty" Yan- kees. Upon the table lay two letters. One was address- ed to Horton by Blauvelt, an artist friend in Boston ; the other was his own reply. These are the letters : The Sanctuary. 93 "Boston, December 29, 18G4. "Dear Captain,— Every body is talking about tlie grand March to the Sea. Sherman is a hero I * * * By thg way, Horton, we heard some queer stories about you a few weeks ago. It was all about some pretended love affair of yours with a rebel beauty, whom you rescued among those Georgia mountains when she didn't need help, and when you should have been at the front, etc. I was sur- prised to hear your old friend Gray retailing the story to quite a crowd at Mrs. Somers's reception. What'sr the matter with this Gray ? Did you ever lend him money ? Have you crossed him in love ? ^* ^ * Kate Noble is as grand as ever, and re- mains the queen. Several of our best young men are paying attentions to her, but they never get be- yond a certain point. You must come home, and see what brass buttons can do. By-the-by, when I was looking up your pictures, sketches, etc., which you left in such abominable confusion, scattered about the studio, I found several rough designs, all of which, in one shape or another, represented our friend Kate. I never suspected that you were in love with her, but, since Gray has opened fire, I have thought the matter over. I am sure you will not consider me officious in this matter. Can I do anv 94 The Sanctuary. thing for you, old fellow? Shall I make love to Miss Kate in your behalf? I should like that. Or shall I paint a portrait of Gray in the character of Lawyer Muddle, and send it to ^he Exhibition? * * * George Inness is painting more glorious- ly than ever. Gay continues to give us those pure, fresh bits of sea-side scenery, and Hunt knocks off a head now and then, which, could he see it, would make our old Master Couture tumble from his lad- der with delight. But what do 3'ou care about art, you who are making history — who are placing the cap-stone ujDon the Temple of Liberty, where Sll peo- ple are to come and worship ? The wound I received at Gettysburg is slowly healing, but I can never take the field again. Thank Heaven, it does not prevent me from painting. "Be sure and answer this letter. I have not had a word from you these twelve months. '' Blauvelt." *'SAVA^-^-AH, January 8, 1864. '' Dear Friend,— I was glad to get your letter, with its details of the folks at home. In regard to that matter about Gray and the stories to which you alluded, I have only one favor to ask. Do not use my name to Kate in any way. If there is one lesson The Sanctuary. 95 which a true soldier learns in the army more thor- oughly than any other, it is to allow acts to speak for themselves, and to pay no regard to calumny. If my friends have not faith enough in me to pre- serve my honor intact, then let the future take care of itself No, my dear fellow, do nothing and say nothing about me, especially in the presence of Kate Noble. We shall have but few more campaigns to make. The most terrible battles have been fought. Peace will come soon, and I shall return home. Un- til then, good-by, old boy. ''Alfred Horton." The first of these letters Horton had perused for the third time ; the reply still lay upon the table un- sealed. Evidently there was much in the captain's mind which he had not revealed to his friend. He had been musing over his meerschaum. Blauvelt was entirely forgotten. Only two figures were prom- inent in his thoughts. The first was Kate Noble's— the central figure in all his pictures of home ; the second was Harry Gray's. "What could Gray's conduct mean?" he asked himself " If ever a man was bound by every sense of manly honor and of past service to do justice to another, surely Gray is thus bound to me. Does he 96 The Sanctuary. love Kate ? Even then, wliat necessity for slandering me? Gray does not write me as he used. Bother the whole thing, this comes of being a soldier. If I could have twenty minutes in Boston, I would soon fix this business. But one might as well expect to find patriotism in these secesh women as to get a furlough from the Old Tj'coon !" Then, having forgotten his friend, and thinking only of Kate, he seized a pen and directed the letter intended for Blauvelt to Miss Kate Koble, Mount Yernon Street, Boston. Calling an orderly, he gave him the letter, with instructions to dispatch it by the first mail. The entrance and exit of the orderly did not inter- rupt the train of thought which had taken so strong a hold upon Horton's mind. Suddenly the vision which had startled him on the evening after the bat- tle of Fort McAllister flashed upon him, but now he recognized the face of Gray as belonging to the de- mon of that vision. He identified the exterior feat- ures, but these had on that occasion been so disguised with^ a cruel, heartless sneer, that Horton did not wonder he had failed to discern Gray in that wicked image. But now the likeness was perfect. The vi- sion of that night and the letter from Blauvelt had a miraculous correspondence; to Horton, it almost The Sanctuary. 97 seemed that tlie former was a spiritual reflection of a scene that had actually occurred, or else, as if by some mysterious law of mental operation, an element in Gray's character entirely foreign to their friend- ship hitherto had been suddenly and spontaneously revealed in this wonderful manner. A subsequent event in his military career caused him to wonder less at this singular physiological phenomenon. E XII. TTORTON'S speculations were brought to an ab- -■-^ rupt termination by a rap at his door. " Why, Dalton !"' he exclaimed, as his old comrade entered the room, "how are you? and where did you come from?" The answer came in a graver mood, as from one almost weary with life. Dalton sank down into a chair. He thanked his friend, he was well. He had been in the city about three hours. He had traveled day and night from Nashville, which he had left after Hood's defeat. " I heard," he said, " that you were likely to come out at Savannah." " Yes, I remember, this was your home. By the way, I have heard about your brother Harold." "I know the whole story," said Dalton, "and for that reason I did not come to head-quarters at once." His bright eyes flashed with anger. "Harold was The Sanctuary. 99 in tbis city only the day before your troops entered. How long lie bad been berc I do not know, but tbe story told me by tbat rebel prisoner in tbe moun- tains was in tbe main correct. After I escaped from Savannab, Harold was conscripted. His safest means of escape was to go with tbe army. He tried to get awa}^, was captured, court-martialed, and sentenced to be sbot, but was reprieved on condition tbat be would volunteer to enter tbe ranks again. Wbetber be submitted I do not know, but in tbe mean wbile be was taken down with tbe fever, and was removed to tbe bospital bere, wbere be remained until tbe day before tbe evacuation, wben be was dragged away witb tbe fugitive army. I am told by tbe citizens bere tbat tbey can get bim exchanged, and I have come to see the general about it." '' You have only to tell him your story," said Hor- ton, who heartily sympathized with his friend's dis- tress, "and he will go any length to assist you." As Horton bad anticipated, tbe general listened attentively to the whole stor}^, and at once gave the major the authority to effect an exchange of rebel prisoners for his brother. ^ Dalton forgot his own fatigue as, witb tbe papers for bis brother's release, he sallied forth out of the bouse arm-in-arm with*liis friend. 100 The Sanctuaky. " This is not the Savannah which you left four years ago, I imagine/' remarked Horton, as they passed the old United States barracks, whose win- dows and doorways were crowded with soldiers in blue, whife a band of music under the windows of the post-commandant w^ere playing national airs. ''By the wiiy," he added, "how do your old ac- quaintances receive you?" "To tell you the truth, Horton, since I came back I have had neither the time nor the inclination to think of any thing else but my brother. As for the people here, although my personal appearance has not changed much, yet few would recognize me in my uniform." Dalton's physique had altered far more tban he supposed. His eye had become more stern and fix- ed, not merely by sighting cannon amid the smoke and thunder of many battle-fields, but by an inward purpose w^hich had grown to be inflexible, and which seemed now almost triumphant. His mouth had lit- tle of its old expression of gentleness, and his whole face was more rigid and immovable. There was no restlessness of lool^ no fluctuating waves of passion ruffled the face, which had been overmastered by a calm w^hich only those could have understood who had w'itnessed the terrible sf^'iiofoles through which The Sanctuaey. loi it had been attained. As he walked, his look was straight ahead ; there was no hesitation in his steps ; he knew only dutj^, and therefore dealt only with in- stant decision. *'But why should I desire to revive old acquaint- ances here?" continued Dalton. "There is no bond of sympathy between them and myself They hate the old Union, which I revere, and for which I would die. They look, upon me as denationalized. In their sense of the word, doubtless I am. But I love the South not less than they, though I do not agree with them as to its proper glory and its legitimate hope. No, Horton, they will only come to me to ask for help. The fight is nearly over, and I can see the de- spair of defeat already written in their faces. I can not triumpli over them. I do not come to witness their humiliation, and I shall avoid — " The sudden vision of Agnes Sanmur it was which had interrupted Dalton's concluding remark. With a heart beating witli wild joy, she had recognized him first, and was hastening to meet him. The hopes, the prayers, the loving longings of wistful years were now to be realized at last. One only comfort there had been for her all along—her faith in him. His self-sacrificing devotion to duty had been also to her a grand example — a guiding star in the 102 The Saxctuary. darkness. She bad waited for Lis coming, bow fond- ly and bow anxiously! And bere be was. Sbe could now prove to bim, witb many a gentle word and caress, bow sbe bad loved bim all tbe wbile, and wbat a ricb barvest sbe bad gatbered during tbese long years — a barvest of bis own sowing — and ber beart tbrilled witb exulting pride as sbe saw bim. His blue uniform seemed to fitly clotbe tbe vision for wbicb sbe bad so patiently waited ; it was to ber, also, tbe emblem of law and liberty. "Well," said Horton, waiting for bis friend to fin- isb bis sentence. "Let us turn tbis way," replied Dalton. "But it is too late. Sbe bas seen us. I would ratber not bave met ber, but it migbt as well come now as at any otber time." Agnes's quick eye saw tbat Dalton bad recognized ber, and tbat be would bave turned tbe otber way. His last words, too, bad reacbed ber ear. It was bard on tbe instant to take into ber consciousness tbe tbougbt tbat be really wisbed to sbun ber. Sbe did not remember tbe last time tbey were face to face, and bow sbe bad tben met bis impassioned pleadings for love and sympatby, and bow mucb bad passed since tben. Sbe was conscious only of tbe new joy tbrilling ber every sense — of present The Sanctuary. 103 love and uprising hope. If slie had hesitated longer — if she had tried to read the face upon which she looked as in a dream, she would have found there no answer either for love or hope, but a repellant wave which would have beaten her back upon the forlorn coast of her immediate past. But she did not thus read. How could she, when she was self-inspired — when she was thus irresistibly borne away by the current that carried her out from the desolate w^aste which her life had been ranging toward him. And so Agnes pressed forward, her eyes seeking his with that faith and fullness of expectant love w^hich one sees in the upturned faces of Perugino's adoring angels. But — and she, poor child, must see it now — there w^as scarcely recognition in the stern gaze which met her own, and what there w^as was like the light which momentarily flashes across the rain-clouds, and leaves them again as dark and forbidding as before. Before she had even spoken he had passed on. " Good heavens ! Dalton, w^hat is the meaning of this singular performance?" asked his friend, who had witnessed this earnest appeal and its terrible repulse. "Do not ask me to explain, Horton. You will not misunderstand me, I am sure, but there are suffi- 10-i The Saxctuary. cient reasons why this encounter should pass as if it had never happened." Dalton's voice trembled with ill-concealed emotion. Could it be that the calm which he had won for him- self, and which almost seemed immovable and eter- nal, was but a frail possession after all ? Could it be that a trouble conquered, could still hatmt the con- queror, and that a struggle once fought out to its bitter close could repeat itself upon so slight an occa- sion? And what virtue, then, is there in decision, if, after all, the issues which Fate ordains refuse to be decided by any human arbitration? What if Fate reserves decisions to herself alone ? But the two officers had reached their destination, and, answering the salute of a sentinel at the door, passed into the house of a citizen who had promised to procure the exchange of Harold Dalton. XIIT. AGNES SAUMUR rushed wildly, blindly along the streets, unmindful of the wondering gaze of passers-by, deaf to the strains of martial music which filled the air, home, home, home, to hide her face from human sight, to weep tears of anguish, to cry out aloud in her agony of grief. She knew David Dalton. The stern, unyielding face, still looking upon her, spoke more than words. " He does not love me longer." They had changed places. She saw this pow. After her repulse, she could remem- ber how, four years ago, she had beaten him back from her. And time had done its work with them both. Her it had changed, while it softened ; him it had changed also, but in a different way. The shad- ow which she had just seen in all its darkness had grown out of the shadow which she had raised her- self at their last meeting. She pressed her almost bursting temples with her E2 106 TuE Sanctuary. hands, as if to drive tlie vision from her sight. But it would not leave her. The very intensity and un- changing loyalty of his early love gave her nothing to hope as against his indiiference now. If it were the despite of petty revenge, there might be hope. But Dalton's nature had no sucli meanness. He could not deceive her. His high sense of honor would not let him assume a sentiment which did not exist in his heart. He did not love her. " Oh, if he could know what I have sufiered !" Through her trials and persecutions he had been the pillar of fire by night and the cloud b}^ day. And now, in sight of the promised land, she was left to die. And she cried for death. Great sobs came welling up thick and fast, and it seemed as if her life would free itself in tears. At last her tired heart found rest in sleep ; but still she sobbed in sleep, and hot tears trickled through the closed lids, q^, when a stone is cast into a lake, disturbing its calm reflec- tions of bank, and tree, and sky, the bubbles rise and break upon the surface in mute protest long after the surfnce has sunk to rest." H XIV. AVE you been deceiving me?" inquired Dal- ton of Mr. Harding, the citizen who had en- gaged to secure Harold's release, and who had ap- peared at head-quarters in answer to the major's summons. " This paper is returned to me with an indorsement declaring that my brother is a deserter from the Confederate army, and will in no event be given up to the Federal authorities." Several days had elapsed, and the messenger had returned with this answer. " I assure you. Major Dalton, I had every reason to believe that I could effect this exchange. I have influence with the general commanding the Confed- erate army. There must be some extraordinary, some underhand work here which has defeated our efforts. But, sir, it has been no fault of mine," Mr. Harding continued, as Dalton paced the room to and fro, disappointed, angry, and heart -sick. Almost 108 The Sanctuary. within touch of his hand, and his brother was lost again. Perhaps at this moment the poor sick man was dragging his feeble limbs along rough roads, or sighing away his last breath in some WTetched prison hospital. The thought was maddening. "Mr. Harding," he said, suddenly turning upon that individual, " I have said nothing to you of the injuries you inflicted upon me and mine when the war broke out. I have the power to-day, and j^ou are helpless. I do not retaliate, but I do not forget. I never struck at a fallen foe. I do not wish to harm 3^ou ; but, Mr. Harding, if I find that you have plaj^ed me false in this matter of m}^ poor brother, 3'ou shall occupy the filthy hole where he has dragged out a long, miserable existence; you shall eat the food which was given him to eat; and if in any degree you sufier the pangs he suffered, it will be more punishment than you can bear." As Harding left Major Dalton, his was probably the uneasiest mind in the city of Savannah. Dalton gave way for an instant to the reaction which succeeded his mortifying pleasure; but, as his large brown eyes were fixed upon the rebel indorse- ment, as he sat by his table with his hands clenched and his brow knit with unconquerable resolve, it was plain that he had no surrender to make, and that he The Sanctuary. 109 would at any cost pursue to the end the work which he had undertaken. - An unusual turmoil at the door aroused him. He could hear the sound of voices on the sidewalk grad- ually approaching nearer and into the hall. " There is no use talking, old woman, you can't go in there. The major's orders are not to admit any one," cried the orderly. "Dat's all berry well for common folks, but I tell ye I nussed Massa Dal ton in dese bans, an' I'd like ter see ef yer perwents me from finin' out Massa Dal- ton arter foar years is pass an' gone away." " I'll take your name, but you can't go in until the major says so," replied the orderly by way of compromise. Dalton was at the door. '' It's all right ; let her come in," he said. In a moment old Sarah was in the room. At first she could not give vent in words to her love and reverence for her master's son — her own favorite of all the family, but, dropping on her knees, she threw her arms about him, and then grasped both his hands in hers, and held them to her face. Then, lifting her arms, she prayed with tearful fervor — " Oh, de Almighty God, de Lord Jesus be praised, my Massa David is right dar alibe afore my ole eyes. 110 The Sanctuary. De prajers of poor Sarali is heard in de mansions ob bliss, an' be is come back ter der ole borne." Dalton's eyes moistened. Every niemory of bis youtb and early manbood was associated with this good old loving creature, and, next to Harold, she was nearer to him than any other person in the city of his childhood. '' Well, Sarah, I am glad to see your kind old face again. You must tell me all about 3-ourself Of course 3'ou have been well cared for since I left. Mr. Bright promised me you should be." *'Lor bress me, MassaDalton — butyouse an ossifer now — Major Dalton. Major — dat soun's well. How han'some you looks in dat ar blue coat wid de bright buttons. La ! you is han'some, de Lord knows dat," and Sarah stood at seeing distance and surveyed the major with admiration. "Who'd a tort, mas — major, dat youse come back here, arter all, a grea-at big ossifer, wid a sojer at de door ter keep watch? De Lord be praised youse come back !" and, her won- der appeased, Sarah again broke out into demonstra- tions of ecstatic pleasure. After a while Dalton was able to reduce her to something like order. '• I'se not bin wid Massa Bright, but dey's bin Union all de time," "she said. "So soon as ebber The Sanctuary. m you get away, clat brcsscd angel, Miss Agnes, come an' tuk me ter lier bouse, an' dar I'se bin cbber since. Ef she'd a bin my own chile, I couldn't a bin car'd fur more." "That was very kind of Miss Saumur," said Dal- ton, rather coldly. "But dat isn't de commencement of what she done. It's nuthin' but good works all de way 'long, artcr she'd separated from de sesesh. An' she -did hav orful quar'ls wid dese peoples, when she'd dcfen' de ole Union, and said sesesh was a sin. One day her uncle died wid a fever he tuck at de war. Den she left all dese peoples, an' sit alone. Ebbery day when de Yankee pris'ners pass troo heyar — dey come from Charleston, an' dey put dem all down in de side- walk in Liberty Street 'fore dey put dem in de cars to send way off ter Milten and An'sonville. Oh ! Massa Dalton, de orful sights us see ebbery dey, eb- bery day — dere dese wounded men, an' sick, trown out ob de cars like hogs, an' den Miss Agnes go roun' 'mong dem wid a basket full ob nice tings ter eat. She look like an angel come right down from heb- ben, wid her big black ej^es so full ob light, an' her face white as de cotton - fiel's. You know, Massa David, she like an angel !" and the old negress peer- ed into the face of Dalton as if she would fain inter- pret his thoughts. 112 The Sanctuary. "Well, go on, Sarah," was bis only answer, while with his hand he shaded his face from the blaze of the burning lightwood which flared and crackled in the large fireplace. "Ah! I 'member well, one da}^," continued old Sarah, as if talking to herself, " dere w^as a man wid torn clo's; his legs wos jes' like cornstalks, dey so small an' hard ; de har all drop off ob his head ; his e3^es sunk way in his eyebrows, wid great black spots un'erneath. Miss Agnes gib him piece ob bread, an' when he' put it in his mouf de blood run from his teef an' make de bread all red, an' den Miss Agnes cry like a chile, an' den de pris'ner cry dref- ful, an' I cry a heap. One day de guard tell Miss Agnes ter go way an' let de dam Yankees die. Lor' bress me, Massa David, you'd orter seen how de sparks flew right out ob Miss Agnes's eyes. De guard not dare say 'nudder word. Bime-by she heerd tell dat Massa Harol was in de hosp'tal pris'n down by de railroad, an' fur weeks an' mon's she went dar, a-nussin' him like's ef she'd bin his sister. She couldn't do 'nuff fur yer sick brudder, an' many's de time I heerd him bress her, while wid his eyes as blue as de firm'ment he'd foller her about dat hole. She tinks a heep ob you, Massa David," cried the old woman, suddenly advancing, and with the familiarity The Sanctuary. 113 of the old family nurse, she laid her long bony band on the major's arm. Dalton made no answer, but closed his eyes, as if to shut out the picture she had drawn. " Yes, Massa David, yer'll let yer ole mammy speak ter yer. Las' Monday week agone— no, 'twas Tues- da}' — Miss Agnes come home an' ran right ter her room, an' den I heerd such cryin' and groanin', and she talk out loud ter herself, an' I was afeerd ter go in dere until, bime-by, dere wos no noise, an' I fin' her on de floor, her face all sorrowful wid de tears, but she sleep like a baby. She nebber hab lef ' dat room since dat day." Before she had finished her story Dalton's arms had fallen upon the table, and his head rested upon them, and thus he remained, when Sarah left him, feeling that she should say no more, and silently stole from the room. Hours passed, and still Major Dalton had not moved from his position. Eigidly did he examine himself, and weigh every thought and motive. A thousand memories of old days of love in the past came thronging into court in passionate appeal. To give his life for her happiness w^ould be a poor com- pensation for her grand heroism, her tender devotion to his comrades and to his brother. Could he mis- 11-i TnE Sanctuary. take the world of confident, expectant love wbich filled ber ej'es on the day of their meeting? What riofht had he to refuse this noble offering^? He should be a king among men to wear so rich a crown. What grander aim? What higher duty? What nobler aspiration than to devote his best life to this noble girl? And then, in spite of all, came back upon him the terrible thought, crushing with remorseless hand these eloquent but subtle fallacies: " Oh no, I will not deceive m3'self — I will not lie to her. Four years ago I asked her to be my wife ; that was to me the crucial hour, deciding all. She refused me, and from that moment she passed out of my love as if she had never been.* No, I will not deceive myself — I will not lie to her. I do not love Agnes Saumur." I XV. T was with a- sad, hopeless heart that Agnes Sau- mur, yielding to the earnest solicitation of Mrs. Bright, took her place in that lady's carriage. "You are not well, my child," said Mrs. Bright, as she wrapped a shawl about her friend. " What ails you? Here you have been shut up in your room for weeks. The fresh air will cheer you. There is nothing like sunshine for invalids. "We will have a pleasant drive to Thunderbolt, and I know you will enjoy it." The sun shone pleasantly enough as they drove down Liberty Street, and out upon the shell road— once a broad, smooth avenue, now cut up by the passage of heavy army wagons. As they passed through the massive fortification and over the wood- en bridge which spanned the wido ditch, and out upon the open plain, they could see the gray and purple clouds in the south working swiftly and rest- 116 The Sanctuary. lesslj northward. Then the wind shifted to the east, and came cold and bleak, penetrating and chill- ing the blood. Very soon the sun gave up the con- test for the mastery, and hid itself behind the mists and scudding clouds. ''Drive to Bonaventura, and leave me there. You can take me up on 3'our way back," said Agnes. The change in the weather was quite in consonance with Agnes's mood, and she resolved to visit the tomb of her parents, perhaps for the last time, for during her illness she had revolved the possibilities of her future life. In Savannah she could not and would not remain. Every association with the place was repulsive to her. She had cousins in New York who had generously urged her to make her future home with them. She was independent of others so far as pecuniary considerations were concerned, and she had resolved to accept her cousins' invitation. Perhaps, under other circumstances and associations, some new sphere of usefulness would open, where she could wear out her heart's pain. XYL PERHAPS in^ll the world there is not a more remarkable burial-place for the dead than Bona- ventura. When, centuries ago, the Spanish adven- turers, navigating the creeks and rivers which divide the sea-coast into main land and barren island, came suddenly upon this luxurious growth of live-oak- trees clustered upon the river-bank, and then, in their joyous enthusiasm, cried out " bonaventura,"* they little imagined that it was one day to serve as a cem- etery of a great city near, or that underneath the branches of the wide -spreading trees where they pitched their silken tents there would rise monu- ments covering the ashes of their children's children. In every direction in this great cemetery long avenues traverse the forest, whose gnarled, sturdy branches have for centuries woven a cathedral arch above, the avenues themselves extending away from the beholder until they are lost in the distance. * Good luck. 118 The Sanctuary. At no season of the year does the sunlight enter here. A thick, gray mist, rising from malarious swamp and fen, gathers among the foliage, matting its graceful forms, and enwrapping the giant limbs as with a death-shroud. As Agnes entered this gloomy abode of the dead, a nameless horror crept over her, which, while it was a fit reflex of her own mood, seemed also a presenti- ment of coming evil. The drooping, pendulous moss seemed to embrace her in its snaky coils ; it clung to her hair, and swept over her pallid face. The murky shadows of the forest to her vivid imagination as- sumed weird and fantastic forms of human shape, swa3'ing to and fro as if to beckon her in among the time-stained tombs. Ko sound disturbed this fearful solitude except the sighing and moaning wind. No face of man greeted her as, with timid steps, she glided along the avenues, past ruined monuments, past broken tablets, the obliterated records of the forgotten dead, and then out from these grim shad- ows to the river's bank, to her mother's tomb, where she prostrated herself, clasping the cold earth with a great cry of relief and of passionate appeal, as if the form laid there these many years would then, as in the days of her childhood, take her darling child to her bosom to calm her fears, to assuage her grief, to The Sanctuaky. 110 soothe lier to rest. The mute earth, that drank her fast-falling tears, gave back no answer to her prayers. With straining eyes she gazed out across the ruin, and over the dreary waste of marshes toward the sea, but a thick veil of fog and mist obscured from her sight that sublime element of eternity. With fitful gusts the wind swept through the weeds and grasses; the sky^ now black with clouds, looked threateningly upon her, and, turn which way she w^ould, repellant nature threw her back upon her- self She w^as startled from her sad thoughts by the dis- tant sounds of drums beating the long roll of a fune- ral march, and then the strains of a band of music floated through, the aisles of the forest. As the sounds came nearer, she could distinguish the plain- tive melody of the Thulee song. And then a regi- ment of soldiers appeared in sight, with arms re- versed, followed by pall-bearers carrying a coffin upon a platform draped with flags, and following this came a group of oflicers. The cortege fi-led off' to the right, and halted at a new-made grave. Agnes could see the cofl&n lowered into the earth ; the sharp report of muskets paying the salute of honor reached her ears, and then, the last ceremonies finished, the soldiers again fell into line, marching away with 120 The Sanctuary. quick step, while the group of officers silently sepa- rated in one or another direction. To the excited mind of Agnes, these obsequies, which passed so quickly, appeared like the fragment of a tragedy in which she had herself been an actor — a figure of her own troubled life. This brave sol- dier had marched many a weary journey, had en- countered many perils, and now had gone quietly to his rest in the hour of sublime victor}^ Had she not also made the grand campaign ? But had she thus conquered, and could she glory in a rest like his? Could this intense love for David Dalton be buried thus peacefully ? She gazed out over the melancho- ly marshes, and into the mournful mists, as if the shifting, fickle spirits of the air could give her an- swer. There was now a lull in the wind, which had been gradually increasing from the northeast. Agnes heard the sound of footsteps, and, turning, saw Dal- ton approaching, followed by a soldier leading two horses. It was too late to avoid a meeting, for he had already recognized, and was advancing toward her with rapid strides. The young girl's heart al- most ceased to beat — a sensation of suffi^cation over- came her. With a nervous grasjD she tore the collar from her neck, but this gave no relief. The light The Sanctuary. 121 passed from her ej^es, and she sank upon the ground. . When she came to herself again she was resting in Dalton's arms. Oh, the thankful, gentle rest, the peace, the happiness of that brief moment of awak- ening consciousness! She was only too content to lie there ; but Dalton's voice aroused ber to the cruel reality. Those were not the familiar tones, trem- bling with the music of love, but a soldier's voice, cold and inflexible — the voice of command. "That will do, orderl}^," he said; "she is coming to her senses. Fasten my horse to the tree yonder, then ride as quickly as you can to Savannah. Take the grand avenue on your way up to the city, and hail the first carriage you meet. It is possible you may find the one this lady came in. Make haste!" The clatter of hoofs died away in the forest, and the estranged lovers were alone. With a gentle touch Dalton smoothed away the hair, and kissed the pale face which lay half-buried in his cloak. He at once divined the grief which ha-d brought her to her mother's grave. He knew then, as never before, the depth of her love for him, and he bent over her, crying out in his compassion, "Agnes, Agnes, so loving, so impetuous." There was exceeding tenderness in his voice, but it did not deceive Agnes for a moment. Love, in a F 122 The Sanctuary. delicate nature like liers is wonderfully sensitive. It detects and analyzes the lightest word with absolute certainty ; it translates each look and tone into its proper language. There are no infidelities in the chemistry of love. Agnes accepted the truth with all its bitterness, and 3-et his words fell upon her wounded spirit with healing balm. The tears forced themselves through her long eyelashes, and she pressed his hand to her lips and against her throb- bing heart. Dalton made no effort to restrain the sobs which shook her frail form. A tempest of contending emo- tions struggled within him until his strong nature bent and swayed as helplessly as the tough oak wrenched by the gale on the river bank. As he looked down into that fair face, the loving-kindness of his gentler self found voice, and for the moment the memory of his neglected love came back to him with thrilling power. '' Agnes, dear Agnes, do not sob so ; it breaks my heart. I will be all in all to you. Oh, Agnes, for- give me the pain I have caused jou. But it is all past now. You shall never know sorrow any more." Agnes did not at once answer his loving, soothing words. For a while she shut out all sense but that of loving. But then slowly and reluctantly she with- The Sanctuary. 123 drew herself from his embrace, while she yet held flist his hands in hers. Then the grandeur of her unselfish woman's soul expanded in earnest utter- ances, pleading as against herself. "David Dalton, I have loved you. I love you now with all my heart and soul — perhaps you will never know how deeply and intensely. But, oh! David, forgive me, I will not take you at your gen- erous word. You do not love me now, I fear, as you did—" "Agnes!" "Do not speak now. I ought to have anticipated this years ago. It was my own weakness, my crime which drove you from me, but indeed I forgot all that in the selfishness of my love. I remembered too much of all that was good and noble in you. I was too happy in these memories ; they kindled into life a pride in our dear country. This love for you, David, has sustained me through bitter trials. My battles have not been fought on the fields where you have contended so nobly, but they have been severe, and, like yours, they have resulted in victory. But I owe all to you. After I met you the' other day I saw that I was nothing to you. Yet' in the after hours, in the silence of despair, I would have taken you at your word. But, David, this is the impulse 124 TnE Sanctuary. of your generous heart. You do not love me as you must love the woman who is to be your wife." Her voice fluttered, and the words came brokenly from her white lips. '' Do not think I blame you. The current of our feelings is sometimes beyond our control. I could scarcely have expected that in your case the event would have been otherwise than it has been. But to-day over this sacred grave I have struggled with myself, and all in vain. Your own nobleness of nature has given me a strength which was denied to myself I ought not, David, and I can not be your wife." Then she released herself entirely, and stood alone, beautiful in her self-immolation and with her divine resignation. ''Agnes," saidDalton, "could you look into my heart, you would see how supremely I honor j^ou. God grant that I may live to prove to you that I love you. Let us have faith that we have both been saved for some better fate." There was a pleading earnestness in his eyes which caused Agnes to tremble with uncontrollable emo- tion, and she covered her face with her hands, and would have fled from him. " I know that I am rougher, harder than in the The Sanctuary. 125 old days," he continued. '' Have patience with me. Perhaps—" "Oh, David," she interrupted, "do not speak in that way. I am bewildered. You must help me to be strong. Thank God, they have come at last !" As Agnes spoke, Mrs. Bright's carriage whirled rapidly out of the avenue. Dalton placed her ten- derly within the carriage. There was a pressure of the hand, and once again Agnes Saumur and David Dalton were parted. XYIL yXSTKUCTING his orderly to follow the carriage -^ to Savannah, and to render the party any assist- ance which might be needed, Dalton mounted his horse and rode slowly toward a series of massive for- tifications which covered the river bank. At this point, where there was a sharp bend in the river, the Confederate engineers had constructed broad trav- erses, which j)rotected numerous redoubts, and which were, in their turn, covered in the rear by an exten- sive bastioned fort. The muzzles of ponderous can- non looked out from earthen embrasures upon the lofty parapet. Here an old-fashioned sixty- four - pounder was dismounted from its carriage ; behind an embankment, half buried in the sand, lay a big- throated mortar; iron balls, canister, and shells were scattered about just as they had been left by the gar- rison a few weeks ago. Dismounting from his horse. Major Dalton threw his reins over a broken rammer thrust into the earth, The Sanctuary. 127 and walked into a huge embrasure, which, from its height, its earthy material, and scientific construc- tion, almost entirely protected its defenders from the fire of ships approaching from the sea. In these in- terior lines of defense the Confederates had learned a lesson as to the incapacity of stone walls from their dearly-bought experience at Fort Pulaski. As Dal- ton gazed up and down the river bank, he could see rising from the earth these huge mounds of sand, mounted with embrasured guns, pointing in every direction, but all concentrating upon that one point in the stream where the aitacking ship must expose her broadside to their annihilating fire. "A few weeks ago," thought the major, '' and that splendid ship could not have ridden so securely at her anchor, w^ithin reach of these guns, as she does to-day. These powerful engines of destruction are harmless enough now. A few days since, and they kept a fleet at bay." Dejected and unhinged, the major's mind seemed to rest in sad harmony with all this wreck and ruin. The spirit of man is ever bound in close relations to the earth. The exterior appearance of nature influ- ences his being, moulding it into good shapes or ill, moving it to joy or sorrow. These affinities or cor- respondences act and react in obedience to great 128 The Saxctuaey. laws, and witli as miicli certainty and regularity as those which have been more clearly defined and sub- jected to absolute rules. Why should the heart leap wdth gladness when the sun shines and the golden clouds ride gayly across the sky, while the breeze bends with gentle force the bousfhs, and rustles the leaves of the forest- trees ? Why should the soul sink with sadness in the au- J:umn days, when leaden skies overhang the earth, and the chill wind whistles among the limbs of trees that are gaunt and bare ? As Dalton looked into himself, he saw a spiritual counterpart of this machinery of power lying useless and helpless about him. It was only yesterday that he was strong to will, to resist, and to achieve. He felt within himself the springs of power — a reserved strength which could assert itself upon provocation ; but for the moment he was paralyzed ; and as the major shielded his body from the wind which came howling from the ocean, flirting in his face now and then spiteful splashes of rain, he recalled the imme- diate details of *the scene with Agnes, which but an hour ago had passed so quickl3^ "How came this weakness? Why this sense of humiliation, unless he had been untrue to hjmself?" Again he asked himself,, with terrible earnestness, The Sanctuary. 129 "Do I love Agnes, after all? Could I ask myself such a question , or should I dread to ask, if I really loved her ? "What has become of the passion of four years ago ? Into what channel has it run ? Has it only been dormant the while, or is it lost forever?" In the noble qualities which had been developed by sorrowful experience in Agnes, he could scarcely recognize the woman he had once loved. She was all she had ever been, but how much more ! The latent possibilities for good or evil are greater in women than in men, partly because of the infinite susceptibility which is in them, and partly because of the secluded lives they lead. Woman is a never- ceasing mystery, which man had best thankfully ac- cept and despair of divining. But Dalton was not reasoning — if his chaotic mind was then capable of reasoning — from the stand-point which Agnes had taken. lie was rather fighting a battle with himself. Dalton possessed in an eminent degree that charac- teristic . called "chivalric," too often misunderstood, or falsely attributed to absurd bombast, but which undoubtedly belonged to many a Southron, and was founded in a noble spirit of manly self-sacrifice. "Yes," he said to himself, "I can never give my love to any woman but her. I will devote my life to her. She will not — she can not reject the offering." F2 XYIII. TT was late when the major returned to his quar- -^ ters. He found an officer awaiting him with im- perative orders for his instant departure upon im- portant service. •'When do we start?" " The steamer, which takes up a party of pioneers, is waiting for 3'ou at the wharf It should start in half an hour." The major's face flushed at the thought of derelic- tion, and in a moment the affectionate impulses of his nature yielded to the habit of action and to the requirements of soldierly discipline. The mission with which he was intrusted was one of great im- portance. He saw that he was the avant courier in the opening of a new and grand campaign. The sublime scope of the new movement thrilled him. He saw its gigantic plan, and, though its successful execution was obscured bv a thousand obstructions The Sanctuary. 131 and perils, its success would decide tlie war of the re- bellion. But after all, in the midst of these bright pictures rose np the pale, sad face of Agnes, with sorrowful eyes, appealing to him. See her he must before en- tering upon this expedition. "I will be with you in a few minutes. Wait for me here, captain," and Major Dalton hurried upon his errand. He did not hope to overcome the doubts or the resolves of Agnes, but he was determined to give her assurance of hopes entertained by himself, and of his faith in their future. " Well, dar you ar, Massa David. I tort yer'd be comin'," was the salutation of the old nurse Sarah at the door. " Yer want to. see Miss Agnes, I s'posc. But, Massa David, dat ar chile's not well. She suf- fers a heap. She tort yer'd be comin', an' she told me dat she couldn't bar to see yer nohow, an' she gib me dis letter fur yer ter read bime-by, not h'yar in dis house, but arterward, somewhar." " But you must tell Miss Agnes that I am ordered away — that I leave in a few moments, and that I wish to see her only for an instant." "It's no use, Massa David. Dat chile is sick in her bed. Yer can't see her. It's right hard, Massa 132 TuE Sanctuary. David, but it's no use," and Sarah wiped the perspi- ration from her bronzed forehead. To refuse " Massa David" was to her a new experience, and to thrust him away from a relation in whose success her own heart was bound up was too much for the old serv- ant, and there were tears in her kindly eyes as she placed her hand upon his shoulder and reiterated, "It's no use, Massa David; yer mus' go right away." " Well, well, tell 3'our mistress I will return again," said the major, as, securing the letter, he hurried from the house. It was past midnight when he read Agnes's letter hj the moonlight which at intervals broke through the masses of black clouds, lightiug up the deck of the steamer. And these were the words which he read, steeped in the bitterness of sorrow : "The tears are falling fast. I can not keep them back and write what must be written, for, if you were with rac now, I could not speak these words. Oh I the unbearable sorrow to say Good-by, and forever. "No, David, we must not see each other again. I could con- vince you that this separation is for the best, but you must compre- hend it all for yourself. Do not attempt to persuade me, nor your- self, from the only path we ought to pursue. You will not regret this by-and-by. I fly from you— from myself. The Agnes Saumur of the past no longer exists. There are solemn duties before you — to your brother, to your country. Forgive me the pain I have caused you. Farewell. Agnes." The Sanctuary. 133 Out of tlie nobility of loving came tlicse tearful words. It was not tliat her pride revolted against Dalton. She refused to permit him to make a sacri- fice for what he believed would be her happiness. She trampled self under foot, and stood between him and his generous impulses. But her mediation was unavailing. The conflict in Dalton's soul had already begun. It was not the old conflict renewed. Duty, now disarmed, was no longer an element in the field. Honor, which some- times takes the guise of love, had here no place. All shams and pretenses were cast aside. The life which scorned love when love could no longer meet the emergencies of life, now swayed toward a loving presence, which was stronger than naked duty only because it was transformed into the divinity of self- immolation and of absolute self-renunciation. And the major stretched himself upon the steam- er's deck, vaguely yearning for some light to guide him through this labyrinth; thankful for the silence, broken only by the smothered breathings of the steam monster underneath him; thankful for the night which hid his face and thought from human observation; unmindful of the spectral cloud-shad- ows (phasing each other across the watery waste and the misty main land; unmindful of the gloomy forest 13^ The Sanctuary, opening its giant arms of darkness to receive these shadows; unconscious of the destiny which Fate, with subtle fingers, was weaving about him. M XIX. 'AJOR DALTON, after a week had passed, found himself still on the bank of the Savan- nah Kiver, contending stoutly with the turbid, rush- in o- waters. The relentless flood tore in pieces the canvas pontoon boats, uplifted and carried away bridges, tossing, twisting, and sweeping away the corduroy roads; wagons in the causeways, wagons in the fields, wagons every where struggled for a time, and then settled in the mud, and were finally aban- doned. The mules waded, and plunged, and swam until their heavy heads and long ears carried them beneath the all-absorbing waters. It is wellnigh impossible to convey to the mind of a stranger the nature of the country on the left bank of the Savannah. Said a Confederate general officer, "It would have taken our army, under the most flivorable auspices, three years to have built the roads over which Sherman marched to the Sal- kahatchic." 136 The Sanctuary. And to-day, as those ^vho accomplislied these won- derful feats of patience and ingenuity look back upou> their triumph over apparently insurmountable obsta- cles, they wonder at themselves, and thank God that they were not left to starve or drown in the swamps and rice-fields. Meanwhile the brigade which had been sent with Major Dalton had become a division. By one means or another the troops were arriving rapidly, and the division grew into a corps, and then an army. It was the first scene in the second stage of the Grand March. In the struggle between man and the elements, Nature in the main has had the worst of it, but now and then she asserts herself, and human forces must stand still or give way. The left wing of Sherman's army stood still for a while on the higher southern bank of the river in January, 1865, while the waters with defiant, drunken glee ran riotous over the land. Major Dalton, with the rest, watched and waited, held to his post by the obligations of duty. But he was not impatient. These hours of rest were not fruitless. The finer sensibilities of his nature were gaining strength. There was springing into life that richer and more generous growth of love which pre- ludes its " second harvest." XX. AT this moment, while Dalton stands upon the bank of the river, self-questioning, at Savannah, an ocean steam-ship swings slowly into the stream. On her quarter-deck, separated from the group of passengers, there sits, clinging to the rail, a gentle, sad-eyed woman. Fast-falling tears find their way down her pale face as she waves adieu to an old negress weeping and moaning among the idle spec- tators on the pier. And then, with listless indiffer- ence, the lady upon the quarter-deck hears the pad- dles which beat against the yielding waters. The great vessel moves among the throng of shipping away from the noble warehouses, past cotton-presses and steam-mills, past the great city ; gathering speed w^ith the outflowing tide, she darts through the nar- row, dangerous pass, avoiding the iron-peaked tim- bers planted in the stream to pierce to destruction the Yankee fleets. The lady gives little heed to 138 The Sanctuary. Fort Jackson, frowning down upon them witli its iron-throated sentinels. Her eyes are fixed upon the spires of the church under whose shadow she had glided — oh, so joyously ! — from childhood into womanhood. The ship speeds swiftly on past signal-station and ruined earth-work, past sunken ships whose skele- tons rise from the sullen waters as if clutching, with phantom fingers, for help which can not come, past sand-spits, where sea-birds, silent and sad, sat resting from their battle with ocean ^orms, until the city is now but a checkered patch upon the gray horizon. And yet the ship moved on, giving wide berth to the treacherous bar where the light-house stands, which, four years ago, by treacherous hands had been robbed of its warning signal. And now she plunges into the white -capped waves, outriders to old Neptune's chariot. The distant city has faded into the clouds, the church spire is a thin, black line against the sky, and at length even that has vanish- ed. Pulaski, with its encasements of brick and stone, sinks now into the gray and purple distance. The martello tower on lone Tybee, time -defying and mysterious relic of some ancient people, crumbles among the yellow sands, and all that may be seen of the solid earth is a spectral boundary -line, which The' Sanctuary. 139 is soon swallowed np by tlie leaping waves, crimson- crested by the setting sun. A film covers the lady's eye, coming between her and this fading vision. The ship has gone out upon the broad ocean, and Agnes Saumur has bidden adieu to home, to love, and to David Dalton. XXI /^iSTE day tlie rain ceased falling, the waters be- ^^ gan to subside, and the low lands to appear in sight again, and then brigade and division began to cross the river, and haul out upon all the available roads. Every possible avenue of travel was made use of Commanders were instructed to take one and another route, to march upon separate roads in so far as they could be found, but they were all to concentrate at a designated point. And then commenced the work of the staff corps. At such times, in the actual movement of troops, the officers of the line are occupied with the care of their immediate commands. Their duties are important, but they are well defined. It is far different with the staff corps. The staff officers are the arms and legs of the general, and in some cases in this war they were his brains also. No duty can be more ar- duous than theirs when the army is in actual motion The Sanctuary. 141 tlirougli the enemy's country. The staff officer must be familiar with the details of the organization and the work they have to perform. Of all the three branches of the service, military topography should be at his fingers' ends. The staff corps in the Union army was anomalous in its condition. In most cases it was not provided for in the regulations. At one time it was supposed that a position on a general's staff was what the sol- dier's call a "soft thing;" but that idea vanished at length, as more of the truth was known. Perhaps no army ever came into existence which so much needed an efficient staff corps as did the Army of the Union, and certainly no army ever cre- ated one so rapidly. The civil engineer on the West- ern prairie, who dropped his chain and compass and took up the sword, in a month's experience could lay out a line of fortifications as well, and build a bridge as quickly and as strongly as his brother officer who had left West Point at the head of his class. The Boston mechanic, who hung up his apron and enlist- ed in Nims's Battery, in a short time knew as much about gunnery, and the way shot and shell were made, as did the chief of the Ordnance Bureau; while the adjutant general's department found its wisest, clearest heads and nimblest hands from among U2 The Sanctuary. those who had served in the shipping and counting- house. All of which is not cited as an argument against military education in the schools, but as an evidence of the extraordinary adaptability of the American people to fill the strange positions to which they were so suddenly called. XXII. XT was in the exercise of his duties as inspector of -^ his corps that our old acquaintance, Colonel Lev- eridge, accompanied by Major Dalton, was reconnoi- tring the country one day in the early part of Feb- ruary. Dalton, having fulfilled the duty which had called him from Savannah, was seeking an opportunity to rejoin his head-quarters, which at the time were moving northward from Beaufort with the right wing of the army. For several hours Dalton and Colonel Leveridge had been vainly searching for a road which was clearly enough marked upon the map of South Carolina, but which their most patient endeavors had not succeeded in locating in fact. Either this highway was in disuse in A.D. 1865, or it had been overflowed. So they floundered along toward a group of negro huts, whose angular form broke the straight horizon line separating the distant rice-fields from the red sky. 1-4-i The Sanctuary. " There must have been troops tliere, either the rebels or ours, for that column of smoke indicates house-burning," said Dalton. Leveridge quickly raised his field-glass to his eyes, while the party halted. " There is quite a large body of men going into camp. Yes ; and I can see off to the left a train of wagons slowly moving up to the place," replied Lev- eridge. " They are our soldiers, too, for I can dis- tinguish a crowd of men with blue coats gathered around a camp-fire." The party pressed on, and, as they neared the place, they could see squads of soldiers running hither and thither, carrying off rails, boards, and straw to be used for fire and bedding. The smoking timbers were tumbled among the ruined foundations of what appeared once to have been a large house. In front of a row of negro cabins were groups of black people standing and staring in silent wonder at this sudden irruption of strangers. ISTear a largo camp-fire stood several officers. "I declare," exclaimed Leveridge, "we have struck a Massachusetts regiment. There is Barnard, and Oakland, and the rest. Halloa, Oakland, how are 3'ou?" he shouted. "Why, Horton's here!" broke out Dalton, who The Sanctuary. ' 145 had recognized his friend. ''How did he get over to this wing of the army ?" In a few moments the two officers had dismount- ed, and were shaking hands, embracing, and exhib- iting such demonstrations of hearty friendship as would seem absurd any where out of the army. " What sort of a place is this ?" asked Leveridge. "Here, for five hours, we have been hunting up a road for our corps to march over, but haven't found so much as a tow-path." ''March over!" cried Oakland. "Why, colonel, we've been swimming. Look at these soldiers ; look at us. Tell me the color of my trowsers, if you can. We've been swimming, I tell you, just four miles, and this is the first dry land we have seen, and isn't it a Paradise ?" "The semi-nude condition of some of these black people is about the only suggestion of the Garden of Eden that I can see," said Leveridge, as, looking around, he worked a passage-way through his thick mustache to make way for a cup which had been handed him, containing a liquid substance strongly resembling water. Meanwhile Dalton and Horton were reciting to each other their varied experiences since the two wings of the army had separated at Savannah. G 146 The Sanctuary. " Not hearing any thing of the advance of the left wing for several days, the general has sent me across country to find it. I had but just dismounted when you came in sight. I shall halt here for an hour or two to feed and rest the horses," said Horton. " Our columns have been concentraJ;ed at Pocotaligo for the last two days, although we have not been idle. General Howard is with the Seventeenth Corps, which forms our right, and is trying to force the passage of the Salkahatchie at Beaufort's Bridge. After I left head-quarters 3^esterday morning I took a southwest course. About ten miles out we ran into a squad of rebel cavahy, but managed to get through with only one man hurt, and he not serious- ly. Do you know where we are. Colonel Barnard ?" ''Not precisely," answered that officer. "Since we came upon this place we have been trying to get the brigade into camp. These flat lands, so sparsely inhabited, are about as blind a country to march through as I ever saw, but I am sure we are march- ing in a northwest direction, and that Loper's Cross- roads, Allandale, Fiddler's Pond, etc., are somewhere ahead of us. Perhaps that negro can give us infor- mation. Halloa, there, Sam, Bill, Csesar, Jack, George Washington, come here ; I wish to speak with you." The man thus addressed was black as a coal, with- The Sanctuaky. 147 out any trace of white blood in color or feature. He gazed vacantly at the group of of&cers. He seemed to know that he was addressed, but understood not a word. " Come here ! Are you deaf?" again cried the col- onel. The poor fellow did not move. " Bob !" shouted Oakland to a young negro serv- ant who had joined the regiment near Milledge- ville, and who was seated upon a camp-chest busily employed in stripping a chicken. As he came sham- bling up to the party, there was on his face a grin of ecstatic delight for which there was no especial occa- sion. " I wish you to talk to that black man. Stop your grinning." " Yaas, cap'n," and Bob broke in a fearful " Ki-yi," which was intended for a laugh. At the same time he slapped his legs with his soldier's cap, which was ornamented with the chicken's wing-feathers. "Ask him," said Oakland, ''to whom this planta- tion belongs, what is his own name, and where this road leads to." "Yaas, cap'n," ejaculated Bob, and he appealed to the black man in a pompous manner, which he in- tended should inspire him with some idea of the im- portance of the occasion. ''Look a heyar, sah. Wha yer no speak ter de 148 The Sanctuary. cap'n ? He's one ob Massa Sherman's company, dat he is. Who's yer massa? Wha yer stan dere star- in' like a turkey -gobbler ? Wha don yer talk right out?" The plantation slave gazed into Bob's face as if he sought for some words familiar to his ear. He mut- tered some strange gibberish, and then sank back into an expression of utter stupidity. "Cap'n," said Bob, desperately, "he wus nor a down-South nigger. He's no shuck, sah, nohow." " We will try him in some other language," said Oakland. " You may clear out, Bob." "Est ce que vous parlez Frangais?" The negro's face was as blank as an Egyptian stat- ue, which he resembled not a little. "Sprechen sie Deutsch?" cried Leveridge, with a broad, thick accent, which would have done credit to a month's residence in the Bowery. Evidently the man had never tasted lager bier, nor sunned himself beneath the walls of Gottingen Uni- versity. " Parlati Italiano ?" asked another. But the negro was ignorant of the land of Petrarch and Michael Angelo. "Hablato Espanola?" resumed Oakland. At the musical sounds of the Spanish tongue the .m:-^. We cau't niakn any thing out of the poor fellow." ?ai(i Colonel Parnard. The Sanctuary. 151 poor slave's eyes brightened for a moment. He ut- tered some unmeaning sounds, hesitated, and ceased speaking. ''We can't make any thing out of the poor fel- low," said Colonel Barnard. "I wonder who and what he is. He certainly is neither deaf nor dumb." " If you were to live in the South many years, you would find some strange characters upon these plan- tations," remarked Dalton. " This man is evidently a recent importation fron^ Africa, and speaks only his native tongue. You observed in him signs of intelligence when he heard the sounds of the Spanish language, which were most likely an echo of his life in the Spanish barracoons, where these people are often kept for weeks before the traders can get them on board the slave-ships." "Do you imagine that slaves from the African coast have been brought into the South during the war?" demanded Hortou, with an expression of sur- prise and indignation. " Certainly," was Dalton's response ; "I am sure of it ; and more than that, before the war, cargo after cargo of these wretched creatures were landed here. What was there to prevent a slave-ship from run- ning up the Broad, the Ogeechee, or the Altamaha rivers, and landing a cargo of human beings, whose 152 The Sanctuary. bodies and souls cost but a few trinkets in Africa, but who were worth from five hundred to a thousand dollars a head on these bottom-lands ? This negro, I should suppose, was from the south of Africa ; but you will find upon the plantations a hundred differ- ent types and tribes from all parts of Africa. Near Darwin, in Georgia, before the war, I could have shown you a Foulah negro, who was born and lived in the country of Soudan, in the north of Africa. He is a strict Mohamnj||dan, has his Koran in the Arabic, and reads it daily. He abstains from spirit- uous liquors, and keeps all the fasts, particularly those of the Eamadan. What has become of this man during the war it would be a curious thing to know, for he was a most uncommon character." "He is an exception, then, to the large majority of these unfortunate people," interposed Leveridge. "I have had occasion to travel over hundreds of these plantations during our campaigns, and ninety- nine out of one hundred ©f the field-hands are more senseless than I ever believed human beings could be." " That is a melancholy truth," said Horton, "and whether or not we conquer the South, what a future of woe have these poor creatures !" " That and the future rehabilitation of the South The Sanctuary. 153 are two questions which fill me with forebodings," answered Dalton. "For my part," said Horton, "I am full of hope. It will require generations to educate these blacks out of their degradation; and as for their former masters, I believe the horrible enormity of the vice of mastership was the poisoned virus which incited to this treasonable crusade against our government. But, with freedom to the blacks, I have faith that there will come about a gradual but a complete reor- ganization of society on principles of morality, jus- tice, and patriotism." ''I agree with you, Horton," said Barnard. ''By George ! we have known to our bitter cost that these Southerners are brave, and have given up their prop- erty and their lives for what they believe to be the truth. Yes, gentlemen, they have a foundation of manliness which will bear good fruit one of these days." " I can not forget Andersonville, Salisbury, Libby, and Belle Isle," answered Dalton, with emphasis. " My personal wrongs I may be able to put. aside, but the atrocities committed upon our prisoners will never pass from my memory." " Let us make a distinction, Dalton, between the authors of these crimes and thousands of people who Ct2 154 The Sanctuary. have been either forced into the war or have been deluded," said Horton. "It's hard to make distinctions where a nation (and the South has people enough to make up half a dozen German Principalities) is as large as the South. Now—" Leveridge suddenly halted in what he had evident- ly intended should be a long dissertation. For a full half hour his eyes had wandered in the direction of the jubilant Bob. Following the movements of that individual with an eager, mysterious curiosity, his ear now caught the tinkling sound of a bell. He dropped most unceremoniously the subject of recon- struction, and asked, '' Why does that bell ring?" "It is the method sometimes adopted in certain semi-civilized portions of the globe for announcing dinner," answered Oakland, with gravity. The party of hungry officers did not wait for far- ther explanation, but moved with becoming speed toward the big wooden shutter which had been sud- denly converted into a dinner-table. "What is the meaning of this ?" asked Leveridge, as he gazed upon a white linen table-cloth which covered the rough board. "Absolutely a table- cloth, white and clean ! My duty as inspector re- The Sanctuary. 155 # quires me to make a note of tliis. Ali!"