CHAPTER XX. RUTHIE. "I was born," said Ruthie, “in happy New England, and sheltered by loving hearts in a peaceful home. Life passed onward like a boat sailing over the waters of an unruffled lake, just floating calmly forward towards the sunny haven of all my hopes. But from this cloudless dream I was awakened with the sound of a nation's indignant anger. The blow had been struck, and hundreds of brave hearts roused up and sprung to arms in order to defend the Union flag, so ruthlessly insulted by the rebel forces at Sumter. New England gave her best blood to flow on fields of carnage. Every householder almost throughout our land contributed some beloved one to swell the ranks of our nation's army, and I knew a brave and loyal heart was waiting the sign from me to go and join those splendid ranks, who were the strength of the New England homes; but, tremblingly I sought to evade his eager glance, for a terrible fear held me silent. At length the struggle ceased. I bid him go and fulfil his duty. Two long years elapsed. He served his country well. Then came a letter, written by his hand, on the eve of a battle. Since then all has been silent, and, as yet, I know not whether he fell in the strife or lingered out his suffering life within a rebel prison. At first, when I fully realised he was for ever gone, the blow fell with crushing force. I lay powerless, shattered by the tremendous weight of this heavy woe; but time passed onward, precious time 'Time the supreme! time is eternity. Pregnant with all eternity can give ; Such says Young, and, rising from the ruins of my earthly hopes, I sought a higher bliss, nursing in the hospitals of the wounded, comforting the dying. Mine was a sad but holy mission. I saw the fair and beautiful youths of New England brought bleeding into the wards. My own heart was wounded; drop by drop the essence of life seemed to expire. But in those solemn, sacred hours I learnt much-much that can only be learned in the school of grief. In my first journey southward to enter my sphere of labour I was shipwrecked, and, to add to the danger of our situation, the rebels fired upon us from the shore, but no person was injured from the attack. Twenty-three men, however, were drowned when first the ship went down, and I remained upon a portion of the wreck from 4 p.m. until 10 a.m. the next day; but God preserved me, and I pursued my labour. Some of my time was spent in the hospital of Newark, and from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. I was in the convalescent wards. I used to take a seat besides some cot, and parties of young soldiers would gather round, listening quite attentively, but never crowding, waiting patiently for some kind word to be addressed to them, their faces at times speaking the thanks which their lips refused to utter. I also found abundant work in the hospital at V- where the exchanged prisoners, at least many of them, laid sick. On first applying for admittance, I received a refusal from the guard stationed at the door. I only knew the surgeon in charge by name, but appealed next to him." "Have you any friend here, madam?" he inquired. "Yes, sir, many." "In which ward!" Turning to the guard, he said Remember, this lady is free to enter the hospital at any time." 66 Having thus gained access, I strove to make good use of the time given to me by God. I carried books and papers for the inmates to read, writing materials for them to use, or for me to pen letters to the old home friends. Years may pass, but never can I forget the hours of mingled joy and sorrow spent in the hospital of V. I won the confidence of the soldiers, and tried to teach them of Christ; but there was much of a heartrending character to be witnessed in this place. Most of the inmates were just released from Southern prisons; many of them having been kept there twenty months, and when liberated were in a state of semi-starvation ; some appeared only as wrecks of human beings, with their minds almost entirely destroyed, even the news of going home failed to rouse them from their listless state, and many died in the hospital, having procured release too late to reach their friends. One morning in passing through the wards to take something to a soldier which I had promised him, I only paused to say to others, 'Good morning, boys,' expecting to stop with them on my return. A faint voice reached my ear, but I did not think it came as a call for me, and so went forward; as I returned, however, I heard it again more distinctly, and turned to a cot in the corner of the room and saw a hand, small and delicate as any lady's, outstretched to me. I went to the side of the cot, and found a youth not yet twenty years old. His face was very fair and beautiful, and, as I looked upon him it seemed more the beauty of heaven than earth, for this youth was nearing the haven of his rest. I took his hand, and inquired what I could do for him?" "I want you to sing to me as my sister used to do in the dear New England home." "Poor fellow he had only been brought in that morning, so that I had not seen him before, but in the simple trust of his overflowing heart he spoke as to an old friend. He murmured the intelligence of a mother and a sister having mourned long for his supposed death, for he had been shut up in a Southern prison more than twelve months, I trembled with suppressed emotion as he looked up into my face with his large blue eyes, and said— "I am going home, lady." "I could not sing, so I read, and promised him to bring a friend who would comply with his request next morning; but in the morning Willie C- had gone from earthdeath had done its work at the midnight hour-the weary captive was set free!" "Another case was a young man far gone in consumption. He said that he had been eighteen months confined in a Southern prison, and, during that time, until within a few days previously, when he reached the Northern lines, had not spoken to a lady. In a few days he, the only child of a widowed mother, was summoned by the Rider of the pale horse to join the ranks of those who had been sacrificed upon their country's altar. He, too, was borne out dead. "And, amidst a vast throng in the prison of A—, I found a lady, a member of one of the first families in the North. She had been captured in a boat, with her husband, by the rebels, and confined twelve months in prison-the only female amongst thirteen thousand men. She was almost destitute of clothing, and showed me a number of fancy articles made from the bones of a dog, which her husband (captive with her) had caught, killed, and cooked for her, so great was the necessity for food experienced by the prisoners. "I might fill volumes," said Ruthie, "with incidents of my wanderings in the sick wards, in prisons, and amongst the freedmen; but itwill be enough to state that whatever the South suffered during the war, the North suffered equally. However brave the Confederate troops were, our New England were as fearless, and the women of the North-though less applauded-performed their work as well, giving up their treasured ones as unmurmuringly. The soldiers' graves at one of these prisons cover no less a space of ground than thirteen acres. Think of the bereaved homes and the aching hearts !-hearts whose cherished hopes were shrouded with the dead-those brave bands, who once seemed to echo Campbell's words— 'Our bosoms we'll bare to the glorious strife, And our oath is recorded on high To prevail in the cause that is dearer than life, 66 "Dear Ruthie," said Amy, yours was a great sorrow, and why should the simple fact of my brother having been a Confederate, and my sister's sympathies being entirely with the South, weaken the bond of friendship between you and me?" A smile played for a moment round Ruthie's lips, then she responded— "Suffering frequently cements and gives strength to friendship's bond. Have you not suffered bereavement since you came to this country? I have, Ruthie. Will you let me be your friend?" "Yes, dear Amy, only," and Ruthie paused. "Only what?" "In this portion of the United States I am," and the flush of deep crimson mounted to Ruthie's pale cheeks, “I am only a despised negro teacher. Prejudice has cast me from the society of my own race. Amongst the freedmen only three can be received. Will you dare to break the general decree?" 66 Friendship is worth little unless it will dare much for the one to whom the name of friend is given.” "But you have Southern friends, Confederate ladies, what will they say to you, Amy?" "Just what they choose.' "What do you think of the Northerners as a people?" asked Ruthie. "I have met with only few, but those few I have admired very much. The Northern gentlemen appear to me, Ruthie, to tread God's earth as God's sons, all equal, without the distinction of elder and younger brothers." |