An American Story of Real Life CHAPTER 19.
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When Bell parted from Mary, it was with the resolution fixed in her mind, to put her determination to leave Philadelphia, into execution on the following morning. It had occurred to her, that Mary would inform her husband of her intended journey, and that he would feel himself bound to communicate the fact to her father. And it was to prevent this availing anything toward detaining her, that she resolved not to put off her departure for a single day. This was the reason why, in parting from Mary, whose face she might never see again, she exhibited so much emotion.
After leaving the house of Mary, she hurried home, and set about making preparations for her journey. The departure of the steamboat at the early hour of six a.m., afforded a good opportunity for her to get away unseen by any of the family, provided she was unencumbered with baggage. But it would be necessary for her to take as many of her clothes as possible; and to do so, at least one large trunk would be required. But how this was to be removed from the house, presented itself as a serious difficulty. Sometimes she thought it best to tie up a few articles of wearing apparel into a compact bundle, such as she could easily take in her hand. But a little reflection convinced her that this would not answer. It was very desirable, she felt, to be able to pass along without attracting particular attention--and as she would have, necessarily, to put up frequently at public houses, the fact of her having no trunk, would be looked upon with more or less suspicion, and might subject her to unpleasant incidents. And besides this, it would be impossible for her to carry, in this way, a sufficient quantity of clothing. The trunk must be taken--that she fully determined. But how it was to be conveyed away from the house, in the morning, without being seen by someone--was more than she could tell.
Necessity, under all circumstances, is the mother of invention. So it proved in the case of Bell. While pondering over the difficulty that had presented itself, she at last thought of the gate attached to the large yard and garden belonging to the house, and of the many places for the temporary concealment of a trunk which the alcoves in the garden afforded. Soon after this occurred to her, she had her plan of proceeding matured--which was this. After the servants and all had retired for the night, she would get a large empty trunk, and carry it out into the garden near the gate, which opened, on to a small back street. Then she would take her clothes down in bundles, moving with a noiseless tread, and pack into the trunk as many of them as it would hold. All this was accomplished in the most perfect silence and secrecy, and the well-filled trunk left concealed near the gate. Her plan was to steal out into the garden as soon as it was daylight, and passing from the gate, procure a porter, and have her trunk removed, before anyone would be stirring in the house.
When all these preliminary arrangements were completed. Bell retired to her bed, after having penned a hurried note to her father and mother, but not to sleep. By her side, lay her two children, about to be forsaken by their mother. Into their innocent faces, beautified by calm and holy sleep, she would look often, and for many minutes at a time, bending over them, and almost holding her breath, lest they should be awakened, and only removing from her position to prevent the warm tears that were dimming her eyes from falling upon their glowing cheeks. At times, the mother's love ruled so strongly in her mind, that it seemed as if it would be impossible for her to part with them. Then she would picture to her imagination their disappointment at not seeing her as usual when they awoke in the morning; their grief at being told that she had gone away from them, no more to return--and the drooping of their young hearts, as day after day went by, and the voice they had loved so from infancy, and the smile that had been the sunlight of their spirits, no more greeted them. This was her sorest trial, and it had the effect more than once to cause her to hesitate. But other thoughts and other affections soon came back with a power that could not be controlled.
Toward daylight, she sank into a state of half unconsciousness, which was neither wakefulness nor sleep. From this, a horrible phantasy of the imagination startled her, and she awoke, uttering a stifled scream. As her scattered thoughts returned, and she was enabled to realize the truth of her condition, she perceived that the day was beginning to dawn. Now had come the hour of severe trial--the most painful she had ever felt in her life--for it involved deliberate action on her part, which would be condemned by all; and more than that--the severing and lacerating of the most tender and sacred bonds!
Hastily rising, and endeavoring to force back the thoughts and affections which pleaded eagerly with her to pause, she proceeded in the completion of her few last sad arrangements for parting, perhaps forever, from her children and parents, and all the associations which a whole life-time had endeared to her. These completed, she threw a cloak over her shoulders, drew a bonnet on her head, and taking a small bundle in her hand, made a movement to leave the room, without a last look at her children. This she was endeavoring, purposely to avoid, for she felt herself unequal to the trial. But the mother's heart was strong within her bosom. She could not thus leave them. A powerful arm seemed restraining her. There was a pause--a hesitating moment--and then she slowly turned and went to the bed on which her children lay, still hushed in gentle sleep. Pushing back her bonnet, she bent down over them, resting her arm upon the pillow that supported both their heads, and her own head upon her hand, where she remained for many minutes, gazing sadly and tenderly into their faces, unable to tear herself away.
The sound of footsteps along the passage aroused her from this state of irresolution, or rather paralyzation of mind, to a consciousness of the danger that threatened to defeat her cautiously laid plans. This enabled her to break the spell that bound her to the spot where lay the dear treasures of an almost broken heart. Closing her eyes, in order to shut out for a moment, their images from her mind--she arose from her position on the bed, and stepped quickly to the door, where she stood listening to the sound that had awakened her fears, until it died away in a distant part of the house. Fearful of trusting herself to look again at her children, though her heart pleaded earnestly for one more glance, she opened her chamber door, stepped out softly, and then hurried along the passages and down the stairs with a noiseless tread, until she reached the door leading into the yard. This she found locked, indicating that no one had yet gone from the house in that direction. Opening this door in silence, and softly closing it after her, she glided quickly away from the house, entering an alley thickly shaded with vines, so as to be concealed from the observation of anyone who might have chanced to be looking from a window.
Her trunk was found where she had left it the night before. Passing from the gate, and entering the street upon which it opened, she was not long in finding a man who agreed to carry her baggage to the steamboat. With him she returned, and succeeded in getting her trunk off, unseen by any member of her father's family. A hurried walk brought her to the landing. It was about half an hour before the time for starting, and the passengers were beginning to arrive. The sight of so many people, old and young, male and female, rapidly assembling, awoke in her mind a new source of uneasiness. She dreaded to lift her eyes to each newly arriving face, lest it should reveal one perfectly familiar. Nor were her fears, on this score, in vain. Before the boat started, two or three ladies with whom she was on terms of social intimacy, came on board, and took their places in the cabin near where she was sitting. This caused her to shrink away in order to avoid observation, while she drew the folds of a thick veil closer to her face. She was not fully successful in her efforts to avoid observation, as she perceived by the frequent glances of inquiry and interest which were cast toward her.
Once, during the passage down the Delaware, she noticed a lady who was a very intimate and beloved friend, after gazing upon her for some time, rise from her seat and come toward her. For a moment or two, her heart paused in its labored pulsations.
But the lady either changed her mind, or had not intended addressing her, for she passed by, seemingly on an errand to another part of the cabin. This warned her to shun observation still more, which she did by taking a volume from one of the berths, and bending down low over it, as if deeply absorbed in its contents. But how far away from the unseen pages of that book, whose very title was as unread by her, were her thoughts and affections! These were not going eagerly before, but returning back toward the dear little ones she had forsaken. How vividly was each gentle face pictured before her! Not calmly reposing in sleep, as when last she looked upon them, but bathed in grief for her loss!
Each passing minute, as the boat was borne farther and farther away from her children, her spirit was drawn nearer, while her heart yearned over them with an interest that was intensely painful. It was with difficulty that she could refrain from uttering aloud--
"My children! my children! Treasures of my heart! How can I give you up?"
Words of lamentation, that were repeated over and over again, in silence and in bitterness of spirit.
But onward, steadily and rapidly, progressed the boat which bore her away, increasing, each moment, the distance between herself and her forsaken home--and making sadder, and oppressing with intense pain, the heart already too heavily burdened.
There was nothing in the excitement of the journey--nothing in the hurried changes from boat to land carriage, and from land carriage to boat again, which could win her mind, even for a moment, away from its sad visions of home.
In Baltimore, under the assumed name of Johnson, she took lodgings at the City Hotel, where she spent the night--a night, the first ever passed away from her children--a night never after forgotten. Need a mother be told why it was to her one of bitter agony? Only a mother's heart can realize a mother's sufferings, thus separated from her children! On the following morning, she left Baltimore for Wheeling, in the fast line, and traveled night and day until she reached the banks of the Ohio. At Wheeling, she took passage on board of a steamboat for Louisville, as directed by her husband. Four days, spent in reaching the last named place, seemed to her like four weeks--so eager was she to get to the end of her entire journey, and once more look upon the face that had been hid from her for three long weary years.
From Louisville, she wrote a hasty letter to her husband, and two days after she had despatched it, she started for New Orleans. Seven days more passed lingeringly away, before her long and fatiguing journey was completed. It was midnight when the heavy rumbling and jarring of the machinery ceased, and the shrill, nerve-chilling shriek of the escaping steam told that the boat had arrived at the Crescent City. Hurriedly rising from her berth, Mrs. Ware dressed herself with all possible speed, expecting each moment to hear her name called. But the servant passed in and out, conveying a message to this lady and to that; but no inquiry came for her. "Surely he must be here!" she said to herself. But it seemed that it was not so. For time passed steadily away, and passenger after passenger left the boat, but no voice asked for her. At last the cold, sad, grey light of the morning began to break, and Mrs. Ware went out upon the decks, and strained her eyes through the yet undispersed mists of the night, to see if she could not recognize her husband among the few forms dimly seen upon the shore. But she looked in vain. Slowly and almost imperceptibly, was the morning twilight dispersed, revealing at each moment more and more distinctly the strange appearances, forms and faces of a strange city. The few slowly moving figures which first met her eye, passing to and fro in the misty air like wandering spirits, had given place to a crowd of human beings, some surveying with idle curiosity, the newly arrived steamer--others hurrying on board with expectant faces, eager to meet some looked-for friend, wife, sister or brother--while others went steadily by, scarcely casting a glance at the stately vessel.
Among all these did Bell search, with anxious eyes, for her husband. Sometimes her heart would bound and flutter, as afar off, some new form became revealed, the bearing of which seemed so like her husband, that she could hardly help striking her hands together, and exclaiming aloud, "It is he!" But as that form drew nearer and nearer, its resemblance to her husband gradually faded, until her eyes turned disappointed away from a face all unfamiliar. Thus did the anxious wife stand leaning over the decks, eager and expectant for nearly three hours, when she was obliged from faintness, to retire to the cabin, and seek a berth, where she lay for nearly two hours longer, in momentary expectation of hearing the sound of her husband's voice.
At last, through the kind suggestions and directions of the female servant attached to the boat, Bell concluded to go to a respectable hotel, marking on the books of the steamboat, opposite to the entry of her name, the house to which she had gone, so that her husband could find her when he learned the arrival of the boat.
As soon as she had made this change, she asked the servant in attendance at her room at the hotel, to bring her a recent newspaper. Over this she looked eagerly, hoping, yet fearing to hope, that her eye might fall upon something that would give her a clue by which to find her husband. Almost the first thing that attracted her notice, was the list ofadvertised letters. In this, she unexpectedly found one for herself. Ringing hurriedly for a servant, she despatched, as soon as her summons was answered, a messenger for the letter. It was fully half an hour before it was brought, during which time she paced the floor of her chamber in a state of painful excitement. Hastily breaking the seal, as soon as the servant who had brought the letter had left the room, she read with difficulty, for her hand shook so that she could scarcely distinguish a letter, the following note:
"My dear Bell--Unexpectedly, an entire change has taken place in my circumstances, and I have been obliged to leave New Orleans for Galveston, in Texas, before your arrival. Considerations of personal safety have prompted me to take this hasty step. I need not allude to the painful and mortifying cause. Take the steam-boat, and come here without delay. I shall expect you by every new arrival, until I see your long-absent but dear face. Do not delay a moment. Here I shall remain, free from molestation, and here be able to prosecute without fear, an honest calling. Ever yours, Henry."
The hand of Mrs. Ware trembled so violently, that the letter fell to the floor the moment she had finished reading the last word. O, what a heart-sickening disappointment did its contents prove to her! From the momentary expectation of seeing him, to come into the sudden consciousness that her husband was still hundreds of miles away, and that many days must elapse before her eyes would rest upon him--was a painful shock to her feelings. For a time she felt weak, sick and irresolute. Then her thoughts began to rally, and she turned once more to the newspaper from which she had gained news of the letter, to see if a boat was up for Galveston. One was advertised to go on the next day. Her resolution was at once taken to avail herself of the opportunity. The rest of the day passed wearily, and the night was spent in restless, feverish, anxious looking for the morning, with occasional brief periods of unrefreshing sleep.
Morning at last came. At an early hour she was on board of the steamboat, where she had to remain until nearly night before starting, tortured with eager impatience to be on her way.
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