The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 12, No. 73, November, 1863: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and PoliticsVarious
History
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 12, No. 73, November, 1863: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
Thank Heaven for the immortality of love! for when all other means of
salvation failed, a spark of this vital fire softened the man's iron
will until a woman's hand could bend it. He let me take from him the
key, let me draw him gently away and lead him to the solitude which now
was the most healing balm I could bestow. Once in his little room, he
fell down on his bed and lay there as if spent with the sharpest
conflict of his life. I slipped the bolt across his door, and unlocked
my own, flung up the window, steadied myself with a breath of air, then
rushed to Doctor Franck. He came; and till dawn we worked together,
saving one brother's life, and taking earnest thought how best to secure
the other's liberty. When the sun came up as blithely as if it shone
only upon happy homes, the Doctor went to Robert. For an hour I heard
the murmur of their voices; once I caught the sound of heavy sobs, and
for a time a reverent hush, as if in the silence that good man were
ministering to soul as well as sense. When he departed he took Robert
with him, pausing to tell me he should get him off as soon as possible,
but not before we met again.
Nothing more was seen of them all day; another surgeon came to see the
captain, and another attendant came to fill the empty place. I tried to
rest, but could not, with the thought of poor Lucy tugging at my heart,
and was soon back at my post again, anxiously hoping that my contraband
had not been too hastily spirited away. Just as night fell there came a
tap, and opening, I saw Robert literally "clothed and in his right
mind." The Doctor had replaced the ragged suit with tidy garments, and
no trace of that tempestuous night remained but deeper lines upon the
forehead and the docile look of a repentant child. He did not cross the
threshold, did not offer me his hand,--only took off his cap, saying,
with a traitorous falter in his voice,--
"God bless you, Ma'am! I'm goin'."
I put out both my hands, and held his fast.
"Good bye, Robert! Keep up good heart, and when I come home to
Massachusetts we'll meet in a happier place than this. Are you quite
ready, quite comfortable for your journey?"
"Yes, Ma'am, yes; the Doctor's fixed everything; I'm goin' with a friend
of his; my papers are all right, an' I'm as happy as I can be till I
find"--
He stopped there; then went on, with a glance into the room,--
"I'm glad I didn't do it, an' I thank yer, Ma'am, fer hinderin'
me,--thank yer hearty; but I'm afraid I hate him jest the same."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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