THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE WILMER COLLECTION 
 OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. 
 
JK1LM^00IJL£C4IUN 
 
THE 
 
 EEBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BEIDE 
 
 A TRUE PICTURE OP 
 
 SCENES IN THE LATE CIYIL ¥AE. 
 
 By M. a. AVERY. 
 
 SPRINGFIELD, MASS.: 
 W. J. HOLLAND AND COMPANY. 
 
 1873. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 187?, 
 
 By W. J. HOLLAND, 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 
 
 [all rights kesekved.] 
 
 Boston : 
 Rand, Avery, & Co., Stereotypers and Printers. 
 
COITTEKTS. 
 
 I. — The Wedding at Hunter Hills 5 
 
 II. — Scheming. — Broken Bonds 24 
 
 III. — Family Jars. — The Elopement i4 
 
 lY. — The Rebel General. — The Proposal 62 
 
 V. — Bull Run. — The Overseer 81 
 
 VI. — The Guerillas. — Death of Major Hunter 99 
 
 YII. — Going to Camp. — The Brother's Danger 122 
 
 "VIII. — The Brother's Escape. — Old Acquaintances . , . .141 
 
 IX. — Marriage of the Rebel General. — Tlie Noble Work . . 104 
 
 X. — Philip Atherton. — The General's Return . . , .182 
 
 XI. — The Abduction. — Catharine's Illness 19G 
 
 XII. — An Old A Imirer. — Riding in State 213 
 
 XIII. — Tlie Overturn. — Early Love too Late 230 
 
 XIV. — Catharine in Libby Prison. — Released 254 
 
 XV. — Xo Home. — Again in Bonds 274 
 
 XVI. — Escaping. — The Field of Battle 294 
 
 XVir. — Theodore. — The Memorable Seven Days 315 
 
 XVIIL — The Rebel General. — Home at Last 326 
 
 XIX. — The Child's Rescue. — The General's Danger . . . .344 
 
 XX. — The Rivals. — Death of Philip Atherton 369 
 
 XXI. — Catharine's Mission. — The Rebel General's Death . ..385 
 XXIL — Going Home. — The First Love at Last .... .398 
 
 3 
 
 602700 
 
THE 
 
 Rebel General's Loyal Bride. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE WEDDING AT HUNTER HILLS. 
 
 'POX tlie brow of one of the lower range of 
 the Hunter Hills, in the Old Dominion, once 
 stood a handsome stone mansion, that was 
 noted for its large size and admirable pro- 
 portions, and was the pride and glory of the surround- 
 ing country. 
 
 This grand old mansion, with its quaint turrets, 
 gables, and cornices, was built in the old Colonial days, 
 and baronial style, by a younger son of a prominent 
 Ensclish nobleman, who came over to America at that 
 time to seek that fame and fortune the laws of primo- 
 geniture denied him at home. 
 
 From its commanding position, this mansion over- 
 looked a large extent of territory, and probably for 
 that reason had been occupied as a fort in Hevolu- 
 tionary times, and the still earlier wars with the In- 
 dians. 
 
 The house had never passed out of the hands of the 
 descendants of the family who reared it. And Major 
 
 6 
 
6 THE REBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 Hunter, its representative and possessor in the yeai 
 1860, was quite as proud of " Hunter House "as he 
 would have been of "Windsor Castle or the palace at 
 Versailles, bad they belonged to him. It had spacious 
 halls, parlors, and drawing-rooms, abundance of long 
 galleries, kitchens, closets, pantries, and sleeping-rooms, 
 with a great, roomy library. This was filled with choice 
 books, costly pictures, beautiful statuary, and rich and 
 rare carvings in black walnut and English oak, with 
 antique furniture of the grandest description. 
 
 The treasured relics of past generations were in fact 
 gathered at Hunter House ; nor would their owner sub- 
 mit to the desire of his comparatively young and fash- 
 ionable wife to have them replaced by modern improve- 
 ments and inventions. 
 
 The house had fine out-buildings, handsome gardens 
 and shrubberies, spacious orchards, and a long line of 
 whitewashed slave-cabins in the rear ; while thousands 
 of acres of rich plantation and grazing lands, belonging 
 to the same princely estate, surrounded it in every direc- 
 tion. A road crossed the grounds from east to west ; 
 though the house itself was more than a mile from either 
 of the great northern and southern thoroughfares that 
 crossed the country. 
 
 But, though Hunter House was somewhat isolated, 
 the scenery around it was very beautiful, with its back- 
 ground of rocks and hills and magnificent forests, and 
 its foreground of cultivated fields and (in their season) 
 abundant harvests. 
 
 And so evidently thought the gay cavalcade of visit- 
 ors who rode up towards the old mansion one fine after- 
 noon during the Christmas holidays of 1860 ; talking of 
 the ancient glories of the race who occupied it, and gaz- 
 
 
THE TVTIDDING AT HUNTER HILLS. 7 
 
 ing upon the magnificent scenery. It was a gala-day 
 at Hunter House, — one long to be remembered in the 
 annals of the family; for sweet Lucy Hunter, the 
 major's eldest, and indeed only daugliter by a former 
 marriage, was that day to become a bride. 
 
 Preparations commensurate with the wealth and cul- 
 tivated taste of the family had been made in every de- 
 partment of the household for the pleasure and enter- 
 tainment of a large number of guests, some of whom 
 were to remain several days. The rooms were adorned 
 with flowers and evergreens, the tables with the old 
 family plate and china, as well as with every delicacy 
 that could please the eye or gratify the taste. And the 
 long lines of servants standing at every angle, ready to 
 do the bidding of the guests, were evidently partaking 
 of the general joy of the houseliold. Major Hunter, a 
 tall, portly, white-haired old gentleman of seventy, 
 with keen gray eyes, a florid complexion, and decided 
 Roman features, appeared to excellent advantage as a 
 host that day ; while his lady, a handsome, black-eyed 
 woman of forty, was the very perfection of a hostess. 
 Her friends, the Athertons, were all there ; and, con- 
 spicuous among them, her brother. Col. Atherton, who 
 had just returned from a two-years' residence in Europe. 
 He, with his son and daughter, and Judge Tremont 
 and his two daughters, the uncle and cousins of the 
 bride, had fortunately been recalled from their Euro- 
 pean tour just in time to be present at the marriage. 
 And most of the distinguished families in the county 
 were there, as well as a good many from Richmond, 
 and still more distant localities out of the State. 
 
 The hour fixed upon for the ceremony arrived at last : 
 the chandeliers were lighted, and the guests were 
 
8 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 arranged to their satisfaction in the great drawing- 
 room. 
 
 Mr. Harlowe, the aged clergyman, took his place, 
 and all was eager expectation ; when the band in the 
 anteroom struck up a grand march, the drawing- 
 room doors were opened with an extra flourish by 
 Uncle Nick, a favorite slave, and the bridal party en- 
 tered the room. They immediately took their places ; 
 and the solemn ceremony was performed that made 
 James Hamilton and Lucy Hunter husband and wife. 
 
 They were not by any means a youthful pair: but, 
 though more than thirt}'-, the bride looked good and lov- 
 able in her white satin, orange-blossoms, and costly 
 bridal veil ; and the bridegroom, who evidently thought 
 so, was one of the finest-looking men in the room. 
 
 The bridesmaids, too, in their ethereal white robes, 
 with coronets of white roses, came in for their share of 
 admiration. 
 
 But there was none among them all who excited 
 greater attention than the lady who leaned upon the 
 arm of Lloyd Hunter, the brother of the bride, who 
 seemed to be a stranger to most of the company. 
 
 " What a splendid girl!" 
 
 "Who is she?'' 
 
 *' Which do you mean ? '' 
 
 "Why, the first bridesmaid of course," was echoed 
 presently from lip to lip in a distant corner. 
 
 " I can tell you," said Mrs. Clyde, a proud, aristo- 
 oratic-looking lady, with a scornfully-curling lip : " it 
 is the governess ! Only Mrs. Hunter's Yankee gov- 
 erness.'^ 
 
 "Why, Philip, as sure as the world, it is Catharine!" 
 exclaimed Grace, the eldest of Judge Tremont's daugh- 
 
THE WEDDING AT HUNTER HELLS. 9 
 
 ters, to Pliilipj lier present cavalier, and the son of Col. 
 Atherton. 
 
 "I believe you are right," he returned. "But where 
 did she come from ? I do wonder how she comes to be a 
 favored guest in Aunt Jane's drawing-room ! " 
 
 " And I wonder your aunt will permit such an exhi- 
 bition of democracy, or that Lloyd Hunter will con- 
 sent to exhibit himself in such a way at such a time ! " 
 echoed Mrs. Clyde. " I assure you, Mr. Atherton, that 
 neither my daughters nor / have taken much pains to 
 cultivate that girl's acquaintance." 
 
 ''Of course not," said Philip dryly. "Yet I assure 
 you, Mrs. Clyde, that we all used to do it when we 
 were at school up in New England, — Lloyd among the 
 number. He and Grace and Nell and I boarded two 
 whole j^ears in her mother's family." 
 
 " That, then, explains it, — an old flame of his, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 "Yes: but one we thought burnt out long ago," 
 echoed Nell, the sister of Philip Atherton. 
 
 " Don't be uns^enerous, Nell. Catharine Hale was a 
 noble girl ; and I, for one, shall be delighted to see her,'^ 
 said Grace Tremont. 
 
 "' Ay ! but wasn't her brother Theodore nobler, and 
 wouldn't you be glad to see him ? " Nell returned sar- 
 castically. 
 
 " I certainly should be glad to see the whole family," 
 said Grace with a conscious flush. " But come, they 
 are congratulating : let's go and see Kate too." 
 
 " You can go, if you like," said Nell. " I am in no 
 hurry to look up the Yankee governess, or an}^ of her 
 plebeian relations." 
 
 " Why, Nell ! Have you forgotten, that, but for The- 
 
10 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 odore, Harry, and Jim Hooker, we should once all have 
 been drowned ? that, but for Theodore, I should have 
 gone over the cliff, and been dashed upon the rocks 
 below ? Whatever misconstructions came afterwards, I, 
 for one, can never forget what I owe to Mrs. Hale's 
 famil3^ You can scorn her if you like ; but / shall do 
 no such thing ! " and she tossed her bright golden curls 
 defiantly at both. 
 
 Philip laughed, yet not very joyously ; for he was 
 now a suitor for the hand of Grace Tremont, with the 
 full knowledge that she had once, when they were all at 
 a celebrated Northern classical school togeth.er, six years 
 ago, cared much more for Theodore Hale than himself; 
 and he also knew how much he had then thought of 
 Catharine, the fair Yankee governess. As he had said, 
 for two j^ears they had lived under the same roof, and 
 eaten at the same table. They had studied in the same 
 classes at school, been rivals for its honors, and not 
 always generous ones. They had played the same 
 games, sung the same glorious harmonies, and rode 
 and walked and rambled over the New-England hills 
 and valleys together, in search of nuts and berries and 
 fish and game. 
 
 And this intimate acquaintance, overcoming strong 
 prejudice, culminated in strong attachments, but ended, 
 through some mysterious means, in doubt, misconstruc- 
 tion, and disappointment. They were mere school boys 
 and girls together then, full of youth's bright hopes 
 and dreams, crude fancies and unformed plans, — living 
 in the present, and comparatively careless of the future. 
 Now they were men and women, meeting for the first 
 time upon a new arena ; where, though they knew it not, 
 they were about to become actors in some of the 
 
THE WEDDING AT HUNTER HILLS. 11 
 
 grandest yet most terrible scenes of a nation's his- 
 tory. 
 
 The meeting between Grace and Catharine was in- 
 deed a joyful one, for they had loved each other fondly 
 and truly ; and later in the evening, when the elegant 
 supper was over, they had a long and to them deeply- 
 interesting conversation. It was interrupted by Lloyd 
 Hunter at last, who said, as he and Philip came up to 
 where they w'ere standing, — 
 
 " Ah, Catharine ! I have been looking for you every- 
 where. They are getting ready for dancing ; and I 
 believe you promised me the first set." 
 
 "Yes," she replied; ''and I am ready, if Grace w^ill 
 excuse me." She did of course. 
 
 Lloyd took her hand, and marched away with a step 
 as light as air, his hopes were so buoyant, and with a 
 glance at his fair companion that spoke volumes of love 
 and trust and admiration. 
 
 " Do you see that, Philip ? " said Grace familiarly, 
 after watching them a moment. 
 
 " Of course I do. And Kate has improved wonder- 
 fully ; hasn't she? She is really beautiful ; and Lloyd 
 evidently thinks so. You know he always had a fancy 
 that way. Can it be, that, in spite of his pride, he is 
 really going to marry her? " 
 
 '• I hope so, for I always liked her ; and I don't know 
 her superior anywhere. But won't Nell fume ? " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Do you need to be told, you stupid fellow, that Kell, 
 in spite of her shabby treatment of him in Paris, has 
 come home determined to win him back to his alle- 
 giance ? " 
 
 " I suspect she has thought of it. But she was a fool 
 
12 THE REBEL GENERA:^'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 to break off witli him in tlie first place. Lloyd is a 
 noble fellow, and worth all the Count Larois in the 
 universe." 
 
 "So I think. But Nell deserves to lose him for 
 playing such a double game." 
 
 " She always plays a double game ; didn't you know 
 it ? But what matters that, if it is only the winning 
 one ? " 
 
 " I don't know : I like an open, honest deal far 
 better." 
 
 "Then, why will you not give me one, dear Grace, 
 and make me supremely happy by setting an early day 
 for our marriage ? " 
 
 " Because I want my freedom a little longer," said 
 Grace, laughing and blushing. 
 
 "But won't you be just as free as my wife ? There'll 
 be no crusty old i^eople to look after you tlienP 
 
 '' But there would be a young one, who might be more 
 tyrannical." 
 
 " You know me too well to believe that, Grace. You 
 have kept me waiting for years, but do have some pity 
 upon my lonely condition now," said he pleadingly. 
 
 " I think you, as well as myself, have been quite satis- 
 fied with your freedom till now. And, if you could have 
 suited yourself better, you know you have always had the 
 privilege." 
 
 " Well, I will own that our conditional engagement 
 has hitherto suited me far better than to have felt my- 
 self tied hand and foot. But now that we have seen a 
 little of the world, and our travels are over, we ought 
 to marry, and settle down at home, contented and happy 
 for the rest of our lives." 
 
 " Contented, with every thing and everybody in a 
 
THE WEDDING AT HUNTER HH.LS. 13 
 
 turmoil ! Don't 3-011 see tluit every thing is getting into 
 a wliirlpool here? and don't I know that you have come 
 home on purpose to put your foot in it? Diurt talk to 
 me about marrying, Philip, till we can see what it's all 
 coming to." 
 
 " Til en 3'ou may have to wait till doomsdaj^," said 
 Philip angrily. " These troublesome elements of which 
 you speak have been boiling over for years ; and there 
 is little prospect of their resting very soon. 
 
 '• There, the music has struck up ; and it's time for 
 us to go. We will talk over this subject another time." 
 
 Grace was half angry, and had a great mind to re- 
 fuse ; but, seeing Major Hunter and Col. Atherton com- 
 ing towards them, she took Philip's arm, and walked 
 away without more ado. 
 
 " You are an elegant dancer, Atherton : why don't 
 you look you up a partner, and join them ? " said the 
 major suggestively to his friend. 
 
 " I am in no hurry : I may do so by and by," was 
 the reply. 
 
 " Come, then : we will go and look on a while." 
 
 So they went out into the hall, where the sets were 
 forming, stationed themselves in a retired window-seat, 
 and began their observations. The dancing commenced 
 very soon ; and for a time both gentlemen silently watched 
 the performances. 
 
 " You have seen, and taken part in, a great deal of 
 thir. kind of amusement in Europe, I suppose, colonel," 
 said the major at last. 
 
 " Yes : especially in Paris, where it is cultivated to 
 perfection. Our young people took lessons there, 3'ou 
 remember. You can see now whether they profited by 
 them," returned the colonel. 
 2 
 
14 THE EEBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 " Ah ! they do dance beautifully, and especially Nell. 
 She glides over the floor like a sylph. She always did 
 do everything that she undertook ingeniously; and she 
 is really beautiful." 
 
 " Yes : but she made one awkward blunder when she 
 broke off her engagement with Lloyd. I wanted to 
 express to you ni}'- deep regret for that occurrence, 
 which, I am quite sure, she is heartily ashamed of and 
 sorry for. She thought she was playing off a harmless 
 piece of coquetry, as silly girls too often do, and did 
 not dream of serious consequences, — consequences that 
 might, I think, have been prevented, had I known the 
 truth previous to his departure from Paris." 
 
 '' You cannot regret them more than I did at first, 
 Atherton ; nor could I believe it until assured by Lloyd 
 of the truth. He blamed her, of course ; but joii know, 
 better than I, whether the blame ought equally to rest 
 upon him." 
 
 "No: I do not blame him; and yet I can but wish 
 that he had had a little more patience with her folly." 
 
 " Well, after all, colonel, there seems to be a kind of 
 fate or fore-ordination about these thincrs. It seems in 
 vain for us to tvj to have them all our own way. Nor is 
 it best perhaps that we should. As an instance of this, 
 there, now, is Lucy, who looks so proud and happj^ to- 
 night, and at least ten years 3'ounger than she did six 
 months ago. Sixteen years ago I refused her hand "to 
 that noble-looking man, — whom I am now proud to 
 acknowledge as my son-in-law, — for no other reason 
 than that he was unable to support her in the style to 
 which she had been accustomed. He went off to Ken- 
 tucky to seek his fortune, and wear away his disappoint- 
 ment ; while she pined and faded at home, like a lily 
 
THE WEDDING AT HUNTEK HILLS. 15 
 
 witli a broken stem. Slio would marry no one else, as I 
 wished, because of tlie old Hunter blood in lier veins, 
 which, 3'ou know, when pure, is constant, and true as 
 steel. Last summer we took her to the Springs; and 
 there, to her surprise and our own, we found Hamilton, 
 now a noble and successful man, on his way to see her 
 once more. The denoument you can see for yourself; 
 and I shall bear it in my mind as a lesson for evermore." 
 
 " Well, I suppose we do look too much at hereditary 
 and mercenary distinctions here in Virginia. Our de- 
 scent from the old clievaliers and English nobles leads 
 us to that. And the gold we need to keep up our aris- 
 tocratic dignity leads some of us to make unhappy mar- 
 riages, as you well know." 
 
 " Yes, indeed. But to return to my own family. 
 There, now, is Lloyd : he don't look much like a disap- 
 pointed invalid ; does he ? Well, we all, I suppose, con- 
 sidered him and Nell as good as married when they 
 went off to Europe. But they get to Paris, that high 
 school for all kinds of deviltry, — get mad and jealous, 
 have a little tiff, and off he flies to Germany. He gets 
 ill, either from disappointment or eating their abomi- 
 nable Dutch cookery ; and home he comes, sick, hope- 
 less, desponding, and, I suspect, hypochondriacal, — 
 thinkin<:c he had come home to die. His letters had 
 miscarried, so we knew nothing of his coming ; and, 
 when he arrived, we were away at the Springs. But 
 we had left the children at home with Miss Hale, our 
 admirable governess ; so, in our places, he found, to 
 his surprise and her own, the very girl he had loved 
 in their earlier daj^s, when they roamed over the Xew- 
 England hills together. They had parted in doubt 
 and misconstruction, it seems ; and for a time they 
 
IG THE REBEL GE^TEUAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 avoided eacli other : but the old magnetic attraction 
 brought them togetlier at last ; and tlic old love has tri- 
 umphed." 
 
 " Indeed ! " and Col. Atherton's countenance betrayed 
 his surprise and disappointment. He knew now that 
 his own labor was lost in tr3'ing to pave the way to 
 Lloyd's reconciliation with Nell. 
 
 ^' Yes," continued the major ; " and, strangely enough, 
 Jane and I — blind instruments in the hands of a 
 higher power perhaps — had brought it all about our- 
 selves. Our governess left us about the time you went 
 to Europe. We wanted another ; and, bearing of this 
 Miss Hale, — of her remarkable talent for teacbing, and 
 that she had finished her engagement with the IMasons, 
 who were about to leave the country, — we took a ride 
 of twenty miles to intercept her journey home. By 
 tempting offers, we succeeded in securing her services, 
 and at once brought her home with us. By her correct 
 deportment and many endearing qualities, she won our 
 regard as no governess had ever done before. After- 
 wards, when we all came down with the fever, and the 
 servants were frightened half out of their senses, and 
 the neighbors dared not come near us, I have no doubt 
 but that she saved all our lives, by her calm courage in 
 the hour of danger, her firmness in managing the ser- 
 vants, and that tender, protecting care, that surrounded 
 us day and night with all a sister's or daughter s watch- 
 ful solicitude. Could we be otherwise than grateful? 
 She took the disease from us, and came near forfeiting 
 her life to her philanthrox^y. But she lias a good con- 
 stitution, and recovered very soon. She has ever since 
 seemed like one of our own family, — as dear almost as 
 Lucy herself. What, then, could I say, when we came 
 
THE WEDDING AT HUNTER HH^LS. 17 
 
 home last summer, found Lloyd here, and was told by 
 him, that, in spite of his affair with Nell, he had loved 
 Catharine always ; that their estrangement had cast a 
 dark shadow over his life ; and, now that it was dissi- 
 pated, he wanted my consent to make her his wife? 
 What indeed could I say, but that we all loved her, owed 
 her a deep debt of gratitude, and, if she cared for him, I 
 would not be the one to stand in his way ? I think my 
 experience with Lucy made me a little more lenient than 
 I otherwise should have been. Yet, after all my conde- 
 scension, he had hard work to get her consent, she was so 
 strongly opposed to slavery ; and it took me — proud old 
 aristocrat as they call me — to convince a poor Yankee 
 governess that she could do more good by becoming my 
 son's wife, and the lenient mistress of hundreds of 
 slaves, than in any other way ; so she yielded the point 
 at last." 
 
 " But do you know any thing of her family ? ^' 
 " Oh, yes ! Lucy, who, jou know, was educated in Kew 
 England before the others went there, also boarded in 
 her mother's family. Though not rich, she says they are 
 highly respectable, and that Mrs. Hale, who is a widow, 
 is a sensible, noble-souled Christian woman, who was 
 then making the most energetic and persevering efforts 
 to educate and bring up her family respectably. There 
 were four of the children : Theodore, who was about the 
 age of Lloyd and Philip, won the valedictory, both in 
 school and college, and is now studying law ; while 
 Harry, the younger brother, is in the engineering service. 
 We see for ourselves what Catharine is ; and Lucy, who 
 loved her as a child, is quite ready to receive her as a 
 sister. She says, too, that Jessie, the pet of the flock, 
 who is about to marry a young Dr. Morven, was the 
 
 2* 
 
18 THE REBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL LRIBE. 
 
 sweetest and loveliest child she ever saw. But, if all the 
 rest of us are well enough suited, Jane is not ; and, 
 though she says little, I can see that she thinks Lloyd 
 is making a sad mesalliance. She says Lloyd is 
 blinded, and that I am old and childish, or I would 
 never have given my consent. Perhaps I am ; but 
 somehow, of late, true love seems more precious to 
 me than gold, or all merely worldly distinctions. I 
 value personal qualifications, too, a great deal higher 
 than I did ; and I think there are few to be compared 
 with our Catharine in mind or person. She is going 
 home in June ; and in the autumn Lloyd intends to 
 bring her back as his bride. I tell you all this in confi- 
 dence, colonel ; for as yet no one knows it out of our 
 family : and I prefer it should not be known. I would 
 like to have you become acquainted with her, so as to 
 see if your opinion will not justify Lloyd's choice." 
 
 " It does already, so far as the eyesight is concerned," 
 said the colonel, smiling at the old gentleman's confi- 
 dences, yet not with the satisfaction he would have felt, 
 had that choice been a different one. " She is certainly 
 beautiful. She has a splendid form; and no lady on 
 this floor queens it with quite so royal a grace," he 
 continued. 
 
 " Ay ! Queen . Elizabeth, Victoria, or even the fair 
 Eugenia herself, ain't a touch to her, in my opinion ; and 
 I'm a pretty good judge of women. If I was forty 
 years younger, and a single man, I think the lucky dog 
 would have a rival, and a persevering one too ; " and 
 the old major laughed merrily over the idea. '' What say 
 you, colonel? Shall I introduce you when this dance 
 is over, and secure her for your first partner?" 
 
 " As you please. She is probably engaged j " and his 
 
THE WEDDING AT HUNTER HH^LS. 19 
 
 eyes followed her admiringly, as Lloyd led her to a 
 seat. 
 
 ''Come, then; we will see;" and, advancing at once, 
 the major presented his friend and brother, Col. Ather- 
 ton. 
 
 Of course Catharine was pleased to receive such 
 thoughtful attention from the father of her affianced hus- 
 band ; but, when she looked up to meet the gaze of Col. 
 Atherton's dark, magnetic eyes, she felt a tremor of the 
 nerves for which she could not account, and received 
 the introduction with unusual embarrassment. She 
 had never seen Col. Atherton before ; and, though some- 
 what prejudiced against him, as the father of Nell and 
 Philip, whom she had long ago had reason for distrust- 
 ing, was particularly, and not unfavorably, impressed by 
 his appearance. 
 
 He was tall and commanding in person, courteous 
 and gentlemanly in manners, easy and polished in his 
 address, and with a peculiar tact in conversation that 
 set Catharine at her ease when he once began to ad- 
 dress her. 
 
 He asked her hand for the dance ; and, though much 
 surprised, she accorded it, and continued conversing with 
 him, upon different topics, until they were ready to 
 begin. 
 
 She rather liked him, upon the whole, and was not 
 sorry she had accepted him for a partner when Philip, 
 too, came to ask her; and she was rather amused than 
 otherwise at Philip's suspicious glance at him when he 
 left them together. 
 
 In music and dancing and song, and games of vari- 
 ous kinds, the evening passed delightfully away. The 
 elderly ladies discussed fashions, etiquette, their chil- 
 
20 THE* EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 dren, servants, and domestic matters generally ; while 
 the gentlemen talked of foreign affairs, as well as dogs 
 and horses, negroes and crops ; but, more than all, of 
 Secession, which was beginning, just then, to agitate 
 the heart, and unsettle the brain, of Old Virginia. 
 
 It was known throughout the house that South Caro- 
 lina had seceded from the Union but a few days pre- 
 Tious. Before the evening was over, a note was brought 
 to Major Hunter, from Gov. Letcher, excusing his non- 
 attendance, on the plea of urgent business ; and saying, 
 informalh^, that Ife was about to call a convention rela- 
 tive to joining the proposed Southern Confederacy, and 
 taking Virginia out of the Union. 
 
 "Take Virginia out of the Union!" exclaimed the 
 major indignantly, as he read it. ^' Wliy, it is rank trea- 
 son to talk of it, much more to act upon it. I advise 
 you all to have nothing to do with it, gentlemen. I 
 have fought too long under the glorious old banner of 
 the stars to consent to see it trailing in the dust." 
 
 "Better trample upon a soiled old banner than the 
 brave hearts of our Southern people. They have borne 
 that from the cowardly Xorth long enough, in my esti- 
 mation," said a bystander. 
 
 "When, where, and how ? " demanded the major with 
 flashing eyes and excited tones. 
 
 " In Congress and out of it ; at home and abroad ; in 
 city and country ; at hotels, and in steamboats and rail- 
 cars, — everywhere, in fact, where Northern and South- 
 em people come together, we have to hear their eter- 
 nal abolition howling." 
 
 ^•' Would it be less, were we, like a rotten branch, sev- 
 ered from the glorious old Union tree ? " 
 
 " Yes : for then we would have nothing to do with 
 them." 
 
THE WEDDING AT IIITNTER HILLS. 21 
 
 " All ! but, if we had nothing to do with them, who 
 would manufacture our clothing ? and where would be 
 the market for our cotton, tobacco, and cane ? " 
 
 "In Europe, where we could find perfection in manu- 
 factures, equals for associates, and friends who would be 
 true to us." 
 
 " And where they despise our peculiar institutions 
 much more than they do in New England," said the 
 major excitedly; "where tliey consider slavery the 
 most horrible crime on earth, and a slave-breeder worthy 
 of the hottest berth in hell." 
 
 "Father! father! this is not the place ioY such dis- 
 cussions," whispered Lucy anxiously at that moment. 
 " Pray remember what is due to our guests ! " 
 
 "Yes, yes: all in good time, my daughter," said he 
 impatiently. " I am an old man, of full threescore and 
 ten. I have seen a great deal of the world. I may not 
 live long. And there may never come a better time for 
 me to tell these gentlemen, that, if they touch this red- 
 hot pitch of secession, they will get their fingers burned. 
 I know that the spirit of it is burning in their hearts : 
 I see it flashing from their eyes. It needs but a spark 
 to kindle it into a flame. Once kindled, all the water 
 in the Potomac could not quench it. Water ! It must 
 be blood! Hi vers of that will flow, if Virginia joins ia 
 this hot-headed conspiracy against the government." 
 
 " Little fear of that, major, — little fear of that," said 
 his opponent. " The Yankees will boast and brag and 
 cheat and bluster; but, when it comes to blows, they 
 are all cowards, and will stuff their lying mouths with 
 cotton, and run like a pack of whipped hounds." 
 
 " I know you all think so," returned the major ; " but 
 you'll find yourselves mistaken ; for I have fought be- 
 
22 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 side Northern troops long enough to know wliat stuflf 
 they're made of. Though not quite as ready as we are 
 to rush into a fray, their courage is quite equal to, and 
 their endurance far greater than our own. Toughened, 
 many of them, by hard labor, they have nerves like steel ; 
 while we of the better class are, some of us, enervated 
 by a life of luxury. You may frown, gentlemen ; but 
 you know that it is the truth: and you deceive your- 
 selves when you think such men will not fight till their 
 last breath to prevent the downfall of this republic, 
 and the dissolution of the Union." 
 
 "Let 'em fight, then," said his opponent doggedly. 
 " If it comes to blows, we'll whip 'em within an inch of 
 their lives, and string that renegade Southerner, Lin- 
 coln, up on a gallows higher than Haman's, in a fort- 
 night." 
 
 " Don't you believe that," said the old man solemnly. 
 " Those bloody-minded seceding States at the South of 
 us, thinking just as you do, are but waiting for the 
 countenance of old Virginia to commence the strife, and 
 march on to the Capitol ; considering its treasures and 
 rich spoils an easy prey. But remember what I tell 
 you, gentlemen : if Virginia does this thing, it is at 
 a fearful price, — the price of blood, — the blood of 
 her best, her bravest, and her noblest sons, — and the 
 desolation of her fairest fields, forests, and homesteads. 
 For here would they all congregate, — from east and 
 west, north and south, — because it is a central point, 
 and near to the Capitol ; and here would be some of the 
 bloodiest battle-grounds of the Union. Here brother 
 would meet, and war with brother, and father against 
 son ; destroying every human and fraternal tie that 
 binds us to our nation and our race : and bitterly would 
 
THE WEDDING AT HUNTER HILLS. 23 
 
 we rue the day when we joined in so unlioly an alli- 
 ance ! " 
 
 As he uttered these words, which, thougli few tliere 
 believed them then, have since proved so prophetic, 
 the white-haired, noble old man's face grew pale with 
 emotion ; his wide-open eyes fixed themselves on va- 
 cancy, with a deep, far-reaching expression, as if he 
 were looking off into the distant future, and, with a 
 solemn prescience, beholding the bloody scenes since 
 recorded upon history's pages, — in one of which he 
 was destined to become a victim. 
 
 So different did he seem from the jovial, garrulous, 
 and somewhat childish old man of the past few hours, 
 that many were particularly struck by the change ; and 
 though still disbelieving his opinions, and sure of the 
 truth of their own convictions, they thought it best to 
 let the subject drop. 
 
 As it was getting late, most of the guests soon after- 
 wards bade adieu to their entertainers and the bridal 
 party, and the company dispersed. 
 
CHAPTEE II. 
 
 SCHEMING. BROKEN BONDS. 
 
 I^^MONG the guests who were invited to spend 
 4^ the week at Hunter House were the Ather- 
 tons and Tremonts, who, as we have already- 
 said, were near connections of the Hunter 
 family. 
 
 Having been separated so long, by the absence of 
 the two former families in Europe, they of course had a 
 great many things to talk over ; though the Athertons 
 were as yet a little careful about displaying their strong 
 secession proclivities. For Grace Tremont and Helen, 
 her half-sister, and Lloyd Hunter and his sister Lucy, 
 had inherited large fortunes from an uncle of theirs, 
 who was the judge's only brother, as Lloyd's mother 
 had been his only sister. And knowing all this, and 
 knowing, too, the loyalty of the two families, the Ath- 
 ertons had thought it advisable to secure this wealth, 
 if possible, before fully and finally and openly announ- 
 cing their determination to join the secession party. 
 
 So Miss Xellie Atherton, who knew of his engage- 
 ment, from her aunt, did her best, in the succeeding 
 days, to excuse her conduct in Paris, and win Lloyd 
 Hunter back to his allegiance. And Philip took this 
 last opportunity for daily intercourse to urge Grace 
 
 24 
 
SCHEMING. — BROKEN BONDS. 25 
 
 Tremont to fulfil a partial and long-standing engage- 
 ment by an immediate marriage. He pleaded, urged, 
 reasoned, and entreated, but all in vain ; and at last he 
 got so angry, that he would not speak to her for several 
 days. Then he was all attention to Catharine, Nettie 
 Clyde, and Bess Hamilton ; and, being remarkably 
 handsome, polished, and captivating, made his atten- 
 tions to the two latter very acceptable. But Catharine 
 distrusted, and was shy of him. By a mutual under- 
 standing, she and Lloyd, though sufficiently polite, 
 avoided each other, not caring just yet to publish their 
 engagement; yet, because they were engaged, careful 
 about encouraging the attentions of others. Yet Cath- 
 arine appeared to great advantage in the days following 
 the bridal ; winning golden opinions by her rare mu- 
 sical and mental gifts, and disarming by her unobtru- 
 siveness some who were inclined to be intolerant. 
 
 Miss Atherton, however, took pains to make it 
 pretty evident that she considered her beneath her 
 notice, and especially after trying in vain to win Lloyd 
 back. It maddened her to see the eager flush come 
 over his cheek, and the love-light in his eyes, when 
 Catharine came near him, and compare it with the 
 indifference with which he evidently regarded her. 
 She flirted desperately with Harry Clyde and Hugh 
 Carrol, old admirers of hers ; while Philip did the same 
 with Bess and Nettie : but it was all of no use, so far as 
 winning Lloj^'d back was concerned, or driving Grace 
 from her defensive position. 
 
 But, notwithstanding these and a good many other 
 little by-plays, every thing seemed to go on merrily; 
 and every effort was made b}'' the generous and truly 
 hospitable family to amuse and entertain their guests. 
 
 3 
 
26 THE EEBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 The weather liad been fine for the last of December: 
 and there had been innumerable walks and drives to 
 view the varied and beautiful scenery around the Hunter 
 Hills, with athletic games, and shooting excursions out 
 of doors, and gentler sports within, such as music, 
 dancing, amateur theatricals, and tableaux. 
 
 The gentlemen had discussed fanning, politics, law, 
 theology, and secession ; and the ladies domestic af- 
 fairs until they were tired, and it was decided unani- 
 mously that their own required them at home. The 
 evening before their departure, and the breaking-up 
 of the party, Lloyd Hunter went down to the slave- 
 cabins for something, and was returning to the man- 
 sion, when he came across Philip Atherton going the 
 same way as himself. 
 
 There had been a great friendship between these 
 young men in days past and gone, even though they 
 were opposites in character. But since their return 
 from Europe, and Lloyd's engagement to Catharine, a 
 coldness and distance had grown up between them, that 
 it was no easy matter to get over. During the last 
 day or twx), however, they had had considerable debate 
 upon the all-absorbing topic of secession ; and now it 
 was renewed again. They entered the garden by a 
 little wicket, to shorten the distance to the mansion, and 
 walked up towards the fountain. Becoming earnest 
 and excited in their discussion, they sat down upon a 
 garden-seat, deeply shadowed by evergreens, and at once 
 went into the subject as they had never done before. 
 
 For, angry with Grace and her father, and tired of 
 concealment, Philip had resolved to throw off the mask, 
 and, if he could, win Lloyd over to the ranks of seces- 
 sion. 
 
SCHE^nNG. — BROKEyr BONDS. 27 
 
 In spite of his fiitlier's contrary opinions, Lloyd be- 
 lieved, like multitudes of otlier young Southerners, in 
 the right of a State to secede, and have an independent 
 government, and that it was the duty of every good 
 citizen to uphold her in that right, if a majority of her 
 people so decided. But ho did not think it politic or 
 wise to do so at that time ; that any of the States had 
 as yet any just cause for doing so ; or that they could at 
 all sustain themselves if they did. 
 
 Philip, however, thought secession not only just and 
 right, hut that Lincoln's election, which had shorn the 
 South of her power, and of course endangered slavery, 
 had made it absolutely necessary for her to throw off the 
 galling chain that had bound her too long to a Union 
 that oppressed her. and had no sympathy for her peculiar 
 institutions. He believed, too, that, united in one, the 
 South could abundantly sustain herself against all the 
 power that could be brouglit to bear upon her by the 
 Federal government. 
 
 As the sun went down in a flood of golden glory, and 
 the soft, wintry twilight fell around them, tlie two young 
 men eagerly continued their discussion, each bringing 
 his best arguments to bear upon the case, to convince, if 
 possible, his sturdy opponent. 
 
 Suddenly they were startled by the sound of low, 
 sweet-toned female voices, apparently quite as eager in 
 debate as their own ; and then a couple of female figures 
 came sauntering slowly down towards the fountain, near 
 which they were stationed. With an exclamation of 
 impatience, Philip paused in the middle of a sentence ; 
 and both were silent in the hope that the intruders 
 would pass on. Instead of this, however, they stepped 
 up to the fountain, and, turning their faces to the light; 
 
28 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 Lloyd saw that it was Miss Nellie Atherton and her 
 pretty quadroon attendant, Jett, who had been her wait- 
 ing-maid during her stay in Europe, and also when she 
 was at school years before in New England. 
 
 The fountain was covered in frost-work and glittering 
 icicles ; and, as their animated discussion went on, Nell 
 began whipping them off with a willow twig she held in 
 her white, jewelled hand. 
 
 " I say, miss, you'll be sorry if you don't," said the 
 slave-girl eagerly. 
 
 "I expect to be," Nell returned; "yet I can't bring 
 myself to the point of doing what a sense of right and 
 truth and justice demands." 
 
 '- Or let me do it ? " 
 
 ^' Or let you do it, for that would be just the same as 
 doing it myself." 
 
 " But Jett thinks it too bad to let sich a grand family 
 as the Hunters — your own aunt's family too — be so 
 awfully imposed upon by that good-for-nothing Yankee 
 trollop. And Massa Lloyd sich a fine, handsome young 
 gentleman, too, and the biggest match in all the country." 
 
 Lloyd, out of politeness, had risen from his seat, and 
 was just about stepping forward to make his presence 
 known, when these words smote upon his ear with the 
 force of a blow. It levelled him at once, in his descent 
 unconsciously grasping Philip's arm, and holding him 
 like a vise, when he was apparently trying to rise and 
 rush forward. 
 
 " I know it's too bad," echoed Miss Nellie ; " but what 
 can I do ? I commanded you to be silent when we dis- 
 covered her shameful intrigues and midnight meetings 
 with Dr. Morven, more than six years ago. And, when I 
 knew that Philip found it out, I swore him to secrecy. 
 
SCHE^nXG. — BROKEN BONDS. 29 
 
 He was very ready to do this, because lie was so be- 
 witched about that silly little flirt, Jessie. For her sake 
 he wished to save the honor of the family. Philip 
 thought Lloyd had discovered the intrigue himself, and 
 that the discovery was the reason he left her as he did, 
 after paying her so much attention. But, if so, I can't 
 imagine by what liocus pocus she has got round him at 
 last. I wouldn't let you tell of it when we got home, 
 because I didn't want people to know that we had asso- 
 ciated so long with so vile a creature. '^ 
 
 " Jett knows all that ; and, if the girl stay to home, 
 where she belongs, nobody care. She good nuff for them 
 abolishum fellers. But, when she cum down here to 
 trap fine Virginny gentlemans, she think it alter the case, 
 and miss orter tell." 
 
 " Jett ! you know well enough why I cannot ; if I 
 had not myself loved Lloj^^d Hunter; if I had not been 
 engaged to him ; if I had not lost him by my own 
 thoughtless folly, sacrificing the whole happiness of my 
 life for the pleasure of flirting with one 1 despised and 
 scorned," she passionately exclaimed, — "then Lloyd 
 Hunter should know the truth ; and " — 
 
 " Hold ! Stop, Xell, for God's sake ! " gasped Philip, 
 as if just recovering from a trance of surprise, and 
 seized with a sudden fear of ^N^ell's exposing to Lloyd 
 Hunter the hidden secrets of her heart. 
 
 And Nell, with a little shriek of wounded delicacy, 
 turned towards them for an instant, and then, followed 
 by her sable attendant, ran swiftly towards the mansion. 
 
 It was indeed a well-acted performance. And who, 
 in Lloyd's place, would have dreamed that it had all been 
 rehearsed, not an hour before, in Miss Nellie Atherton's 
 chamber. 
 
 3* 
 
80 THE EEBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 To describe the feelings of Lloyd Hunter, as, with a 
 face turning to a deadly white, he listened to those damn- 
 ing words, would be impossible. Nor did he know, till 
 the treacherous Philip cried out with pain, how tightly 
 he was grasping him. 
 
 For several minutes after Xell was gone, Lloyd sat 
 still as death : then, turning fiercely to Philip, lie said, — 
 
 "Philip Atherton, was that — that the truth?" 
 
 **I fear so," returned Philip in a deprecating tone. 
 
 ^' But did you know it to be a fact ? " 
 
 " Did you not know it yourself, Lloyd Hunter ? " 
 
 " Alas ! yes, — at least by circumstantial evidence." 
 
 "And that was the reason j^ou left her, without an ex- 
 planation or one kindl}' word, more than six years ago?" 
 
 " Yes : that is the truth," groaned Lloyd. '• I found a 
 note, addressed to him, and signed by her name, ap- 
 pointing a midnight meeting ; and, at the hour named, 
 I saw some one wrapped in her shawl go to the summer- 
 house, and there meet a man who came in from the ad- 
 joining grounds," 
 
 " Well, what more do you want ? And how did you 
 get over that ? " 
 
 '•Oh I'she looked so innocent, and acted so nobly, and 
 I loved her so well, that I was ready to believe her asser- 
 tion that it was all a vile plot and forgery, got up by 
 some enemy to ruin her in my esteem." 
 
 "And now that you know others saw it too, night 
 after nif^ht ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I must renounce her, if it breaks my heart." 
 " "Ah! hearts are not so easily broken. I thought 
 mine would break, when I found, years ago, that sweet 
 little Jessie was no better than she should be ; but it 
 didn't : and I guess you will survive, if you do step out 
 
SCHEMING. — BROKEN BONDS. 31 
 
 of the siren's snare. I believe we were all bewitched p\ 
 those days, and saw every thing through magnifying- 
 glasses, — Grace as well, as the rest of us. She seems 
 perfectly fascinated by Kate still, and is thinking of 
 Theo, I fancy. But she had better look out how she 
 plays high games with me now ; for I will not bear 
 them." 
 
 The two young men continued to converse for some 
 time upon the same old subjects, — Philip fully substan- 
 tiating every vile assertion regarding poor Catharine 
 by numerous facts that had come to his own private 
 knowledge at the time of their occurrence, and bring- 
 ing such a weight of corroborative evidence to prove 
 them, that Lloyd could doubt no longer. 
 
 To believe, brought with it the keen agony of separa- 
 tion, the bitter necessity of renouncing one who had 
 become dear as his life to him ; and, with such a multi- 
 tude of facts staring him in the face, how could he dis- 
 believe ? 
 
 It maddened him, too, to think what a dupe he had 
 been ; and Nell's confession of love for liim, and for- 
 bearing nobleness, in comparison with Catharine's false- 
 hood and deception, raised her at once far higher in his 
 esteem than she had ever been before. 
 
 The suspicion that there was any plot or complicity 
 between jSTell and Philip, though it occurred to him, 
 seemed disproved by all the attending circumstances ; 
 for he had overtaken Philip a long way from the man- 
 sion, and going towards it ; while the others were coming 
 directly from it. 
 
 Silly fellow ! As if Philip had not been sent out on 
 purpose to be waylaid, so as to bring his victim into the 
 toils, and, when it was all over, returned triumphant to 
 report his complete success. 
 
32 THE KEBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 Por Laving been born of, and reared by, a proud, 
 scheming, irreligious mother, — to say nothing of the 
 father, — intrigue was the breath of life to both Nell 
 and Philip Atherton ; and, to the few who knew it, it 
 was a sad drawback to the beautj^, graces, talents, and 
 accomplishments every one allowed them to possess in 
 a very high degree. 
 
 Catharine noticed during the evening that Lloyd 
 watched her furtively, but never once came near or 
 spoke to her; and she felt that something had gone 
 wrong. But her true heart did not take the alarm 
 until she heard the announcement, that he had decided 
 to leave next day with the party who were going to 
 Richmond, — including the Tremonts and Athertons. 
 He had said never a word to her of such a plan ; so 
 the news came over her like a shock. She felt instinct- 
 ively that something had happened to alienate him, and 
 that it was to avoid her that he was leaving his home 
 at this time. 
 
 She had feared some such thing from the hour of 
 Nellie Atherton's arrival, and persevering attempts to 
 ignore and put her down as far as she could. She had 
 felt, years ago, as if the mj'stery of Lloyd's alienation 
 pointed to Nell, more than any one else, for its solution. 
 And the almost certain knowledge, that, in the school- 
 rivalries of other days, Nell had procured and destroyed a 
 fine composition of hers, upon which a handsome prize 
 depended, assured her that she would do almost any thing 
 to carry out her plans. She had herself, by chance, found 
 the remains of the burned composition behind the fire- 
 board in Nell's room; secretl}^ and indignantly rewrit- 
 ten it at the last moment ; and, most unexpectedly to 
 Nell, won the first prize. And for this she felt as if 
 
SCHEMING. — BROKEN BONDS. 33 
 
 that young lady had never forgiven her, even though no 
 one knew it but themselves. 
 
 That was a sleepless night to both Lloyd and Catha- 
 rine ; and both looked pale and. wretched enough at the 
 breakfast-table next morning. 
 
 When the meal was over, as had been previously 
 arranged, the carriages were ordered, and amid smiles 
 and tears, kisses and fond embraces, the farewells were 
 spoken, the bride bade adieu to her early home, and the 
 bridal party broke up. 
 
 Amid the general bustle, no one but herself noticed 
 that Lloyd said never a word to his betrothed, and 
 that his only farewell was a cold parting clasp of a hand 
 that left within her own his letter of renunciation. She 
 took it, witli a pale cheek, quivering lip, foreboding 
 heart, and questioning glance, that had in it a world of 
 appealing tenderness ; and, with trembling fingers, she 
 transferred it to her pocket, and turned away to hide the 
 gathering storm of tears until the guests had de- 
 parted. 
 
 Once alone in her room, the restraints were thrown 
 off, and she wept long and bitterly, with such a feeling 
 of loneliness and desolation as had never come to her 
 before. 
 
 She had forgotten to lock her door; and, in the midst 
 of her trouble, a dark form glided in, and a hand that 
 seemed just like her mother's was laid upon her bowed 
 head, and began smoothing her soft, shining auburn hair. 
 
 She raised her tear-stained face, and seeing that it 
 was Aunt Dinah, the kind old slave-nurse and house- 
 keeper, exclaimed almost angrily, " Why are 3'ou here ? " 
 for she was ashamed to have even a slave witness her 
 weakness and humiliation. " Don't, don't ! " said Dinah 
 
34 THE EEBEL GENEBAL'S LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 deprecatingly and pityingly. " Dinah see an' hear it 
 all, goin'' up an' dou'n ; an' slie sorry, drefful sorry. She 
 know it all wrong somewhere." 
 
 ^•Pray don't speak of it, Dinah," Catharine im- 
 plored. 
 
 " Xeher you fear. Mebbe it all come right biraeby. 
 Any way, ole Dinah know, dat, if Miss Kate mean right 
 and act right herself, de good Fader can cure de pain ; aQ^ 
 he on'y can. He know all about it. He can make it 
 come right if jMiss Kate on'y ask him." 
 
 '^ Thank you, Dinah. I, a professing Christian, ought 
 to know it too. X ow go, please," she sobbed. 
 
 Dinah silently left the room ; and Catharine, awed, 
 reproved, and yet doubting God's goodness, knelt down, 
 and offered up a fervent prayer for help and guidance. 
 And she did rise up comforted, and strengthened for 
 whatever trials were before her, and gathered courage 
 to open Lloyd's letter, the purport of which she had 
 already guessed : — 
 
 '' vrretched girl ! " it began, " was it not enough 
 that you had darkened six of the best years of my 
 life with bitter memories, that 3'ou must come here 
 to my own home to renew your enchantments, de- 
 ceive me to my ruin, and wreck my peace of mind for- 
 ever ? Oh ! must I believe that fair face is but a decoy 
 to the innocent and the unwary ; that graceful form but 
 a whited sepulchre, — a tomb of lost innocence ; those 
 eyes, through which I thought a pure soul looked forth, 
 but lures to entrap ignorant dupes to their undoing? 
 You thought, no doubt, that no one here would ever find 
 out your true character; but, in spite of all your pre- 
 cautions, the truth has followed, — proofs of your infamy 
 
SCHEMING. — BROKEN BONDS. 85 
 
 tliat it is impossible to disbelieve. As a consequence, 
 here and noiu I renounce all claim to your band. 
 
 "If you are mercenary enougli to want pay for our 
 broken engagement, tlie law would perliaps give it you. 
 But I, witbout tbat intervention, will give you any 
 reasonable sum 3'ou may demand, ratber tban link my 
 fortunes witli tbose of one wbom every principle of 
 bonor teacbes me to despise and scorn. 
 
 " I liave not informed my family of wbat bas trans- 
 pired, and cannot do it at present. As I am going to 
 Ricbmond, you can do as you like about leaving, or 
 spreading reports tbat woidd only disgrace yourself wbile 
 you remain in tbe Soutbern country. 
 
 "But for tbe sbame to us all in proclaiming tbe 
 trutb, I would not bave my young brotber and sisters 
 under 3'our care anotber day. But, just now, I can't 
 bear to bave my best friends knov/ bow sbamefully I 
 bave been imposed upon. I beg tbat 3'ou will remember 
 tbat God will require an account of your stewardsbip, 
 and tbat you will do tbem no barm. May you repent 
 of 3'our misdeeds ! and ob, may you never know tbe 
 bitter agony tbat wrings my lieart in bidding you an 
 eternal farewell 
 
 "L. H.'^ 
 
 Catbarine's tears blinded ber as sbe read tins out- 
 pouring of a noble beart, tbat sbe knew felt itself cru- 
 elly deceived and wronged. 
 
 But, tbougb bis accusations wrung ber own soul quite 
 as cruelly, sbe could not blame bim as sbe would bave 
 done, bad sbe not believed some enemy was at tbe bot- 
 tom of tbe wbole affair. 
 
 But, sustained by ber own conscious innocence, and 
 
86 THE BEBEL GENEBAL's LOYAL BP.IDE. 
 
 tlie hope of help from on high, her mind at last became 
 tranquillized. She would not leave her position, or fly 
 from the country like the guilty thing he thought her, 
 unless obliged to do so, she told lAojd Hunter in lier 
 reply; and that she would be glad to stand face to face 
 with her accusers. They had undoubtedly some strong 
 motive that would appear in the end for defaming one 
 who was utterlj^ incapable of lowering herself to any 
 thing that was immoral or infamous. God, who knew 
 all hearts, would, no doubt, make the truth manifest, 
 and support her through the bitter trial, she added. 
 
 She neither expected nor received any reply to this 
 letter; so, burying proudly the memory of her wrong 
 in her own bosom, she began once more her usual round 
 of duties. 
 
 Long before the wedding at Hunter Hills, the mo- 
 notonous mutterings of secession and discontent had 
 been heard throughout our land, like the roll of distant 
 thunder. Soon afterwards, like the play of forked 
 lightnings, could be seen the fitful flashes of a strife 
 that was soon to be hot and deadly ; threatening the 
 disruption of all ties of interest and affection, as well 
 as those more enduring ones that bind the States to- 
 gether in one nation. 
 
 Yet few of us at that time realized the imminent 
 danger. Scarcely any one dreamed that this was but 
 the prelude to an earthquake shock that was to upheave 
 existing institutions, convulse a continent, disturb tlie 
 commercial and financial relations of a world, and bring 
 distress and ruin, not only to multitudes of our own 
 people, but also to many in distant regions of the globe. 
 But, after the time of which we have spoken, began a 
 
SCHEMING. — BROKEN BONDS. 37 
 
 new phase, not only in the history of those old Virginia 
 families, but also of the State and the whole nation. 
 
 The feeling for and against secession every day grew 
 stronger and stronger. As the people begun to take 
 sides, many who were near relations, or had been dear 
 and tried friends, found themselves in opposite ranks; 
 and very soon, by the mere force of circumstances, they 
 became mortal enemies, — ready to appeal to arms to 
 establish their rights and opinions, and imbrue their 
 hands in each other's blood. 
 
 It was late in December when South Carolina reck- 
 lessly put herself out of the pale of the Union. Before 
 January was over, five or six other States had joined 
 her, and openly avowed their secession principles 
 There is no doubt that Virginia, the mother of presi- 
 dents, and queen State of the South, was, by her emis- 
 saries, in league with them from the first ; though ihe 
 was kept in check by the large number of her loyal 
 people. So she waited until the Confederacy was de- 
 clared. Fort Sumter taken, and otiier public property 
 along the Southern border purloined or destroyed, and 
 the new President had called for a large army to put 
 down the rebellion, before she ventured to come out 
 openly, and join in a strife that was, as Major Hunter 
 had said, to immolate thousands of her noblest sons, and 
 drench her fair fields in the most precious blood of the 
 nation. The leading secessionists in Virginia had only 
 waited for the excuse that their rights were about to be 
 invaded by the Federal power to justify them in the 
 eyes of the world. 
 
 The longing for the power they had wielded for fifty 
 years, but lost, as they thought, by the election of the 
 new President, and the fear that, through him, theii 
 
 4 
 
38 THE EEBEL GEXERAL's LOY^UL, BEIDE. 
 
 right to enslave, and enlarge the bounds of slaver^ 
 would be interfered with, undoubtedly provoked the 
 whole South to rebellion at that time. Yet their ambi- 
 tious leaders had been looking forward, and preparing 
 for some such movement for years. During the pre- 
 vious administration, wherever they could, they had 
 been draining the public treasury, getting the best 
 arms into their power, and sending every available gov- 
 ernment vessel to distant regions of the globe, so as to 
 weaken the hands of the incoming party, and place it 
 at the mercy of the leaders in the intended rebellion. 
 
 Soon after the wedding at Hunter Hills, and while 
 the family were preparing to go to Bichmond to spend 
 the winter, Major Hunter was attacked by a fit of the 
 gout, which rendered him for the time perfectly help- 
 less. While thus confined at home, a patriotic, noble- 
 souled, yet exceedingly troublesome invalid, the Mont- 
 gomery Convention met, and chose Jefferson Davis as 
 their leader; while the Peace Convention, which met 
 in Washington about the same time, failed to do any 
 thing to satisfy the clamors of the Southern people. 
 
 The major fumed and fretted and chafed, and some- 
 times swore, when he heard the news, — Catharine was 
 generally employed to read to him ; and he cursed the 
 disorder that kept him an invalid, and prevented his 
 taking an active part in the stirring scenes that were 
 being enacted all around him. His lady, however, gave 
 him little consolation. Much 3'ounger than himself, 
 with few feelings in common, she had little sympathjr 
 for the ailments that kept her ^t home when she was 
 longing for the gayeties of Richmond. And, more than 
 all, being connected with many distinguished rebel 
 families in the South, her sympathies were all with the 
 
SCHEMING. — BROKEN BONDS. 39 
 
 rebelliou. Having been a belle and beauty in licr 
 younger days, though comparatively poor, slie was still 
 vain enougli to wish to keep up her popularit}'- in soci- 
 ety. Tliis made it peculiarly irksome for her to stay at 
 home with the ac^od and invalid husband she had mar- 
 ricd for his wealth and position, and who, in his age 
 and helplessness, when slie herself had unexpectedly 
 inherited a fortune, she would sometimes gladly have 
 seen laid beneath the sod. Her three children, in whom 
 she worshipped her own beauty, as well as some of their 
 father's noblest attributes, were all that reconciled her 
 to her present mode of life at all ; and in watching 
 their improvement under Catharine's guidance, and in 
 witnessing their wild frolics, she managed to exist until 
 this great trial was over. 
 
 Yet, so far as she could, j\Irs. Hunter threw the care 
 of nursing and entertaining her invalid husband upon 
 Catharine and her children and servants. And to the 
 former, with her mind burdened, not only by her own 
 private griefs, but the woes and distresses of her coun- 
 try, it was perhaps a benefit, by occupying her mind, 
 and keeping her from dwelling too much upon the dark- 
 ened personal and political horizon. 
 
 Major Hunter had been in the army in his youthful 
 days, and had afterwards travelled extensively. He 
 was possessed of vast stores of information, and general 
 knowledge of the world, and liked to talk over his past 
 experiences. This was irksome to his wife, but aiforded 
 pleasure to Catharine in her present mood. Moreover, 
 Major Hunter continually admired her judgment and dis- 
 criminating taste, as well as the ingenuity and fruitful- 
 ness of a mind that could relieve the ennui and wretch- 
 edness of his wife's restless soul. 
 
40 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRmE. 
 
 He had himself been educated at the North, from 
 whence he had brought a good many ideas regarding 
 human freedom that would never have disturbed the 
 serenity of his soul had he remained at home. With 
 these liberal ideas, he had acted in such a way as to 
 give offence to some of his slaveholding neighbors, 
 who, believing that slavery and the lash were made to 
 work together, were constantly reproached for their cru- 
 elty by his uniform kindness to his slaves. He had 
 inherited them, and believed he could not get along 
 without them : yet he hated slavery in the abstract ; 
 and at his death designed setting those of them he 
 thought able to care for themselves free. 
 
 Though she dared not oppose him openly, his wife 
 thwarted his views and liberal measures whenever she 
 could. Of course, in such a household, Catharine had 
 little opportunity of seeing much of the horror and 
 dark side of slavery. And seeing the slaves so gen- 
 erally happy there, was what, more than aught else, rec- 
 onciled her to the thought of becoming a slaveholder's 
 bride. She could not bear to add to the affliction of 
 this family by telling them that her character was sus- 
 pected, her engagement broken off, and her peace of 
 mind wrecked. So, conscious of her own integrity'-, and 
 believing she was in the path of duty, she kept steadily 
 on her way, wondering how soon the truth would be 
 made manifest. 
 
 Lloyd wrote frequently to his father, always enclosing 
 notes for the children, telling of the distinguished men 
 convened in Kichmond; of the measures and opinions 
 they were adopting ; of the doings of the war and peace 
 conventions ; of the mustering and marching of troops, 
 and the many exciting reports in circulation ; but never 
 ^word about Catharine or his broken engagement. 
 
SCHE:\nNG. — BROKEN BONDS. 41 
 
 As she, too, had Richmond letters, no one seemed to 
 suspect any thing ; thougli hers were from Grace Tre- 
 mont, who, in the bustle and whirl of city life, found 
 time to keep Catliarine posted regarding her own af- 
 fairs, and th'^sc of their mutual, acquaintances. By 
 midwinter the major was a great deal better ; though, 
 the news arriving by every mail kept him in a contin- 
 ual fever of excitement. 
 
 ^ At last a letter came from Lloyd, saying that he was 
 about convinced that the South was right, and justified 
 in quitting a Union that oppressed and trampled upon 
 her most sacred rights ; that he was tired of waiting 
 for the slow but sure voice of Old Virginia, and, at the 
 earnest solicitation of some of her leaders, he had con- 
 cluded to go South to confer witli the ruling spirits 
 there. Then, if the government really attempted to 
 coerce them into submission, he might conclude to join 
 them, and take office under the new confederacy ; and 
 believing, that, under such circumstances, a marringe 
 with a Northern lady would be unadvisable, he had con- 
 cluded for that, and other reasons she would under- 
 stand, to cancel his late engagement with Miss Hale, 
 and fulfil another made long ago, as they all knew, with 
 Miss Nellie Atherton. They were to be married in 
 church the next Tuesday ; and he hoped his father and 
 all the family would be able to be present, as they were 
 to start, immediately after the ceremony, for Charleston, 
 South Carolina, 
 
 Thus far the poor old major got, reading this letter to 
 his wife, Catharine, and Dr. Stearnes, who had brought 
 it from the office, when his voice began to falter, his 
 hand to tremble, and his face to blanch to a sudden 
 whiteness, as he stood by the parlor-window : then he 
 4* 
 
42 THE EEBEL GEKEHAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 put out his hands, clutched at the empty air, and fell 
 heavily to the floor. 
 
 The knowledge that his first-horn son, the pride and 
 hope of his declining years, was ahout to turn traitor to 
 his country and his betrothed bride, was too much for 
 the poor invalid to bear, and almost broke his heart. 
 
 By the application of strong stimulants, he was re- 
 vived, but could not be reconciled to the unlooked-for 
 dispensation. 
 
 Catharine had known, from Grace's letters, that Nell 
 was trying her best to win Lloyd back ; and yet, per- 
 haps unconsciously, she had treasured a hope of his 
 return to her, and that all would in some way be satis- 
 factorily explained. 
 
 The sudden overthrow of this hope came like a blow 
 to her ; and for a moment her senses reeled, her head 
 swam^ and she sat down dizzily in the nearest chair, 
 pale as marble, and almost glad that something, she 
 scarcely knew what, took the attention of those present 
 from herself. Every one pitied her, and admired the 
 fortitude with which she bore up under her disappoint- 
 ment ; thoudi it must be confessed that Mrs. Hunter's 
 pity was mingled with joy at her niece's success in 
 winning Llo3"d from a nicsalliance. She liked Cath- 
 arine in her place ; she felt as if she could hardly live 
 without her a day ; she had always treated her with 
 kindness. Yet the feeling was very strongly impressed 
 upon her mind, that she belonged to a lower caste than 
 the Hunters and the Athertons, who were some of the 
 oldest families in Virginia. 
 
 The major had had something of this feeling at first, 
 until a knowledge of Catharine's goodness, virtue, aud 
 amiability had won a daughter's place in his heart. 
 
SCETEMING. — BROKEN BONDS. 43 
 
 And now he seemed to feel for lier, in her desertion and 
 disappointment, quite as much as if she were a daugh- 
 ter of his own ; and all the more, in that his own son 
 was the cause of her trouble. 
 
CHAPTER HI. 
 
 FAMILY JAES. THE EL0PE:3IEXT. 
 
 ^g^^^^^OXTEAEY to all expectation, the major was 
 ^g frf^ og up betimes the next morning, and announced 
 ^a-^^.*^^ his determination to ""O immediately to Hich- 
 ^da^wc2/^ mond. 
 
 His lady feebly remonstrated, saying that he was cer- 
 tainly not well enough ; yet fearing only, that, in his 
 present state of mind, he would say or do something to 
 break up the match, or disgrace the family. She had a 
 great many preparations to make before leaving, and 
 the wardrobe of herself and family to prepare for the 
 great occasion ; and all they wanted was to get there 
 the evening before the bridal, she said. So, in one way 
 and another, she contrived to delay him until the sab- 
 bath was over ; and then they made the journey to Eich- 
 mond. 
 
 Catharine did not want to go to Eichmond at all, 
 and had a great mind to go home. at once. She did not 
 want to see Lloyd Hunter. To be near him, when 
 she knew he was falsifvinor his vows to her, and sol- 
 emnly plighting them to another, would be very trying 
 to her feelings. But neither the major nor his lady 
 would consent to her going home when the children 
 needed her so much ; and it was so difficult for them to 
 get any one at all competent to fill her place. 
 
 44 
 
FAISIILY JARS. — THE ELOPEMENT. 45 
 
 So, after a confidential interview, it was decided that 
 she should remain at Hunter Hills until Fridaj^, when 
 Uncle Nick was coming back to look after the rest of 
 the haf^':?age, and servants, and then, return with them. 
 Before the end of February, they were all comfortably 
 installed in their elegant town mansion ; and Mrs. Hunter 
 was once more in her glory. She had alwaj^s been noted 
 for her hospitality; and now she kept an open house, 
 and spent most of her time in going, and receiving com- 
 pany. 
 
 The major bore his journey very well, but his moods 
 and state of health were variable. 
 
 Sometimes he would see and talk with every one; 
 dealing out his denunciations against secession and trea- 
 son with an unsparing hand and tongue. Then again 
 be would be confined to his room, unable to sit up, and 
 yet chafing and worrying continually about the state of 
 the country generally, and the doings of the Convention, 
 then in session, of which he was a nominal member. 
 When he was able, he attended its sittings, and did 
 all he could, by voice and vote, and by public and pri- 
 vate influence, to prevent the State from going out of 
 the Union. 
 
 But his wife's influence — and, in one way and another, 
 it was fully equal to his — was all the other way ; and she 
 did all she could to prevent him from influencing the 
 minds of her friends and acquaintance. And later still, 
 when the inauguration they had hoped to prevent was 
 consummated, and Sumter was bombarded, and the new 
 President had called for an army to support his tottering 
 power, and she knew from her friends that the final 
 vote of the Convention was about to be taken, this 
 woman secretly gave her husband an opiate, that caused 
 
46 THE EEBEL GEXERAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 him to sleep througli the terrible crisis that gave Virginia 
 over to the horror and devastation of a bloody civil war. 
 
 When the old man woke to a knowledge that all was 
 over, and that no effort of his could now prevent that 
 dire calamity, his anguish and despair, though not 
 stormy, were terrible. 
 
 Suspecting the truth, and disgusted with the mean- 
 ness and chicanery that he knew had produced such 
 lamentable results, he resolved at once to retire to his 
 estates, leaving his giddy wife and family to enjoy town 
 life as long as they pleased. So he left the next day, 
 with Nick, his faithful servant, greatly to the pleasure of 
 his lady. From that hour she made her house the home 
 of all the rebel leaders in the city, and especially of her 
 brother. Col. Atherton, and Philip, his son, who had pre- 
 viously boarded at a hotel. 
 
 And thus it was that Catherine, though disliking it 
 much, was brought into close communion with the Ath- 
 ertons, and had a chance to see, and make the acquaint- 
 ance of, those who were afterwards leaders in the rebel 
 armies. 
 
 She knew that both Nell and Lloyd were gone; yet, 
 strangely enough, no one, not even ]Major Hunter, had 
 told her how or where. This was partly out of regard 
 to her feelings, but much more from the mortification of 
 their own at the way things had turned out. The truth 
 was, that, after every arrangement had been made for 
 the bridal, which was to be attended with great splendor. 
 Count Laroi, Nell's Parisian lover, arrived in Pichmond. 
 Having come over from Europe on purpose to secure the 
 great Virginia beauty and heiress, he took measures ac- 
 cordingly. 
 
 Finding how matters stood, he procured a private in- 
 
FAMILY JARS. — THE ELOPEMENT. 47 
 
 terview ; and, after ascertaining that Nell still fancied 
 him, he proposed a private marriage, and elopement. 
 "Wishing to gratify her fancy, shame Lloyd, punish him 
 for his attentions to Catharine, and at the same time 
 make a romantic sensation, iSTell concluded an elopement 
 with a live count would be just the thing. She knew 
 very well that Count Laroi had been a suspected char- 
 acter in Paris, and that neither father nor brother would 
 consent to their union ; so she resolved to take the 
 responsibility into her own hands, and do as she liked, in 
 defiance of everybody. So she gathered up all she could 
 secure of her own private property, was secretly married to 
 Count Laroi the evening before that appointed for her 
 marriage with Lloyd Hunter, and immediately set sail 
 for Xew Orleans. 
 
 She was determined to be a rich countess, in spite of 
 them all, she told her friends in her farewell letter. Her 
 father and Philip were terribly shamed and offended. 
 But Lloj'd, though mortified by the publicity of the affair, 
 really felt relieved, because he had, by this time, begun 
 to suspect the duplicity of her character. And it was 
 because all the connections were so chagrined, and had 
 forbidden the children and servants to speak of it before 
 Catharine, that she failed to learn the truth. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter knew that Catherine was invaluable to 
 her in her present position ; and now that Lloyd was 
 gone, and there was no one of the family to be deluded 
 by her charms, she was very glad to bring them into 
 notice. 
 
 That an Atherton, with her own blood and pride in 
 his veins, could think of her seriously, was something 
 of which she did not dream. 
 
 She knew that she could trust her to look after hep 
 
48 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 children and servants, and have everything managed to 
 [:erfection, because they all esteemed and loved her. 
 And she fully appreciated the rare personal and mental 
 charms, that she knew helped to make her house so 
 attractive to the rebel officers. Her musical and conver- 
 sational gifts were constantly called into play, in assisting 
 Mrs. Hunter in the entertainment of lier company ; and, 
 if she was ill or absent, Catharine must receive her 
 guests, and make her excuses. Catharine disliked the 
 publicity of the part she was desired to act at first, and 
 the notice she received from the Confederate officers. 
 But, forced into it by circumstances over which she had 
 little control, she learned at last to appreciate and enjoy 
 their society. Knowing her Yankee proclivities, some 
 of them loved to draw her out upon the political ques- 
 tions of the dav, even though she sometimes wound them 
 up and worsted them in the argument. But she was 
 generally shy of expressing her opinions, knowing it could 
 do no good. 
 
 Among the rebel officers whom Catharine particularly 
 attracted at this time, was, strangely enough, CoL Ather- 
 ton, the father of Nell and Philip, and brother of Mrs. 
 Hunter. He had been a widower for years; and, from 
 his age, position, great wealth, and unbounded family 
 pride, no one who knew the man would have suspected 
 him of such a weakness. He had avoided rather than 
 sought her society at Hunter Hills, after he knew of her 
 engagement ; but, now that was broken off by the intrigues 
 of his own family, he seemed anxious to cultivate her 
 acquaintance, and win her confidence. Distrristing both 
 the son and the father, because she thought they had 
 had something to do with Lloyd's desertion, she treated 
 them at first with uncommon coolness and reserve. 
 
FAIMILY JAES. — THE ELOPEMENT. 49 
 
 When they became domesticated in the family, she 
 found it more impossible to do this without attracting 
 special attention. So, by degrees, as the colonel won 
 upon lier esteem, her reserve and haughtiness wore 
 away ; though she could never quite forget certain sus- 
 picions of Philip's conduct in their earlier years. 
 
 Both the Colonel and Philip had daily military duties 
 to attend to, yet managed to spend some part of each 
 day or evening at home ; and, though neither suspected 
 the other of ulterior motives, they generally managed, 
 not only to avoid each other, but also Mrs. Hunter, 
 whose hours for her siesta, dressing, and calls were the 
 ones selected for being at home with Catharine and the 
 children, who were, of course, always uncertain com- 
 panions. 
 
 Catharine noticed this, but never dreamed that she 
 had aroused in both some of the strongest passions of 
 the soul. She knew something of the lofty pride of the 
 Atherton family, and sometimes wondered why they 
 would condescend to talk to a Yankee governess, and 
 labor so hard as they did to convert her to their own 
 views and opinions. 
 
 Both admired her beauty, though every one did not 
 call her beautiful. But there was something in her 
 pure and elevated sentiments, in her lofty patriotism, 
 in the clear, decided, yet musical tones of her voice; 
 besides the nameless charm always thrown around a 
 cultivated intellect and polished manners, that singularly 
 fascinated both, even though they could not respond to 
 her sentiments, or feel that national patriotism which 
 inspired her true and loyal heart. 
 
 Philip had admired Catharine more than any one else 
 in early life, and was provoked by her preference of 
 
50 THE REBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 Lloyd to himself; yet he had no serious intentions re- 
 garding her then. His greatest ambition then was to 
 win Grace Tremont and her large fortune ; but Grace 
 had rejected him before her departure from the city, for 
 his avowed secession sentiments. This rebuff rankled 
 deeply in his vengeful heart; though, it left him more 
 at liberty to follow out his own impulses than he had 
 been for years. 
 
 But Philip worshipped wealth and position ; and 
 Catharine's want of both made him hesitate how to act. 
 He knew in his own heart that he was unworthy of 
 her ; yet he felt as if he would be a better man if he 
 could marry her, and make up as well as he could for 
 the wrong he had done her. 
 
 That he had schemed and lied her out of one husband, 
 did not worry him much, however, so long as she did 
 not know or suspect the truth. But it did trouble him 
 that she should always express such decidedly religious, 
 moral, and thoroughly loyal sentiments ; that she met 
 every attempt at freedom or familiarity with a dignity 
 befitting an empress ; and that she had never, by word, 
 look, or tone, seemed to be seeking his favor, or given 
 him the least shadow of encouragement. Yet he could 
 not believe that she, a portionless Northern girl, would 
 refuse, if he once brought his pride down enough to ask 
 her, to marry him, — which as yet he did not intend to 
 do. 
 
 Catharine knew that there was great excitement 
 among the Southern people. She knew that large 
 bodies of troops were gathering near Kichmond, and all 
 through the Southern country. She heard a great deal 
 said against the Federal government andXorthern people 
 that irritated and pained her ; and she sometimes freely 
 
rA]SriLY JARS. — THE ELOPEMENT. 51 
 
 expressed her own opinions. Yet, like almost every one 
 else, she believed those deluded, hot-headed Southerners 
 were but blowing off steam, like a locomotive, to frighten 
 the North to terms, and that the rebellion would not 
 amount to much after all. And there is little doubt 
 that most of the leaders in the movement were of about 
 the same opinion, and little dreamed of the storm of 
 woe and blood they were evoking when they raised their 
 rebellious hands against the government. 
 
 Believing thus, and not at all alarmed for her own 
 safet}'-, Catharine resolved to finish her engagement, in 
 spite of the threatening elements around her, and then 
 set out for home. 
 
 The bombardment of Fort Sumter, the investiture 
 of Pickens, and the President's call for a large army, 
 roused her a little from her dream, of security. But 
 somehow the boasting tone of the public prints, and 
 conversation of those around her, tended to allay, rather 
 than to excite, her fears, and induced her to wait until 
 the coast was blockaded, and the country filled with 
 troops in every direction. 
 
 June came at last. She had promised to stay no 
 longer than this; so, in spite of the children's tears, 
 Mrs. Hunter's urgent entreaties, and the distracted state 
 of the country, she decided to go home at once. 
 
 It was hard to part with those who loved her, and 
 were so kind to her; but she had come to believe that 
 the strife might be a long and bloody one. Duty to 
 her immediate friends, her country, and her own loyal 
 opinions urged her to leave the ranks of her country's 
 mortal foes before it was too late. 
 
 The day before her intended departure, while Mrs. 
 Hunter was out for a call, Catharine was surprised by 
 
52 THE EEBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 fche arrival of Mr. Garland, a near neighbor of Major 
 Hunter, whom she had known and highly esteemed at 
 Hunter Hills. 
 
 He had come to inform them that the major had taken 
 a heavy cold on his way home, which had produced a 
 fever and inflammation of the lungs, and that he had 
 now a racking cough, and every symptom of a quick 
 consumption. He had no one hut slaves to attend him ; 
 believed it was his last illness, and was very anxious to 
 see his wife and children before his departure. If his 
 wife refused to come, as he feared she might, he begged 
 Catharine, whom he regarded as a daughter, to come to 
 him with his younger children. 
 
 Catharine was deeply affected by this news, for she 
 loved the desolate old man as a father. As it was 
 but a dozen miles out of her way, she readily promised 
 to accompany Mr. Garland the next morning. 
 
 When Mrs. Hunter arrived, Catharine left the room ; 
 but she knew afterwards that she and Mr. Garland had 
 a very exciting interview. She was wilful and unrea- 
 sonable : she would not believe in the reports of her hus- 
 band's danger. She knew that he had sent for them to 
 get her away from Eichmond, and prevent her using 
 her wealth and influence, as she designed, in the cause of 
 the rebellion. 
 
 And for that reason she utterly refused to return to 
 Hunter Hills, or let her children go with Catharine, 
 with whom she was vexed because she was going to 
 leave her. Mr. Garland tried to reason the case ; but, 
 finding it only angered her, he desisted, and left the 
 bouse. 
 
 But there was, unfortunately, a listener to this inter- 
 view, who was deeply affected by it, and who made big 
 
FA^MTLY JAES. — THE ELOPEMENT. 53 
 
 presence known by his bitter sobs as soon as it was 
 over. This was Walter, Mrs. Hunter's little son, wlio 
 happened to be sitting in a window-seat, and thus be- 
 came an unnoticed observer of all that transpired. 
 
 This boy, who w^as ten years old, and the youngest 
 and pet of the flock, almost worshipped his old father. 
 He had wondered, and questioned and worried liis 
 mother continually regarding his absence, and was now 
 wounded in his tenderest feelings to have the truth 
 made known to him in such a vfny. 
 
 " My father ill, — dying ! and the mother I love so 
 bitter against him for such a cause ! " he exclaimed, as 
 he threw himself at her feet, and besought her to take 
 him to his poor father. 
 
 Not without reason, Mrs. Hunter was extremely proud 
 of Jennie and Fannie, her beautiful and amiable daugh- 
 ters ; but this boy she almost worshipped, he was so 
 spirited, handsome, and talented, her youngest-born, 
 and her only son. But she was angrj^ and unreasona- 
 ble at that moment ; so she rebuked him sharply for his 
 eavesdropping, and sent him from the room without lis- 
 tening to his exonerating explanations. 
 
 Alas ! she little dreamed of all the consequences to 
 him, to herself, to Catharine, and all with wdiom she was 
 connected, that would result from that thoughtless act. 
 
 Col. Atherton had been away from home for a week, 
 and of course knew nothing of Catharine's early depar- 
 ture. But Philip did know of it; and he grew more 
 restless, moody, and taciturn every day. Just before 
 sunset the last evening of her sta}'', he drove up in an 
 open buggy; and, as the family were just about getting 
 into the carriage for a drive, he asked Catharine to rida 
 with him. 
 
 5* 
 
54 THE REBEL GENERAl's LOYAL EEmE. 
 
 Prom one excuse and another, she had alwa^^s refused 
 before ; but now, encouraged b}'' jMrs. Hunter, as it was 
 her last day with them, she accepted the invitation. 
 
 It was a delicious June evening,^ and the streets were 
 thronged with people, — on foot, on horseback, and in 
 carriages; many of them richly dressed, or in glittering 
 uniforms, — so suggestive of coming events, — seem- 
 ingly so far off, and yet, alas, liow near ! 
 
 Philip, too, was in the stjrlish uniform of a staff- 
 officer ; and he looked so handsome and manly, with his 
 fine form, jetty hair and eyes, and clear-cut features, 
 that Catharine could not help admiring him, as he sat 
 beside her, even though she doubted his principles, sus- 
 pected his past conduct, and felt as if it were wrong for 
 her to have any thing to do with him. 
 
 The sun went down in a sea of golden glory, tingeing 
 the church-spires, and tops of the loftiest buildings, with 
 a glittering halo ; and the sweetest perfumes were 
 w^afted upon every breeze, from the thousands of beauti- 
 ful flowers that were blooming all around them. And 
 the bands, plaj^ng martial airs in the distance, con- 
 tributed, with all other pleasing sights and sounds, to 
 lull the senses into a happy forgetful ness of the past, 
 and a serene enjoyment of the beauty and harmony all 
 around them. They rode on for some time in perfect 
 silence, — she looking and listening, yet never dream- 
 ing of the struggle going on in his bosom ; he oblivious 
 of outward objects, yet keenly sensitive to the strife 
 within, and trying in vain to make up his mind how to 
 act. 
 
 lie had never fully realized, till they were about to 
 part, how dear Catharine had become to him, how 
 necessary ske was to his happiness. But, though pas- 
 
FAMILY Jx\ES. — THE ELOPEMENT. 55 
 
 sioii clamored, pride still held liiiu in chains ; and he 
 could not make up his mind to speak the words that, he 
 believed, would make her his own forever. That she 
 would refuse to wed one of his high birth, manly beauty, 
 and large fortune, he could not believe. But could he, 
 with all those advantages, — he, who knew he could 
 choose from some of the greatest beauties and fortunes 
 in tlie realm, — wed a portionless Northern bride, who 
 mocked at slavery,.despised his opinions, and, more than 
 all, loved another better than himself? No: he could 
 not bow down his pride to that, or wed one whom 
 he thought Nell and his proud father would despise. 
 
 And yet how he loved her ! How could he bear to 
 part with her. He drove out among the green fields, 
 lowing kine, and fine country residences, where every 
 thing breathed of peace ; and for some time Catharine 
 did not observe his unusual taciturnity. 
 
 " Catharine," he said at last in a tone not unmingled 
 with emotion, " why will you leave us ? Will no 
 Southern heart or home content vou Ioniser?" 
 
 " I have no claim upon any of them ; and it is time 
 the weary, wandering bird should seek its parent-nest," 
 said she, smiling. 
 
 " You have long been weaned from that, Catharine, 
 and, if you will only stay with us, may one day have a 
 warm nest of your own;" and he flashed upon her a 
 glance of peculiar meaning. 
 
 " I do not want one. I feel myself more of an alien 
 among your people every day. Our thoughts and views 
 and feelings are of a different color; and among you I 
 should never feel perfectly at home." 
 
 '• You did not tell Lloj^d Hunter so," said he sourly. 
 
 " How know you what I told Lloyd Hunter?" and 
 the telltale blood surged over Catharine's face. 
 
56 THE EEBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRmE. 
 
 "I have heard that you were engaged to him at one 
 time." 
 
 "Perhaps you know how I was disengaged? " 
 
 "No : I do not. But I would really like to know." 
 
 " When you see him, you can ask." 
 
 "I would not ask him now for a kingdom; nor do 1 
 care, if you will only forget him, and think of me." 
 
 " I shall never forget him or the lesson I have learned 
 through him. I shall treasure it as a warning through 
 life." 
 
 " Throw it to the winds. He is a moody, critical, 
 cold-hearted fellow, who is never of the same mind long 
 at a time. Whoever has him is to be pitied." 
 
 "I do not think so," said Catharine mournfully. "I 
 still believe him to be one of God's and Nature's noble- 
 men, — high-principled, pure, and true, yet not above be- 
 ing deceived and wronged." 
 
 " How can you think so highly of one who proved 
 himself to be so inconstant and changeable?" he said 
 with a guilty, conscious flush. 
 
 " I would be just to otliers whether they are so to me 
 or not, especially when I believe they mean to be. That 
 higher Power who shapes our destinies probably sees 
 that it is not best for me to stay here, with all my 
 Northern prejudices, through a bloody war; so he orders 
 it otherwise." 
 
 " I do not believe that ; yet I do think you will be in 
 great danger to go to the North alone and unprotected 
 at the present time. Por the country between here and 
 Washington is already alive with armed men, some of 
 them villains of the deepest dye, gathered from among 
 the uncivilized borderers of the frontiers, wdio are ready 
 to stop trainS;^ waj^lay travellers, or commit any other 
 lawless deed for the sake of plunder." 
 
FAMILY JARS. — THE ELOPEMENT. 57 
 
 " Then the sooner I get out of it the better," 
 
 "No, Catharine: you had better stay in Richmond, 
 where there are those who will guard you from all dan- 
 ger, — those who love you well enough to lay down 
 their lives for you." 
 
 " That is all moonshine, Philip ; though, as regards 
 the danger, there may be truth in what you say." 
 
 "Believe me, it is not all moonshine, Catharine. 
 You do not realize your power over human hearts." 
 
 " You and I have heard a great many thrilling tales 
 of deathless affection, Philip ; but I, at least, have got 
 past believing them," said Catharine, with a scornful 
 curve to her expressive lip. 
 
 "Don't you believe that J love you thus, dear Catha- 
 rine ? " 
 
 "No," she quickly responded, blushing, and drawing 
 herself up with a haughty dignity. 
 
 "But I do most truly and ferventl}'-," he said, almost 
 in spite of himself; "and I would do almost any thing 
 to win a return ! " His every look and tone testified to 
 his sincerity. 
 
 " You surprise and pain me by such doubtful profes- 
 sions, Philip. Must I believe they are such as you 
 make to every lady of your acquaintance ? " 
 
 "jSTo, indeed! But why should you doubt?" he 
 asked, with an angry flush, and keen, questioning 
 glance. 
 
 " Because I had supposed you all this time engaged 
 to my friend, Grace Tremont." 
 
 " Grace Tremont indeed ! " and Philip's face grew 
 dark with rage at the thought of the indignity of her 
 refusal. " I was once engaged to Grace Tremont : I 
 am not now. I would not marry her now, if she had 
 
58 THE BEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 the wealth of the Indies at her disposal, and knelt to me 
 for the favor.'-' 
 
 " You surprise me : I thought you were the best of 
 friends." 
 
 " TVe were once : now we are bitter enemies. But, 
 Catharine, I solemnly swear to you, that I never, never 
 loved Grace Tremont as I now love you. I admired 
 you more than all others in our earlier years ; and, had 
 you favored me, I believe I should have loved and been 
 more worthy of you than I am to-day. But, such as I 
 am, I feel for you now a stronger love and a wilder wor- 
 ship. And if, for my sake, you would stay in the Old 
 Dominion, forget the past, and love me as well as you 
 could, I would be everlastingly grateful, and allow you 
 to mould me into your highest ideas of perfection and 
 virtue." 
 
 " Could I make of you a good Christian, and a patriotic 
 Union man ? " said Catliarine, vrho had little faith in 
 his rhapsodies, and could not help putting a little sar- 
 casm into her tones and words. 
 
 " I don't know but your love might Christianize me, 
 Catharine. I believe myself as patriotic as any man in 
 the nation. I would lay down my life for Old Virginia, 
 God bless her ! And no one is more strongly in favor 
 of Union, — a union with you, dear Catharine, than 
 myself," said he, smiling. 
 
 '• You know that is not what I mean, Philip," said 
 she seriously, '^ as well as you know that you are sol- 
 emnly pledged to do all in your power to divide this glo- 
 rious Union, and give the death-blow to our national 
 Ufe." 
 
 *'I do not deny it. Yet did I not hear you say this 
 afternoon, that difference of political opinion ought never 
 to divide true friends ? " 
 
FAMILY JAES. — THE ELOPEMENT. 59 
 
 ''Nor had it, wlien, like your uncle and annt, to 
 whom I referred, they have sworn before God to love and 
 to cherish each other till death. This we have not done; 
 nor would I now, under any circumstances I can think 
 of, to any man, love him as I might, whom I believed to 
 be an eneni}' to my country." 
 
 '• And you regard me as one : do you ? '* he eagerly 
 questioned. 
 
 " I regard every man as one who takes up arms 
 against our lawful government, and schemes and plots 
 to overthrow it." 
 
 " You say this deliberately, when you know that I ac- 
 knov.-ledge no allegiance, except to my native State, and 
 shall do all I can to uphold her in her right of sover- 
 eignty." 
 
 '- 1 do, Philip. And yet I would give all I have to be 
 able to convince you, and all other misguided Southern- 
 ers, of the fallacy of a doctrine tliat is about to plunge 
 this country into a horrid civil war, which, if it does 
 come, will drench the land in blood. It may be yours 
 — or Theodore's." 
 
 "Don't talk of that: it makes me shiver. Let us 
 Ijope it w^ill not come to so deadl}^ an issue." 
 
 " God grant it ! But it must be getting late. How 
 far are we from the city ? " 
 
 " Some six or eight miles perhaps." 
 
 " Six or eight miles ! Why, it will be ten o'clock be- 
 fore we get home ! What will Mrs. Hunter say ? '^ 
 
 "I don't care. But, Catharine, do you know how 
 strongly I am tempted to run away with you, and hide 
 you somewhere, to prevent your going home?" he said, 
 as he wheeled around in the homeward direction. 
 
 " You would not do so mean a thing as that." 
 
60 THE KEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 "I don't know but I would: the thought of parting 
 with you is not a pleasant one. Wliy won't you show 
 me some present favor, or at least give me a promise 
 to come ba<;k to Hiclimond, after making the major a 
 visit ? " 
 
 "]S"o promise between a secessionist and a Yankee 
 will be good for any thing, if tliis war goes on." 
 
 "Just make me one, and see." 
 
 "No, Philip. It is too serious a subject to trifle with. 
 I am grateful for 3'our good opinion, and the pleasure 
 your society has afforded me ; though I did not dream 
 you had any serious object in seeking mine." 
 
 "Nor had I, till you bewitched my senses, and wiled 
 my heart away from me." 
 
 "Pretty Bess Hamilton can wile it back again." 
 
 " Bess Hamilton is a pretty coquette, but less than 
 nothiuGT to me." 
 
 " As I shall be, after a week's absence." 
 
 "Catharine, why is it that you trifle with my affec- 
 tion, and have so little regard for my deepest and ten- 
 derest feelings?" he passionately exclaimed. 
 
 "Forgive me if I have wronged you, Philip, or under- 
 valued your affection. I do not mean to trifle with any 
 man's feelings. I was simply trying to do right." 
 
 " How, pray, and wherefore ? " 
 
 "Philip," she said, blushing, liesitating, and smiling, 
 "do you not know that you are a very handsome, ^^ol- 
 ished, and fascinating young gentleman ; and that, if one 
 liad no previous prejDossessions, it would be just the easi- 
 est thing in the world to love you ? " 
 
 " Why don't you then ? " said he eagerly. 
 
 " You do not need to be told, Philip. There are some 
 who can never love but one. But would you be satisfied 
 
FA3irLY JARS. — THE ELOPEMENT. 61 
 
 to have a poor, dependent, but ambitious girl pretend 
 to an affection she did not feel, for the sake of winning 
 your name, position, and large fortune ? " 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 "Say no more then. Do not add to my temptations, 
 but let us part in friendsliip." 
 
 Pie took the hand she offered, pressed it passionately 
 to his lips, then threw it from him ; and little more was 
 said during the remainder of the ride. They got home 
 at last ; but, as soon as they entered the house, a new 
 trouble presented itself 
 
 Little Walter was gone, — no one knew what had be- 
 come of him ; and Mrs. Hunter had been in paroxysms 
 of fear, lest some evil liad befallen her beautiful boy. 
 A little note was found at last upon her dressing-table, 
 printed with a pen, telling her that he had taken the 
 money given him for a Christmas present to buy a 
 ticket, and was going on the cars to see his dear father. 
 He hoped she would forgive, and take no trouble about 
 him, and come with the girls very soon. 
 
 When this note was found, Mrs. Hunter's fear turned 
 to anger ; and she told Catharine to " send the little ras- 
 cal home just as soon as she got to Hunter Hills." 
 
 There were a good many last things to do, a good 
 many last words to be spoken; and it was very late be- 
 fore they retired to rest. 
 
 Catharine's mind was so troubled about her affair with 
 Philip, Walter's curious escapade, and the dread pres- 
 cience of coming events, that she did not sleep at all 
 this last night of her stay in Richmond. 
 
 6 
 
CHAPTEE ly. 
 
 THE REBEL GENERAL. THE PROPOSAL. 
 
 \R. GAEL AND called for Catharine quite 
 early the next morning, as he had promised; 
 but it was onl}^ to bring his excuses. 
 
 He had found it necessary to remain a 
 few days longer in town. If she did not like to wait, he 
 would take her to the cars, and place her under the care 
 of a good and true friend of liis, who was going out to 
 Hunter Hills to make the major a visit. 
 
 Catharine was all read}', and dressed for tlie journey. 
 She was deeply anxious to go home as soon as possible, 
 and did not like to wait longer. So, tearfully kissing 
 and bidding the family and servants "Good-by,'^ she 
 entered the carriage, and was driven to the depot. 
 
 They were just in time. Mr. Garland procured her a 
 ticket, and checks for her baggage, found her a conve- 
 nient seat ; and she was just thanking him for all his kind- 
 ness when the whistle sounded. He turned around 
 quickly, presented his friend, CoL Atherton, who came 
 smilingly up at that moment, bade her '^ Good-morning,'' 
 and immediately left the train. 
 
 Catharine was confounded. She had not dreamed of 
 her escort being any one she knew, — least of all the 
 father of Philip Atherton, who, though she knew it not, 
 
 62 
 
THE EEBEL GENERAL. — THE PROPOSAL. G3 
 
 had contrived business to detain Mr. Garland in Rich- 
 mond, that he might have the pleasure of her company 
 to Hunter Hills. 
 
 He was going out, it was true, to make one more ef- 
 fort to win over the old major to the secession cause ; 
 though but for his ''meeting with Mr. Garland, and 
 knowledge of her proposed journey, he would have 
 waited a few days longer. He did not suffer this to be 
 seen, however; and she had not the least suspicion of 
 his object, when, with a polite bow and " By your 
 leave,'' he took the vacant seat beside her. 
 
 Of course there could be no refusal of the companion- 
 ship of one of whose escort any lady in Kichmond would 
 have been proud. So she blushed, bowed a silent acqui- 
 escence, and rather unquietly settled down beside him. 
 Though he had a son of twenty-five, Col. Atherton 
 was at this time, four years less than fifty. Though not 
 a handsome man, he was vet so distinsjuished in his 
 personal appearance, that you would instantly have 
 selected him, out of a hundred promiscuously-gathered 
 men, as the superior in ability to nearly every one. He 
 was full six feet high, with a form of jDerfect symmetry, 
 dark, unsilvered hair, a high, broad brow, prominent 
 Roman nose, and an eye at once black, penetrating, and 
 magnetic. His features were marked, decided, and stern 
 in repose; yet when he smiled, as he did rarelj^, they 
 lighted up with a. most genial and magical glow. Edu- 
 cated, talented, and accomplished in all the arts and 
 habits of good society, he was in fact as fine a specimen 
 of a polished Southern gentleman as one would often 
 find. 
 
 He had been quite distinguished as a successful and 
 courageous officer in the war with Mexico. Wise in 
 
64 THE REBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 council, and brave in the field, he was one who was well 
 calculated to be a leader of men. And, though you may 
 not find his name in the list of Confederate officers, you 
 may be sure that the man was there. He was indeed 
 a man whose will was generally the law to those around 
 him, and one, too, who might at times be unscrupulous 
 as to the means to mahe that will a law, though this did 
 not often appear upon the surface of his character. 
 
 Erom the first hour of their acquaintance, Catharine 
 had been conscious of a strange species of fascination in 
 this man's society, — far more indeed than in that of 
 his polished and handsome son. She felt and acknowl- 
 edged his superior ability, dignity, and strength of char- 
 acter. His voice was singularly deep-toned yet melodious. 
 He was specious, eloquent, and highly gifted in conver- 
 sation. She had often found herself listening spell-bound 
 to his descriptions of thrilling scenes in the Mexican 
 war, as well as of distinguished persons and places in 
 foreign lands. And when he had talked to her of slav- 
 ery and secession, and the rights and wrongs of the 
 South, with the justice of her demands upon the nation, 
 and of the grasping, over-reaching spirit of our aSTorthern 
 people, he would succeed so well in making '' the worse 
 appear the better reason," that she would be almost con- 
 vinced of the truth of his side of the argument, and ready, 
 in spirit, to yield to all the South demanded. In his pres- 
 ence, her spirit bowed to his superior will, and strength 
 of intellect. His deep, melodious tones enchained her 
 attention in a room where the sound of many voices 
 mingled. His eye held and attracted hers by a species 
 of magnetism, which she felt, but for which she could 
 give no reason. Did she love him then, this stern, 
 domineering, unscrupulous man of more than twice her 
 
THE EEBEL GENERAL. — THE PROPOSAL. (j5 
 
 own age ? Far from it. She was uneasy in his presence, 
 and though conscious of a strong attraction towards him, 
 yet felt a stronger and more irresistible one to got 
 out of the danger as soon as possible. And now, when 
 he sat down beside her, — nearer than he had ever been in 
 her life before, — a strange thrill that was almost a shud- 
 der crept through her frame ; and a sudden but intangible 
 fear, like a warning shadow, swept across her mental 
 sky. It was dispelled the next moment, however, by 
 the sound of his voice, as he said, with one of his rarest 
 smiles and most winning tones, — 
 
 ^' I hardly know whether you accepted or rejected my 
 escort, Miss Hale, the cars started so suddenly." 
 
 " Oh ! I would like it, if it is not too much trouble to 
 you, sir," she returne(^ with a bright blush and a slight 
 tremor in her tones ; '' though I am not afraid to go 
 alone." 
 
 " It is no trouble, but really a positive pleasure to me 
 to have such society as yours to beguile the monotony 
 of the ride to Hunter Hills." 
 
 " To judge by what I see around me, you might have 
 that which would far better suit your taste," said Cath- 
 arine ; for she began to observe that the train was crowded 
 to its utmost capacity by soldiers, and officers in full 
 uniform, some of whom she knew, and that there were 
 very few ladies on the train. 
 
 " A thing is precious just in proportion to its scar- 
 city," said the colonel, smiling as he read her thought. 
 " I presume there are few gentlemen present who do 
 not envy me the pleasure that no temptation would in- 
 duce me to resign to them." 
 
 " Grallant speeches are a part of a soldier's tactics, I 
 
6Q THE EEBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 believe," said she, smiling ; " and ladies are wise who 
 do not attach too much meanins: to them." 
 
 " Soldiers have eyes and ears and hearts, too. Miss 
 Hale. And sometimes — as in the present instance — 
 they mean more than their words imply," he said with a 
 look so admiring and significant as to startle and set 
 her to thinking. 
 
 Could it he possible that this stern man, old enough 
 to be her father, could have a serious thought of her, a 
 poor Yankee governess, and abolitionist at that ? Or 
 could it be that Philip had told him of his partiality, 
 and begged his intercession with her in his behalf. He 
 would not get it if he had : she felt sure of that. And 
 she was glad that no love for Philip bowed her own 
 honest pride down to the feet of so haughty a race. If 
 Col. Atherton knew any thing about her aftair with 
 Philip, he was glad, no doubt, to assist in getting her 
 out of the country. 
 
 While she sat thinking thus, with her ej'es cast down, 
 the colonel was seriously regarding her, but with very 
 different feelings from what she had imagined. He knew 
 nothing of Philip's passion, and had enougli to do to 
 master his own conflicting emotions. She instinctively 
 shrank from the strange light in his eyes when she 
 raised hers to ask why so many of the soldiery were 
 on board that day. 
 
 " I don't know that there are more than there has 
 been every day for weeks," he replied. "You must 
 know that large bodies of troops from North and South 
 are massing upon the line of the Potomac ; that collisions 
 are of daily occurrence ; and that we are probably on 
 the eve of a bloody civil war," he continued in a low, 
 solemn tone. 
 
THE REBEL GENERAL. — THE PROPOSAL. 67 
 
 " I read and hear so, but have hardly begun to realize 
 it yet. It does not seem possible that our people can be 
 so mad as to imbrue their hands in each other's blood. 
 Oh ! vihj will you not accept such terms as the govern- 
 ment can honorably offer, and cease this strife about 
 slavery ? " 
 
 " Because slavery is the strength, the vitality, the life- 
 blood of the South, and we should be slaves ourselves 
 were we to yield up the right to extend it as we please. 
 But we have discussed this subject before ; and this 
 is not the place for it, if we had not," he said in a 
 lower tone, as he saw the attention of the people around 
 began to be attracted by their conversation. 
 
 Little more was said of special importance during 
 the remainder of the ride ; though Col. Atherton sought, 
 by many little attentions, to establish an interest, and 
 secure a confidential intercourse, with his fair compan- 
 ion. 
 
 When at last, sometime in the afternoon, they reached 
 the station nearest to Hunter Hills, they found, as they 
 expected, Mr. Garland's carriage awaiting them. After 
 partaking of some refreshments, they entered the car- 
 riage for a drive of twelve miles. Once on board, seated 
 side by side and alone, as the driver was on the outside, 
 Col. Atherton's manner changed very perceptibly. 
 
 " I have been greatly concerned to hear that you- are 
 about to leave Virginia, Miss Hale," he said in deeply- 
 earnest tones. 
 
 " And glad to get rid of even a female representative 
 of the ^Yankee abolition nation,' I presume;" and Cath- 
 arine tried to laugh off the uneasiness she began to feel 
 by using an expression she had often heard at the 
 South. 
 
68 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 "No," he exclaimed with sudden energy, and a look 
 that thrilled her. "You should never go home if I 
 could help it." 
 
 " Why, surely, surely, you do not suspect me of tam- 
 pering with the slaves ? " 
 
 " No ; hut rather with their masters, whom you are 
 rohhing of their hest treasures," he replied, smiling at 
 her frightened look. 
 
 "You are pleased to joke, sir. But really I am hegin- 
 ning to fear that I have tarried here too long, and tliat 
 my journey home will he a serious if not a dangerous 
 undertaking." 
 
 "That is perfectly true. If you had gone home, 
 instead of coming to Richmond, last winter, you could 
 have done so in perfect safety, and saved more than 
 one from a heartache. As it is, I think you had better 
 remain here. And indeed we cannot allow you to leave 
 us." 
 
 "But I must. I fear I am unsafe here even now." 
 
 "There is a way in which you can easily become 
 safe." 
 
 " How is that ? " she eagerly asked. 
 
 " By casting your prejudices to the winds, and be- 
 coming one of us," he said with a keen, searching 
 glance. 
 
 "That is impossible: they are ingrained in my 
 whole being. And besides, you Southern aristocrats 
 with whom I have associated as an inferior would 
 never consider a poor Yankee governess your equaL 
 At home I am as good as anybody ; and I can never 
 feel, and I will not acknowledge, my inferiority to the 
 best of you, or allow myself to sink to a lower level." 
 
 " I do not ask it, or wish to lower you from your lof- 
 
THE EEBEL GENERAI.. — THE PROPOSAL. 69 
 
 tiest standard," he said, smiling at her spirited words, 
 and proud, queenly manner. " We have prejudices, I 
 must admit, and strong ones, against your people as a 
 class ; and perhaps we do them some injustice : but we 
 have none whatever against yourself; you have overcome 
 them all. You are better and nobler than the race 
 whence you sprung. We admire your beauty and tal- 
 ents. We acknowledge your superior powers, and would 
 gladly exalt them to the high station you are so well 
 fitted to adorn." 
 
 Catharine, even now, had no suspicion of the colonel's 
 object in addressing her thus ; so she indignantly an- 
 swered, '- 1 will not suffer you. Col. Atherton, to flatter 
 me at the expense of my race and ancestry. There 
 are thousands of Northern girls who are my equal, and 
 even my superior, in every quality that can ennoble 
 and exalt the sex. And you wrong and undervalue our 
 men when you place them so low as you do in the 
 scale of courage, ability, generosity of soul, and all 
 human excellence. You will find this out to your cost, 
 if this dreadful war goes on ; though God grant that 
 it may not come to a fearful issue ! " 
 
 '•That issue has already come. Miss Hale, — from 
 which there is now no honorable mode of retreat." 
 
 " Oh, there is, — there must be ! And let me entreat 
 of you, Col. Atherton, to use your great influence towards 
 the peace and harmony of the nation." 
 
 '' Your abolition President inaugurated war when he 
 re-enforced forts and fortresses, and set State rights at 
 defiance. The war must come." 
 
 " Must ! Oh, I believe I could lay down my life to 
 prevent a strife in which thousands of other lives must 
 be sacrificed ! " 
 
70 THE EEBEL GEXERAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 "I think you overestimate the danger. Your people 
 had rather work and traffic than fight ; so it will soon 
 be over. And you can do better with your life than to 
 sacrifice it, even in thought, to a chimera." 
 
 "Perhaps not. Life is but a series of troubles and 
 disappointments ; and death is sometimes welcome." 
 
 "But not to one like you, whose life would be the 
 most precious thing of earth to him whose home your 
 love would make a paradise." 
 
 "That home and that him, I think, will never be 
 found by me," smiled Cutharme. " The only home 
 upon which I have a claim seems a great way off just 
 now, with rivers of trouble rolling between it and me." 
 
 "There is a- home and a him on this side of that 
 river, — a home of beauty and wealth, comfort and 
 luxury, awaiting your acceptance ; whose owner would 
 endeavor to make it a paradise, if you would become its 
 mistress. Won't you, fair Catharine ? " and he eagerly 
 grasped her hand, and looked searchingly into her deep 
 blue, downcast eyes for his reply. 
 
 "Whose, — whose do you mean ? " she asked tremu- 
 lously. 
 
 " Mine ! mine alone ! " 
 
 "Then Philip has not" — 
 
 "' Philip has had nothing to do with it, and dare not 
 interfere with my wishes. It is I, Edward Atherton, 
 who ask you to become my wife, the sharer of my des- 
 tiny, and to make a hitherto joyless home a happy one," 
 he said in a tone of deep emotion. "Will you do so?" 
 
 She was really frightened now ; and her hand trem- 
 bled like a leaf in his strong clasp. He felt it ; and her 
 rapidly-changing color and continued silence alarmed 
 him at once. 
 
THE REBEL GENERAL. — THE PROrOSAL. 71 
 
 " Is there indeed no hope for me ? " he eagerly ques- 
 tioned. " Do I seem old and repulsive to you, Catha- 
 rine ? " 
 
 "oSTo, no! But this is so sudden, so wholly unex- 
 pected ! " she gasped. 
 
 " But Philip, — you mentioned his name. Has he 
 indeed dared to rival me ? " he exclaimed with a dark- 
 ening frown. 
 
 " Col. Atherton, there must be no question of rivalry 
 between you two. If there were, I might prefer the 
 elder to the younger. But I think now of other and 
 more insuperable objections, — one of the strongest of 
 which is, that I have loved another too w^ell ever, 
 ever to love you, or any other man, as a wife ought to 
 love her husband," she murmured blushinglj^ 
 
 "Oh! I know, and deeply regret, all that; yet I 
 would heal the wounds another has made in your heart 
 by his inconstancy. I believe there is a strong chord 
 of sympathy between our souls, and that I can teach 
 you to love me better than you ever did him. I hnow 
 you could not resist the power of the deep, strong pas- 
 sion I feel for you, if you were once my wife ! " and his 
 eager, ardent looks and eloquent tones testified at least 
 to his truth and sincerity. 
 
 "Possibly it might be so. Col. Atherton. I know 
 you are strongly attractive : it may be that I might 
 learn to love you. And yet, if I did; our home could 
 never be a happy one ; for, aside from those strong 
 political prejudices, that would be sure to breed strife, 1 
 know that your children would hate me as they would a 
 viper, and surely make my life wretched; while your 
 other friends would look down upon me." 
 
 " Must I, then, be beholden to children and friends 
 
72 THE PwEBEL GEXERAL'S LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 for the happiness or misery of my whole future life ? " 
 said he passionately. ^' I yielded all once to their solici- 
 tations. I married one older than myself, whom I did 
 not love, to please her and them by securing her for- 
 tune. Knowing well that she had bought me, body and 
 soul, she was ever inclined to treat me as a slave, until 
 the inheritance of wealth greater than her own made 
 me in her eyes her equal. There could be no happiness 
 in such a union ; and, when it was broken by death, I 
 resolved never to form another. It had defrauded my 
 youth of love, the sole creator and diffuser of happi- 
 ness ; and I had grown to be a disbeliever in its exist- 
 ence until I met with you. I had then been a wid- 
 ower for years, and had seen hundreds of beautiful and 
 talented ladies, who might perhaps have been won, 
 without a wish to make them mine. But you took 
 my heart by storm before we had exchanged a word. 
 You were betrothed, and unapproachable to me then ; 
 but fate ordained that we should meet again under other 
 circumstances. And our familiar intercourse in Rich- 
 mond has served to strengthen the bond by which you 
 lead me, until it has brought me here, an humble sup- 
 pliant for your favor. Catharine ! must my loveless 
 youth, my defrauded manhood, my unbounded love, plead 
 in vain to you for affection and sympathy ? " 
 
 Her heart was softened by his eloquent appeal. Lloyd 
 Hunter had deserted her ; and she was sure she never 
 would find another who would love her so fondly : so there 
 were t«ars in her eyes as she said, — 
 
 " I do sympathize with you. Col. Atherton. I am 
 deeply grateful for your preference ; and if you were 
 alone in the world, and engaged in what I considered a 
 holier cause, I could almost find it in my heart to respond 
 
THE EEBEL GENERAL. — THE PROPOSAL. 73 
 
 as you wish. As it is, I do not dream of it. Your 
 family have demands upon you that cannot be silenced 
 or ignored. And more than all, and above all minor 
 considerations, we stand, in a national point of view, in 
 the light of mortal enemies. You are, if I mistake not, 
 a leading conspirator against what I consider our lawful 
 government, and all too soon probably will be in arms 
 against my country and my own kindred. I hear noth- 
 ing from them of late ; but I know their patriotic spirit 
 too well to believe my brothers will hesitate one moment 
 in offering their lives and services to their country. 
 Without doubt, they are already upon the banks of the 
 Potomac, awaiting the terrible onset ; and God's curse 
 would fall on me, were I to send a husband in all the 
 panoply of arms against them. So, if there were no 
 other reasons in the universe for declining your suit, Col. 
 Atherton, this alone would compel me to do it." 
 
 "Must, then, my devotion to what I consider a just 
 cause prevent and blast the happiness of my whole future 
 life ? Oh ! it is a fearful price to pay for a mere difference 
 of opinion." 
 
 " Col. Atherton, if this war goes on, you will have to 
 pay a far greater price than that. Por what is one man's 
 happiness or misery to the devastation by fire and sword 
 of all this beautiful land, the bloody sacrifice of thou- 
 sands of her best and noblest sons, and the utter ruin 
 of numberless happy families ? Oh ! I beseech you, by all 
 you hold dear on earth, to give up this wild scheme of 
 separation from the Union, to return to your allegiance, 
 and to use your eloquent tongue and noblest powers in 
 persuading others to give up this mad plan of secession." 
 
 "No, Catharine, I cannot do it, even though your 
 love, the most precious treasure of earth, were to repay 
 
74 THE REBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 me ; for I have had too much to do with planning and 
 forwarding this grand scheme of secession to retreat from 
 it now iugloriously, without covering my name with 
 infamy and dishonor. I helieve with my whole soul 
 that the North and South' have such different interests, 
 tastes, and feelings, that they can never live and work to- 
 gether harmoniously. They must separate. And it 
 may as well be now as ever. I have thoroughly studied 
 the principles of human governments. 'I know that 
 republics are but the resource of small communities : 
 they are never adopted by mature nations, who have 
 passed the period of pupilage. We have outgrown that ; 
 and are now impatient of a system founded on past 
 necessities.' We of the old noble Cavalier descent, too, 
 are impatient of the domination of the descendants of 
 the old Puritan exiles of New England, who come from a 
 far lower grade in society." 
 
 " Why, then, do jou desire to ally yourself with one of 
 their humble descendants ? " said Catharine with spirit. 
 
 " Because you have talents of the highest order, and a 
 spirit as soaring and aspiring as my own. You must 
 know that I am a proud, ambitious man, Miss Hale ; and, 
 if I judge you aright, you have enough of those feelings 
 to imderstand mine, when I tell you, that all my hopes 
 and ambitions for the future are centred in this scheme, 
 which is to found one of the grandest empires on the 
 globe. I have already a general's commissiot offered 
 me ; but that is nothing to the positions of honor to which 
 I may attain if our plans succeed. Catharine ! listen 
 for once to the councils of wisdom and prudence. Ee- 
 nounce your cold-hearted Northern people ; become my 
 bride, the idol of my heart and home ; and I will raise 
 you to a position in which your beauty and talents would 
 
THE EEBEL GENERAL. — THE PROPOSAL. 75 
 
 command the homage of a nation. And is it not better 
 to share such honors; to liavc wealth at your disposal 
 for purposes of benevolence; to be able to surround 
 yourself with luxury and splendor; to have every thing 
 that can please the eye and gratify the taste, — than to 
 condemn yourself to a menial station for life, and doom 
 yourself to poverty, toil, and a thousand privations, until 
 death puts an end to your misery ? " 
 
 " It may be so, Col. Atherton. And to an ambitious 
 girl, as you rightly judge that I am, the temptations of 
 wealth and a high social position are almost irresistible. 
 And yet, to my mind, there are worse things in the 
 world than poverty, toil, and an humble position in life." 
 
 " AYhat, I would like to know ? " 
 
 " The continued upbraidings of a guilty conscience, 
 which would be mine, were I to sacrifice principle, home, 
 friends, and the most sacred national and individual ties, 
 to a vain and paltry ambition ; and for that alone to con- 
 sent, by my example and influence, to fasten upon the 
 necks of millions the yoke of a more enduring bond- 
 age. Ah, Col. Atherton, do not try to tempt me further : 
 it can do no good to yourself or me. The prejudices of 
 my Puritan education are too strong to be broken by 
 your fallacious reasoning. And no fear of poverty, toil, 
 or an humble position, shall induce me to renounce princi- 
 ple, and do human nature so foul a wrong." 
 
 " You promised to wed one slaveholder. In what am 
 I worse than he ? " 
 
 " There was not then this fearful issue to contemplate, 
 — no empire founded on slavery talked of; and I hoped 
 to ameliorate the condition of two hundred human 
 beings." 
 
 " I have five times that number, — here and in Georgia. 
 Can you not as well do good to them ? " 
 
76 THE EEBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 " I am wiser now tlian I was then, Col. Atherton. I 
 realize more what slavery is, and is to be." 
 
 " What is it to be ? " he questioned. 
 
 " A bone of contention between North and South, until 
 a mightier hand than ours sweeps it from the face of the 
 continent." 
 
 " There you are grandly mistaken. I believe it is to 
 increase and prosper, until, like a giant tree, it overshadows 
 the whole country. But here we are at Hunter House ; 
 and I have not time to convince you, as I believe I 
 could, if I had the opportunity, that your positions are 
 false, and that we are in the right. Of that I must 
 convince you before we part, for I cannot give you up 
 so. If, as you say, you have no personal objections to 
 me, I shall not take this as your final decision. I want 
 you to think of it well before you positively reject one 
 who loves you as his life, and would gladly surround 
 you with every blessing." 
 
 " Col. Atherton, though I respect, esteem, and even 
 like you personally, I believe that every hour at this 
 time but adds to the weight of my objections." 
 
 " Let us hope not," said he gloomily. " I cannot 
 bear to part with you, Catharine. Oh ! if you were my 
 wife, I would be the happiest man in the universe. For 
 your sake I could resign the hope of fame, broad lands, 
 or the most precious earthly treasure ; but not for jouv 
 love must I consign the honored name that has come 
 down through many generations to shame and infamy." 
 
 "If you were ready to do so, I would not accept the 
 sacrifice. Col. Atherton. I can see very plainly that it is 
 better for us both to part as we are ; and you will see it 
 hereafter. You will see, that, in wedding a poor Yankee 
 governess, you would have yoked yourself most unequally, 
 
THE EEBEL GENERAL. — THE PROPOSAL. 77 
 
 in every way, and filled your life with bitter regrets. 
 I have neitlier wealth nor fame nor power; yet, as a child 
 of the same loving Father, I feel myself your equal. 
 But with the inborn pride, — child of that noble birth of 
 which you boast, — -and the prejudices created by a life- 
 long training, I know that you would not think me your 
 equal long, even though love may blind you now." 
 
 "Do not beheve it. I am no changeling; and I feel 
 that I love you too truly and fervently ever to undervalue 
 you in the least. But we will talk of this further before 
 we part," he said, as he helped her out of the carriage. 
 
 Though it was growing dusk, Walter at this moment 
 discovered, and came running out to meet them. He 
 was delighted to see Catharine and his uncle; but his 
 eyes filled witlr tears when he told them how very ill he 
 had found his father. He had found no difiSculty in get- 
 ting a man at the depot, to bring him home ; and he 
 had a warm welcome at the end of his journey. 
 
 Catharine was surrounded, welcomed, and disrobed by 
 the delighted servants, as soon as she entered the 
 house. They were all eager to hear the news, wonder- 
 ing why mistress did not come home, and anxious to tell 
 all the particulars of master's illness. 
 
 The moment he heard of their arrival. Major Hunter 
 sent for them to come to his room. His face was pale 
 and cadaverous, his cheeks hollow, his eyes sunken and 
 glittering, and his form thin and attenuated, as he lay 
 upon the bed, with Uncle Nick's anxious black face bend- 
 ing over him. They saw at once that he was indeed 
 sadly changed, and felt that his days were numbered. 
 He shook Col. xitherton warmly by the band, and said 
 that he was glad to see him, but drew Catharine down 
 to him, and kissed her tenderly. 
 
78 THE REBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 " Catharine ! " he exclaimed in a faint, feeble tone, 
 "you don't know how I have longed for your presence, 
 and that of my family ; how much I have suffered from 
 pain and loneliness. If you had, I believe you at least 
 would have come to me.'*' 
 
 "I certainl}'' should, my dear friend/"' she returned. 
 *' J came at the earliest possible moment after I knew 
 the truth ; though Walter, it seems, got the start of me." 
 
 " Yes : poor boy ! he has braved his mother's anger, 
 of which she will repent some day. God bless 3^ou for 
 coming ! and grant that it may not lead you into danger 
 in these troublous times." Then, turning to the colonel, 
 he said, " Well, colonel, — or perhaps I ought to say 
 general, — secession begins to work bravely ; don't it ? — 
 you will be getting out a patent for the article. You see 
 I am beginning to reap some of its benefits. You will 
 be getting them by and by. Catharine, dear, you look 
 tired and nervous. Pray, go and get you some tea, and 
 then retire to your room, and sleep off your fatigue ; 
 while the colonel and I will take ours together here, 
 and have a quiet chat." 
 
 She did as he desired, and knew little of their eager, 
 exciting interview, except that it exhausted the major's 
 strength, and was thoroughly unsatisfactory to both." 
 
 The colonel left soon after breakfast next morning, 
 but not before he had sought and obtained an interview 
 with Catharine, and used every argument in his power 
 to induce her to retract her decision. But she was still 
 firm in her refusal ; and, though not unmoved by his elo- 
 quent appeals, felt it impossible to accede to his wishes. 
 She had heard a great deal from the servants since 
 her arrival about the troubled state of the country 
 around the Hunter Hills. Bands of soldiery and guer- 
 
THE REBEL GENERAL. — THE PROPOSAL. 79 
 
 illas were plundering plantations, burning houses, mur- 
 dering unoffending inliabitants, and committing all 
 sorts of lawless depredations. All this tended to excite 
 her fears, and would have hurried her home, if she 
 could have found it in her heart to leave her helpless old 
 friend, who clung to her like a little child. Legging herr 
 to stay with him, and whose life she thought was nearl}' 
 ended. Col. Athertou was sure of this, and thought 
 he might die at any time ; so he encouraged Catharine 
 and little Walter to remain with him to soothe his last 
 hours on earth, and smooth his passage to the tomb. 
 He promised to make the boy's peace with his mother ; 
 persuade her to come to them, if possible ; and, when all 
 was over, to give Catharine a safe-conduct out of the 
 country. They parted in a friendly manner; for, al- 
 thoush his last interview with her had been even more 
 unsatisfactory than the first, he had not yet given up all 
 hope regarding her. Major Hunter had been so ill as to 
 be unable to sit up a moment, worn out by a racking 
 cough, night-sweats, and bloody expectorations; but, 
 cheered by the bright presence, careful nursing, and ten- 
 der attentions of Catharine and little Walter, he soon 
 began to mend. His cough grew easier ; his dangerous 
 symptoms vanished; his strength and appetite gradu- 
 ally returned ; and very soon he was able to sit up, and 
 at last ride out every day. They had saved his life by 
 coming, the doctor said ; and there was now a fair pros- 
 pect of his recovery. What he lived for, when hope had 
 almost ceased, and death would have been a blessing, 
 will be seen presently. 
 
 Col. Atherton wrote to Catharine as any other friend 
 might have done, saying, that he could not persuade 
 Mrs. Hunter to return to her husband ; though she was 
 
80 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRmE. 
 
 willing that Walter should stay, under Catharine's super- 
 vision. He begged her to write, and tell them how the 
 major was ; and whether she had concluded to go, or re- 
 main with him. 
 
 She replied, that the major was much better, but so 
 very anxious for her stay, that she could not find it in 
 her heart to leave him at present; and that Walter, 
 though lonely, could not be induced to leave his dear 
 father. 
 
CHAPTER y. 
 
 BULL RUX. THE OVERSEER. 
 
 fef^fg^ff g ) Hiy GS Lad worn a very serious aspect in 
 f^^'l^^^^^ Virginia for a long time previous to this. 
 Pl^l^v^ The people had thought and talked and 
 ]i?SftrSi^ argued upon the subject of secession ; an«l, 
 tliough there were many strong Unionists, there were 
 more who had played a double game, — mystifying both 
 parties, so as to be able to join the strongest by and 
 
 Xow, however, when large bodies of troops from the 
 more Southern States — the. hot-bed of the rebellion 
 
 -^vere daily arriving, to bully and overawe all who 
 
 were unfavorable to their views, these were obliged to 
 show their colors, and act. As the rebellion gained 
 strength, the bitterness and hostility between the oppos- 
 ing parties grew so hot and deadly as almost to surpass 
 belief. Pillage, murder, and every other known crime, 
 was committed without a scruple of conscience. The 
 whole country was in a state of turmoil and contention. 
 Hundreds of escaping slaves, and bands of desperadoes, 
 rovin"- in every direction, made it unsafe to travel with- 
 out a militar}'- escort, or even to remain at home. 
 
 The tocsin of war, and rebellion against the govern- 
 ment, very naturally sounded like the trump of freedom in 
 
 81 
 
82 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 the ears of the poor slaves : it suggested very strong!}' to 
 them the idea of rebellion against their legal masters. 
 So as soon as hostilities really commenced, and they 
 felt as if there was a friendly arm somewhere to protect 
 them, they began to escape in large numbers. And, 
 even when driven bach at the point of the bayonet by 
 some of our misjudging proslavery officers, they con- 
 tinued to brave death in every form to regain freedom, 
 — " that dearest gift of God to man." This, of course, 
 added a thousand-fold to the turmoil, wretchedness, tmd 
 strife of the people in the border States, and fed the 
 ^res of passion, until the whole country was in a blaze, 
 and the white people -were ready to pour out their blood 
 to regain what was indeed, in most cases, lost to them 
 forever. 
 
 But time sped on, with quite as hurried a march of 
 events as was ever known in the world's history. By 
 the last of June, a hundred thousand patidotic Northern 
 men, fired by the insults offered to their national flag at 
 Sumter, were gathered upon the line of the Potomac to 
 protect the Capitol, — that fancied bulwark of freedom. 
 More than a hundred thousand, well-armed and better 
 equipped, with arms surreptitioiisl}^ obtained from the 
 national armories, faced them upon the opposite shore. 
 Both parties were eager for the contest that was to de- 
 cide their supremacy ; but neither as yet dreamed of 
 the length and breadth and deadliness of the conflict in 
 which they were about to be engaged, or the wonderful 
 events they were preparing to record upon the pages of 
 a world's history. 
 
 Already baftles had been fought at Big Bethel, in 
 Missouri, and in Western Virginia, in which oui 
 N'orthern troops were for the most part victorious, 
 
BULL RUN. — THE OVERSEER. 83 
 
 when the defeat — nay, total rout — of our army in the 
 advance upon Bull Eun cast a shadow upon our na- 
 tional arms, and a pall of deep gloom over the hearts 
 of all who were true and loj^al to their country. It is 
 not our purpose to describe that battle, or dwell upon 
 that terrible disappointment of individual and national 
 hope. We will only say, that it was fought within a few 
 short miles of Hunter Hills, where the sulphurous smoke 
 could be distinctly seen, and the thunderous roar could 
 be heard and felt. 
 
 To describe the feelings of Major Hunter, Catharine, 
 and indeed all who listened to those dread and ominous 
 sounds, during those two dreadful days, would be impos- 
 sible. It seemed as if that sweet July sabbath tliat 
 dawned so brightly and beautifully over the land, would 
 never, never come to an end. This battle had taken 
 them by surprise. They knew the Confederates were 
 massing their troops at Manassas Junction, but noth- 
 ing of the advance of our lines, until the murderous 
 roar saluted their ears. Immediately after this battle, 
 more than ever before, small detachments of troops and 
 bands of gueriUas, flushed with victory, and lusting for 
 rapine and plunder, began scouring the country in all 
 directions. 
 
 Though more than a mile from either of the great 
 thoroughfares, the plantation had already been visited 
 several times by foraging and patrolling parties, to 
 whose demands Major Hunter had been obliged to yield 
 an unwilling assent. Still he would not believe there 
 was really any danger to be apprehended there from 
 opposing factions of his own countrymen. Catharine 
 wished him to go Xorth witli her as soon as he was able 
 to travel, or else back to Eichmond. 
 
84 THE REBEL GEXERAl's LOYAL BPwIDE. 
 
 The first was too dangerous, and was indeed im- 
 practicable then, he said; and, as for the Last, ho 
 never would go back, and force himself into his wife's 
 presence, after she had refused to come to him in his 
 need. No: a man's house was his castle; and he 
 had plenty of arms, and two hundred able defenders, 
 who would figlit till their last breath for him. He 
 would stay there, in spite of every thing; yielding 
 only his substance because his country, however wrongly, 
 demanded it, and had the power to enforce her demands. 
 Catharine, as may well be supposed, was uneasy 
 enough under the circumstances, but, seeing no present 
 mode of escape, tried to content herself, and make the 
 best of it. As it was, she would not have cared so much, 
 had not a new source of annoyance presented itself. 
 
 The old overseer, under whose judicious management 
 the major's affairs had thrived for twenty years, had 
 resigned and gone to the West three years before ; and 
 a new one, a Yankee by birth, had taken his place upon 
 the plantation. Tliis man, whose name was Sweep, was 
 at heart a scheming, unprincipled, time-serving rascal, 
 but had contrived thus far to deceive the major by his 
 speciousness. He was heartily disliked by the slaves, 
 but soon subdued them to his will ; so that they dared 
 make no complaints to the master. Sweep was there 
 when Catharine entered the family ; and as he had none 
 of his own, and frequently took his meals with them, 
 she had a chance to see him almost every day for 
 months. From reasons she could not have explained, 
 she took a dislike to him from the first, though one of 
 her own New-England people, and avoided him when 
 she could. She could not do this as well in the absence 
 of Mrs. Hunter after her return, as he had contrived 
 
BULL KUN. — THE OVERSEER. 85 
 
 to make himself very necessary to the major, and was 
 forever around him when he had the opportunity. So 
 she unavoidably saw a great deal of him, and very 
 soon, to her great annoyance, received from him an offer 
 of marriage, which she politely declined. To Catharine 
 and the major, this man professed Union sentiments; 
 but, from some things she had heard whispered among 
 the slaves, she suspected him of underhanded dealings 
 with the Confederates, and of instigating the raids 
 upon the major's property. 
 
 One evening, a few days after the battle, it was very 
 warm ; and the family at Hunter House were gathered 
 upon the broad piazza, watching the going down of the 
 sun, and the gathering of the evening shadows over the 
 landscape. They were talking of the details of the bat- 
 tle, and the blighting effects of the war upon the coun- 
 try. The major had been sadder and far more depressed 
 that day than usual. Catliarine's music and conversa- 
 tion, and his son's glad voice, seemed to have lost their 
 power to cheer him. And now, as he sat there in his 
 easy-chair, with her on one side of him, and Walter on 
 the other, with one arm thrown lovingly around his 
 father's neck, and the other hand playing with' the 
 tassels of his rich velvet dressing-gown, the old man's 
 head was bent down, and rested on his hand ; and his 
 whole manner betokened the deepest dejection. 
 
 "Catharine," he said at last, raising his head, "I have 
 loved you, I believe, as well as if you were my own child ; 
 and you have done that for me which gold can never 
 repay. Yet I begin to fear I have done you a groat 
 wrong in selfishly keeping you here, when you ought to 
 have gone home. Perhaps, too, I was unwise in refusing 
 to go with you and Walter to Richmond. But you know 
 
 8 
 
86 THE REBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 my reasons. Surrounded by so many strong hands and 
 loving hearts, I felt safe, or I would never have asked 
 you to stay, or kept Walter, whom I might have sent 
 back with his uncle. Yes : I felt safe enough here ; but, 
 strangely enough, last night my sense of safety vanished 
 before a dream. I was told that Hunter House was in 
 ruins ; that the strong arms upon which I leaned were 
 broken reeds that would pierce my heart, and warned to 
 flee at once from some great danger. Now, I never be- 
 lieved in dreams, and I always considered it a mark of 
 weakness to place the least reliance upon them. Yet 
 this one has affected me singularly ; and I cannot get it 
 out of my mind. If it hadn't looked so silly, I don't 
 know but I should have acted upon it to-day by taking 
 you and Walter to Richmond. Perhaps you had better 
 go to-morrow, if you think it safer there than here ; for I 
 would not have you harmed for the world." 
 
 "Oh, do go, papa, and let us all be happy together 
 once more ! " said little Walter with a homesick sob. 
 
 " We may live together ; but we never can be as happy 
 as of yore, my son. I hope you and Catharine may be ; 
 for 3^ou are both young, and may live to see the end of 
 these troublous times." 
 
 " And you too, my friend," said Catharine fervently. 
 "May the dark clouds in your political and domestic hori- 
 zon soon pass over, leaving you to a serene and happy 
 old age ! " 
 
 " I do not hope for it : I know but too well that these 
 troubles are long, while my span of life is short. I have 
 been hoping all along for a peaceful solution to our na- 
 tional difficulties ; but now that blood has been shed, and 
 a victory won, our people will consider themselves invin- 
 cible. No amount of coaxing can win them back j untU 
 
BULL RUN. — THE OVERSEER. 87 
 
 rivers of blood have rolled over the land. Our people 
 are rash and impetuous ; and political fanatics have been 
 kindling the flames of discord among them for years. 
 But still, if the North had been actuated by a conciliat- 
 ing spirit, and yielded what they might without the 
 sacrifice of one particle of honor, this war would never 
 have been. But those old, stiff, puritanical principles 
 that actuate your people would not allow them to do 
 this. They knew that slavery was wrong, and that they 
 wt;re in the right ; so they would not concede one jot to 
 Southern prejudices ; and we must abide by the conse- 
 quences." 
 
 " If our countrymen had known each other better, — 
 known that there were souls as pure and as true, hearts 
 as brave and as tender, and feelings as warm and kind 
 and sensitive, at the South as at the North, — at the 
 East as at the West, — it might never have been," said 
 Catharine with a sigh. ^' I am sure a more thorough 
 knowledge of each other would have dissipated many of 
 our strongest prejudices." 
 
 " That is true ; and yet slavery would have remained 
 a festering sore, a blight and a blot to any nation, and, 
 most of all, to one professing to be free. Yet, if our 
 people had treated their slaves as they ought, there 
 would never have been such a hue and cry about the 
 Fugitive Slave Law, which, first and last, has created more 
 than half the trouble : indeed, there would never have been 
 a Fugitive Slave Law at all. You know how my slaves 
 are treated ; and never, until after Sweep came here, has 
 a single one left my service. He means well, and is a 
 grand hand to get a great deal of work out of a gang ; 
 but I can see that they do not like him as they did Grover. 
 Now, however, the whole band will be scattered. I have 
 
88 THE EEBEL GEXERAL's LOrAL BKIDE. 
 
 already "been obliged to fill a large requisition to work 
 on the defences at Manassas Junction ; and I can see 
 that the time is at hand when this land is to be overrun 
 with hostile armies, — the one battling for slavery, the 
 other strong in the cause of freedom ; yet both devastat- 
 ing the country, and sounding the trump of freedom in 
 the ears of these very slaves for whose possession the 
 South are fighting so madly. They cannot resist that 
 bugle-call. They will rise against their masters. And 
 if, when that time comes, your people are true to the 
 principles they profess, and improve their opportunities, 
 the bond that holds them will not be worth a straw. I 
 told Atherton so when he was here ; but he, like all 
 the rest of the leaders in this rebellion, is thinking more 
 of founding a glorious empire, of which slavery is to be 
 the chief corner-stone, and they the rulers and nobility, 
 than of the interests of humanity, or best good of the 
 nation.'^ 
 
 " Yes : he mentioned some such thing to me." 
 " Ah, he avows it then ? Atherton is not a bad man 
 by any means ; but he is madly ambitious, and as well 
 fitted for a leader in an unjust cause as his daughter was 
 to entice and mislead my apostate son. my God! 
 that he upon whom I had hoped to lean in my old age, 
 should turn traitor to his country, and that my wife and 
 my other children should be joined to their idols, and 
 leave me to die uncared for and alone ! Walter, my 
 youngest-born and dearest child of my old age, sole 
 scion of my house that is left to me, promise me, tliat, 
 whatever liappens, you will ever be true to your God, 
 your whole country, and the noble principles I have 
 taught you ; " and he laid his hand tenderly upon his 
 son's head. 
 
BULL RUN. — THE OVERSEER. 89 
 
 " I swear it," said the noble boy, reverently holding up 
 his hand as he had seen others do. 
 
 " It is enoucrli," said the old man solemnly. ^' I have 
 felt to-day more than ever before, that my life is almost 
 ended. I shall not live to see the close of this war. But 
 when I go, Walter, I shall now have the satisfaction of 
 knowing that I leave one to bear up the name who will 
 never disgrace his noble lineage. I wish he could go to 
 our dear Lucy and her noble husband, who are true and 
 stanch and loyal ; or else home with you, Catharine, for 
 I know you would make of him a good and noble man. 
 But I ought not to ask it ; for you have already had 
 trouble enough to wear the bloom from your cheek. God 
 forscive those who have caused it ! " 
 
 " Don't speak of it," said Catharine tearfully. " It 
 was aU for the best, I am sure. As to our dear little 
 Walter, I would take him if I could ; " and she looked 
 tenderly and pityingly into his great, dark, loving eyes. 
 
 " Well, I suppose that is impossible just now. His 
 mother no doubt will claim him ; and I believe you must 
 take him to Richmond to-morrow. Though the city is 
 wedded to secession, it must be safer there than here, 
 where lawless bands, belonging to no party but Satan's, 
 are roving in every direction. I fear now we are too 
 isolated here to be safe ; so you and Walter had better 
 go. Then, if you still wish to go home, you can caU on 
 Atherton for the pass he promised to give you." 
 
 " But you are not going to remain here, alone and in 
 danger ? " 
 
 " Yes, Catharine. My wife refused to come to me, 
 even when they thought me dying ; so, whatever comes 
 of it, I will not force myself into her presence now. 
 I truly pity and forgive her for what must ever be a 
 
 8* 
 
90 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 weight upon lier conscience. I know my darlings, 
 Jennie and Fannie, would have come to me if they had 
 had a choice ; and I want you to give them my bless- 
 ing." 
 
 As she looked and listened, Catharine's heart began 
 to thrill with a strange feeling of dread. The old gen- 
 tleman seemed quite as well as usual ; yet his pathetic 
 words, solemn tones, and deeply-impressive manner 
 seemed so much like those of a dying old patriarch, that 
 she began to feel as if she was in the presence of death. 
 
 "Major Plunter," she said at last, "you have been 
 very, very kind to me ; and I cannot think of leaving 
 you in danger and alone. If there is a safer place, you 
 must go to it with us to-morrow. "We can go to a hotel, 
 or a friend's house, if you dislike going home." 
 
 "No, Catharine: that would be just publishing our 
 disgrace to the world, — nothing more. But there comes 
 Sweep. I wonder what news he brings to-night." 
 
 The news he did bring was a great many soul-stirring 
 and heart-rending particulars of the late battle ; of 
 the terrible rout of the Union army, which was repre- 
 sented four times as large as it really was ; of the 
 large number of prisoners and wounded who were 
 being carried by every train to E-ichmond ; of the 
 great strength of the fortifications at Manassas, and the 
 arrival of large re-enforcements from the South ; and, 
 finally, that the whole country was full of roving bands, 
 who were stripping and devastating the plantations. 
 
 "It is a horrible state of things," said the major, "but 
 no worse than I have anticipated for months. I have 
 prepared for it as well as I could. Since my return 
 here, sick as I was, I have forwarded, by a trusty hand, 
 most of my money, plate, and most precious papers to 
 
BtILL ETTN. — THE OVERSEER. 91 
 
 Washington, intending to go there myself just as soon 
 as I was able. That is now impossible, but it it 
 should happen, Catharine, that you or any of niy family 
 are in want, go or send to my old friend, John Brandon, 
 in Washington ; and he has my orders to supply you 
 with whatever funds you need." ,„ , . ^ 
 
 « To Washington ! Every thing sent to Washington, 
 and I know nothing about it W exclaimed the overseer, 
 in a sharp, surprised, interrogative tone. _ 
 
 "There was no necessity for any one's knowing that 
 my friend Randolph took more away in his trunks than 
 he brought here," said the major coldly. 
 
 " Randolph ! " echoed Sweep. " Strange that 1 
 
 never suspected ! " i j • i 
 
 The major looked at Sweep in surprise and displeas- 
 ure if not suspicion, until be adroitly changed the sub- 
 ject. "It is getting late for you to be out, major: 
 hadn't you better retire? " he suggested. 
 
 ''Perhaps so; but I would like to wait and see the 
 moon rise : I am not sleepy in the least." 
 
 " But you are still feeble ; and it might be danger- 
 ous " said Catharine. 
 
 « I know : but the house is stifling. I am too strangely 
 excited and nervous to sleep. I could not be more so 
 were I going up in a balloon - as I wish I were - o 
 the clouds, and above them, where ^^ the woes of old 
 Virginia would never afdict me more." 
 
 " Those dreadful details have been too much for you 
 my friend," said she anxiously, putting her arm around 
 him caressingly. "Pray let Walter and me persuade 
 
 you to retire." , 
 
 "You know you can always coax me, darlmg; don t 
 you ? " said he, smiling, as he rose to his feet. " There, 
 
92 THE EEBEL GENERAL' S LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 give me a good-night kiss ; and may Heaven bless you 
 for all your kindness, my child, and soon restore you to 
 peace and happiness ! " 
 
 Catharine kissed him tenderly, receiving as warm a 
 return. Sweep came forward officiously with Kick, his 
 favorite servant; and the major, taking Walter's little 
 hand in his, bade Catharine good-night, and left the 
 piazza. 
 
 For some time she paced back and forth, anxiously 
 musing upon the major's strange manner, and thrilling 
 with horror at the thought of those dreadful battle- 
 scenes. Dreading lest some dear friend of her own was 
 among them, she longed for invisible wings, that she 
 might go at once, and see and succor and save. " Who 
 knows, after all," she mentally murmured, "that my 
 stay here may not be providential ? Can I not contrive 
 to see and care for m}^ suffering countrymen in Eich- 
 mond as I could never have done at home ? " While 
 musing thus, she sat do^vn in the major's easy-chair, 
 watching the glimmering beams of the rising moon, and 
 the rapid fading of the lights in the slave-cabins ; in- 
 haling the fragrance of the flowers that were blooming 
 all around her ; and listening to the croaking of frogs, 
 and the incessant chirp of crickets, katydids, tree-toads, 
 and multitudes of insects. All at once she became con- 
 scious that she was not alone. 
 
 " Plaguy fine evenin' ; ain't it, Miss Catharine," 
 echoed the squeaking, disagreeable voice of the overseer. 
 
 "Yes," she replied rather curtly, hoping to get rid 
 of him. 
 
 " I thought you'd be lonesome out here by yourself." 
 
 "Not at all: I generally enjoy my own thoughts 
 about as well as anybody's." 
 
BULL KUN. — THE OYEKSEER. 93 
 
 " Well, I see you wanted to get tlie old man an' boy 
 oif ; but I didn't know but you'd want to talk to some- 
 body." 
 
 " I was about to retire, Mr. Sweep," said she, rising ; 
 " so I wisb you a pleasant night's rest." 
 
 "Don't be in sich a hurry, Miss Kate. Pray be 
 seated, an' listen to a feller once in yer life. You'll be 
 sorry to the day of your death if you don't hear what 
 I've got to tell ye this night ; for, as sure as you live, 
 it's the crisis and turnin'-pint in yer destiny." 
 
 Awed a little by his manner, she dropped again into 
 the seat, and looked up at him inquiringly, though the 
 looks of the man were not encouraging. He was a tall, 
 gaunt, broad-shouldered, yellow-skinned, weazen-faced 
 individual, with a low, narrow forehead, little twinkling 
 gray eyes, a long nose, thin, cadaverous features, sandy 
 hair, and a smirking, deprecating manner. In age he 
 was probably about forty. Catharine inwardly shrank 
 from him, as he came and placed his arm familiarly 
 over the back of her chair. 
 
 " These are terrible ticklish times ; ain't they ? " he 
 began. " It's my opinion that we Yankees would be a 
 plaguy sight safer t'other side of the Potomac ; don't 
 you think so. Miss Catharine ? " 
 
 "Of course I do. But to get there is out of the 
 question just now, as they grant no passes to Northern 
 people." 
 
 "No, 'tain't out of the question, by ginger! for I can 
 get there 'most any time, for all the rebel pickets, and 
 be as safe as a thief in a mill." 
 
 " Why don't you then, if such is the fact ? " 
 
 " 'Cause I'm waitin' for somebody to get willin' to go 
 with me," he returned with a smirking laugh. "You 
 
94 THE BEBEL GENERAl's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 see, Miss Kate, we never half done that talk we had 
 t'other day ; and I wanted to finish up the argyment 
 before I left Old Secesh for good. I forgot to tell ye, 
 strangely enough, how I'd been down South here, one 
 place and another, this dozen year or more, and have 
 got together over twenty thousand dollars, all safe an' 
 sound up in iSTew England, besides four or five thousand 
 more with me here in Virginia. oSTow it stands to nater 
 that a gal of sense like ' j^ou would have a feller that's 
 got the rhino a leetle quicker than a poor scalawag 
 who might let her starve. Now, I took a shine to j^ou. 
 Miss Kate, the minit I set eyes on je; and I felt like 
 wringin' Master Lloyd's neck when I see him shinnin' 
 round ye. He was a rich gentleman ; and you wa'n't to 
 blame, in course, for tryin' to du as well as you could. 
 I was darned glad, though, when he quit ; and I won't 
 be at all stomachful about it, if you'll only come round, 
 and have me." 
 
 *^i have told you already, IMr. Sweep, that I could 
 not do that," said Catharine almost angrily. ''So, if 
 there is nothing else " — 
 
 "But there is something else. I^Tow, I happen to 
 know that you ain't at all safe in these diggin's, unless 
 you want to be toted off some dark night by a young 
 Confederate ojfficer I see down to the village inquiring 
 after ye." 
 
 "Who, pray?" 
 
 " Oh ! a tall feller, with a handsome face, midnigh t 
 hair, big black eyes, and a small scar on the left cheek." 
 
 Catharine was a little startled. The description just 
 fitted Philip Atherton ; but she would not show interest 
 enough in the subject to ask if it were he. 
 
 " I guess you know well enough who it was," he con 
 
BTJLL RUN. — THE OVERSEER. 
 
 95 
 
 tinned. ^'But say, now, hadn't you rayther get spliced 
 to a feller that means honestly by ye than to run the 
 resk of bein' toted off by one of them proud devils? 
 They can talk moonshine by the hour ; but they would 
 no 'more marry a poor Yankee governess, than they 
 
 would be hanged." 
 
 "Do you mean this for an insult, i\[r. Sweep? said 
 she indignantly. '-'We are going to Eichmond to-mor- 
 row, where there are those who will protect us; and I 
 am not afraid of your Confederate of&cer." 
 
 "To Eichmond! Ay! But hadn't you rayther go 
 back with me, now, to old New England, where, with 
 my money and yourn put together, we could cut as big 
 a swell as the best on 'em ? " 
 
 "No ! " said she decidedly. ^- You and I, Mr. Sweep, 
 could never become congenial companions." 
 " But why ? Ain't I good enough for ye ? " 
 "You may be too good, for aught I know; but our 
 ideas, opinions, ways of thinking, and past associations 
 have been wholly dissimilar; and we never could be 
 mutually happy in each other's society." 
 
 "In what do we differ, I should like to know, except 
 some little notions about niggers ? " 
 
 "Well, that is enough, if there were nothing else. 
 A Southern man, with a Southern education and preju- 
 dices, inheriting slaves, to many of whom he is 
 strongly attached, has some excuse for retaining and 
 ruling them. But a Northern one, born and reared in 
 the land of the free, and then coming down here to be 
 a slave-driver for the sake of gain, has none at all, in 
 my estimation." 
 
 " So that's the talk, is it ? I guess, though, if he was 
 as rich, his gold would tempt you jest as quick as Lloyd 
 Hunter's or Philip Atherton's." 
 
96 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 "Kever! I abhor slavery; and do amount of gold 
 would tempt me now to wed either a slave-owner or a 
 slave-driver." 
 
 " What's a poor Yankee governess better than a rich 
 Yankee slave-driver, I'd like to know? It strikes me 
 that the condescension, if there is any, is all on his side, 
 ma^am." And* his thin lips curled with scorn, and his 
 gray eyes glittered and flashed in the bright moonbeams, 
 and his low brow contracted into a dark frown, as he 
 said it. 
 
 Catharine was angry and excited, or she would not 
 have said what she did ; and, when she saw his ominous 
 looks, she began to feel as if this fawning, sycophantic 
 man was neither silly nor trifling, and that she was 
 making of him a dangerous enemy. 
 
 "Yes, yes," he continued bitterly: "you were very 
 ready once to wed a slave-owner, but not a slave-driver, 
 forsooth. You had sense enough to see the difference. 
 But v.'hat is one better than the other ? " 
 
 "Perhaps not any. Both commit the sin for the 
 sake of gain, but it is none the less a sin ; and I shall 
 respect myself more to have nothing more to do with it." 
 
 " Or me." 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Sweep. I wish you well, and am sorry for 
 your disappointment, if it is any ; but conscience com- 
 pels me to decline the honor of your hand." 
 
 " Very well. You may wish it didn't, though : for, 
 mark my words, I am not used to bein' thwarted ; and 
 this is not the end of the matter." 
 
 " It is of no use to carry it further. Good-night, sir," 
 said she coldly, as she rose and entered the mansion. 
 She felt troubled not a little by his covert threats and 
 sinister manner. 
 
BULL RUN. — THE OVERSEER. 97 
 
 "That man is a villain ! I always felt it instinctively. 
 For gold lie would sell his own soul, his father's bones, 
 or his sister's honor. Whoever trusts him does it at 
 his peril. How I blush that my own State should 
 suffer the disgrace of rearing so degenerate a son ! 
 Thank God! there are few like him," were Catharine's 
 mental comments, as she laid her head on her pillow. 
 But she was too much excited to sleep. The clock 
 struck ten, eleven, twelve ; and still she was tossing 
 upon her pillow, or sitting up watching the moonbeams, 
 thinking of all that had transpired, or listening to noises 
 in the major's chamber, which was next to her own. 
 She knew, from various sounds, that he was waking, and 
 two or three times, when she had almost gained the 
 land of dreams, a smothered groan would thrill her 
 nerves like an electric shock ; and in an instant she 
 would be sitting up, wide awake again. 
 
 ^•' Any ting de matter, massa?" she would hear Nick 
 say. 
 
 ^•jSTo, Nick. But speak lower, or you will wake 
 little Walter. Poor fellow ! he has sobbed himself to 
 sleep. He's an early student 'in the school of sorrow," 
 was the reply to such questionings. 
 
 Since his arrival, Walter had insisted on sleeping 
 there : so a bed was made for him in one corner ; while 
 Nick, as usual, slept on his mat near the door. After 
 the clock strack twelve, Catharine, tired out with watch- 
 ing, sunk into a deep slumber. 
 
 From this she was awakened by a dream of horror ; 
 and, starting up with a shriek, she found her room 
 brightly illumined, and her bed surrounded by a band 
 of black, fierce-looking men. Terror froze the wild cry 
 upon her lips ; and, though for a moment it seemed but 
 9 
 
98 THE EEBEL GEXEEAL'S LOYAE BEIDE. 
 
 tlie continuation of the fantasy of her dream, the 
 reality soon enough forced itself upon her startled 
 senses. There was no mistaking those lierce, malig- 
 nant, blackened faces for any her imagination had con- 
 jured up ; and she knew very soon that she was in the 
 presence of a band of desperadoes. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE GUERILLAS. DEATH OF MAJOR HUNTER. 
 
 jTAND back, comrades, or you'll scare the 
 gal like thunder!" exclaimed a tall, bony, 
 grizzly-bearded villain, who appeared to be 
 the leader of the band, "And you, miss," 
 he continued, "jest put on your clothes, and pack up 
 your duds, and get ready for a little journey to-night." 
 
 Catharine did not faint ; but she sat there, dumb and 
 stupefied with terror, like one bereft of her senses. Her 
 eyes were wild and distended, her cheek and lips pale 
 as marble ; and her shining auburn hair rippled in 
 heavy, tangled curls, over her white shoulders, as she 
 gazed upon the villanous faces around her. Secure in 
 their villany, the men soon began searching for valua- 
 bles, and at last opened Jenny the slave-girl's door. 
 
 " Hallo, Blondel ! here's a likely wench, half-white, 
 and worth six hundred any day," said one of the gang. 
 " There ! get up, you black beauty, and help your mis- 
 tress dress ; " and he gave her a kick with the toe of his 
 boot that roused her pretty effectually. 
 
 "Who are you ? and what is the meaning of all this ? " 
 exclaimed Catharine tremblingly, as soon as she could 
 command her voice. 
 
 99 
 
100 THE EEBEL GEXEEAL's LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 "You'll find out soon enough, I reckon. All you've 
 got to du is to submit, and do as I tell ye." 
 
 "And if I refuse!" slie exclaimed with flushed cheek 
 and flashing eyes. 
 
 " Tliis ! " and he drew a glittering howie from its 
 sheath, and flashed it up before her eyes. 
 
 She recoiled instinctively; and her lips grew white 
 with the fear that now assailed her. 
 
 " Is the argyment convincin' ? " said the wretch witli 
 a loud laugh, in which he was joined by the others. 
 
 "If so, dress yourselves, — you an' that gal, — tie up 
 what things you want in bundles, and march down stairs 
 with this man : for we've other work to do ; " and, at a 
 sign from the leader, all left the room but one, — a dark, 
 low-browed villain — the cruelest-looking of the gang. 
 He had previously been rifling trunks, drawers, and 
 closets of the most valuable things, comprising nearly 
 the whole of Catharine's wardrobe and iewelrv. 
 
 Seeing there was no way of escape but death, she 
 roused the terrified girl, who was crouching beside her 
 bed, and proceeded tremblingly to do as he required. 
 Luckily she put on her best travelling-dress, which she 
 had taken out the night before, in antici2:)atiou of her jour- 
 ney to Richmond; and in the waist of this had been 
 stitched most of her readj^ mone}?", which, with the watch 
 under her pillow, that she managed to secrete, and a 
 few of her commonest garments, was all she succeeded in 
 saving. The poor girl saved a few articles, the man all 
 the time watching them griml}^, and, as soon as they 
 were ready, ordered them to march. 
 
 Just as they emerged into the upper hall, the}'' were 
 met by a volley of oaths, and angry voices : the major's 
 door was burst open ; and the white-haired old man, 
 
THE GUERILLAS. 101 
 
 undressed as they found liim, and madiy struggling with 
 his captors, was dragged out and down tlie staircase. 
 
 He was followed by Nick, and poor little shrieking 
 half-naked Walter, who was striking right and left with 
 his puny fists, yet pleading in piteous tones for mercy. 
 
 " Stop yer bawlin', or I'll give yer a settler, you young 
 lion's whelp ! " exclaimed Blondel fiercely. " I'll teach 
 ye what it costs to despise and tyrannize over us poor 
 white folks. Mister Major." 
 
 " We have never wronged you, sir, in word or deed, 
 that I know of; and why do you outrage us in this 
 way? " said the poor old major tremulously. 
 
 "Aha! you never wronged me, — did ye? — and, 
 through me, my whole class! As if I didn't get an 
 honest livin' tradin' with the niggers till you come to the 
 estate, an' broke it all up by your tarnal Yankee inven- 
 tions." 
 
 " So — so — you are Blondel ; are you ? I thought 
 you were in " — 
 
 "States prison, — out with it. No thanks to you, I 
 wa'n't in for life. Wonderful 'fraid you was of havin' 
 yer nigs cheated, and encouraged to steal, and trade for 
 knick-knacks an' whiskey : so you must furnish 'em' every 
 thing to home, an' spile my trade, an' blege me to rob 
 housen to get a livin' ; an', instead of whippin' on 'em, as 
 they desarved, payin' the devilish nigs premiums for 
 their smartness an' sassiness : an' preachin' an' prayin' 
 till ye shamed all the planters round. But we'll teach 
 ye what it costs to fly in the face of the good old fash- 
 ions, and honester men than you. We'll larn ye Yankee 
 reforms with a vengeance. So come along, you old 
 rebel!" 
 
 " My God ! what are you going to do with me ? Hallo, 
 
102. THE EEBEL GENEEAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 Sweep ! Nick ! Jerry ! Tom ! Dinah ! — where are you 
 all ? '' shrieked the wretched old man, struggling at 
 every step, and clutching at the balusters in frantic 
 eagerness. 
 
 " Here, here, massa ! We'd help ye if we could ! " 
 shouted iSick, as he pressed forward eagerly. But his 
 efforts were cut short by a dozen eager hands clasping 
 his struggling limbs, and, in spite of all his efforts, pitch- 
 ing him do-wn stairs, over the head of his unfortunate 
 master, and landing him, stunned and apparently life- 
 less, upon the marble floor of the hall. 
 
 Catharine and the slave-girl, with their escort, waited 
 until the way was cleared, and then descended. Not- 
 withstanding their terror, the sight that met their gaze 
 as they emerged from the house filled them with curiosity 
 and wonder. 
 
 In front of the mansion a large fire was burning, that 
 cast ruddy gleams upon the windows, the lofty trees that 
 shadowed it, and the weird figures of some thirty or forty 
 villanous-looking men who surrounded it ; while drawn 
 up on the spacious lawn before the door were some half- 
 dozen of the major's best mule-teams, already loaded with 
 valuable plunder. Upon the tops of these teams, as drivers, 
 were seated some of the smartest negroes belonging to 
 the plantation. Beside each wagon sat an outlaw upon 
 one of the 'major's best horses, revolver in hand, ready 
 to fire upon the least symptom of disobedience. At a 
 little distance the poor old major was bound to a tree, 
 with a halter around his neck ; while poor little Walter 
 was clasping his knees, and sobbing piteously. 
 
 " All ready ? " shouted the leader to the guards beside 
 the teams. 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir ! " was the ready response. 
 
THE GUERILLAS. 103 
 
 " Move on, tnen, as if the Devil was arter ye, as I s'pose 
 he is ; and don't let the grass grow under yer hosses' feet. 
 Turn off from the road where I bade ye, and be sure you're 
 out of the way of pursuers when we have the illumina- 
 tion by and by." 
 
 The teams moved off at a rapid pace, amid the cheers 
 of the motley crew, just as Sweep, followed by Dinah, 
 Lidu, Dell, and the rest of the house-servants, rushed out 
 wildly from the mansion. 
 
 " Good God ! What is the meaning of all this ? " he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " That's a good one ! I guess you know about;'as well 
 as anybody, you long-legged Yankee snipe ! " said the 
 leader with a shout of laughter. 
 
 " What should I know, pray, — just roused from sleep 
 as I am by your hellish noises ? '^ and he rubbed his 
 eyes vigorously, as if to prove his assertion. 
 
 " Jest hear him, you old skeleton," echoed Blondel. 
 " He wants to make b'lieve he's innocent as a lamb. But 
 you'll find out, the minit you get to t'other world, you've 
 been harborin' a jackal. Tell old Beelzebub he's comin' 
 fast as time can carry him." 
 
 " Good heavens ! You here, major, — and in that con- 
 dition ? And you too, Miss Kate ? " turning to her, 
 pretending not to hear what Blondel said. " Wretches ! 
 what are you about to do to that white-haired old man? 
 Unbind him instantly ! Here, Tom, Nick, Harry, run 
 to the quarters, — rouse the niggers and dogs. We'll 
 see who is master here ! " he eagerly exclaimed, as he 
 opened his jack-knife, and ran towards the major as if to 
 release him. But a hand was laid on his arm, in which 
 a knife glittered, and a voice hissed in his ear, — 
 
 " Look out, or you'll go too far, you lyin' scoundrel. We 
 
104 THE EEBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 come to du our part of the work, jest as we 'greed ; but you 
 ain't done your'u. You've liid the gold an' silver, an' then 
 come out to us with a lie in yer mouth, pretendin' 'twas 
 all sent off to Washinton. Then you dodge back inter 
 the house to cut up some prank, an' come out with a 
 mouthfal of lies to deceive an' cheat the poor old fool 
 who's harbored an' b'lieved in ye so long. But I don't 
 b'lieve in one lie more than in. t'other ; and if you don't 
 bring forrard the proofs, man, you, tu, shall swing at the 
 end of a rope." 
 
 The overseer turned pale as death. Once or twice he 
 opened his lips to speak to prevent Blondel from expos- 
 ing him, but could utter no sound. For the first time 
 he began to realize that he had been playing with edged 
 tools to work out Jiis dishonest piu-poses, that were now 
 to be turned against himself, and that his hypocrisy 
 would avail him nothing. " I did tell ye the truth," he 
 said at last tremblingly ; '' and j^ou solemnly'' promised 
 not to have me known in the affair. You ain't done as 
 you agreed." 
 
 " I should, if the gold had been forthcoming ; and I'd 
 divided it fair. You might lied yourself out of it as 
 much as you pleased. Bring that forrard, an' I still hold 
 to my side of the bargain. If not, the gals and nigs are 
 our'n, with all the plunder ; the house burns, an' you 
 swing at the little end of nothin'." 
 
 " I can't bring it forrard : I ain't got it ! " screamed 
 the frightened wretch, with his teeth chattering with 
 terror. " I didn't know as 'twas gone till to-night : the 
 major and Miss Kate will tell ye so tu." 
 
 " Is that true ? " said Blondel, turning to the major. 
 He received no rejDly ; for the wretched old man, overcome 
 with weakness and terror, had fainted, with his head fallen 
 forward upon his bosom. 
 
THE GUERILLAS. 105 
 
 " He's got a fit, captin ! " exclaimed one of the merci- 
 less crew. 
 
 " No, no : lie's on'y shammin'. Jest give liim the licks, 
 Blondel ; and you'll bring him to his senses," echoed 
 another. 
 
 " Well thought of, Cooper. Pass along the cat, Eing : 
 we'll wake up the old scoundrel." 
 
 Poor little Walter heard the cruel words as he lay thero 
 upon the groimd sobbing ; and, rising with a wild shriek, 
 he encircled his dear old father with his feeble arms. 
 
 " Aha, my fine young game-cock ! You've got too 
 much flash in your eye to stan' there an' take the licks 
 when ye begin to feel 'em. But ye can du as ye like 
 about it." 
 
 The blow that descended upon the poor child's bare and 
 defenceless shoulders also drew blood and groans from the 
 wretched father. But the barbarian was right: there 
 was too much flash in the boy's eye, and spirit in his 
 sold, to bear such indignity unavenged. Springing with 
 the agility of a squirrel and the fierceness of a young lion, 
 with his face aflame and his eyes flashing, he caught a 
 knife from the villain's belt, and would have sheathed it 
 in his heart, had he not seen and caught the blow with 
 his left hand. 
 
 " So, so, you little devil ! You have got the snap in 
 ye ; ain't ye ? " he exclaimed with a frightful oath. " Here, 
 some on ye bind up this ugly cut with my han'kercher, 
 and hold this young tiger-cub till I can finish that busi- 
 ness. I'd whip the devil out of him, tu, if I had the 
 time." 
 
 When all was ready, the villain again took the cat, and 
 was preparing to strike, when the wretched and writhing 
 old man began in piteous tones pleading for mercy. 
 
106 THE EEBEL GE:JTERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 " What is it you want ? " he groaned. " Take all I 
 have, but do not, I entreat of you, treat me with such in- 
 dignity." 
 
 " Did you never have a white man or a nigger treated 
 so, you old tyrant ? I mean you shall feel what I have 
 felt more than once, through your means, before I swing 
 you off. But tell me, first, what has become of your plate, 
 jewels, and money." 
 
 " If I am to die, you shall never know from my lips," 
 said the major firmly. 
 
 '^For God's sake, du tell, major, or they'll kill me 
 tu," snivelled Sweep in pleading tones. "They won't 
 b'lieve me ; and it's tu bad to have to die for other folks' 
 duin's." 
 
 ''Hannibal Sweep, do you deserve to live? My 
 senses deceive me, or you have been plotting to betray 
 me, and all I have, to those bloodthirsty men." 
 
 " No, no, major : I never meant to betray you. It all 
 comes from a little misun-derstandin'. So pray du tell 
 'em what they want to kn^ow." 
 
 '• And I say, yes ! " echoed Blondel. " True, he 
 didn't bargain for my private vengeance ; but he did for 
 the plunder and the nigs and the gal, if she scorned 
 him. And he it was who shut up the mouths of yer 
 yelpin' curs, dosed all yer nigs with drugged whiskey, — 
 on'y them we wanted, — left all yer doors ajar, stole yer 
 gold, an' silver, an' then came out with a lie in his 
 mouth, — for which he, tu, has got to swing. Here, 
 fix a rope round his neck, boys, an' tie him to that tree 
 for a preparatory lecture ; for, as sure as fate, we'U send 
 a pair of the pretty birds to glory." 
 
 " Help ! help ! murder ! " screamed the frightened 
 wretch, struggling madly with his captors as they pro- 
 
THE GUERILLAS. 107 
 
 ceedod to fix tKo fatal noose. "Oh, I can't die! I ain't 
 at to die ! Major Hunter ! Miss Kate ! Miss Catha- 
 rine ! for God's sake, pity and save me ! '' he shrieked. 
 
 Little reason as she had to pity and save, Catharine 
 could not resist this wild appeal. So, stepping forward, 
 trembling in every limb, she exclaimed, "It is the truth 
 he tells ; and this very night I heard it from the major's 
 own lips." 
 
 " Yes, yes," echoed the major at length. " The ras- 
 cal deserves no mercy at my hands ; but let him live — 
 to repent. I did send all my treasures to Washington 
 to save them from such rapacious wretches as you. But 
 spare us all, and you shall have the whole of them." 
 
 "' And be cheated of my vengeance ! ISTo, no : that is 
 dearer than gold to me. You can have all the plunder, 
 boys. My part shall be a sweet revenge. Now, some 
 of you go and set fire to that old rookery ; while you. 
 Cooper, give that snivelling scamp a dozen for his 
 knavishness, and then untie, and kick him out of my 
 presence." 
 
 In spite of Sweep's shrieks, both orders were instantly 
 obeyed. 
 
 "And now," he said, turning back to Major Hunter, 
 "prepare to take what you have deserved this many a 
 year ! " and, drawing the sharp, cutting thongs of raw- 
 hide through his fingers, he glared upon his doomed 
 victim with the ferocity of a fiend. 
 
 Brave as a lion in battle in his younger days, and 
 ready, even now, to fight till his last breath, if his hands 
 were free, the poor old man's heart sunk within him at 
 the thought of such an ignominious end. 
 
 " Oil ! is there nothing I can say or do to prevent 
 this horrible outrage ? " he groaned. 
 
108 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 "Aha!" laughed the villain. "An outrage, is it, 
 upon your boasted chivalry ! An outrage upon your 
 rich aristocracy ! But none at all upon me, a man as 
 white as yourself, who was whipped within an inch of 
 my life through your means, and then sent to the chains 
 and stripes and ignominy of the State's prison ! " and, 
 with a face fairly fiendish with evil passions, he raised 
 his vengeful arm ; and tlie blows descended until Catha- 
 rine, forgetful of her own danger, rushed frantically for- 
 ward in a vain attempt to save the major's life. There 
 was a *flash, a loud report, and a rifle-ball whizzed 
 through her bonnet and raised left hand, cutting the 
 vein!^3 upon her temple, and stunning her so that she fell 
 forward to the earth nearly senseless. 
 
 "What did you do that for, Sharpe ? " exclaimed 
 Blondel, turning to him fiercely. ^' The gal's mine." 
 
 "I jest obeyed orders, that's all." 
 
 " Ah ! I remember. Take her away, some on ye ; " 
 and again the blows descended. 
 
 But we sicken of the horrible details of a scene that 
 was but one out of hundreds that were being enacted 
 through the South at that time. We will only say in 
 conclusion, that, when the poor old man was insensible 
 to pain and indignity, he was strung up by the neck 
 until life was ended; and that poor Walter screamed 
 and struggled and implored until he wore out the 
 patience of his keeper, who then struck him down 
 senseless with a heavy club, and left him, supposing him 
 dead. Catharine, meantime, dragged out from under 
 foot, revived, and, her wounds bound up by the pitying 
 slaves, was standing at a little distance, trying to avert 
 her horrified gaze, and shut out the awful sights and 
 sounds from her keenly- aroused senses. Every groan, 
 
DEATH OF MAJOR HUNTER. 109 
 
 and every stroke of the whip, cut to her heart like a 
 knife, until she was glad when the poor victim's suffer- 
 ings were over. By this time a cloud of dark, friglit* 
 cued faces began to gather upon the outskirts of the 
 scene, roused by the thunderous din : but the true 
 hearts and strong arms upon which the master had re- 
 lied were palsied and stupefied with drugged liquor; 
 while many of their comrades were still dead-drunk in 
 the cabins. The overseer had indeed done his work 
 well, — much better, in fact, than he anticipated. Know- 
 ing there were some disaffected spirits in tlie slave- 
 gang, he had for some time been tampering with them, 
 and promising tliera freedom ; so they proved willing 
 tools in his hands to work out his own dishonest pur- 
 poses. But, though Sweep was villain enough to plan, 
 assist, and share in this raid and robbery of the major's 
 property, he had never dreamed of their burning his 
 buildings, outraging his person, or taking his life. 
 He had thought to share a large sum for the night's 
 work, get Catharine into his power, if she otherwise re- 
 fused liim, and still retain his place at a large salary, 
 until such time as he could make off in safety with his 
 plunder. As to Catliarine's destinj^, he had not yet 
 fully dc'cided. For, accustomed all his life to rate every 
 thing at a money value, her refusal, after hearing of 
 his wealth, had so surprised and angered him, tliat a 
 desire for revenge now ruled him quite as mu-jh as 
 any fancy he had ever felt for her. But, in thinking 
 and doing all this, he had wrought a just retribution 
 on himself. For all his papers, clothing, and money — 
 the hoarded gains of the past three years — were in 
 the burning dwelling. The feelings of such a man may 
 be imagined, as he looked back, smjarting \vith pain, and 
 10 
 
110 THE EEBEL GEXEEAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 burning with anger and sliame, after gaining a secure 
 hiding-place. To see the flames beginning to pour from 
 the lower windows, and know that his gold, more than 
 half of which had been surreptitiously obtained, was 
 to be sacrificed to his dishonest rapacity, was more than 
 his avaricious nature could bear. Gold was the idol of 
 his worship : he could not endure the thought of losing 
 it; so, in spite of the double danger, he resolved to 
 make one effort to secure it. The band of outlaws were 
 in front of the house, busy with their nefarious work; 
 while he had got round in the rear of the long line of 
 slave-cabins at the left. By crossing the large orchard 
 and kitchen-garden, he thought he could gain the rear 
 entrance unperceived. There seemed to be no fire 
 there as yet ; so he thought he could go up the back 
 staircase to his room, and regain his treasure with little 
 danger. All this he stealthily accomplished to his per- 
 fect satisfaction. He gained his room, secured his valu- 
 ables, and was upon the landing with his best suit 
 thrown over his arm, when, to his horror, his egress was 
 cut off by an unexpected obstacle. 
 
 But sly and stealthy as had been his approach, it 
 had not been wholly unperceived ; for Uncle Nick, the 
 major's valet, though stunned, was not killed by his 
 fall over the balusters, but subsequently revived, and 
 crawled out, bruised and bleeding, to be a vengeful wit- 
 ness of deeds that set his blood aflame with the fires of 
 vengeance. His clear intellect at once comprehended 
 the facts. He knew, from what he had gathered from 
 the slaves as well as their dj^ing master, that they had 
 been betrayed by the wily overseer, whom they all 
 hated. Nick would almost have laid down his life for 
 bis master; but what could he and the few sober slaves 
 
DEATH OF INIAJOR HUNTER. Ill 
 
 do, unarmed, against thirty or forty bloodthirsty despe- 
 radoes armed to the teeth ? As he could not look on 
 coolly and see his master and darling little Walter mur- 
 dered, he crawled off to the slave-cabins, roused a few- 
 old men and women, and armed them with clubs and 
 pitchforks. They were just coming up to the rear of 
 the house, undecided as to what they could do, when 
 they saw Sweep stealthily enter it. 
 
 "Dere, dere he go, de ole Satan dat make all de 
 mischief ! " he exclaimed. " He goin' to get de gold an' 
 tings : dat's what he arter. Now, boys, we got 'im in a 
 trap," he whispered in clear, sharp tones. "You gals sly 
 in, an' brung out all ye can o' mistress's tings, dat de 
 rogues dun left to burn up ; while we boys fotch de fag- 
 its, an' smoke out de ole coon." 
 
 The order was instantly obeyed : those who dared 
 rushed in, and, in defiance of the stifling smoke, saved a 
 great many useful articles of furniture ; while ISTiek and 
 the men seized great bundles of fagots and shavings, 
 piled them in the stairway, and, when they thought 
 Sweep was about to descend, with burning brands s<:'t 
 fire to them in a dozen places. Dry as tinder, the fire 
 caught them with devouring fury, and roared up the 
 narrow staircase in a fierce column of seething flame, 
 instantly cutting off all egress in that direction. 
 
 Met by the stifling smoke and roaring flames, Sweep 
 knew at once that he had enemies in the rear as well as 
 in front of him. But, knowing that the one within was 
 more to be dreaded than either, he rushed back through 
 the upper hall, breathless, gasping, and despairing, to 
 find the magnificent front staircase one mass of smoul- 
 dering ruins, into which, blinded by the smoke and 
 stifling heat, he came very near plunging headlong. He 
 
112 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 knew there was but one other mode of egress ; so, rush- 
 ing back to his room, with his hat gone, his hair singed 
 off, his clotlies smouldering, lie opened a window, and 
 looked down upon the deptlis below. It was the end of 
 the building, and no one was there. There was no 
 alternative but to leap from the window with a bare pos- 
 sibility of escape, or to meet sure and certain death by 
 the flames. Fanned by the draught from the window, 
 the fire was fast approaching: yet, cautious to the last, 
 he waited to tear his bedclothes into strips, tie them to- 
 gether and to the bed-post; and then, with his frail 
 rope, he attempted to descend. 
 
 But alas for the miserable man ! just as he got 
 cleverly out of the window, and was hanging by the sill, 
 the outlaws discovered him. For having finished their 
 "work of destruction, and fearing the light of the fire 
 would bring some government patrolling party upon 
 them, they hunted up Catharine, and a few of the best- 
 looking female slaves, placed them in a baggage-wagon 
 that was in waiting, got in themselves, or mounted their 
 horses, and were driving swiftly awa}^ But Blondel, the 
 leader of the gang, who sat on the back seat beside 
 Catharine, happeniug to look back, discovered poor 
 Sweep just in the act of descending. 
 
 "Aha, Cooper, stop a minute ! Just look there! "he 
 exclaimed. "I'll bet you a hundred dollars that it's that 
 scoundrelly overseer. He couldn't quit with a whole 
 skin, but went back after the plunder. By Jove ! I'll 
 give him one parting salute ; and, raising his rifle at a 
 venture, just over Catharine's head, he fired. 
 
 The mules jumped and ran, coming very near up- 
 setting the wagon ; while Blondel dropped into his seat 
 with a loud laugh, exclaiming, "There, if that don't 
 finish him, the cuss is hard to kill." 
 
DEATH OF MAJOR HUNTER. 113 
 
 Catharine, meantime, had made one attempt to escape 
 since she fully recovered consciousness, but was dis- 
 covered, brought back, and a guard set over her by 
 Blondel, until he finished his fiendish work; and then, 
 forced into the wagon at the point of the knife, with 
 the poor unresisting slave-girls, she felt as if it were in 
 vain to try to escape, even though her hands, in con- 
 sideration of her wounds, unlike the others, were tied in 
 front instead of behind her. This was some relief; but 
 the thongs cut into her tender flesh, as it swelled rapidly ; 
 and her wounds pained her very severely. 
 
 The road that crossed the great Hunter plantation 
 was not a public one ; but it intersected the great North- 
 ern pike a mile or more from the mansion. This it was 
 necessary for the outlaws to reach, and follow for a while, 
 before dispersing into the by-paths that led to their 
 mountain rendezvous. Some had come on horseback, 
 and some on foot ; but all were now well mounted upon 
 the major s fine stud. ELated by the generous Hquors 
 they had found in the cellar, and by the success of 
 their enterprise, they cantered off with buffaloes and 
 blankets for saddles, and in the highest possible spirits. 
 It was after four o'clock in the morning as they de- 
 bouched upon the main thoroughfare. A beautiful sum- 
 mer day was dawning in the east. The birds were 
 singing in the tree-tops, and the flowers were blooming 
 all around them, filling the pure morning air with sweet 
 perfumes ; while every thing in nature looked as lovely 
 as if no deeds of horror were ever enacted ; yet afar 
 upon the hill-top the flames still towered up grandly to 
 the sky, tingeing the passing clouds with ruddy and 
 golden tints, and gloriously lighting up the magnificent 
 landscape. 
 
 10* 
 
114 THE BEBEL GENEEAl's LOYAL BBIDE. 
 
 " Kow, boys, ride for 3'our lives ! " exclaimed Blondel, 
 as they emerged from the fine arched gateway. 
 
 " We are two hours later than we ought to be upon 
 this piece of road : we shall be safer from the patrols if 
 we separate. You, Cooper and Baker, Hines and Mo 
 Caffrey, stay with me to guard the prisoners ; and the 
 rest on ye ride like the deuce." 
 
 The order was instantly obeyed ; and very soon a great 
 cloud of dust was all that could be seen of the party of 
 horsemen. The sruards fell back behind the heavy mule- 
 wagon, in which were seated the four captives, witli the 
 driver and Blondel, both heavily armed and keenly 
 watchful. 
 
 As soon as it was light enough, Catharine knew that 
 Blondel, who was an ugly-looking, grizzly, low-browed 
 villain, was closely scanning her looks and appearance. 
 She shrank instinctively from the peculiarly-repulsive 
 and snaky glitter of his eyes, as she met them furtively, 
 and shivered with dread, as he turned and said to the 
 driver, " That rascally overseer had devilish good taste ; 
 hadn't he ? It won't hurt my conscience a bit to step 
 inter his shews. What say ye, gal ? " and he turned to 
 Catharine : " hadn't you ruther clean my cabin, cook my 
 grub, and dance to my music, than du the like for that 
 lyin' rascal, Sweep ? '^ 
 
 A shudder and repressed sob were his only reply. 
 
 " You see," he continued quite confidentially, " that 
 my old woman scattered the young ones, and went off 
 with another feller, while I was up there to work for 
 Old Virginia ; and somehow it's never come handy to get 
 another. X ow, by Jupiter ! one's come right inter my 
 hands that I like the looks on ; " and he gave her a sly 
 wink of his wicked gray eye. " You sha'n't be sorry for't, 
 
DEATH OF MAJOR HUNTER. 115 
 
 nutlior. I'll dress you up as fine as a peacock. Come, 
 what du you say? Will it suit ye?" and he put his 
 brawny arm around her very lovingly. 
 
 A shudder of horror and repulsion shook her ; but she 
 was saved the trouble of angering hira by a reply ; for 
 at that moment the sharp click of steel-clad hoofs, and 
 the sound of voices in the distance, struck upon the ears 
 of the guard; and "The patrols! The patrols! a 
 host of them ! " was echoed from every lip. 
 
 " The devil they are ! " exclaimed Blondel. " But 
 where are all our men ? " 
 
 " Don't you see ? They've got safe round the turn, 
 with the woods in their rear." 
 
 " Thank fortin for that ! But how in hell are we to 
 get out of sight ? It can't be did ; so we've got to face 
 the music. Here, you wimin ! you're my runaway 
 slaves, you remember. An' if you say one word agin it, 
 I put this knife through your hearts ; " and he flourished 
 the glittering weapon up before their terrified eyes. 
 
 " ISfow, boys, keep behind ; and, if you can't du any 
 better, you're goin' up to camp to enlist. But mind, and 
 all tell the same story. In any case, we don't belong to 
 the same gang." 
 
 "By thunder! I'll not resk it," exclaimed Cooper. 
 " You forget that we're all as black as the ace of spades, 
 and no chance to wash it off. We must take to the woods ; 
 and let you who's not mounted du the best you can." 
 And, suiting the action to the word, he leaped the low 
 fence that skirted the road, followed by his companions ; 
 and they were soon lost to sight in the woods. 
 
 After a moment's hesitation, Blondel took up the skirt 
 of his dingy coat, and, holding do\vn his face, gave it a 
 thorough scrubbing; polishing off by a dirty handker- 
 
116 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 chief wet from his brandy-flask, until it resembled a 
 huge pickled beet. His hasty toilet was completed not 
 a minute too soon. 
 
 " Now, hurry up, Hoffman," he said, " and show 'em we 
 ain't afraid to meet 'em. And remember, you're my nig- 
 ger-driver, and must swear to the truth of every word I 
 say." 
 
 " Ay, ay, captin : I understand ; and it's neck or noth- 
 ing this time, I'll be bound to say. But you know I'm 
 up to all the dodges ; and we'll get off if we possibly can." 
 
 The words were hardly out of his mouth before they 
 met the advance-guard of the on-coming train. They 
 proved to be an officer's guard in front, followed by their 
 superiors, with a long train of baggage and foraging 
 wagons in the rear. 
 
 " Hallo, there ! Halt ! Who are you ? " was the polite 
 salutation. 
 
 " Peaceable citizens, taking home a gang of runaway 
 slaves," returned Blondel, in a brusk, assured tone. 
 *' Turn out there Jake, and let the troops go by." 
 
 " So, so ! But what ails that one beside you with the 
 white skin, and the bloody rag round her head ? " 
 
 "Brought her down with a crack of the bull-dogs, jest 
 as she was makin' off: she's the sassiest of the whole 
 lot, as white wenches always be." 
 
 Catharine's heart beat as if it would burst her bod- 
 ice. Must she sit there passive, and see her last chance 
 for escape go by ? She raised her eyes and bloody, man- 
 acled hands, and impulsivelj'' opened her lips to speak. 
 But a warning gesture and glance from the blazing ej-es 
 of Blondel, who was nervously playing with the hilt of 
 his bowie, froze the half-formed words upon her lips, and 
 prevented their utterance. 
 
DEATH OP ]SIAJOR HUNTER. 117 
 
 " Drive on now, Jake," he said, — "a little furder to 
 the right. The troop can go by now, if tlicy want tu." 
 
 " No : halt ! What's the meaning of that fire off 
 there upon the hills yonder ? " 
 
 " Dunno. "We've bin watchin' on't this long time, 
 and spect it's some house burnin'. We see a gang of fel- 
 lers come from tliat way, and go off there into the woods, 
 that we reckoned might know somethin' 'bout it ; " and 
 he pointed in the direction his troop had not taken to 
 divert pursuit. 
 
 "What do you think of the old chap's story?" said 
 the sergeant, turning to the officers. " Shall we let him 
 pass on ? " 
 
 " It may all be true, but I have my doubts," said a 
 voice that made Catharine start. "That is certainly 
 Hunter House burning off there upon the hills ; and these 
 may be some of the Hunter slaves they're running off 
 in the nieUeP 
 
 The officers and guard now drew up beside the road, a 
 little way in front of Blondel ; and the baggage and for- 
 aging wagons passed on. 
 
 Blondel uttered a frightful oath below his breath. 
 " Don't you see we're in a trap, Hoffman ? " he whispered. 
 " How I long to put this knife through that rascal's 
 heart ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes : but play spooney as long as you can. 
 It's our only chance." 
 
 The officers now rode up beside the wagon, when 
 Blondel cunningly leaned forward, and spread himself 
 all he could, to shield Catharine from their observation. 
 But this movement, as it proved, defeated itself, as, in 
 doing so, he partially turned his back to her. 
 
 Quick as thought, she raised her manacled hands, re- 
 
118 THE BEBEL GENEEAL's LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 moved her torn and bloody veil, and pushed the bandage 
 up from her eyes, resolving to dare death now, ratlier 
 than lose this opportunity for escape-: for it was Col. 
 Atherton's voice she had heard ; and, though he was not 
 the one she would have chosen for a protector, she felt 
 as if he would not see her wronged. 
 
 " So you have runaway slaves ; have you, my man ? " 
 said the colonel in his quick, decided way. "Where 
 did you take them, sir ? '^ 
 
 " Oh ! down here, tliirty miles or so. A friend of 
 mine knew and nabbed 'em, and sent me word." 
 
 "And where do you belong, sir ? '^ 
 
 " Oh ! up here a piece, — a few miles above." 
 
 " Up above and down below : that's definite, at any 
 rat«. But is it the truth, girl ? " he said to the one 
 nearest him. She answered only by a sob, so strong 
 was the fear of the glittering knife at her back. 
 
 "Why d'ye ask her, yer honor? You know they'll 
 all lie sooner than speak the truth. Pray let us drive 
 on : it's gettin' hot, and we've a long road to travel." 
 
 "Well, your gang seem to have gone the wrong way 
 for runaways : they generally go due north." 
 
 " The fools got their heads turned, that's all," said 
 Blondel with a laugh ; in which he was joined by Hoff- 
 man. 
 
 "Any way, we have no more time for parley," said 
 Col. Atherton anxiously ; " for I am bound to know the 
 meaning of that fire up yonder. I have friends at 
 Hunter House I would not see harmed for worlds. I 
 designed calling on my return ; but, as it is, I think I 
 will do so now. You may pass on, sir." 
 
 Catharine's heart sunk like lead in her bosom : her 
 face grew pale as marble at the thought of death or the 
 
DEATH OF MAJOR HUNTER. 119 
 
 jhir worse fate that wretch had in store for her; but she 
 made her choice. Kising noiselessly to her feet, she 
 looked up at Col. Atherton, then down atBlondel ; shook 
 her head ominously, and then sank back into her seat 
 acrain without his knowini:^ she had risen at all. 
 
 The effect was electrical. Had an apparition appeared 
 before the eyes of the officers, they could not have been 
 more startled or surprised. For Catharine's manacled 
 and bloody hands raised in mute supplication, her 
 wild, imploring eyes, her bandaged head, aud pallid yet 
 beautiful face, down which the blood was trickling, 
 touched every chord of human sympathy in their bosoms. 
 
 In spite of her horrid appearance, and the blood and 
 dirt, and disorder of her apparel, Col. Atherton knew 
 her at once. Whispering an order to an attendant, he 
 dashed round upon the opposite side of the wagon, and 
 exclaimed, as he tenderly took her wounded hands in 
 his, — 
 
 " My God, Catharine ! what is the meaning of this ? " 
 
 " This ! '^ echoed Blondel fiercely, as he pointed and 
 attempted to fire his revolver at Col. Atherton. But his 
 arm was knocked up just in time by Major iMulford ; the 
 piece was discharged in the air ; the dancing mules were 
 caught by the bits by firm hands ; and five minutes later 
 Blondel and his accomplice lay swearing and writhing 
 upon the ground, bound with the very thongs taken from 
 the hands of their captives. The revulsion of feeling was 
 so great that Catharine came very near fainting. When 
 sufficiently recovered, she explained the whole afiair to the 
 officers, who were very ready to return with her to the 
 plantation. The awful scene that there presented itself 
 too well attested her story. The body of the poor old 
 major had already been cut down by the faithful slaves, 
 
120 THE EEBEL GEXEEAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 who had tried in vain to resuscitate it. They were now 
 gathered around it, wee^^ing and wailing, and uttering 
 long, mournful howls of lamentation for the dear master 
 who had always been kind to them, with tlireats of ven- 
 geance against his murderers. As yet, they seemed 
 wholly indifferent to either a prospect of freedom or 
 change of masters. 
 
 The shell of the grand old mansion was still standmg, 
 for it was of solid stone of great thickness ; but the 
 inside work, which was mostly of wood, was a mass of 
 glowing coals, and burning beams, and brands, with the 
 lurid flames still towering up fitfully towards the sky. 
 
 Poor little Walter, for whom they first inquired, was 
 found in the nearest slave-cabin, still insensible and sorely 
 wounded, yet tenderly cared for by the kind slave-mothers 
 of the plantation. Sweep, who was wounded through 
 the cheek by Blondel's shot, and had fallen upon the hard 
 paving-stones below, still lay near the burning dwelling, 
 where he had succeeded in crawling with his last remain- 
 ing strength. He was out of danger, except from flying 
 sparks, and possibly falling walls, yet stifling with the 
 heat, parched with thirst, and apparently in a dying con- 
 dition. He appeared to have no bones broken, which 
 was a wonder, and had evidently bound up his wou:iid 
 as well as he could with his handkerchief before relaps- 
 ing into insensibility. 
 
 Catharine's heart ached for both the dead and dying, 
 the deserving and the undeserving : and at her desire 
 Sweep was removed to one of the out-houses that was 
 spared, where it was cooler ; and there, with her own hands, 
 she poured water into his parched mouth until he par- 
 tially revived, and looked gratefully up to her. 
 
 " Why do you do that ? The wretch is unfit to live/' 
 
DEATH OF :srAJOR nUNTER. 121 
 
 said Col. Atherton, after watching her proceedings a few 
 moments. 
 
 "He is unfit to die, Col. Atherton," she replied: "let 
 liini live to repent, atone, and prepare for death, if he 
 can. If he dies, nia}' God have mercy on his soul ! " 
 
 By this time Mr. Garland and some of the nearer 
 neiglihors had arrived upon the scene ; and it was judged 
 best by all to place the remains of jNIajor Hunter in the 
 family vault near by, where the Hunters had reposed for 
 several generations, and dispense with all unnecessary 
 funeral ceremonies. While the preparations were in 
 progress, the officers dashed off upon the business they 
 had in hand, but returned in time for the burial, which 
 was conducted by the parish clergyman with unusual 
 solemnity. This unseemly haste was judged necessary, 
 because otherwise Col. Atherton could not be present ; 
 and it was very doubtful whether his wife would come 
 with her other children, if sent for. It was also very 
 warm. Doctors could not be obtained short of the camp 
 or in Eichmond, and hardly there, so many wounded and 
 dying needed attention. Walter's and Catharine's wounds 
 required immediate care, which it was thought they could 
 get in the camp sooner than anywhere else. But many 
 poor wounded Union soldiers still lay in the barracks, 
 and even on the field of battle, untended, uncared for, 
 and dying a thousand deaths in one ; while the birds of 
 prey, and more hideous robbers of the dead, pursued their 
 hellish work, unmindful of their piteous prayers for help 
 or their dying agonies. 
 
 Catharine would have preferred to go back to Rich- 
 mond ; but as it was thought best to take little Walter 
 to the camp, whrch was much nearer, she could not find 
 it in her heart to desert him under the circumstances. 
 11 
 
CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 GOING TO CAMP. THE BROTHER'S DANGER. 
 
 HE carriage-house and stables had miracu- 
 lously escaped the conflagration ; though all 
 the good horses were gone : so, in the old, 
 discarded family carriage, with a span of old 
 spavined team-horses, Uncle Nick for driver, and Aunt 
 Dinah for atiendant, Catharine and poor little Walter 
 made the journey to head-quarters. It was a ride of six- 
 teen miles ; and they were obliged to go very slowly : so 
 it was dark long before their arrival. 
 
 Sending some of the officers forward, the colonel pa- 
 tiently attended them the whole distance, striving b}^ his 
 presence and words of encouragement to beguile the 
 journey of its tediousness and anxieties, and assuring 
 them of safety from the outlaws by the armed guard by 
 wliich he was attended. 
 
 Worn out by excitement, fatigue, and the pain of her 
 wounds, Catharine's head ached so she could scarcely see 
 before her arrival ; so she was obliged to resign the care 
 of little Walter to other hands, and lie down at once. In 
 spite of all her pain and anxieties, as well as the new and 
 strange camp noises, she slept that night the dreamless 
 sleep of utter exhaustion. Gen. Atherton — he bore 
 that title now — had a tent prepared for their accommo- 
 
 122 
 
GOING TO CAMP. 123 
 
 dation, aod did every thing that was in his power tomalce 
 them as comfoi*table as possible. He also sought out the 
 most distinguished surgeons ; and, as soon as they could 
 attend the next morning, he was in waiting. Walter 
 was still speechless and nearly insensible ; which was a 
 mercy, as his skull was broken by the blow he had re- 
 ceived, and the operation of trepanning was considered 
 necessary by the experienced surgeons. Catharine's 
 wounds were considered slight in comparison with his : 
 but they were very painful ; and if the one on the tem- 
 ple had varied the twentieth part of an inch, the doctors 
 said, she would never have seen daylight again. They ■ 
 were now dressed scientifically; and, feeling much better, 
 she was thankfid to escape Avith her life. " AVith the best 
 of care, Walter might live," they said ; but it was very 
 uncertain ; and it would be at the risk of his life to re- 
 move him to Eichmond, as she had hoped to do. As it 
 was, she consoled herself with the idea, that Mrs. Hunter 
 and her daughters would return with the messenger Gen. 
 Atherton had sent to them with the news of the dreadful 
 tragedy and Walter's extreme danger. But in this hope 
 Catharine was doomed to disappointment ; for the mes- 
 senger brought back word, that, upon the receipt of the 
 terrible tidings, which he communicated as gently as 
 possible, Mrs. Hunter had fainted, and gone from one 
 paroxysm into another, until her reason, if not her life, 
 was despaired of. Under these circumstances, her daugh- 
 ters could not leave her, and begged Catharine piteously, 
 in a letter so blotted with tears that she coidd hardly de- 
 cipher it, to remain and take what care she could of little 
 Walter. They thanked her for all she had done for their 
 dear murdered father, and concluded by sending her 
 some apparel, which she greatly needed : so there was no 
 
124 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 alternative ; stay in tlie rebel camp she must for some 
 weeks to come, surrounded by a hundred thousand rebel 
 soldiery. There were other women there, it is true, — 
 some of them ladies of rank, attending upon sick and 
 wounded relatives, too ill to be removed. But, confining 
 herself mostl}'" to her own quarters, she saw little of these, 
 and felt, so far as her own sex and color were concerned, 
 as if she were alone. But Dinah was a great comfort to 
 her, — Dinah, whose love and good- will she had won bng 
 ago, when they had the fever ; who still considered her in 
 the light of a daughter of the house, and who was ready 
 to take everj'- possible burden from her shoulders. But 
 Dinah and Uncle Nick both had treacherous memories, 
 and could not read writing ; so the real care came upon 
 Catharine. She very soon found out away to make them 
 eminentl}^ useful, however, in the care of the poor wounded 
 Union soldiers, who were sadly neglected by their exas- 
 perated enemies, and would have suffered more but for 
 the kind and pitiful negroes. 
 
 She visited them herself as often as she could ; and 
 many were the prayers that went up for her fixture hap- 
 piness. This experience alone made h»r feel as if her 
 coming there was pro'sadential, and not altogether in vain. 
 Gen. Atherton was unremitting in his attentions, and, 
 when off duty, spent all his leisure time with them. And 
 never for one moment dicl he suffer her to forget that he 
 passionately loved her ; was a suppliant, though not an 
 humble one, for her favor ; and would be repulsed by no 
 common considerations, x^ot often in words indeed did 
 he indicate this : but every look and tone revealed it to 
 her; and his manner, at once respectful, devoted, and 
 protecting, announced a feeling of determined ownership 
 that was very difficult to resist or gainsay. She tried to 
 
GOING TO CAISIP. 125 
 
 avoid liim, — to plead fatigue, and resign lier charge to 
 others when she knew he was coming ; but it was of no 
 use : he alwa3'S inquired for her, and was so close in liis 
 questionings when they met, that she could not disguise 
 the truth. 
 
 " Why is it you avoid me as you do ? " he said to her 
 one day. " You have said that my personal presence 
 and society were not distasteful to you ; that you were 
 willing to he convinced, if wrong in your opinions; and 
 that you could respect any man who was sincere in the 
 avowal of opposite ones. Why, then, if that is the 
 truth, will you not allow me the privilege of free social 
 intercourse, that I may, if such a thing is possible, 
 win the regard I so ardently covet ? " 
 
 '' Because I consider it wrong to encourage in any 
 human bosom hope that I mean to disappoint/' said 
 Catharine, blushing. 
 
 " So you mean to disappoint mine ? " he eagerly ques- 
 tioned. 
 
 "You know what I told you in the beginning. Gen. 
 Atherton, — that every obligation that binds me to my 
 kindred, my country, and my home forbids my forming 
 any closer ties with one of that country's avowed 
 enemies. I am under infinite obligations to you for 
 releasing me from a band of rufuans, — possibly a fate 
 worse than death, — and very many kind attentions since. 
 I assure you that I am deeply grateful ; but, knowing 
 I could not make the return you wished, I have felt as 
 if it would be better, for your sake, that we should see 
 less of each other, and for me to go home at the earliest 
 possible opportunity : you would then forget me very 
 soon." 
 
 "Never, Catharine ! Whatever the event, I shall 
 11* 
 
126 THE REBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 never forget you. But tell me, now : are there not otlier 
 reasons, besides those 3'ou have named, wh}' you cannot 
 make the return I wish ? " 
 
 " Yes : a great many. Northern principle and preju- 
 dice, clothed in poverty, is no suitable match for Vir- 
 ginia pride. That alwaj^s arouses in my heart a spirit 
 of rebellion and antasronism." 
 
 "Catharine, I don't believe you ever loved Lloyd 
 Hunter; but you do love some one else, — some accursed 
 Yankee in the Union arm}'- perhaps, — whose life is 
 more precious to 3'ou than all I have to offer." 
 
 "No, Gen. Atherton : I have no knowledge of any 
 one in the Union army, though I may have many 
 friends tliere; and, aside from my kindred, I love no one 
 in the wide world who cares for me." 
 
 " Then you must be mine, dear Catharine, whether 
 our people are friends or foes : for I care for you, and 
 would shield you with my life from every danger ; and 
 no man can love as ardently as I love 3'cu, wiihout, in 
 some sort, compelling a return of his fervent passion. 
 Oh, think of it as a foregone conclusion that 3-ou are to 
 be my bride!" he passionately exclaimed. 
 
 " If I were, your friends would not respect me. LI 03-d 
 Hunter doubted, and wa.s made to belii?ve me unworthy 
 his regard, — as you would be, were it known that you 
 sought me for a wife." 
 
 " No, Catharine : I could not look into your innocent, 
 truthful eyes, and believe you guilty of wrong. I was 
 told of Lloyd Hunter's suspicions bj^ one who should 
 have scorned to repeat them ; but the}^ made no differ- 
 ence in my feelings. I can read human nature better 
 than he ; and so far from doubting am I, that I would 
 stake my life upon your innocence, purity, and truth." 
 
GOING TO CASIP. 127 
 
 '^ Gen. Athorton, I am deeply grateful for your just 
 and generous appreciation, which so few under the cir- 
 cumstances would have accorded me ; and I solemnlj'' 
 assure you that your judgment of me was right, and his 
 wrong : but that cannot alter our relations to each other. 
 Your people, and you yourself at times, scorn and 
 despise ours ; and I can be no true Southern wife while 
 my blood leaps so with indignation, as it did when I 
 went out to-day, at the unmerited insults heaped upon us 
 as a people." 
 
 " Ah, Catharine ! what would I not give had you been 
 born south of Mason and Dixon's line ! From some- 
 where you have got the old chivalrous blood in your 
 veins, that is just now flushing your cheek with crimson, 
 and flashing in true courageous fire from your eyes, " he 
 exclaimed admiringly. 
 
 " I have the blood of honest and loyal New-England 
 farmers and mechanics in my veins," said she ; "and of 
 that I am as proud as if it came from a kingly line." 
 
 "Perhaps it did, far back of the days of the stern old 
 Puritans, who subjected the rugged ISTew-Eu gland rocks 
 and hills to their dominion. But of one thins: I am sure, — 
 that, if 3'ou were a man, you would at least lead a brave 
 Korthern brigade against us, that would never retreat as 
 ingloriously as some of them did the other day at Bull 
 Pun. As a woman, you will leave such a glorious name 
 behind you as we can ill spare from the records of old 
 Virginia ; " and, with a triumphant yet admiring glance 
 and smile, he rose and bade her "Good-evening." 
 
 Catharine felt vexed and indignant, both at him and 
 herself. Yet what better could she have done with such 
 a bold, presuming lover as Gen. Atherton ? She felt 
 thankful enough that Walter was improving, and would, 
 
128 THE EEBEL GE^^:RAL'S LOYAL BKIDE. 
 
 the doctor said, be able to be removed very soon ; for 
 she could not help feeling anno3'ed b}'- the general's 
 persevering pursuit, and that her reputation would 
 be endangered by remaining much longer in such a 
 place, and under such circumstances. That he took 
 every precaution to prevent this, she well knew, be- 
 cause he sought to make her his wife. But she did not 
 know that he had used his influence with Dr. De Homer- 
 geau to prolong the excitement of her presence. 
 
 The next morning, observing an unusual stir and 
 bustle about the camp, Catharine learned, upon inquirj", 
 that a spy from the Union army had been caught the 
 night before within the Confederate lines. Some of the 
 troops were clamorous for his immediate execution ; but 
 the officGTS said he must have a fair trial, and gave Ydtle 
 heed to their complaints. 
 
 Somehow, Catharine's heart beat a note of fear when 
 she heard this news; and all day she kept thinking of 
 it, until the general came in for his evening call. She 
 greeted him with cool politeness. 
 
 He, on his part, inquired tenderly about little Walter, 
 who was asleep, but otherwise, though he watched her 
 narrowly, seemed unusually silent and depressed. At 
 last she remembered to ask, — 
 
 "What is this I hear, general, about a Union spy? 
 Is his fate decided ? '' 
 
 " Yes : he dies at sunrise," was the reply. 
 
 "Heaven help him!" she exclaimed with a sinking 
 heart. "But do you think him guilty, general?" 
 
 "No : I believe him an innocent man." 
 
 " But were you not one of the court-martial who con- 
 demned him to die ? " she questioned. 
 
 " Yes : but I was in the minority, and could not save 
 him." 
 
THE brother's DANGER. 129 
 
 " "What is his name ? Poor fellow ! '' 
 
 The general hesitated, looking at her pitifully. " Cath- 
 arine, have you a hrother in the ser^ace ? " he isaid at last. 
 " The 3'oung man gave his name as Hale ; and, from his 
 resemhlance to you, I feared " — 
 
 " ^ly God ! It is my wild, adventurous brother Harry ! 
 I have felt and feared it all the time," she exclaimed in 
 asronized tones. 
 
 " His name was indeed. Harry Hale. Lut it is a com- 
 mon name enough ; and it may not be your brother, after 
 all," said, the general in sympathetic tones. 
 
 " Oh, it is, it is ! I feel it here ; " and she laid her hand 
 on her heart. " And for him to die in such a way, — so 
 young, so brave, so talented, so much beloved 1 Gen. 
 Atherton ! is there no reprieve, no appeal from this 
 wicked decision ? " and she got up and walked the floor, 
 wringing her hands in tearless agony. 
 
 " I fear not : the whole army will demand his execu- 
 tion." 
 
 " But you are all-powerful ! You can save him, if you 
 will only use your influence." 
 
 " 'No, Catharine : I failed to do so at the trial ; and 
 nothing that I can say or do will avail aught with the 
 powers above me." 
 
 ^' But is there no way, no escape from a fate so igno- 
 minious, so terrible ? Harry ! generous, noble-hearted 
 brother ! What is there I would not do to save thee ? 
 Do you think I can see him, general ? " 
 
 " Certainly ; at least I will try and pave the way for 
 you immediately. But pray sit down ! You are ex- 
 hausting yourself by these emotions, when you will need 
 all your strength to bear you up in this sad interview ; " 
 and he led her gently to a seat, called Dinah, and went 
 
130 THE REBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 out immediately. He returned presently with the wTitten 
 order from the proper authorities for Catharine's admit- 
 tance to the prison. 
 
 But for a shrewd after-thought, the general would have 
 attended her himself. As it was, she went with a proper 
 escort, and Dinah for an attendant ; while Uncle Xick 
 renfained with Walter, and he went out among his hrother- 
 officers. She found poor Hany confined, and douhly 
 guarded, in an old, strong, yet somewhat dilapidated 
 building, that was used as a prison, but so changed in 
 appearance, that, had she not been expecting to find him 
 there, she would not have known him. His form was 
 thin and attenuated, his cheeks pale and hollow ; dark 
 circles were around his once laughing, but now sad and 
 moTrmful eyes ; his mouth was compressed as if with 
 acute bodily and mental sufiering; and his whole appear- 
 ance, as he sat there upon a dirty pile of straw, leaning 
 his head upon his hand, betokened the deepest dejection 
 and despair. 
 
 " A lady to see you, sir," announced the grim jailer, as 
 he opened the door ; " but what she wants of a cussed 
 Yankee spy is more than I can tell," he muttered in a 
 lower tone as he reluctantly closed the door. 
 
 Catharine advanced a few paces, followed by Dinah, 
 and then stopped, overcome by emotion. Poor Harry, 
 for it was indeed he, slowly raised his head, blinded for a 
 moment by the brilliant sunset rays that came pouring 
 in through the open door. The moment his eyes rested 
 on Catharine, he sprang to his feet, and, with a cry of joy, 
 held out his manacled hands to her, and was soon sobbing 
 like a child upon her bosom. 
 
 " Harry, dear brother ! It breaks my heart to find 
 you thus, — so changed, so VvTetched, and in such frightful 
 peril ! " sobbed Catharine. 
 
THE BEOTHER'S DANGER. 131 
 
 " And mine to be in this horrid condition," said he 
 
 gloomily. 
 
 '' Dut how came you to be in it, dear Harry ? Were 
 
 you indeed a spy ? " 
 
 " No, Cathai-ine : God knows I was far enough from 
 that. I was wounded, and left for dead, in that terrible 
 battle of Bull Eun. The night after the battle I revived, 
 and crawled away into the bushes. iVfter suffering every 
 thing but death from pain, thirst, and starvation, I was 
 found by a friendly negro, who took me to his hut, and 
 nursed me back to life and comparative health. And it 
 was in trying to make iny way through the rebel lines 
 to our own, that I was caught by the rebel pickets, who 
 of course would not believe my story. Tried by a court- 
 martial, I am condemned to die a felon's death ; to which 
 some of my friends long ago consigned me, you remem- 
 ber," he said with a miserable attempt at a smile. 
 
 " I know ; but, Harry ! I feel as if I cannot have it 
 so. Is there nothing I can say or do to help or save you ? 
 They tell me there is no hope of a reprieve, but I will 
 not believe it." 
 
 " You must. Like tigers they are thirsting for blood ; 
 and they will not let me go." 
 
 "Then you can only look up to God for help and mercy, 
 and meet death as bravely as you can," she said in a 
 voice quivering with emotion. 
 
 '• Catharine ! " he passionately exclaimed, " better a 
 thousand times that I had died upon the battle-field than 
 live to suffer untold agonies, and die at last by the 
 hangman's rope ; " and there was a pitiable note of fear 
 in his tones, that made Catharine's heart ache. " You 
 may think me a coward," he continued ; " yet I fought 
 manfully to the last, and stood up before the cannon's 
 
132 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 moutli without blenching. And when I lay (\ving, as I 
 thought, upon the battle-field, though I longed to live, I 
 felt as if I could trust in God's mercy, and was resigned 
 to die for my country. But now, with feeble health, 
 shattered nerves, and a heart sick with vain longings for 
 home and friends, the thought of a felon's death strikes 
 me with a nameless terror. I try to combat it : I strive 
 to think of it calmly ; but it is of no use. Oh, I shall 
 die a very coward in the face of our enemies !" 
 
 "But, dear Harry, it is really no worse than any other 
 mode," began Catharine. 
 
 "Yet the flash of the sword or the whir of a bullet 
 I believe I could bear bravely; but the scaffold — the 
 hangman's rope — God! Catharine, I cannot — oh, I 
 cannot bear the thought! " and again he laid his face on 
 her bosom, and wept like a grieved child. 
 
 She pressed him to her heart, and mingled her tears 
 with his ; but what could she do or say to console him ? — 
 what to comfort herself ? 
 
 " Harry ! *' she sobbed at last, " God knows I would 
 save you if I could. I will go to Beauregiird or Jefferson 
 Davis himself, and plead for your life, or do any thing 
 in the world else you think would be of any avail." 
 
 "It would be all in vain, Catharine, — worse than use- 
 less J for they thirst for the blood of every Northern 
 man, and would not spare me." 
 
 " But you do not know that, Harry ; so just let me try. 
 Gen. Atherton, I know, believes you innocent, and will 
 help me^to gain an audience, and perhaps I can persuade 
 others to the same opinions." 
 
 "No. Catharine: not forme shall you kneel at the 
 feet of these arch-rebels, to be spurned, and spit upon, if 
 nothing worse. But how, in the name of wonder, did 
 
THE brother's D.VNGER. 133 
 
 you get here anyway ? I thought you had gone home 
 long ago." 
 
 In a few brief words she explained her position and 
 past experiences. 
 
 " What ! Staying here in the rebel camp ! " he ex- 
 claimed in astonishment. " Oh ! I tremble for your safety. 
 Pray get out of it, and go home as soon as you can ! " 
 
 "That is my intention; though I have had nothing 
 but honorable treatment thus far, and may have saved 
 precious lives by coming here. But how are they all at 
 home ? " 
 
 ^•' Well, when last heard from ; and Theodore, who was 
 with me in the battle, is a captain in the Union army. 
 Wliether he lived or died, I cannot tell." 
 
 " Time's up ! Only five minutes more ! " sung out 
 the jailer. 
 
 '• Oh, must we part thus, and forever ! " sobbed Cath- 
 arine. '' Harry ! is there nothing I can say to recon- 
 cile you to this terrible destiny ? " 
 
 " Nothing, dear sister, — nothing but pray that I may 
 have courage given me to die like a man. But, oh ! " — 
 and again the tears burst forth, — "to think that there 
 is but a night, a span long, between me and eternity ! 
 To think of tlie gaping crowd, — the choking breath, — 
 the dying agonies, — the dread hereafter." 
 
 " Harry ! try and not think of the pain of death, 
 for it will be short ; or, if you must, remember, that, in 
 dying thus, you just as much sacrifice your life for your 
 country as if you laid it down on the battle-field, or in 
 the hospital. It all seems unnecessary, and horribly 
 wicked to me ; and God knows we pay a fearful price 
 for our national crimes ! But we cannot help this. 
 You have done what 3^ou considered your duty to your 
 
 12 
 
134 THE EEBEL GENERAL' S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 country : you are to die a martyr to the cause of truth, 
 justice, and liberty ; and now all that remains is for 
 you to make jouv peace with God. Oh, come to tlie 
 Saviour now, dear brother, if never before ; and he will 
 bear you safely over the dark river of death ! " she ex- 
 claimed with a con^ailsive sob. 
 
 " Oh, I cannot prepare, Catharine ! I feel as if it were 
 impossible under present circumstances. Once the future 
 life looked bright and glorious to me ; now all is doubt 
 and darkness, gloom and despair. I can see no help or 
 hope for me, here or hereafter. I ought not to tell you 
 this to add to the bitterness of your grief; and, for 
 God's sake, do not tell my dear mother. Give my best 
 love to them all at home, and tell them I shall think 
 of 3^ou all to the last moment. Bid Theodore fight for 
 us both, if he is still living, — not to revenge my death 
 upon these poor, deluded people, but to uphold the ban- 
 ner of freedom, set the oppressed and enslaved millions 
 free, and support the best government the sun ever 
 shone upon." 
 
 " Time's up, — not a minit more ! " exclaimed a gruff 
 voice, as the guard opened the door. 
 
 There was of course no alternative ; so, amid sobs and 
 tears, the farewell words were spoken. Catharine tore 
 herself awaj^, and, blinded by tears, was led by old Aunt 
 Dinah from the grim prison-house. 
 
 The walk home somewhat calmed her ; but still her 
 heart was bursting with grief at the thought of her 
 brother's sad fate, — a thousand times more terrible for 
 his agonizing terror and grim despair: and she was 
 sitting with her head bowed upon her hands, — racking 
 her brains for some expedient by which to save him, 
 when Gen. Atherton entered the room. 
 
THE brother's DANGER. 135 
 
 Knowing, from Dinah, something of what had passed, 
 he came up beside her ; and, laying his hand gcntlj^ uj)on 
 her bowed head, he said in a tone of deep commisera- 
 tion, — 
 
 ^'Catharine, may I sympathize with you in this deep 
 affliction ? God knows I would lighten it if I could." 
 
 '•'Oh, you can, — you can!" she exclaimed eagerly, 
 as she raised her tearful eyes to his: "you can procure 
 me an interview with the commanding general, and help 
 me plead the cause of an innocent man." 
 
 "It could do no good, Catharine : I know his opinion 
 of this case too well to believe we could influence him 
 in the least; and, even if he were made to believe in 
 your brother's innocence, he dare not pardon if he 
 would. As to our President, he is in Eichmond, and 
 could not be reached, and a messenger return, until all 
 is over." 
 
 " Oh ! is there, then, no help, no hope, no ray of light to 
 illumine his sad fate, — no possible change to be hoped 
 for in the mode of that death he dreads so much ? " 
 
 " Is he then, a soldier, so much afraid of death ? " 
 
 "ISTot of death, for he has walked bravely up to the 
 cannon's mouth, and would again ; but he shudders with 
 horror at the thought of a felon's death. Can you un- 
 derstand such feelings ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes: they are but natural to a noble soul." 
 
 "And he has one, — too pure and noble for a fate 
 like that, too precious to be so ignobly sacrificed. Oh ! 
 I would almost lay down my own life to procure his 
 acquittal or escape." 
 
 "Catharine, do you realize what you are saying?" 
 said the general suddenly, after a pause, during which 
 his face flamed up with a rapidlj^-formed resolution ; and 
 his eyes and hands eagerly sought her own. 
 
136 THE EEBEL GENT^RAl/s LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 "I think I do; " and slie raised her tearful eyes to his 
 face. 
 
 "And would you give less than life, yet what is quite 
 as precious as mine, to him who would secretly procure 
 your brother's escape, and safe transmission through our 
 lines?" he continued in a low, thrilling tone. 
 
 " Why do you ask ? and what is it I could give ? " she 
 questioned ; while her face blanched to a deadly white, 
 as a keen perception of his meaning flashed over her. 
 
 " I asked, because the devotion of a life, and the re- 
 quital you could give, would tempt one who loves you to 
 run a great risk, — to set free an innocent man for your 
 sake." 
 
 '•And without that requital, — for the sake of right 
 and justice and humanity, " she tremblingly urged. 
 
 " Those are certainly good and sufficient reasons, but 
 too far off and intangible for a nature as earthly as mine. 
 Ah, Catharine ! nothing in this world but the gift of 
 yourself could tempt me to run a risk, tliat, in case of 
 discovery, would involve me in disgrace and ruin, if not 
 death. But all this risk will I run for the sake of the 
 love you perseveringly withhold from me." 
 
 '- Gen. Atherton, I have already told you that I re- 
 spect and esteem, but do not love you ; and, as regards 
 that, we cannot command our own feelings." 
 
 " I would also take that risk," said he eagerly ; '* for I 
 know that no one can love as ardently as I love you, 
 without winning a return at last. Become my wife, 
 dear Catharine, the sharer of my destiny; and I know 
 you would learn to love me." 
 
 "Oh ! I cannot, Gen. Atherton, — I dare not, with my 
 present feelings: it would be a wrong before high 
 Heaven, both to you and myself; and you would wrong 
 
THE brother's DANGER. 137 
 
 yourself too, — hou'ever urgent my need, — to involve 
 yourself, and run such a risk for my sake." 
 
 "That is my affair. I would do it gladly to win the 
 reward that it is in your power to bestow. Allow my 
 chaplain to unite us this night; and I will do all that 
 is in the power of man to do to save your brother from 
 death. To-morrow it will be too late, — both for him 
 and for me. I am ordered to join the army of the 
 south-west immediately, and cannot even take you 
 with me in my hasty journey, if you become my wife, 
 much as I might wish it. Yet that need not prevent 
 your becoming so now, and giving me the right to be- 
 come your future guardian and protector through life. 
 Oh, will you not do this, dear Catharine ? " he pleaded 
 in most persuasive tones, as he sat down beside her, and 
 put his arm lovingly around her. 
 
 " Oh, do not — do not urge me now," she sobbed : " it 
 seems so like a mockery, with his precious life trembling 
 in the balance. And, oh ! it is revolting to every feeling 
 of delicacy in a maiden's heart to sell one's self to save 
 another's soul, — to traffic a life for a wife. Oh, be noble, 
 be generous, — be your own true self, dear general ! 
 Save him if you can -, and gratitude hereafter may win 
 for you what a persistence in immediate returns might 
 lose you forever." 
 
 " Ah, but to be my own true self, I must be selfish 
 enough to insist upon my own rights. I was neither 
 born nor educated to self-abnegation ; and for no trifling 
 scruples of delicacy can I resign the dearest and sweetest 
 hope of my life. I think I know and can understand 
 your feelings under the circumstances. For poor Harry's 
 sake, you are willing to waive all the political scruples 
 that have divided us. But the suddenness of my pro- 
 
 12* 
 
138 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 posal, and thouglits of its future consequences; sliock 
 and frighten, and fill your heart with a dread of me that 
 future experience will not justify. But I am no ogre, 
 that you need to fear me, Catharine. Give me hut a hus- 
 hand's claim to you hereafter, and I will prove to you 
 that I can love fondly, cherish tenderly, and wait pa- 
 tiently for the return of the fond affection you have in- 
 spired in my bosom." 
 
 He saw that she wavered ; that his strong will and 
 earnest determination were overhearing the frail barriers 
 she had raised to oppose them ; and, lowering his voice to 
 a tenderer tone, he continued, — 
 
 " Cannot 3'ou trust me, dear Catharine ? Do you 
 fear to place your happiness in my keeping ? If it suits 
 you better, we will wait for the solemn ceremony that is 
 to make us one until you know that the scaffold has lost 
 its victim. And then, when you are mine for all time, 
 all your scruples of delicacy shall be regarded. Much 
 as it will cost me, I will resign all present claim to your 
 society if you will promise to join me when I come or 
 send for you hereafter. Oh ! will you not do this ? " 
 
 Catharine could only sob : her heart was too full for 
 words. She saw nothing clearly, but poor Harry's 
 agonized face, and sad, pleading eyes, as he told her of 
 his terror at thought of a felon's death, his dread of the 
 dai'k, unknown future. And she, by a great sacrifice of 
 feeling, could save him. "Would she not, before God, be 
 guilty of his murder if she refused to do so ? was a ques- 
 tion she asked herself, — that struck such terror to her 
 heart that she dared refuse no longer. 
 
 Gen. Atherton looked eagerly into her eyes, as these 
 things were revolving in her mind, and he seemed almost 
 by intuition to read her very soul. 
 
THE brother's DANGER. 139 
 
 " Catharine ! is not your brother's life worth a pur- 
 chase like this? " he questioned tenderly. 
 
 " Yes, yes, — a thousand times yes ! Oh ! save him. 
 Gen. Atherton, and I promise to be your wife," she ex- 
 claimed with a shuddering sob. 
 
 " Mine, — mine at last ! " he said with deep feeling, as 
 he pressed the hand he had clasped to his lips. "0 
 Catharine ! if I live, you shall never, never repent of this 
 decision. And don't, pray, look forward to this consum- 
 mation -svith fear and dread. You shall have no reason 
 to do so. You shall always be treated kindly and re- 
 spectfully, cared for tenderly, and have abundant means 
 at your disposal to do all the good you wish. And cer- 
 tainly, if this war goes on, you will not lack for opportu- 
 nities you never would have found at home. But time is 
 flying. If I would win this precious guerdon, I must be 
 up and doing. I will see you again ere I sleep." 
 
 He was gone at last; and Catharine sat there with 
 bowed head, just as he found her. But what a change 
 had come over the spirit of her dreams ! Was it true 
 that that short interview had decided her destiny? It 
 would seem so ; and yet she could only realize a dull, 
 aching pain in her head and heart, a shivering dread of 
 the unknown future, a horrible fear lest she should sac- 
 rifice herself in vain, and poor Harry be murdered. 
 Could she ever love this man to whom she had sold her- 
 self ? Could she ever forgive him for taking such an 
 ungenerous advantage of her in her dire extremity, 
 when he might, if he would, have proved himself so 
 noble, and worthy of her regard ? Overcome as she was 
 by the thought of Hany's danger, she would hardly have 
 consented, but for his promise to leave her as soon as 
 the .ceremony was over, and the undefined hope that 
 
140 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 something, she knew not what, might make that separa- 
 tion eternal. 
 
 That night, when he called again, he told her that 
 every thing was in train for Harry's escape. And then 
 it was arranged that the marriage was to he a private 
 one, with no one present but Aunt Dinah, the chaplain, 
 and two of the general's friends; all of whom had prom- 
 ised to keep the secret until his return from the South- 
 west. Immediately after the ceremony, tliey were to 
 set out for Eichmond, where he was obliged to go for 
 orders previous to setting out upon his Southern jour- 
 ney. But for the fact of his projecting Harry's escape, 
 and it being known to some that she was of the same 
 name, and had visited him in prison. Gen. Atherton 
 would gladly have claimed and proclaimed her publicly 
 as his bride. As it was, it was judged more prudent not 
 to do so, through fear that some suspicion might fall on 
 them, when it became known that the prisoner had es- 
 caped. His friends, Major Darwin and Col. Mulford, 
 had suspected his attachment from the first, but admired 
 her too much themselves to wonder at his securing 
 her, if he could, before his departure for distant battle- 
 fields. 
 
CHAPTER Vin. 
 
 THE brother's ESCAPE. OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 
 
 HAT niglit, when all was still in the rebel 
 camp, save the voices of the sentinels as 
 they paced their weary rounds, the groans 
 of the wounded, or the low, sad tones of 
 tired watchers by the couches of the sick and dying, 
 poor Harry Hale lay writhing upon his bed of straw. 
 He was sleepless, inexf)ressibly wretched, and not a whit 
 more resigned to his fate than he was when Catharine 
 left him. He had been visited by some of the rebel 
 chapLains, who came to prepare him for the sad change 
 awaiting him : but, though he conversed with and lis- 
 tened to them respectfully, their prayers were not blessed 
 by his late repentance, conversion, or even resignation to 
 his sad destiny ; for, though not what might be called 
 a hardened, impenitent sinner, poor Harry was, as yet, 
 essentially earthly in all his thoughts and feelings, and 
 had 110 bright hopes of a better world to wean him from 
 the pleasures and joys of this. Still he had pride 
 enough to prevent him from exposing his weakness to 
 the rebels, as he had done to Catharine ; and, if he had 
 really died by the hangman's rope, that pride would 
 probably have supported him to the end. 
 
 The rough hut in which he was confined had been 
 
 141 
 
142 THE REBEL GENEEAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 built by Irish laborers at tlie time of the construction 
 of the railroad. It hail but one room, aside from the 
 attic, and tlie small one in which the prisoner was con- 
 fined. The larger room was now occupied by the guards, 
 some of whom were stationed on the outside of the 
 building. This hut still belonged to an Irishman, 
 named Mike Flannegan, — a jolly, good-natured, warm- 
 hearted, whiskey-loving genius, always full of his gibes 
 and jokes, and ready to do a good turn to whoever was 
 the best paymaster. He now worked by the day upon 
 the fortifications ; slept at night in his attic ; and every- 
 where and always was a great favorite with the soldiery. 
 As there was supposed to be no mode of egress from 
 Harry's room but by the door, and one small and 
 strongly-barred window, and the room was found to be full 
 of filth and vermin, — the companions of its late occu- 
 pant, — Mike Flannegan's pig, — they concluded it was 
 unnecessary to remain in the room with him. So, lock- 
 ing the door, and posting a guard outside, they thought 
 him perfectly safe. But a good many had been in, dur- 
 ing the day and evening, to gratify their curiosity by 
 looking through a certain knot-hole in the prisoner's 
 door, some one of whom had forgotten a basket of cakes 
 and cheese, garnished by a bottle of uncommonly sopo- 
 rific whiskey. No guard could be expected to withstand 
 a temptation like that, when it was once discovered. 
 The consequence was, that they all got — not exactly 
 drunk, but quiet, and slightly oblivious of surrounding 
 objects. But jDoor Harry knew nothing of all this : he 
 only knew, as the unmarked hours glided by in the dark- 
 ness, that his life was fast fleeting away ; and he watched 
 the faint ray from the knot-hole, expecting soon to see 
 it exchanged for the light of his last earthly morning. 
 
THE brother's ESa^PE. 143 
 
 Though he knew nothing of the time, it was past mid- 
 night ; and the camp, as well as his guard, had long been 
 comparatively still ; when, all at once, he thouglit he 
 heard a faint knocking beneath him. He lifted his 
 head, and eagerly listened. It was repeated, — this 
 time a little louder. 
 
 '• "What can it be? " he murmured wonderingly. 
 
 "Whist, for yer life, if ye want to escape !" whispered 
 a voice directly beneath him. 
 
 "Wlio's there?" he whispered in return, his voice 
 trembling with the nervous eagerness of a renewed hope 
 flashing out of the blackness of dark despair. 
 
 "Don't ask, but get up, and softly pull away the 
 straw from the corner, — far as ye can," was the replj''. 
 
 Harry managed to do this with his feet and manacled 
 hands, when, to his astonishment, the floor began to rise, 
 disclosing a trap-door — over which he had lain secure- 
 ly — and the faintest possible ray of light beneath. Im- 
 mediately afterwards, an honest, sympathizing Irish face 
 appeared at the opening ; and its owner crept stealthily 
 up into the room. 
 
 " Whist, for yer life ! " he repeated in Harry's ear. 
 He then produced keys, and proceeded to unlock his 
 shackles, and rub his benumbed limbs to get the blood 
 in circulation once more. 
 
 " I^ow follow me ! " whispered his good genius kindly. 
 
 Harry could not believe the evidence of his senses, 
 and kept thinking it was all a dream, though ready 
 enough to follow his conductor. Blinded, dizzy, and be- 
 numbed as he was, he would have fallen through the 
 trap but for the assistance of his warm-hearted friend. 
 
 "i!sow, me darlint," he said, when he had got him 
 safely down the rude ladder, " you must slip out of this 
 
144 THE EEBEL GENEEAL's LOYAL BEmE. 
 
 toggery," — pointing to liis Federal uniform, — "and 
 jest step into anotlier sarpent's skin, if ye want to give 
 'em the slip ; " and, by the dim light of a dark lantern, 
 he produced a suit of common citizen's garments, that 
 Harry readily exchanged for his own, which the man hid 
 in a sly corner. 
 
 " IsTow, hone}^," he whispered, " pluck up yer courage, 
 put on a stiif upper lip, and don't make a noise louder' n 
 a misketer; for we've got a narrer chance to run. Here, 
 take a drink of the swate crater, and then foller me." 
 
 Harrj^ obeyed in both particulars ; for he sadl}^ needed 
 something to recruit his exhausted energies, and give 
 him the strength and courage he needed for an adven- 
 ture so highly dangerous. "Without further questioning, 
 he then stooped, and followed his guide through a narrow 
 passage, leading into a ruined cow-shed behind the hut. 
 This passage had been cut by former occupants for the 
 convenience of their pigs and poultry, which had been in 
 the habit of wintering in the rude cellar of the little 
 mansion. 
 
 " Now, me honey, on thy belly shalt thou crawl, and 
 dust shalt thou eat for a while, — like any other sarpent," 
 whispered his guide with a low, merry laugh, as he lay 
 down upon the ground, and began to crawl in the direc- 
 tion of the outposts. It was dark and cloudy ; but, as 
 the guide knew every inch of the ground, this was a 
 favorable circumstance. So, by crawling around senti- 
 nels, walking in the deepest shadows, and creeping around 
 opposing obstacles where it was more exposed, taking 
 paths that were very circuitous, he succeeded in piloting 
 Harry safely out of the rebel encampment. 
 
 " Now, me darlint, we'll stop and rest a bit,'^ said the 
 unknown guide, when he thought they were at a safe dis- 
 
THE brother's ESCAPE. 145 
 
 tauce from camp ; " and p'ra'ps a bit and a sup wouldn't 
 como amiss wid ye now." 
 
 "Ko, indeed!" said Harry, who, having eaten 
 scarcely any thing since his capture, now began to feel 
 the keen demands of hunger after his tiresome exer- 
 tions. He ate a piece of dirty corn-bread and a slice of 
 cold ham with the keenest relish ; nor did he disdain to 
 wash it down with some of the contents of his guide's 
 " pocket pistol," though he was a strong temperance 
 man at home. 
 
 "Kow, my friend," he said, "that you have fortified 
 the inner man, and set the outer one at liberty, will you 
 be kind enough to tell me to whom I am indebted for 
 all these favors, and why you take interest enough in 
 me to run such a frightful risk for my sake ? " 
 
 " Spake lower, honey, if ye don't want a twist in yer 
 gullet. As to the first, I'm Mike Flannegan, at yer sar- 
 vice ; and for the rest, I wish I could tell ye it was ' 
 for the love of yerself, and not the yaller boys, I did it. 
 Truth it is, though, that I'd risk me neck in this way 
 for none but an innocent man like yerself, now." 
 
 " Thank you for that. But, if not to you, to whom, 
 then, am I indebted, my friend ? " 
 
 " There's the rub, darlint. I swore by the holy poker 
 not to divulge the jintleman's name. I'll whisper in 
 yer left ear, however, that he wore stars on his shoulder- 
 straps ; and this child suspicioned that he did it for the 
 love of the bright eyes that looked inter yer prison anon. 
 Any way, ye are to write her a little billet that yer safe 
 and sound, for me to take back to her ; " and he produced 
 a pencil and memorandum-book, on a stray leaf of which 
 Harry scribbled, — 
 13 
 
146 THE REBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 " Dear C. — I am safe beyond tlie inner lines of tlic 
 
 enemy. God grant that I may get safely beyond the 
 
 outer ones; and you, too, dear C. 
 
 " H." 
 
 " Strange," he mused, " that Catharine should know 
 of my intended escape, and probably helped to plan it. — • 
 But what am I to do now, ^Iv. Flannegan ? As soon as 
 the alarm is given, they will scour the whole country in 
 search of me ; and luck}'' shall I be to keep out of their 
 cruel hands." 
 
 •' Ah ! the jintleman has pervided for all that. There, 
 I hear the click of steel-clad hoofs." 
 
 Harry started up in alarm, thinking the patrols were 
 after him. 
 
 "Whist ! I spects it's the old nigger with the bosses. 
 Jist step behind them bushes, and I'll see." 
 
 He returned presently, exclaiming, " Bless yer lucky 
 stars ! it's Old jSTick, sure enough ; and he knows all 
 the roads from Dan to Barsheba. He'll get ye safe 
 through, if anybody can. But hurry up : there's not 
 a minit to lose." 
 
 Harry needed no urging. They soon reached the 
 road ; and he mounted as fine a horse as could be found 
 in the country, while his new guide was mounted upon 
 another. Both were well supplied with all necessary 
 military equipments, as well as food for the journey. 
 
 " Good-by, my friend ! " said Harry, w- armly grasping 
 the Irishman's hand, as they were about to part. '• I 
 owe you more than words can express. I hope no harm 
 may come to you from this night's adventure, and that 
 I may live to repay you at some future day." 
 
 " Divil a bit of pay do I want, more than the jintle- 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 147 
 
 man gave me ; and, as to the liarrum, I guess I can fix 
 it. So good-by, and good luck to ye both ; and may 
 the divil break the necks of all who pursue ye ! " 
 
 "Thank you, and good-by," said Harry. The next 
 minute he and his dark guide were, as slowly and noise- 
 lessly as possible at first, but at a two-forty pace after- 
 wards, dashing down the road, soon leaving the Confederate 
 camp far in the rear. 
 
 It is needless to say that the rebels were terribly ex- 
 asperated, when they found, at daylight next morning, 
 that their prisoner had escaped. The guards were all 
 found at their posts guarding the empty cage ; but the 
 bird had flown. And yet there was no mystery about it 
 when the place was examined by the light of day. 
 There were the pigs' nest hustled to one side, the trap- 
 door plainly visible, and the underground path to the 
 cow-shed easily traced. The mystery was, how the 
 prisoner could have got his irons off, or got away with- 
 out discovery ; and no one believed he could have done 
 it without assistance. But "Who was the traitor?" 
 was the question asked, and "Why was the prisoner 
 put in such a place without a more thorough examina- 
 tion ? " 
 
 The guards were arrested on suspicion; but, as nothing 
 could be proved against them, thej^ were soon set at lib- 
 erty. Xo one mistrusted ]\Iike Flannegan, who, they 
 all said, was helped up the ladder in the guard-room, 
 half-drunk, the previous night ; and there in his attic 
 he was found snoring in the morning, with an empty 
 whiskey-bottle beside him. Of course he did not tell 
 them of the knotted rope by which he had descended 
 aiid ascended : he disclaimed all knowledge of the 
 trap. 
 
148 THE EEBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 "Eaith, and what should I know about thraps," he 
 said, "when the pigs had always, since the memory of 
 man, had their nest in that corner. I have never both- 
 ered myself to find out what there was under 'em be- 
 sides fleas. Only an infarnal Yankee nose could have 
 scented out so strange a thing, in my opinion." 
 
 Every spot about the camp was searched, and the 
 country scoured in every direction ; jet they could ob- 
 tain no trace of the fugitives. When it was found that 
 Uncle Nick had also disappeared, it was supposed that 
 he had helped the prisoner to escape. But the general 
 had been too cautious in his plans to be suspected him- 
 self, or cast a shadow of blame on Catharine. Harry, 
 meantime, with his unknown guide, was scouring over 
 the country with the speed of the wind, — not, however, 
 in the shortest and most direct road to Washington, but 
 in an entirely different direction. They followed this 
 break-neck speed for some time, and not until the 
 horses began to show unmistakable signs of fatigue 
 was their pace moderated in the least. Day was now 
 dawning in the east; and Harry found that they were 
 entering a wild, wooded, broken country, very different 
 from any he had previously seen in Virginia, and that 
 the road was growing rougher and evidentl}'' more un- 
 travelled at every mile. They came at last to a high 
 hill that overlooked a large extent of territory, on the 
 top of which the guide suddenly halted. 
 
 " I am glad you have found a stopping-place at last, 
 my friend," said Harry; "fori began to think I was 
 following the wild huntsman." 
 
 " Had je rudder staid, an' tried de strength of de 
 rope ? " queried his good genius. 
 
 " No, no ! " he exclaimed shudderingly, just as the 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 149 
 
 thunderous roar of an alarm-gun in the direction of 
 the camp announced the escape of the prisoner. Soon 
 afterwards they saw the clouds breaking away in tlio 
 east, and tlie sun rising in his splendor, — a gorgeous 
 sight to behold, yet ever after, to Harry Hale, fraught 
 with fearful memories of that eventful night, and the 
 glorious morning that came so near to being his last on 
 earth. 
 
 "No," he continued, after a long pause, and silent 
 yet heartfelt thanksgiving. "Thanks be to God, and 
 you, my friend, tliat I am not at this moment swinging 
 from the end of a rope in the rebel camp." 
 
 " You come mighty near to it, dat's sartin. You'll 
 bo luckier dan my poor dear massa, if you get off wid 
 a whole skin.'^ 
 
 " Who was your master, my good man ? Seems to 
 me your voice sounds mightyfamiliar ; '^ and he turned 
 to look more closely at his sable companion. 
 
 " Ole Major Hunter of Hunter Hills was my master, 
 — the best and kindest one dat eber breaved," said the 
 man with a sigh. 
 
 "Indeed! Why, he was Lloyd's father, of whose sad 
 fate Catharine told me in the prison. And you — wlij-, 
 as sure as the world, you are my old friend Nick ! " and 
 Harry eagerly held out his hand, which the other 
 grasped quite as warmlj^ 
 
 "Yes: it's ole Nick, sure cnuff, Massa Harry; an' 
 he no forgit de little feller dat help Grace, an' save black 
 Jett an' do proud Suveners from drownin'. He no for- 
 git Massa Tedo nuther, or loetle Jessie. An', more'n 
 all de rest, he no furgit Miss Kate, who nussed us in de 
 fever, an' resk her life tryin' to save massa an' little 
 
 13* 
 
150 THE REBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRmE. 
 
 Walter. An' it's for her sweet sake, I'm qiiittin' ole 
 Virginny dis day." 
 
 " It's to her, then, I owe my escape ; is it ? " 
 
 "Not zactly. Nick t'ink somebody help for lier sake ; 
 but he promise not to tell. Here is de puss lie send to 
 Massa Harry ; " and he presented a plethoric one. 
 
 " Strange, that my benefactor should so shroud him- 
 self in mystery ! " 
 
 "Not a bit. D'3'e t'ink a big high ossifer want he 
 neck stretched for lettiu' prisoner go ? No, no : Nick 
 know better'n dat." 
 
 ^' But why he should do it at all is what puzzles me." 
 
 " Ay ! but it no puzzle Nick. He say, ' Poor fel- 
 ler ! he no spy : he innocent as a lamb ! Nick want 
 to help git him off, — cheat de gallows, an' git he own 
 freedom massa promised ? ' Dis he sp.y wid he lips, but 
 de eyes tell Nick he care noffin' for poor prisoner, but 
 t'ink all de worl' of Miss Kate ; an' p'r'aps, if he let 
 brudder go, she 'sent to be his wife." 
 
 "Well, I can't imagine who it is, but I suppose it is 
 of no use to pump j^ou ; j-et I fear poor Kate is going 
 to involve herself in some way for my sake. It would 
 be just like her : she is always so ready to do, and to 
 sacrifice herself, for the sake of others." 
 
 " Dat's a fact. Nick allers know it. She tu good for 
 dis world, — tu good for dat man, or anybody on dis 
 arth. De angels git her bimeby." 
 
 All this time the eyes of the slave had been roving 
 over the varied landscape in search of pursuers ; but, 
 seeing none, they dismounted to rest themselves and 
 their horses, and take a lunch. 
 
 "' It seems to me. Uncle Nick, that we've been going 
 the wrong way all the time," said Harry. 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 151 
 
 "Dat's a fact/' Nick returned. "Yet it's de right 
 way, arter all. Dey look eberywliere else for us, 'fore dey 
 t'ink to look here ; an' bimeby we'll come round inter de 
 right way to go home." 
 
 After this they went on a little more leisurely, until 
 the burning August sun made it extremely uncomfortable 
 for man and beast. Then they turned into a piece 
 of woods, in a green, grassy glade of which, beside a 
 spring, they picketed the horses, and, one at a time, lay 
 down to rest beneath the shadows of the trees. Here 
 they remained nearly the whole day. 
 
 Nick knew very well that lie w\is not a great distance 
 back of the Hunter Hills, where he had often been with 
 his master. He also knew something of the character 
 of tlie inhabitants, so contrived to avoid passing the 
 dwellings of those who were inimical hy daylight. 
 Towards night, with themselves and their horses re- 
 freshed, the}^ set out again, turning their course to the 
 northward ; and, before morning, they had passed over 
 quite a long stretch of mountainous country. 
 
 By this time Harry had got the history of the late 
 military and other operations at the South, as Nick 
 understood them, as well as particulars of Catharine's 
 late experiences, that were new to l)im ; for Nick was 
 unusuall}'- intelligent for one of his class in life. Having 
 lived two years at the North, and boavded with Harry's 
 mother when the young people were at school in Glen- 
 eden, Nick was of course an old acquaintance and warm 
 friend of the famil3^ This residence at the North, even 
 though it was as a servant and general waiter for Lloyd 
 and Grace, Philip and Nell, had served to enlighten 
 Nick on a good many subjects, and fit him, more than 
 slaves are usually fitted, for the freedom that his master 
 
152 THE REBEL GEXEKAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 had promised. But Major Hunter's death had been so 
 sudden, that Nick was doubtful whether his will was 
 completed, or would be allowed to be legal by the rebel 
 authorities. He had a shrewd suspicion, too, that he 
 was to be pressed into government service to work on 
 the fortifications, — a most unendurable bondage. So 
 he embraced Gen. Atherton's proposition, as much on 
 his own account as on Harry's ; though lie felt many 
 regrets at leaving poor little Walter, and indeed the 
 whole Hunter family. He loved them all, and his life, 
 thus far, had been an easy one ; yet freedom was dearer 
 than every thing else to him. 
 
 Upon the morning of the second day, they had a very 
 narrow escape from a party of rebel cavalry, whom they 
 evaded only b}" leaping their horses over a high fence, 
 and hiding behind a great pile of rocks near the roadside. 
 Soon afterwards they entered a fine, fertile tract of 
 country, that seemed more thickly populated than any 
 they had previously' traversed, as Harry remarked. 
 
 " Ah ! Nick know him well enough,'' was the reply. 
 "Before long we come to Massa Tremont's plantation.'' 
 
 ^' Tremont ? Not some of Grace Tremont's rela- 
 tions ? " 
 
 " Sartin, Massa Harrj'. It's nobody but INIiss Grace's 
 own fader ; an' Nick spects de sweet little critter's her- 
 self up dere." 
 
 " Indeed ! How glad I should be to see her ! But do 
 you suppose she would know me, Nick, after seven long 
 years of separation ? " 
 
 " Nick spects jMassa Harry's own mudder not know 
 'im jes' now. Pie forgit dat when he took up de sword 
 he lay down de razor, an' dat he now look like one poor 
 long-faced he-goat. Miss Grace 'member on'y Massa 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 153 
 
 Harry's smooth face, full of fun, wid rosy cheeks, dim- 
 ple chin, an' curly head." 
 
 " Oh ! " and Harry put his hand up to his face despair- 
 ingly, "I forgot that I hadn't seen a razor for weeks, and 
 that I must look altogether Jewish, dirty, and unpresent- 
 ahle. So I think we must give Miss Grace, who used to 
 he au unmerciful hector, a pretty wide berth as we go 
 by.-' 
 
 " Nick no t'ink so. Leetle Grace lub fun, but de heart's 
 in de right place ; an' no doubt she drefful glad to see 
 Massa Harry. Massa Tremont good friend tu, — good 
 Linkum man ; hate rebellion. Nick t'ink it good place 
 to stop till de fury's ober. Dey no care if Massa Harry 
 look like one big buffalo, if he good Linkum man." 
 
 ^' Do you think so ? But how is it ? I thought Grace 
 was an orphan cousin of Lloyd's when they were at 
 school." • 
 
 " So she war. Her mudder, Massa Hunter's sister, die 
 when she leetle baby ; an' Lloyd an' Miss Lucy's mudder 
 took her home to Hunter House, where we all brung her 
 up till she went off North to school. But, when she 
 cum back, ]\Lassa Tremont's nuther wife die ; so he took 
 her home to stay wid her little half-sister, Helen, v»ho 
 must be a big gal by dis time. But what's dat ? " he 
 exclaimed, reining up his horse suddenly, as a succession 
 of shrill, sharp shrieks, and the sound of rapidly-rolling 
 wheels, rang out upon the clear morning breezes. 
 
 They were just descending to a large stream, spanned 
 by a high, uncovered, arched bridge, with but a slight 
 railing at the sides for the protection of passengers. 
 On the other side of this stream rose a steep, thickly- 
 vrooded hill, up which the road wound circuitously, and 
 from which the unusual sounds seemed to come. Before 
 
154 THE EEBEL GENEHAL's LOYAL BRIBE. 
 
 there was time for a tliouglit of escape, if escape had 
 been necessary or possible, a close carriage, drawn bv a 
 span of fiery horses, but driverless, and with the reins 
 dangling about tlic horses' heels, came thundering down 
 the hill towards the bridge. Our two horsemen, who 
 had just passed it when thoj saw the carriage, instinc- 
 tivel}^ gave them the road. But Harry, who saw at a 
 glance that there were ladies within, and the danger to 
 which they were exposed, turned lihe a flash, and, dashing 
 after them, was kicky enougli to seize the near horse hy 
 the bit, just as they were rushing obliquely across the 
 bridge to inevitable destruction below. As it was, it 
 would have been impossible for him to have stopped their 
 wild career, but for the rise in the centre of the bridge, 
 or to have held them a moment but for ISTick's oppor- 
 tune arrival, commanding ^' Whoa !'' and strong grasp 
 upon the other friglitened animal, so mad Were their 
 struggles to get free. But ihoy were saved, and led 
 panting and trembling across the shaky old bridge, and 
 up the hill to a safe distance, before Kick, who guided 
 them, ventured to stop to relieve tlie anxiety of the 
 wretched inmates. 
 
 " But who are the inmates ? And how do we know 
 but what they are our bitter foes ? " thought Harry, as 
 he took the horses by the bits, with his cheek pale Vv'ith 
 excitement, and his h'^.art beating strangely, as Nick pro- 
 ceeded to open the carriage-door. 
 
 Nick kuew very well what he vras about, however; for 
 he had seen a pale face at the window, and knew the 
 horses and the old Tremont family carriage very well : 
 so he was not surprised to find Grace and Helen within, 
 pale as marble, and half fainting with terror, while tl^eir 
 black servant-girl lay in strong con^oilsions upon the 
 carriage-floor. 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 155 
 
 At the sight of Uncle Nick's black, honest face at the 
 door, joy and sui-prise created a sudden revulsion in 
 Grace's feelings ; and, overcome by her emotions, she leaned 
 forward, as she had done a hundred times in childhood, 
 laid lier head on his shoulder, and gave way to a passion- 
 ate burst of tears. In that moment of joyous recognition, 
 and deliverance, the prejudices of caste and color were 
 forgotten. The affection engendered in infancy displayed 
 itself to Harry's astonished gaze, in defiance of all the 
 strict rules of propriety, that had for years been instilled 
 into the proud little maiden's heart. Nor did he think 
 it surprising when he came to know that she thought 
 they had fallen into the hands of rebels or guerillas, in- 
 stead of those of tried and trusty friends. Uncle Nick, 
 too, seemed fluite as much overcome with emotion as 
 herself. 
 
 " T'ank God ! T'ank God ! " he kept repeating; " dat 
 leetle missy saved ; " and the big tears rolled down his 
 dark cheeks like rain. . 
 
 "I do — I do thank him, and you, too, my dear, old 
 friend ! " sobbed Grace ; while Helen, too, grasped his hand, 
 and poured out her fervent thanksgiving. Both were so 
 bewildered, and overcome w^ith emotion, that they did 
 not see Harry, until Nick turned to him and said, — 
 
 " I guess Nick have to divide de t'anks witii he young 
 friend here ; for, if he no turn quicker'n litenin', de bosses 
 got off de bridge for all Nick." 
 
 " Then he has our thanks, our fervent gratitude," said 
 Grace, crimsoning as she looked up to find his eyes fixed 
 searchinglj'- upon her face, yet failing to recognize in the 
 pale, careworn, bearded young man her smooth-faced, 
 merry, boyish friend of otlier days. But Harry knew 
 Grace at once, as she had changed far less than he ; and 
 
156 THE KEBEL GENEEAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 lie was slightly amused by lier evident attempt at recog- 
 nition. 
 
 It did not take long to explain tlie position of the 
 young ladies : they were in great trouble at home. The 
 judge, their father, had been arrested by the rebel 
 authorities, and put in prison, for denouncing their usur- 
 pations, and declaring his loyalty to the Union. The 
 slaves, their master gone, were escaping in gangs every 
 day from the plantation. And, to crown the whole, the 
 guerillas were roaming over the country, murdering and 
 devastating the property of all Unionists, and some vrlio 
 were not, their crimes too evidently winhcd at b}^ the 
 rebel authorities. In this state of things, the 3^oung 
 ladies, expecting nightly an aLtach from tlie desperadoes, 
 had decided to flee from the neighborhood, and seek 
 shelter, as their father had advised them to do, with tlieir 
 dear old uncle at Hunter Hills. And they had set out 
 that morning eavly, with the coachman and two armed 
 outriders as an escort, intending to sleep that night at the 
 house of a friend, and reach Hunter House the next 
 evening. 
 
 The}^ had come but a few miles, however, before shots 
 were fired, very near to tliem ; but whether at them or 
 not, they could not tell. Any vray, they had frightened 
 the horses, who started so suddenly as to throw the driver 
 off the box. Then they ran down the long hill, as if 
 pursued by the evil one; while the cowardty outriders, it 
 was presumed, sought safety in flight. 
 
 " And now," continued Grace, " you can't think liow 
 glad I am to meet you. Uncle Nick. I know God sent 
 you for our deliverance, and to pilot us to our dear un- 
 cle's arms." 
 
 jSI^ick and Harry exchanged meaning glances. 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 157 
 
 Oh ! how coiiLl they tell them that the home to which 
 they were flying, and the friend in whom they were 
 trusting, had passed forever from the earth ? 
 
 '' I tell you what I t'ink," said Nick, swallowing his 
 emotion. " We come right off from Hunter Hills, an' 
 de hosses drefful tired an' hungrj'-, an' you gals drefful 
 scairt, an' rumfled up ; so 'twill be best to go back home 
 a leetle spell an' git rested, an' talk ober matters." 
 
 '•' Well, just as you think best, my friend. But first, 
 how are they all at Hunter Hills ? " 
 
 " Not bery well, Miss Grace,'^ said Nick, wincing at 
 the question. " Nobody dere now but niggers. Dey 
 all gone to Richmond." 
 
 " To Richmond ! Is it possible ! What, uncle and 
 aU?" 
 
 " All gone, little missus," said he solemnly. 
 
 " Why, I thought they always spent the summer in 
 the country, or at the watering-places." 
 
 "Ah ! dey used to did. But times drefful bad. 
 Country drefful dangerous jes' now." 
 
 '•It is here, I know, — so near the lines; but we 
 hoped it was better there. And uncle is such a kind, 
 good, influential man, that we felt as if he could protect 
 us ; and so did father. But what can we do now ? Do 
 you want to go to Richmond, Helen, that nest of seces- 
 sion and treason ? " 
 
 " No, indeed ! And I am sure father would much 
 prefer that we should go to Washington," she returned 
 in clear, sweet, yet decided tones. 
 
 "So am I. But I can't bear to go, leaving him in 
 captivity. Perhaps we had better risk it to remain at 
 home." 
 
 " Wliere is your father ? " asked Harry pityingly. 
 14 
 
158 THE EEBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 " He was talven first to the county jail, where we vis- 
 ited him. But he has since been removed : they will 
 not tell us where, but most likely to Staunton or Rich- 
 mond." 
 
 "You see, there were people here, whom his sense 
 of justice in his legal capacity had ofifended, who were 
 only too glad of an opportunity to be revenged upon 
 him, and get him out of the way," said Helen sadly. 
 " I fear uncle, too, will be unsafe, with his plain speech 
 and known loyalty. He will surely be caught up by the 
 rebel autliorities, if aunt's friends do not interfere to 
 save him ; and then where would be our safety if we 
 were with him ? '' 
 
 " I do not thinli: you would be unsafe in E/ichmond, 
 ladies, at present. The greatest danger would be in get- 
 ting there. And you must have friends there aside from 
 your aunt's family, — even among the rebel authorities." 
 
 " I don't know who, I am sure," said Grace. 
 
 "Are not your old friends, the Athertons, in the rebel 
 service ? Why not claim their protection ? " 
 
 " No," said Grace quickly, while her cheek crimsoned : 
 " I could not do that. AYe have mortally offended them. 
 And that may be one reason of our father's arrest." 
 
 " Indeed ! Why, I thought Philip was an old friend 
 of yours," said Harry with a questioning glance. 
 
 "He may have been: he is not now. I have none 
 I value in the ranks of rebellion. But what do you 
 think. Uncle Nick ? " she continued. " Is it safe for us, 
 or for uncle, in Richmond ? " 
 
 " Ah ! Massa good man, good Christian : he safe 
 whereber he go. Young pretty Linkum gals no bery 
 safe anywhere in Yirginn}^, jest now." 
 
 " Nick," Grace exclaimed, after looking at him search- 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 159 
 
 ingly a moment, " you are in trouble. Something is 
 the matter at Hunter House : I see it in your eyes ; I 
 hear it in the tremulous tones of your voice ; I feel it 
 here ; ^' and she put her hand to her heart. " Why did I 
 not see it before ? " Then, after a pause, " Tell me, 
 is dear uncle, too, arrested ? '' and the tones were low, 
 husk}^, and tremulous. 
 
 "Dere, Nick neber could keep noting from leetle 
 Grace : she allers find him out. He hab got bad news. 
 Dear old Hunter House cotch fire, an' burn all to pieces." 
 
 " Merciful heavens ! But the family " — 
 
 " Dey gone to Eichmond." 
 
 "Dear old uncle too? Nick ! there is something 
 you are trying to keep from me," she said in a tone of 
 alarm. 
 
 Nick turned appea,lingly to Harry. Knowing how 
 tenderly she loved her uncle, he could not bear to tell 
 her of his death. Harry, understanding the mute ap- 
 peal, came forward pityingly. 
 
 '• We have indeed a sad story to tell," he said. 
 "This dreadful war fills almost every home with sorrow 
 and woe. Your dear uncle has been dead for weeks. 
 He was murdered b^'-the guerillas, who burned the man- 
 sion, and carried away every thing of value they could 
 lay their hands on." 
 
 Grace was white and dumb with grief and terror, so 
 long that they were glad when the sobs burst forth. 
 Helen wae pale, and awestruck; but, knowing less of her 
 uncle, she did not feel it so acutely. When Grace grew 
 calmer, the rest of the sad story was told, as well as 
 that of their deliverer, whose identity with her old 
 friend, Harry Hale, she had more than suspected. 
 
 Just as they were preparing to turn the carriage about, 
 
160 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRJDE. 
 
 and return to the mansion, poor coacLy came limping 
 over the bridge and up the road, swearing at tlie cow- 
 ardice of his late armed companions. He had seen the 
 hunter who fired the shots ; and thus put to flight all 
 present fear of the guerillas. His ankle was badly 
 sprained by his fall ; but otherwise he seemed to be un- 
 mjured. Helping him up to his place, they were soon 
 on the way to Tremont Hall. 
 
 It was a large, handsome wooden structure ; and, with 
 its towers, balconies, out-buildings, and shadowy trees, 
 presented quite an imposing appearance. As they drove 
 up the broad carriage-sweep, and entered the gate, a 
 ludicrous scene presented itself to their view. 
 
 Perched upon the top of the front balcony sat the two 
 cowardly runaways, gun in hand, watching for the 
 enemy; while, within the mansion, a scene presented 
 itself that beggars description. They had spread the 
 greatest consternation among the slaves upon their re- 
 turn, by the report that they were attacked by the out- 
 laws, and the young ladies carried off by them, and that 
 they had barely escaped with their lives. They had 
 heard the shots ; and, frightened half out of their senses, 
 fear and cowardice had filled up the picture. At sight 
 of the carriage, returning with its new attendants, they 
 slipped down from the balcony, cowed and crestfallen, 
 and very considerately disappeared. 
 
 As soon as they alighted, the young ladies ushered 
 Harry and Uncle Kick into the mansion, expecting to 
 find every thing in order, as they had left it a few hours 
 before. 
 
 What, then, was their surprise, to find every thing in 
 confusion, and the house-servants all packing up their 
 treasures, in anticipation of an attack, and a sudden 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 161 
 
 flight from tlie premises. The halls and alleys were 
 lined by an indiscriminate collection of frightened ser- 
 vants, sacks of clothing, baskets of provisions, boxes of 
 trinkets, bundles of bedding, squalling children, weep- 
 ing mothers, barking curs, mewing cats, and frisking 
 kittens; all contributing to make it a very pandemo- 
 nium. Here sat Phillis, upon the top of a big bundle, 
 weeping bitterly; while TuU, with' his effects strapped 
 upon his back, was trying to afford her Christian conso- 
 lation. Chloe, more, resolute in spirit, was brandishing 
 a frying-pan over the head of an obstreperous youngster, 
 and threatening death to all the outlaws in Christendom 
 who should harm him. Betty, the housekeeper, more 
 intent upon the interests of the family, was packing a 
 big basket with her young mistresses' best bonnets and 
 dresses, interspersed with various cakes and condiments, 
 jars and bottles of her own, that altogether would have 
 made a heavy burden for any mule on the plantation. 
 The fat old cook, too, had her budgets surmounted by 
 a good-sized nest of pots, tin kettles, and sauce-pans. 
 But the crowning glor}^ of the whole troop was the big 
 bundle of Nett, upon the top of which was strapped the 
 great tin oven ; inside of which, nearly smothered with 
 pillows, was snuggled her cute little black baby, with 
 a loaf of bread and a roast of meat still warm from 
 its late slight exposure to the kitchen fire. The little 
 youngster was kicking and crowing, and clutching at 
 the bright new tin ; and seemed delighted with his fine 
 quarters. A more laughable or mirth-provoking scene 
 could scarcely be imagined. And, in spite of their grief 
 and trouble, the new-comers did laugh uproariously. 
 
 " What in the world is the meaning of all this ? " 
 Grace exclaimed, as soon as she could find her voice, 
 11* 
 
162 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 " O" missis ! Little missy ! Good gracious ! " they 
 all exclaimed in a breath. " Lord}^ massy ! We tought 
 de grillers got ye bofe sure ; an' comiu' arter us ebery 
 minit ! " and they all crowded around the young ladies, 
 testifying their joy at their return in every look and 
 tone. 
 
 " So those cowardly rascals came back and frightened 
 you all out of your senses ; did they ? But calm your 
 fears. There's not an outlaw within a hundred miles of 
 us, I'll venture to say. Some poor loafer fired two or 
 three shots at a squirrel, so near that it frightened our 
 horses ; and they threw poor coachy off the box, and ran 
 away with us. They came very near dashing us off the 
 Old Murder E,un Bridge, and but for Uncle ]N"ick and 
 this young gentleman, who were coming from Hunter 
 Hills, we should have been killed. But poor Jack got 
 his ankle sprained ; and I want you, Aunt Betty, to 
 doctor it up, and take care of dear Uncle Nick ; while 
 the rest of you clear away this wreck as soon as possi- 
 ble." Saying which, Grace led the way into the parlor, 
 to entertain her new and welcome guest. 
 
 Grace was delighted to see Harry once more, and had a 
 hundred questions to ask concerning the friends and scenes 
 of other days, as well as the weightier and more em- 
 barrassing ones of the present time. Begarding these, 
 Uncle Nick was at last called in for a consultation. 
 
 Ignorant of the fate of their father, knowing that 
 their secession neighbors were inimical, and spies upon 
 all their actions, and considering the terrible state of the 
 country, the young ladies were afraid to remain in their 
 present quarters. So it was decided at last that they 
 should set out that very night, on horseback, with Uncle 
 Nick and Harry, for the Union lines. As spies were 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 163 
 
 said to be in almost every liouseholdj they took no one 
 into their confidence but the overseer and Aunt Betty, 
 whom they thought the3'^ could trust ; and their prepara- 
 tions were made very quietly. They knew it would be 
 a dangerous adventure ; but both ladies were at home in 
 the saddle, of good courage, and ready, as they said, to 
 fight or run, as the case might be. 
 
 So that night, when the lights had gone out in the 
 slave-cabins, and vanished from the neighbors' dwellings, 
 they set out on their dangerous journey, taking with 
 them their money, jewels, and their father's most valua- 
 able papers, through fear that they would fall into the 
 hands of the enemy. They were obliged to leave the 
 family portraits, however, and a hundred other precious 
 things that gold could not buy, — never more expecting 
 to behold them. It was, indeed, a sad farewell to the 
 old home. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MAKRIAGE OF THE EEBEL GENERAL. THE XOBLE 
 
 WORK. 
 
 *E will DOW return to poor Catharine, who 
 had never in her life passed a more wretched 
 night than that which preceded her bridal 
 morning. It was the night of Harry's 
 escape ; and she had but just got into a doze, when the 
 morning dawned, and she was wakened by the alarm 
 given for the escape of the prisoner. She had believed 
 that he would find it impossible to escape, that he would 
 be executed, in spite of Gen. Atherton's promises ; and 
 not until thus assured that he had done so, and she re- 
 ceived his farewell billet, did she fully realize that now 
 her part of the contract must be fulfilled. 
 
 How little, alas ! did Harry dream, as he dashed over 
 the Virginia hills and valleys that sweet summer morning, 
 with a heart filled with thankfulness for his unexpected 
 deliverance from bonds and a fearful death, what an exor- 
 bitant price his sister was to pay for his liberty and life ! 
 It was a price beyond all computation in her estima- 
 tion, — a bondage to which that of slavery, in her eyes, 
 was far preferable. 
 
 Did she, then, regret her promise, mean to evade the 
 penalty, or refuse to fulfil her bargain ? 
 
 164 
 
MABRIAGE OF THE REBEL GENERAL. 165 
 
 "No, not for a moment. Harry's life was more pre- 
 cious tlian aught else to her then. She believed he would 
 have done as much for her under similar circumstances ; 
 and she had too much principle to falsify her word, even 
 though it might save her from a fate to which she looked 
 forward with fear and loathing. Yet, as she arrayed 
 herself that morning in her plain gray travelling-dress, 
 — her only bridal robe, — she felt as if she were pre- 
 paring for sacrifice ; and the tears would fall, and the 
 idea keep returning, that poor Harry would be caught 
 and executed, and thus render her sacrifice a vain one. 
 
 Gen. Atherton came at last, flushed, and eager for the 
 ceremon}^ that was to make them one, yet evidently 
 fearful lest some untoward event should rob him of his 
 coveted treasure, or reveal to the world his treason. 
 
 " What ! in tears, my dear Catharine ! " he exclaimed, 
 as he came forward and greeted her with a kiss. " This 
 should not be. I shall teach you to look back with joy 
 to this hour that gives you to my keeping. Your 
 brother is undoubtedly safe by this time ; and what is 
 there to fear in becoming the bride of one who loves you 
 so fondly and truly ? " 
 
 "Every thing," she sobbed. "Every thought and 
 feeling of my heart unfits me to become a rebel general's 
 bride." 
 
 " Banish your fears, my Catharine ; for I have none. 
 We differ at present in our political views, it is true ; 
 but I think I know you well enough to believe, that, 
 once my wife, bound by the most solemn vows, you 
 would never be one to betray your husband's secrets 
 or his honor, even to your dearest friends. Have I not 
 judged you truly ? " he eagerly questioned. 
 
 " I hope so. I should despise myself were it other- 
 
166 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 wise. Yet that does not fit me for the prominent yet 
 false position I should have to occupy as jrour wife." 
 
 " I have no fears for the result, Catharine. You have 
 sense and intelligence far heyond most of your sex. In 
 dignity and queenliness, few can compare with you. 
 Your manners are faultless, so far as I have observed 
 them. In beauty, there are none to compare with you 
 in my eyes. I shall be only too proud to present you to 
 the world as my wife. So pray repress your sobs, and 
 try and look forward more hopefully to a future I shall 
 endeavor to make bright and happy for you. My friends 
 will soon be here ; and I cannot bear to have them think 
 I wed an unwilling bride. It might excite suspicions, 
 too, that neither you nor I would care to arouse ; so I 
 beg, I entreat, of you, for your own sake, and that of the 
 name you are soon to bear, to dry your tears, and, by 
 your own quiet dignity, justify to them my choice of a 
 wife." 
 
 There was something in those words and tones of pas- 
 sionate entreaty, — a compelling power in the stern, 
 serious, yet admiring eyes to which she could not help 
 raising her own, — that hushed the rising tempest of 
 sobs, and made Catharine say, "I will ivy and do as you 
 wish," even though she felt as if her heart were burst- 
 ing with its burden of grief and fear ; and she had been 
 upon the point of kneeling to implore him to spare her 
 the fulfilment of a promise made under a species of 
 compulsion, and bitterly repugnant to all the finer feel- 
 ings of her heart. 
 
 He read it all in the look of eager, passionate entreaty, 
 and in the fitful color that faded into sudden pallor, as 
 she said with a great eftbrt, '- 1 will try." And it cost 
 him a keen heart-pang to know that she regarded him 
 
MARRIAGE OF THE REBEL GEXERAL. 167 
 
 with such deep feelings of repulsion and loathing. The 
 thought, too, crossed his mind, that, hy generously re- 
 signing her, he might inspire gratitude that would ripen 
 into love, and in the end more surely gain all his fond 
 heart coveted. 
 
 "But no," reason whispered. "If he did that, she 
 would go at once beyond the reach of his influence.'' 
 So his only hope was in securing her now while he had 
 the power, trusting that kind and generous treatment 
 afterwards would win for him the heart and fond affec- 
 tion he coveted. He drew her down beside him at last, 
 and, by soothing words, drew from her a reluctant 
 promise that she would join him, wherever he might be, 
 just as soon as circumstances would warrant her com- 
 fort and safety, and try to be to him a good and loving 
 wife. And, more than this, that she would not leave 
 the Confederacy, unless compelled to do so, without con- 
 sulting him regarding its propriety. He knew Catha- 
 rine well enough to believe she would endeavor to keep 
 her promises when once made ; and, having won these, 
 he did not despair of the full measure of bliss he 
 coveted. 
 
 The chaplain and chosen witnesses soon made their 
 appearance ; Dinah was summoned; and the ceremony was 
 performed that made Catharine " The Rebel General's 
 Loyal Bride." She neither wept nor fainted as she took 
 those solemn vows upon her lips ; but she was as pale as 
 marble, and her heart felt numbed by the icy chill of 
 despair. But tlie color came back to her cheek as the 
 general warmly pressed her hand at the close of the 
 ceremony, and made her look into his eyes as he 
 murmured, "Mine ! mine at last, — now and forever!'' 
 
 The chaplain and Major Darwin speedily offered their 
 
168 THE REBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRmE. 
 
 congratulations, and were duly thanked ; but Col. Mul- 
 ford said in a half-serious, half-laughing tone, — 
 
 " I suppose I ought to follow . the example of our 
 friends here, general ; but I assure you I cannot do it 
 with so good a grace, for I must own that I do not like 
 it at all that you should so cunningly steal a march upon 
 us before your departure. You knew very well that 
 some of us, in your absence, would be striving for the 
 prize you have won, and, such being the fact, that your 
 chance would be remarkably small, if you did not secure 
 it at once." 
 
 ^•' That is true enough," laughed the general. " I knew 
 its intrinsic value too well to leave it to the chances of 
 surprise and capture by another. But don't be dis- 
 heartened, Mulford. You know the old adage, — ^ That 
 there are as good fish in the sea,' &c." 
 
 "Ay : but you don't believe in it, or I either. Yet 
 I must try and be resigned. I really hope, Mrs. Ather- 
 ton, that you will have as kind and obedient a husband 
 as I would have been, with every blessing earth or heaven 
 can bestow." 
 
 " Thank you, for your good wishes, and all your flat- 
 tering intentions besides," said Catharine, laughing, in 
 spite of herself, at his odd humor, yet knowing very 
 well that he was really more than half in earnest in all 
 he said. 
 
 The gentlemen bade them adieu soon afterwards ; and 
 Aunt Dinah, who had been a good deal put out and mys- 
 tified by the whole proceeding, went back to "Walter, 
 muttering to herself, — 
 
 " Dinah know noffin 'bout it. Can't understan' it no- 
 how. He big, gran' gemman ; look like king : but den 
 he so old, he so stern. Dinah know Miss Kate 'fraid : 
 
ISIAKRIAGE OF THE KEBEL GENERAL. 1G9 
 
 she scairfc inter it someliow. If 'twere on'y Massa Lloyd 
 now ! lie plagii}^ fool to go off in dat way ! He neber 
 lind anuder INIiss Kate." 
 
 As soon as they were alone, Catliarine sat down, pale 
 and trembling. The thought that her destiny for life 
 had been sealed by the solemn vows she had spoken 
 took away all the fictitious strength called up for the oc- 
 casion. And oh, how she wanted to be alone, and give 
 way to her feelings unobserved ! He went and sat down 
 beside her, put his arm around her, and pressed his lips 
 to hers as he said, — 
 
 "Catharine, you performed your part nobly. You 
 don't know how proud I am of the wife I have won. 
 And I know you would forgive my seeming selfishness, if 
 you knew how strong, how mighty, was my temptation ; 
 how fondly and passionately I love ; how impossible it 
 seemed to live without you, and how fearful I was lest 
 another in my absence should win what I valued most in 
 life. Oh, say, Catharine, that you will forgive, and try to 
 love me ! '' 
 
 How could she, with all the secret chambers of her 
 soul still occupied by the old love, which she had tried 
 so vainly to cast out? or while her rebellious heart 
 rose up so bitterly against the ungenerous course he had 
 adopted to gain his own selfish ends ? He had saved 
 Harry's life, it is true ; but for this she could not be so 
 grateful as she would have been, had he done it from 
 more noble and honorable motives. But, whatever his 
 motives, Catharine knew that she herself had made the 
 election, and really chosen her destiny. She knew that 
 this man, however unscrupulous, was now her husband 
 and life-long companion, and that from henceforth it 
 would be sin to think fondly of another. She had con- 
 
170 THE EEBEL GEXERAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 trolled lier emotions by a strong effort of will during the 
 ceremony ; but the sobs kept rising in her throat all the 
 time. Now, when she thought of the irrevocableness of 
 what she had done, and he pressed so earnestly for a 
 reply, they burst forth in a passionate gush of tears. 
 
 Naturally refined and sensitive, though his mind had 
 been warped all his life by untoward circumstances, he 
 intuitively understood her feelings, and sighed deeply, 
 as he thought of the bitter repugnance she might feel 
 towards the man who had won her in so questionable 
 a way. Tenderly he drew her up to him, and tried to 
 soothe her as he would a grieved child. 
 
 " Pray don't, Catharine ! It goes to my heart to see 
 3^ou grieve thus," he said. " I understand 3'our feelings, 
 and these tears are a bitter reproach to my selfishness. 
 It was wrong, I confess, to take advantage of your 
 necessity as I have done ; but oh ! I will try and make 
 amends for it in the future. And, if the most unbounded 
 love and devotion can win a return, we will be happy in 
 that untried future to which you look forward with so 
 much dread." 
 
 From this tempest of grief he won her at last ; and, 
 wdien she became calmer, he told her, as he had never 
 done before, all his plans for the future, both for her and 
 himself. He wished her to remain at Mrs. Hunter's 
 during his absence ; and when he^returned, or sent for 
 her, he thought w^ould be the best time to announce their 
 marriage to the world. 
 
 Every arrangement having been made for their com- 
 fort when the time of departure drew near, poor little 
 "Walter was carefully removed to the cars in his uncle's 
 strong arms ; and lying there, with his head most of the 
 time in Catharine's lap, he was carried back to Richmond. 
 
MAERLVGE OF THE REBEL GENERAL. 171 
 
 His pallid face and pitiable condition won a great deal 
 of sympathy from the passengers ; but Gen. Atherton'a 
 protecting care made all other attentions needless. 
 
 The}'- arrived in Eichmondat last; and sadly and silently 
 they bore him into his mother's desolate homCj — a wreck 
 of the brave and beautiful boy who had left it so bright 
 and bloom in 2: with health but a few short weeks before. 
 
 Xor was the home, or the mother to whom they had 
 brought him, less changed than the boy himself, as they 
 saw at a glance when admitted to her presence. For the 
 most poignant regret for her treatment of her husband, 
 horror of his awful death, and thoughts of the danger of 
 her boy, had nearly driven her distracted, and made 
 of her a pale, nervous wreck of her former self. She 
 knew they were coming, and thought she was prepared 
 for it ; but the sight of her orphaned boy, with his ban- 
 daged head, sunken features, and great, dark, mournful 
 eyes, affected her so much, that she nearly fainted, and 
 had to be removed to her room ; while his sisters were 
 overcome with grief. 
 
 Gen. Atherton left very soon to attend to the business 
 that called him to Richmond, but came back for a part- 
 ing interview. Catharine, as she had promised, awaited 
 him in the parlor, when he came down from his sister's 
 chamber ; and glad enough was she that there was little 
 time for leave-taking. He looked grave and solemn as 
 he came up to where she was standing by the window, 
 and seemed deeply agitated as he took her hand. 
 
 " Catharine, my dear wife," he said tenderly, " if cir- 
 cumstances will not permit your wearing my name at 
 present, it is fitting that you should be provided with the 
 means of locomotion and independence;" and he placed 
 a well-filled purse in her hand. 
 
172 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 " Indeed, Gen. Atherton, I do not need it. I liave 
 enough for all present necessities," slie said, as she tried 
 to return it. 
 
 " Nay, Catharine, you must keep it, — if only as a 
 recognition of the tie tliat hinds us in one, and your 
 rightful claim to all I possess. Your wardrobe was 
 nearly all burned ; and I want you to fit up another, 
 suitable for the position you will occupy as my wife, 
 and the journey you may bt3 called upon to take by and 
 by. Do not hesitate to spend the money, or ask for more 
 if you need it, at any time. Write to me by every mail, 
 if you can, as I shall be deeply anxious to hear from 
 you, and my friends here, until we meet again. Ah, 
 Catharine ! what would I not give to be able to take 
 you with me, or to remain with you myself! If you 
 knew all the anxieties I have in leaving you thus, the 
 bride of a day, you would pity me, and wish to go too. 
 But I must: it is time for me to go. Won't you give 
 me one kiss of love or forgiveness to repay me for all I 
 resign ? " and he drew her up to him in a close embrace, 
 and passionately pressed his lips to hers. ^' God bless 
 and keep you!" he said, ^^and turn your heart to me in 
 my absence, even as mine is ever turned to you, and filled 
 with your image always, rarewell." 
 
 With a face flushed and deeply agitated, he turned 
 and left the room ; while Catharine, scarcely less so, sat 
 down dizzily, to think over her singular position. But 
 she was not one to spend much time in sighs and tears 
 and vain regrets for what could not be helped. There 
 was too much for her to do in the world for that. A great 
 many women in her position would have felt justified 
 in breaking vows extorted under such circumstances ; 
 but she did not. They were sacred in her eyes, when 
 
MAREIAGE OF THE EEBEL GENERAL. 173 
 
 once made ; and, however repugnant to her feelings, she 
 resolved faithfully to fulfil them. She realized, too, that 
 her marriage to one in his position, when known, would 
 put much greater power in her hands, for good or evil, 
 than she could ever have hoped to wield in an humbler 
 calling. And if she gained this power, and could exert 
 it in the cause of liberty and humanity, she felt, even 
 in that bitter hour of retrospection, as if her sacrifice 
 would not be all in vain. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter was oveijoyed at Catharine's return ; and 
 so were her two young daughters, for they all felt 
 acutely the need of a strong, brave spirit to rely upon. 
 Tliey begged her to resume not exactly her old place, 
 but that of a dear sister and friend, with whom they 
 could at times intrust the care of the household. The 
 servants, too, were all delighted to get Catharine and 
 young Massa Walter home again ; and he, poor fellow, 
 could liardly contain his joy at being once more among 
 his friends, though he still clung to Dinah and Cath- 
 arine more than all the rest. Of his fiither's death he 
 could never hear or speak without a shudder of horror; 
 and no one was allowed to mention it in his presence. 
 He was gentle and patient, and liked to have tlie family 
 around him ; yet his brain was still weak. He disliked 
 noise and confusion ; and perfect rest and quiet, the 
 surgeon said, was the best medicine that could be given 
 him. 
 
 Catharine found tliat little Jennie and Fannie had 
 grown very old, womanly, and careworn during her 
 absence ; and that their mother, in the habit of relying 
 upon her, and full of her own private griefs, had neg- 
 lected every thing, thus devolving upon her young 
 
 daughters the care of the household. The children had 
 15» 
 
174 THE REBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 all loved tlieir father clearly : they could not speak of 
 him without tears ; and his death had cast the first dark 
 shadow over their young lives. 
 
 After the first shock and excitement of their meeting 
 was over, Mrs. Hunter relapsed into her old nervous 
 lethargy, leaving every thing to the care of others. 
 She would shut herself up in her chamber for hours, 
 brooding over the troubles she had brought upon herself, 
 and growing more strange and taciturn every day. She 
 would come into little Walter's room every morning, 
 look mournfully upon him a few moments, ask how he 
 was, press a kiss upon his pale brow, and then leave the 
 room until evening, when she generally went through 
 _ the same ceremony ; seeming to do it as a sort of pen- 
 ance, and not from her old motives of fond aifection. 
 One morning, as she was leaving the room, Walter turned 
 to Catharine with his eyes full of tears, and said, — 
 
 " Why is it that my mother never stays with me now, 
 — never talks to me, — does not love me any more ? " 
 
 "Oh, she does, darling!" Catharine replied. "But 
 she is not well herself: and she can't bear to see you so 
 ill, sad, and suffering; it makes her worse." 
 
 "But it would be such a comfort to me, dear Miss 
 Catharine, to have her here, and sometimes lay my liead 
 on her bosom, as I do on yours. And then you could go 
 out, and take the air, or do what I know you are longing 
 to do, and I want you to do, so much." 
 
 "What is that, dear?" 
 
 " Wh}', to help take care of the sick and dying Union 
 soldiers, whom I heard Dinah telling you were treated 
 so cruelly, one daj^, when you thought I was asleep. Oh ! 
 I want you to go to them ; and I want mother to go and 
 help them ; and I guess I can pick lint to dre-ss their 
 
THE NOBLE WORK. 175 
 
 wounds pretty soon myself. I can hardly sleep for 
 thinking of those prisons and hospitals, fall of sick and 
 wounded and dying men ; so near to mo, yet so very 
 much worse off, — with nobody to give them nice food 
 or drink, or care for them in any way ; w^hile I have 
 every thing, and everybody is so good to me, — but my 
 mother ; " and the repressed sobs burst forth with a vio- 
 lence that was quite alarming. 
 
 " Don't ! pray don't take it so to heart, dear ! Your 
 mother does love you : we all love you very dearly. 
 And, as soon as you are well enough, we w^ill all do what 
 you desire, and what you guessed truly I was longing 
 to do. Yet I am sorry you heard what Dinah said." 
 
 " -I am not sorry," he sobbed : " I wanted to know 
 the truth, which nobody w^ould tell me. ]Si ow I shall not 
 rest until something is done." 
 
 " But you do not realize, my dear child, all the diffi- 
 culties in the way of my doing what I could wish. You 
 are hardly old enough to understand the jealousy and 
 bitterness of feeling engendered by this unholy strife, 
 which would at once cause a JSTorthern lady to be sus- 
 pected, if she attempted to do any thing for the comfort 
 of her own people. Joined by some Southern lady of 
 distinction, and known Southern feelings, we might per- 
 haps arouse holier and more enlarged sympathies in the 
 hearts of the people of Eichmond, that would lead them 
 to see a man and a brother, for whom Christ died, even 
 in the enemies he commanded them to love." 
 
 She was interrupted at this moment b}^ a bitter sob, 
 and, turning, saw ]\Irs. Hunter, pale and agitated, coming 
 towards them. She had stopped for something near the 
 door, that happened to be ajar, and heard it all. She 
 advanced tremblinglj^ to the bed, and exclaimed, as sho 
 put her arms round Walter's neck, — 
 
176 THE BEBEL GEXERAL'S LOYAL BRmE. 
 
 " Oh ! forgive your wretched mother, my darling, in 
 that she so sorely sinned against you and your poor fa- 
 ther. Oh ! she does love you as her life, hut has felt as 
 if you did and must hate her. If you don't — if you 
 love her still " — 
 
 " Hate my mother ! Oh, never, never ! " sohhed the 
 poor hoy, as he laid his weary, aching head, for the first 
 time since his return, upon her hosom. "I know you 
 did not mean to do it, mother ; and I love you all the 
 same. But you will help dear Miss Catharine, won't you, 
 mother, in all that I want her to do ? " 
 
 "Gladly, my dear, so far as I am ahle. But then 
 there is very little two poor, feehle women like us can do. 
 Our dear Catharine is alread}^ worn out with doing and 
 suffering for us all, while I was neglecting the duties 
 that ought to have devolved upon me, and giving up to 
 my own selfish sorrow. But it shall he so no longer. 
 Beproved, and hrought to my senses, by what I have 
 just heard, I will henceforth take the place beside my 
 child God and nature assigned me. And Catharine shall 
 rest, and get the roses back into her pale cheek once 
 more." 
 
 " But the poor soldiers, dear mother ? '' said he eagerly. 
 ^' Our Catharine cannot rest while they are sick and suf- 
 fering all around her. She coiddn't in the camp, it made 
 her heart ache so." 
 
 " Is that so, Catharine ? " said Mrs. Hunter, taking 
 her hand. " Cannot you forget others long enough to 
 take a little care of yourself? " 
 
 " Ah, Mrs. Hunter ! if j'ou had ever beheld such dread- 
 ful and never-to-be-forgotten scenes as I have witnessed 
 within the last two months, you would not ask ; and I 
 know your kind heart too well to believe you would re- 
 
THE NOBLE WORK. 177 
 
 fuse to do all in your power to mitigate the suffering 
 caused by tins cruel war. AYe both seem doomed to suf- 
 fer by it in various waj'^s. Our warmest sympathies are 
 with different parties and opposing squadrons. If we 
 were men, no doubt, we should be in arms against each 
 other. .But as we are not men, and belong to that sex 
 on whom devolves a heavenly ministry, may we not join 
 our hands, and devote our best energies to that mission 
 that has made Florence Nightingale, and a host of 
 other noble women, immortal? You know that I am 
 strongly loyal in my sentiments ; yet, if I know myself, 
 I can so far sink the partisan in tlie philanthropist, as to 
 see a common humanity in both friends and foes, and 
 perform the same kind offices for both. And, Mrs. 
 Hunter ! is there not Christianity enough among the 
 ladies of Eichmond to lead some of them to this noble 
 work ? ^' 
 
 " No doubt there is, Catharine, if they could be aroused 
 to a sense of their duty. But then, with all my cares 
 and troubles, what can I do ? ^' she said in the old hope- 
 less, nervous tone. 
 
 "Mrs. Hunter," said Catharine earnestly, "3'ou are 
 just the one to arouse them to a sense of their duty to 
 God and man. Have joii forgotten the power you 
 wielded, and the generals and statesmen who surrounded 
 you, but a few short months ago ? Surely no lady in 
 Eichmond, not even the wife of the President, could 
 exert such a wide and ennobling influence as yourself, if 
 you chose to do so. I should know my work, and should 
 not hesitate a moment regarding it, were I on the other 
 side of the Potomac. But here I can do nothinir with- 
 out your patronage, or that of some other person equally 
 influential, who is not afraid to set a noble and magnani- 
 
178 THE EEBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BPJDE. 
 
 mous example to Kichmond and the world of Christian 
 love and forbearance and gentle kindness towards those 
 even who are regarded as enemies." 
 
 Catharine had touched the responsive chord in Mis. 
 Hunter's bosom at last, — the ambition for pre-eminence 
 and distinction/ the desire to be first in a good work 
 that would win tlie applause of the world, the wish to 
 set a noble example for all inferior people to imitate. 
 And even the real danger of arousing a suspicion of dis- 
 loyalty, and consequent persecution, in the existing state 
 of public feeling in Bichmond, had a subtle charm to 
 such a troubled, repressed, but naturally ambitious and 
 active spirit as Mrs. Hunter's. 
 
 - We will do her the justice to say, however, that she 
 was really, a kind-hearted woman, though not one who 
 would be likely, unprompted, to adopt a course like this. 
 And, if Catharine had done no other good by coming 
 back to E-ichmond than arousing Mrs. Hunter to a sense 
 of her dut}^, its value to the cause of humanity could 
 not be counted in gold. For, absorbed and half crazed 
 by her own private troubles since lier husband's death, she 
 had secluded herself from societ}', and, sliut up in her 
 own rooms, had known ver}^ little of what was going on 
 around her. Now she took the opposite course. And, 
 being of an enthusiastic temperament, she went into 
 every thing, as she had done into the secession move- 
 ment, with her whole heart. Siie had receptions almost 
 every evening. Her nights were spent witli her darling 
 boy, and her days associated with Catharine, and a few 
 choice spirits whom her influence and enthusiasm raised 
 up around her, in visiting prisons and hospitals, — to 
 which her influence with men in ofiicial position gave her 
 easy access, — and in relieving the distresses of their in- 
 
THE NOBLE WORK. 179 
 
 mates by every means that lay in their power. Enough 
 other hxdies were extending such benefits to Southern 
 soldiers at that time in Kichmond, leaving those of the 
 Union wlio were prisoners in their hands to die untended 
 and uncared fori So it remained for Mrs. Hunter and 
 her associates to take broader and more philanthropic 
 views of- Christian duty, and set a noble example of 
 generous kindness to those they considered enemies, 
 even at the risk of sacrificing themselves to the fury of 
 popular prejudice. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter had from childhood been a fashionable 
 church-member, and read tlie responses in church with 
 the most devotional unction ; but out of it she was quite 
 as gay and worldly as the dictates of fashion demanded. 
 The change in her seemed all the more striking from 
 these circumstances, though indeed a perfectly legitimate 
 and natural one. She merely' sought distinction at first 
 in a new field ; one thai: pointed her out to the world as 
 a nobler and better woman than she roall}^ was. And 
 so conspicuous had she been in aiding the rebellion, that 
 no one thought of attributing to her, it seems, any but 
 the most generous and philanthropic motives. 
 
 As she advanced in it, and familiarized herself with 
 the details of her work, however, all the tender and 
 womanly sympathies of her nature were aroused. Her 
 mind and heart enlarged in view of its great magnitude. 
 Her own selfish ambition was lost, in a measure, in pity 
 for the woes and sorrows and keen agonies she daily wit- 
 nessed. Her house was open every evening for the re- 
 ception of distinguished visitors. Her kitchen became 
 a cook-shop, where Catharine, who thoroughly under- 
 stood all such mysteries, with Aunt Dinah, manufac- 
 
180 THE EEBEL GEXEEAL's LOYAL BEEDE. 
 
 tured every day large quantities of gruel, broths, jellies, 
 and other dainties, for the sick and sorely wounded. 
 Things like these they could not get through the me- 
 dium of the authorities, whose policy dictated starvation 
 or the poorest fare as the surest way of getting rid of 
 tlie Union prisoners. Mrs. Hunter's drawing-room, too, 
 became a perfect workshop for the manufacture of lint, 
 bandages, and necessary clothing ; in the preparation of 
 which, the precious stores of old linen were brought out. 
 Eyeiy member of the family, down to little Walter, was 
 actively engaged in this work during every leisure hour 
 of the day, that was not employed in visiting the 
 wretched but deeply-grateful pensioners of their bounty. 
 Mrs. Hunter had still great influence with the rebel 
 leaders, and could frequently bend them to her views re- 
 garding the amelioration of tlie condition of the sick and 
 wounded of both parties. And those views, though she was 
 unconscious of it herself, were suggested, moulded, or cor- 
 rected by Catharine in their dail}^ confidential intercourse 
 at home. For good and wise reasons, Catharine did not 
 deem it prudent to make herself too conspicuous in the 
 work. Though she was Mrs. Hunter's head, heart, and 
 right hand, she appeared to others to be only her execu- 
 tor and handmaiden. Her heart bled for the sufferiiig 
 of her people ; and she strove by every means in her 
 power to alleviate them by calling IMrs. Hunter's atten- 
 tion to them. But even Mrs. Hunter could not always 
 secure the attention of the leaders to frightful cruelties, 
 and abuses of power, neglect of duty, or official preju- 
 dice, so fierce and vengeful were the passions aroused 
 by this terrible civil war. Yet, though little was done 
 ia comparison with the great and urgent need, those few 
 
THE NOBLE WORK. 181 
 
 noble women performed a good and glorious work. They 
 were the means of saving hundreds of precious lives j 
 and their names are now a praise and a blessing at 
 many Northern as well as Southern firesides. 
 
 16 
 
CHiVPTER X. 
 
 PHILIP ATHERTOX. THE GEXERAl's RETURN. 
 
 S^EXEPvAL ATHEETO:^", meantime, had 
 |y found himself placed in such circumstan- 
 *"^ ces as precluded the idea of his joining 
 ^ Catharine in Kichmondj or sending for her 
 to meet him in the South-west, for several months. 
 Battles had been lost and won ; and the whole Soutliern 
 country was in arms, and convulsed as by an earthquake. 
 Travelling had become so dangerous that he dared not 
 risk a long journey for her unattended ; and, besides all 
 this, his unacknowledged marriage stood in the way of 
 his sending for her through government channels, or 
 giving her an unsuspected position at the end of the 
 journey. He wrote very often, however, telling her 
 what he was doing, and always deploring their sepa- 
 ration. 
 
 Catharine, as she had promised, always replied, — 
 detailing their present mode of life, and all their small 
 plans for alleviating the terrible suffering he, as she 
 told him, was doing his best to inflict and perpetuate on 
 a thousand times larger scale. If she must be his wife, 
 and in that way be joined to a ministry of evil and 
 wrong, she determined, from the first, to tell him the 
 truth, and do all that was in her power to neutralize the 
 
 182 
 
PHILIP ATHEETON. 183 
 
 evil, and alleviate the sufFering. She secretly rejoiced 
 that he could not come to claim her, and kept hopin"- 
 something would intervene to save her from a destiny 
 she dreaded more and more as the time of his expected 
 arrival drew near. 
 
 To increase her anxieties, in the mean time Philip had 
 returned to Eiehmond, temporarily taken up his resi- 
 dence with his aunt, and was again perseveringly suin^y 
 for her favor. He had come back quite a hero in his 
 own estimation, and that of some of his friends. He 
 had been sent, just after Harry's escape, with a company 
 of soldiers, to search Tremont Hall for the treasure and 
 treasonable correspondence of the judge, its late occu- 
 pant, in the hope of finding proof that would condemn 
 him for treason. On the way they had captured Harry 
 and Uncle Xick, with Grace and Helen, who were on 
 the way to the Union lines, and taken them back to the 
 Hall. While there, searching the house, and his men 
 carousing over the judge's fine wines and liquors, they 
 were discovered, and in their turn captured, by Theo- 
 dore, Catharine's elder brother, who, with his company 
 of picked men, had been making a reconnoissance within 
 the enemy's lines. 
 
 Philip and his men were taken as prisoners to the 
 Union camp, with the glad and rejoicing Harry, who 
 was welcomed as one risen from the dead. Uncle JSTick 
 and the young ladies were also rejoiced to escape the 
 dangers that had surrounded them, and be able to take 
 up their residence with their aunt in Washington. 
 
 Philip had managed to escape from the Union lines, 
 and took great credit to himself for what, if they had 
 known the truth, he needed to be ashamed. But he had 
 seen and captured Harry, and been captured himself by 
 
184 THE EEBEL GENEEAL's LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 Theodore ; and, by magnifying and exaggerating all the 
 circumstances, made capital of this with Catharine, who 
 was so anxious to hear of their welfare at home that she 
 gladly listened. But when Philip came back to his old 
 ground, and began to plead his love for her, she told 
 him, that she could not now listen to such words from him 
 or any other man ; and that something as insuperable as 
 death must forever divide them. He thought, of course, 
 she meant their political differences : but he would not 
 for them give over his pursuit of her ; for he had come 
 back to Eichmond on purpose to win, and even wed, her, 
 if he could get her consent to do so. He hated Grace 
 Tremont now with his whole heart, and had indeed ac- 
 cepted the mission to Tremont House out of revenge ; 
 but Catharine he loved with all the fervency of an im- 
 passioned and selfish nature that was ready to gratify 
 itself at the expense of honor and truth. Pie pleaded 
 his cause most fervently the very first opportunity he 
 could get, but of course all in rain. Prom that time 
 Catharine avoided him all she could ; for \o be the wife 
 of the father, without daring to tell the truth to the son, 
 who persecuted her continually with lover-like attentions, 
 placed her in a very unpleasant predicament. Angered 
 at last by her determined avoidance, Philip began to 
 revolve dark schemes in his head. In the fervency of 
 his passion, he had offered marriage to one he thought 
 far beneath him in the social scale ; and his pride was 
 exceedingly galled by her refusal. When his mind was 
 in just this state of tm-moil and irritation, Catharine 
 received a letter from his father that fiUed her heart 
 with renewed fears and apprehensions for the future. 
 The letter read as follows : — 
 
PHILIP ATHERTON. 185 
 
 1\[y dearest Catharine, — I am coming at last 
 to claim my beloved and beauteous bride. You cannot 
 imagine with what impatience I look forward to the hour 
 which is to make you really mine for all time and for 
 ^ eternity. Oh, if you only felt as I do, what joy would 
 be in the thought of clasping a loving as well as beloved 
 bride to my heart ! Yet no man can love as fervently 
 as I love you, without inspiring, in some degree, a kin- 
 dred passion in the object of his affection, I still believe 
 and fondly hope. I shall be with you by the day after 
 to-morrow, at furthest, and there will be time enough 
 then to announce our relations and future plans without 
 troubling yourself about it at present. I think, how- 
 ever, that your dread of the announcement to Philip 
 and my sister is needless ; for they both appreciate you, 
 too highly to offer any serious objections. Jane herself 
 says that she knows no lady who can compare with you ; 
 nor can she ever repay the deep debt of gratitude she 
 owes you for all you have done, and are still doing, for 
 her family. In any case, I have a right to choose my 
 own wife and my own destiny ; nor will she be indebted 
 to them for wealth or social position. So do not worry 
 the roses off your cheeks for any of them, but keep 
 them all for me when I come. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 Edward Athertox. 
 
 Catharine was waiting on the veranda for ]\Irs. 
 Hunter and the carriage when this letter was presented to 
 her by a servant who had been to the office. Seeing no 
 one near, she opened and read it, with her cheek paling 
 and flushing, and with every evidence of strong emotion. 
 
 Philip meantime, unknown to her, had been watching 
 
 16* 
 
186 THE EEBEL GENEHAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 her from the parlor windows. He knew slie liad re- 
 ceived letters before ; and lie liad been extremely jealous 
 of her unknown correspondent. He had questioned his 
 aunt, but without eliciting the desired information. 
 
 " She has a good many acquaintances among the offi- 
 cers ; and I think she corresponds with some of them, — 
 your father among the rest/^ was her reply. 
 
 The carriage rolled up to the door, and Mrs. Hunter 
 came down stairs almost as soon as she had perused her 
 letter. Covering it with her handkerchief, and thrust- 
 ing it into her pocket, was the natural impulse upon 
 which she acted. Philip saw it all; and, more than 
 this, his eagle eye noted the fact, that, in slipping the 
 handkerchief in so hastily, the letter fell out of it and 
 ^ver the railing down into a clump of twining roses, 
 without her perceiving its loss. His first and honest im- 
 pulse was to go out, restore the letter to its owner, and help 
 the ladies into the carriage ; his next, upon which of 
 course he acted, was to stay where he was until the car- 
 riage rolled away towards the hospital, then go out, get 
 the letter, take it up to his room, and at once greedily 
 devour the contents. How little did he dream of the 
 terrible surprise awaiting him in that coveted epistle ! 
 and, when read, he could hardly believe the evidence of 
 liis senses. "For a time he was fairly sttinned by the blow. 
 
 What ! Catharine, whom he loved as his life, marry 
 his father! — his own father! — a man of more than 
 twice her age, — of whose love for him even his father 
 seemed to doubt ; when he, young, handsome, rich, and 
 accomplished, wooed her in vain for his bride ! What 
 could it mean ? This, then, was the reason " as insu- 
 perable as death " that was to deprive him of the only 
 woman he had ever really loved. 
 
PHILIP ATHERTON. 187 
 
 That liis proiiil, aristocratic fatlier should condesceiul 
 to wod a poor Yankee governess was not the least of his 
 wonders. In a j'-oung, ardent man like himself, such a 
 7)iesaUiance would he much more excusable; though he 
 was very sure his father would never have excused it in 
 him. Men of mature age, he felt sure from what he 
 saw around him, were much more ready to gratify their 
 taste in the choice of poor but young and lovely wives 
 than to accord their sons and daughters the same privi- 
 lege. But Philip could not endure the thought of 
 having Catharine for his mother, — the wife of his fa- 
 ther; and he walked the room for a long time in a 
 state of excitement that defies description. 
 
 It must not be ! He must do something to prevent it. 
 His father was an old man, and he could not love Catha- 
 rine as he loved her ; nor could she ever love him. In 
 mercy to her, in mercy to himself, he 7nust do some- 
 thing to prevent the sacrifice. But where had they 
 met ? How could he have obtained her promise to be- 
 come his bride? It came to him at last, — her stay 
 under his protection in the rebel camp at Manassas 
 Junction ; and he cursed the day that ever sent her 
 back to Hunter Hills. But all this time Philip was la- 
 boring under a misconstruction. His father's letter was, 
 unfortunately, so ambiguous that he did not dream of 
 their being already married, or he might not have done 
 what he did. 
 
 It so happened that !Mrs. Hunter forgot to read her 
 letter, that came with Catharine's, until after her return 
 from their round of calls ; so, when they all met at din- 
 ner, she turned to Philip, and said, — 
 
 " Oh ! I have such good news, — your father is coming 
 home in a day or two, — safe and well ! " 
 
188 THE EEBEL GENERAL' S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 "Is he ?" said Philip musingly. 
 
 " Yes : and he says, too, that he has a very pleasant 
 surprise in store for us when he does return. What do 
 you suppose it is ? " 
 
 "I am sure I cannot tell. Perhaps Catharine can 
 assist you, — Yankees are so proverbially good at guess- 
 ing," he said with a feigned laugh, and keen^ searching 
 look into her expressive face. 
 
 Catharine ha^ looked pale and anxious ever since her 
 return, and as if she could hardly repress her tears. 
 But that was nothing strange, coming from such sad 
 scenes as she had witnessed that day. Is ow, however, 
 the rich color flashed over cheek and brow, as she said 
 in a cold, forced tone, — 
 
 " I am fast forgetting my Yankee proclivities, Philip. 
 I can fathom no m3^steries, except those where I am my- 
 self concerned. Among all the changes going on around 
 us, I fear I shall not know myself much longer." 
 
 Mrs. Hunter rather wondered at her flash of color 
 and singular reply ; hut Philip, who had the key to it, 
 read a deeper meaning in it than appeared on the sur- 
 face. And he also read in Catharine's averted eyes a 
 deep-seated feeling of pain, and dread of her approach- 
 ing fate, that he wished the face of no bride of his to 
 wear. He watched her closely, yet without seeming to 
 do so, and became very sure that the heart had nothing 
 to do with the sacrifice of youth and beauty and strong 
 loyal feeling she was about to make. Either she was 
 doing it from ambitious motives, — a desire for wealth 
 and position, — or else there was some compelling power, 
 urging her on to the sacrifice. He cared little for his fa- 
 ther's feelings ; for he had no business, at his age, to 
 have any thing but a fatherly regard for any woman 
 
PHILIP ATHERTON. 180 
 
 as young and fair as CatliarinC; lie thought. And new 
 claimants to the Atherton estates, unless they were of 
 his own raising, were inadmissible in his calculations. 
 Philip had a short journey to make that same afternoon, 
 and did not return until the next morning. At dinner 
 that day, he seemed in better spirits than usual, and 
 chatted quite gayly upon passing events. 
 
 He should be obliged to rejoin his regiment, he said, 
 in two or three days ; and he was rejoiced to know that 
 his father was coming home, so that he could see him 
 before his departure from Kichmond. Contrary to his 
 usual custom, he spent the afternoon at home, with 
 "Walter and his sisters ; while Mrs. Hunter and Catha- 
 rine, with their usual supplies, went their usual round. 
 
 Ever since her return to Eichmond, Catharine had 
 been deepl3Mnterested in the fortunes of a young couple, 
 whose wedding she had attended a short time before her 
 departure. The young husband had been sorely wounded 
 at the battle of Bull Eun, and had lain in a very crit- 
 ical condition ever since. The young wife, who had 
 been one of Catharine's best friends in Eichmond before 
 marriage, frequently sent for her now, when unusually 
 alarmed about her husband. 
 
 Just after dusk that same evening, as they were all 
 sitting in the parlor, talking over the events of the day, 
 a servant came in with a note for Miss Hale. 
 
 " Mrs. Hunter ! " she exclaimed, after looking it 
 over, ^' Mr. Gordon is a great deal worse ; and Emma is 
 very anxious for me to come and spend the night with 
 her." 
 
 "Well, I am very sorry for them both. But you are 
 tired and half sick yourself ; and hadn't you better send 
 your excuses to-night, my dearj" and she took the note, 
 and glanced over it herself. 
 
190 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 / 
 
 " It would be cruel to refuse in a case like this," said 
 Catharine. "You see, she thinks he will not live till 
 morning. One can see bj'- the handwriting alone that 
 she was hardly like herself when she wrote it." 
 
 " Perhaps it would be cruel to refuse under the circum- 
 stances ; but pray take care of yourself as well as you 
 can." 
 
 *^Why cannot I take your place, Catharine?" said 
 Philip anxiously. " I will do so with pleasure to save 
 you trouble." 
 
 "Oh! that would never do. There are men enouG^h 
 there, no doubt. It is because she craves a woman's 
 presence and sympath}*, that she sends for me.'* 
 
 '' Let me go with you then, and see you safe there." 
 
 "Thank you, Philip ; but it is altogether unnecessary. 
 I shall be perfectly safe with Mrs. Gordon's coachman." 
 
 Philip did not urge the matter ; but, when Catharine 
 was ready, he attended her to the carriage, helped her 
 in, said " Good-night ! " then bidding the coachman 
 drive carefully, it was so dark and cloudy, he returned 
 to the parlor, and spent the evening with the family. 
 
 The next day, upon the earliest train from the South- 
 west, true to his announcement, came Gen. Atherton, 
 strong in the hope of meeting and claiming his fair 
 young bride. 
 
 The time spent in delivering his despatches, and re- 
 porting the progress of military affairs in the South, to 
 President Davis and his councillors, seemed intolerably 
 tedious to the expectant bridegroom. It was over at 
 last ; and then he was driven with all speed to Mrs. 
 Hunter's, where a joj^ul reception awaited him. 
 
 He was at heart quite as much surprised as pleased 
 
THE general's RETURN. 191 
 
 to find Philip there. lie had heard nothing before of 
 his capture and escape, and supposed him still with the 
 Army of the Potomac. He was glad enough to see him, 
 • — glad to know that he was safe and well ; yet somehow 
 it dampened his spirits to meet him in the place of his 
 lovely bride. It was not the fond meeting and greeting 
 he had anticipated so long. It made the announcement 
 of his secret marriage much more difficult than to Mrs. 
 Hunter's family alone. To him he had intended to 
 make it by letter, which he felt would be far less em- 
 barrassing to both. 
 
 He inquired after Catharine at last, after Walter and 
 every other member of the family had had their share of 
 attention, and was told the circumstances of her absence 
 at Mr. Gordon's. 
 
 " Pray send for her at once ; won't j^ou ? " he said to 
 Mrs. Hunter. " I want to see the whole family together 
 once more." 
 
 "I have already sent John to make inquiries,'^ she 
 replied. " I think he must be here soon. But what is 
 it about that pleasant surprise, brother? I hope it is 
 yet in store for us." 
 
 "We will see presently," he returned, smiling, and 
 looking out eagerly, as the carriage rolled past the win- 
 dows, and on towards the stables. 
 
 " What is this ? Why, John has not brought Cath- 
 arine ! James Gordon must be dead or dying. Tell 
 John to report himself at once," said Mrs. Hunter to a 
 servant in waiting. 
 
 John, an old servant of the family, who, like all the 
 rest w\is very much attached to Catharine, soon pre- 
 sented himself, but looking particularly dismal, and a 
 good deal frightened withal. 
 
192 THE EEBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 "Well, what is it, John?" said his mistress eagerly. 
 " Is Mr. Gordon dead or dying ? " 
 
 " He be no dead, hut bery much better, mistress." 
 
 " Then why did not Miss Catharine come home ? " 
 
 " She no bin dere at all, mistress. Dey no send for her 
 last night at all." 
 
 " Good heavens ! What can have become of her, 
 tlien ? " exclaimed Gen. Atherton in alarm. 
 
 " I am sure I cannot tell," said INIrs. Hunter. " We 
 all know some one came for her; and I saw the note 
 the}^ sent in myself. Catharine remarked some singu- 
 larity in Mrs. Gordon's writing, but evidently thought it 
 was owing to strong nervous excitement. That note 
 must have been a forgery." 
 
 "But there was no collusion! She evidently believed 
 in its genuineness ; did she ? " said the general, half in 
 doubt. 
 
 " Certainly. None of us doubted it, I am sure." 
 
 " Any more than we did that she was worn out with 
 watching and caring for others, and would have pre- 
 ferred remaining at home," put in Philip eagerly. 
 
 " Then there must have been some plot to entice her 
 away for some infamous purpose ; and I tremble for the 
 consequences ! " exclaimed the general with a sudden 
 revulsion of feeling, that made him dizzy and strength- 
 less as a child. He sat down by the table, leaned his 
 head upon his hand, and turned his face away to hide 
 the strong emotions that no one but Philip keenly 
 observed. Could it be that Catharine had planned and 
 gone off in this way to avoid him, and the fulj6.1ment of 
 her marriage-vows ? He could hardly believe it. Such 
 plots and intrigues seemed wholly discordant with all he 
 had seen of her open, truthful character. Yet it was 
 
THE general's RETURN. 193 
 
 just possible that her dislike and dread of liim liad be- 
 come so strong, that she could not feel justified in pre- 
 tending to fidfil vows against which every feeling of her 
 heart rebelled ; and so she had gone off in this mysteri- 
 ous way. That thought gave hini bitter pain ; but he 
 did not harbor it long before another, much more start- 
 ling, presented itself. The city was full of troops, — 
 many of them lawless borderers, wdio would hesitate at 
 no crime; and Catharine, so young and unprotected, 
 and mingling among them so much in going and com- 
 ing from the prisons and hospitals, might have attracted 
 the attention of some ruffian or ruffians, who had in this 
 way secured her for a victim. In either case, it was 
 best, he thought, for her connection with him to remain 
 a secret, seeing it had been so thus far ; for its announce- 
 ment under present circumstances would attract more 
 attention and remark in both public and private circles 
 than he cared to be the subject of in his present state of 
 cruel anxiety and disappointment. 
 
 '^ Oh, dear ! what shall we do ? " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Hunter hopelessly. " I'm sure I cannot live in such 
 suspense about the dear girl, or hardly live without her 
 a day. You cannot imagine, brother, what an angel of 
 hope and blessing, what a help, support, and reliance, she 
 has been ; not only to us, but to scores of the sick, 
 wounded, and dying in Richmond, since your departure. 
 They hailed her coming wdtli eager joy, and looked upon 
 her face with as much admiring reverence as if it had 
 been the face of an angel. Oh, how they and we all 
 shall miss her, if she never comes back to us ! " 
 
 " Well, we will sift the affair to the bottom, and find 
 her if we possibly can," said the general, starting to his 
 feet energetically. " The city is under martial law, and 
 17 
 
194 THE REBEL GEXERAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 it cannot be that a lady can be abducted in this mannei 
 without somebody's knowing something about it." 
 
 "But It was very dark and misty last evening, father; 
 and they might on that account have escaped the vigi- 
 lance of the sentinels/' said Philip. 
 
 " Or bribed them, more likely. Such things are 
 oftener done by men of high than low degree. And we 
 know that Catharine has been a shining mark for the 
 admiration of more than one in positions of honor and 
 trust." 
 
 " I know very well,"' said Mrs. Hunter, " that she has 
 refused offers of marriage from men you would never 
 have dreamed would have condescended to wed a poor 
 Yankee governess. I have often wondered at her seem- 
 ing indifference to the advantages of fortune, her 
 blindness to her own Avorldly interests, as well as her 
 evident feeling of equality with the jDroudest of her suit- 
 ors. I do believe she loved Lloyd, though ; and I feel 
 sorry now that her affair with him turned out as it did." 
 
 '•She was certainly a very remarkable girl," said the 
 general ; " and in beauty, grace, or intellect, few could 
 compare with her." 
 
 " We are ready to concede her every perfection," said 
 Philip rather sarcastically ; " and I am readj^, my dear 
 father, to join you in any search for her you may think 
 proper to institute to-day. To-morrow I shall be obliged 
 to return to my regiment." 
 
 "Then we will commence at once, my son. Too 
 much time has already been lost, I fear, for her honor or 
 safety." 
 
 They did commence the search at once; and every 
 seeming avenue of information was traced up to its 
 fountain-head, without eliciting the least clew to her 
 
THE general's RETURN. 105 
 
 mysterious disappearance. Both tbe civil and military 
 arms of power were tried in vain; and large rewards 
 were at last offered to obtain some knowledge of a fate 
 that seemed shrouded in mystery and gloom. 
 
 The general and others at last settled down upon the 
 conclusion that some of Catharine's Yankee friends had 
 been playing a cute trick upon them in thus spiriting 
 away a jSTorthern lad}', who rumor said was about to 
 marry a distinguished rebel officer, — nobody knew 
 whom. 
 
 The whole Hunter family soon came to regard Cath- 
 arine as dead, or lost to them forever ; and never was a 
 friend more sincerely mourned or missed. Poor little 
 Walter could hardly be comforted. Mrs. Hunter missed 
 her every hour; and, if brother or nephew could have 
 brought her back as his wife, perhaps she would not 
 have objected to the terms. 
 
 Never was a man more suddenly cut down or keenly 
 disappointed than Gen. Atherton ; and it was as much 
 as he could do to keep from displaying it to all around 
 him. After a thorough search and a mature deliberation, 
 he came to the conclusion that Catharine had, most likely, 
 found some unexpected chance to return to the ISTorth, 
 and had gone off in this mysterious way to deceive Mrs. 
 Hunter, and evade her duties to him. Possibly she had 
 gone with some favored lover, who might be equally 
 cheated with himself, regarding her secret marriage. He 
 had believed in the duplicity of all women before he 
 met Catharine ; and now he rapidly drifted back to the 
 same opinions, and inwardly cursed the hour that made 
 her his v/ife. He sought active service now, and became 
 a much more zealous and active partisan than he would 
 have been with Catharine for a companion. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE ABDUCTIOX. — CATHARINE's ILLNESS. 
 
 'UT where all this time was Catharine ? 
 
 When she entered what she supposed to 
 he Mr. Gordon's close carriage, she was a 
 little surprised to find that it already con- 
 tained what appeared to he a female occupant. 
 
 " Missus t'ink Miss Kate no want to come 'lone, so she 
 send 'long Thetis," said the unexpected attendant. 
 
 " She was very kind. But how long is it since your 
 master hegan to grow worse, Thetis ? " 
 
 " Eher sense Miss Hale come away dis mornin'. Thetis 
 t'ink he die dis time." 
 
 It was so dark in the carriage that Catharine could 
 only see the dim outline of a hlack figure. She knew 
 Mrs. Gordon's maids well ; and that was the name of 
 one of them. But somehow the voice seemed unfamiliar. 
 Yet it was true that she had heen there in the morning, 
 as she had said. Still she felt no suspicions until she he- 
 gan to wonder they did not arrive at Mr. Gordon's. 
 
 " We seem to he a long time in -getting there," she 
 said at last. *'' The coachman must have lost his way in 
 the fog. But there was no need of it here, where there 
 are street-lamps all the — Why, there are none here, 
 as sure as the world ! " 
 
 196 
 
THE ABDUCTION. 197 
 
 At this moment Catharine became conscious of an 
 overpowering smell ; and a minute afterwards a strong 
 arm was thrown around her, and a handkerchief was 
 pressed to her nose, that must have been strongly satu- 
 rated with chloroform. She struggled and resisted with 
 all her might, and tried to scream ; but a hand was laid 
 upon her mouth, her breath came thick and gasping, her 
 limbs relaxed, and she knew nothing more until grad- 
 ually aroused from a long gap of unconsciousness. Then 
 she found herself riding along a country road, in a heavy 
 military wagon, reclining on the arm of a tall and pow- 
 erful man, in the undress costume of an officer in the 
 Confederate service. 
 
 Though clouded and hazy at first, her senses soon re- 
 turned, enough for her to remember her last stifling 
 sensations ; and then she became terribly alarmed to think, 
 not only of her present position, but also of what might 
 have been done in her state of insensibility. As soon as 
 she began to move, the man spoke ; and there was some- 
 thin^ in the tones of his voice that re-assured her, and 
 in some measure allayed her fears. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed," he said : " you are perfectly safe, 
 and going to the house of a friend." 
 
 " What friend ? " she eagerly asked. " I have none in 
 this country out of Eichmond." 
 
 " You will know in time, but not now." 
 
 "But why this — this outrage? Why have I been 
 drugged, and brought here against my will ? " 
 
 " To save you from a worse fate, — one to which you 
 were looking forward with dread and loathing. Can you 
 understand that?" 
 
 " Perhaps I do. But why take these extraordinary 
 
 measures ? " 
 
 17* 
 
198 THE REBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 " Pray be content witli v/liat you know. I am not 
 permitted to say more. I am here only to oblige a 
 friend, to whom I am under infinite obligations." And 
 more he would not say; though she tried more than once 
 to elicit something regarding her destination. She soon 
 became deadly sick, as people usually are who have taken 
 chloroform ; and he was again obliged to surround her 
 with his arm to keep her from falling out of the wagon. 
 He persuade-d her at last to take something that tasted 
 very strongly of brand}^, that he carried in his pocket, and 
 the draught seemed to do her good. They rode on until 
 nearly daylight; and she thought they must have gone at 
 least twenty miles. Turning off. then, from the turn- 
 pike, they came to a broad, shadowy lane that led them 
 up to a handsome country residence. It was built of 
 stone, and surrounded b}^ plenty of trees, from which the 
 leaves were falling in the chill November dawn. They 
 drove up the broad avenue a part of the way, then 
 stopped, evidently with as little noise as possible. The 
 driver, a negro, jumped out, and held the mules; while 
 the officer alighted, and helped out Catharine, who at first 
 could scarcely stand. 
 
 " It is very early," said her attendant : " yet we are ex- 
 pected ; and it is my friend's wish that our entree should 
 be as secret as possible. And it is best for you that it 
 should be so. We will M'alk in as quietly as we can, and 
 allow the negroes and dogs the pleasure of their morning 
 nap." 
 
 There was no use in trying to resist the wishes or 
 commands of her gentlemanly attendant; so she took his 
 arm, and walked up to the mansion. At the door they 
 were met by a fat, good-natured old negro woman, who 
 welcomed them with a shrewd grin, and took them into a 
 
THE ABDUCTION. 199 
 
 • 
 wanii, handsomely-fumislied, well-lighted parlor. Here 
 the gentleman, after hoping she would experience no 
 harm from her night journey, and he the happier for it 
 in the future, bade her " Good-morning," and departed. 
 Feeling as if there were no use in resisting the fate 
 that brought her there, and completely worn out with 
 fear, fatigue, excitement, and the effects of the deadly 
 narcotic, she longed for rest. Signifying as much, she 
 was piloted up stairs, and ushered into a handsome suite 
 of rooms, where a cheerful fire was burning in the grate, 
 and every thing looked neat and comfortable. She sat 
 down before the fire in a luxurious easy-chair, completely 
 tired out and chilled through. The old woman took off 
 her bonnet and wraps, and then stood gazing at her 
 admiringly. 
 
 " Looks drefful pale an' sick like," she muttered ; " but 
 'deed she's a pretty critter. No wonder she set all dese 
 men-folks crazy. Don't blame de ole feller a bit, or de 
 young one eider. But Chloe t'ink it bad bizness, for all 
 dat" 
 
 '•' Of whom are you speaking, good mother ? " said 
 Catharine wearily. 
 
 '• Oh ! no matter. Massa say Chloe keep still tongue in 
 her head ; an' she must." 
 
 " Who is 3' our master, my good woman ? " 
 
 "Missis know soon enuf, an' like him well nuff, I 
 reckon. All de gals du dat, Chloe t'ink. He hansum as 
 a picter. But won't de lady hab some breakfus ? " 
 
 " No, no ! But pray let me lie down : I feel sick as 
 death." The woman led her to the bed, and attempted 
 to undress her; but, fearing some sudden surprise, she 
 refused her assistance, and lay down in the dark merino 
 dress she happened to have on at the time of her abduc- 
 tion. 
 
200 THE REBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 Her head ached iiitclerahly. She was sick at the 
 stomach, with every wretched feeling engendered Ly 
 fright, an overdose of cliloroform, and the cold she had 
 evidently taken in her long night-journey. The old 
 woman covered her up warmly, shut the blinds, and at 
 last she slept : but it was a fitful slumber, broken by 
 wild dreams of rapine and bloodshed. She awoke when 
 the sun was high in the heavens : but her head and bones 
 still ached with a dull, dreary pain, her flesh was hot 
 and sore, her tongiie was parched, her cheeks burned ; 
 and she knew that she had taken a heavy cold, and 
 was threatened with fever. She did not regret it much, 
 except for her unpleasant sensations ; for she felt so 
 wretched mentally, that she hardly cared what became 
 of her. She did not forget that this was the day he was 
 coming, — her lord and master; and there was a feeling 
 of relief in the thoug^ht that she was far awav, and 
 probably out of his reach. 
 
 Yet he was her husband ; and, if they were ever to 
 meet, she did not like the idea of his thinking that she 
 had fled from Richmond to get out of his way, as she 
 was sure he must under the circumstances. That she 
 had been forcibl}^ abducted for that reason, she could not 
 doubt. But who could have known the facts, or cared 
 to take advantage of them in that way, she could not 
 imagine. At last she thought of the letter, the loss of 
 which had given her a good deal of uneasiness ; and 
 that partially solved the mystery. Some one who felt 
 an interest in her must have found it ; and, guessing her 
 feelings, had contrived this plan to get her out of her 
 husband's way. She felt so ill that she kept her bed the 
 greater part of the day, and did not attempt to leave the 
 room. The old negro woman brought her every thing she 
 
THE ABDUCTION. 201 
 
 wanted, wlilcli was not much, but refused to enlighten 
 her as to her employers, or their motives, if she knew 
 them. Tlie prospect from her windows was very 
 beautiful, overlooking, as it did, a fine extent of coun- 
 try ; though the sear foliage of the deciduous trees, 
 and added brilliancy of the evergreens, testified to the 
 near approach of winter. She thought of escape; but, 
 too sick to entertain that thought long, she tacitly re- 
 signed herself to her destiny. That night passed in 
 much the same manner as the morning. Still she was 
 no better when it was over, though able to walk about 
 the room. She still thought of escape, but was too mis- 
 erable to care much about it, so long as she was undis- 
 turbed by noise, or the arrival of troublesome visitors. 
 There were plenty of books in the room, and she tried 
 to read; but it made her head and eyes ache worse, and 
 she could fix her mind on nothing long. The mornin"- 
 dragged slowly away. When her nice dinner was 
 brought in, it was hardly tasted. 
 
 At last she heard the clock strike one, and soon after 
 the roll of carriage-wheels up the avenue. Her pulses 
 now beat high with excitement as well as fever; but 
 her windows were so situated that she could see nothin^^ 
 of the arrival. She heard the murmur of voices ; the 
 tread of feet in the halls and alleys, and up and down 
 the stairs; the clatter of dishes, and moving of tables; 
 and at last grew so anxious, that she thought she would 
 step out into the hall to listen. For the first time she 
 attempted to open the door of her chamber, but found, 
 to her surprise, that it was bolted on the outside, and 
 she was a prisoner. Chloe had been coming and going 
 so often, that she had not mistrusted it before. The 
 shock to her feelings was so great that she could scarcely 
 
202 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAE BEIDE. 
 
 stand. "Weak, nervous, and terrified at the thought, 
 she sunk down upon the lounge, laid her face upon liel 
 clasped hands, and burst into tears. 
 
 And thus it was that Philip Atherton found her when, 
 preceded by Chloe, a few minutes later, he entered the 
 room. 
 
 "What, in tears, Catharine!" he exclaimed, as he 
 came and sat down beside her, and attempted to take 
 her hand. " I am surprised. I had hoped to see you 
 rejoicing in any fate that took you out of Hichmond 
 just at this time. Did I not guess your feelings truly ?*' 
 
 Catharine was astounded. She had not dreamed of 
 Philip being her real abductor, or that he, if he really 
 knew the truth, would have dared to thwart and circum- 
 vent his own father. Did he know that she was really 
 his father's wife ? If not, dared she tell him, after 
 promising so solemnly not to divulge it until her hus- 
 band's return ? 
 
 He looked upon her pityiugly and in silence for a few 
 moments, longing to hush her sobs upon his bosom; 
 but somehow he dared not try it. 
 
 " Catharine," he said at length, " I had hoped for a 
 different reception from this. I had flattered myself 
 that you would prefer the shelter of my fond, enduring 
 love to the fate I found awaited you in Hichmond, — to 
 which I thought, from your every look and tone, you 
 looked forward with fear and dread." 
 
 "You took a fine way to coax me over to your views, 
 Philip Atherton," said Catharine, raising her head 
 proudly, — "'one worthy the ingenuity of a first-class 
 pirate or brigand. But pray to what fate worse than 
 this do you allude, sir ? " 
 
 " That of a marriage with a man old enough to be 
 
THE ABDUCTIOX. 203 
 
 your father, wliom you may fear and respect, but can 
 never love. The means T took to save you from it were 
 the only ones I could think of, that would at once 
 preclude objections on your part, from some mistaken 
 sense of duty, and elude the vigilance of martial law,^' 
 he said with his face flushing hotly at her scornful allu- 
 sions to his brigandism. 
 
 Catharine sprang to her feet, and began to pace tho 
 room rapidly, and m the greatest consternation, trying 
 to think of what it was best for her to do. That Philip 
 loved her quite as passionately, and more unscrupulously, 
 than his father, she could no longer doubt. And this 
 daring outrage, in sending her out of his father's way, 
 believing her evidently still free to choose, warned her 
 that he had come to bring the affair to a crisis in some 
 desperate way. She saw plainly that he was not to be 
 turned from his purpose, or trifled with. Back and 
 forth she paced the room for some time, with a. flashed 
 and excited countenance ; while he watched her fur- 
 tively, trying to road his fate in her expressive face, and 
 wondering how she could hesitate in a choice between 
 the son, glowing with youth and health and beauty, 
 and the father stern and faded and old. Pie forsrot the 
 
 o 
 
 fact, that, if she could have had a choice, she would have 
 selected neither the one nor the other as the companion 
 of her future life. 
 
 She decided at last tliat concealments and half-way 
 measures were unadvisable in the present crisis ; so, 
 with a face pale with excitement, all excepting a bright 
 red spot on either cheek, she came tremblingly up to 
 Philip, took both his hands in hers, and said in a deeply- 
 agitated yet pitying tone, — 
 
 " Philip, you have done yourself a great wrong, as well 
 
204 THE EEBEL GENEPwAL's LOYAL BRmE. 
 
 as me, in bringing me here as you have done, — ex- 
 posing, not only my health, but my character to the 
 greatest misconstructions. Yet I forgive you, though 
 another may not, because you knew not what you were 
 doing. Like all the rest of the world, you seem ignorant 
 of the fact, that for more than three months I have 
 been your father's wife." 
 
 '' My father's wife ! Good heavens ! is that the truth ? '' 
 he exclaimed, starting to his feet as suddenly as if a 
 cannon-ball had rolled under them, and looking into 
 Catharine's eyes with a wild, strange, agonized expres- 
 sion, that fairly startled her. 
 
 "It is the solemn truth, Philip," she said. "I am 
 his wife, at least in name. We were privately married 
 at Manassas the morning previous to his departure for 
 the South-west. How, or wliy, I dare not tell you. I 
 promised not to reveal the fact, or leave the country be- 
 fore his return. But to save you, Jits so)i. from further 
 errors, if not crimes, I feel that I must confess the truth. 
 Oh ! pity, and leave me now, Philip, to a fate that is ir- 
 revocable, and forget that you have ever loved me." 
 
 " I wish I could, God knows ! But it is impossible. 
 "What, you my father's wife! — my mother/ and for- 
 ever beyond my reach ! Oh, the thought will drive me 
 mad ! " and it was his turn now to walk the floor, and 
 wring his hands in bitter agony of spirit; while she 
 sat down, leaned her aching head upon her hands, and 
 silently wept. 
 
 At last he came up, and bending over her, and putting 
 his arm around her, said in a husky voice, '• Cath- 
 arine ! even now, if you only loved me, we might fly 
 from " — 
 
 " Let me hear no such words as those from your lips ! " 
 
THE ABDUCTION. 205 
 
 she exclaimed, rising in majesty. " You forget what is 
 due to yourself and your father's wife. Bear your dis- 
 appointment like a man, even as I have borne mine, and 
 lived on to suffer still more. But I may not live long. 
 I took a severe cold in coming here, and I am very ill at 
 this moment. Don't you see the fever in my bloodshot 
 eyes and flushed cheeks, and feel it in my burning 
 liands ? " and she laid her hot hand upon his cold and 
 clammy ones. 
 
 He pressed the hand to his lips, and looked drearily 
 into the flushed face, but to be convinced that she told 
 him the truth. 
 
 " Catharine ! '^ he exclaimed in alarm. " You arc 
 really ill. If my bringing you here should cause your 
 death, I should never forgive myself." 
 
 "I should not murmur, Philip. The sleep of death 
 would seem sweet to me now, the life before me seems so 
 dreary and joyless." 
 
 " Without love, or congeniality of soul, or suitability 
 of age, or even the strong bond of political affinities, — 
 Catharine ! " 
 
 " Say no more, Philip, but leave me now, I beg of 
 you, — leave me to my fate." 
 
 " But what will you do ? JJe is in E-ichmond making 
 inquiries for you everywhere." 
 
 " Does he acknowledge me as his wife ? " 
 
 " No, indeed ; or I should not have come here to woo 
 or insult my fathers wife ! " said he bitterly. 
 
 " Do not mention it again, but go, — go. I forgive and 
 pity you. But my head is bursting with pain : I can 
 hardly see. I cannot think what to say to you any 
 longer," she exclaimed in an agonized tone. 
 18 
 
206 THE EEBEL GENEEAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 " But you must have a doctor immediately/' he said 
 in a tone of alarm. 
 
 " No, no : that would reveal the secret. It must not 
 be known that I am here. How it would disgrace me, 
 and him too, if it were known that I had run away 
 from him to stay here alone with his son ! Chloe can 
 doctor me, I'll warrant ; and she won't tell him — I 
 took poison, and went off to get rid of him. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 Punny, wasn't it, to hide from him in this way ? To 
 sell myself to save his life, and then cheat him out of 
 the price. Wa^s that right, do you think? I don't. 
 But then I was so afraid I couldn't help it. He'll be 
 jealous as an ogre, I'll warrant, if I look at Lloyd, or 
 Philip, or anybody younger or handsomer. But who 
 cares ? One can't always keep her thoughts from 
 roving, if she is tied with cords or matrimonial bands. 
 I'm not one to break over them, though. Maybe I shall 
 learn to love him as he said. I hope so. Oh ! is that 
 you, Philip ? You came to see your father, did you ? 
 He is just returned, and you will find him in the library. 
 He will be delighted to see jou safe home after that 
 bloody battle. Was Theodore there? or Harry? 
 Wounded, did you say? Oh, I must go to him at 
 once ! " And she started up in wild alarm ; while Philip, 
 who had thus far listened in astonishment to her wild 
 ravings, doubtful at first that they were so in reality, but 
 convinced at last that they were the incoherent utter- 
 ances of delirium, caught her by the arm to prevent her 
 from dashing out of the room and down the stairs. 
 
 Her QjQs grew wilder and wilder every moment, and 
 were fixed on vacancy, or roving restlessly. Her face 
 was hotly flushed, her pulse bounding ; and there was 
 every symptom of a raging fever. He led her back to a 
 
Catharine's illness. 207 
 
 seat, and tlien, completely at his wits' end, rang for 
 Cliloe, who had retired. Besides Catharine, there was no 
 white woman on the plantation ; and he knew, that, if a 
 doctor was sent for, it would excite a great deal of wonder 
 and speculation in the neighborhood, get to the ears of 
 his i\ither, and lead to unpleasant consequences. Chloe 
 was quite a celebrated doctress among the negroes. She 
 thought she could manage the case skilfully ; and Philip 
 finally concluded that it was better to risk it in her 
 hands, under a charge of secrecy, than to hazard Catha- 
 rine's reputation by calling in medical aid. So she was 
 persuaded by Chloe to go to bed, opiates were adminis- 
 tered, and then she proceeded to give her a famous sweat. 
 But, in spite of all Chloe could do, Catharine was stupid 
 or raving by turns for several days. Philip had planned 
 to spend them with her in a very different manner. Xow 
 he sat by her at times, when Chloe, worn out with watch- 
 ing, slept upon the lounge near by, listening to her inco- 
 herent ravings, and gathering up, first and last, the whole 
 story of her devoted self-sacrifice to save her brother's 
 life, as well as indubitable proofs of her innocence, purity, 
 and truth. He felt indignant at his father for taking 
 advantage of her as he had done ; though conscience whis- 
 pered that he would have done the like in the same cir- 
 cumstances, — or worse if he could. Yet he bitterly 
 cursed himself now for the ungenerous part he had acted 
 towards her first and last, and all he had made her suf- 
 fer. If he could have won the love of such a woman, he 
 felt that he would have become a better man ; and his 
 thoughts went back regretfully to his conduct regarding 
 Lloyd Hunter, and the pride and haughtiness that re- 
 pelled her in the bright morning of their lives. 
 
 Catharine grew calmer at last ; but she was then com- 
 
208 THE REBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 pletely exhausted, and still dangerously sick, when Philip 
 was compelled to tear himself away, and return to his 
 regiment. But the time spent in that sick-room was not 
 wholly lost upon him. His mad passion was cooled by 
 the knowledge that her most secret earthly thoughts 
 were all of another; while her perfect sincerity, truth, 
 purity of soul, high sense of honor, and strong religious 
 principle, and trust in God, awed, and inspired him for 
 the time with such a respect for her as he had never felt 
 for any other woman, — such a reverence for sacred 
 things as he had never in his life experienced before. 
 He left the place a sadder, wiser, but exceedingly 
 anxious man. 
 
 Philip had a private conference with his overseer 
 before leaving, and also left a letter with Chloe for 
 Catharine, in case she recovered, but to be burned if she 
 did not, with strict injunctions that she should have the 
 best of care, and every thing that was necessary for her 
 restoration. 
 
 It was late in November when Catharine was brought 
 to the plantation : it was mid-winter before she could 
 sit up a moment, and a much longer time before she 
 was able to leave her sick-chamber. A physician at 
 first might have broken up the fever ; though that is 
 doubtful, so strongly was it fastened upon her system. 
 As it was, she had it the natural way; though Chloe 
 took great credit to herself for her wonderful cure of the 
 sick lady, who ran away from the guerillas, and came to 
 her for protection one dark November morning. The 
 life-giving spring breezes brought health and strength, 
 and a more refined and delicate beauty, back to the poor 
 invalid, but the greatest anxiety regarding her future 
 destiny. 
 
CATHARINE'S ILLNESS. 209 
 
 As soon as she thought her well enough, Aunt Chloe 
 put Philip's letter into Catharine's hands, with money 
 enough for all present exigencies. It began thus : — 
 
 "0 Catharine ! what can I say to you in this dreadful 
 hour, that I see you lying there upon the confines of eter- 
 nitj^, through my means, and yet must, by a strong neces- 
 sity, leave you to your fate, and bid you perhaps an 
 eternal farewell ? Yet it may be better for you and for 
 me that it is so ; for I cannot endure the thought of 
 your really becoming his bride, or ever forgive him for 
 taking advantage of you as he has done. And oh ! 
 would it not be better for you to be rejoicing among the 
 angels — as you would, if mortal ever did or can — than 
 to live on, a life of fear, disgust, and loathing ? For I 
 know all, Catharine, The whole truth has been revealed 
 to me in your wild ravings; though I should not have 
 understood it but for my previous knowledge of that 
 captivity and escape. As it is, family pride will forever 
 seal my lips ; and you must bum this epistle if you live 
 to read it, lest in some way a clew should be afforded to 
 his enemies. Eeading your heart thus, as I have done, 
 Catharine, I truly honor and exonerate you from all 
 blame. Knowing your most secret thoughts, I believe 
 you to be a pure, self-sacrificing angel, of whom neither 
 of us was in the smallest degree worthy. Led on by a 
 passionate, self-indulgent nature, I have wronged you in 
 the past, dear Catharine, more than I dare to think of. 
 And I had come to believe female purity and virtue a 
 myth, and that there was none unpurchasable, until this 
 hour that I read your pure and noble soul. Oh, if I 
 could have a wife like you, it would be my salvation ! 
 But that is now impossible. The past cannot be re- 
 
 19* 
 
210 THE EEBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BREDE. 
 
 called. In the present I am reaping its punishments 
 with a Tengeance, in a blighted and unhappy life. For 
 the future I have onlj^ a mad, sleepless ambition, that 
 may lead me on to death. Forgive all I have made you 
 sufier. Think of me as kindly as you can. If possible, 
 I beg of you to conceal the part I have taken in your 
 abduction, and thus shield me from his anger. My own 
 private feelings would bid me counsel you to return to 
 your friends at the jSTorth as soon as possible ; j^et I 
 know that a sense of duty may lead you back to E-ich- 
 mond and to him. In either case, I shall not blame 
 you. I enclose the means to do either; and you must 
 act as you think best. To-morrow I go back to my 
 duty, with a weight like a mountain on my heart. Oh, 
 how deeply I realize in this dreadful hour that ' the 
 "wages of sin is misery, if not death ' ! Farewell, dear 
 Catharine, farewell forever.'* 
 
 Catharine could not read this epistle without tears, 
 and the strongest emotions of pity and regret for the 
 evident suiFering of what she believed to have been a 
 noble nature run to waste and wickedness, through early 
 indulgence, and a mistaken mother's training. She for- 
 gave, and felt sorry for him ; yet she could not forget 
 that he probably was the cause of the bitterest disap- 
 pointment of her life, — one, too, that had led her on, 
 step by step, to her present unenviable position. Philip 
 had left her free to act, and advised her to go home. 
 But no passes were granted at that time ; and it was 
 not so easy to do so as it had previously been. But, in 
 spite .of her repugnance, there was her solemn promise ; 
 and did she not owe her first duty to her husband ? If 
 he, through doubt or jealousy, refused to believe the 
 
Catharine's illness. 211 
 
 strange tale slie had to tell, she could then decide upon 
 some other course. Tlierefore, as soon as she was able 
 to sit up, she wrote, not only to him, but to Mrs. 
 Hunter, detailing her painful experiences, excepting 
 Mhat related to Philip's visit, and asking what she had 
 better do. 
 
 The slave, sent on horseback to the nearest office 
 with the letters, ran away, as hundreds of others were 
 doinor at that time. The letters never reached their 
 destination ; and Catharine waited in vain for a reply. 
 After daj^s of suspense and anxious solicitude, she wrote 
 again, but with no better success than before. She did 
 not know, of course, that neither of her letters ever 
 reached their destination. Thinking at last that they 
 doubted herstory, and wanted to cast her off", she made 
 some inquiries about crossing the lines. Finding she 
 could not do this in safety, she concluded to return to 
 Eichmond at a venture, though a little doubtful of her 
 reception. 
 
 But, in all those weeks and months that Catharine 
 had lain there, sick, homesick, and suffering, the bloody 
 work of war had gone on. Though the splendid army 
 of the Potomac, from one cause and another, chafed in 
 their canvas tents, sickened with inaction and hope 
 deferred, and rapidly filled up the hospitals and grave- 
 yards, bloody battles had been fought at many other 
 places, with varied fortunes, all along the extended lines. 
 Thousands of precious lives had been sacrificed, and 
 millions of treasure had been expended. 
 
 But Catharine knew very little of all this : she saw 
 no papers or intelligent people, and heard only the wild, 
 garbled stories circulating among the slave population, 
 who, unable to read themselves, were kept in as great 
 
212 THE EEBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 ignorance as possible by their owners, especially at this 
 time, when they were in a general expectation of a jubi- 
 lee of freedom. 
 
 Philip Atherton's plantation was one he had inherited 
 from his mother. Though large and isolated, and its 
 owner thoroughly loyal to the Confederate cause, it had 
 not been exempt from the desolating scourge of war, any 
 more than others in Northern Virginia at that time. 
 The slaves ran away in scores ; the crops were overrun 
 and wasted ; the fences burned ; and every thing seemed 
 going to rack and ruin. None could prevent the spoil- 
 ing of their possessions by the roving bands of soldiery 
 and desperadoes, who swept like a tornado over the hills 
 and valleys of the Old Dominion, emboldened by their 
 successes, and feared alike by friend and foe. They 
 had paid the plantation two or three visits previous to 
 Catharine's arrival ; ransacking the house, corn-cribs, 
 smoke-houses, pig-sties, and hen-roosts, taking what- 
 ever they liked. But several months had passed away 
 since that time ; and they had begun tp feel quite secure 
 again. 
 
 Catharine had been very shy of exposing herself to 
 the gaze of the people on or around the plantation; 
 yet, as she gained strength, she began to walk out at 
 certain hours to view the beautiful scenery, and breathe 
 the refreshing spring breezes ; though generally careful 
 to choose unfrequented paths. 
 
CHAPTER Xn. 
 
 AN OLD ADMIRER. RIDIXG IN STATE. 
 
 i^^FTEE, many earnest prayers for divine pro- 
 tection and guidance, Catharine finally made 
 arrangements for her return to Richmond. 
 The overseer was to take her to the nearest 
 railroad station to go by the earliest morning train. 
 
 The afternoon previous to her expected departure, she 
 thought she would walk down the avenue to the turnpike 
 to view the scenery, and fix the location in her memory. 
 It was past the middle of April : the sky was blue 
 and cloudless, and the air soft and balmy. The trees 
 in this favored clime were putting forth fresh young 
 leaves and opening buds. The early wild-flowers greeted 
 her at every step, cheering her by their bright young 
 faces. The birds were warbling their evening songs of 
 thanksgiving to their great Creator, thus leading her own 
 heart up in thankfulness to the kind Father who had 
 scattered such life and beauty everywhere, and preserved 
 her thus far in trouble and danger. She reached the 
 little arched bridge that spanned a beautiful stream that 
 crossed the grounds a few rods above the turnpike ; and, 
 tired with her unusual exertions, — for she was still far 
 from strong, — she sat down upon the low railing to rest, 
 and think over her plans for the future. 
 
 213 
 
214 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 A little hill, covered with a fine growth of young tim- 
 ber, screened her from observation from the turnpike, and 
 also deadened the sound of the approach of a party of 
 soldiery, who were advancing up the road. It was not 
 until an authoritative "Halt!" sounded upon her ear, 
 that she dreamed of their approach, so lost was she in 
 her meditations. Starting up in alarm, she looked 
 towards the turnpike, and saw two men on horseback 
 just rounding the curve of the hill, and turning their 
 steeds up the avenue. 
 
 " Nice place to stop and recruit, by ginger ! Plenty 
 of bacon and nice fat fowls, and feed for the nags, I'll 
 bet a fourpence," she heard one of them say to the other. 
 
 " So I reckon," echoed the other. " I wonder who 
 lives here ? But look there. Hallo ! Stop, gal ! Can't 
 ye answer a civil question ? " 
 
 "I'll be hanged if I didn't know that critter ; and I'll 
 be plaguy glad to see her tu," continued the first speaker. 
 
 Catharine did not wait for rejoinder or parley, but ran 
 swiftly uj) the avenue, spreading consternation among 
 the slaves by the news that the soldiery were coming ; 
 though not in so great a degree as she felt it herself: 
 for, in the sharp, nasal twang, she had recognized the 
 voice of Sweep, her old admirer and persecutor, though 
 his face seemed somehow a good deal changed in ap- 
 pearance from what she remembered it. She feared from 
 his words that he had recognized her; so, as soon as she 
 got to the house, she ran up to her room, locked the door, 
 and sunk down upon a seat breathless and terrified. She 
 had supposed him dead, or at least out of the country ; 
 and she trembled to think of what new trouble might 
 come of his machinations. There was no use in resisting 
 the demands for entertainment of a party of twenty 
 
AN OLD ADMIEER. 215 
 
 arnied soldiery ; though the overseer tried to do it at first : 
 but the carabines of the troopers brouglit liim to his 
 senses. They were guarding government property, they 
 said, and had a right to the best the country afforded. 
 So the big sutler's wagon they were guarding was drawn 
 under the shed, the beasts were fed and housed^ and the 
 men were soon having a merry carouse over the nice 
 supper Aunt Chloe was obliged to have prepared for 
 them. 
 
 In spite of her hopes to the contrary, Sweep had 
 recognized Catharine ; and, b}^ questioning the negroes, he 
 found out that the lady had run away from the guerillas, 
 and come there sick ever so long ago, and was going 
 away again upon the morrow. He knew very well that 
 she would not want to see him ; but for all that he deter- 
 mined to have an interview with "missy," as the negroes 
 called her. 
 
 As soon as supper was over, and it was quite dark, he 
 took Aunt Chloe aside, and told her privately that he 
 knew the young lady who was staying there well; that 
 he was, in fact, a particular friend of hers, and knew she • 
 would be terrible glad to see him. He wanted her to go 
 and ask her if she wouldn't like to have an interview 
 with Mr. Kendall. Chloe did not like the looks of him, 
 but she was totally unsuspicious of his object : so, 
 taking a light, she waddled up the grand staircase to 
 Catharine's room. It was locked; but she opened it at 
 once at the sound of Aunt Chloe's welcome voice, letting 
 in, not only the old negress, but Sweep, who had followed 
 on tiptoe, and bolted in just behind her, before either 
 she or Catharine was aware of his presence. To avoid 
 suspicion, she had been sitting there in the darkness ; and, 
 blinded by the sudden illumination, she did not perceive 
 
216 THE REBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 the rascal until lie had made good his entrance, locked 
 the door after him, and put the key in his pocket. 
 
 " Dere's a great, tall, yaller-skinned, long-legged man 
 down stairs, dat say he know ye, miss, an' want to see 
 ye dreffiilly," said Chloe, who, being a little deaf, had 
 not dreamed of his being so near. 
 
 " That's so. Miss Kate," echoed Sweep, coming for- 
 ward at this moment, and grasping her hand as if he 
 were the dearest friend she had in the world. 
 
 She drew back, too much surprised to speak for an in- 
 stant, and then exclaimed in an indignant tone, " I would 
 thank you to walk out of my room, sir ! No gentleman 
 would enter a lady's chamber in such an impudent way 
 as this ! " 
 
 " Oh ! you're there, are you ? I'm very much obleeged 
 for the compliment ! " he returned with a grin. " I"ll let 
 the old woman out, if you say so; but, as to myself, 
 I'm very comfortable ; " and he sat down composedly upon 
 the side of the bed. 
 
 " Get 'long out yerself, you old villain ! I'll not have 
 my young mistis 'suited in dis way ! " screamed Chloe, as 
 soon as she could catch her breath from astonishment at 
 his audacity, and flourishing her black fist in his face. 
 " If you don't go dis minit, I'll yell, an' rouse every 
 nigger on de plantation." 
 
 " Do you see that, you old baboon ? " he returned, 
 drawing a glittering bowie from its sheath, flourishing it 
 menacingly before her eyes, and then coolly returning it 
 to its receptacle. 
 
 Poor Chloe subsided at once. She stood for a moment 
 gazing in dumb terror into his glittering gray eyes, and 
 then, turning with a faint shriek, she ran towards the 
 door, followed by the equally frightened Catharine. He 
 
AN OLD ADMIRER. 21 
 
 n 
 
 laughed sardonically, when he saw their consternation at 
 finding the door locked upon them, and they prisoners, 
 apparently at his mercy. 
 
 " Pray be seated, ladies, and make yourselves to home, 
 jest as I du," he sneered. " I come to make a friendly 
 call, and there's no need of makin' all this fuss about it." 
 
 " You see, I've bin wantin' to see ye. Miss Kate, ever 
 sence that little affair at the major's, to tell ye how 
 grateful I was for what you done for me.'^ 
 
 " If you are so in reality, as I think you had reason to 
 be, pray unlock this door, and walk out, sir ! " 
 
 '' Oh ! that's another matter, my dear. I've got a 
 great deal to tell ye before we part ; though I'll let out 
 the old woman if you say so ; " and he grinned mali- 
 ciously. 
 
 "No, no!" she eagerly exclaimed. "She shall stay 
 if you do." 
 
 " As you will. I always love to please the ladies ; 
 though I'd a leetle ruther see you alone. You see, Miss 
 Kate, I ain't done likin' on ye yet ; and I wanted to tell 
 ye how infarnal lucky I'd bin sence we parted. You 
 know, I had a darned hard time on it then; but I 
 weathered it somehow, and got off slick as grease at last, 
 with my money tied round me in a leather belt under 
 my shirt. You see, I got so crisped and singed, and 
 looked so awful on the outside, and all the niggers and 
 white folks was so mad, that they never thought to sarch 
 me, and never spected that I'd got five thousand dollars 
 under the rags and charcoal. So they let me slide ; 
 and slide I did. They wouldn't touch me arter you was 
 gone, except to give me a kick, even w^hen I yelled like 
 murder for water. I suffered horribly, I can tell ye, and 
 like to kicked the bucket. But I was detarmined I 
 
 19 
 
218 THE EEBEL GENEEAL's LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 wouldn't please 'em so well as to du that. So I crawled 
 off at last to the cornfield by the spring, and lived there 
 until I got well enough to quit that cussed plantation. 
 I found an old tin dipper near the spring ; so I could get 
 water, and milk the cows, and eat green corn, and all the 
 nice melons and fruit I wanted ; so I didn't starve then, 
 ]'ll bet a fourpence. 
 
 ^^ Well, I skulked round a spell until I got better, and 
 found some fellers going jS'orth who lent me a hoss, and 
 went with me up to the Union lines by a kind of under- 
 ground railroad management. You see, they was begin- 
 ning to git kinder out of things down here, owin' to that 
 tarnal blockade ; and they wanted 'em dreadfully. So I 
 went up home to see if I couldn't help 'em a little. 
 "When I got up to TVashinton, who should I find there 
 but my own brother, Jotham Sweep ; and, as sure as you 
 live, he had got to be one of the biggest government con- 
 tractors in the Union, and, one way and another, was 
 makin' money like smoke. He'd already made tew hun- 
 dred thousand dollars, he told me ; and all he wanted 
 was jest sich a cute feller as me to make it a million in a 
 few months. You see, the rebs were gittin' out of knives 
 an' fish-hooks an' darniu'-needles an' guns an' swords an' 
 pistols an' cloth an' shews, an' medsun most of all, 'cause 
 old •' Stars an' Stripes ' had blocked 'em in ; and they was 
 ready to pay 'most any price for 'em. Jotham was buy- 
 in' up all sich things for the government, an' shinnin' 
 round the President an' secetaries an' generals, an' pickin' 
 up all the news ; for he was always a great hand to pry in- 
 ter things. Then he'd let me inter all their secrets that 
 he'd smelt out, an' fix me out slyly with a lot of the 
 traps he'd bought for government, an' I'd start off for 
 Old Dixie by the underground. I"ve kept it up ever 
 
AN OLD ADMIEER. 219 
 
 sence, au' no harm done to anybody. The rebs under- 
 stand it, you see, an' furnish guards to bring me straight 
 through. When I've got news, or somethin' they want 
 bad, like that doctor stuff out there in the wagon, I go 
 clear to Richmond ; but most of the time they take the 
 stuff right off my hands nearer home, I jest growed a 
 big beard, ye see, an' colored it black with dye-stuff, so 
 that my own mother wouldn't know me, Jotham says, — 
 if I only hold my tongue. Don't you see how it im- 
 proves my beauty ? My new name, tu, is a plaguy 
 sight hansumer than the old one, agin which I always 
 had a spite. But the best of it is, I've made money 
 hand over fist ever sence I went inter the business. I've 
 already got tew hundred thousand safe and sound up 
 there in the banks to home ; an', if you'll have me, we'll 
 go up to Washinton, build us a grand house, git us a 
 coach an' bosses, carry home a few niggers to dii the 
 dirty work an' wait on us ; an' then we'll cut as grand a 
 flourish as the best on 'em. Come now, what do you 
 say ? . Will you du it ? " 
 
 " No, indeed ! " said Catharine indignantly. '^ I have 
 no desire to flourish on such ill-gotten gains." 
 
 " Ill-gotten, did you say ? It's no sich thing. They 
 need the things dreadfully ; and it's as fair a trade as can 
 be," said he spunkily. 
 
 " Don't you know that you are liable to dreadful pen- 
 alties if you are caught on the Federal side of the 
 line ? " said Catharine, who, with her anger and won- 
 der at his audacity, had partially recovered her equa- 
 nimity. 
 
 " Oh, that's all moonshine ! " he replied. " Jotham 
 takes care of all that. They orter be thankful, tu ; for I 
 carry 'em a sight of news every time I go to Washin- 
 ton ; an' Jotham knows how to make that pay." 
 
220 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 " Ah ! you play spy for both parties, then ? " 
 
 '•Xo spy about it. I jest tell 'em the news: that's 
 all. An' they both want to hear it bad enough." 
 
 ^^Well, you had better go home and take up some 
 more respectable calling than bringing aid and comfort 
 to the enemies of your country, if you do not want your 
 neck stretched." 
 
 " What are you duin' down here, ma'am ? " 
 
 " I am staying because I cannot get home just now ; 
 and cannot very well help mj^self." 
 
 '• Oh ! if that's all, I can help ye jest as well as not. Go 
 down to Eichmond with me an' git spliced ; an' the rebs 
 won't say a word agin your goin' home with me. 
 They'd help us along all the way. I know jest how to 
 come round 'em ; an' they think a sight of me. Why, 
 the very biggest an' fattest on 'em, even to Jeff. Davis 
 himself, — though he's poor enough, the Lord kijpws, — 
 treat me jest as hansum as hansum can be. They some 
 on 'em ask me to dine or take wine with 'em every time 
 I come down here, and act as if they was darned glad 
 to see me." 
 
 " Ay ! and scorn you behind your back as a traitor 
 to your country." 
 
 " Oh ! not at all. They treat me like a prince, an' 
 want me to come down as often as I can. But, arter all, 
 it's jest a leetle mite dangerous ; and I'm about tired 
 of packing around from pillar to post. So, if you'll go 
 home with me. Miss Kate, I'll quit the business, and 
 we'll settle down comfortable together. I could then go 
 inter the contractin' business with Jotham, if you think 
 that's a little grander, and still make money enough to 
 keep ye in gewgaws and fixin's. For, you see, I don't 
 mean my wife shall be behind Jotham's one bit. If 
 
AN OLD ADMmER. 221 
 
 you could have seen her at the President's levy, as I did, 
 you'd ha' thought it worth while to be a contractor's 
 bride. She looked as grand as the best on 'em, I can 
 tell ye, in her yaller silk gownd, with long red stream- 
 ers on her head, and covered all over with flowers and 
 diamonds and flounces and furbelows. I guess Mr. Lin- 
 coln and his wife thought so, tu, by the notice they took 
 on her. But you're a great deal hansumer than Jo- 
 tliam's wife ; and you'd show off the fixin's, I can tell 
 ye, up there to Washinton : and you shall have all you 
 want, if it costs "ever so much. So jest say you'll go 
 now, an' it's all right." 
 
 " I shall say no such thing ; so you may as well go 
 about your business." 
 
 " Wall, I guess it's about time," he said with an evil 
 smile. " But folks change their minds sometimes, and 
 especially gals ; so I guess I'll call agin. Tliere was 
 Jotham's wife, now, used to cut his head, and give him 
 the mitten every time she got a chance, up there in old 
 New England. But when he got to contractin', and be- 
 gun to make a spread, slie come round as sweet as mo- 
 lasses, and near about asked him to take her, I heard. 
 And that's about the way with all the women. They 
 want to be baited with a shiny hook. jNIaybe you won't 
 be so different from the rest, after all. I'll jest call round 
 in tlie. moruin', an' see. So good-night, an' pleasant 
 dreams." He then unlocked the door, let himself out, 
 and marched down stairs. 
 
 "What an unmitigated scoundrel!" Catharine ex- 
 claimed, as soon as anger would allow her to speak. 
 
 "Dat's sure nuff," returned Cliloe, wlio sat all this 
 time cowering in the corner, so much frightened by hia 
 threats as scarcely to understand a word he said. 
 19* 
 
222 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 "Yes, indeed! and I was never more sorry for any 
 thing I liave done than for skiving his life a few months 
 ago." 
 
 "He mean you no good, miss. He eye show dat. 
 Chloe glad when de house clare o' him." 
 
 " And I, too, Chloe. He's plausible enough, in his vul- 
 gar way ; but he has not the least sense of honor or 
 decency. Why, to think of his forcing himself in hero 
 as he did, is enough to make one's flesh creep. You 
 must stay with me to-night, Chloe, or I shall not sleep a 
 wink." 
 
 " Well, Chloe lock de door on de inside, put her bed 
 across, an' keep de ole divle off." 
 
 They soon found, however, that, though Sweep had left 
 their door unlocked, he had carried off the key. That 
 decided Catharine to take another room that could be 
 locked. Taking her money, and the old merino dress 
 she had worn from Richmond in November, and in- 
 tended wearing back again on the morrow, she went to 
 the room iramediatelj^ During her stay at the planta- 
 tion, she had been obliged to wear such garments as 
 were brought to her, she knew not whose. These she 
 intended to leave behind her, with the good seed she had 
 endeavored to sow in the hearts of kind Aunt Chloe and 
 some few other members of the family. 
 
 Chloe was obliged to go down to make preparations 
 for tlie early breakfast, not only of Sweep and his 
 guards, but also of Catharine and the overseer, who 
 were expecting to start very early. 
 
 Too full of anxieties to think of sleeping, with the 
 noise of a high carousal ringing in her ears, Catharine 
 went to work and sewed her money and watch into her 
 travelling-dress, put it on loosely, threw her shawl over 
 
RIDING IN STATE. 223 
 
 her shoulders, and sat down upon the side of the bed to 
 wait for Chloe. She was a long time in coming ; and, 
 tired at last, and cold, she lay down in her clothes, 
 neither expecting nor wishing to go to sleep until Chloe's 
 return. But Chloe did not come, and Catharine did get 
 to sleep ; from which she was suddenly aroused towards 
 morning by the light from a dark lantern flashing in 
 her eyes. Starting up wildly, she found Sweep bending 
 over her, and just in the act of tying a handkerchief over 
 her mouth to stifle her screams. 
 
 " Not a word I "' he hissed in her ear, as he dexterously 
 tied the knot with his teeth, and caught her hands, so 
 that she could neither help herself nor utter the cry for 
 help that came to her lips. She tried to resist with all 
 her might, and get the band off, but in vain. Sweep's 
 companion, who was the driver of his wagon, put on 
 her bonnet, that lay upon the dressing-table, and pinned 
 up her shawl. Then, in spite of her feeble resistance, 
 Sweep himself took her up as if she were a baby, and 
 carried her down stairs, and out to the shed, the attend- 
 ant carrjdng the light, and shutting the doors. 
 
 xVlmost wild with terror, she hardly knew what they 
 were doing, until they lifted her up into the great cov- 
 ered sutler's wagon she had seen drive up the avenue 
 the previous evening. 
 
 They seated her upon a pile of cushions they had 
 stolen from the carriage-house, between piles of boxes, 
 and bales of goods, put a blanket around her, and made 
 every arrangement for her comfort and safety. 
 
 " There, Mistress Kate ! You see 3'ou can't have it 
 all 3'our own way," said Sweep determinedly, after he 
 had got her fixed to his liking. "If you hadn't bin so 
 toppin', you might have rid with me on the outside, aa 
 
224 THE EEBEL GENERAL S LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 grand as Cuffee, an' Jake could gone on horseback 
 But here you'll be very comfortable, — as safe as a thief 
 in a mill, — an' can finish your nap at j^our leisure. I 
 felt kinder sorrj^ to disturb it, you looked so plaguy 
 pretty sleepin'. I noticed, tu, that you didn't snore so 
 awful as them black wenches down stairs, arter they'd 
 got the lodnum in their stew. I thought they'd raise the 
 ruff, they made sich an infarnal noise. You see, my dear, 
 I wanted ye to git all the rest you could, before starting 
 on sich an excursion, an' not be bothered with that old 
 black monkey down stairs. I'm a sort of a feelin', tender- 
 hearted man, tu ; an' it went agin my grain dreadfully to 
 tie ye up in this way. But you was so cantankerous, I see 
 it couldn't be helped. If you conclude to be quiet after 
 ridin' a spell, I'll take off the fixin's. I'll tell you one 
 thing, though, — that, if they were off, an' you roused 
 them rebel guards by yer howlin, 'twould be the worse for 
 ye. The^^'re terrible bloodthirsty, hankeriu' wretches 
 arter the gals ; an', if they knew I had one in the wagon, 
 the divle would be to pa}^ So ■ you'd better lie dowii 
 peaceable, my dear, an' finish your nap." And, with a 
 malicious grin, he shut the door, which resembled that of 
 a peddler's wagon, and locked it on the outside, leaving 
 Catharine in total darkness. 
 
 To describe or imagine her feelings would be impos- 
 sible. She felt that she was completely in the power of 
 an artful villain, who would hesitate at no means, how- 
 ever vile, to accomplish his purposes, and who might sac- 
 rifice her to his whole band if he were well paid for it. 
 She trembled at the bare possibility this thought sug- 
 gested. She presenth^ heard the soldiers cursing and 
 swearing, as they were roused from their slumbers, ate 
 their hasty meal, and caparisoned their horses for the 
 
EIDIXG IN STATE. 225 
 
 day's ride. The wagon was then drawn out of the shed, 
 the four mules attached to it, the driver clambered up to 
 his seat, and the cavalcade moved on. 
 
 Day was just breaking in the east as they reached the 
 turnpike, though all was yet dark to poor Catharine in 
 her gloomy prison. Wedged in between boxes and 
 bags and baskets, without the power of using her hands, 
 and with the continued jar and jolt of the heavy wagon, 
 her cramped limbs soon began to ache intolerably. The 
 morning was clear but cool ; and, confined and without the 
 power of motion, she was soon chilled through. Desper- 
 ate at last with mental and physical torture, she suc- 
 ceeded with her teeth in wrenchinj? asunder the bonds 
 that confined her hands ; and with them it was easy 
 enough to slip off the odious mufiler, and shout, — if 
 she had a mind to. She now succeeded in gaining a 
 more comfortable position ; and the relief was so great, 
 that she was glad for a time to enjoy it. But there was 
 still another trouble : the air within the wascon was 
 very close and noxious, smelling strongly of opium and 
 assafoetida, camphor and quinine, ether and sulphur; 
 nor was it long before the powerfully-narcotic vapor 
 began to have its influence upon her system. In spite 
 of her determination to the contrary, she soon dropped 
 off into a doze, which the regular, undulating motion of 
 the wagon tended to perpetuate. 
 
 How long she slept she had no means of judging ; but 
 she was awakened at last by the rattling of the padlock 
 upon the outside of the door of her prison-house. It 
 swung open, and Sweep's disagreeable picture again pre- 
 sented itself to view. 
 
 "Well, raly, you seem to be enjoyin' yourself; but 
 how in thunder did you get off your muzzier, and out of 
 
226 THE EEBEL GENERAl's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 the limboes ? " lie exclaimed in astonisliment, and then 
 continued admiringly, " You always was a cute critter, 
 that's a fact ; and that's the reason I like ye so well. 
 We'll make a pretty equal match; I reckon. Now, some 
 gals would have yelled like murder arter gettin' that 
 bandage off; but you'd sense enough to know better. I 
 guess you're pretty tired and hungry though, and would 
 like to come out. an' straiten, an' get some grub; 
 wouldn't ye? " and he held up his hand to assist her in 
 alighting from the wagon. 
 
 She could hardly believe it^ yet the sun was high in 
 the heavens, and it was past noon. The mules were taken 
 off, and were eating at a rack near by ; and the wagon 
 was standing in a long shed, — out of sight of the win- 
 dows of the little wayside inn, from which the sound 
 of oaths and boisterous mirth was borne upon every 
 breeze. Catharine scorned to touch the mean wretch ; 
 but her bones ached from long confinement, and she felt 
 such extreme nausea from the villanous smells, that she 
 was fain to accept any thing in the shape of relief : so 
 she suffered him to help her out of the wagon. She 
 could hardly stand at first, but soon regained the use of 
 her limbs, and began to look keenly about for some 
 chance to escape. He saw it at a glance. 
 
 " j^ow. Miss Kate," he began, '• you needn't look in 
 that way : it's no sorter use. You can walk round here 
 a spell ; but you can guess, as well as I, why you had 
 better keep out of the range of them winders, and get 
 back inter the wagon pretty soon. Jack's gone arter a 
 basket of grub an' a flask of water, to put in 'long side 
 on ye ; so you can eat yer dinner at yer leisure. TVe 
 shall get to Richmond to-night ; and you needn't worry 
 about it one bit. I'll take jest as good care on ye as if 
 
EIDING IN STATE. 227 
 
 we was spliced ; and, when we get there, we can talk 
 that matter over at our leisure, and contrive what's best 
 
 to be done." 
 
 " Very well," said Catharine, who by this time had 
 considered the matter over, and become a little more 
 reconciled to her position. Sure now that Sweep in- 
 tended to keep her for himself, in spite of his inordinate 
 love of gold, she thought she had no immediate cause 
 for terror. Believing there would be ten chances for 
 escape in Kichmond, where there would be one in this 
 lonely spot, she concluded to make the best of it, and 
 use a little more policy in the treatment of her captor. 
 lie sat down on a log, with his back towards her, but 
 the inn full in view, as if perfectly indifterent to her 
 movements ; while she walked back and forth to get the 
 stiffness out of her limbs, and a little exercise. At last 
 she began to be uneasy herself, for fear the men would be 
 out ; and, going up to him, she said, — 
 
 "I see your mules have eaten up their grain, Mr. 
 Sweep ; and I am ready, if it's all the same to you." 
 
 " I'm tickled to death to hear you say so ! " he re- 
 turned with a grin that showed his long, broken yellow 
 teeth to advantage. " I always knew you was a sensi- 
 ble o-al. I'm a great judge of wimin folks an' bosses. 
 I like them that's got the snap in 'em', tu ; and that's the 
 reason I like you. But come, them fellers will be out ; 
 and we must start, or they'll all be drunk as fury, and 
 full of the devil as they can be." 
 
 Catharine offered no objections ; so he helped her up 
 into the wagon, folded the blanket around her, and fixed 
 the cushions as nice- as possible, thinking all the time, 
 how pretty she looked, and how fast she was coming 
 around to meet him half-way. 
 
228 THE REBEL GENERAL' S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 Jack at this moment came out witli the provisions, 
 which were placed beside her, just as the boisterous 
 troopers all came bolting out of the tavern. 
 
 Sweep instantly shut and locked the door, just as one 
 of them sung out, — 
 
 ^•' Hallo, there ! Boss is at his toilet again. I'll bet a 
 cool hundred that he's got his hair new dyed, his teeth 
 pegged in, and the yaller scoured out of his complexion 
 agin we git back among the j^retty gals of Richmond." 
 
 The troopers all shouted and laughed at this sally, 
 which Sweep pretended to take in good part, as he did 
 not like to offend them. 
 
 They were soon ready, and started off at a brisk trot; 
 the pretty girls of Eichmond probably the subject of 
 thought of more than one of them, who, had they known 
 there was one so near, would, as Sweep knew very well, 
 have been sorely tempted. 
 
 Considerably rested and refreshed, the narcotics did 
 not this time completely overpower our heroine ; though 
 the stench from the noxious drugs, the warmth of the 
 afternoon, and the want of fresh air, sometimes nearly 
 took away her breath. But her mind was too keenly 
 alive to a sense of the dangers that surrounded her to 
 allow her to rest very comfortably. Sweep would, she 
 thought, probably take her to some low haunt, where 
 silence could be purchased, and there try to force her to 
 his terms ; and all sorts of plans she devised for escaping 
 him, in the variety of circumstances in which she im- 
 agined she might be placed. 
 
 If she could do so, she decided to claim Mrs. Hunter's 
 protection, let the consequences with regard to her hus- 
 band, whom she almost equally dreaded with Sweep, be 
 what they might. Whether they believed her story or 
 
EEDING IN STATE. 229 
 
 not, she knew that she had been guilty of no -wTong. 
 The long afternoon was over at last; and long before 
 their arrival, she knew, by the varied sounds, that she was 
 nearing the city. She found, too, as Sweep had said, 
 tliat he had no difficulty in passing the guards, and 
 gaining admittance. He had only to show his papers, 
 and all was right. He had none of the difficulties of 
 slow coaches, red tape, or "mud up to the hub," the 
 Union army had to contend with at that time, in their 
 "On to Eichmondj" so at Eichmond they arrived just 
 after sunset. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE OYERTURX. EARLY LOVTJ TOO LATE. 
 
 ^UT what is the meaning of this unusual 
 ^ noise and confusion ; this murmur of ex- 
 
 cited voices, and hurrying feet; this roll 
 ^ of carriage-wheels, and dashing of officers on 
 fiery steeds through the streets ; these shouts of eager 
 newsboys with the evening papers ; those ominous, trou- 
 bled faces that Catharine could not see ? 
 
 Alas for the rebel hopes and prospects ! ISTew Orleans 
 had been captured by the Federal fleet, and Eichmond 
 was wild with excitement over the loss of their great 
 stronghold of power in the South-west. The streets 
 were full of eager and excited people, hurrying to and fro 
 to gather the latest items of news, and to speculate upon 
 its terrible and disastrous effect upon their cause and the 
 hopes of the Southern people. Generals and colonels 
 and cabinet officers on horseback were hurr^dng to confer 
 with each other and President Davis, as to what had 
 best to be done under the circumstances. 
 
 Battalions of troops and heavy baggage-trains were 
 moving to their several destinations ; and every thing and 
 everybody seemed to be in commotion. In the midst of 
 it all, Sweep and his gang came toiling through Main 
 Street, riding close up to the curbstone here to avoid a 
 
 230 
 
THE OVERTURN. 231 
 
 party of government officers on horseback; turning off 
 there to clear two or tliree rapidly-driven can-iages ; stop- 
 ping short yonder to escape collision with a squadron of 
 cavalry. The rough guards, completely out of patience, 
 were swearing like pirates at the multitude of obstacles 
 that presented themselves, none of which Catharine, in 
 her hiding-place clearly comprehended, although she 
 thought they denoted some unusual occurrence. But they 
 drew near their destination at last ; and Sweep was con- 
 gratulating himself upon his good luck in escaping so 
 many dangers, when he gave the order for the teamster 
 to turn into a narrow alley. This led to the low tavern 
 where he usually lodged while he remained in the city, 
 and where he knew that he could get such quarters, enter- 
 tainment, and concealments as he liked. The patient 
 driver turned the tired mules around the shai-p corner, 
 and the wheels made a revolution or two to follow, when 
 a pair of runaway horses, attached to a carriage, came 
 dashing do\^'n the street, followed by a breathless negro 
 driver and a fast young gentleman, from whom they had 
 in some way escaped. 
 
 Everj^body who could cleared the track. But, unfor- 
 tunately for Sweep, his big wagon was just in their wake 
 at the instant. The wheels came together with a crash 
 like thunder, smashing them into a hundred pieces, 
 pitching the driver and the carriage-horses heels over 
 head, detaching the mules from their fastenings, and up- 
 setting both vehicles, in one mass of inextricable confu- 
 sion. The carriage was badly injured by the concussion. 
 
 The frightened horses were caught and righted up by 
 the bystanders without serious injury. The patient 
 mules, free of their burden, ran with all speed towards 
 their accustomed stable ; while the wagon, with its pre- 
 
232 THE KEBEL GE^TERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 cious freight, went over witli a crasli so sudden and 
 heavy as nearly to burst it asunder. 
 
 The guards dismounted in a moment, cursing and 
 swearing with a will ; while men in scores came running 
 from every direction to see what was the matter. So 
 many delays had already occurred, that by this time it 
 was dark ; and the street-lam]3S, being lighted up just then, 
 cast a lurid glare over the scene. Completely non23lussed 
 at first, Sweep came to his senses at last, and was keenly 
 alive to the fear of some untoward exposure. 
 
 ^' Pray stand off ! " he exclaimed in a sharp, impatient 
 tone to the crowd that grew denser every moment. " We 
 can take care of our own business. There, my good fel- 
 lows, take hold now, and give us a lift, while I slip 
 under this old barrel for a prop, until we can get a wheel 
 from somewhere to take us home." 
 
 A dozen or more of the guard took hold of the heavily- 
 laden vehicle to lift it up, while the rest stood in the 
 background behind the crowd holding the horses. Up, — 
 up they raised it, until they had almost got it in the right 
 position, when, from some unexplained cause, it slipped 
 from their hands, and went down with a crash so sudden 
 and violent as this time to burst it completely asunder. 
 Out rolled poor Catharine into the mud, amid an almost 
 interminable mass of boxes and bags, bottles and baskets, 
 packages and demijohns, with a variety of odors that for 
 a moment were quite as strong, if not as sweet, as those 
 from the vales of Cashmere or Araby. Though terribly 
 jarred and bruised by both concussions, Catharine was so 
 keenly alive to the danger and the fear of exposure, that 
 she suppressed the shrieks that rose to her lips ; and it was 
 only when Sweep rushed forward and attempted to raise 
 her, that she uttered a groan. Her face was very pale j 
 
THE OVERTURN. 233 
 
 her eyes were staring with fright; her bonnet was hang- 
 ing by the strings; her short hair was dishevelled ; her 
 dress was torn, covered with mud, and in complete dis- 
 order; her shawl was torn from its fastenings, and 
 trailing in the mud; and her whole appearance extremely 
 woe-begone and pitiable. Exclamations of surprise and 
 wonder greeted her on every hand, as was quite natural 
 under the circumstances. 
 
 " So, old boss, 3'ou kept jowv gal handy ; did ye ? " ex- 
 claimed one of his troopers ironically. 
 
 "I swear, if I'd known it, she'd had two strings to 
 her bow," said another. 
 
 " Cussed mean to cheat us in this way ! " growled a 
 third. 
 
 At this moment a gentleman in the crowd pressed for- 
 ward, stood for an instant regarding her earnestly, then 
 exclaimed, — 
 
 " Good heavens, Catharine ! Is this you ? " 
 
 She looked up suddenly at the sound of that voice, 
 then around upon the fierce, bold, passionate, and com- 
 miserating faces that surrounded her, until her gaze met 
 one that was eager, startled, and terribly anxious ; then, 
 forgetting all else but her wild fear, her great peril, 
 and their old friendship, she impulsively extended both 
 hands to him for protection, and burst into tears. 
 
 " Catharine ! what is the meaning of this ? How 
 came you here ? " he exclaimed, as he sprang forward, 
 and eagerly grasped the offered hands. 
 
 But Sweep drew her back at once. Though nearly 
 frantic at this exposure of his villany, he could not bear 
 to lose the prize for which he had risked so much, at the 
 last moment. 
 
 " It's none of your business how she come here," he 
 
 20* 
 
234 THE BEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 said doggedly. " She's my wife, — or goin' to be ; and 
 she belongs to me, and nobody else. Here, Jake, — she's 
 hurt somehow, — take hold here, and help me carry her 
 to the doctor's." 
 
 " iSTo, you don't ! " echoed one of the troopers. " You've 
 cheated us like fury all the way ; and you don't get that 
 gal out of sight agin till we know who she is, where 
 she comes from, and who she belongs tu. Here, my 
 pretty one," said he kindly, laying his hand upon her 
 arm, " does that old chap tell the truth ? " 
 
 "No, no!" said Catharine, suppressing her sobs. 
 "He stole me from my room last night; forced me into 
 his big wagon, and to-day brought me on to Kichmond. 
 
 Lloyd ! if there is any pity for me in your heart, 
 protect and save me from this man ! " she exclaimed in 
 tJi imploring tone. 
 
 *' Indeed I will!" he returned tremulously. "But 
 are you seriously hurt, Catharine?" 
 
 "I don't know. My ankle pains me dreadfully; and 
 
 1 can scarcely stand.'^ 
 
 "' Will some of you please get a carriage ? " he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 "Ah, Dr. Huntley! Is that you? I was never more 
 glad to see you in my life," he continued to a gentleman 
 in a carriage, who halted near them at that moment to 
 ascertain the cause of the uproar. "Will you be kind 
 enough to take this lady to my mother's ? She is a par- 
 ticular friend of hers, who has been seriously hurt by an 
 accident." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, certainly ! " said the complaisant doc- 
 tor, instantly alighting, and, in spite of Sweep's threats 
 and eager efforts to detain her, assisting Lloyd to lift her 
 into the carriage, amid the joyful shouts of the guards. 
 
EAELY LOVE TOO LATE. 235 
 
 Tlicy felt as if tliey had been disgraced and imposed 
 upon by the whole proceeding, and now utterly refused 
 to aid Sweep in guarding and gathering up his load, 
 upon which precious lives, as well as his own gains, de- 
 pended. Some government officers happening along 
 just then, however, took the matter in hand, and helped 
 him out of his difficulty. But a good many of his bot- 
 tles were broken; and he lost, not only his intended 
 bride, but a good deal of money, by the operation. 
 
 The surprise and joy of Mrs. Hunter and her family 
 can be better imagined than described, when Lloyd came 
 in, and in an agitated voice announced Catharine's unex- 
 pected arrival. They were truly astonished, as well as 
 rejoiced ; for, after an absence of five whole months, 
 they had never hoped to see her more. They all ran 
 out to meet and welcome her; and Catharine was so 
 overcome with emotion, that she came near fainting in 
 Mrs. Hunter's arms. 
 
 The circumstances of the accident were soon explained. 
 She was still in great pain, and her ankle was found to 
 be dislocated. After it was set by Dr. Huntley, she was 
 comparatively comfortable, and able to render some ac- 
 count of herself. 
 
 She feared they would not believe the strange story 
 she had to tell, when she found they had not received 
 her letters, and was glad to see that not one of the fam- 
 ily appeared to doubt it in the least; From the first 
 moment of her return, they all testified their joy, and 
 did every thing in their power to make her happy and 
 at home once more. 
 
 But Lloyd's presence there was a great embarrass- 
 ment to her. To remember the past; to believe, as she 
 did, that he was her daughter's husband, and she his 
 
236 THE EEBEL GEXEKAL S LOYAL BREDE. 
 
 father-in-law's wife, aroused bitter memories of all tlie 
 loves and hopes and fear and despair connected with 
 their past intercourse. In the terror of their present 
 meeting, she forgot every thing but the fact of their old 
 friendship; but not long did the old memories sleep. 
 When the pain, terror, and surprise were over, they 
 awoke to a new life of bitterness and lasting regrets. 
 
 Did he still believe her the vile thing he had wooed 
 and so nearly won, and then cast off in disgust and 
 scorn ? He must of course ; for who would undeceive 
 him ? Perhaps he thought her whole story a deception, 
 and an imposition upon the credulity of the family. 
 
 Catharine was so completely worn out by all she had 
 undergone, that she was very glad for a few days to 
 avail herself of an invalid's privileges. But for Lloyd's 
 skilful medical suggestions, and Aunt Dinah's careful 
 nursing, she would have had a dangerous relapse of fever. 
 
 As it was, though very lame, she soon began to recover 
 in health, if not in spirits. She heard, casually, that 
 Gen. Atherton had been transferred to the Army of the 
 Potomac. As no allusions were made to their connec- 
 tion, she concluded that her mysterious departure, at the 
 time of his return, had prevented his acknowledging her 
 as his wife. She felt this to be a present relief; though 
 it added greatly to her anxieties for the future. Owing 
 to the severe sprain, as well as dislocation, it was some 
 days before Catharine could bear her weight upon her 
 lame ankle : so she reclined upon the lounge in the sit- 
 ting-room ; while the whole family vied with each other 
 in paying her every attention. 
 
 " You are all too kind to me," she said to Mrs. Hunter 
 one day. "I cannot bear to put you all to so much 
 trouble." 
 
EABLY LOVE TOO LATE. 237 
 
 " Not a word of that, Catharine," she returned. " ITo 
 you think we have forgotten the toilsome days, the sleep- 
 less nights, the long hours of pain and terror and acute 
 bodily and mental suffering you have endured for us all, 
 that nothing we can do for you can ever repay ? And, 
 more than all the rest, we know that we owe the life of 
 our dear Walter to your watcliftd care. Oh ! do not be- 
 lieve we are so ungrateful as to grudge the little we can 
 do to make you comfortable, my dear Catharine. We 
 have missed and mourned you so long, that we look upon 
 you as one risen from the dead, — a recovered and pre- 
 cious treasure ; so you must submit to be petted a little 
 while, instead of petting others." 
 
 '•' Well, you cannot be more rejoiced than I to be 
 among kind friends once more. The past five months 
 seem now like some dreadful and terrifying dream to 
 me." 
 
 " They seemed real enough to us, Catharine. And 
 oh ! you cannot imagine how we felt when you did not 
 return, and we could get no tidings, and feared some 
 dreadful fate had befallen you ! Brother Edward was 
 here at the time ; and I am sure I never saw a man 
 more excited and anxious than he was on your account. 
 He could not have been more so had you been his 
 own daughter. He kept up the search for you until he 
 became convinced, I believe, that you had gone . off on 
 purpose, with some of your own Northern people. This 
 had been Philip's opinion from the first ; but I could 
 hardly believe that one who had been so honest and 
 truthful always could deceive us so at last. I told 
 Edward so ; but he would not believe it : yet I am 
 sure he will be delighted to know that you have returned, 
 and justified my good opinion. You see, after Philip 
 
5 
 
 238 THE EEBEL GEXEEAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 had gone, and he had looked everywhere in vain, he 
 grew angry at what he thought was the imposition you 
 had practised, and could not hear to hear your name 
 mentioned. How I shall delight in telling him in my 
 letter to-day of your return, and that I was the nearest 
 right, after all ! " 
 
 '^ Oh ! you need not hurry to spread the news," said 
 Catharine eagerly, and with her cheek flushing, not 
 only at the thought of Gen. Atherton's anger, hut also 
 hecause the eyes of Lloyd Hunter were eagerly reading 
 her countenance, and she knew he was wondering at 
 her too evident emotion. 
 
 "I am sorry he misjudged me, for I like to stand well 
 with all my friends," she continued earnestly; " yet I 
 have faith to believe that time — first or last, in life or 
 death — will clear my fame from all misconstructions." 
 She thought of Lloyd, but dared not look at him as she 
 said it. 
 
 '^Ah, it may do justice to all," he said, as if in an- 
 swer to her thought, if not her words ; '• but sometimes 
 that comes too late for our earthly happiness." 
 
 " If too late for earth, it is not for heaven," she re- 
 turned reverently, " where richer rewards will crown all 
 martyrs to the cause of truth and virtue." 
 
 ^' We earnestly hope so," he said, " yet cannot help 
 longing for them sometimes this side of the dark river ; " 
 and the look he gave her was so earnest, pleading, depre- 
 cating, yet withal full of the old love-light, that it dwelt 
 long in Catharine's memory. 
 
 Did he speak from experience ? Did he indeed 
 love her still? Had the truth in some way come to him 
 after he was the husband of another, and she another 
 man's wife ? were the questions she asked herself, 
 
EARLY LOVE TOO LATE. . 239 
 
 that made her heart throb with a bitter pain, and her 
 eyes droop beneath his searching yet raonrnful gaze. 
 Knowing better the position of one, and guessing very 
 nearly the feelings of both, Mrs. Hunter turned away 
 with rare delicacy. In her heart she was deeply re- 
 gretting the part she had taken in separating a pair 
 who were so well fitted to make each other's happiness, 
 and planning how she might bring them together once 
 more. 
 
 Catharine was very much surprised to hear of all the 
 battles, sieges, and other remarkable events that had 
 transpired during her seclusion. She had heard strange 
 accounts of some of them, it is true, from the slaves, 
 but so different from the reality, that it took her some 
 days to get a correct understanding of past events, or 
 the future prospects of the country. 
 
 The rebels had rejoiced over their victory at Ball's 
 Bluff, and mourned over the loss of several of their 
 strongholds along the eastern coast, previous to her 
 departure from Eichmond. Since that time, they had 
 met with a fearful train of disasters, — at Port Eoyal, 
 and Mill Spring, Eoanoke Island and Fort Donelson, 
 Pea Eidge and Newbern, Winchester and Pittsburg 
 Landing, besides the fight of the Merrimac with the 
 little Monitor. These and other reverses made the 
 South reel almost to fainting, and distrust the skill of 
 her leaders, and brought her almost to the brink of 
 ruin and despair. The loss of Eoanoke Island espe- 
 cially, brought down maledictions upon the government, 
 as it was considered the granary, larder, and back door 
 to Norfolk, and the canals and railroads back of Eich- 
 mond. This growing dissatisfaction with the secession 
 leaders was now so intensified by the loss of New 
 
240 THE REBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 Orleans, that, but for the rigid conscription, recruits for 
 the army could not have been obtained ; and the fires 
 of war would have ceased for the want of fuel. 
 
 During her seclusion, too, the Confederate Congress 
 had been removed to Eichmond, which was now the 
 centre and head of both the civil and military power of 
 the Southern people, and the place, of course, where all 
 office-seekers and office-holders congregated. 
 
 She found Mrs. Hunter still engaged in the good work 
 she had left in her hands ; though not quite so earnestly 
 perhaps as when she was there to assist, inspire, and 
 encourage her in the performance of her arduous labors. 
 Nor was this to be expected, with the care of her family, 
 and reception of visitors, devolving so much more 
 upon herself than formerly. Walter, too, was still in 
 feeble health; and he had suffered so much and so 
 acutely that his mind was in a very critical and morbid 
 condition. It was quite evident that the doctor's fears 
 of insanity or imbecility were not wholly groundless. 
 By his orders he was taken out to ride every day, with 
 his mother and sisters, and amused in every possible 
 way. Catharine's return cheered and delighted him ; 
 and, when she ascertained the truth, she would not allow 
 them to remit this daily exercise, as they had done for 
 several days, on her account. 
 
 Lloyd generally went with them; but one day, after 
 she supposed they were all gone, and she was alone, he 
 came in from the street, and sat down near to her. "I 
 thought you were out for a ride with the family," she 
 said with a slight flush of surprise. 
 
 " No," he said : " Caesar was their driver to-day. But 
 wouldn't you like a ride, too, ]\riss Hale ? I have a 
 buggy at the door ; and I believe it would do you good." 
 
EABLY LOVE TOO LATE. 241 
 
 " Ko, thank you : I think I am better off here until I 
 can do somebod}'- some good by going out, and at least 
 walk, and wait on myself." 
 
 "How that idea clings to you, Catharine, — that of 
 waiting on yourself, and doing good to somebody ! " 
 
 " You know, I was brought up where I was obliged to 
 do the first : as to the last, I don't know that I do more 
 good than other people." 
 
 '• Yes, you do. And, here and now, let me thank you 
 for all you have done for me and mine, and beg your 
 forgiveness for all we have made you suffer. Will you 
 grant it ? " he said in a tremulous tone. 
 
 '' What do you care for the forgiveness or good opin- 
 ion of one you think so unworthy ? " she could not help 
 saying ; though the look of pain and deprecation upon 
 his pale, agitated face made her hesitate. 
 
 There was a pause. Suddenly he started up, caught 
 her hand, and knelt dosvn beside her, as he said, "0 
 Catharine ! more than aught else, I want your forgive- 
 ness for my cruel doubts and accusations, and the scorn 
 and desertion, that must have wrung your heart, for 
 which I have repented in dust and ashes." 
 
 '•But you doubt — you wrong me still! and don't — 
 pray don't kneel to me." 
 
 " No, Catharine. I was undeceived at last : I knew 
 that I had thrown away a priceless gem for a worthless 
 pebble, exchanged truth for falsehood, made your life 
 wretched as well as my own, and perhaps brought down 
 my father's gray hairs with sorrow to the grave." 
 
 " That is too true ; and you did wrong me deeply and 
 cruelly. But I believed you were deceived yourself, and 
 not wholly to blame, or you would never have done it. 
 So I forgave you when my heart was sorest, and pitied 
 
 21 
 
242 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 your fate even more than my own. The consciousness 
 of my own innocence and integrity upheld me in that 
 dark and trying hour, as well as your father's earnest 
 sympathy, nerving me for the greater trials and sacri- 
 fices that were to come/' 
 
 " And now, Catharine " — He hesitated, and rose 
 with a flushed and eager look and tremulous tone. 
 
 " Now," she continued, " the feeling that we are but 
 blind instruments in the hands of a higher power, who 
 moulds us to his will, and shapes our destinies, has grown 
 upon me more and more, since passing through so many 
 troubles, and escaping so many frightful dangers. Is it 
 a wonder that I am weak, nervous, and hysterical, after 
 all I have been called to endure ? " 
 
 '■'■ Xo, Catharine ; yet the history of your sufferings 
 
 ^eems like a bitter reproach to me. I, too, have suffered 
 
 deeply and bitterlj'-, jT-et I confess justly, — you unjustly." 
 
 "I knew by your pale cheek- and monrnful expres- 
 sion that you had suffered," she said pityingly. " But 
 where have you been, and what have you been doing, 
 since — since we parted." 
 
 " I have been in Charleston prison most of the time, 
 reviled, persecuted, accused, and for weeks lying at death's 
 door, without one friendly face near me, or hand out- 
 stretched to bestow needed comforts ; and all for this 
 accursed rebellion, that is severing every friendly tie that 
 binds kindred or people together ; that is desolating our 
 beautiful land with fire and sword, and watering it with 
 the best blood of the nation." 
 
 " Why, Lloyd, I am astonished ! I thought you be- 
 lieved in the rebellion ; upheld it by voice and vote and 
 influence; were fighting all this time to support and 
 make it successful ! " 
 
EAKLY LOVE TOO LATE. 243 
 
 " I did believe in it at first, — God forgive rae ! — ere I 
 knew all the madly-ambitious plans of our leaders. I 
 believed in State rights, and that, when Virginia went 
 into the Union, she reserved the riglit to secede ' when- 
 ever that Union should be perverted to the injury or op- 
 pression of her people.' Slavery had come down to us 
 with our estates from past generations. I felt it to be 
 an evil, and a wrong to the human race ; but to us it 
 seemed to be a necessary wrong. We could not fling it 
 off like an old garment. It was our capital, our support, 
 — the foundation of our prosperity, and yet our curse. 
 
 " To get rid of it without bloodshed would have in- 
 volved one of the most difficult problems for human 
 solution. To do it at the Xorth, where there were but a 
 few slaves, was easy enough ; but, where they composed 
 more than a third of the whole population, it was another 
 matter. We could not agree to abolish it among 
 ourselves ; that was impossible : yet we felt as if 
 the North had no business to interfere with our pecu- 
 liar institutions. We thought we had been defamed, 
 wronged, and had terms dictated to us too much by your 
 Northern people in Congress. Lincoln's election, so 
 significant of our loss of power, and the triumph of prin- 
 ciples utterly at variance with our prosperity as slave- 
 holders, alarmed us for the safety of our rights. It awak- 
 ened us as a people to the necessity of standing up 
 stoutly in their defence, and, if possible, obtaining some 
 better security for them than then existed in the future. 
 I, with a good many others, believed, that, by a united 
 and determined effort on the part of the whole South, 
 we could gain this without bloodshed, and still remain in 
 the Union ; but, if we could not get it, that it was better 
 for both to separate, and form two republics, as, like oil 
 
244 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 and water, tliey could never peaceably mingle into one. 
 I will own, that the bitter and disappointed state of feel- 
 ing in which I came to Richmond at that time, the 
 heated and eloquent oratory to which I listened, and the 
 private influences to which I was exposed, had a good 
 deal to do with the formation of these conclusions. 
 
 " After I was sent to Charleston, I began to be unde- 
 ceived regarding the ambitious projects of our leaders, 
 and bitterly regretted joining the secession party, in 
 opposition to my dear father's wishes. I found it was 
 not a free republic that they meditated, but an empire 
 founded on slavery, of which they were to be the rulers. 
 I disliked monarchical governments, and hated the Old- 
 World tyrannies. I exj^ressed my opinions too freely to 
 those around me. When I refused to have any thing 
 to do with the attack upon Sumter, I was arrested for 
 contempt of my superiors, and imprisoned. Ill in body, 
 unhappy in mind, and tortured by conscience for what I 
 had done, I suffered unspeakably during the early days 
 of my confinement. When the news came of my father's 
 death, your consequent sufferings, and Walter's danger, it 
 nearly killed me. 
 
 "Afterwards, as I grew better, and knew that the coun- 
 try was really convulsed by the horrors of civil war, I 
 became more resigned ; because I felt, that, if I was re- 
 leased, I could not conscientiously fight on either side. 
 I would not fight to establish another monarchy, with 
 slavery for its corner-stone. I could not fight against 
 my beloved South, — my own people, my kindred, and all 
 I held most dear on the earth. I could do nothing, then, 
 to prevent the carnage, and scenes of horror, that were be- 
 ing enacted, if I were set at liberty. But as I grew bet- 
 ter, I began to ask myself whether I might not do some- 
 
EAELY LOVE TOO LATE. 245 
 
 tiling to mitigate the pain, and assuage the anguish, I 
 daily witnessed within the prison, and knew was rend- 
 ing the heart of the nation outside. I had previously 
 attended a course of medical and surgical lectures in 
 Europe, but not with the view of practising, except 
 for the benefit of the people upon my own plantation. 
 I had taken a deep interest in the subject at the time ; 
 but, in the multiplicity of new scenes and events that 
 presented themselves afterwards, I had forgotten, or at 
 least hidden away, my treasure of medical science in a 
 napkin. Sti^nulated by the thought of mitigating some 
 of the evils I had taken some small part in bringing 
 upon the country, with returning health I dug up and 
 unrolled my buried treasure. With plenty of leisure, 
 and nothing else to do, I set m3^self resolutely to the 
 work of mastering the science of healing. I made a 
 friend of the prison, surgeon, who, I think, entertained 
 similar views with myself, approved my plans, lent me 
 books, gave me all the assistance in his power, and was 
 pleased at last to pronounce me a most ingenious adept 
 in the profession. He afterwards interceded for me 
 with the rebel authorities, rehearsing, I suppose, my 
 merits and my plans. Finding I was willing to forget 
 past injustice, and act for them in the capacity of a sur- 
 geon, — of whom there was a great scarcity in the arm}^, 
 — they set me at liberty. I came home a few days ago 
 for a visit, but expect to return to the South, and com- 
 mence my labors very soon. Have I acted wisely, Cath- 
 arine, under all the circumstances?" 
 
 " I think so. And oh I if you are really a Union man 
 at heart, Lloyd, let me entreat of jou to use all the in- 
 fluence you acquire in discountenancing the frightful 
 cruelties that are said to be practised upon Union sol- 
 
 21* 
 
246 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 diers by some of your barbarous officials. I bave beard 
 men in power deny tbe facts ; yet I fear tbere is too 
 much truth in the reports that come to our ears, and 
 make one's blood run cold with horror. I love my OYrn 
 people, as you love yours : but, so far as I have had expe- 
 rience, I have tried to be impartial in my treatment of 
 rebel and Union soldiers ; for I know that many of the 
 former are but the helpless tools of ambitious but un- 
 principled leaders, and scarcely responsible for their 
 acts." 
 
 " That is too true ; yet, if I know myself, I need no 
 urging to do a Clu-istian's duty to the vilest, as well as 
 the noblest, of God's creatures. If I needed any incite- 
 ment to the work, your noble and unselfish example of 
 continually returning good for evil would furnish all 
 I require," he said with a fond, admiring glance into 
 the pale, spiritual face, and mournful, downcast eyes that 
 now seldom sought his own. 
 
 How pale and changed she was, he thought, from the 
 bright-eyed, rosy, active, gay young girl he had known 
 and loved in happier days ; and yet how beautiful, 
 how bewitching still ! She had loved him once, he did 
 not doubt. Could she do so still, after all the suffering 
 he had caused her ? 
 
 Alas ! he did not dream that the keenest pang of all 
 in her heart at that moment was the sure knowledi^e 
 that she did love him still, while bound irrevocably to 
 another, and the greatest wonder, why, bound in the 
 same way himself, he, in the history of his trials, should 
 never once mention his wife's name. 
 
 Where was she ? Why did no one ever allude to 
 her when they could help it ? Simpl}^ out of delicacy 
 ko her feelings ; and, for similar reasons, she had never 
 
EAELY LOVE 100 LATE. 247 
 
 iu quired after liim or liis supposed bride. The arrival 
 of the family at this moment put an end to the conver- 
 sation. 
 
 The next da}', however, the same thing happened; 
 and Catharine to her regret, for she knew it was a 
 dear-bought pleasure, was again left tete-a-tete with her 
 former lover. 
 
 The truth was, that Mrs. Hunter, now sincerely re- 
 gretting the past, deeply impressed by Catharine's worth 
 and nobleness, and believing they still loved each other, 
 had resolved, if possible, to bring about the match. So, 
 meeting him in the street this time, she sent him home 
 to entertain and cheer her guest. Knowing nothing of 
 her real position regarding her brother, she did not 
 dream of the harm she was doing in leaving them to- 
 gether thus. Catharine did realize it, but dared say 
 nothing to prevent it. As soon as they were alone, how- 
 ever, discarding politeness, she apparently became deeply 
 interested in a book she was reading, half hoping he 
 would be disgusted, and leave the room. He walked 
 around it once or twice, looked out of the windows, trifled 
 with his sister's fancy-work, and at last, out of patience 
 Witt her persistent, and as he believed intentional, in- 
 attention, he came up to where she was sitting. Gently 
 taking the book from her hands, he said in a slightly- 
 tremulous tone, — 
 
 " Catharine, let us for once in our lives fully under- 
 stand each other. Am I wrong in believing that we once 
 loved each other, — tenderly and truly ? " 
 
 '' I think not,^' she murmured, bluohing deeply. " But, 
 Lloyd, it is not for either of us now to turn back the 
 leaves of the book of destiny." 
 
 " Why not ! Catharine ! may we not tear out one 
 
248 THE EEBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 page blotted with tears, and begin a new and fairer 
 record ? " 
 
 " It is impossible. The bitter consequences of the 
 acts there recorded must make our happiness or misery- 
 while life endures." 
 
 " Oh, say not that you have ceased to love me ; that my 
 sccrn and desertion have turned your love to loathing ! " 
 
 " Better a thousand times if it had ! " she exclaimed 
 with deep emotion. 
 
 " No : love, with all its hopes and fears and penal- 
 ties, is a precious treasure ; though you may think mine 
 for you, increased as it is a hundred-fold by absence and 
 the consciousness of ill-desert, unworthy of your accept- 
 ance." 
 
 " Llo,yd, Lloyd ! This to me ! And you the hus- 
 band of another ! " she exclaimed excitedly ; while burn- 
 ing blushes crimsoned her pale cheeks, and the light of 
 injured delicacy flashed from her eyes. 
 
 '•' I the husband of another ! O Catharine ! what a 
 mistake ! You did not think I married Nell Atherton ; 
 did you ? " 
 
 " I supposed you did. You wrote that you were about 
 to do so : I never knew but what you had." 
 
 " Strange, — how very strange, that, in all this time, 
 they never told you ! " he said with an evident feeling of 
 relief This, then, was the bar — the only one, he hoped 
 — to their future union. This of course was the reason 
 why she had been so distant and reserved. " Ah, Catha- 
 rine ! " he resumed in a gayer tone, " it seems next to im- 
 possible that you could remain in our family more than 
 a year without learning the fact, tliat Nell Atherton, 
 thanks to my good genius, deserted me at the last mo- 
 ment. She eloped, and was married privately to Count 
 
EAELY LOVE TOO LATE. 249 
 
 Laroi, a Parisian adventurer, whom she first met in 
 Eiu-ope. As a last legacy, and indeed a precious one, 
 she left me a letter, in which she boasted of the mean- 
 ness and lies and duplicity by which she had won me 
 from 3'ou, but to cast me off in the end, — out of re- 
 venge for some fancied slights during our past inter- 
 course." 
 
 " This, then, Avas the way in which you found out the 
 truth ; was it ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and oh ! you cannot imagine what a comfort 
 and consolation the thought of your purity and truth 
 was to me in m}' gloomy prison-house, like a ray of 
 light shining into the deepest gloom. But that light 
 was suddenly quenched, when I came home upon the 
 wings of love and impatience to find that j'ou had so 
 strangely disappeared, and that no one knew what had 
 become of you. When I found j'ou so unexpectedly in 
 the street that night, and rescued you from such friglit- 
 ful danger, it again shone out, like a star of hope, cheer- 
 ing me by its benign radiance. And now, dear Catha- 
 rine, that all these sad mistakes are cleared up, you must 
 not say that it is in vain for me to treasure such fond re- 
 membrances of you in my heart." 
 
 '• Oh, it is ! it is ! I must not listen to such words 
 from your lips ! " she exclaimed in a distressed tone. 
 
 " What ! You do not forbid my loving you, Catha- 
 rine ? " 
 
 " Oh, I must ! It is a sin, — God forgive me ! I am 
 already bound by the most solemn vows to another ; " and, 
 bowing her head upon her hands, she gave way to a 
 passionate burst of tears. 
 
 He did not comprehend it yet: he had no idea of 
 the magnitude of the trouble, as he laid his hand caress- 
 
250 THE BEBEL GENEEAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 ingly upon her bowed head, and asked in a deeply-ear- 
 nest tone, — 
 
 " What Yows, Catharine ? Surely, you have not prom- 
 ised to wed that scoundrel Sweep or some daring out- 
 law ? " 
 
 " 'No, no ! But oh, it is even worse than that ! " she 
 sobbed ; " for I am ah-eady the wife of a general in the 
 rebel army." 
 
 "My God! Is this true, Catharine?" he exclaimed 
 fiercely, and starting up suddenly with a wild, question- 
 ing, yet unbelieving look. 
 
 " It is the truth, Lloyd ; and you must know it now, 
 whatever comes of it," she said, raising her bowed head, 
 and trying to suppress her bitter sobs. '' I have been a 
 wife for months. When or why I became so, I dare not 
 tell you. That is a profound secret, and for the present 
 must remain so. I have never lived with my husband a 
 day or an hour as his wife ; though I have solemnly 
 promised to do so when he claims me, and never to 
 leave the South without his consent. My abduction last 
 Kovember vras all that prevented me from becoming his 
 acknowledged wife. When he hears of my return, he 
 may doubt, disown, and cast me off, or come and claim 
 me at any moment. And this it is that casts a shadow 
 dark as midnight over my whole future life." 
 
 Lloyd stood for some time still as a statue, dumb with 
 amazement, and looking at her drearily, as if he did not 
 comprehend the truth : then, reeling as if struck by a 
 heavy blow, he sunk upon a seat, and, with a bitter 
 groan, buried his face in his clasped hands. 
 
 The sight of his wild, tearless agony wrung Catha- 
 rine's heart more keenly than the sobs that burst from 
 her own. 
 
EARLY LOVE TOO LATE. 251 
 
 " Lloyd, don't ! " she exclaimed when she could hear 
 it no longer. " You must hear it, even as I have done." 
 
 Her voice roused him. He raised his head, and looked 
 at her gloomily, with a flushed face, and dry, hloodshot 
 eyes, as he said, — 
 
 " You do not love this man, Catharine ? " 
 
 " I only hope I shall, if he comes to claim me," she 
 returned. 
 
 " Does my mother know this ? " 
 
 " 1^0, Lloyd ; nor must she, or any one else, until he 
 sees fit to announce the fact ? " 
 
 " But who is this man, Catharine ? — that I may know 
 who has defrauded me of what I hold most dear in life ! " 
 said he fiercely. 
 
 " I must not tell you : you will know soon enough, if 
 he comes to claim me. If he douhts and hesitates, — 
 jealous of my seeming escape from him, and long seclu- 
 sion, — it is best for you, and all others here, to be igno- 
 rant of his name." 
 
 "You were forced into this marriage, Catharine?" 
 
 " No : I did it to save — What did I say ? Out of two 
 great evils, I chose this as the less, when all brighter 
 hopes were dead in my tortured heart." 
 
 " Does this man love you, Catharine ? " 
 
 " jMost ardently and passionately, I do believe ; and 
 with a magnetic fervor that might win a return from 
 most disengaged female hearts." 
 
 "• I have done," said he drearily. "' Life is now robbed 
 of every charm, and is no longer sweet to me. I am 
 now readj' to go to the front ; and, should some stray 
 bullet pierce my heart, it shall be welcome." 
 
 "You must not talk or think in this wild way. Is my 
 fate preferable to yours, do you think ? " 
 
252 THE BEBEL GEXERAl's LOYAI. BRIDE. 
 
 "No, no: it is a thousand times worse." 
 " Yet I shall try and make the best of it. It may 
 put far greater power in my hands for good or evil tlian 
 any I might liave chosen. And if so, for the use I 
 make of that power, I shall have to render a strict ac- 
 count in the judgment. But, Lloyd, what is all the good 
 or evil one feeble woman can accomplish, in comparison 
 with what it is in your power to do for poor, suffering 
 humanity, if your life and health are spared to you ? Oli, 
 think of the hundreds and thousands of noble men from 
 Korth and South, East and West, the stay and prop 
 and most precious treasure of many a happy household, 
 — bleeding, groaning, and dying on battle-fields, and in 
 prisons and hospitals ; rending the skies with agonized 
 prayers for the help that never comes to them ! Think 
 of this, and then say whether, in the power and the skill 
 to heal and to save, Heaven has not bestowed upon you 
 an inestimable gift, not to be lightly cast away. In the 
 path of duty, if anywhere on earth, peace will come to 
 us both, if not the perfect happiness we sigh for. This 
 life will soon be over; and, if we perform those duties 
 faithfully, our reward is sure." 
 
 " Oh ! I know : you are right in every thing. Yet, 
 Catharine, I cannot now bear this crreat trial as I oucrht. 
 I know you ought not to be blamed, however it may be 
 with him ; yet I must go away from you, or go mad. 
 In other scenes, on bloody battle-fields and in prisons 
 and hospitals, I may sometimes forget that another man's 
 wife is dearer than my life to me. Oh ! I must not for- 
 get my hope of heaven, or a Christian's life-work, in a 
 sinful earthly love. If we never again meet on earth, I 
 hope and pray that we may meet in heaven, that perfect 
 world, where merely earthly ties and relationships are 
 
EAELY LOVE TOO LATE. 253 
 
 sundered and obliterated, and those who love truly love 
 eternally.'' 
 
 He took her hand as he said this, pressed it to his lips, 
 laid it gently in lier lap, and then, with a pale, agonized 
 face, and a look that spoke volumes of regret and tor- 
 tured love, turned, and left the apartment. 
 
 When Catharine rose the next morning, Lloyd was 
 gone. He had received a sudden, and, as she judged 
 from his looks, unwelcome summons to the front, Mrs. 
 Hunter said ; and he had commissioned her to bid Cath- 
 arine farewell. 
 
 Catharine knew that it was best for both to part under 
 the circumstances ; and she honored him for the reso- 
 lution, and strength of moral principle, that sent him 
 away from her at this time. Yet oh ! the dreary, aching 
 void, his presence alone could fill, that was left to torture 
 and swell with vain regrets her tried yet faithful heart. 
 The knowledge that he loved her still, that he had never 
 been the husband of another, and that he had never, at 
 heart, been unfaithful to her, made her own fate still 
 harder to bear. 
 
 iS 
 
CHAPTEE, Xiy. 
 
 CATHARIXE IX LIBBY PRISON. RELEASED. 
 
 ^ES. HUXTEE, as she had proposed to do, 
 wrote immediately to her brother of Cath- 
 arine's return to Eichmond. The next mail 
 brought a reply, not only to her, hut to Cath- 
 arine, overflowing with expressions of joy and gratitude 
 for her deliverance from so many dangers. He wanted 
 her to write him all the particulars of her captivities and 
 escapes at once, he said : and she might be very sure 
 of a close questioning when they did meet ; which he 
 hoped and trusted would be very soon. 
 
 Hardly had Catharine got over the excitement inci- 
 dent to Lloyd's departure, and the new train of fears and 
 dread aroused by the reception of this letter, ere a new 
 source of trouble presented itself. This was caused by 
 the wild alarm created in Eichmond by the near ap- 
 proach of the Union army. They were said to number 
 at least two hundred thousand men. After many delays, 
 they were known to be advancing up the peninsula, 
 under the leadership of Gen. McClellan, knocking at the 
 gates of Yorktown, and seriously threatening the rebel 
 capital In the midst of this new trouble, one afternoon 
 when Catharine was alone, the family having gone out 
 to ride, she was startled by the sudden entrance of a 
 
 254 
 
CATHARINE IN LIDBY PRISON. 255 
 
 party of soldiery, whom Dinah's vehement protestations 
 could not prevent from forcing themselves into her 
 presence. The leader of the band, a brutal fellow, with 
 about as much delicacy or sense of propriety as a bull- 
 dog, advanced, without waiting for compliments, and, 
 laying his hand on her arm, demanded to know if her 
 name was Catharine Hale. 
 
 "Yes," she faltered, so terrified at the thought of 
 some new danger, that she forgot that she had any 
 other. 
 
 " Then you are my prisoner," he returned doggedly. 
 " Prisoner, indeed ! " screamed Aunt Dinah, who had 
 followed them into the room, and advanced to Catharine's 
 side to protect her from insult. " Prisoner in mistis's 
 own house!" she continued. "Why, the poor dear 
 lamb's jest got out o' de hands o' de Philistines, an' de 
 jaws o' Daniel in de lion's den, an' now ye want to get 
 her in agin, du ye? Pll send for mistis, an' have ye put 
 in purgatory yerself, if ye don't clare out," said she 
 vengefully. 
 
 " Hold yer jaw! or 'twill be the worse for you," he 
 returned with his hand on his pistol, and with a fierce, 
 steely gleam in his eyes, that quelled poor Aunt Dinah's 
 belligerence at once. 
 
 " Get your things on at once, ma'am ; for you must 
 go with us," he continued to Catharine. 
 
 " Where, and for w^hat ? " she tremblingly demanded. 
 
 "To the Libby Prison, ma'am. Such are my or- 
 ders ; but for what, you know better than I." 
 
 " But I have done no wrong," she faltered. " I am 
 innocent of all thought of crime." 
 
 " That's your lookout," he returned. " But hurry up. 
 We've no time for trifling : our orders are imperative. 
 
256 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BKIDE. 
 
 " Pray wait until the return of Mrs. Hunter ? " 
 
 "Not another moment, ma'am. We've spent too 
 much time already." 
 
 " But I am very lame : I can hardly walk or 
 stand." 
 
 " We can carry you out to the hack, ma'am." 
 
 Catharine rose dizzily to her feet, stepped forward, 
 and would have fallen, but for Dinah's watchful eye and 
 protecting arm. 
 
 '' Get my things, Dinah," she murmured huskily. 
 
 " 'Tis my fate, and God's will be done. Tell Mrs. 
 Hunter, that, of whatever they accuse, or falsely prove 
 against me, I am innocent." 
 
 " It's some o' dat ole sneak's diveltry, Dinah no doubt. 
 He want revenge, 'cause Miss Kate no want him. Mis- 
 sus git it all right when she come home." 
 
 " I hope so, Dinah, but fear the worst. Bid them all 
 good-by for me, and especially poor little Walter. 
 There, I am ready ; " and, taking Dinah's arm, she hob- 
 bled out to the carriage, and was whirled away. 
 
 Dinah followed in hot haste to see if it was really a 
 fact that Catharine was carried to the prison, or only a 
 pretence to take her off somewhere else. But there was 
 no deception about it this time. She saw the gloomy 
 prison-doors close over her favorite, and returned to re- 
 port the fact to Mrs. Hunter upon her arrival home. 
 Mrs. Hunter could not rest until she had been to the 
 authorities, and found out the truth. She was accused, 
 upon the strongest proofs it was said, of being a spy in 
 the Union service for months past, and of holding a 
 secret correspondence with the enemy. Mrs. Hunter 
 was deeply shocked. She could not believe in Catha- 
 rine's guilt} and yet the story of her late mysterious 
 
CATBLVEIXE IN LIBBY PRISON. 257 
 
 adventures and long seclusion was strange enough to 
 raise torturing 'doubts in the minds of her best friends. 
 She went the next day, and had an affecting interview 
 with her in the prison, and carried her a few tilings to 
 make her more comfortable : but that was all she was 
 allowed to do ; for the authorities just then were re- 
 garding with more than usually jealous eyes all who 
 had the least intercourse or correspondence with their 
 enemy, and, as prisoners, treated them with unusual 
 rigor. 
 
 Put into a narrow, filthy cell, overflowing with ver- 
 min, Catharine had a chance to taste the sweets of prison- 
 life, not at all qualified by the fact, that her jailer had, 
 from some cause, been at variance with the families with 
 whom he knew she had been associated. For this and 
 other reasons, Mrs. Hunter and her family were refused 
 further communication with her. Perhaps, too, that 
 lady's increasing doubts of her innocence prevented her 
 making any very strenuous exertions in her behalf 
 
 But the decisions of cliildhood and ignorance, those 
 keen judges of human character and motive, were 
 wholly in Catharine's favor. Neither the children nor 
 the slaves of the household could be made to believe a 
 word against their favorite. If she had been well and 
 strong, Catharine would not have felt the privation of 
 coarse prison-fare, want of rest, and discomfort of every 
 kind, as much as she did ; but she was weak and ner- 
 vous, and could scarcely eat the repulsive yet scanty 
 food set before her. She could not sleep on her hard 
 straw bunk, because of the loathsome insects crawling 
 over her. She knew not who were her accusers, or the 
 extent of her implication; "and the future certainly 
 looked very dark and cheerless. Yet sh^ was saved the 
 
 22* 
 
258 THE EEBEL GENEEAL'S LOYAL BllIDE. 
 
 knowledge of the terror and excitement that swept over 
 Kichmond, as the miserable days and nights dragged 
 their slow lengjth alonsj. 
 
 They brought battles and sieges, the capture of Nor- 
 folk, and destruction of millions of dollars' worth of 
 rebel property to prevent its falling into Union hands. 
 It also brought distraction into the councils, and vacilla- 
 tion and terror into the hearts of the rebel authorities, 
 and the ad.journment of the rebel Congress to assure its 
 members of their own safety. 
 
 At last, after months of inexplicable delay, the 
 Union army began to advance from Yorktown towards 
 [Richmond. The panic became fearful. The wbole city 
 was wild with terror and excitement; and the people 
 were flying in every direction. Ever}'- rail-car, and 
 vehicle of every description, was pressed into the service, 
 and overloaded with passengers. The streets were full 
 of people, — going, they hardlylinew where themselves, 
 — anywhere to get out of the way of tlie cruel, hated 
 Yankees. Piles of furniture, boxes of goods, and bag- 
 gage of every description, obstructed the streets, wharves, 
 and depots; while children were crying, dogs barking, 
 soldiers swearing, negroes running, and everything and 
 everybody seemed in the greatest commotion. 
 
 But there was still an element of firmness left in the 
 minds of a few, says one historian, " who strove, by 
 every argument in their power, to quiet the people, turn 
 their terror into ridicule, and induce them to stay at 
 home, and prepare for the worst." 
 
 Among those who led this general stampede of the 
 citizens, was Mrs. Davis, the wife of the President, 
 with Mrs. Hunter, and other ladies of distinction, ac- 
 companied by their families, who fled to Paleigh, N.C. 
 
CATHARINE IN LIBBY PRISON. 259 
 
 It is now a matter of liistorj^, that, while the Union 
 army had been for three whole months journeying by 
 apparently easy yet really painful stages from Washing- 
 ton to Richmond, the Confederates had spent every hour 
 of that time in preparing for them a bloody reception. 
 They enlarged their resource* in every possible way ; 
 prepared elaborate defences, mercilessly enforced the 
 conscription, gathered re-enforcements from ISTorfolk, 
 Charleston, North Carolina, the Shenandoah Valley and 
 every other available source, until they had concentrated 
 the largest army they were ever able to put in the field, 
 as they said themselves long afterwards. They also 
 said, what was undoubtedly the truth, that " our army 
 waited and waited, — uncertain which course to pursue, 
 our authorities divided in opinion, — when a rapid advance 
 on either route would have insured them a victory.'' 
 
 But they waited too long. The summer heats and 
 miasma of the interminable swamps of the Chickahom- 
 iny, were quite as sure death as the enemy's guns. 
 That enemy was now fully prepared to meet them. Ar- 
 rogant and boasting, exasperated by their late losses, 
 and fully aroused to a sense of their danger, they were 
 now ready to fight with the most courageous daring, and 
 reckless disregard of human life, in defence of their sa- 
 credly-cherished capital. Around this, for more than a 
 year, immense labor had been expended in constructing 
 redoubts, rifle-pits, horn works, and enfilading and case- 
 mated batteries ; while every other imaginable sort of 
 defence crowned every hillock, and swept every road 
 and defile, for miles around the city. So, with very 
 good reasons for hoping that their skilfully-constructed 
 works were impregnable, they awaited the onset of the 
 Union army. 
 
260 THE EEBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 'Ten weary days Catharine had been in the loathsome 
 prison, without seeing one friendly human face. Ten 
 years of agony and discomfort they seemed to her, when 
 she was startled one evening, at an unusual hour, by the 
 sound of approaching footsteps and voices, and the rat- 
 tling of a key in the lock of her door. One of those 
 voices thrilled her like an electric shock, and brought 
 her to her feet in an instant. The door opened ; and a 
 light that almost blinded her flashed in upon the mid- 
 night darkness, followed by the under-keeper, and beside 
 him — she knew she could not mistake those deep, low 
 tones — was Gen. Atherton. 
 
 She shrunk back to the wall, gazing at them with wild, 
 blinded eyes, as the keeper set down the light, and left 
 the room ; and the general advanced to meet her. 
 
 " Catharine ! is it thus we meet after months of 
 painful separation and vain longing ? " he said, as he 
 took her in his arms, and folded her to his bosom. 
 
 So utterly wretched and miserable was she feeling at 
 the time, that there was really a sense of friendliness 
 and protection in the clasp of those strong, loving arms 
 for a moment ; a powerful magnetism in his looks and 
 tones, that enchained her senses ; a feeling of relief and 
 companionship in the light that once more illumined 
 her dark prison-cell. 
 
 Eor several minutes he held her silently, overpowered 
 himself by strong emotion : then he gently raised her 
 head, and looked lovingly yet searchingly into her agi- 
 tated countenance. 
 
 " How you have changed ! " he said with a deep sigh. 
 " It breaks my heart to see you in this gloomy prison- 
 cell, with these sunken cheeks, hollow, tear-stained, glit- 
 tering eyes, and troubled brow. How pale, shadowy, 
 
EELEASED. 261 
 
 and unreal you look ! Your hair, too, those beauteous 
 auburn curls, all sacrificed ! Catharine ! what am 
 I to tliink of such a shocking change, — of all these 
 strange adventures and frightful accusations ? " 
 
 " What 3'OU please,'' said she proudly, withdrawing 
 herself from his clasp, and raising her downcast eyes to 
 his face. ^' You said once, that no one who was a judge 
 of the human countenance could look into mine, and 
 doubt my innocence, purity, and truth. Has their loss 
 effected all these changes, do you think ? " 
 
 " Xo, no. To me you are innocent and truthful still," 
 he said, after a prolonged and searching glance, " what- 
 ever others may think. But, dear Catharine, you 
 must be aware that circumstances have been and are 
 terribly against you." 
 
 " Yes, I know. I ought to blame no one for doubting 
 me. I wondered even that Mrs. Hunter and her fam- 
 ily did not when I returned to Richmond in such a 
 suspicious manner a few weeks ago." 
 
 "Catharine, did you write me all the particulars 
 about that mysterious disappearance last autumn ? " 
 
 " I believe so, — at least, all I thought of consequence 
 to you, or necessary to explain my position. But why ? " 
 
 "Because those explanations seemed imperfect, and 
 left the painful impression upon my mind that there 
 was something you wished to keep back and conceal 
 from me." 
 
 A flush of surprise and shame, but not guilt, instantly 
 suffused Catharine's face, revealing, as if by magic, the 
 truth of his suspicions. 
 
 " I see I was right," he said with a keen glance and 
 darkening frown. " You cannot hide your thoughts 
 from me, Catharine, if you would." 
 
262 THE EEBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 " I did not and do not wish to, except for your own 
 peace and happiness. I tokl you the facts just as they 
 occurred, so far as tlie knowledge of them could do 
 either of us any good. Yet I confess that there were 
 some thincrs connected with the affair, that reflect no 
 blame on me, which, out of regard to your feelings, and 
 pity for another, I did not think it best to reveal." 
 
 " Out of regard to me ! " he exclaimed passionately. 
 " Catharine, you can know nothing of a husband's feel- 
 ings or rights, if you think one who loves as I do will 
 bear such concealments." 
 
 " I think I do know what they ought to be ; and won't 
 you trust me to keep from you a knowledge that can 
 only wound and pain, but do you no good ? " 
 
 " No : I must know the truth, at whatever cost of 
 feeling to myself" 
 
 '' When it is only for your good, and the honor of 
 your family alone, that I would be silent ? " 
 
 " Yes : you know who were your abductors, and would 
 shield them from my anger." 
 
 ^^ No, I do not." 
 
 " Who employed them then ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Catharine, after a pause. "But pray 
 trust me in this. Gen. Atherton. If our marriage had 
 been known, it would never have occurred. He who 
 did this thing, knowing nothing of our secret marriage, 
 had professed to love, and been rejected by me. Your 
 last letter to me fell by accident into his hands, unfor- 
 tuately. Mistaking its ambiguous language, thinking 
 you wore coming to marry ^ and not claim one already 
 married, and maddened by disappointment, he procured 
 my abduction to get me out of your way. I was car- 
 ried to his plantation, miles away, where he followed, 
 
RELEASED. 263 
 
 a day or two afterwards, and presented himself before 
 me. We liad a deeply-exciting interview, during which 
 I was obliged by the circumstances to reveal to him the 
 fact of our marriage, and beg of him to leave me. He 
 was terribly sliocked, disappointed, and I believe penitent, 
 when he found out the truth. I had taken a severe cold 
 in my night journey. I was already very ill ; my head 
 was bursting with pain ; and this, joined to the excite- 
 ment, made me alarmingly wild, and out of my head be- 
 fore the interview was over. I was, I suppose, very near 
 death for weeks after his departure. He left me a letter, 
 becrsrins: me to conceal his name, and thus shield him 
 from your anger; and that is the reason I have tried 
 to do so thus far, — not from any love of him, — fori 
 never loved him, — but out of pity for both him and 
 you. If you demand this name as your right, I yield it 
 at your bidding ; yet I solemnly assure you that it will 
 be a thousand times better for you and him if the 
 words should never be spoken; " and she looked up 
 appealingly into the dark, passionate eyes, that were 
 sternly searching her agitated countenance. 
 
 A silence of several minutes fell between them : then 
 he said in a low, determined tone, — 
 
 "Catharine, I shall never rest easy without it : I would 
 know my despoiler's name." 
 
 Catharine paused in pity : she could not bear to in- 
 flict upon the proud father a blow so terrible, — the death- 
 blow of a father's faith in, and love of, an only and be- 
 loved son. He misconstrued her silence, and his brow 
 darkened, as he said, — 
 
 " Catharine, must I demand this knowledge as my 
 ricrht ? Tell me this man's name." 
 
 ^'It is Pliilip Atherton, — your own son,'^ she fal- 
 tered in a low, tremulous, pitying tone. 
 
264 THE KEBEL GEXEKAL's LOYAL BELDE. 
 
 The proud father's face grew pale as ashes ; and he 
 reeled, as if she had struck him a blow. He had sus- 
 pected many others, but never once, strangely enough, 
 thought of Philip in connection with this affair, as hav- 
 ing dreamed of daring to rival him ; though he might 
 long before, had his own eyes and ears been disengaged. 
 
 Catharine pitied him from the bottom of her heart, 
 much as both of them had made her suffer ; and, with 
 quick sympathy, she turned to him, and said, — 
 
 *^ God knows I would have saved you this pain if I 
 could. You do not doubt me still. Gen. Atherton ? " 
 
 " a!»5"o, no : but oh, my son, my son ! I cannot say 
 as David did ; but I can feel as David felt," he exclaimed 
 in a tone of deep emotion. 
 
 '^Absalom was blinded by one mad passion, Philip 
 by another ; but you must pity and forgive him, even 
 as I have done, who am the greatest sufferer." 
 
 " To do it knowingly, in defiance of me and utter dis- 
 regard of my feelings, — such a mean, dishonorable act 
 too ! Oh, I never, never can forgive him ! " he groaned. 
 
 " You will think differently some day. Philip was 
 blinded by passion : he could not endure the thought 
 of my becoming his father's wife. The knowledge that 
 I was so already made him almost wild. You know his 
 ardent, impassioned nature : you know how he has 
 been petted and indulged from childhood. Perhaps you 
 have yourself helped to make him disregardful of the 
 feelings of others. !N"o doubt he deeply regrets the 
 act now, and suffers all the horrors of disappointment 
 and remorse. But let us talk of something else. If I 
 am to die in this horrible prison, or on the gallows, I 
 want " — 
 
 " Catharine ! " he exclaimed, " my only hope and 
 
RELEASED. 265 
 
 comfort now, you shall not do either, if I have to teat 
 down tlie prison-walls with my own hands." 
 
 "But you know why I am here, and by whose 
 agency ? " 
 
 " Yes : my sister wrote me the particulars. She did 
 not know then, however, that Kendall, the sutler and 
 spy, who operates between the lines, was your accuser." 
 
 " Tlien it is just as I suspected. I remember, now, 
 that that was the name he told me he had assumed." 
 
 " You know him then ? " 
 
 " I think I have reason to." 
 
 " Well, I came home the first moment I could call my 
 own; have had an interview with the authorities, and 
 been trying my best to sift out the truth." 
 
 « But you failed ? " 
 
 " Thus far, yes. Your accuser is gone, but is ex- 
 pected now every day. I fear I can do nothing towards 
 getting you liberated until he comes, as the proofs, they 
 say, are very strong, and almost incontrovertible." 
 
 " Then I shall die here," moaned Catharine; "for the 
 wretch will never return. He told me as much when 
 he tried to get me to go home with him." 
 
 " To go home with him ! Whom do you mean ? " 
 
 '• AVhy, don't you know that Kendall and that scoun- 
 drel Sweep are one ? He told me so himself." 
 
 " That explains it all." 
 
 " Yes, indeed. It all comes from spite on his part, 
 without doubt, to bo revenged on me for disappointing 
 him. Yet he is so capable of mischief, that the conse- 
 quences may be very serious. But, whatever my fate 
 may be, your Confederate authorities may assure them- 
 selves of one thing, — that he has been playing a double 
 23 
 
266 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 game with them, and dares not return again to Eich- 
 mond." 
 
 " I feared it, and told them so ; but they would not 
 believe it. And he could do us a great deal of harm 
 just now, with the enemy so near us." 
 
 "How near?" 
 
 " Why, did you not know that the Federal army, 
 more than two hundred thousand strong, are within 
 twelve miles of Richmond ? or that there has been a 
 great fright and panic in the city, and that everybody 
 that could get away has left it ? " 
 
 " I only know that I have heard unusual noise and 
 confusion in the streets, and longed most earnestly to 
 get out, and fly away. And I warn 3'ou now. Gen. 
 Atherton, that, if in this great march of events, I should 
 have a chance to do so, you must consider yourself con- 
 sulted, if I prefer escape to an ignominious death." 
 
 '•' You pain me deeply by such allusions. After such 
 bitter disappointment in both my children, I shall live 
 only in the hope of one day claiming and proclaiming 
 you as my wife." 
 
 " Then you have not done so yet ? " 
 
 " No, I judged it to be inexpedient. As your hus- 
 band, my hands and tongue would be tied, so far as 
 assisting you would be concerned. As a friend, I could 
 work for you, without embarrassment, and defend you 
 before any court of inquiry in the realm ; yet I must tell 
 you honestly, my dear Catharine, that, if this man comes 
 back to substantiate his charges against you, and brings 
 all the proof to which he claimed to have access, the case 
 will look very dark, and will not be an easy one to de- 
 fend. But for Philip's implication, the facts of your ab- 
 duction and illness could be brought forward as rebut- 
 
RELEASED. 267 
 
 ting evidence. But as slaves cannot testify, and no one 
 else but Philip and his tools knew any thing about it, 
 they alone could save you by disgracing themselves, and 
 you, too, perhaps,by implication, if not in fact, — a thing 
 that must not be risked, except in the last extremitj', 
 and hardly then. So you see, my dear, the difficulties 
 of your position ; tliough you cannot feel, as I do, a deep 
 grief and regret for being, even remotely, the cause of 
 it. If it is in the power of man to save you, it shall be 
 done, you may rest assured ; yet nothing can be done 
 while the city is in such fearful peril, beleaguered by a 
 hostile foe. I myself, with thousands of others, have 
 just been recalled from a distant station, and must go 
 to the front to-morrow, with a heart heavy, not only 
 with my own private griefs, but the woes of my country. 
 I cannot bear to leave you in this loathsome cell ; but 
 I suppose it cannot be helped. The crime of which you 
 are accused precludes the idea of relief or amelioration, 
 as well as the fact that I do not stand well enough with 
 the authorities at the present time to gain many favors, 
 especially personal ones." 
 
 " Why so ? " 
 
 "Catharine," and he spoke in a low, concentrated 
 tone, as if the walls had ears, "^our President has 
 disappointed the expectations of all his best friends. 
 He is a vain, wilful, obstinate, conceited fool, who will 
 listen to no sensible man's advice. He is notoriously 
 ruled by his wife, who sees in every prominent and 
 ambitious man a rival of her husband. So she endeav- 
 ors to wield all the influence at her command in keep- 
 ing such men in subordinate positions, where there will 
 be no chance for the display of brilliant talents, if they 
 possess them, or danger of their attracting the attention 
 
268 THE EEBEL GENEEAL's LOYAL BRmE. 
 
 of the people to the prejudice of her husband.' 1 have 
 seen and felt this for months ; and so have Beauregard, 
 Johnston, and Lee, in turn : and we fear, not without 
 reason, that it will be the cause of the downfall of the 
 Confederacy. But none of us can help ourselves so long 
 as Jefferson Davis stands at the helm, with all the 
 mighty power and patronage of the government in his 
 hands. As my wife, I tell you this in confidence, know- 
 ing that 3"ou are too honorable to betray the trust, and 
 that you may know with how many kinds of trouble I 
 have to contend." 
 
 ^'I have felt from the first that you were trj'ing a 
 dangerous, a fearful experiment, that j^ou will rue to 
 the last day of your lives." 
 
 "It may be so. I confess, that*thus far it has not 
 answered our expectations. But we cannot, after ac- 
 cepting the gage of battle, retreat from it without dis- 
 honor." 
 
 "I believe you are mistaken. I know both parties 
 are sick of this fuatrimdal warfare. Blood enough has 
 been shed, and treasure wasted. All that is wanted are 
 a few concessions to secure an honorable peace." 
 
 ^' Catharine, once for all, we will never, never consent 
 to the only concession that would content your Northern 
 people now, — the utter abolition and extinction of sla- 
 very. It may come to that at last : they may set our 
 own slaves to cut our throats, and desolate our homes. 
 But never, while we have blood to shed, or strength to 
 fight, will we consent to be thus ground into the dust by 
 the ironshod heel of Federal power." 
 
 At this moment footsteps were heard approaching 
 along the gallery outside, a knock was heard at the 
 door, and "Time's up," in a gruff voice, rang through 
 the stilly air. 
 
KELEASED. 209 
 
 "Catharine, that summons is imperative," he said 
 with a deep sigh. "I go to-morrow to defend my coun- 
 try against her invaders, subject to all the chances of 
 defeat, death, or victory. But before I go I shall malvO 
 such provision for you, as my wife, as shall not only in- 
 sure you against want, but also reveal to the world your 
 true position with regard to me. If I fall," he continued 
 gloomily, "you will perhaps rejoice in the chance" — 
 
 "Ko, Gen. Atherton. Whatever comes to me of joy 
 or woe, I would that not another life should be sacrificed 
 in this unholy contest." 
 
 The rap came again, still more imperative; and, with 
 a passionate caress and mournful "Farewell!" he turned 
 and left the apartment. 
 
 By his influence a few needed comforts were added to 
 her desolate cell ; and then Catharine returned to her 
 old round of darkness and silence by night, and sepul- 
 chral light by diiy; interrupted only by the gruff visits 
 of the jailer, the voices and tramp of the sentinels, and 
 the indistinct noises of the busy streets, yet with feel- 
 inors a little more cheerful for Gen. Atherton's visit. 
 She felt that she had one friend left to think of and care 
 for her, if he was a selfish one : she was not forgotten 
 by the whole world. If he lived, she would have- an 
 able defender. Yet the price she must pay for it made 
 her sometimes doubt v/hether it would not be better to 
 die than live to endure a loveless marriage. Several 
 days passed away; and the feeling of nervousness and 
 discontent was again getting the mastery, when the 
 jailer one afternoon presented himself, bowing with a 
 politeness altogether at variance with his previous brutal 
 conduct. 
 
 * Madam," he said in a very plausible tone, " I am 
 23* 
 
270 THE REBEL GE]ST:IIAl's LOYAL BRmE. 
 
 very liappy to inform you tliat the charges against you 
 liave been withdrawn ; and I have orders from tlie 
 authorities for your release from prison. A carriage 
 will be at the door in half an hour, that will take you to 
 any part of the city you desire." 
 
 He left the room before Catharine had sufficiently 
 recovered from her astonishment to reply or question. 
 Then she impulsively knelt down, and offered heartfelt 
 thanksgiving to a kind heavenly Fatlier for this unex- 
 pected deliverance. 
 
 Poor girl ! She thought her troubles were over, when, 
 in fact, they had but just begun. She gathered up her 
 few articles of apparel, put them into her satchel ; and, 
 when Major Turner appeared, she descended witli him 
 to the street. Pie helped her into the carriage ; and, at 
 her request, ordered the coachman to take her to Mrs. 
 Hunter's. They arrived at last ; and, driving up to the 
 gate, the man helped Catharine out, satchel in hand; 
 jumped up to his seat again, and was whirled away. 
 Imagining her reception, and the joy of the family at 
 her return, she walked up to the front entrance, and 
 rung the bell. But she waited in vain for Caesar to 
 answer the summons. She rang again repeatedly, but 
 with like results. Filled with gloomy forebodings, she 
 next went around the house, and tried the side and rear 
 entrances, but found them all locked against her. She 
 remembered now, for the first time, what Gen. Atherton 
 had told her in the prison, — that everybody had left Rich- 
 mond who had anywhere to go to; and that she had for- 
 gotten in her surprise and excitement to inquire after 
 Mrs. Hunter and her family. Here was a dilemma she 
 had not dreamed of; and another still worse soon pre- 
 sented itself. She had not a cent of money in her pos- 
 
RELEASED. 271 
 
 session to procure a hack, or hire a lodging. She had 
 taken none with her to the prison, thinking it needless ; 
 and Gen. Atherton, never dreaming of her enlargement 
 before his return, had not once thouglit of making such 
 provision for her. Overcome now by the thought of her 
 misery and friendlessness, she sat down on the steps, 
 and burst into tears. "Where in the world should she 
 go, or what could she do ? " were the questions she asked 
 herself. 
 
 There were near neighbors, it was true; but ^hey 
 were rich, proud, and aristocratic, and had some of them 
 treated her so superciliously, that she could not bring 
 herself to ask of them a favor. 
 
 At last she thouglit of Mrs. Gordon, who, she believed, 
 was a true friend to her ; and to her she resolved to go 
 for a refuge. She raised her bowed head as she came to 
 this conclusion, and there, standing but a few feet from 
 her, was an old negro man she remembered to have seen 
 in the neighborhood regarding her with eyes full of pity 
 and compassion. 
 
 " Massa ober dere to de big house see miss get out o' 
 de carriage, an' t'ink she dunno Missy Hunter an' all de 
 folks here gone off to Nort' Cariiny wid Missy Davis, 
 an' lots o' ladies an' chillens from Shockoe Hill." 
 
 " I did not indeed. But is your mistress gone too ? " 
 
 " Yes : do wimin folks all gone. King an' Pinky 
 stay to keep house for ole massa. All de ladies in dese 
 housen gone somewhere. All de young massas gone to 
 fight." 
 
 "Indeed! Then 'there is no chance to get in here. 
 But do you know Mrs. James Gordon of Street ? " 
 
 "' I guess King dunno him. But dat a long way off.'* 
 
 " I know it. But I don't know where else to go." 
 
272 THE EEBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 " Terrible times, miss. Eberybody gone crazy coz da 
 Jubilee's comiu'." 
 
 " Do you think so ? '' 
 
 " King no doubt on't. De spirit o' de Lord tell him. 
 But he no sich fool as to run off inter de swamp, when 
 he got good enuf massa to home. He stay till it come 
 right along." 
 
 ''You are right there, unless you want to go and help 
 fight for your liberty and that of your race." 
 
 " Time *nuff for dat when de big Linkum army come 
 long. King t'ink dey come right away. De streets full 
 o' sogers from eberywhere ; an, dere's goin' to be terrible 
 times rite off." 
 
 " Well," sighed Catharine, '' I suppose it is so ; and I 
 must go and try to find a place to stay until Mrs. 
 Hunter comes home." 
 
 The negro hesitated a moment, then said, — 
 
 '•' Does miss know dat de streets pretty dangerous for 
 wimin folks jes' now? Pretty miss got no veil on, 
 an' de men stare ; an' some on 'em t'ink de Yankee spy 
 got loose." 
 
 Catharine started. He knew her, then, — her accusa- 
 tion, and where she came from, — a,nd so would others. 
 So the tears came again to her eyes as she said, — 
 
 "I have indeed been accused, but wrongfully. I have 
 been in prison, but have been honorably liberated by 
 the authorities. My veil must have been left in the 
 prison." 
 
 " King spects so, an' wish he dare help miss a good 
 deal. But old massa up dere to de winder watchin'. 
 He hate de Yankees, an' no let him. But if miss no 
 find a place, an' come back here to-night, he t'ink he 
 an' Pinky hide her somewhere for all massa.'^ 
 
RELEASED. 273 
 
 " Thank you, my friend. I will do s ), but hope I 
 may find friends elsewhere." 
 
 " King hope so tu. an' wish miss good lucli: an' good- 
 by," he returned, and then hobbled off to report to 
 his master, who was keenly observing every movement 
 from his chamber-window. 
 
CHAPTER Xy. 
 
 NO HOME. AGAIX IX BOXDS. 
 
 .ITH a praj^er for help in her heart, Catharine 
 took up her satchel, and marched out into 
 the crowded streets in the direction of Mrs. 
 Gordon's. They were indeed crowded with 
 soldiery and citizens ; and long trains of amhulances 
 and armj^-wagons, ftdl of stragglers and camp-followers 
 of every description, were rolling on towards the hattle- 
 fields outside of Kichmond. But there was scarcely a 
 white female to he seen in the streets ; and, terrified at 
 the thought of her unprotected situation, she glided 
 along with hasty but silent footfalls, trying to attract as 
 little attention as possible. 
 
 But with such a face and figure as hers, in its nice- 
 fitting brown suit and jaunty hat, it was impossible to 
 escape observation; and many were the admiring glances 
 that followed her retreating footsteps. When, after a 
 long and tiresome valk, she arrived at Gordon house, it 
 was but to ring repeatedly, but in vain, for admittance. 
 The house was closed ; and the family, she was told, had 
 left the citj. She turned away in tears, uncertain 
 where to go next. At last she thought of two families 
 on the same street, who had always been very intimate 
 at Hunter House, and always treated her politely, upon 
 whom she resolved to call and ask for a shelter. 
 274 
 
NO HOSIE. 275 
 
 Upon application to the first, she was ushered into the 
 parlor, but received with freezing coldness by the mis- 
 tress ; and, when she told her story in tremulous tones, 
 and asked for refuge and protection, the lady told her 
 she would harbor no one who was under suspicion as a 
 Yankee spy. When she attempted to expostulate and 
 plead her cause, she was, without ceremonj^, turned into 
 the street. Auger dried the tears upon her cheek ; for 
 tliis lady, who was a widow, in a dangerous illness a few 
 months previous, had been under great obligation to her 
 for watching and kindly care, as well as to Mrs. Hunter; 
 and she had also been a candidate for the favor of Gen. 
 Atherton. 
 
 At the next place, though she saw the lady plainly 
 through the window, she was peremptorily denied admit- 
 tance by the well-instructed servant in waiting. Prob- 
 ably the fear of being themselves suspected in some meas- 
 lu'e influenced the decisions of these ladies regarding 
 her. Overwhelmed now by despair, she wandered on, 
 applying in vain at every liouse where she knew the 
 owners for slielter and protection. 
 
 The sun had set ; and, as it grew dusk, she was jostled 
 "by the rude throng that filled the street, some of whom 
 impudently peered in her face, and spoke to her in a way 
 that increased her fears, and made her tremble for her 
 safety. 
 
 She thought at last of an old colored woman, who, 
 being free, owned a little house in the suburbs, and took 
 in washing, who, she felt sure, would receive her if she 
 could only find the place. She was one of Aunt Dinah's 
 particular friends, who often came to visit her ; and she 
 knew her to be a respectable woman. She had been 
 there with Dinah and the children once or twice, but 
 
276 THE EEBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRmE. 
 
 always in the carriage with a driver. So, not being 
 quite sure of tlie way, she soon got bewildered in the 
 growing darkness, and, in the labyrinth of streets that 
 were new and strange to her, was completely lost. She 
 made several inquiries, but no one she asked knew such 
 a woman as Mrs. Milly Conly. 
 
 At last slie was overtaken by a tall, gaunt, unhappy- 
 looking woman in tawdry apparel, who professed to 
 know Mrs. Conly well. She said that if she would go 
 home with her and spend the night, she would be per- 
 fectly welcome. If she preferred going to Mrs. Conly's, 
 she would show her the way, after getting her supper, 
 and making a few home arrangements, as they lived in 
 the same neighborliood. The manners and appearance 
 of the woman were such as to excite poor Catliarine's 
 suspicions ; but what could she do in her desperate cir- 
 cumstances but accept the offered hospitality and kind- 
 ness ? They soon turned off from the travelled street 
 into a long lane, that led to an old, dilapidated mansion, 
 where the woman said she resided. It was quite dark 
 when they entered the house ; but the woman struck a 
 light, kindled a fire, and soon had a comfortable meal to 
 set before her suspicious and watchful guest. 
 
 Just as they were rising from the table, the rolling of 
 wheels was heard without j and the woman exclaimed in 
 evident alarm, — 
 
 "There, he is coming ! I thought he would be away 
 to-night. I cannot go with you ; but go somewhere, 
 — if 3'ou would be safe ; for he is a " — 
 
 '•Where, oh! where can I go?'' said Catharine in 
 tremulous tones, as she seized her hat, and ran towards 
 the door. 
 
 "Not there! you are too late: I hear his step on 
 
AGAIN IN BONDS. 277 
 
 the gravel," the woman exclaimed in a frightened tone. 
 " Here, take this light, and run up stairs to the little 
 room at the end of the hall ; " and she lit and gave her 
 an extra candle. " Blow out the light as soon as you 
 find the room, and keep still as death." 
 
 Not knowing what else to do, Catharine obeyed ; for 
 she felt sure, that, whatever the character of the woman 
 might be, she was trying to shield her from some great 
 danger. 
 
 She cast her eyes hastily'' around the desolate room, 
 saw that it was impossible to fasten it from within, extin- 
 guished the light, and sat down upon the humble bed, 
 trembling in every limb. Immediately afterwards she 
 heard the heavy tramp of feet entering the house, the 
 slamming of doors, and then the sound of angry, high- 
 pitched voices in eager and excited conversation. 
 
 There was something in the gruff tones of one of them 
 that made her shiver with renewed terror ; for, as she 
 listened intently, she grew surer every moment that it 
 was the voice of the murderous Blondel. The voices 
 lowered at last to a calmer tone, and then there was the 
 rattle and clink of dishes and- domestic utensils, as if 
 supper was prepared, and devoured by the new comer, 
 or comers. 
 
 And, while it was being partaken of evidently, Cath- 
 arine's heart stood still, as she heard stealthy footsteps 
 ascending the stairs, and approaching the door of her 
 room — in the darkness. 
 
 There was a fumbling for the latch, — the entrance, 
 turning, and click of a key in the lock, — the retreating 
 of the stealthy footsteps down the stairs ; and she knew 
 that she was a prisoner, — probably in a den of infamy. 
 
 To describe her feelings would be impossible. She was 
 
 24 
 
278 THE EEBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 sure it was the woman's step she had heard. It might be 
 that she had locked her in to save her from great dan- 
 ger. This thought was her only consolation. After 
 a wliile, there w^as again loud talking, and tramping in 
 and around the house, the sound of a wagon going down 
 the lane towards the city ; and then all was still. 
 
 That night a terrific thunder-storm swept over the 
 city and country, fitly symbolizing the era of horror the 
 morrow was to usher in. The rain fell in torrents ; the 
 wind whistled around the tall chimneys; the lightning 
 darted and blazed, until the heavens seemed lit up by 
 a grand and terrible illumination ; the thunder rolled 
 overhead, as if all the artillery of heaven were beginning 
 the murderous roar that was to be echoed and repeated 
 during the succeeding memorable days. To Catharine, 
 locked in that desolate room, it was a night of unmin- 
 gled horrors. 
 
 But we must pause here to explain how, under the 
 w^eight of such fearful accusations, Catharine came to be 
 released by the autliorities from the Libby Prison. For 
 several days they had been looking anxiously for the 
 return of Kendall, with some special news he had prom- 
 ised to bring them from Washington, regarding the 
 peace views of the Federal Government, and the move- 
 ments of the Union armies. They felt as if a great 
 deal depended upon this news, which they could obtain 
 in no other way. 
 
 It must be remembered, that, for several months, they 
 had had nothing but a continued succession of reverses, 
 losses, and defeats ; and the imminence of the impend- 
 ing danger made them all the more anxious to obtain 
 this news before fighting seriously commenced with 
 McClellan's dreaded army. 
 
AGAIN IN BONDS. 279 
 
 They were talking of this one day in a cabinet coun- 
 cil, when a letter was brought in, addressed to ^'Presi- 
 dent Davis and the Authorities of the Confederate 
 States.'' It was known to have come from a perfectly 
 reliable source ; an<l, having been ordered to be read by 
 one of the secretaries, was found to be as follows : — 
 
 Washington, May 27, 1862. 
 
 My deke Feexds, — Having concloodcd that it 
 wouldn't be for my helth to cum back to Kichmond jest 
 now, I thort I'd rite, and let you no how matters stand. 
 I got back to Washintun safe an' sound, an' found 'em 
 all tickled to deth to see me ; especially Jotham an' his 
 wife, who is fat an' flourishin', an' dresses as fine as a pea- 
 cock. He's makin' a siglit of money contractin' ; which, 
 up here, means, in perlite circles, patriotically and gratooi- 
 tusly, furnishin' things for the grand army of the Union, 
 but, in common langwidge, cheatin' Uncle Sam. I think 
 of goin' into it myself, it's so mity fashinable ; and then 
 I can have a grand house, a gilt carridge, a hansum 
 wife, an' fat bosses, like the rest on 'em. 
 
 To-day I called on the Secretary of War an' Presi- 
 dent Lincon ; an' they was both mity glad to see me. 
 Miss Lincon smiled on me as sweet as molasses, and little 
 Tad cum an' set on my nee to get the candy an' jack- 
 nife I carried him. But that was on'y a little by-play, 
 3^ou onderstand : tho' I du think little Tad a dreadful 
 interestin' child ; an' I told his father so. He laifed, 
 an' axed me if Miss Jeff. Davis had any ekal tu him. 
 I said yes, her 3'oung ones was jest as keen and cute as 
 if they was Yankees. But we talked most of the time 
 about war an' pollyticks. He's expectin', I see, to hear 
 every day, that Maclellan has whipped the South within 
 
280 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 au' incli of her life, laid Eiclimond in ashes, and hung 
 you leaders all up to the lamp-posts. At that, I told 
 him I gessed he'd got a leetle tu fast in his kalculations ; 
 for 3^ou'd got surcum volutions an' parryhellograms an' 
 ridouts, and all sorts of fortjfycations, piled sky-high 
 around Eiclimond, full ekal to the walls of Babjdon. 
 
 I told him, tu, that you'd got an army there, that I 
 should judge, by the looks on't, would count nigh upon 
 a million, with several generals quite ekal to the great 
 Napoleon ; and that you'd (in my private opinion) be 
 quite as likely tu send Jackson to whip 'round Banks 
 and Shields, and take Washintun, as Maclellan was tu 
 take the Confederate capitul. 
 
 He kinder looked scairt at that, you may depend, an' 
 immegiately sent out orders for the guards to keep a 
 sharp lookout, and be ready for 3'e. 
 
 By the best I can find out, I reckon Maclellan ain't 
 got more'n five hundred thousand men before E-ichmond; 
 so I gess 3"ou'll get along well enuf if I don't cum back. 
 
 But I like ter forgot the main thing I wanted to tell 
 ye ; an' that's about the gal I got ye to put in the Libby 
 for me, jest afore I cum away from Bichmond. The fact 
 is, the critter was as innercent as a lam on all them charges 
 I brought agin her ; and I don't mind tellin' ye on't, 
 now I've got away, safe an' sound. You see, she'd riled 
 me up like fury, an' I got so tarnal mad and spiteful, 
 that I thort I'd cum up with her somehow. To tell ye 
 the exact truth about it, we both used to live out to old 
 Major Hunter's at Hunter Hills, — she as governess an' 
 I as overseer ; an' I got plagily streaked with her. 
 Wall, she was mity toppin' an' top-lofty at first, an' 
 would hardly speak tu a feller, till arter Master Loyd 
 courted an' left her ; an' I couldn't get acquainted nohow. 
 
AGAIN IN BONDS. 281 
 
 But wlien she cum back from Richmond to take care of 
 the old major ('cause his wife wouldn't), you see, she was 
 kinder alone, an' we all eat together, and she was kinder 
 plausible. But jest as quick as I offered tu have her, 
 she turned up her nose an' cut my head over an' over. 
 Now, you know that don't feel good; but I didn't pretend 
 to mind it. I wa'n't goin' tu kick over my stew in that 
 way; so I held on as perlite as could be. At last I hap- 
 pened to think that I'd forgot to tell her about the twenty 
 thousand dollars I'd got banked up at the North; and 
 then I thort I'd got her sure. But — would you bleve it? 
 — jest as quick as I told her that, an' said we could go 
 up North an' cut a big swell with our money, the sassy 
 critter up an' told me that " no amount of gold would 
 indooce her to wed a Yankee slave-driver." That, I tell 
 ye, raised my dander. " You were ready enough to wed 
 a slave-owner," says I, " and where's the difference ? " 
 "All the difference in the world," says Miss Imperdence. 
 " For a man who inherits slaves from past generations, 
 to many of whom he is strongly attatched, I can have 
 some sympethy ; but for one, with a Northern edication 
 an' decent abilities, to cum down here to be a slave- 
 driver, I have none at all." Now wa'n't that aggra- 
 vatin' ? and there was considerable more of the same 
 sort of thing tu. 
 
 Wall, that onfortynite affair at the major's pervented 
 my persuin' the business ; and I lost her that time ; tho' 
 I may as well confess, while I'm about it, that she had 
 me dragged away from the fire, and saved my life when 
 everybody else turned agin me, an' was reddy to give me 
 a kick. Wall, I jest got out of that affair by the skin 
 of my teeth ; an' that was about all the skin I had left, 
 I was so singed. But, like a singed cat, I cum out pretty 
 
 24* 
 
282 THE EEBEL GENERAl's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 slick arter all. I saved all my money. I'd allers hated 
 my name, an' my red an' yaller head-fixins ; so, now that 
 my hair was all singed off, I had a chance to change to a 
 much more desirable color for both. I was mity tickled 
 at that ; an' it gin me a much better chance in this agency 
 bisness, in which I've had the honor to sarve your lord- 
 ships of the Confederate States, as I think, with immense 
 satisfaction to both parties. Wall, you see, on this last lit- 
 tle excursion to Kichmond, I cum across this gal agin, as 
 cute, imperdent, and sassy as ever ; an', finding her as 
 top-lofty, I thort I'd cum up with her nicely : so I got 
 a feller to help me for a dollar, and we gin the nigs lod- 
 num, an' nabbed her in her sleep, an' brought her on to 
 Richmond in my big wagon, without the guards noin' 
 any thing about it. But the devil was in it, tu purvent 
 my gittin' her, arter all. M}^ wagon got smashed up, an' 
 the gal spilt out, an' Loj'd Hunter, her old spark, cum 
 along, as Satan would have it, and carted her off, in spite 
 of me, to his mother's. I never was so mad an' disap- 
 pinted in my life. An' when I read a letter I found in 
 her room when we nabbed her, I fairly biled over with 
 righteous indignation. I found out then, that I'd got 
 awfully cheated and took in ; for, as sure as you live, the 
 critter had been an' got slyly married to one of your 
 darned old rebel generals, and was really another man's 
 wife. Another feller, it seemed, had carted her off, she 
 s'posed, to get her out of his way ; and this was a letter 
 she'd rit to her husban', and never sent. I put it in my 
 pocket, but forgot to read it till arter it was all over. 
 "Wall, I felt terribly imposed upon ; an', thinkin' I'd cum 
 up with her, I went tu work pretty soon to try an' copy 
 her ritin', an' finally manyfacturd them dockyments I 
 bad the honor tu present tu you. You'U find copys of 
 
Q 
 
 AGADT IN BONDS. 28-: 
 
 'era, in tlie N. E. corccr of the cupboard of my room, at 
 the tavern where I staid, that I forgot to burn when I 
 cum away, if nobody hasn't moved 'em. 
 
 I felt dreadful tickled when I got her shet up in that 
 nasty prison, an' cum away mity triumphant. But it 
 didn't last long ; for I'm naterally di-eadful soft-shelled 
 and tender-hearted towards the femenine sect: an' I 
 begun tu think pretty soon, that 'twas tu bad to treat 
 the gal so arter she'd saved my life, even if she was 
 sassy ; an' that she'd jest as good a rite tu git rich by 
 matrimony as I had in this agency business. Then I 
 was alwus a dreadful consiencious man, an' Orthodox 
 as fury when I'm to home ; an' I thort if I should want 
 tu set up for deacon or squire, or tu go tu Congress, 
 when the war's over, an' this story should git round, it 
 might hurt my popularity. Wall, my conshence kept 
 prickin' like nettles an' pins all the way tu Washintun, 
 until I gin in, and conclooded tu du the hansum thing 
 by lettin' you no the truth, and havin' the gal let out of 
 jail. An', thinkin' you mite be jest a leetle stuffy, I 
 thort I wouldn't cum back to Richmond jest now, tho' 
 I mean to cum and see you all when the war's over. 
 
 Good-by. 
 
 Yours truly an' affectionately, 
 
 Kexdall. 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the feelings of the 
 august Cabinet at the reading of this precious epistle, 
 which was received with mingled expressions of rage, 
 contempt, and laughter. Thus far they had all had a 
 good deal of confidence, — not of course in Kendall's 
 principles, but in his serving them in good faith for the 
 sake of his idol, gold, — a faith that Gen. Atherton had 
 
284 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BEXDE. 
 
 tried in vain to shake. But they saw clear enough now 
 that they had been, not only bought, but sold. In ex- 
 treme disgust with the whole affair, the President or- 
 dered the man's lodgings searched, and, if the proofs he 
 named were found, the enlargement of the prisoner. 
 
 " We probably see now why Atherton was so deeply 
 interested in this lady's case," said one of the secretaries. 
 
 " Yes," said another : " but I think, if it had been my 
 case, I would have been manly enough to have owned 
 the truth regarding so fair and talented a lady as Miss 
 Hale, if she was a Yankee governess. Her reply to this 
 accursed scoundrel, regarding the slave-owner, sets her 
 up wonderfully in my estimation." 
 
 The proofs were found where Sweep had indicated ; 
 and the intimation that she was allied to some one 
 in authority procured her respectful treatment at the 
 time of her release. Most likely, if she had applied in 
 the proper quarter, a refuge would have been provided 
 for her until she could have communicated with her 
 friends ; but this was not so to be. 
 
 Morning dawned upon her at last, bright and beauti- 
 ful ; though the deep mud everywhere testified to the 
 force of the storm, and made locomotion difficult. For 
 the fact that she had been undisturbed by any thing 
 through the night but the rats, the storm, and her own 
 fears, she thanked God, and took courage. 
 
 After a while, the woman came in with some bread and 
 coffee on a tray, but kept the door in her hand as she 
 set them down, and would scarcely answer Catharine's 
 questions or salutations. 
 
 She looked darker, fiercer, and even more repulsive by 
 the light of day than she had done the evening previous ; 
 and Catharine saw at once that she either would not or 
 
AGAIN IN BONDS. 285 
 
 dared not set her at liberty. She went out soon, locking 
 the door beliind her. Sure, from her gruff replies, that 
 Blondel miglit be expected at any moment, Catharine 
 soon began to look around keenly, seeking vainly for some 
 mode of escape. Her room was comfortless and dilapi- 
 dated, as indeed appeared to be the whole establislimcnt. 
 The plastering had fallen from the walls in unsightly 
 patches ; the floor was covered with dirt, piles of rags, old 
 clothes, and worn-out boots and shoes, as if it had been, 
 the general reservoir of coarse, cast-off wearing apparel. 
 Some of it had lain there until it was nearly devoured 
 by moths and rats, with which the building seemed over- 
 stocked. The only window looked out upon a cheerless 
 back yard, overgrown with weeds, beyond which lay the 
 open country outside of Eichmond. The floor was un- 
 carpeted of course ; the bed, a sack of straw upon an 
 ancient cot bedstead, which, with a broken chair, com- 
 posed the furniture. She examined the door, the win- 
 dow, — nailed down with a rusty spike, — the cupboard, 
 the closet, and in fact every thing that could be sup- 
 posed to afford an avenue of escape, like some wild ani- 
 mal pursued by the hunter and the hounds. 
 
 But to whom and to what should she escape, when she 
 knew no one in Richmond who would receive her ? Must 
 she go on foot and alone, through mud and mire, and 
 throw herself upon the protection of Gen. Atherton, who 
 had never yet announced their marriage to the world, 
 and, for aught she knew, might have insuperable objec- 
 tions against doing so at all? Every instinct of pride, 
 propriety, and female delicacy forbade such a thought ; 
 though even that were preferable to falling into the 
 hands of the odious Blondel. She felt as if every hour in 
 that place was fraught with terrible danger, and that there 
 
286 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 could scarce be more anywhere else. Slie must and would 
 get out of that house, she thought, before the day was 
 over; for the night would bring the odious wretch, she 
 was very sure. The hours passed slowly away. She be- 
 gan to grow sleepy, for she had not slept a wink the pre- 
 vious night. She would not give way to the feeling ; but 
 walked the room, looked out of the window, and tried its 
 fastening with all her wit and strength, but in vain, for 
 the want of some instrument to unloosen the spike. 
 Almost desperate, she began to turn over the piles of 
 dust-covered rubbish to see what she could find. At 
 last, hung up behind the closet-door, she found an old 
 blouse, and a pair of pants to match, that had evidently 
 belonged to some slender youth, which put new ideas 
 into her head, and suggested a plan for escape. An old 
 palm-leaf hat with a torn brim, and a pair of old boots, 
 the best and smallest she could find, completed the dis- 
 guise ; mthout which she felt sure no woman could 
 traverse town or country at that time without subjecting 
 herself to insult. 
 
 Placing the things in the closet all together, she 
 thought she would lie down for a moment to rest and ar- 
 range her plan for escape. She did not mean to go to 
 sleep ; but her heavy eyes unconsciously closed, and she 
 was in the land of dreams. 
 
 From this state of blissful unconsciousness she was 
 aroused at last by a deep, prolonged, and thunderous 
 roar, that rattled the glass in the old window, shook the 
 earth, and brought her to her feet, strongly excited by 
 terror and apprehension. She knew, however, as soon 
 as she had time to think, that it was the awful roar of 
 battle, — the thunder of the great conflict Gen. Atherton 
 had assured her was so near at hand. There had been 
 
AGAIN IN BONDS. 287 
 
 a good deal of firing for several days, but nothing to be 
 compared with this. So near and distinct seemed the 
 fearful utterances, that for some minutes she really thought 
 the city was besieged by the Union army. 
 
 But Catharine was not the only one who had been 
 suddenly awakened and alarmed by the terrible sounds ; 
 for hardly had she come to her senses before the old 
 stairs began to creak from rapidly-ascending footsteps, the 
 door was unlocked, and her female jailer rushed in. She 
 was half dressed, her eyes were wild with terror, and 
 her gray hair was streaming behind her like the snaky 
 locks of Medusa. Without stopping to close the door, 
 she ran up to Catharine, exclaiming, — 
 
 " We're lost ! — we're lost ! The Yankees are com- 
 ing ! We'll all be murdered in a trice ! " and wrung her 
 hands in agony of spirit ; while the tears streamed down 
 her sallow cheeks like rain. 
 
 This restored Catharine to her senses, and she realized 
 at once the ludicrousness of the fears of both. The 
 door stood open, and the idea of instant flight presented 
 itself ; but, being unprepared, it was discarded. 
 
 "You are mistaken, my good woman," she returned in 
 answer to her wild appeal. " The Yankees are miles 
 away from Richmond; but the two armies are no doubt 
 cannonading each other. They may come here in a few 
 days : but, if they do, I am not afraid ; for I have friends 
 in the Union army, who will protect me, and you, too, if 
 you will let me stay with you. I've no friends in Rich- 
 mond now ; and I am sure I do not know where else to 
 go." 
 
 Assured by Catharine's manner and tones, the poor 
 woman became calmer, but still looked at her sus- 
 piciously, as she said, — 
 
288 THE EEBEL GENERAL' S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 " Well, I dunno what the boss will say. He ordered 
 me to keep ye locked up : and there's the door wide 
 open ; " and she sprang towards it in evident fear of Cath- 
 arine's escape. '^ But I wonder he don't come/^ she 
 added : " he said, if he didn't come back last night, he 
 would to-day, sure. If there's a big fight, though, he'll 
 want to stay to clear up the ground." 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " 
 
 '' Oh ! no matter. I guess he knows where he gets the 
 biggest harvest with the fewest hard knocks." 
 
 " Where is that ? " 
 
 " Don't you know that a battle-field's ekal to a bank 
 or a jeweller's shop for money, watches, an' sich fixins' ? '' 
 
 ^' Ah, I understand," said Catharine in disgust; "and 
 there is a big fight, I should think by the noise : so I 
 guess he'll stsLj, and we will try and make ourselves 
 comfortable ; won't we ? " 
 
 " Well, I dunuo : I'm 'fraid he'll come and swear at 
 me or beat me, as he alius does." 
 
 " Why do you care for him ? Are you his wife ? " 
 
 " His wife ! " and a bitter sneer crossed her dark vis- 
 age. " I ought to be ; but he wants no wife. I have 
 been his victim, and he is as merciless as the grave. Not 
 even you, with all your youth and beauty, will escape 
 him, or be more to him in a week than I am to-day ; " 
 and she glanced at Catharine with a look of ill-concealed 
 jealousy and hatred. 
 
 "I will not be your rival if I can help it," she re- 
 turned ; " and you certainly can prevent it by letting me 
 go." 
 
 " I dare not do it : if he knew I did, he would kill 
 me." 
 
 " Well, if I must stay, do go and get a cup of tea, and 
 we will eat together, and be friends." 
 
AGAIN IN BONDS. . 289 
 
 "T want some myself, for I've had no dinner; and 
 he's like enough to come hungry as a bear. But there's 
 sicli a horrible din, I'm 'most 'fraid to go down alone. 
 But I must : for I dare not take ye with me, for fear 
 he'd come and find us." 
 
 So, with fear and trembling, she did leave the room 
 to prepare a meal for him, as well as herself and Cath- 
 arine, locking the door behind her. 
 
 ISTow was Catharine's time ; and there was not a mo- 
 ment to lose, if he was expected every moment. 
 
 "With nervous eagerness, she pulled out the strange 
 garments from the closet, and hastily exchanged them 
 for most of her own, which she put in their places. 
 
 They felt stiff and awkward at first, but were a tol- 
 erably decent fit of gray Kentucky jean. The old boots 
 went on very well over her cloth gaiters, — otherwise 
 they would have been too large. She could not help 
 smiling at the figure she cut, but missed the big hoops 
 more than any thing else. 
 
 Luckily for her now, though she thought it unlucky 
 enough at the time, Catharine had lost her long, shin- 
 ing hair by the fever, and her head now covered by a 
 short crop of fine, silky auburn curls. This made her 
 look very much like a pretty, fair-skinned, delicate boy 
 of sixteen ; and, when she put on the old hat; the meta- 
 morphosis was complete. 
 
 She next looked out of the window to see if any thing 
 could be seen of Blondel, — the act strongly reminding 
 her of Fatima in the old nursery tale of Bluebeard. 
 And behold, an equal to Bluebeard was there ! 
 
 Ab to what she was to do with herself, if she did 
 get away, she could not tell. Any way, it would be bet- 
 ter to starve in the streets than fall into the hands of 
 
 26 
 
290 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 the grizzly jayhawker. In boy's clothes, she could 
 surely find something to do, and be comparatively safe 
 from insult. 
 
 The continued and tremendous concussions of the can- 
 non that were still reverberating in her ears strongly 
 suggested the thought of flight to the Union army. 
 
 Having completed her arrangements, she knelt down, 
 and fervently commended herself to God for protec- 
 tion and guidance. 
 
 The door of her room and that of the closet opened 
 outwards side by side. So, as soon as she heard the wo- 
 man's footstep on the stairs, she slipped into the closet, 
 leaving the door ajar. When she came up, unlocked 
 tlie door, and came in with a waiter in her hands, and 
 moved along to set it down on the bed, Catharine slipped 
 out just behind her, and was out of the room, and had 
 the door locked upon her former jailer, before that lady 
 was hardly aware of what was going on. 
 
 She had indeed been struck with astonishment at 
 the glimpse of a strange boy coming out of the closet ; 
 and in her surprise nearly let her waiter fall before she 
 missed her charge, or at all comprehended the truth. 
 
 Leaving her screaming ^' Murder ! Fire ! Thieves ! " 
 and all other sorts of imprecations, Catharine ran like 
 lightning down the stairs to the front entrance. Find- 
 ing that bolted, she started to go through a front room 
 to the rear, thinking she might there find an easier mode 
 of egress. Hearing the sound of wheels, she looked out 
 of the window, and there, to her horror, beheld the 
 odious Blondel driving around the house to the rear in 
 his old rickety mule-wagon. 
 
 For an instant she was paralyzed: but he was looking 
 up to the chamber-windows, listening to the woman's 
 
AGAIN IN BONDS. 291 
 
 horrid imprecations; so she recovered her wits, and ran 
 back to the front door. By her utmost exertions she 
 at last succeeded in removing the heavy bolt, and open- 
 ing it. The street, or rather lane, that led to the city, 
 was in sight all the way from the front of the house, 
 and of course out of sight from the rear; so it was just 
 possible for her to secure her retreat before he discov- 
 ered her escape. Her heart stood still for a moment, 
 as she realized her position, then gave a quick bound 
 as she sprang from the threshold, and ran swiftly down 
 the lane. 
 
 We may be sure that she did not let the grass grow 
 under her feet as she ran back to Richmond, and very 
 sure that the old roof was nearly raised with curses, 
 when Blondel came in, found the woman locked up, and 
 Catharine gone : he had come back almost wholly on her 
 account ; for he had seen her through the window the 
 evening previous, and compelled the woman to confess 
 the truth. Before she got to the city, her lameness had 
 partially returned, and her fictitious strength was fast 
 deserting her. When she reached the main street, she 
 looked back, and, seeing no one in pursuit, stopped a mo- 
 ment to take breath. She then timidly mingled with the 
 great crowd of people on foot, on horseback, and in 
 carriages, wagons, and ambulances, all seemingly mov- 
 ing in one unbroken stream, in the direction of the omi- 
 nous sounds that still continued to stun the ear, and rend 
 the smoky, sulphurous atmosphere. She thought, at 
 first, that everybody must notice her awkwardness in 
 her strange garments; but, as no one seemed to think or 
 care, she became more assured, and paused a moment 
 before a handsome house to consider what she had beN 
 ter do. 
 
292 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 At this moment a gentleman in the uniform of a 
 Confederate colonel, whose face seemed somehow familiar, 
 rode up to the curbstone, and, seeing no one else more 
 available, said, — 
 
 " Boy, will you hold my horse a few moments ? I 
 have business here." 
 
 ^•Certainly," said Catharine, promptly taking the 
 reins, yet sorry for it the next moment, when she 
 thought of Blondel. 
 
 The gentleman went into the mansion, was gone 
 some time, and came out looking very sorrowful. He 
 mounted his fine horse, tossed her a few small coins for 
 her trouble, and then said, as he looked her over 
 keenly, — 
 
 " What is your name, my son ? It seems as if I 
 ought to know you." 
 
 " My name is — is EUery Hale, sir," she returned, as 
 the hot color flashed over her face. She had not once 
 thought of assuming a name ; so, upon the impulse of 
 the moment, she gave a part of her own maiden name, 
 which was Catharine Ellery Hale. 
 
 '^ Do you belong here in Eichmond ? " he questioned. 
 
 "No, sir," slie replied, "I am from the country." 
 
 " What are you doing here ? " 
 
 " Nothing ; but I want something to do. My 
 friends were all gone when I arrived : their house is shut, 
 and I am homeless." 
 
 "Would you like to enlist? My regiment will be 
 along very soon. We want men, boys, — any thing, to 
 fill up the ranks, that can handle a musket." 
 
 " No," she instantly replied, " I could never consent 
 to kill men, — made in God's own image." 
 
 " Well, you do look rather young for the business. 
 
AGAIN IN BONDS. 293 
 
 But what can you do ? That fair, blushing face, and 
 those wliite, slender hands never saw many liardships, 
 I fancy." 
 
 " The hand is a feeble one, it is true ; for I have been 
 ill : yet it can take care of the sick and wounded, and 
 has done it, not only here, but at Manassas." 
 
 " Indeed ! Well, if that is the case, you can have 
 plenty of business by going with us, if that tremen- 
 dous roar signifies any thing. But will you go ? " 
 
 Catharine hesitated a moment : then, with a sudden 
 impulse, she said, '' I will go, sir." 
 
 It was her first chance ; and she was ready to do al- 
 most any thing, to get out of the way of the odious 
 Blondel, who, she felt sure, would be seeking for her 
 everywhere. 
 
 She had remembered, at that moment, seeing Col. 
 Elliot at Mrs. Hunter's. She knew him to be an honora- 
 ble man, too ; and that decided her to accept his proposal 
 in her desperate circumstances. She never once thought 
 of making herself known to him, and claiming his pro- 
 tection, as she might have done : and, if she had, tlie 
 thought of her repulses the day before from those of her 
 own sex, upon whom she felt that she had some claim, 
 would have made her hesitate. She knew enough other 
 distinguirihed people in Richmond ; but if those ladies, 
 knowing her and her desperate circumstances so much 
 better, would suspect and scorn her, aho felt as if uU 
 the rest would do the same. 
 
 But she had little time for reflection. The troops 
 soon came along : a place was found for her in one of 
 the ambulances ; and, before she hardly realized what 
 she was about, she was on her way to the battle-field. 
 Was it destiny ? 
 
 2ii* 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ESCAPIXG. 
 
 THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 
 
 N her way to the Chickahominy, Catharine 
 had plentj^ of time for reflection ; and her 
 heart became oppressed with new alarms, as 
 she thought of the chances of battle, the 
 constant exposure to detection, the fear of insult, and 
 all the horrors connected with army life. 
 
 Her travelling companions proved to be a surgeon 
 and his assistant, witli a half-invalid officer, who, she 
 found from the conversation, had just come from a dis- 
 tant post to the support of the army before Richmond. 
 Tliey seemed to have greatly exaggerated ideas of the 
 strength and immensity of McClellan's army," and 
 ratlier doubtful of the success of their cause generally. 
 
 She drew her old hat down over her eyes, so as to es- 
 cape observation ; and for a while they scarcely noticed 
 her. At last the surgeon turned to her, and said, — 
 
 " So jou, too, are going out to the camp, my boy ; 
 arc you ? " 
 
 " That is my intention, sir," she replied. 
 
 " You have no arms I see. What are you going 
 there for ? " 
 
 " To help take care of the wounded, sir." 
 
 294 
 
ESCAPING. 295 
 
 " Your Lands tlon't look like bloody work, or indeed 
 work of any kind : they are as white as a lady's." 
 
 " They can work for all that ; tlioiigh I have been 
 sick, and for a long time idle," she said with a height- 
 ened color. 
 
 " You are unfit for the camp then, as well as myself," 
 said the young officer. " Why do you go there ? " 
 
 " Because I have neither friends nor money now, and 
 Lave nowhere else to go." 
 
 " Well, it's a pity you were not a lady, with that fair 
 face, those beautiful hands, and clear, silvery tones. If 
 you were, I expect I should fall in love with you," said 
 the surgeon's assistant with a merry laugh. 
 
 "And then what would become of the charming 
 widow ? " said his companion laughingly. 
 
 "Her reign no doubt would be over, and, like all past 
 dynasties, make but a line on the pages of the history 
 of one human heart." 
 
 " You are so philosophical about it, that I guess the 
 impression was not very deep. For myself, I would 
 rather have this young chap remain a boy : for I need 
 another assistant ; and a green hand is better than none. 
 If I am not mistaken," he continued aside to his com- 
 panion, " there is a world of grit and resolution in 
 those mournful eyes, — a look, too, that one trusts and 
 puts confidence in." 
 
 The torrent of rain the night before, and the constant 
 stream of travel, made the roads horribly muddy ; yet, as 
 it was within seven miles of Itichmond that the armies 
 wei3 contending, the journey was soon over ; and the 
 sublime horrors of the battle-field burst upon their view. 
 
 The corps-commander to whom Col. Elliot liad orders 
 to report did not Iiappcn to be engaged that day ; so 
 
296 THE EEBEL GE^TERAL'S LOYAL BRmE. 
 
 they soon found their place in the line, and made tlieir 
 arrangements for whatever exigencies might befall 
 them. 
 
 Long before they reached their position, Catharine 
 had begun to realize — in the murderous and deafen- 
 ing roar, the whistling of sliot, the shrieking of shell, the 
 sulphurous smoke, and difficulty of breathing the sti- 
 fling air — some of the horrors of the battle-field ; but it 
 was not until the battle for the day was over, and she, 
 with others, was ordered to assist in bringing in the 
 wounded, — following the track of carnage red with 
 human gore, and thickly strewn with dead horses, torn 
 limbs, and dead and dj'ing wrecks of mortality, — that 
 she felt, in all its horrors, the woe and anguish the mad 
 passions of men had brought upon her suffering coun- 
 
 try- 
 
 The attack that day had been a surprise to the Union 
 army; some divisions of which had been driven from 
 their positions with terrible slaughter, leaving in their 
 retreat a track red with carnage, and piled with heaps 
 of the slain. The brave Union generals did every 
 thing in their power to check the retreat, and turn the 
 fortunes of the day, but all in vain. 
 
 By some strange oversight or mismanagement. Gens. 
 Casey and Keyes had been stationed so far in advance 
 of the main army, with the former five, and the latter but 
 eight thousand men, that, though they fought with the 
 most heroic valor, they could not be expected to conquer 
 the sixty-four thousand valiant soldiers that the keen- 
 sighted rebels, who well understood their weakness, 
 brought against them. 
 
 Nothing but disaster could have been expected; so 
 the Confederates claimed a great victory at Fair Oaks, 
 and Seven Pines. 
 
ESCAPING. 297 
 
 But, if victory it was, it was terribly dear-bought, as 
 the thousands of their own dead and dying too surely 
 testiiied. The next day, which was Sunday, the rebels 
 again attacked the Union army with determined bra- 
 very, but were driven back witli great slaugliter, leav- 
 ing their dead and wounded behind them. 
 
 For some days Catharine shared the fortunes of Col. 
 Elliot's regiment, — sleeping at night, when sleep was 
 possible, among the piles of baggage, and employed by 
 day, as a waiter and assistant, in the work of the field- 
 hospitals. 
 
 The Union army at this time was stretched for twenty 
 miles along the banks of the Chickahominy ; and the 
 line of battle was ten miles long. 
 
 Though she saw nothing of Gen. Atherton, Cath- 
 arine heard that he was posted some three or four miles 
 away from her. In her present state of mind, she pre- 
 ferred that that space should divide them. She preferred 
 the toil, hardship, and danger of her position to the 
 idea of going to him humbly and unsolicited, and throw- 
 ing herself upon his protection. Yet there was an un- 
 comfortable feeling in the thought of his displeasure, if 
 they ever did meet, and he found out the truth. This, 
 with the constant temptation to escape to the Union 
 lines, was torturing, to say the least of it. 
 
 But the lines were so closely watched and guarded, 
 and deserters were so severely punished, that she dared 
 not make the experiment. 
 
 For days, there was constant skirmishing and several 
 serious engagements, but as yet none as tremendous 
 and bloody as that of Seven Pines, where the rebels 
 confessed to a loss of four thousand, which Catharine 
 had every reason for supposing was three or four times 
 that number. 
 
298 THE REBEL GENEP.AL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 She had taken the place Dr. Garnett assigned her; 
 and he found, as the days went by, that he had no reason 
 to doubt his first impressions regarding tlie courage 
 and resolution of the pale, sligKt youtli who liad from 
 the first taken his fancy, and won liis protection and 
 friendship. 
 
 Silent, shy, and reserved, she j^et won the respect, 
 esteem, and confidence of those around her by her 
 constant and devoted attention to the wants of the 
 wounded, and by lier eagerness to seek out and to save 
 all, both friends and f^es, who were lying on the field of 
 battle. Buoyed up by the most heroic courage, and re- 
 pelled by no scene of horror, no hand was firmer or as 
 tender as hers in binding up broken limbs, or washing 
 ghastly wounds, or clean-sing the mud and gore from the 
 most brutal and repulsive of the swearing, godless wretches 
 who came sometimes under her care. Xo skill was found 
 greater than hers in restoring the fluttering pulses of the 
 sorely-wounded, or in re-animating and cheering their 
 fainting spirits. And, wlien all earthlj^ hope was over, 
 she could point them to that better land, where a Saviour 
 was waiting to receive all true penitents. It was noticed, 
 too, by some that she was especially kind to the wounded 
 Union prisoners who had fallen into rebel hands ; whose 
 claims others around her were inclined to ignore, and 
 who, but for her intercession, would sometimes be 
 treated with positive unkindness and inhumanity. 
 
 If she afibrded '^•' aid and comfort to the enemy "by 
 caring for them, it was certainly offset by the lives she 
 saved, the* agony she mitigated, and the loving care she 
 bestowed upon her loyal friends. 
 
 The wounded were transferred to Hichmond as fast 
 as the means of transportation would admit, until every 
 
ESCAPING. 299 
 
 hospital, warehouse, public building, and almost every 
 private residence, was full ; and still the continued fight- 
 ing kept the field-hospitals crowded, and the surgeons 
 and their assistants fully occupied. 
 
 Nearly a month had elapsed since Catharine had 
 come to the camp ; during whicli time she had made 
 several trips on the carstoEichraond, in care of wounded 
 soldiers. In spite of her life of toil, exposure, and excite- 
 ment, she had been growing phj^sically better every day. 
 By using Dr. Garnett's prescriptions, her lameness had 
 vanislied. The bright color of health, as well as the 
 brownness of exposure, tinged both clieek and brow ; 
 though at heart she was sorely troubled and discon- 
 tented: for, in spite of her position and connections, 
 we must remember that sbe was still loyal to the Union 
 cause, still exultant at their successes, still overwhelmed 
 with cjrief at their defeats. 
 
 It is true, that, if it had depended upon her, the war 
 would never have been. But, in spite of her opinions, it 
 was a fixed fact ; and, being so, it was the most natural 
 thins: in the world that slie should side with her North- 
 ern people. 
 
 And now that Eichmond was threatened by them as 
 by a moving pillar of fire, and she knew their success 
 would at once crush the rebellion, or their defeat fear- 
 fully prolong the struggle, she could not but hope and 
 pray for the success of their arms, and the overthrow 
 of the immense hosts gathered to oppose them. Yet 
 she could not blame the Confederates, under the cir- 
 cumstances, for defending their capital, — the ark, as 
 they considered it, of their public safety. 
 
 But as the days went by, and Catharine learned, from 
 Union prisoners, the real fact, she trembled for the safety 
 
300 THE EEBEL GENTSRAL's LOYAL BRmE. 
 
 of the Union army. She knew that tho}' had lingered 
 so long on the way, and been exposed to such deleteri- 
 ous influences, that, notwithstanding their large num- 
 bers, they were now no fit match for the formidable, ex- 
 ultant, and acclimated hosts, secure in their own de- 
 fence, fighting on their own ground, and in defence of 
 their own homes, brought to oppose them. This -being 
 so, it was in vain for the brave Union leaders to go up, 
 as they did, in Prof. Lowe's balloon, a thousand feet or 
 more in the air, to survey the battle-fields or llichmond? 
 — that Mecca of their hopes they were never destined to 
 reach. They had indeed a splendid viev^^ unfolded to 
 their gaze, but not one calculated to inflame tliem with 
 enthusiasm, or inspire them with undoubting assurances 
 of success. 
 
 '' There indeed lay Kichmond, across the western 
 horizon, — a confased medley of red and brown and 
 black, — w4th its wliite spires glittering in the sun- 
 shine ; but before and around it, in all directions, Avere 
 great, heavy brown fortifications, with thick, solid walls, 
 pleutifully sprinkled with frowning cannon, that loolied 
 any thing but inviting to an assaulting foe." 
 
 Away to the South, the James River rolled its glitter- 
 ing waves through a deep, crooked valley 5 bearing many 
 white sails upon its bosom, that looked, in the distance, 
 like swans breasting the angry current. 
 
 Beneath their feet, from beyond the line of vision, 
 ran tlie now famous but dreaded Chickahomin\^, — like 
 a thread of silver, bordered by its dark-green, mias- 
 matic swamps, — beautiful to the upper, if not the 
 lower view, but full of disease and lingering death. 
 "■ Between this and the fortifications before Richmond, as 
 far as the eye could reach, lay the rebel camps, and all 
 
THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 301 
 
 the parapliernalia of war that surrounded them. Op- 
 posite to them, and partly on the other side of the river, 
 lay their own magnificent but depleted army, waiting 
 eagerly for the signal of onset their leaders, now that 
 they realized the truth, dared not give." "Between 
 the two armies lay a broad, dark-green and yellow 
 curved belt ; upon which neither men nor teams nor 
 w\agons, nor any other military signs were visible; but 
 over which cannon-balls were thrown, and scouts and 
 pickets hid from each other. Broad, quiet, apparently 
 deserted, solemn and sombre, Jupiter's rings or Saturn's 
 belts never presented a grander sight to mortal eye." 
 
 It was easy enough in those days to blame generals 
 and statesmen for the failure of that peninsular cam- 
 paign ; but we know now that the hand of God was in 
 it, leading us in deep humiliation, by a way we knew 
 not, to do tardy justice to the down-trodden and af- 
 flicted millions who had groaned so long beneath the 
 yoke of bondage. 
 
 Until that dark hour of humiliation and disappoint- 
 ment, our rulers, and the nation generally, had not 
 looked the thing steadily in the face. They had hoped 
 to gain peace by a shorter and far less objectionable 
 route. The South must be coaxed back : so they sent 
 the poor fugitives off from our lines, thus consigning 
 them to the lash and the torture and a still more unen- 
 durable bondage. Our generals refused, at their hands, 
 that knowledge of tlie country and its armies that 
 would have insured them victories where they suffered 
 defeats. Xow, however, both rulers and people were 
 made to see that they must choose between the disso- 
 lution of the Union and the dethronement of slavery ; 
 and that the latter alone was the price of victory. An 
 
 26 
 
302 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 earlier recognition of this fact would have saved rivers 
 of blood and millions of treasure ; but the nation was 
 not then prepared for this, and had to pay a bitter pen- 
 alty for its blindness. 
 
 The beautiful June da.ys nearly all passed away ; 
 and still the Union army were no nearer Eichmond 
 than they were a month before. And while the w^hole 
 North were w^ondering at the delay, and looking eagerly 
 forward to the hour that was to give the coveted prize 
 into their hands, the whole South was boiling over with 
 rage, hatred, and plans of vengeance against the invad- 
 ers, who dared to dream of conquering them, and cap- 
 turing the stronghold of Confederate power. 
 
 Gen. Lee had taken the place of Johnston, the leader 
 of the army of the Potomac, who was seriously wounded 
 at Seven Pines ; and they waited onl}^ for the arrival of 
 the brave Jackson to commence the demolition of the 
 Union army. 
 
 He had just met with brilliant successes in the Shen- 
 andoah Valley. He had captured an immense amount 
 of army and medical stores from another division of 
 the Union arm}^, and immediately transferred them 
 to the relief of the Confederates before Kichmond ; to 
 whom they were a godsend just at that time. As he 
 retreated immediately after his exploit, tlie Union gen- 
 erals felt as if they had driven him out of the valley, 
 when in fact he was only hastening, by special orders, 
 to the relief of the beleaguered capital. 
 
 Catharine knew all this ; and w^hen, upon the after- 
 noon of the 26th of June, Jackson's advance began to 
 arrive upon the field, and the joyful news was echoed 
 from lip to lip, she began to tremble for the fate of the 
 Union army. 
 
THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 303 
 
 All that long, weary afternoon a fierce battle raged 
 along the lines, but without any definite results, except 
 the destruction of human life, and the rapid filling up 
 of the field-hospitals. The next morning at daybreak 
 the bloody work commenced anew. 
 
 Having passed a sleepless night caring for the poor 
 sufferers, she felt wretched, weary; and nervous, and real- 
 ized more acutely than ever before the momentous is- 
 sues that might be decided by the conflict of an hour 
 or a day. She knew that Jackson was hourly expected 
 upon the field, and that the prestige of his already fa- 
 mous name would go nearly as far towards inspiring the 
 brave Southern heart as that of Napoleon did with his 
 indomitable French legions. 
 
 An inward prescience she had felt once before, and 
 did not presume to question, assured her that some one 
 she loved, and with wliom she held invisible chords of 
 communion, would be in that day's fight, and in great 
 danger. She thought of her brothers, of Llo^^d Hunter, 
 and even Gen. Atherton, in the wordless prayer sent up 
 for the safety of all who were dear to her. 
 
 That day was fought the battle of Gaines Mills, con- 
 ceded by all to be one of the bloodiest and most hotly 
 contested of the campaign. 
 
 From the first, tlie Confederates had determined that 
 this should be a decisive day tu them. For a month, 
 the people and the soldiery had borne the infliction of a 
 Union army before their gates with ill-eoncealed impa- 
 tience; but their leaders knew that they lost nothing 
 by delay. The miasma of the swamps of the Chickahom- 
 iny was reaping for them a far richer but quieter death- 
 harvest than any common series of battles could bestow. 
 
 But every thing was now prepared for the final issue: 
 
304 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIBE. 
 
 The Soutli demanded it, and it must come. Witli Rich- 
 mond at their backs, — their national existence, as well 
 as all their slave property, at stake, — ^Yith skilful gen- 
 erals, and superabounding in regiments fierce and reso- 
 lute as tigers, they had every advantage that position, 
 skill, and numbers could give. 
 
 So it was in vain for McClellan to plan ; or for Porter 
 to thunder with his terrific cannon ; or for Smith and 
 Sumner, Hooker and Kearney, to reap them with a 
 frightful death-harvest; for still they rolled upon the 
 Union lines in successive and thunderous waves, until, 
 after long hours of bloody and useless resistance, the 
 Union forces were obliged to give way or be annihilated. 
 
 Catharine saw the advancing columns as they went 
 to their bloody work. Through blinding dust, and sti- 
 fling smoke, she eagerly watched the evolutions of large 
 bodies of cavalry, infantry, and artillery without pretend- 
 in^ to understand them. But she did understand 
 the meaning of the shouts that rent the air when Jack- 
 son came upon the field with his war-worn legions ; and 
 she felt as if there was a glorious inspiration in the 
 presence of that stern warrior, that would go far towards 
 insuring to the South a victory. Xor was she mistaken. 
 He had arrived at the most critical moment, — when 
 the shattered Southern columns, pressed back with terri- 
 ble slaughter, wavered, and were about to fly; and by 
 the prestige of his renown, and the valor of his veteran 
 troops, turned the fortunes of the day. 
 
 He took his appointed place in the line, and "with 
 fierce grandeur the charge swept on, unchecked by the 
 terrible fire of the triple lines of infantry on the hills, 
 or the cannon on both sides of the river, that rever- 
 berated; and mingled in one grand roar, like the noise 
 
THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 305 
 
 of a great cataract," or the sweep of a tornado over a 
 forest of giant trees, bearing tliem down like a bed of 
 reeds beneath its terrible stroke, and with a terrific 
 power that seemed to shake the earth. Through the 
 thick, blinding, sulphurous smoke, the sun looked down, 
 like a red fiery eye, upon a scene over which Human- 
 ity shuddered. Pity veiled her terrified gaze, and Mercy 
 wept tears of blood. The red sun sank at last beneath 
 the western horizon ; and night put an end to a con- 
 flict in which the Union army was forced to retreat, 
 and the Confederates claimed a great victory. 
 
 Long after that conflict ceased, the air was filled with 
 dust and smoke and sulphurous vapor. The earth shook 
 no more with the deafening roar of cannon and musketry, 
 with the tramp of mighty armies or the continued roll 
 of heavy wagons ; yet Death continued to reap a rich 
 harvest of human souls, and the widespread fields and 
 woods for miles were dabbled with human gore. 
 
 Friends and foes, by thousands, lay side by side, or 
 in piles, where the battle raged fiercest, — peaceful now, 
 in the last long sleep of death. 
 
 Men of noble intellect and lofty ambition, who fought 
 for glory and renown, were there, — men of pure lives 
 and generous impulses, who fought, as they believed, 
 for the cause of truth, justice, and human liberty. Men 
 of shining talents, cultivated intellect, and holy aspira- 
 tions, who believed they were God's instruments in the 
 establishment of the Kedeemer's kingdom on earth, were 
 mingled in frightful confusion with some of the greatest 
 villains who ever cursed it by their presence. Some of 
 these were still sending up shrieks and groans and oaths 
 and curses, mingled with prayers, to pitying Heaven 
 for forgiveness, help, and mercy. The banners under 
 
306 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BEIBE. 
 
 wliich tliey had fouglit lay torn and bloody, and tram- 
 pled in the dust; while arms and trappings, caissons 
 and broken wagons, and dead and dying horses, cum- 
 bered the ground, and completed the horror and desola- 
 tion of the scene. 
 
 As the night came on, patrolling and fatigue parties 
 of soldiers, with lanterns, ambulances, and stretchers, 
 traversed field and meadow, swamp and woodland, — 
 wherever the battle raged fiercest, — gathering up the 
 wounded, and administering temporary relief to those 
 who were evidently bound upon that last sad journey to 
 the land where wars and fightings arQ over, and all is 
 peace. 
 
 Among the fatigue-parties ranging over the battle- 
 field, was one from the regiment to which Catharine 
 was attached, accompanied by herself and Dr. Garnett. 
 They were making a special search for the body of Col. 
 Elliot, who was known to have fallen in the fight, but 
 who, thus far, had not been distinguished from the 
 slain thousands around him. They had found plenty of 
 others, however, to whose appeals for help they could not 
 turn a deaf ear, until their ambulance was full, and it 
 was necessary to return to the camp. 
 
 " It is strange we do not find him," said the sergeant. 
 "I know that it was somewhere near this big tree that he 
 fell from his horse in the heat of the battle ; but the ex- 
 act spot I do not remember." 
 
 " Well," said Dr. Garnett, '■ we will return to the hos- 
 pital with these poor men, and then come back and 
 renew the search for our noble coloneL" 
 
 " I am afraid we could not again find the spot in the 
 darkness and gloom of night, sir." 
 
 " We might leave some one with a lantern to signal- 
 ize us by and by," said the doctor. 
 
THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 307 
 
 "But who'll want to stay, — alone with the dead? 
 I don't." 
 
 " Nor I !'' said his companion. 
 
 " 1*11 bet you an X that this little fellow has got more 
 pluck than either of you," said the doctor, laughing in 
 spite of their sad surroundings. " How is it, my son ? 
 Are you afraid to stay ? " 
 
 A feeling of awe crept over Catharine, as she looked 
 around upon the ghastly faces, and glazed and glazing 
 eyes ; yet she said, almost in spite of herself, — 
 
 " I am not afraid of the dead : I can still care for 
 the living. I will stay." 
 
 " Well, then, my brave boy, we will leave you a lan- 
 tern, a flask of brandy, and a canteen of water; and 
 I want you to continue the search all around here for 
 Col. Elliot. If he is still living, you may, by staying 
 here, save his life ; and you know how dear that is to us 
 all." She needed no urging to do this: for he had 
 been very kind to her from the first, and she was 
 deeply grateful. So, as soon as they were gone, she 
 commenced the search among the dead and dying, who 
 had fallen thickly around that particular tree. She had 
 begun, and made the circuit of the tree, and was bend- 
 in"- over a poor ragged and wounded rebel soldier, and 
 pouring water between his parched lips, when she heard 
 a deep groan just behind her. She turned, and, flash- 
 ing the light in that direction, saw that it .did indeed 
 come froni her friend, Col. Elliot. He had raised him- 
 self upon one elbow, and, with a dull, dreary look and 
 pallid face, was looking around him. He was but just 
 aroused from a deathlike stupor, caused by the loss 
 of life-blood. She was joyfully surprised to find him 
 alive, but shocked by his ghastly appearance. She ran 
 
308 THE EEBEL general's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 to him at once, pronouncing his name. He feebly held 
 out his hand to her, and smiled gratefully as he said, in 
 a faint, spasmodic tone, — 
 
 " How glad I am to see you, my son ! You see, I am 
 sorely wounded. I am very weak. I guess I must — have 
 fainted. Did we gain the victory ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir: the Union army has retreated," she said 
 with a keen pang of disappointment. 
 
 " Thank God ! Our cause is just, and must prosper in 
 the end. Please give me some water. Oh, how horribly 
 that limb pains me ! — and my side ! I fear, Ellerj^, — 
 that I am mortally wounded. If I die here, carry my 
 best love — to my friends. God, in whom I trust, knows — 
 I would gladly die — to save mj country — from defeat 
 and shame.'"' 
 
 "Oh, I think you will live!" said she earnestly. 
 " Your voice grows stronger every moment. Let me 
 bind up your wounds as well as I can, and stop the flow 
 of life-blood ; and I think you will survive." 
 
 " I hope so, — if only — to help — drive these invad- 
 ers — from our soil." 
 
 She did not reply, but busied herself in tearing strips 
 from a torn and blood-stained banner, with which she 
 bound up his wounds to the best of her ability. Soothed 
 and comforted by her kind ministrations, he soon began 
 to look around the gory field, which was mostly shrouded 
 in darkness. 
 
 "What is that?" he suddenly exclaimed, — "those 
 lights moving yonder ? " 
 
 " I think it must be some of the patrols, or perhaps 
 Dr. Garnett and some of your men, who were coming 
 back to look for you. I must wave the signal ; " and 
 she swung the lantern back and forth to attract their 
 
THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 809 
 
 attention. " There ! They see it now, and are coming 
 til is way. How glad I am that I have found you 
 alive ! " 
 
 " And I, too, thank God ! I always felt — as if you 
 were somehow — akin to me, and would do me good. Per- 
 haps it was hecause — you so strongly resemble — a lady I 
 
 saw last year — in Richmond. She was from the North, 
 
 and I would give a great deal — to know what became of 
 her. She was said to have been carried off — by bandits 
 last autumn. I have watched you — a great deal, — tra- 
 cing the semblance ; and sometimes — I have thou^^ht 
 
 But look ! Those are not — tlie patrols. They have 
 none of their equipments ! Good heavens ! They are 
 the robbers — of the dead, — the accursed jayhawkers." 
 
 They were indeed the jayhawkers; and Catharine, 
 with her heart beating with a wild and terrible fear, in- 
 stinctively lowered the slides of her dark lantern, as, 
 with strained gaze, she watched them at their hellish 
 work 
 
 On, on they came, nearer and nearer, apparently 
 some fifteen or twenty in the gang. They rifled the 
 pockets of the dead of money, rings, watches, minia- 
 tures, knives, and small arms, — every thing in fact that 
 was valuable, or pleased their fancy. They robbed the 
 wounded too ; and if they resisted, or attempted to ex- 
 postulate, plunged their knives into their bosoms, while 
 shrieks of fear, and wails of agony, followed in their 
 train. The battle had been the most fiercely contested, 
 and Death's richest harvest had been reaped, in that por- 
 tion of the field where Col. Elliot had fallen. Many offi- 
 cers, in both Union and rebel uniform, lay there, cold 
 and still. It was from such as these they hoped for the 
 most abundant spoil ; and they pursued their nefarious 
 work with the greatest celerity and despatch. 
 
310 THE EEBEL GENERAl's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 " See ! Tliey are coming ! " exclaimed the wounded 
 officer in a hoarse whisper. "Fly to the woods, my dear 
 boy, and save 3'ourself if 3*011 can." 
 
 " Oh, I cannot go, and leave you here to die in that 
 horrible way ! " she murmured tremblingly. " Here, take 
 some of this brandy ; and then let me see if I cannot 
 help you to fly too." 
 
 He took the brandj^ ; and then Catharine got hold of 
 his hands and, tried to raise hini; or at least drag him 
 towards the woods, that were near at hand." 
 
 " It is in vain ! " said he mournfully, as, after repeated 
 but unsuccessful efforts to rise, he fell back upon the 
 sod. "My strength has all vanished with mj life-blood, 
 and yours is unequal to the task of dragging me to a 
 place of safety. I must stay, and meet my fate as best 
 I may ! Here, take my pistols : they are loaded ! Go, 
 and may God bless, protect, and guide you ! " 
 
 " I, too, have arms, and know how to use them. 
 Hark! what's that?" and she sunk down upon her 
 knees beside him. 
 
 " It is the patrols," he whispered with deep feeling. 
 
 " Thank God ! we shall be saved." 
 
 Instantlj', upon the sound of their approach, the lights 
 of the blood-and-gold seekers vanished; and, cowering be- 
 hind rocks, bushes, and heaps of slain, no one, upon a cas- 
 ual inspection, would have dreamed of the living power 
 of evil lurking upon that terrible field of death. 
 
 But Catharine and the poor colonel were doomed to 
 disappointment. The robbers, though still at a little 
 distance, were much nearer than the patrols, who soon 
 turned off in another direction, and were lost to their 
 view behind the woods. 
 
 The fiendish wretches then rose to their feet, and re- 
 sumed their satanic work. 
 
THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 311 
 
 " God's will be done ! " moaned the wretched colonel. 
 " It is ray destiny ! Stoop down here, Ellery, and take 
 my watch and purse, and one kiss in memory of her 
 you so strongly resemble, and then go, — go, and God 
 bless you ! " 
 
 She took the precious keepsakes, even to the brotherly 
 kiss, yet with blinding tears of grief and regret, and 
 was still hesitating whether to go, or stay and defend 
 her friend with her life, when her eye fell upon the fore- 
 most villain of the gang. 
 
 After finishing the struggles of a wounded Union 
 officer, who attempted evidently to resist his brutality, 
 and fruitlessly searching his pockets, he raised himself 
 to look around, and scent some richer prey. As he did 
 so, the light he carried gleamed over his swarthy visage ; 
 and, with chilling blood and paralyzed limbs, Catharine 
 beheld the malignant face of Blondel. 
 
 "God help us! it is he!" she murmured, — "the 
 wretch who murdered Major Hunter, and captured " — 
 
 "Go, — go, then, in God's name ! He will be here in 
 a few minutes. Biit the strength is coming back to this 
 right arm. I shall not die unavenged. Farewell, dear 
 boy. Don't wait another instant," he whispered. 
 
 She needed no more urging ; but, pressing the friendly 
 hand that held hers, then relinquishing it with a word- 
 less prayer for their mutual safety, she glided noiselessly 
 towards the woods. The colonel, who was leaning on his 
 elbow, sank dowm upon the sod to escape, if possible, the 
 notice of this lynx-eyed old buzzard of the battle-field. 
 As he did so, the glitter of his military trappings caught 
 a gleam of the robber's lantern, that betrayed to the 
 wretch the vicinity of life and promising plunder. He 
 stopped a few moments to arrange the sack that con- 
 
312 THE REBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 tained liis booty, looked back towards his comrades, who 
 were a few rods in the rear, and then advanced to exam- 
 ine and make sure of liis prey. 
 
 Catharine, meantime, having gained the covert of the 
 woods, was withheld as by a spell from going farther. 
 She sunk down upon her knees, and, with hushed breath 
 and glittering eyes, looked out fearfully upon the appall- 
 ing scene. Instinctivel}^, and almost without conscious 
 thought, she set down her dark lantern, and grasped the 
 pistol she had found upon the battle-field of Seven Pines. 
 Assuring herself that the caps were all right, she waited 
 in breathless eagerness for what was to come. She had 
 not long to wait, and was near enough to hear every 
 footfall, and witness every diabolical act. 
 
 Blondel advanced cautiously, flashing his light around 
 to select the most promising victim, and at last stood be- 
 side Col. Elliot. 
 
 " Aha ! " he exclaimed in evident surprise, as the 
 light gleamed over his pallid featm'es ; while a flash of 
 recognition and malignant satisfaction passed over his 
 own bloated visage. " So you are here at last, my fine 
 popinjay ! You won't swear an honest feller's life 
 away agin in a hurry, I take it ; " and with vengeful 
 spite, he kicked and turned the colonel over with his 
 foot. It was too much for a brave man's endurance. 
 The colonel, who had lain still in the faint hope of es- 
 caping the eye of this human vulture, instantly raised 
 himself up on his left elbow, and, with the pistol grasped 
 in his right hand, attempted to fire. 
 
 But the old robber was too quick for him. Before he 
 could pull the trigger with his weak and trembling 
 fingers, the piece was knocked from his nerveless grasp, 
 and exploded in the air. 
 
THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 313 
 
 "Villain!" exclaimed the colonel fiercely, " I would 
 give millions to be able to put a bullet through your 
 murderous heart, and rid the world of such a mon- 
 ster ! " 
 
 ''Aha! Don't you wish the Devil would give you 
 the power ? " he returned with a sardonic laugh. 
 "Neither heaven nor hell shall prtvent the execution 
 of Blondel's vengeance upon one who attempted to 
 thwart, and' expose him to the government. No amount 
 of prayers or ransom could purchase your life of me, 
 Col. Elliot, at this moment," said he fiercely, as he raised 
 his glittering bowie in the air to plunge to the heart of 
 his helpless victim. 
 
 At this instant a sharp report rang out upon the stilly 
 night : an unseen messenger was sent upon its way. 
 Blondel's arm fell paralyzed at his side ; and, with a 
 horrid oath, he rolled over at Col. Elliot's feet, — not dead, 
 but sorely wounded. 
 
 Catharine, who had sped the deadly missile, cowered 
 tremblingly to the earth, with a heart filled by a strange 
 terror at the thought that she had sent a human soul 
 unprepared into eternity. 
 
 But this fear vanished when she heard the robber's 
 oaths and curses, and saw his inefi'ectual attempts to reach 
 Col. Elliot with the knife he still held in his left hand, 
 but which his inability to move a little nearer would not 
 enable him to do. 
 
 The noise of the two reports of pistols aroused Blondel's 
 comrades, who at once came running towards the spot. 
 Some of them were gesticulating violently, and pointing 
 to the woods, towards which two of them cautiously 
 ventured ; while the others went towards the place 
 where Blondel and the colonel lay. 
 27 
 
314 THE REBEL GENEEAl's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 As the two brave villains carae near the woods, they 
 discharged their pieces at a venture, the ball from one 
 of them just grazing Catharine's ear. 
 
 Terrified now almost out of her senses, she mechani- 
 cally caught up her lantern and pistol, and ran with all 
 speed into the thick woods. 
 
 She did not know until afterwards, that, at that very 
 moment, Dr. Garnett and his party made their appear- 
 ance, — just in time to capture Blondel, and save Col. 
 Elliot's life. The rest of the robbers made their 
 escape. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THEODORE. THE MEMORABLE SEVEN DAYS. 
 
 ^ATHARINE dared uot open her lantern ; so 
 by the light of the stars she pressed on 
 through the tangled underbrush, until she 
 '^'6^^^^% began to see the faint light of a clearing on 
 the other side. There she ventured to halt, look back, 
 and listen. But all was darkness, and, so far as human 
 sounds were concerned, profound silence. Her pursuers 
 had vanished. Probably they had not followed her far. 
 Here, then, she was probably as safe as anywhere, until 
 the morning. If she emerged upon the open plain, she 
 thought she might meet other parties of a similar char- 
 acter ; yet she resolved to venture to the edge of the 
 wood to see if there were any living or moving objects 
 in view. 
 
 The forest here was almost destitute of undergrowth ; 
 so she went swiftly forward, cheered by the faint light 
 tliat every moment grew stronger. All at once she 
 stumbled, and fell over some obstacle that lay across her 
 pathway. She thought that it was a rock or fallen tree, 
 until a faint moan saluted her ears. Then she knew 
 that it was a human form. A strange, shuddering 
 thrill shot through her, as she rose to her feet; and she 
 listened eagerly for farther signs of life in the dark 
 
 315 
 
316 THE REBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 form before lier. There was none, ^ot a sigh or mo- 
 tion^ or a single sound of pursuers. 
 
 Summoning courage at last, she opened her lantern, 
 and flashed the light upon the prostrate body. She 
 saw at once that it bore the uniform of a Federal 
 officer. The regimental hat was drawn down over a 
 handsome, manly face, darkened by southern suns ; and 
 for several minutes she gazed curiously upon it, wonder- 
 incr who it could be. 
 
 All at once she started eagerly forward, sunk down 
 upon her knees beside him, and, with trembling hand, 
 raised the hat from the rigid brow, and looked for a 
 moment upon the pallid face. 
 
 ^'' my God ! it is — it must be — my brother ! My 
 dear Theodore ! " she exclaimed with quivering lips and 
 sinking: heart. A sudden faintness came over her ; 
 but she conquered it by a strong effort of the will. He 
 seemed perfectly insensible, though still warm in the 
 resrion of the heart: and she felt that there was not a 
 moment to lose : so, pressing a kiss upon the pale brow, 
 she began, with eager hands and blinding tears, the work 
 of trjang to restore- the feeble pulses, that she imagined 
 still beat faintly in the stiffening form. She found that 
 he was grievously, 3^et she hoped not mortally, wounded 
 through the right side ; and loss of blood, she judged, 
 was the cause of his inanimate condition. She had 
 still the flask of brandy and the canteen of water strung 
 to her belt; and, by the judicious application of these 
 remedies, the life-currents were soon restored to their 
 natural channels, and he began slowly to revive. 
 
 He opened his eyes at last, and fixed them wonder- 
 ino-lv, and for some time dreamily, upon her face. Her 
 old hat had fallen off; and, with the short auburn ring- 
 
THEODORE. 317 
 
 lets curling around her sunburned face, it so strongly 
 resembled a sunny one lie remembered in the long ago, 
 that he murmured feebly, " Strange ! I ought to know 
 
 — that face ! Who are you ? " 
 
 Catharine hesitated: she had not thought he would 
 recognize her. Should she tell him, that in those dark 
 Virginia woods, at dead of niglit, in such a garb, 
 and surrounded by such fearful scenes, he had found his 
 dear lost sister? She longed to do so, and weep out her 
 joy and fear and despair upon his friendly bosom. But 
 reason whispered, "Forbear, rash girl! The shock 
 would kill him. His life is but a feeble, glimmering 
 taper : a breath would blow it out." So she did for- 
 bear ; and when, as he grew stronger, and repeated the 
 question, she said, " I am a poor, forlorn waif from the 
 Confederate camp, lost in the darkness, seeking friends." 
 
 " Then you will betray me," he murmured mourn- 
 fully. 
 
 " Ko, I will not. I would be glad to get to the Union 
 lines myself ; for I have dearer friends there than here." 
 
 " Indeed ! I wish you could, then. But how strangely 
 
 — familiar your voice sounds. It carries me back — to 
 the home of my youth — and the mother — and sisters 
 
 — I may never live to see more," said he feebly. 
 
 " Oh ! you will live, I am sure," she returned, con- 
 trolling her emotion by a strong effort. " I have seen 
 many wounds ; and yours, I hope, is not mortal." 
 
 " It grows painful enough, any way. But what is 
 that?" 
 
 Catharine turned quickly in the direction of the 
 Bound. The twigs and branches were parted carefully 
 from the fringe of shrubbery that skirted the woods, a 
 dark face appeared at the opening j and she could hardly 
 
 27* 
 
318 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 suppress a cry of joy that rose to her lips, as Uncle 
 Nick's honest visage was presented to her view. He 
 gazed at her for a moment in astonishment ; while she, 
 remembering her disguise, put on her old hat, and drew 
 it down over her eyes, to prevent the half-formed recog- 
 nition. Her looks assured him of her friendliness ; so he 
 came at once to Theodore's side. 
 
 '' Ay, young massa captin ! " he exclaimed. " Nick 
 dreflfiil glad he find ye. He bin lookin' dis long time. 
 But for dis lantern he tink he neber du it. De rebs all 
 round de plain; an' he dodged about till he forgit de 
 spot. Drefful ticklish bisiness to get away, massa." 
 
 " Then you must go without me, Nick. I am a great 
 deal weaker than I was when you dragged me into the 
 bushes. I doubt if I could walk a rod to save my life. 
 I think I have been in a swoon ; from which I sliould 
 never have awakened but for this generous little rebel. 
 You'll have to leave me to my fate, my kind friend." 
 
 ^' Ah ! but Nick tink ob all dat ; an' he done cotch a 
 big, grand boss dat was runnin' round so frisky ; an' he 
 got hiui all fixed, an' de ole banner an' tings to put 
 round him, an' tie up de shot-hole ; an' he tink he put 
 young massa on his back, an' lead him troo de danger 
 like an ole weazel." 
 
 " It is impossible ! I find I cannot sit up a moment. 
 O Uncle Nick, there is no help for it ! I must die 
 here," said he mournftillj^ 
 
 " Not a bit on't, Massa Tedo. Nick no leave massa 
 behind, if he die for't. He put him on de boss, git up 
 behind him, hold on, an' ride like de debble. He die 
 here : he no more'n die on de boss's back, or in Massa 
 Linkuni's army." 
 
 " That is true enough. But, Nick, 'tt ithout me, you 
 
THEODORE. 319 • 
 
 could escape ; burdened with me^ you would be sure — 
 to lose your life or liberty. This youth wants to escape 
 too. He is light as a feather compared — to me. Take 
 him behind you, and fly.'* 
 
 " No, no ! '' said Catharine eagerly. " I will not take 
 your place. Your wounds want immediate attention, 
 which they would never get here, if you were found, till 
 it would be too late to save you : for the thousands of 
 their own wounded will be cared for first ; and then you 
 would be doomed to suffer untold agonies in some cruel, 
 bungling experimenter's hands, if cared for at all. We 
 w^ill dress your wound first as well as we can to stop the 
 flow of blood; and then I, who know all about it, say 
 that you had better go, if you die on the way, to the 
 Union lines, than to remain where I shall be safe 
 enough to stay." ' 
 
 " Then I will try," he said in an exhausted tone. 
 " Get your horse. Uncle Nick ; and we will see what can 
 be done." 
 
 " But the wound first," said Catharine. 
 
 She gave him first some of the brandy and water: 
 then Uncle Nick held Theodore up, while Catharine put 
 a thick compress of rags and dead leaves upon the 
 wound, and bound it there with strips torn from the old 
 banner : the remainder she wound around him to pro- 
 tect him from the chilliness and damp that already, 
 though it was a summer night, made him shiver, lying 
 as he did upon the cold, bare ground. 
 
 Nick then went for the horse; and, while he was 
 gone, Theodore, whose strength was restored a little by 
 the stimulant, again turned his attention to Catharine. 
 
 " How much you do look like — and your voice — 
 Where do you live, my boy, — when at home ? " 
 
320 THE REBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 " In Eichmond." 
 
 " Indeed ! Well, did you ever see a lady there by the 
 name of Catharine Hale ? "' 
 
 " Yes, sir : I knew her well." 
 
 " Is it possible ! " and he started up eagerly, but fell 
 back from extreme weakness, as he murmured, " Is she 
 there stiU ? " 
 
 "No, sir. She lived with Major Hunter, who was 
 killed, and his house burned by the guerillas. The 
 family have now all gone off to North Carolina." 
 
 '' That accounts for it, then. She is ray sister, and 
 very dear to me. We have been greatly concerned 
 because she did not come home, and we have not heard 
 from her lately." 
 
 " Well, sir, I know she wanted to go home, but was 
 prevented after the battle of Bull Eun by some unfore- 
 seen circumstances ; and now travelling is so dangerous, 
 and passes so hard to obtain, she may have to stay until 
 the war is over. But, if I see her again, shall I tell 
 her that " — 
 
 " Her friends are all well bnt — Theodore ; and that 
 she is still dear to every one, and remembered in their 
 prayers." 
 
 By this time Nick had arrived with the horse, — a 
 fine, spirited but well-trained animal, whose master, 
 most likely, was among the slain. Tying him to a sap- 
 ling, he, by Catharine's help, succeeded in placing Theo- 
 dore upon his back, with a couple of blankets he had 
 found under and over him, and he then mounted be- 
 hind him. But still he lingered ; and at last, stooping 
 down, said, — 
 
 " If little massa on'y strong nuff to hold up de cap' 
 tin, Nick go afoot.'^ 
 
THEODORE. 321 
 
 " I could not do it ; and it would only add to the 
 danger." 
 
 " Nick tink lie know dat voice," lie whispered, " an' 
 he want dreffuUy to take him along." 
 
 " You are right," she returned in a low tone ; " but 
 be silent. He is so weak he cannot bear the shock. I 
 may come hereafter. There, the patrols are coming 
 this way. Go, and may God help us — all " — 
 
 " Good-by, den, till next time," said Nick ; and " Fare- 
 well, with a thousand thanks for your kindness," mur- 
 mured the young officer faintly, as they, slowly at first, 
 and as noiselessly as possible, moved out of the woods, 
 and away towards the Union army. 
 
 As they did so, a sudden impulse seized her to follow 
 them on foot, and, if possible, reach the Union lines, 
 that she might extend to Theodore that loving care 
 which she felt could alone save his life. 
 
 She acted upon it instantly, by starting in as close 
 pursuit of them as possible, keeping stealthily for a 
 time in the shadow of the woods to avoid the notice of 
 the patrolling parties, who were scouring the plain in 
 various directions, looking after their own wounded. 
 
 As soon as Nick thought he had avoided the danger 
 from the patrols, he struck out boldly for the Union lines ; 
 which, though he knew it not, were fast melting away. 
 Knowing, of course, nothing of her pursuit, and warned 
 of the value of time by the fainting condition of his 
 charge, he now gave his horse the rein, and dashed on as 
 fast as possible. Unavoidably falling in the rear, Cath- 
 arine soon lost sight of them in the darkness, and lost 
 herself in the interminable intricacies of a seemingly 
 pathless swamp. 
 
 For a while she wandered on, hoping she was in the 
 
322 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 right track, but getting deeper and deeper into the mire; 
 and, completely worn out at last by toil, excitement, and 
 anxiety, slie sunk down upon a little hillock at the roots 
 of a giant tree, and, in despair gave up her hopeless 
 pursuit. Having eaten nothing since the early morning, 
 she was completely famished and exhausted for the 
 want of food, as well as rest. So, in spite of all the dan- 
 gers that surrounded her, and the croaking of multitudes 
 of frogs and tree-toads, and the bite of myriads of 
 mosquitoes, she laid her aching head up against the body 
 of the tree, and witli a wordless prayer upon her lips, 
 dropped oif into a doze. Just as day was breaking in 
 the east, she awoke in a fright, and started to her feet, 
 having been aroused by a dream of attacking rebels and 
 Indians. 
 
 The hiss of a serpent that was startled by her sudden 
 motion warned her, as he moved noiselessly awa}^, tliat 
 the dangers to which she had been exposed had not all 
 been imaginary. Nor was her feeling of security in- 
 creased a moment later by the challenge of a rebel sen- 
 tinel, who was himself alarmed by her exclamation of 
 terror, and within a few yards of whom she had spent 
 a part of that terrible night. 
 
 Stiff and sore, and sick from cold, exhaustion, and 
 exposure; disappointed in her hope of getting away with 
 Theodore, and with a heart racked with anxiety regard- 
 ing him and the fear of meeting her husband, she now 
 gave way to a feeling of despair, and resigned herself 
 passively to the direction of the soldier, who presently 
 took her to the encampment. 
 
 When questioned, she told them of her escape from 
 the robbers, but not of her meeting with her brother, or 
 attempted escape to the Union lines. 
 
THE MEMORABLE SEVEN DAYS. 323 
 
 The facts of CoL Elliot's rescue were known in camp ; 
 so her story was credited, her courage praised, and his 
 keepsakes sent back to him just as they were removing 
 him to Richmond. 
 
 As a reward, perhaps, she was ordered to join another 
 division that was to follow in the pursuit of the Union 
 arm}', which was now in full retreat. 
 
 Through all that terrible Saturday, Sunda}^, and ]\Ion- 
 day, she followed with the pursuing rebel hosts ; hoping 
 that in some way she might fall into Union hands. 
 Worn out in body, yet so excited in mind as hardly to 
 realize her true condition, she strove through it all to do 
 what she could towards assuaging the pain, mitigati-ng 
 the horror, and healing the wounds of the hundreds 
 find thousands who were sick, suffering, and dying all 
 around her. 
 
 All through those memorable seven days there was 
 continued fighting with the sorely-pressed and retreat- 
 ing Union army, culminating at last in the awful battle 
 of Malvern Hill. 
 
 This was the last and bloodiest in the list of those 
 tragic scenes that wound up the second great attempt 
 to take the rebel capital. 
 
 The rebel army was here repulsed with terrible 
 slaughter ; and that of the Union gained a secure posi- 
 tion, where they were protected by their gunboats, but 
 at the cost of thousands of precious lives, and millions 
 of dollars' worth of ordnance and army stores, that were 
 burnt, or fell into the hands of the enemy. 
 
 They had indeed, though exhibiting the most heroic 
 courage and endurance, met with a sad succession of 
 disasters. But none among them all seems sadder or 
 more huiniliatiiig than this, — that, by the stern neces- 
 
824 THE KEBEL GENEEAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 sities of their forced and hasty retreat, they were obliged 
 to leave thousands of their sick and wounded men in 
 the hands of those whose tenderest mercies to them 
 proved to be only refined cruelty. 
 
 Following in the track of this wide-spread wreck, 
 ruin, and anguish for miles and miles, Catharine's heart 
 bled so much for the woes of her country and her kin- 
 dred, that her own troubles seemed as nothing in the com- 
 parison : yet it was with a heavy heart that she turned 
 back, footsore and weary, sick and disheartened, with 
 the rebel hosts who were returning to Eichmond. 
 Her hope of in some way falling into Union hands had 
 vanished ; and there had been no opportunity for escape. 
 So again she seemed obliged to yield to her destiny. 
 
 But she was now completely worn out by the mental 
 anguish, as well as the physical hardships, she had en- 
 dured. No hope of meeting and caring for her brother 
 cheered her on. Her strength was all gone. Her spirit 
 was paralyzed by the chill h^nd of despair. She was 
 continually reprimanded for lagging behind the troops, 
 but was refused a ride in the wagons ; and at last, com- 
 pletely exliausted, she sunk down fainting by the road- 
 side. 
 
 It was no uncommon thing for men and boys to drop 
 out of the ranks in this way ; yet they were generally 
 looked after, and cared for : but the regiment to which 
 she was now attached had taken no such deep interest 
 in her as had that of Col. Elliot ; and now, in their 
 eagerness to get back to E-ichmond, they passed on with- 
 out noticing or caring for her, as did all the others be- 
 loncrino; to the same division. 
 
 Dead men, dying men, and wounded men and boys, 
 were too common a sight on that march to attract much 
 
C^:^vt^s^;> 
 
THE MEMORABLE SEVEN DAYS. 325 
 
 attention ; yet the slender, graceful form, perfect, marble- 
 like features, and bright auburn curls of poor Catha- 
 rine did attract the attention of tlic next party wlio 
 came along, — a general officer on horseback, who had 
 left his staff behind him. He halted suddenly, loolced 
 at her a moment, evidently in great surprise ; then, dis- 
 mounting in haste, threw his bridle to his black ser- 
 vant, and went up to where she was lying. He bent 
 over the inanimate form with his dark face growing paler 
 every moment; smoothed back the bright curly hair 
 from which the old hat had fallen, and then took off his 
 glove, and felt the pulse that was still faintly throb- 
 bing. 
 
 His color came back when he found that life was not 
 extinct ; and, kneeling down, he put some strong stimu- 
 lus to her nose, that was the means of her revival. 
 Opening her eyes at last, she fixed them, dreamily at 
 first, then consciously, upon the deeply-anxious face of 
 Gen. Atherton. He raised her up partially. For a 
 minute they looked in each others eyes: and then, when 
 she saw that she was recognized, and remembered their 
 respective positions, the faint color stole back to her 
 cheek ; and, turning her face away, she burst into tears. 
 
 " Catharine ! " he exclaimed, " is it thus we meet, 
 among these bloody, heart-rending scenes, — in this 
 miserable garb, dying by the roadside? Pray tell me 
 what it all means." 
 
 "Oh! not here, — not now; for I am so weary — so 
 wretched — so miserable ! Pray go — go away, and let 
 me die in peace. It is better so — oh ! so much better — • 
 for us both," she murmured ; and again she went off 
 into a dead faint. 
 
 28 
 
CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 THE EEBEL GEXEEAL. — HOIilE AT LAST. 
 
 I HEN Catharine again opened her eyes con- 
 sciously, it was to find herself in a darkened 
 yet elegantly-furnished apartment, in a bed 
 hung with gorgeous crimson draperies, and 
 with every refinement of wealth, taste, and luxury 
 around her. 
 
 It was some time before she could persuade herself 
 that this change from the horrors of the camp, the hos- 
 pital, and the battle-fields, which began to come back to 
 her, were not all the wild phantasmagoria of a dream. 
 For some time she gazed around with a listless, dreamy, 
 languor, hardly conscious that she was awake, yet 
 wondering where she was. It was only when she at- 
 tempted to rise that she became conscious of her extreme 
 weakness, and inability to help herself. The m^otion at 
 once brought a sable attendant to her side ; in whom, 
 to her extreme surprise, she recognized dear old Aunt 
 Dinah. 
 
 ^'0 aunty!" she exclaimed in a feeble tone, '-'how 
 glad I am to see you ! " and, with tears of joy filling her 
 eyes, she drew the kind black face down to her, and 
 kissed it, as she received a compassionate motherly kiss 
 in return. 
 
 826 
 
THE REBEL GENERAL. 327 
 
 "If missis glad, Diuali be boiy much gladder," slie 
 returned ; " for she bin terrible 'fraid de poor leetle dear 
 neber come out on't." 
 
 " Out of what, Dinah ? " 
 
 "Don't missis know she bin in a kinder faint like^ dis 
 tu tree days ? " 
 
 "No; I don't know any thing about it. I was so 
 tired and worn out, and my head swam, and every thing 
 grew dark ; and I dreamed — I saw " — and here the 
 thought of Gen. Atherton came like a dark cloud over 
 her memory ; and she covered her face with her hands 
 and wept silently. It must be so, she thought. It was 
 not all a dream : she had seen Gen. Atherton some- 
 where. 
 
 "Dinah, where am I?" she suddenly exclaimed, un- 
 covering her face, and looking around the room. "' This 
 is not Mrs. Hunter's ; but you are here. Where are she 
 and the children ? " 
 
 "Dey no come home yet. Dinah keep house well 
 nuff. She no 'fraid ob de Yankees." 
 
 "But this is none of Mrs. Hunters rooms, Dinah!" 
 
 " Laws, chile ! don't worry 'bout dat. Dinah tink 
 missis got grand house o' her own dis time. Take a 
 leetle o' dis doctor stuff, darlin', an' go to sleep now." 
 
 " If 3-0U knew how miserable I was, Dinah, you would 
 not plague me so," she sobbed with fretful weakness, 
 as the truth began to dawn upon her clouded mind. 
 
 " Dere, dere, don't cry ! He feel terrible, tu, an' walk 
 de room, an' cry, Dinah tink, when nobody see 'im ; an' 
 Dinah no ondcrstand it one bit." 
 
 " JTe is here, then?" said Catharine eagerly. 
 
 " Laws yes, chile ! He back an' forth, here an' to 
 Ilichmond, 'most ebery day. Dut missis needn't see 
 him 'thout she wants tu." 
 
328 THE REBEL GEXERAl'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 " But I do want to see him now. Raise me up, Dinali, 
 and put that shawl around me," she exclaimed with a 
 desperate sort of courage. " There, that is riglit ; thank 
 you. Now, please go and tell him I would like to see 
 him." 
 
 We may be sure that the general waited for no 
 second summons ; for Catharine had lain, like a pale, 
 storm-beaten lily, in a kind of stupor ever since she 
 had been brought to Atlierton ; and for a time there 
 had been faint hope of her recovery. Tliere was a com- 
 plete prostration of the vital energies, the doctor said j 
 from which it would take her some time to recover, if 
 she did at all. 
 
 So it was with eager, trembling joy that she had 
 come out of that critical state, as well as fear of a re- 
 lapse, that Gen. Atlierton presented himself at her 
 bidding. He looked pale and careworn ; and his face 
 presented traces of strong emotion as he came up to the 
 side of the bed, took the offered hand, and pressed a 
 kiss upon the fair, pale brow. 
 
 "Did 3^ou really want to see me, dear Catharine ? " he 
 said. 
 
 " Yes," she replied in a faint yet excited tone ; " but 
 first tell me where I am." 
 
 '•You are at home, darling, — on Athcrton I'lanta- 
 tion." 
 
 '^ And Dinah " — 
 
 ''I brought her from Eichmond, that you might have 
 some one you knew, and who also knew our relations, 
 around you when you revived, to make you feci more at 
 home here. But you are very pale and weak. I fear 
 you are exhausting yourself. And, much as I long for 
 your confidence, I can wait until you are better able to 
 give it." 
 
THE REBEL GENERAL. 329 
 
 " Ko, no : I want you to know all now. And, first, 
 do you believe what I told you in the Libby 
 Prison ? " 
 
 " Yes, Catharine. In anticipation of your trial, I 
 sent a trusty messenger to Philip's plantation, and 
 ascertained all the facts. And besides, you may not 
 know that it was because^ of that villain Sweep's con- 
 fessions that you were set at liberty." 
 
 " Indeed ! Then you will believe me when I tell you 
 why I am here ? " 
 
 " Of course I shall. In all our acquaintance I have 
 never found cause to doubt your word : yet I must tell 
 you that the knowledge that you had left the prison, 
 and again disappeared, has given me the deepest 
 anxiety ; and that this exhibition of your want of trust 
 and confidence, in neglecting to come or send to me for 
 assistance, has deeply pained me.'^ 
 
 " I could not help it, general, — indeed I could not, — 
 at first ; and afterwards a feeling of — of — I can't explain 
 it to you, — prevented my doing.so ; " and the faint, fit- 
 ful color flashed over her face, as she said it. 
 
 " I can understand it, Catharine, without an explana- 
 tion," he returned with a sigh ; " and some day, when 
 you are stronger and less afraid of me, you shall tell 
 me all about it." 
 
 She would have gone on ; but he would not allow it: 
 so, kissing her tenderly, he went out, and sent in Dinah. 
 His forbearance, seeming trust, and regard for her 
 feelings, were not lost upon the poor, weary invalid : so, 
 with a little less dread of him and her future, she soon 
 forgot self, and dropped off into a refreshing slumber, 
 that seemed to do her a world of good. 
 
 He came back the next morning, delighted to find her 
 
 28* 
 
830 THE REBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 so much better, and then listened with eager interest 
 to her story of her coming out of prison ; her vain 
 search for f. refuge ; her meeting the woman, and es- 
 Cf.pe fj:m the odious Blondel; her joining Col. Elliot's 
 party, and adventures in the camp and upon the vari- 
 ous fields of battle. 
 
 " You seem doomed to suffer, and meet with many 
 strange adventures,'' he said. '• But, my dear, you should 
 have applied to the authorities for help ; and, at the 
 worst, gone back to the prison for shelter." 
 
 " I had no money to pay for a ride : the streets were 
 full of rude soldiery ; and I knew not what to do." 
 
 " I tremble even now to think of what might have 
 been your fate. But, when you met Col. Elliot, he 
 would have protected you, had you told him all, until 
 you could have come or sent to me." 
 
 "I did not even think of it then; and I don't know 
 as I should if I had, I was so frightened and disheart- 
 ened by my repeated repulses from those upon whom I 
 thought I had a better claim. He was hurrying, too, 
 to the field of battle ; and want of time and my ques- 
 tionable garb and strange story would most likely have 
 made even him doubt, and cast me off at once. I be- 
 lieve now, however, that there was a hand of Providence 
 in my going as I did upon the battle-fields. It was the 
 means, under God, of saving Col. Elliot's life, and per- 
 haps that of my brother Theodore and others." 
 
 " It may be so ; but, Catharine, after you had come 
 to the army, why were you willing to expose your life to 
 a thousand dangers, your character to the greatest mis- 
 constructions, and even face death itself, rather than 
 come to the heart that beats for you alone, the arms 
 that would so gladly and lovingly infold you as my 
 bride ? " said he reproachfully. 
 
THE r.EBEL GENERAL. 331 
 
 '•' If I was your bride, it was an unacknowletlgecl one. 
 And how should I know that you would acknowledge 
 my right to your protection before that army and the 
 world ? " said she bhishingly. 
 
 " You could not doubt it, Catharine." 
 
 "But I did doubt it, — coming, too, as I did in so hum- 
 ble and questionable a guise. Delicacy forbade my com- 
 ing to you, and urging such a claim ; and that, with 
 many other feelings you cannot understand, impelled me 
 into the current that took me to the hospital and the 
 field of battle. If, when there, and agonized by thoughts 
 of my brother's danger, an inexpressible longing for home 
 and friends made mo forget for a time my promise to 
 you, in a yain eifort to escape to the Union lines, I trust 
 I shall be forgiv^en." 
 
 " Are, then, the home and friends you have left at the 
 North still so much dearer than every thing the South 
 has to offer, my dear Catharine?" 
 
 " Oh ! I cannot tell you how very dear they have 
 seemed ever since that awful night, when I found and 
 parted from my brother; how I think of them, and 
 dream of them, and long for them, day -and night, as I 
 never in all my life have done before. And sometimes 
 I feel as if I should die of this longing and homesick- 
 ness if I cannot see them. Gen. Atherton ! let me 
 agk, — k't me beg of you to release me from that fear- 
 ful promise, and allow me to go home. I have been 
 nothing but a trouble and a burden to you, from the 
 first : you would be a thousand times better off without 
 me. If I stay, I cannot fulHl that solemn promise to 
 love you as a wife should. If I could go, I should re- 
 spect and honor you, if nothing more. Oh, I implore 
 you to release, and lot me go ! even though I come 
 back again," she said in a deeply-agitated voice. 
 
832 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOTAL BEIDE. 
 
 He, too, was strongly moved. He gazed upon her 
 flushed, imploring countenance for a moment with a 
 pitiful, yearning tenderness, then turned awa}^, and be- 
 gan to walk the room. At last he came back to her, and 
 said in a tremulous tone, as he smoothed her short, 
 silky hair, — 
 
 " Catharine, did you realize, even imperfectly, how 
 very dear you are to me, — how far above all my earthly 
 possessions I prize you, or the extent of the sacrifice 
 you require at my hands, you would never have made 
 this request; yet, as you have done so, I will give it 
 due consideration. At present, you are in no condition 
 to go home, or anywhere else ; and I want you to con- 
 sider this as your home, — at least, until you can leave 
 it in safety. In consideration of your present feelings, 
 and also because my conscience hardly acquits me for 
 the way in which it was obtained, I shall never, you 
 may feel assured, enforce, against your wishes, a hus- 
 band's claim upon 3'ou. For the present, I ask only the 
 privileges of a friend or elder brother, which, I trust, 
 you will accord to me. As yet we are almost strangers 
 to each other. I hope your feelings towards me will 
 change upon a better acquaintance. After the toils and 
 dangers of the past few months, I am having a short 
 furlough ; and I think I cannot employ it to better 
 advantage than in looking after the affairs of my 
 plantation, and at the same time cultivating more 
 friendly relations with one who has the power to make 
 or mar the happiness of my whole future life. Allow 
 me the privileges of friendship, dear Catharine, to con- 
 verse and associate with you freely, to nurse 3'ou back 
 to health, to familiarize you with my people and my 
 surroundings. And if, after all, you prefer your own 
 
THE REBEL GE^rERAL. 333 
 
 people to mine ; if you feel thut you still love another 
 too well truthfully to perform your vows to me, I sol- 
 emnly promise to let you go home, and hereafter take 
 measures to break the tie that binds us together, if it 
 also break my heart. Shall it be so, dear Catharine ? " 
 he continued in a tone of deep emotion. 
 
 "Yes," she replied, affected to tears by the unexpected 
 generosity that promised a present reprieve, if not a 
 future emancipation, from what she had previously re- 
 garded as an intolerable bondage. 
 
 She knew very well that he was a man whose word 
 was as good as his bond, even though he was sometimes 
 ruled almost wholly by ambition and its political neces- 
 sities. She could not help seeing in every word, look, 
 and tone how very dear she was to him, and, of course, 
 how great to him would be the sacrifice if compelled 
 hereafter to resign her forever. So, woman like, she be- 
 gan to pity him. If ever a man set himself resolutely to 
 the task of winning a woman's heart, it was Gen. Ather- 
 ton now. The promise had been drawn from him by her 
 tears, and too evident dread of him ; but, once given, he 
 felt that he must abide by it. He felt, too, that this 
 promise had brought him down to the level of an humble 
 suppliant for her favor. But, while regretting this, he 
 did not know that he made himself much more lovable 
 in Catharine's eyes, than when his display of a domi- 
 neering and determined feeling of ownership, suggest- 
 ing thoughts of slavery, had aroused a spirit of resistance 
 in her proud, rebellious heart. Having no special dis- 
 ease, she improved rapidly under Dinah's careful nurs- 
 ing and the general's special attentions. The color 
 came back to her pale cheek, and the light to her eyes • 
 though the longing for home and mother, and espe- 
 
•334 THE REBEL GENEEAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 cially to kno\y Theodore's fate, devoured her continually. 
 Dinah, who, it may be remembered, was a witness of their 
 marriage, having been charged to be silent regarding 
 it then, bad sense enough not to bother Catharine with 
 questions now; though she no doubt wondered over 
 many things. To her it was a labor of love to wait on 
 Catharine, who had completely won her affection ; and, 
 when not thus engaged, it was her greatest delight to 
 talk over her miraculous adventures, virtues, and perfec- 
 tions, and sound her praises to a select audience in the 
 kitchen, who were her old acquaintances, and to whom 
 she could enlarge upon the facts in the most glowing 
 terms, without the fear of contradiction. Dinah had, it 
 seemed, been left in charge of Mrs. Hunter's establish- 
 ment in Richmond; and it was by accident alone that 
 she and Csesar happened to be away at the time Cath- 
 arine knocked in vain for admittance. 
 
 When not obliged to go to E-ichmond, the general 
 spent his mornings in writing, and overlooking his 
 estate, — taking Catharine out to ride with him as soon 
 as she was well enough, that he might show lier the 
 most beautiful views, and the improvements he had 
 planned, and make her acquainted with his surround- 
 ings. His afternoons and evenings, too, when not oth- 
 erwise engaged, were always spent in her society ; and 
 it was very evident that he meant to make the most of 
 his time. 
 
 His plantation was situated upon the James E-iver, 
 upon the magnificent scenery of which she was never 
 tired of gazing. The mansion vied With Hunter House 
 in its bygone splendor, as well as its antiquity; but 
 there had been additions, improvements, and furnishings 
 of a later date, that made it much more acceptable to 
 
HOME AT LAST. 335 
 
 modern tastes, and left no reasonable wish or necessity 
 unprovided for. It liad a large and choice library, a 
 splendid collection of rare pictures, with many other 
 choice specimens of art and taste to please the eye and 
 entertain and improve the mind and heart. Yes, 
 Atherton Place was beautiful; in fact, just the spot 
 where one could contentedly dream away a lifetime, if — 
 and there Catharine generally wound up her reflections, 
 leaving the sentence unfinished, and sighing over a lost 
 hope. 
 
 We have said before that Gen. Atherton, for a man of 
 his age, was strongly attractive ; that his voice was 
 deep-toned and melodious ; that his eye had a peculiarly 
 magnetic power over Catharine, from which she felt im- 
 pelled to fly. And now she was wholly surrendered to 
 this influence, without the power to fly. 
 
 Hard and stern as he sometimes appeared, there was 
 really a great deal of poetry and romance in his compo- 
 sition, and genuine feeling, earnestness, and eloquence 
 in his conversation. And now, as he explained to her 
 the beautiful paintings, and specimens of art, he had gath- 
 ered in his own, as well as foreign lands 5 or read to her 
 from his favorite authors ; or talked with her of his own 
 hopes- and plans, of the beautiful scenery, or the great 
 issues at stake in the past, present, and future of the coun- 
 try ; or joined his deep-toned voice with hers in the ren- 
 dering of some grand harmony, — she could not help yield- 
 ing to him the tribute of admiration, and appreciation of 
 his fine talents, if not tliat of the love he so earnestly 
 hoped to inspire. As a father, brother, or friend, with no 
 special claim upon her, she felt as if she could have given 
 him the tribute of an affectionate regard ; and, even as a 
 lover or husband, he would not have been as objection- 
 
336 THE EEBEL GEXEEAL's LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 able as some who had sought her favor, but for his devo- 
 tion to the cause of the rebellion. 
 
 Upon this subject they seldom argued now^ as she felt 
 as if it were of no earthly use. She believed that he now 
 at heart as bitterly regretted the steps the South had 
 taken as she could do. That he, and in fact the whole 
 South, were deej^ly disappointed, — not only in the failure 
 of the Democracy of the Xorth to support their cause, but 
 also in the powerful resistance they had met from the 
 Federal Government. Slie knew that he was sick of 
 bloodshed and such fearful sacrifice of human life, and, in 
 spite of present dear-bought successes, doubtful of the 
 final issue of the contest. She knew, too, that his great 
 misleading passion — a towering ambition — had thus 
 far been deeply disappointed; for he had found other 
 men, plenty of them, equally ambitious with himself. 
 With more tact and subtlety, or ability to please the mul- 
 titude, and propitiate favor in influential quarters, they 
 had supplanted, cast him into the shade, and more than 
 rivalled him in the regard of the administration, and 
 thus attained to greater preferment and power. 
 
 The supreme ruler of the Southern people saw in him 
 a talented and dangerous rival, eager to distinguish 
 himself, and, if possible, get the reins of government into 
 his own guiding hands ; so that chief ruler felt it to be 
 a matter of vital interest to himself to prevent Gen. Ath- 
 erton, in one way and another, from attaining to any 
 prominent distinction. 
 
 Catharine knew that he felt this keenly, but, from the 
 power of surrounding circumstances, was unable to help 
 it. And from this cause, if there were no other, he in- 
 wardly hated the administration, and the way in which 
 they had conducted the affairs of the Confederacy. She 
 
HOME AT LAST. 337 
 
 miglit have taunted him about the splendid eminence 
 to which he had promised to raise her : but she cared 
 nothing for the eminence j and she was really too kind- 
 hearted, and too much of a Christian in spirit, to wish to 
 tidd bitterness to the discontent that she knew was 
 gnawing at his heart. Perhaps, too, in their present re- 
 lations, she thought it would be unadvisable to recrimi- 
 nate and anger him. 
 
 He had, besides these, other serious causes of discon- 
 tent. His slaves, thrilled by the tocsin of war, and the 
 hope of freedom, were escaping in scores; and this, to a 
 born slaveholder, was a constant source of trouble and 
 irritation, in which he knew she could not sympathize. 
 From all appearances, she judged that he was kinder and 
 more just and generous than most slave-owners were with, 
 their slaves; that he furnished them ^vith better fare, 
 and neater cabins, demanded fewer hours of labor, and 
 allowed them many more privileges ; reasoning truly that 
 he was better served in return than those who treated 
 them more unkindly. But however indulgent he or 
 others might be, these people felt as if it were slavery 
 still. Their djeams of liberty included an easy, happy 
 life, free from toil and care and bondage. They were 
 wild and unreal, and they were sure to find it so in the 
 end ; but still they preferred to dare the risk of pain, 
 privation, recapture, and death itself, to remaining longer 
 in the galling shackles of bondage. 
 
 As Catharine mingled among those who were left, 
 
 held mostly by weakness, cowardice, or the strong and 
 endearing bonds of love, — she could not help feeling how 
 much better it would be for both master and slave, if 
 they were all free men and women ; allowed to live on 
 the estate, serving him more faithfully and gratefully, 
 
 29 
 
838 THE EEBEL GENERAL'S LOYAE BRIDE. 
 
 from the knowledge that their posterity would not wear 
 the yoke of slavery. She told their owner so one morn- 
 ing, when they were out for a ride around the plautcV 
 tion, and used her best arguments to support her position. 
 
 " I don't know but you are right/"' he said after a long 
 pause, and with a keen, searching glance ; " and that you 
 might make a practical abolitionist of me if you tried. 
 There are some things we cannot understand until we 
 feel them ; and this is one. I never knew what it was to 
 be in bonds, fettered even by a rash promise, until the 
 past few weeks. And I assure you, that, although they 
 are invisible to the outward eye, I find them inexpressi- 
 bly galling. I cannot blame the slaves much, if they feel 
 as I do, for snapping their bonds, as Samson did his, 
 and setting law, gospel, and conscience at defiance. Se- 
 riously, Catharine, I cannot much longer endure this 
 thraldom. Every strong impulse of my soul cries out 
 against it every hour ; and every hour is a torture until I 
 know what the future has in store for me. I could not 
 bear the thought of separation ; and yet every hour spent 
 in your societ}'- has only made you dearer to my heart, 
 and the thought of a future parting harder to bear. Oh ! 
 tell me now honestly, my darling, whether I have made 
 myself sufficiently tolerable in your eyes for you to en- 
 dure the thought of being presented to the world as my 
 wife ! '^ he said in a pleading tone. 
 
 Catharine had been expecting this ordeal ; but it came 
 upon her unexpectedly now. The warm blood flashed 
 over her face in an instant, and then rushed back to her 
 heart, leaving it pale as ashes ; and the hand he had 
 clasped trembled like a leaf in his own. 
 
 " Does the thought distress you still? " he asked ten- 
 derly, yet in a disappointed tone, when he found she did 
 
HOME AT LAST. 339 
 
 not reply. "I liaj hoped that hy this time you had be- 
 come accustomed to it — and me. I am going down the 
 river to-day," he continued, " to reconnoitre, and meet 
 Gen. Lee ; and to-morrow or next day I shall return, on my 
 way to Kichmond. I entreat jou. then, dear Catharine, to 
 be ready to decide whetlier you will go there with me to 
 be presented to the world as my bride, or break my heart 
 by asking to be transmitted through the lines. In either 
 case you shall have a safe conduct and a free choice ; by 
 which I feel bound to abide. Will you be ready then ? " 
 
 " I will try to be," she faltered, as he helped her from 
 the carriage, and bade her an affectionate '• Good-by ! '' 
 
 He left the mansion on horseback soon afterwards, at- 
 tended by his black servant ; and Catharine was left to 
 her own reflections. We can very well imagine that they 
 were not pleasant ones, and that the questions she had 
 to ask herself were hard to decide. They w^ere questions 
 of duty, not inclination, as that would have led her at 
 once through the lines. She did not for an instant doubt 
 his regard for her ; for his every word, look, and tone de- 
 clared it. But he was an enemy to her country. He had 
 gone now to hatch treason against the government. To be 
 his ^^^fe, was affording aid and comfort to the enemy, — was 
 it not ? — the greatest he could receive, he had given her 
 to understand ; and would she not be justified in refusing 
 it ? Ay : but was not the solemn marriage-vow she had 
 pronounced a higher law than that, — one of God's own 
 institution, and more binding than any she owed her 
 country ? In his pity and forbearance, as well as the 
 strong hope of winning her love, he had promised to give 
 her leave to break or evade it. But did that abrogate her 
 own solemn promise to love, honor, and obey this man 
 till death ? Yet she felt that she had promised what 
 
3-10 THE EEBEL GENERAL' S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 slie could not perform. She liked liim well enough, but 
 knew that she did not love him ; and she felt then as if 
 she never could. And would it not be a greater sin to 
 live with him, acting a lie, than any she would commit 
 in leaving him ? 
 
 These were some of the questions conscience pro- 
 pounded, which she pondered sleeplessly, but was far 
 from deciding. Dinah had gone back to Eichmond to 
 prepare for Mrs. Hunter's expected return: the other 
 servants were comparative strangers ; so she had none but 
 God and her own conscience to consult in this trj^ng 
 emergency. She laid her case before that dread tribunal, 
 but could cret no clear indications from the inward monitor 
 regarding the true path of duty. Her mind veered from 
 one side of the question to the other, like a vane in a 
 gale of wind ; and the eager longing for home and friends, 
 and rest and freedom, each hour grew stronger in her 
 heart. 
 
 The first day passed slowl}'- away, and the second still 
 more wearily and anxiously ; but still he did not come. 
 The third at last dawned upon the weary watcher, and 
 dragged its slow length along. She tried to beguile the 
 time by books and music and art; but their illusions 
 were but momentary. They could not distract her at- 
 tention from the decision she was houiiy expecting to be 
 called upon to make. 
 
 It was about the last of July ; and the weather was 
 very warm and sultry. Feeling weary, languid, and op- 
 pressed, not only by the heat, but her own foreboding 
 fancies, she wandered away from the mansion -some time 
 in the afternoon with her sketch-book to beguile the 
 hours of their tediousness. The place she sought was a 
 rocky ledge near the main road, overhung by giant trees, 
 
HOME AT LAST. 341 
 
 the growth of centuries. This ledge overlooked a liigh, 
 arched stone bridge, tliat spanned a beautiful and rapid 
 stream, and commanded many other bright glimpses of 
 bold and beautiful scenery. This stream often overflowed 
 its banks, and had a deep and dangerous current that 
 made its way over the rocks to tlie dam and mills and 
 mightier stream below. She had been there twice before 
 with Gen. Atherton, never ceasing to admire the bold 
 scenery, wliich she had resolved to sketch that day. So, 
 after reaching the place, and cooling off in tlie shade of 
 the splendid trees, she gained tlie most desirable position, 
 and began her work. She drew tlie outlines of her 
 sketch with a masterly hand. Then she began to fill in 
 with the bold rocks, the giant trees, the high, arched 
 bridge, half in sunlight, half in shadow, the steep bluff, 
 covered with clumps of laurel, wild roses, and other 
 shrubbery. Then she endeavored to portray the deeply- 
 shadowed stream, with a few bright glimpses of sunshine 
 playing upon the bright ripples of foam, in sparkling 
 diamond points of liglit, and the soft summer haze that 
 lay like a thin, fleecy cloud over tlie distant landscape, that 
 no pencil of artist, however skilful, could ever truthfully 
 portray. 
 
 As she paused at last to compare, not admire, what 
 she felt to be but a faint and feeble imitation of tho 
 grandeur of the original, though another might have 
 pronounced it faultless, the sound of merry voices and 
 shouts of musical laughter rang out upon the sultry air. 
 
 A few minutes afterwards a small party of negro chil- 
 dren came out from the shadow of the pines upon the 
 opposite bank, that she had just been sketching. Com- 
 pletely tired out with their berry-picking, and ramble 
 over the hills, they set down their baskets, and threw 
 2&* 
 
342 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BlUDE. 
 
 themselves upon the mossy carpet to rest. Tlie roar of 
 the stream between her and them prevented her hearing 
 much of their conversation ; yet thej' were near enough 
 for her to recognize tliem as children she had often seen 
 playing around the slave-cabins, — one of whom, a thin- 
 faced girl of ten, was hopelessly deformed. 
 
 It immediately occurred to her that these were the 
 ver}'' objects needed to give animation to her picture, be- 
 sides representing a striking phase of Southern life and 
 character ; so, while the children lay there at rest, or 
 w^ere tumbling over the green carpet of moss, she rubbed 
 out a portion of her foreground, and rapidly and skilfully 
 sketched the little group; startled a little at the last 
 through fear that the little hunchback was in too dan- 
 gerous proximity to the edge of the cliff of rock that 
 bordered the river. Over this she seemed to be peering 
 in search of wild-flowers that grew in great profusion 
 among the crevices of the rocks, and a large bunch of 
 which she held in her baud. Eager in the pursuit, she 
 grew so venturesome, that Catharine, who was watching 
 her, trembled at her danger, and opened her lips to shout 
 a warning. 
 
 But it was too late. There was a wild shriek, — little 
 dark hands were flung out, clutching at nothing, — a dull 
 splash, and the little waif was struggling in the deep 
 water. For an instant Catharine was paralyzed: then 
 she threw down her sketch, and ran down the steep bank, 
 forgetting, in her eagerness, that it was necessary to 
 cross the bridge some rods below to get anywhere near 
 the little sufferer. She saw her error in a moment, and 
 hastened to retrieve it by running towards the bridge. 
 She realized, almost intuitively, that it was only below 
 it, where the swift current would be sure to carry the 
 
HOME AT LAST. 
 
 343 
 
 cliild tlirougli tlie arches, that she could hope to render 
 her the least assistance. As she neared the bridge with 
 an old fishing-rod she had caught up on the way in her 
 hand, a new actor suddenly appeared upon the scene. 
 
 A man on horseback, who came down the road 
 that crossed the bridge at the most critical moment, 
 lieard the shriek, and saw the child fall over the cliff. 
 With ready sympathy, and disregard of danger, he 
 sprang from his horse, threw off his coat and hat, and, 
 without noticing Catharine in the deep shadow of the 
 opposite bank, slid down the steep rocks into the water. 
 By the time she had reached the bridge, he had caught 
 the little drowning girl by the arm, just as she was sink- 
 ing for the last time. 
 
CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 THE child's rescue. THE GEXERAl's DAXGER. 
 
 ^UT the danger was not over yet ; for the 
 r^ banks were so very steep, that it was neces- 
 sary for the man to breast the strong current 
 ^ to find a secure landing, or else glide down 
 beneath the arches of the bridge, at the risk of being car- 
 ried over the dam to the mill-wheel below, which would 
 be certain death. Unburdened, he could easily reach the 
 place he sought : as it was, he found it impossible, and 
 was soon, almost in spite of himself, gliding down towards 
 the bridge. He raised his head, and cast a desjjairing 
 glance around. 
 
 Was it wise to risk his own life for this puny crea- 
 ure, who, if she lived, must ever be a burden to herself 
 and him ? 
 
 This was his thought ; and Catharine read it as she 
 looked down into the dark, despairing eyes of Gen. Ath- 
 erton. She had not seen clearly before who it was ; nor 
 had he as yet seen her at all. Yet her agitation and 
 surprise did not prevent her from comprehending all the 
 circumstances. She saw that her rod would not begin 
 to reach the water ; and then another expedient occurred 
 to her: so, as soon as they neared the arch, she bent 
 over the railing of the bridge, and shouted in a voice 
 heard above the roar of the stream, — 
 
 844 
 
THE cpiild's rescue. 345 
 
 " Hold on as long as you can ! There is a tree below 
 the arclies. I believe I can bend down one of the 
 branches within your reach." 
 
 The tree grew out gnarled and knotted between the 
 rocks, with long lateral brancluis extending over the 
 stream. With little thought of the danger, Catharine 
 sprung from the bridge upon the craggy wall of steep 
 rocks that formed the bank of the stream, and slid down 
 tliese until she alighted upon the crooked body of the 
 tree. Then she walked out cautiously upon the longest 
 limb, steadying herself by the one above her, until it 
 bent beneath her weight so as to dip in the rapid cur- 
 rent. By this time the general had floated through the 
 arch with the child, and, by a little exertion, he reached 
 and caught the branch with one hand, while he held on 
 to her with the other. 
 
 " Thank you ! " he said, looking up to her gratefully. 
 " But now I shall be more obliged, if you will tell me 
 what to do next. I used to breast this current easily ; 
 but I am very weary, and it seems cannot do it now. 
 You know what is below us ; and the banks are 
 very steej) all the way. The water is very deep here; 
 and I cannot hold on long. Alone I should be safe 
 enough; but" — and he looked down significantly upon 
 bis helpless burden. 
 
 " I have it ! " she exclaimed joyfully'-, after a moment's 
 thought. " There is your horse just where you left him. 
 If I can get off his bridle, and you could slip it under 
 her arms with your teeth, or somehow, I believe I could 
 draw her to the shore, and lift her upon the rocks." 
 
 No sooner said than done. She walked back to the 
 body of the tree, clambered up the steep wall of rock as 
 quickly as possible, by a little petting and coaxing got off 
 
846 THE EEBEL GEXEEAl's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 Selim's "bridle ; and, wlide lie ran home with all speed, 
 she descended again to the tree. This time her head 
 swam as she walked out over the water ; hut she held on 
 a moment, and the wealaiess passed away. The general 
 saw her sudden pallor ; and his heart almost ceased to 
 beat as he realized her danger: hut it was over very 
 soon. She held on bravely; and by dint of courage, 
 perseverance, and the blessing she had silently implored, 
 she succeeded in saving little Effie, and helping the ex- 
 hausted general, too, to reach the land. The child was 
 nearly senseless, but soon revived, and was able to walk 
 home witli her hand in that of her preserver. 
 
 Their arrival gave unbounded joy, not only to the 
 mother, but others in the little community, whom the 
 story of the children, of the loss of the pet of the flock, 
 had withdrawn from their labors, and whom they met 
 rushing, too late, to the rescue. 
 
 They received the child with tears and kisses, as one 
 risen from the dead ; and their gratitude to her rescuers 
 was unbounded. 
 
 The general seemed so silent and depressed on his 
 way home, that Catharine suspected some ill news from 
 the army weighed upon his spirits, as well as the natural 
 seriousness caused by so recent an escape from death, 
 to say nothing of his anxiety regarding his relations 
 with her. 
 
 This unexpected rencounter, however, subtracted 
 somethinsj from the embarrassment she would otherwise 
 have felt at meeting him. His self-sacrificing conduct 
 regarding the child really raised him higher in her es- 
 teem than he had ever been before. If he had known 
 she was a witness of the act, she might have believed 
 he did it to win her admiration ; but she knew he could 
 
THE child's kesctje. 347 
 
 not have seen her, with so many intervening obstacles. 
 And, if the child had been a perfect and healthy one, 
 she might have suspected the self-interest of the master. 
 As it was, nothing but an impulse of humanity could 
 have tempted him to risk his life for one who might 
 always be an expense and a burden. 
 
 At tea she met him again as usual, and he talked a 
 little of the fine condition of Gen. Lee's army, and of 
 tlr. disappearance of the favorite slave who accompanied 
 him, who, upon his favorite charger, had undoubtedly 
 escaped to the Union lines. He had supposed him per- 
 fectly contented, trusty, and more strongly attached to 
 him than any other slave upon the plantation. 
 
 The general said he was very tired, and far from well. 
 He ate scarcely any thing ; did not once allude to the 
 subject that probably occupied the minds of both, and 
 retired early. 
 
 Towards morning Catharine was aroused by an un- 
 usual noise and bustle in the house, and, upon inquiry 
 in the morning, was told that the general was ill. They 
 had sent to Richmond for a doctor, and Aunt Phillis 
 was afraid he was going to have a fever. She could not 
 help reproaching herself for the feeling of relief — re- 
 prieve — this reply gave to her. She breakfasted alone ; 
 and, as soon as it was over, she w^as informed that the 
 general was very anxious to see her. Her heart beat like 
 a trip-hammer, as she followed Aunt Phillis, who was 
 the old family nurse, into his chamber. But her fear 
 turned to pity when she saw what a change one night 
 had made in his appearance. He was propped up in 
 bed, evidently in great pain ; breathing with difficulty, 
 and showing every symptom of pleurisy or lung-fever. 
 She went up to him ; and he took her hand in his hot, 
 
348 THE REBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 burning oues, as he said in a labored tone, " Yon see, 
 dear Catharine, that I am very ill ; do jou not? I liave 
 always been a healthy man, and never in all my life 
 suffered so much from pain as during the past night. I 
 have been longing to see you for hours." 
 
 '• I am very sorry," she replied. '^ I fear your im- 
 promptu bath had something to do with it." 
 
 ^^ It was not wholly that. I had been excited by the 
 loss of my favorite man and horse, as well as by other 
 causes which I cannot explain to you now ; and I was 
 quite unwell before I left the camp. The weather was 
 very warm ; and I was hot, dusty, and perspiring freely 
 when I came upon that scene we have such cause to re- 
 member. This is the result of all these causes com- 
 bined." 
 
 " You performed a noble, self-sacrificing deed ; for 
 which I hope you will not suffer seriously, general." 
 
 ••You risked your life as well as I mine; and I had 
 more interest at stake than you, Catharine; but we will 
 not talk of that now. Tins tlirobbing brain, oppression 
 of the breast, and difficulty of breathing, makes it very 
 hard for me to converse at all." 
 
 " Pray do not do it then. I will retire." 
 
 "!N"o, no ! It is growing worse ever}" hour. I must 
 talk while I can. I have sent for Dr. Huntley, and for 
 Mrs. Hunter, if she has arrived in town ; but at tlie 
 best they cannot get here for hours. In the mean time, 
 I want to make my peace with you, dear Catharine. I 
 feel now as if I had wronged you deeply, and indirectly 
 been the cause of much suffering to you. Oh ! can you, 
 in your unbounded compassion, forgive me ? " 
 
 " Yes," she faltered, affected to tears by his evident 
 distress and penitence. 
 
THE general's DANGER. 349 
 
 " Catliarino, I do not ask this with a view of enfor- 
 cing my chxims upon you hereafter: they were un- 
 blessed, because unjustly obtained; and I yield them all 
 up, here and now, upon the altar of truth and right. 
 Hereafter, if I live, I will tell you why; but oh, I can- 
 not do it now! If I die, you will find, that in the 
 thought of death 3'ou were not forgotten. You are now 
 free to go where you i)lease, — to the Union lines if you 
 desire it ; yd, for all that, I still love you as my life. 
 In parting from you, I resign every hope of earthly hap- 
 piness, if not life itself. And just now I need you so 
 much, — oh ! so very much ; though I know I ought not to 
 ask you to stay. Yet I feel as if my punishment would 
 be greater than I can bear if you leave me ; '' and the 
 look of intense agony that passed over his face gave the 
 most convincing testimony to the depth of his feelings, 
 and strongly appealed to her kind and generous heart. 
 
 " What is it you wish ? " she faltered in answer to 
 that mute appeal. 
 
 "Dear Catharine, I feel that I am alone in the world, 
 and in great danger. My ungrateful children are far 
 away from me in spirit and in fact. It is very doubtful 
 whether Mrs. Hunter has returned, or can leave Wal- 
 ter to come to me if she has. Slavery, upon which 
 I leaned, and of which, in my supreme ignorance, I 
 boasted, like a reed has broken, and pierced my hand. 
 Almost every slave upon this plantation, both male and 
 female, wliom I considered intelligent and worthy of 
 trust, has left me since the occupation of the country by 
 the Union army. My staff have all gone to their homes 
 on a furlough. My overseer is a jack-at-a-pinch, a 
 blundering blockhead. Old Phillis is kind in her way, 
 
 but could not read a prescription, or hardly count the 
 30 
 
350 THE EEBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 hours. So you see there is not one among them all fit 
 to nurse a sick donkey, to say nothing of a man." 
 
 There was a long silence. Catharine saw what he 
 wanted : hut she could not speak with such a fierce strug- 
 gle between duty and inclination going on in her heart. 
 She wanted to go and find, or at least hear from, The- 
 odore. She longed inexpressibly to go home ; yet she 
 had promised before God to love, honor, and obey this 
 man ; to care for him in sickness and in health, through 
 life, till death. And, though from pity or some other 
 reason he had given her leave to forsake him in his 
 greatest need, was not her duty before God as plain as 
 the open day ? " 
 
 ^' Ay," whispered conscience : " your path is plain 
 enough now. Why do you hesitate ? " 
 
 And when at last Gen. Atherton, eagerly scanning her 
 changing countenance, said in a tremulous tone, " Cath- 
 arine, you were ever kind and pitiful ; you nursed poor 
 Major Hunter and little Walter ; you took care of the 
 sick and dying soldiers : is it too much for me to ask 
 of you to stay ? " she said, without a moment's hes- 
 itation, '• I will stay. Gen. Atherton, and by God's help 
 do all I can for you." 
 
 How little we know, in these great and solemn crises of 
 our lives, what weighty events hang upon the decisions 
 of a moment ! Those words decided Catharine's destiny. 
 
 " Oh, how can I ever be grateful enough for that de- 
 cision ! " he said in a tone of deep emotion. ^' If I live or 
 die, you shall not repent of it. Yet, dear Catharine, sep- 
 arate yourself, if you can, from the thought of being 
 bound to me by solemn ties ; for you are so no longer. I 
 have not the strength or courage now to tell you why. 
 Every thing and everybody left upon this plantation is 
 
THE general's DANGER. 351 
 
 at your service ; aud I trust mj'^self unreservedly to your 
 care. Tlie thought that you will stay with me takes a 
 great burden from my mind, and will go far towards my 
 recovery. But here you have been standing all this time. 
 Please ring for Tull, and then go and rest yourself. I 
 must spare you all I can, and myself too ; for I am very 
 weary : it is such an effort to talk so much." 
 
 Before leaving, Catharine recommended such treatment 
 as she had seen practised in similar cases in the hospitals. 
 The doctors, she said, were all fully occupied in caring for 
 the thousands of sick and wounded in E-ichmond, and 
 might not come for many hours; and in a case like this 
 delay might be fatal. 
 
 So he gratefully submitted to any thing promising re- 
 lief that she and Aunt Phillis thought best to administer 
 or apply. And well was it for him that he did so, as no 
 doctor could be procured until the afternoon of the fol- 
 lowing day, and Mrs. Hunter had not returned to Eich- 
 mond. 
 
 When one did arrive at last, Catharine was rejoiced to 
 find that it was Dr. Huntley, with whom she was well 
 acquainted. He approved of every thing they had been 
 doing, and said, that, but for their timely antiphlogis- 
 tic treatment, the patient would have been a great deal 
 worse; as it was, he said, he would probabl}' have a 
 pretty severe course of pleurisy and fever. 
 
 The doctor was obliged to go back that night to Kich- 
 mond; but he staid to tea : so Catharine had a chance to 
 hear a great deal about how matters and things were 
 progressing in the Confederate capital. 
 
 He said Mrs. Hunter had been delayed on her way 
 from Raleigh to Richmond by the illness of some of 
 her family, and could not be expected at Atherton at 
 
352 THE EEBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 present. The doctor had knoun something of Catharine's 
 previous history ; and she had to tell him more to ac- 
 count for her presence there, which he might or might 
 not regard with suspicion. 
 
 " You can't think how sorry I am that Mrs. Hunter 
 cannot be here," said Catharine, as the doctor was about 
 to leave. " It is so unpleasant, so trying for me to be 
 here in such circumstances, — the only white woman on 
 this plantation, or indeed in this neighborhood. You 
 know, my nursing old Major Hunter would be regarded 
 by the world as a very different thing ; " and the color 
 flushed her cheek as she said it. 
 
 '' Yes, I know," he returned. " But Gen. Atherton is 
 dangeroush'' ill. You owe him something for picking 
 3'ou up, bringing you home with him, and probablj^ sav- 
 ing your life. There is no one else, he tells me, any- 
 where about here, who can be at all depended upon ; 
 so I see no way for you but to stay here, make the best 
 of it, and save his life if you can. I know you are a 
 skilful nurse, if your strength will only hold out ; and 
 Mrs. Hunter may be able to come soon." 
 
 "Oh, I hope so! But which of them is it who is 
 sick?" 
 
 "I do not know; probably little Walter, who, I fear, 
 may not live long. He was a very sensitive child ; and, 
 to say nothing of his wound, he has never got over the 
 shock of his father's death. It was a sad affair every 
 way : the whole family seem to be very unfortunate. 
 Sad news awaits them now, too, as soon as they reach 
 home." 
 
 "What is that?" she questioned with paling cheek, 
 faltering tongue, and foreboding heart. 
 
 " WeU, perhaps you had better not teU the general ; 
 
THE general's DANGER. 353 
 
 but a despatch was received by the government a day 
 or two ago from the south-western army, announcing, 
 among others, tlie death of Lloyd, Major Hunter's eldest 
 son. Pie was killed in one of the hxte engagements with 
 the Union army. He was, a fine, noble-spirited young 
 man ; and I was sorry to hear — But how white you are, 
 Miss Hale ! You are fainting ; " and he sprung forward, 
 and supported her with his arm. 
 
 "No, no!'' she gasped with white lips ; ^' but I am 
 deeply shocked ! He was once my — friend, and — and 
 — it will be terrible news to them — all." 
 
 " I am very, very sorry," continued the kind-hearted 
 doctor, pressing a glass of water to her lips, and begin- 
 ning, as he thought, to understand the case ; remember- 
 ing that she had been some time in the family. '• This 
 dreadful war makes shocking work in these proud old fam- 
 ilies, — shocking indeed! Are you better now, Miss 
 Hale ? " 
 
 " Yes," she faltered : '•' I shall be over it in a mo- 
 ment. I have been iU : I am still far jfrom strong, — 
 and it was the surprise — the suddenness — Pray don't 
 let me detain you, doctor." 
 
 "But are you sure of yourself? Hadn't I better give 
 you something ? Your life and health are precious here 
 just now." 
 
 " Oh, no ! I am better. But, if Mrs. Hunter comes, 
 tell her we need her here very, very much." 
 
 " Well, then, if I can do nothing for you, I must go. 
 But pray take care of yourself if you can. I will be 
 sure to tell Mrs. Hunter if she comes. Good-night." 
 
 He looked back lingeringly upon the pale but lovely 
 face, and saw the hopeless, agonized expression that 
 swept over it, which no effort at self-control could, 
 
354 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 wholly conceal from him. Only a love thrown hack 
 upon itself, only a heart almost breaking with its bur- 
 den of repressed and stifled agony, could send such a 
 look as that upon a human countenance, he thought j 
 and all the way to Eichmond he could not get it out cf 
 his mind. 
 
 And it was a terrible blow to Catharine ; for in spite 
 of legal bonds, or earnest endeavors to forget, she loved 
 Lloyd Hunter still. His sudden death snapped some 
 of the sweetest and tenderest chords of life, and made 
 the light of hope, dim enough before, go out in dark- 
 ness. " Yet what was the life or death of Lloyd Hunter 
 to her ? " whispered conscience in that hour of bitter 
 sorrow. " Was she not another man's wife ? "Was she 
 not bound by irrevocable ties to one who was suffering 
 at that very moment for the kind ministrations she had 
 promised before Grod to perform for him ? " 
 
 In an agony of contending emotions she ran up to 
 her room, knelt down, and implored her heavenly Father 
 for help to conquer all wrong or unholy emotions, for grace 
 to support her through the stern trials that beset her 
 path on every side, for spiritual and temporal strength 
 to support and assist her in the performance of the sol- 
 emn and responsible duties that were about to devolve 
 upon her; and that he would shape all the events of her 
 life in such a way as would be for his honor and glory, 
 her own best good, and that of all others around her. 
 
 Perhaps it was well for Catharine in that trying hour 
 that she had unavoidable duties to perforn, that tasked 
 her thought and strength to the uttermost, to keep her 
 from dwelling too much upon a bereavement which no 
 inner sense of right and wrong could make her feel was 
 any thing else than the sundering of the deepest and 
 
THE general's DANGER. 355 
 
 tenderest ties of earthly affection. But she was no 
 stranger to the spirit of self-sacrifice, that vicarious 
 " enthusiasm of humanity," that a late author saya 
 " our Saviour came into the world to inaugurate." It 
 was, in fact, one of the strongest impulses of her true 
 aad noble heart. One, too, that would forever prevent 
 her from giving up wholly to a sorrow that would have 
 crushed a gentler and more yielding soul to the earth. 
 So, with a pallid face, quivering lip, and sinking heart, 
 yet with tearless eyes, and a firm resolve to do the 
 duty God seemed to have assigned to her, she entered 
 upon her work. With her there was no looking back 
 regretfully from that time. "Whether friend or enemj'-, 
 husband or not, the man's life, under God, depended 
 almost wholly upon her; and night and day she did hfer 
 duty nobly, watching over him with the most patient 
 and tender care, taking the whole charge of the medi- 
 cines, and administering them herself; resting only 
 when it was absolutely necessary in the adjoining 
 room, and ready at any moment to attend to a sum- 
 mons from the ignorant attendants, who, for a short 
 time,'took her place. She found TuU and Aunt Phillis 
 able coadjutors ; but they could not read : so the real 
 care came almost wholly upon herself Little Effie, who 
 had recovered from the effects of her immersion, was 
 now her chosen attendant, and made herself extremely 
 useful by her peculiar tact in adapting herself to sur- 
 rounding circumstances. She would sit by the patient's 
 bedside for hours of her own free choice, to fan him, and 
 keep off the flies, while Catharine, completely'worn out, 
 was trying to rest ; and she would watch the hands of 
 the clock with eager interest to see when they had got 
 to the time when she must call Catharine to give the 
 
356 THE EEBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 medicine. The poor thing was little and lame, ignorant 
 and humpbacked; but she was deeply grateful for the 
 life they had saved : and Catharine found in her a mine 
 of affection and trust that was well worth the working, 
 though she was black as midnight. 
 
 The general had a very severe illness ; and for two or 
 three days his life was despaired of. But she made the 
 best of all the attending circumstances, and acquitted 
 herself in such a way that Dr. Huntley said she had 
 undoubtedly been the means of saving the patient's life. 
 
 The case had been all the more critical, from the fact 
 that no doctor could be obtained oftener than once in 
 two or three days ; so she had to abide by written in- 
 structions, and the medical books she found in the gen- 
 eral's library. 
 
 There were women enough in the country at that 
 time who would have felt it to be no crime to let an 
 enemy of the cause they espoused die for the want of 
 the care they might have extended ; and some, too, who 
 would have helped his onward journey to the realms 
 of glory or of woe. 
 
 But Catharine had not so learned the Saviour's pre- 
 cept, " If thine enemy hunger, feed him ; if he thirst, 
 give him drink : for in so doing thou shalt heap coals 
 of fire on his head." Some may think her very foolish ; 
 but she herself felt that her mission was not one of 
 vengeance, but rather that of philanthropy and love to 
 the human race. 
 
 Her patient was better at last, — able to sit up, then 
 to walk ^bout the room, and at last ride out on pleasant 
 days. He had been much more patient and forbearing 
 throughout his illness than she would have believed 
 possible J for brought up, as all slaveholders think they 
 
THE general's DANGER. 357 
 
 are, to coiniuand, it was but natural to expect some 
 displays of irritability and iinperiousness. lie was very 
 much changed, she tliouglit, from the haughty, domi- 
 neering man she liad thought him at first, to one of a 
 much more meek.and quiet spirit. Yet, as he grew bet- 
 ter, a deep and settled gloom seemed to come over him, 
 which no effort of hers could dissipate. At his desire, 
 she read and sung and plaj^ed to him, or tried to beguile 
 the tediousness of convalescence by cheerful conversa- 
 tion ; but ever and always with the result of deepening 
 the gloom upon his countenance. 
 
 One day he was more restless and irritable than usual, 
 and spoke rather sharply to little Effie before Catharine. 
 Ashamed of it afterwards, he turned to her and said, — 
 
 " Catharine, you must be shocked by my ill-temper 
 and ugliness. Let what will happen, I observe that you 
 never display any yourself. AVhere do you get such 
 admirable forbearance ? and what is it that supports 
 you through all the stern trials that have beset your 
 path for months ? " 
 
 Catharine looked up reverently, but did not reply. 
 
 " Ah ! I see, — among the angels, to whom I have often 
 thought you must be akin, if there are an}^ angels." 
 
 " From One higher than the angels, I hope, — One who 
 would guide and support you, too, if you would only 
 ask it." 
 
 "1^0, Catharine: I have not faith enough in that far- 
 off sphere, or any such omnipotent Being who inhabits 
 it, as to wing any prayer I could make so that it would 
 soar above the earth and what is earthly ; while yours 
 would reach the highest heaven, if there be any." 
 
 ^' If there be any ? Can you doubt it, or that theie 
 IS a God who rules in the affairs of the universe?" 
 
358 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 said she eagerly, shocked by this admission of doubts 
 she had often suspected, but never really knew he enter- 
 tained before. 
 
 *' I have doubted it for long years," said he gloomily ; 
 " believed in no other God than that of Nature, and 
 that man was but another name for universal selfish- 
 ness. And believing thus, and seeing it acted out daily 
 during my whole past life, you don't know how your 
 noble, self-sacrificing example has affected me since I 
 have lain there trembling on the brink of the grave. 
 It has almost convinced me that there is a spirit in 
 man — or at least one woman — nobler, purer, and ho- 
 lier than any I had ever dreamed of; and that such a 
 spirit must be connected with some power that is invisi- 
 ble to mortal eyes, intangible to human senses, and alto- 
 gether incomprehensible to my human understanding." 
 
 "My example is nothing, general, only in that I strive 
 to make it a Christian one. I am but an humble imitator 
 of Him who came into the world to give the noblest 
 example of self-sacrifice and love and forbearance to en- 
 emies ; and wdio, to prove that love, at last laid down 
 his life for their redemption. Of myself I am of small 
 account in God's economy of the universe ; yet even my 
 poor example, in his hands, may serve as an illustration 
 to you of the eternal principles of his love and good-will 
 to man. But rest assured that* it is his Spirit, and not 
 what I ha\ e done, that has been striving powerfully with 
 you during this distressing illness. I have seen it before 
 to-day, and earnestly beg of you to attend to its warn- 
 ings, and make your peace with him, before you are 
 brought to some other crisis in your destiny that may 
 have a fatal termination." 
 
 " Catharine, if I could have you for a guide and helper 
 
THE GENERAL S DANGER. 359 
 
 alwaj's, there might be some hope of my attaining to 
 a better faith than infidelity teaches. Without you, 
 Nature will and must be to me the supreme power in 
 the universe." 
 
 " Oh ! there is, there must be, a great first cause for 
 every thing. Your idea of nature is but another name 
 for God, the Author, Euler, and Supreme Disposer of 
 every thing in the universe. In your heart, I believe 
 you feel this to be true, though you may not like to con- 
 fess it with your lips." 
 
 "I will confess that you are an earnest and eloquent 
 preacher, and deserve a better and larger audience," 
 he returned with a ghastly smile. 
 
 "It is of consequence to us sometimes to turn one 
 from the error of his ways, that he may do the same 
 by others. And I am earnest because I have felt it all, 
 and believe it to be a solemn truth. " 
 
 "But, Catharine, I have never felt;^so I cannot be- 
 lieve these things." 
 
 " I am sure you will, and, in fact, are beginning to do 
 so now ; for ' I believe in the intimate presence of God 
 in the soul of every man, though sin and worldliness 
 may blind him to that sacred presence. His handwrit- 
 ing is on our innermost shrines of thought ; his voice 
 thrills through the deepest recesses of our being. None 
 can shut out the thought that he sends ; but unsought, 
 unsuggested by the ordinary laws of association, — nay, 
 often unwelcomed, — they remain, return, haunt the soul, 
 knock at the heart's door, as they are doing at yours 
 to-day, and often forsake it not until they are cherished 
 and obeyed. Not we ourselves can hold so close com- 
 munion with our own souls as God can and does.' '' 
 
 " And you have felt all this ? " 
 
860 THE EEBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 " If I know myself, I have. '' 
 
 " Then perhaps you could teach me the way to the 
 truth and the light. I am sure no one else ever could. 
 Preaching and Bible-reading, I am sure, never sounded 
 so sweet to me from any other lips." 
 
 " That is because you never before felt the need of 
 a better and more satisfying faith. Having been a 
 healthy man, you never before stood upon the confines 
 of two worlds, shrinking from that dark and dreadful 
 plunge into the vast unknown beyond the grave, that 
 only a Christian hope can gild and brighten -to the true 
 believer, or make otherwise tolerable to human thought. 
 The hope of meeting in a future life those from whom 
 death has severed us in this is dear to almost every hu- 
 man heart ; " and she dropped a tear to the memory of 
 one, who, in spite of her multiplied cares and efforts to 
 forget, was very often present to her thoughts. 
 
 " There is truth in what you say. TVe who have the 
 courage to face the cannon's mouth tremble sometimes 
 at the thought of death and its unsolved mysteries ; 
 though, in the heat of the bloodiest battle, it never 
 seemed so near to me as it has within the past few 
 weeks. The thought, too, of annihilation, of death 
 without a future resurrection, sometimes brings to me a 
 horror that no words can express ; '^ and he bowed his 
 head upon his hand, and seemed lost in troubled thought. 
 Catharine pitied him from the bottom of her heart. 
 
 That he had many causes for disquiet of a temporal 
 and earthly nature, she knew very well. But, above and 
 beyond all this, she felt sure that conscience, startled 
 by its late outlook into the eternal world, was torturing 
 him with a conviction of those great truths of revela- 
 tion, that he had hitherto denied or ignored. But for 
 
THE general's DANGER. 361 
 
 once she felt that she had said enough. It was better 
 now to leave liiin with God and his own conscience. 
 And, rising quietly, she was leaving the room, when he 
 raised his head, with dry, bloodshot eyes, flushed cheek, 
 and a look of earnest entreaty, as he said, — 
 
 "Catharine, don't go yet. There is something I 
 must say to you ; and the sooner it is said now the bet- 
 ter ; " and he took hor hand, and drew her down beside 
 him, a good deal agitated by the thought of what it was 
 to be. 
 
 " Do yoii know," he continued, " that I am wickedly 
 ungrateful for the life you have been the means of sav- 
 ing ? That your staying here, and wearing your life 
 out in nursing me back to health, was all a mistake, 
 unless " — 
 
 " Why ? Why, then, did you entreat me to stay ? " 
 she exclaimed almost indignantly. 
 
 " I scarcely know myself, unless it was to make my- 
 self in the end a thousand times more miserable. Prom- 
 ising what I had, and knowing what I did, I should have 
 sent you off at once with blessings ; and then, if I had 
 died, it would have been the end of it. If I loved you 
 then, what is it now — that 3'^ou have saved my life, en- 
 deared yourself in a hundred ways, intwined yourself 
 around every chord of my heart, and become all the world 
 to me — but a wild worship ? And now, when life and 
 energy are coming back to me, every day, every hour, 
 makes the thought of a separation still harder to bear." 
 
 "Why, then — then — tlie sooner I go, the better,'' 
 she said, rising in a good deal of agitation. 
 
 "Pray sit down. We have been talking of heavenly 
 things, now let us speak of the earthly. I want to ask 
 you a few serious questions." 
 31 
 
362 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 " Well, then " — 
 
 " Catharine, if I had never entangled you hy those 
 fatal bonds, if you really believed yourself free to choose, 
 and not my wife, and I should ask you now to marry me, 
 what would be your reply ? " 
 
 "I — I really do not know," she said, as the bright 
 color flashed over her face, and the tears gathered in her 
 eyes. 
 
 He turned and looked at her eagerly. 
 
 " Catharine ! tell me truly," he exclaimed, " whether 
 you really like me better than you did a year ago." 
 
 " Yes," she faltered : "I tliink I do." 
 
 "But, dear Catharine, do you — can you — love 
 me well enough to be willing to spend your life with 
 me ? " and his face grew pale, and his voice trembled, 
 with the intensity of his emotions. 
 
 Had those words the power to rend the veil, and re- 
 veal the inner soul to the outer vision, or was she 
 powerfully magnetized by the pleading tones and be- 
 seeching glances of this eloquent and talented man ? 
 She could not tell. Yet she became conscious at that 
 moment, for the first time, of tlie fact that she did care 
 more for him now than any other living man, and that 
 the thought of leaving him forever was a painful one. 
 She realized, too, that there had been a great change in 
 her feeling towards him, and that the thought of her 
 friends, her duty to her country, aud even Lloyd Hun- 
 ter's cherished image, had faded into indistinctness in 
 her heart. 
 
 Did ever a woman nurse a sick child throusrh a dan- 
 gerous illness, without in the end gertting strongly at- 
 tached to it ? — much more, watch over a man of strong 
 powers of attraction, brought down to the feebleness of 
 
THE general's DANGER. 863 
 
 an infant, looking up to her with patient trust clay 
 after day, grateful for every trifling service, strong only 
 in the power of an und3ang affection, that the eyes, those 
 "windows of the soul," following her everywhere, re- 
 veal, even when no word is spoken ? Can she fervently 
 hope he will not die while under her care ; pray that 
 he may he spared to rejjeut of liis misdeeds ; watch 
 for hours the feehle, fluttering pulse, the glazing eye, 
 and fleeting breath, and thank God for the miraculous 
 restoration, — even when death for her own sake seemed 
 most desirable, — without some change in her senti- 
 ments regarding him ? 
 
 Could any disengaged female heart, in fact, of tender 
 sensibilities, go through with all this, as Catharine had 
 done, without acquiring a far deeper interest in her patient 
 than she had ever felt before, and without forgetting, in 
 part at least, all previous prepossessions, in her absorb- 
 ing interest in her charge ? 
 
 We think not, most decidedly. And such at least 
 had been her experience, though she did not realize it 
 till now. She had known indeed that her extreme 
 longing for home and friends had given place to the 
 pressure of care and anxiety that weighed upon her so 
 heavily ; that Atherton grew more like home to her 
 every day ; that the thought of returning to the uSTorth 
 did not give her the joy it had done a few weeks before; 
 and even the memory of Theodore's danger, and her 
 country's peril, and Lloyd's sudden death, were often 
 forgotten in the danger and suffering of one, who, in one 
 way and another, contrived to occupy most of her 
 thoughts. She believed he was her husband, it is true, 
 and perhaps that it was her duty to forget all other at- 
 tachments, devote her life to him, and no longer try to 
 
864 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 evade her destiny. So now, when he repeated the ques- 
 tion in faltering tones, "Do 3'ou indeed love me well 
 enough to spend your life with me ? " she murmured 
 with tremulous lips, "Perhaps I do." 
 
 " Thanks, thanks for that precious admission, my 
 Catharine ! But oh, you do not know what a terrible 
 temptation you are placing in my path at this mo- 
 ment?" 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 "I hardly dare tell you, through fear that jon will 
 retract those welcome words ; jet I must he honest 
 and truthful with you now, dear Catharine, if by it I 
 lose you forever. You are not my wife, as both you 
 and I have believed so long. The chaplain who united 
 us at Manassas Junction was a scoundrel, silenced by his 
 order, and therefore unqualified to perform the rite of 
 marriage. I heard it all from IMajor jMulford while in 
 camp ; and that, more than aught else, was the cause of 
 my illness. If it was the hand of Him you acknowl- 
 edge as a Father that has kept us separated until now, 
 I also may be brought to acknowledge it with gratitude, 
 if, with you, it also bestow upon me at last what I 
 have not deserved, — the priceless gift of your affection. 
 You are not my wife, dear Catharine, by anj^ human 
 tie ; but it remains with you to decide whether you will 
 become so. My presence is imperatively demanded in 
 Richmond. I think I shall be well enough to go there 
 in a day or two ; and then and there, if you will forgive 
 the past, and reward my patience and constancy by the 
 gift of 3"our hand, I shall be everlastingly grateful.'' 
 
 The next morning, feeling better than usual, the gen- 
 eral decided to make the journey to Richmond. He had 
 
THE GENER^VX'S DANGER. 865 
 
 made every arrangement for their departure, the car- 
 riage was ordered, and Catharine, with a trembling hand 
 and faltering heart, dressed for the journey, was just 
 descending the stairs, when a party of soldiery halted 
 in front of the mansion. 
 
 One of them, an officer, singled (>fF from the troops, 
 and, dashing up to the door, inquired for Gen. Atherton. 
 The general stepped to the door at once. 
 
 "Why, Atherton! how do you do? I heard you were 
 sick ; and I am sure your looks do not belie the story." 
 
 "Yes," said the general: "it has been the most serious 
 illness I ever had in my life. I am better, however, and 
 am going to Kichmond to-day. But how goes it with 
 tlie army, Mulford ? " 
 
 " Well, my friend. But I have no time for particu- 
 lars : I'm in an awful hurry, but thought I must stop a 
 moment to correct a little mistake I made while you 
 were in camp, that I thought might aifect you seriously 
 and personally. It is regarding the story about tliat 
 chaplain jou remember who married you to Miss Hale 
 at Bull Kun. It seems, after all, that I wa^ misin- 
 formed. I have it now upon the most indisputable evi- 
 dence of those higli in position in the army, who had a 
 personal knowledge of the affair. They say the man 
 was unjustly accused, came off victorious from the 
 slander of his enemies, and was never silenced by his 
 order. So j^'ou see, ^^our marriage is valid after all; 
 and please give my best regards to your wife when you 
 see her. Good-morning, general." With a polite bow 
 and smile at the general's surprised and joyous coun- 
 tenance. Major, or rather Col. Mulford turned, and rode 
 on after his troops. 
 
 Catharine meantime, through the open door, had 
 
Z6Q THE r.EBEL GEXERaL's LOYAL BKmE. 
 
 heard every word of this colloqii}", and, overcome with 
 emotioD, sunk down upon the stairs, dizzy and as 
 strengthless as a child. 
 
 For tliat very morning, after a fervent petition for 
 help and guidance, she had come to the conclusion that 
 it would be wrong for her now, whatever her present 
 feelings towards him, to marry Gen. Atherton, and lielp 
 him, as she indirectly must, to foster the rebellion. He 
 had fully absolved her from her promise on Harry's ac- 
 count ; and to marry him now would be treason to her 
 country and her God. If she had really been married, 
 as she supposed, why, then, it would have been her duty 
 to abide by those solemn vows, that she considered the 
 most sacred of all human obligations. 
 
 The conclusion was inevitable. She was already the 
 wife of Edward Atherton ; she realized now that her 
 solemn promise to become so was witnessed by men and 
 angels, and recorded on high : so she must abide by b.er 
 own decisions. 
 
 The carriage rolled up to the door at that moment; 
 and, turning to look after Catliarine, the general saw her 
 sitting there pale and agitated. He understood it at 
 once ; and going up to her, and taking her hand tenderly 
 in his, he said, — 
 
 " You heard it all ? " 
 
 " Yes ; " and the color flashed over her cheek as she 
 rose to her feet. 
 
 '•'Dear Catharine, it is our destiny. Henceforth we 
 will be one in heart and life and fortune," he said in 
 tones of deep emotion. 
 
 He led her down the stairs, bade " Good-by " to the 
 faithful servants, and helped her into the carriage that 
 was to convey them to Kichmond. 
 
THE general's DiVXGER. 867 
 
 As we are not writing a history of tlie rebellion other- 
 wise than as it affects the lives, and fortunes of the prin- 
 cipal characters in our story, we leave it for abler pens 
 tlian ours to describe the mortification and disappoint- 
 ment of the North at the sad results of that peninsular 
 campaign, and the triumpliant joy of the South in view 
 of the same unfortunate occurrences. 
 
 The South had, it is true, lost tens of thousands of 
 men ; and the people were disappointed because they had 
 not captured the whole Union army : but the leaders made 
 the best and the most of their successes, and offered a 
 solemn thanks G^ivinsr to God for their s^reat victories. 
 
 But, in spite of all human calculations, these reverses 
 of the ^N'orthern army were being overruled by an al- 
 mighty arm at that very time to the overthrow of 
 the slave power and downfall of the rebellion ; for this 
 great disaster was the first thing that opened the eyes 
 of the nation to the folly of trying to coax back the re- 
 bellious States by returning the poor fugitive slaves, and 
 refusing at their hands that knowledge of the country 
 and the enemy's plans that could alone insure success. 
 
 Fremont, Phelps, and others had already tried in 
 viiin to inaugurate opposite measures : they had been 
 defeated in their humane plans by tliose higher in power, 
 who had different views; and the nation had to pay the 
 penalty. 
 
 The demand of that nation for a change of policy was 
 now so plainly indicated that the government could not 
 mistake its duty. The emancipation proclamation was 
 the response to that momentous call. This, more than 
 aught else, gave the death-blow to slavery ; though in its 
 dying agonies it mjide still more frantic struggles to pro- 
 long its life and extend its power. This, and the large 
 
368 THE EEBEL GEXERAL'S LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 amount of ordnance and army stores tlie South had cap- 
 tured, gave a new impetus to the car of war, that, like a 
 mighty Juggernaut, was rolling over the land ; crushing 
 out the lives of hundreds of thousands of noble men 
 beneath its ponderous wheels ; leaving a broad track, 
 red with the blood of the best and the bravest, and 
 drenching it at the North and South, East and West, 
 with the tears of the widow and the orphan. 
 
 On hundreds of Mood-stained fields, men fought and 
 bled and died in opposing ranks for what each con- 
 sidered the cause of God, humanity, and the best good 
 of their country ; while the nations of the Old World 
 and the New looked on in astonishment and wonder. 
 The republic seemed trembling in the balance ; and 
 monarchies and free governments feared or rejoiced, as 
 the scales seemed inclining one way or the other. 
 
 Monarchies hastily and rejoicingly proclaimed the 
 republic a failure, as they had propliesied ever since it 
 was established ; and all who loved freedom throughout 
 the world feared for our national life. 
 
 The North at that time seemed exhausted by her 
 mighty, but thus far seemingly-fruitless efforts ; and 
 never did her night look darker than just after that un- 
 successful peninsular campaign. But humiliation and de- 
 feat brought wiser councils, and perhaps a firmer reliance 
 upon the God of battles : it also led to a more energetic 
 prosecution of the war, and to future victories. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 BATTLE OF THE RIVALS. DEATH OF PHILIP. 
 
 ;E must now pass on to some of the closing 
 scenes in the rebellion. 
 
 Scores of bloody battles had been fought 
 on land and sea, in which Victory some- 
 times perched upon one banner, and then the other: 
 but, for all that, the anaconda policy of the government 
 was all the time slowly tightening such giant folds 
 around the twin monsters, Slavery and Secession, as 
 must ere long result in their destruction; for the 
 united voice of the nation now demanded, not only the 
 death of Slavery, but also the release of her imprisoned 
 thousands, who were suffering untold horrors in South- 
 ern prisons. 
 
 They were dying by thousands of hunger and thirst, 
 cold and nakedness ; shelterless beneath burning suns 
 of summer and the frosts of winter, and exposed to 
 every indignity and outrage that could kill them off 
 without the sin of actual murder. 
 
 Yet it was just as much actual murder as if they had 
 cut the throats of sixty thousand unarmed men, — a crime 
 for which the Southern leaders will have to answer in 
 the judgment. 
 
 Our government may have been blameworthy regard- 
 
 369 
 
370 THE REBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 ing the difficulty about the exchange of prisoners ; but, 
 if so, that did not justifj'' the Confederacy in planning 
 and executing this wholesale slaughter. 
 
 The nation liad now learned that a continual chan- 
 ging of military leaders was not the wisest policy, even 
 ill a republican government ; and, with a new-found 
 faith in him who was now at the head of the armies of 
 the Union, they concluded that it was best to march on, 
 througli reverses, to victory. 
 
 "While events of the greatest military importance 
 were transpiring all over the country, tlie armies of the 
 James and tlie Potomac sat down before PetersbursT 
 and Richmond, bombarding the former, and harassing 
 the rebels in every way, by cutting their railroads, and 
 stopping their supplies in every direction. Being in an 
 enemy's country, and subject to tlie greatest disadvan- 
 tages, the Northern armies lost large numbers of men ; 
 while the rebels, suffering little for a while behind their 
 fortifications, laughed to scorn the assaults of the inva- 
 ders : yet, though their progress was slow, it was sure, 
 and certain in the end to lead to victory. 
 
 It was in one of the assaults upon the rebel works 
 at this time, that Theodore Hale, who had recovered 
 from his wound, and was now a lieutenant-colonel in the 
 Union army, exhibited the greatest heroism, and won, by 
 his courage, bravery, and the skilful handling of his 
 troops, the commendatory notice of the commanding gen- 
 eral. It was, too, in this terrible battle, when the Union 
 troops were being pressed back by overpowering numbers, 
 that Theodore, all at once, found himself face to face 
 and hand to hand with Col. Philip Atherton. 
 
 They knew each other at once, and, for a few mo- 
 ments, fought, sword in hand, with equal skill and 
 
BATTLE OF THE RIVALS. 371 
 
 bravery. Theodorej however, devoutly wished his foe 
 was some one else than his old schoolmate and rival ; 
 while Philip, with the old rivalries in love and scholar- 
 ship aud his humiliating capture at Tremont House all 
 rushing back to his memory, was rejoicing in the pros- 
 pect of a bloody revenge. 
 
 All at once Tlieodore saw that his men were retreat- 
 ing, and the rebels surrounding him. He turned, quick 
 as thought, and tried to cut his way back to his troops, 
 but found it impossible : he was hemmed in on every 
 side. He saw at once that there were but two alterna- 
 tives, — surrender or death. He chose the former, for 
 life was still dear to him ; and, turning back towards 
 Philip, who was evidently in command, he, with a heavy 
 heart, lowered the point of his sword in token of sur- 
 render. 
 
 But Philip's blood was all aflame : his eyes were blaz- 
 ing. Kothing at that moment could appease his ven- 
 geance for all the disappointments of his own life and the 
 humiliation of his country but the blood of him whom 
 he had once considered his rival. Deliberately drawincj 
 his pistol, he aimed at Theodore's heart, and fired. 
 
 But God's care was over Theodore. The ball cut his 
 clothing, and grazed the skin, but passed between his 
 arm and his heart. 
 
 The hot, angry blood swept over Theodore's face at the 
 thought of such murderous treatment. His keen eye 
 swept the field with eagle gaze. It saw a slight gap in 
 the rebel lines. Kaising his sword once more, he gave 
 the dastard]}' Philip a sweeping blow : then, dashing his 
 spurs into his horse's sides, he swept through the gap like 
 a whirlwind. Before the rebels had recovered from their 
 astonishment at his audacity, he had joined his troop, 
 
372 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRmE. 
 
 halted, and turned them back to their duty, and was 
 the means of changing the fortunes of the day. 
 
 But many brave men had fallen, and especially offi- 
 cers whose places were to be filled; and foi; this, as 
 well as many another brave deed, Theodore was after- 
 wards created a brigadier-general. 
 
 Philip, however, was not slain by Theodore's sweeping 
 blow, though it gave him a severe cut across the cheek ; 
 but, just as he was turning to follow his flying troop, he 
 received a still more serious wound from a Minie-ball, 
 in the knee. Agonized with pain and mad with pas- 
 sion, he still tried vainly to rally his panic-stricken 
 troops. When he found he could not do so, he turned, 
 and w^as glad to seek safety in flight. His wounds were 
 considered very serious ; and as soon as possible he was 
 sent back to E-ichmond. 
 
 The surgeons tried to save his limb, but, after a few 
 days, found that it was impossible. His horror may be 
 imagined when told that amputation alone could save 
 his life. He could not die. Life was every thing to 
 Philip Atherton ; so he submitted to the dreadful oper- 
 ation. Yet it was a terrible thing for one who had been 
 so proud of his strength, and his manly beauty of face 
 and form, to be thus mutilated by those he hated ; and 
 no expletives were too horrible for him to launch against 
 Theodore and the universal Yankee nation. But what 
 availed all his rebellion against the inevitable ? Philip 
 Atherton was doomed. 
 
 From the memorable night of Gen. Atherton's visit to 
 Catharine in the Libby Prison, and knowledge of his 
 son's abduction to get her out of his way, he and Philip 
 had mutually avoided each other. 
 
BATTLE OF THE EIVALS. 3T3 
 
 He wrote to liim at tliat time, charging him with his 
 villany, and threatening him with disinheritance, if, in 
 the future, he in any way molested her who was now 
 his honored wife. 
 
 Over that letter Pliilip gnashed his teeth in impotent 
 rage ; yet he dared not accuse his father of the crime, 
 the treason, by which he had won her ; and that was 
 the last of their correspondence. He hated his father 
 then as much as he had ever loved him ; and he could 
 not respect him either, because he had unfairly won 
 the only woman ho had ever really loved. They sel- 
 dom met, and never spoke to each other through those 
 terrible years of war and blood. The alienation was in- 
 deed complete. 
 
 Generous, public-spirited, and devoted to the cause of 
 the rebellion. Gen. Atherton had offered his elegantly- 
 furnished mansion in E-ichmond for the use of the gov- 
 ernment ; and at that time it was occupied as a liospital 
 for officers of distinction, who were sick or wounded. 
 
 And it was here that Philip was brouglit after the 
 battle, — to the home of his youth, the house where he 
 was born, and where the sister, who still loved him, had 
 preceded him, and taken up her abode. 
 
 A few days after his arrival, strangely enough. Gen. 
 Atherton, too, came from the army near Petersburg on a 
 hurried visit to E-ichmond. He came to consult with 
 the authorities, and find for them a paper of great value, 
 that was stored in a cabinet in a locked apartment of 
 this mansion, of which he alone had the key. 
 
 He knew nothing of the fate that had befallen Philip, 
 supposing him to be still with his division, when he en- 
 tered the mansion, and went up to his room. And it was 
 only by accident, as he stood upon the platform, about 
 
 32 
 
374 THE EEBEL GE^^:RAL's LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 to descend the stairs, that he heard the agonized tones 
 of his voice. Thoroughly aroused and startled by those 
 well, and, even now, lovingly remembered tones, he 
 stepped quickly to the door of the room from whence 
 the}^ proceeded, opened it, and looked in. But oh, what a 
 sight met the wretched father's gaze ! Upon the bed in 
 the middle of the room, propped up bj^ pillows, and sur- 
 rounded by surgeons, chaplain, and attendants, lay all 
 that was left of his once proud, handsome, and talented 
 sou, — the pride and hope of long years of his early life. 
 
 He was as pale as marble ; while the black patch 
 on his left cheek made his sunken features look all the 
 more ghastly and horrible. His great black eyes wore 
 a terribly brilliant yet frightened expression, and were 
 roving restlessly about the room, eagerly scanning every 
 face, as if seeking for some help or hope, where none 
 was to be found; while great drops of agony, the 
 damp of death, bedewed his pallid brow. And these 
 were the words that poured in a wild torrent from his 
 lips, as the general stood appalled upon the threshold. 
 
 *' Chaplain. 3'ou are deceiving me ! I am not dj^ing ! 
 I will not die yet ! I shall live to whip Theodore Hale, 
 and those infernal Yankees who shot me. Samson 
 slew his enemies with the jaw-bone of an ass ; and I 
 swear I will mine with a wooden leg. I will not be 
 cheated of my revenge : it is all I have to live for. If 
 they take the city, we'll murder every slave we can lay 
 our hands on! — yes, every devil of 'em, and then burn 
 it over their heads. You needn't stare at me so, all of 
 you ! I'm not going to die yet, chaplain ! " 
 
 " But you must die, my dear 3'oung friend," said the 
 chaplain tearfully. '*' You are. in fact, dying now. Oh ! 
 let me beseech of you to cast, away earthly thoughts, 
 
DEATH OF PHILIP. 375 
 
 and endeavor to make j^our peace with Him wlio is plen- 
 teous in mercy, and ready to forgive all who come to 
 him in sincerity and truth. Oh ! come to that atoning 
 Saviour " — 
 
 "Away with such fictions !" exclaimed Philip impa- 
 tiently. "If I am dying, as you say, and there is such 
 a God, it is too late for me to cringe and fawn for his 
 favor. If there is a hell, I shall go to it. But I had 
 rather ^ reign in hell than serve in heaven,' if it's full of 
 Yankees. Don't sob so, 'Nel], — dear Kell ! " and he 
 turned to a female form that was bending over him, 
 with the face buried in the pillows, and whom the gen- 
 eral had not before observed. " Alas ! " he continued, 
 "both of us ruined, scarred, mutilated, deceived, betrayed ! 
 What have we to live for but each other ? Yes, dear 
 Nell, you shall live with me. We have no one else to 
 love : we will love each other. And he who has cast 
 >is off for a fair young bride " — 
 
 At this moment his roving eyes fell upon his father, 
 who was standing in the doorway ; and, starting up with 
 the wild, nervous energy of the dying, he readied out 
 his hand, and, pointing at him with his long, bony linger, 
 he continued, — 
 
 " Yes : you vvho have cast us off, and threatened dis- 
 inheritance, may gloat over your hoarded treasures, and 
 cherish the bride you have wrested from the arms of 
 your only son, — the bride who must hate and despise 
 you for the treason by which you won her. If you want 
 to see your work, the result of your false training, here 
 it is in these poor mutilated bodies and ruined souls," 
 and he pointed to Nell and himself. " You instilled the 
 pride that made us scorn to wed what we were doomed 
 to lovC; and then falsified all your teachings by wedding 
 
376 THE REBEL GENERAl's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 the poor governess yourself. You planted the ambition 
 for titles and honors, that led poor Nell to sacrifice her- 
 self to a false shadow of titled greatness, that has led her 
 on to rain and shame. You helped to plan and foster 
 the spirit of rebellion in my heart, and those of all others 
 around you, that has plunged the country into a bloody 
 war, and will lead us only to ruin, shame, and death ! 
 You — you" — He tried to proceed^ but fell back 
 fainting, and completely exhausted hy the intensity of 
 his emotions ; while a spasm of terrible agony swept 
 over his pallid face. 
 
 Stimulants were applied, and he again revived ; but 
 the spell that bound the wretched father was broken. 
 He stepped forward to the bedside, motioned the attend- 
 ants away, and, bending over his dying son, exclaimed 
 in a broken, agonized tone, — 
 
 " Philip, Philip ! If I have done all this, it was 
 ignorantly, blindl}^, — at least that part that relates 
 to you. I knew not that you loved her until it was too 
 late to change her destiny. I never dreamed of train- 
 ing you falsely, or of leading you or my country to crime 
 and ruin! Oh ! can you not forgive the father who has 
 loved you always, and whose heart has been wrung by 
 this unhappy alienation ? " 
 
 Philip looked up eagerly in his father's convulsed 
 countenance, and his expression softened. They had 
 loved each other truly once : and, as he looked upon him 
 now, the old tide of affection rushed back to his heart ; 
 and the hardness and bitterness he had treasured so long 
 vanished. 
 
 " Yes, father : I do forgive ! " he murmured, as he 
 feebly put up his arms, and drew his father's face down to 
 his, and kissed it ; '^ and oh ! you must forgive me now, as 
 
DEATH OF PHILIP. 377 
 
 Catliarine did, for all I made her suffer. I loved lier al- 
 ways, but was too proud to marry her if I could: so it 
 is just to me; but oh! not to her, — not to Lloyd, 
 who was worthy of her, and whom Nell and I both de- 
 ceived and wronged. We are both sorry, but cannot help 
 it now, or the retributions it has brought upon us both. 
 And, father ! you must forgive poor heart-broken Nell, 
 who, through terrible scenes of suffering, has come back 
 to us, bereft of beauty, health, wealth, — every thing but 
 life, which must be a burden." 
 
 Gen. Atherton raised his head, and turned with stream- 
 ing eyes towards her, in whose tear-stained, fire-marked, 
 haggard face, he could hardly recognize the lineaments 
 of his once beautiful and idolized daughter. Por a min- 
 ute he gazed upon her in astonishment : then, becoming 
 convinced that it was indeed his child, he opened his 
 arms, and she threw herself sobbing upon his bosom, 
 beseeching in tones of anguish for his forgiveness. He 
 could not refuse it then and there ; but his proud heart 
 was wrung with the deepest grief at the sight and 
 thought of the ruin that had blighted these once bril- 
 liant and promising blossoms of his household tree. And 
 he could not help looking back with the keenest regret 
 to the sceptical and thoroughly-worldly training and ex- 
 ample that had helped to make them what they were, 
 and led them on to ruin and death. But Gen. Atherton's 
 views had changed from what they once were. He be- 
 lieved now in an eternity of joy and woe. He saw that 
 Philip was dying ; and, bending over him with tear- 
 dimmed eyes, he told him so, and besought him to prepare 
 for that last great change, that was evidently very near. 
 The terrified look came back at once to Philip's eyes. 
 He asked for the chaplain, who was recalled, and at once 
 
 32* 
 
378 THE REBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BKIDE. 
 
 offered prayers for the dying, and tried to lead liis erring 
 soul, through penitence and faith in a Bedeemer, up to 
 the Father in heaven. 
 
 But poor Philip had lived a sceptical, godless life; 
 and, trembling upon the brink of eternity, oh, how 
 vainly he longed for that bridge of faith that spans 
 two worlds to the Christian believer ! With his dying 
 breath he besought Nell and his father, and all around 
 him, to seek for that better wa}^, it was too late for him 
 to find, before they came to the dark river of death. 
 These were his last distinct words. From that time he 
 sank into a stupor; but, before the light of another 
 morning, his soul had passed over the dark river to 
 fathom the mysteries of eternity. We will not dwell 
 upon the deep grief of the bereaved father and sister, 
 or the pageantry of the grand military funeral ; but only 
 say, that, after it was over, Nell had a confidential in- 
 terview with her father, and, by his advice and consent, 
 retired to Atherton Plantation ; for she could not bear 
 to see Catharine or Mrs. Hunter, or face the people of 
 Richmond, who had seen her only in the bloom of her 
 beauty. For just that reason, too, none of Philip's 
 friends had been notified of his dangerous condition ; and 
 she did not appear at the funeral. 
 
 Poor Nell had indeed met with a dreadful retribution 
 for all her pride and folly and sin. For a time she had 
 queened it right royally in New-Orleans society. She 
 dressed splendidly : they lived luxuriously, spent money 
 lavishly ; and both she and Laroi rode upon the topmost 
 wave of popular favor. She had given him her money ; 
 and after the city was captured by the Union army, 
 and it was nearly spent, he'pretended that he had been 
 robbed by the Union troops. Being among those who 
 
DEATH OF PHILIP. 379 
 
 insulted the Union soldiers, they were obliged to leave 
 the citj to avoid arrest and imprisonment. They went 
 to Vicksburg, and from thence to Atlanta, where, for 
 two years, they lived a wretched, quarrelsi me life, sup- 
 ported mostly by his success as a gambler. On the eve 
 of arrest for past crime, and when poor Nell was near 
 confinement, he deserted her, as he had long intended to 
 do, taking with him Jett, her pretty quadroon waiting- 
 maid, with the best of her wardrobe and jewelry. 
 
 The shock of his desertion, and knowledge of his vil- 
 lany, nearly killed her. Just as soon as she could walk, 
 however, after the birth of her child, she was turned 
 into the street by a cruel landlord, to whom they were 
 deeply indebted for board and lodgings. And it was 
 there, sitting on the curbstone, weeping over her beauti- 
 ful babe, that Lloyd Hunter found, succored, and sent 
 her on her way to Richmond. 
 
 She stopped in Columbia, where she had relations, 
 but found a cold welcome from those who had met with 
 great reverses, as well as herself, and who had also been 
 shamed by her past conduct. 
 
 When the city was captured by the Union army, and 
 the rebels set it on fire, by burning the cotton in the 
 streets, to prevent its falling into Union hands, she, 
 like hundreds of others, rushed out of a burning house, 
 with her babe in her arms, and fled before the advan- 
 cing conflagration. Her clothes caught fire from the 
 flaming brands and tufts of burning cotton that were 
 whirling through the air. Her babe was smothered ; 
 and her own life would have been sacrificed, but for the 
 timely help of James Hooker and Harry Hale, friends 
 and admirers of her youthful days, and then officers in 
 the Union army. 
 
380 THE EEBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRLDE. • 
 
 As it was, she escaped only with such terrible scars, 
 that few would now recognize in her the belle and 
 beauty of other days, whose machinations had been so 
 fatal to the peace of Catharine Hale and Lloyd Hunter. 
 
 It came out afterwards that Laroi was a bigamist, a 
 murderer, and a villain of the deepest dye, who had no 
 rightful claim to either title or estate. 
 
 He was a "West Indian by birtli, of a French father 
 and slave mother, and, having murdered his uncle for 
 the sake of his gold, had been obliged to fly from his 
 country. But, after be left poor Xellj he was captured, 
 carried borne, condemned, and executed. And for a vil- 
 lain like that the proud and beautiful Xell had sacri- 
 ficed friends, home, beauty, wealth, and every thing that 
 was dear to her in life. 
 
 So, humbled in spirit, and with a heart full of bitter 
 regrets, she went back to the home of her childhood to 
 mourn and dream over Philip's early death and her 
 own blighted earthlj^ prospects, and prepare, if sbe 
 would, for those that were more enduring and heav- 
 enly. 
 
 "We must now return once more to Catharine, who, 
 since her return to Richmond, had been presented to 
 the world as the Bride of the Eebel General. He 
 would have installed her at once in his elegant town 
 mansion, with a troop of servants, but for the entreaties 
 of Mrs. Hunter, who was delighted to welcome her as 
 a sister now, and very unwilling to part with her. 
 
 Her brotber would be gone most of the time, she 
 said ; and they would all be so lonely in these troub- 
 lous times, that it would be far better to form one house- 
 hold. As Catharine also favored this plan, it was so 
 
DEATH OF PHILIP. 381 
 
 arranged, to the great joy of Mrs. Hunter and her 
 whole family. 
 
 Catharine knew that the report of Lloyd's death had 
 proved premature almost as soon as she arrived in Rich- 
 mond. But regrets were idle. She was now another 
 man's wife, and felt it to he a crime to cherish the old 
 affection. 
 
 All her doubts and fears, and scruples of conscience, 
 were now laid aside. She saw her duty clearty, and 
 firmly resolved that she would be true to her marriage- 
 vows, so far as they were consistent with her duty to 
 God and her country. Nor was she wholly unhappy 
 in their performance. 
 
 The general had said that no one could love as really 
 and ardentl}^ as he did her, without in some sort com- 
 pelling a return ; and she soon began to realize this as a 
 truth. She already regarded him with respect, affec- 
 tion, and a high appreciation of his fine though misdi- 
 rected talents ; and she learned at last to regard him with 
 a fonder love. With her warm, generous, and affection- 
 ate heart, her isolation from all other near friends, 
 and his constant endeavor to please and win, it could 
 not long be otherwise. She thought of Lloyd Hunter, 
 sometimes, it is true, with pity and regret ; yet, for all 
 that, she had a higher regard for Gen. Atherton than 
 many women have for the husbands of their choice ; 
 and she influenced him too, though not to the extent 
 of giving up the cause of the rebellion, which, as 
 one of its leaders, he felt himself bound by honor to 
 support. It was a cause that her strong influence at 
 an earlier day might have prevented him from espous- 
 ing, and of the success of which he was now more 
 than doubtful. He had, it is true, overcome some of 
 
882 THE KEBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 tlie obstacles that barred bis own promotion, and won 
 some distinction in the army ; yet be was still regarded 
 with jealous eyes by those highest in power. 
 
 His efforts to obtain some amelioration for the un- 
 happy condition of the poor, suffering prisoners, and the 
 slaves at work upon the fortifications, were sneered at 
 by some, who attributed them to the influence of his dis- 
 loyal Northern bride. A few were still inclined to look 
 upon her with suspicion, and, but for Mrs. Hunter, might 
 have treated her with scorn ; yet, for all that, Catharine 
 did exert an influence that M-as the means of saving 
 many liuman lives. Even those who felt inclined to 
 look down upon the plebeian Yankee governess were 
 obliged in the end to own, honor, and admire her self- 
 denying philanthropy, and that true nobility of soul she 
 exhibited upon every occasion. 
 
 Earlier in the war, some of these same ladies had ex- 
 hibited the spirit of fiends in their treatment of dead 
 and dying Union soldiers. Now, sobered by repeated 
 bereavements, loss of wealth, and troubles of every kind, 
 some of them were w^onderfully subdued in spirit, and 
 were ready to join Catharine and Mrs. Hunter in their 
 noble work of charity and mercy. 
 
 Soon after her return to Kichmond, she succeeded in 
 establishing a correspondence -with her friends, which, 
 though under government supervision, was a great com- 
 fort to her. It assured her of Theodore's escape and 
 recovery, and of their general welfare. She frequently 
 accompanied the general in his campaigns ; and famished 
 always with abundant means, as he had promised, and 
 every possible help, she found unnumbered opportuni- 
 ties for performing good service, not only to the cause of 
 humanity, but also that of liberty and loyalty. 
 
THE DEATH OF PHILIP. 
 
 383 
 
 On the battle-fields of Kentucky and Tennessee, 
 where she was known only as the wife of a rebel gen- 
 eral, she met no such jealousy and suspicion as she had 
 sometimes encountered in Eichmond, where she was 
 better known, and was of course enabled to do a far 
 greater amount of good. Her tact, courage, and great 
 organizing and executive ability, had only to be seen to be 
 appreciated by officers and surgeons, who gave her the 
 hi-hest award of praise. With the ability to fill the 
 highest social positions as well as any Southern lady of 
 them all, joined to that which few of them possessed, — 
 the power and the will to make herself useful, — she was 
 enabled to exert a controlling influence wherever she 
 found herself in the Master's vineyard. 
 
 Able to bring order out of confusion ; to oversee the 
 cooking of large quantities of palatable food and deli- 
 cacies "for- the sick and starving; to dress grievous 
 wounds; and to comfort the sick, wounded, and dying m 
 numberless ways, - she never found time hang heavy on 
 her hands, or lack of useful employment. The very nn- 
 partiality of her kindness to friends and foes had the 
 effect of shaming those who were inclined to cruelty and 
 intolerance, and won for her a respect and consideration 
 she would not otherwise have acquired. It was the very 
 thing that gave her the power to help and benefit the 
 poor sick and wounded Union soldiers ; and many a time 
 she thanked God for the precious opportunities afforded 
 her, that she never would have had but for her mar- 
 riage with the " Eebel General.'' She came at last to 
 fee? as if it was for this that her hopes had been crossed, 
 her plans disarranged, her will subdued, and her escape 
 from the Confederacy cut off; and that her late trials 
 and adventures had been ordained to fit her for just 
 
884 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 this "work, that no one else could do as well. Perhaps 
 in this she was right. But, whether she was or not, 
 good influences surrounded her like a halo ; and no one 
 could be near her long without feeling their spirit and 
 their power, or believing there was a divine principle 
 that governed all her motives, influenced her actions, 
 and formed the basis of her character. 
 
 And especially was this the case with her husband, 
 who had previously despised women, from the fact of 
 seeing the exhibitions of vanity, frivolity, and the spirit 
 of coquetry and intrigue, that had characterized all with 
 whom he had previously come into close communion. 
 For this very reason he was all the more impressed by the 
 strict moral and religious principle, the honesty, truth- 
 fulness, and generosity Catharine exhibited in all the 
 relations of life. And, however lax and faulty himself, 
 he could not help appreciating such purity of purpose 
 and sterling integrity of character as it deserved. Yet 
 her moral greatness made him feel his own selfish little- 
 ness and short-comings in the comjDarison, until the 
 strongest desire of his heart was, that he might become 
 worthy of so noble a wife. His scepticism, too, was con- 
 stantly rebuked by her undoubting faith and perfect 
 trust in God. And God's love to man, and the way of 
 salvation through his Son, was made so plain to him at 
 last by her eloquent lips, that he could not help believ- 
 ing what had all his life before been a scorned as well 
 as a sealed book to him. He had been a nominal Chris- 
 tian before, had been baptized in infanc}", and always 
 read prayers in church : now he became truly penitent 
 and believing, and seemed to be a Christian in reality. 
 
CHAPTER XXL 
 
 CATHARUJE's MISSIOX. THE REBEL GENEEAl's DEATH. 
 
 'l^B thus it was that Catharine had fulfilled 
 her mission to the " Rebel General.'' 
 
 She had made two years of his life as 
 ^#^0-^^ liappy as they could be, alienated from his 
 children, and in the midst of such scenes of excitement 
 and suffering. She had convinced him at heart of the 
 sin and folly and madness of his disloyalty to the gov- 
 ernment, and the utter hopelessness of the cause of 
 the rebellion, though too late for his own interest, or 
 that of his suffering country. She had, by her noble 
 example, led him to believe in the possibility of virtue, 
 purity, and truth in the heart of woman. And above 
 all, and what was of more consequence to him now than 
 all the rest, she had led him from a state of doubt, 
 darkness, and infidelity, up to light and faith and trust 
 in God in this life, and a faint and trembling hope in 
 his forgiveness and mercy in the world to come. She 
 was the good angel, it may be, sent by the Eather of 
 mercies to reclaim and prepare a man of great capa- 
 bilities but misdirected talents for the last great change 
 that was awaiting him on earth, and a happier home be- 
 yond the grave. We may say that he was unworthy of 
 so noble a wife, and that he deserved severe punishment 
 
 33 385 
 
386 THE KEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 as one of the contrivers of the rebellion ; but who but 
 He who reads all hearts shall say who is worthy, and who 
 is not, or set bounds to his goodness, mercy, and love ? 
 
 Gen. Atherton, who at that time had been summoned 
 to Virginia, and was stationed near Petersburg, had re- 
 turned from the camp very much disheartened by the 
 dubious prospects of the Confederacy, and with his mind 
 overshadowed by the cloud of coming defeat, — which he 
 saw in the distant horizon a great deal larger than a 
 man's hand. 
 
 He had for some time been subject to serious bilious 
 diseases ; and, ill in body and troubled in mind, Philip's 
 sudden and shocking death was all that was needed to 
 prostrate him completely. 
 
 Dr. Huntley was sent for immediately after the fune- 
 ral ; but he could do him no good. He called in counsel ; 
 but they could do nothing to arrest the progress of the 
 painful disease that soon sapped the foundations of life. 
 He knew very soon that he was doomed, and held in- 
 terviews with government officers, and did all he could 
 to bring peace to the country, and prepare for that better 
 land, where it is to be hoped all wars and fightings 
 and rebellions are over. 
 
 Catharine, though ill herself, and wholly unfitted for 
 such a scene, with Mrs. Hunter, watched over him 
 with the tenderest solicitude, and, when they knew that 
 he must die, were overwhelmed with the keenest anguish. 
 Once she would have been perfectly resigned to such a 
 dispensation. Now she could not bear the thought of a 
 bereavement that was to leave her desolate at a time, 
 when, more than ever before, she needed a consoler and 
 comforter. 
 
 He realized her trouble and his own danger full well j 
 
Catharine's mission. 387 
 
 and between the paroxysms of pain, towards the last, 
 tried to fortify and prepare her mind for what was to come. 
 At intervals, when the pain was be3"ond human endur- 
 ance, his mind wandered ; and he would talk incohe- 
 rently : then again it would come back to a keener per- 
 ception of the realities that surrounded him. 
 
 " Catharine," he exclaimed in one of these lucid in- 
 tervals, "do you indeed regret this bitter, bitter part- 
 ing? Alas! how little reason have I given you to do so 
 first and last ! And oh, how much to rejoice in the fi-ee- 
 dom it will give you to contract other and happier ties ! " 
 
 "God knows I want no such freedom," said Catharine 
 with a bitter sob; "though it is true that I did before 
 I learned to love you. iSTow I want you to live, — to be 
 with me through this great trial, — to be my guide and 
 protector through all my future life." 
 
 "' my darling ! it breaks my heart to know that 
 this cannot be ; yet your love is the only strong tie that 
 binds me to earth. I have proved the vanity of all 
 other earthly things. Ambition, fame, wealth, parental 
 love and pride, have each in tm-n lured, blinded, and 
 then eluded my grasp, and pierced my heart with the 
 keenest anguish, until I lived only in my love for you, 
 and the unborn hope you were bringing to my longing 
 heart. But I shall not live to see its fruition : I have 
 sinned too deeply in the past to be permitted to do that. 
 Alas for poor Philip and Nell, ruined by my towering 
 pride, my fond parental indulgence, and godless exam- 
 ple ! Will they rise up to testify against me in the judg- 
 ment ? God grant their souls may not be lost through 
 my means ! And yet how I loved, how I worshipped 
 them ! How proud I was of their beauty and talents ! 
 I made them my idols ; so they were cast down into the 
 
388 THE REBEL GENERAl's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 dust. I have made you another ; so I must leave you 
 It is only through God's merc}^ and a Saviour's love that 
 I can hope to escape future retribution for all that I have 
 done. And for this trembling hope, dear Catharine, 
 vrhich I should not have had in this dread hour but for 
 yoU; I owe you more than words can express. Ob ! for- 
 give? and be kind to poor penitent, suffering Kell, and 
 try and teach her, too, the way to heaven, to immortal 
 life, and true glory. Nothing else will support us in the 
 trying hour of death." 
 
 Nell, who had been sent for as soon as it was known 
 that her father was in danger, arrived, and came into the 
 room just in time to hear those words referring to her- 
 self. With her dormant fraternal and filial love pre- 
 ternaturally excited by Philip's death and her father's 
 danger, she rushed forward, threw her arms around her 
 dying father, and burst into a passion of tears. 
 
 He did not weep, but kissed and tenderly caressed 
 her, murmuring, " Poor, poor xTell ! scarred, bereaved, 
 ruined, and deserted by a villain ! Aiid oh ! it was partly 
 my work, — my own false training; for which I hope 
 God will forgive me, even as we have forgiven each 
 other. And will not you forgive her, too, my Catharine, 
 — you whom we have all so deeply wronged ? " and he 
 looked up at her beseechingly. 
 
 Nell, too, looked up with streaming eyes into Catha- 
 rine's agonized face ; and she held out her arms, and re- 
 ceived the trembling penitent in a loving embrace, — 
 her who for long j- ears had been her bitterest enemy. 
 
 And thus, by the dying-bed of the husband and father, 
 that enmity was laid forever at rest. 
 
 Prom this time the general sunk into a perturbed 
 slumber that lasted several hours, during which Cath- 
 
THE EEBEL GENERAL's DEATH. 389 
 
 arine was persuaded to try to got a little rest. Towards 
 midnight be awoke, and called for her. She was re- 
 called; and he knew her at once, though he seemed to 
 recognize no one else. He put up his feeble arms, drew 
 her down to him, and kissed her tenderh^, as he said 
 in a low, broken tone, " I know : it is hard to meet 
 it — alone — surrounded by the burning — city — by 
 the roar of artillery, and the shrieks and groans of the 
 dying, — beset with pain and grief, — sorrow and dan- 
 ger ! Yes : it is very hard and bitter ! Bat courage, 
 darling : your mission is a noble one. God is with 
 you : the Saviour bears you in his arms ; and there 
 is light and glory at the end. They despised you 
 once. You were found worthier than them all ! And 
 through you, daughter of our foes, a noble name — two 
 noble names — will alone be transmitted to future gen- 
 erations ! — a long and glorious line, — sons of God, 
 benefactors of the race, rulers of nations ! A des- 
 olated land lies before you, overwhelmed with ig- 
 norance, darkness, and woe ! You leave a shining 
 track behind you, full of light and knowledge and 
 happiness, with glory immortal at the end of life's 
 journey ! Isn't that something worth living for, my 
 darling, — immortal life, glory everlasting ? '^ 
 
 Then, turning away from her, with his wild eyes fixed 
 on vacancv, he continued in a louder and stronq;er tone 
 "We shall scarcely find it, general ! If we do, it is by 
 God's mercy only ; for we fought only for ambition 
 and earthly glory. Jackson gets both ! He thought 
 our cause just : we did not ; so he gets both, — earthly 
 fame, immortal glory ! Don't you remember how we 
 used to laugh at his awkwardness ? Now how he towers 
 above us all ! We get curses here, if we don't there j 
 
 33* 
 
390 THE EEBEL GENEKAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 and no wonder. For just look at tliem, — hundreds, 
 thousands, tens of thousands, writhing in agony, bleed- 
 ing, groaning, dying, in horrible tortures ! A whole 
 land desolated ! Cities in flames ! The air filled with 
 shrieks and groans of anguish. Heavens ! what a fear- 
 ful spectacle ! " and he looked off with wild, distended 
 eyes into that space his disordered fancy peopled with 
 the wretched victims of that fatal ambition and lust of 
 power that had led to all the horrors of civil war. 
 
 For a while he lay still, gazing breathlessly upon the 
 awful vision. Then he started up suddenly ; and it was 
 as much as they could do to hold him, through the ex- 
 citement of a bloody battle. 
 
 The advance of large bodies of the enemy, the char- 
 ging of squadrons, the roar of artillery, the order of bat- 
 tle, the words of command to his officers, the shouts of 
 onset, the wild excitement of a terrible conflict, — repulse, 
 retreat, and rout, — were all enacted over again, and de- 
 scribed in such vivid coloring as to excite the wonder 
 and astonishment "of all around him. 
 
 When this was over, he again lay still for a while : 
 then roused up, and began an eager conference with 
 some of the most distinguished rebel- generals; and 
 questioned and replied to Johnson and Lee, Hill and 
 Pickett, Longstreet and Early, in such a way as to re- 
 veal the late tenor of his own thoughts, as well as that 
 of their prvate conferences. 
 
 '^ I tell you," he exclaimed at last, "that our cause is 
 hopeless, our rebellion is played out ! Our chief 
 magistrate has proved himself wholly insufficient for 
 so lofty a station. By his miserable favoritism, igno- 
 rance of details, general mismanagement, and jealousy 
 of nobler men than himself, he is causing the downfall 
 
THE REBEL GENEEAL's DEATH. 391 
 
 of wliat might have been one of the grandest empires 
 on the globe. If you or I had been at the head of 
 affairs, it would have been different : then victory would 
 have perched npon our banners. Now we shall have 
 the shame of defeat. You cannot see it ! Where are 
 your eyes, general? Have you forgotten that Sher- 
 man is sweeping through the South like a tornado ; 
 that Grant surrounds us with his brave veteran troops 
 on every side; that our network of railroads and 
 sources of supply are cut off in every direction ; that 
 our army and the whole people are in rags, and many 
 of them starving; and, worse than all, that slavery, 
 for the right to secure and spread which we have so 
 madly contended, has proved the broken reed which has 
 pierced our hearts, and sapped the life of the Confed- 
 eracy? Can it be that it is God's hand that has done 
 it, as a retribution for the wrongs we have inflicted 
 upon that accursed race ? " he continued in a low, fear- 
 ful voice. 
 
 He had previously spoken in a loud, vehement tone, 
 and with great rapidity of utterance; and now seemed 
 wholly exhausted by the terrible mental conflict. 
 
 He never rallied again, except to utter disconnected 
 words : yet his thoughts seemed to have gone back to 
 happier scenes ; and Catharine's name, in low, thrilling 
 tones, was the last word that fell from his stiffening lips. 
 His end was so peaceful at last, that they scarcely 
 knew when the darkened spirit left its clay tenement, 
 and the long agony was over. 
 
 We will not dwell upon the grief of the survivors or 
 the pageantry of the funeral, which was too frequent a 
 thing in those days to make more than a ripple upon 
 the current of the common affairs of life. 
 
392 THE REBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 For Richmond was at that time environed by contend- 
 ing armies ; and events of greater importance were of 
 daily occurrence. Communications were being cut off 
 in every direction ; and the danger was growing more 
 imminent every day. 
 
 Though seeming to make little progress to Northern 
 eyes at that time, the loyal leaders were striking fearful 
 blows at the heart and life of the Confederacy ; and the 
 rebel leaders knew well enough by this time, that some 
 providential interference alone could save them from 
 utter defeat and ruin. 
 
 But Divine Providence did not see fit to interpose in 
 the cause of the oppressor, but rather in that of the 
 oppressed ; so in the early April days fell the hardest 
 blow of all, — the capture of the South-side Eailroad. 
 This, their last hope, line of communication, and source 
 of suj^pl}^, made retreat, capture, or starvation inevita- 
 ble. This sealed the doom of Petersburg and Eich- 
 mond, and made their capture inevitable. 
 
 Seeing that all was lost, for which they had so long 
 contended, the rebel leaders ordered both cities evacu- 
 ated, and attempted to escape, hoping to make a more 
 successful stand in the South-west. 
 
 All this, with the fact that they were pursued, over- 
 taken, and, after a brave, most heroic, but useless resist- 
 ance, captured, and that the lives their leaders had 
 forfeited by their treason were magnanimously spared by 
 our government, is now a matter of history 
 
 But it is not a matter of history, so we will here record 
 it for the benefit of future generations, that, in the 
 midst of all the panic and turmoil consequent upon the 
 evacuation of Pichmond, Catharine, our poor sorrowing 
 heroine, gave birth to the son of whom his father in his 
 
THE KEBEL GENERAL's DEATH. 393 
 
 delirium predicted so noble a line. The shock of her 
 husband's death but a few weeks before had been a 
 severe blow to her at such a time ; and this, superadded 
 to other causes, had nearly cost her her life. 
 
 Scarcely was the first danger over, however, before it 
 was known that the city was in flames. With a mad- 
 ness similar to that which possessed the rebel leaders iu 
 Columbia, the authorities here set fire to the city to 
 prevent the tobacco and other stores from falling into 
 the h?„nds of the Union army. 
 
 When that loyal army did enter the city, they were 
 received by the dark race whom their blood and toil had 
 redeemed from chains and stripes and all t]ie horrors 
 of slavery, with the most enthusiastic demonstrations of 
 joy. But their kind and considerate treatment of the 
 whites who remained was regarded with wonder and 
 astonishment. Their leaders had led them to expect 
 the most shocking barbarities; and they looked for 
 nothing better from the hated Yankees than murder, 
 rapine, and plunder. The real thieves and murderers 
 who did pursue their fiendish work, committing out- 
 rages upon those unable to escape their rapacity, were the 
 stragglers from their own disorganized rebel army. As 
 in Columbia, so now in Eichmond, the victors were 
 obliged to go to work at once to extinguish the flames 
 the maddened rebel leaders had set in the homes of 
 their own people ; but for their almost superhuman ex- 
 ertions the whole city would have been reduced to ashes. 
 
 And while the billowy flames were roaring, and the 
 walls crumbling, and the chimneys tottering, and the 
 people shouting, screaming, and rushing wildly through 
 the streets, poor Catharine lay faint, weak, and trem- 
 bling with excitement, in her darkened chamber, half 
 
394 THE REBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 siiiFocated by the smok}'- air; tliough the house waa 
 at some distance from the real scene of the wide-spread 
 conflagration. 
 
 Listening nervously, as she had been for hours, to the 
 explosions of gunboats and magazines, set on fire by 
 rebel authority ; to the measured tramp of many feet, 
 the shrill tones of numerous high-pitched voices, and 
 tlie distant roar of the flames, — it was no wonder if 
 she was nearly distracted, and at last begged Mrs. 
 Hunter to go out and see what it all meant. To her 
 astonishment, when she descended the stairs, Mrs. Hun- 
 ter found that children, servants, even to Aunt Dinah, — 
 everybody in the house in fact but little Effie, — had 
 gone out to join in the general jubilee of terror as well 
 as rejoicing. Alarmed at once for the safety of her chil- 
 dren, she took the cliild up to stay with poor Catharine 
 and the wee bab}^, and hun-ied down stairs, and out upon 
 the street, to look in considerable alarm for her scattered 
 family. 
 
 After wondering over and kissing the bab}', wliich she 
 now delightedly saw for the first time, Effie placed her- 
 self, at Catharine's request, at a fi'ont window to report 
 the progress of affairs in the street. 
 
 She did this for some time without thinking much of 
 the fire in the distance. All at once she was startled by 
 a torrent of smoke that came drifting around the corner 
 from the sheds and stables in tlie rear, which, unfortu- 
 nately, were all connected with the mansion. 
 
 Child as she was, she suspected the truth, and, with a 
 rare instinct, felt that a knowledge of it would alarm and 
 harm her sick mistress, whom she almost worshipped. 
 
 So, rising, and saying she must go down a minute, she 
 ran out, and through the upper hall to a back window. 
 

 9P 3 
 
 
 ? '^^^^ 
 
THE EEBEL GENERAL' S DEATH. 395 
 
 Sure enough, there were the flames just rising from 
 the roof of the shed, where they had caught from some 
 of the sparks or flaming brands that were beginning to 
 fill the air in every direction. She knew that Mrs. 
 Hunter had locked or bolted all the doors ; but, fright- 
 ened half out of her senses, she ran down the stairs, 
 unfastened one of the low front windows, opened it, 
 jumped out, and ran into the street. A party of Union 
 soldiery, it so happened, had just halted from some cause 
 in front of the mansion ; and to these the child ran, 
 shouting at the top of her voice, — 
 
 "Oh, come ! come quick ! de shed all burn to blazes; 
 an' de house gonext,' wid de dear sick missis an' de leetle 
 mite of a baby. Oh, come, quick, quick ! " 
 
 And Catharine, wondering at the child's conduct, and 
 listening intently, heard that startling cry. The Union 
 officers meantime, ever ready to attend to the calls of 
 humanity, instantly dismounted, threw their bridles to 
 their attendants, and entered the yard, where they 
 found there was really serious cause for alarm ; and also 
 that it was a matter of great importance to arrest the 
 progress of the conflagration in this new locality, which 
 was one of the finest portions of the city. 
 
 So the most suitable men were summoned, and went 
 to work with a will ; and though for some little time it 
 seemed impossible to save the dwelling, it was done at 
 last by tearing down the connecting buildings. When 
 the danger seemed most imminent, the little humpbacked 
 girl, who was watching them, ran to him who seemed to 
 be the leader of the party, exclaiming with uplifted 
 hands and streaming eyes, — 
 
 "Oh! oh! it'll all burn up, with poor sick missus, an' 
 de leetle baby, an' de pretty dresses, an' ebery ting." 
 
396 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 " Are they here, — in this house ?'^ he asked, with his 
 interest strongly excited. 
 
 ^' Oh, yes ! up de stair. I'll show massa de way." 
 
 So she took him around through the open window, par- 
 lor, and hall, and up the front staircase. On the landing, 
 at the top of the stairs, the young officer was met hy an 
 apparition that startled and surprised him. It was Cath- 
 arine in her white night-dress, with her bahe in her arms, 
 who, supposing herself alone in the burning dwelling, 
 had forgotten her weakness in her extreme terror, and, 
 crawling from the bed, was feebly trying to make her 
 escape. She stopped short at the sight of a man in loyal 
 uniform ascending the stairs, looked eagerly in his face 
 for a moment, murmured Theodore's name, and fell for- 
 ward fainting in his arms. The precious babe dropped 
 from her nerveless grasp, but was caught by little watch- 
 ful Effie before it struck the floor. Theodore himself 
 came near losing his balance, and falling down the 
 stairs, he was so shocked and overcome by this strange 
 and unexpected meeting : but he recovered in a mo- 
 ment ; and, following the child into Catharine's chamber, 
 he laid her upon the bed, where she soon regained her 
 consciousness. The arrival of ]\Irs. Hunter just then 
 was warmly welcomed. She had found Aunt Dinah and 
 the children, and brought them home, only to find, that, 
 but for the Union soldiers, they would have found no 
 home to receive them. Catharine was soon restored, 
 without in the end sustaining serious injury. The meet- 
 ing with Theodore, and the news he brought from home, 
 was like a cordial to her fainting spirit. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter was- obliged to confess her past injustice 
 to those who treated the people of Richmond so forbear- 
 iiigly. When the great and good President visited it a 
 
THE REBEL GEXERAL's DEATH. 397 
 
 few days afterwards, she was glad to welcome him whom 
 she had once bitterly denounced, and to mourn for him, 
 too, with a whole restored nation, when, a few days later 
 still, he was cruelly murdered. This seemed a strange 
 consummation of the horrors of a bloody civil war, to 
 come as it did in the hour of victory, like a black cloud 
 that overshadows the brightness of a glorious day. 
 
 He alone who knows the end from the beginning 
 could tell why this great affliction was sent upon our 
 distracted country then, — perhaps that the glorious mar- 
 tyrs death should be the means of healing some of its 
 sectional and party bitterness. The rebellion was now 
 virtually over ; and, after a few more struggles, peace 
 was restored to our bereaved and desolated country. 
 84 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 GOING HOME. THE FIRST LOVE AT LAST. 
 
 ^'§UST as soon as Catharine was able to travel, 
 I-"" .^^ii^^ and Theodore could obtain a furiough, they 
 f '>/sr?i ii^ made the iourney home, where they were 
 fe'^^^i^ welcomed by the dear mother and sister 
 with open arms and warm, loving hearts, that found 
 abundant room for the beautiful little black-eyed stranger, 
 who bore the name of Edward Atherton. 
 
 Harry, pale, emaciated, and just recovering from sick- 
 ness and a severe wound, had arrived a few days before 
 them ; so the joy of the meeting was as complete as it 
 could be, after all their strange and terrible experiences. 
 
 Yet they had all grown much more than four years 
 older in feeling since they parted; and the dear, patient 
 mother's head had visibly whitened by her long and 
 sometimes agonizing suspense regarding the childi-en of 
 her love. Dr. Morven, who was now a i^hysician of large 
 practice, beloved and respected by the whole community, 
 had gone to live with Mrs. Hale ; and little Jessie, as 
 they used to call her, with her head, heart, and hands 
 full of her husband, two beautiful children, and domestic 
 matters generally, seemed perfectly happy and contented 
 with her surroundings. 
 
 "You have not told me yet how you came by the 
 398 
 
GOING Ho:viE. 399 
 
 wound that occasions your lameness/' said Catharine to 
 Harry a few days after their return. " It must be a 
 great affliction to an active young fellow like you." 
 
 " Yes : it is so ; " and Harry's smiling face sobered in an 
 instant. " Yet I have so much reason to thank God 
 that it is no worse, that I scarcely mind it most of the 
 time. You see, after I escaped from Manassas, where I 
 met with you, I was sent West and South, and finally, 
 with Sherman's loyal army, made that famous march to 
 the sea. First and last, I passed through a score of 
 battles and sieges unscathed, until we got to that mis- 
 erable little village of Bentonville last March. There, 
 in a hotly-contested battle with Joe Johnston's army, I 
 was shot through, — just below the knee. Our regiment 
 just then met with a sharp repulse, and were obliged to 
 turn and retreat before the rebel squadrons. In their 
 hot haste, they could not stop to pick me up ; so I was left 
 to the mercy of the enemy. After lying for hours in the 
 hot sunshine and night-dew, I was picked up and taken 
 to a rebel field-hospital ; and there, but for Lloyd Hunter, 
 I should no doubt have lost, not only my limb, but my life." 
 
 "Lloyd Hunter ! " echoed Catharine in surprise. 
 
 " Yes : Lloyd Hunter, who, though he recognized me 
 only as a suffering human being, kindly interposed to 
 save me from the barbarity of an ignorant and savage 
 rebel surgeon, who, in spite of my piteous pleading, was, 
 it seemed, almost in sport, about to apply the knife and 
 saw to my quivering limb. Though not a regular sur- 
 geon, Lloyd, it seemed, had attained to wondrous skill 
 and great reputation in the rebel army, — so much indeed 
 as to make his word a law ; and his humanity and piety 
 were quite as proverbial as his skill. He decided, that 
 in my case amputation was unnecessary, dressed my 
 
400 THE EEBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 wound himself, and afterwards, when he found me out, 
 treated me in the kindest manner. And for that I owe 
 him unspeakable obligations, as I think do hundreds of 
 other Union soldiers, who came within the sphere of his 
 influence. His heart, I am sure, was not in the rebel- 
 lion ; and he worked day and night to ameliorate as far as 
 possible the suffering caused by it." 
 
 " But how did you escape at last ? " said Catharine, 
 with a mental backward glance and her eyes filling with 
 tears, as she remembered their last parting in Richmond, 
 and the earnestness of her appeal to Lloyd to do this 
 very work that had undoubtedly been the means of sav- 
 ing her brother's life. Was not that, too, one of the 
 rewards of her self-sacrifice ? How many streams of 
 beneficence sometimes flow from one unselfish act_, v^^ord, 
 .or thought ! 
 
 *' I remained with the rebels until the surrender of 
 Johnston's azmy," said Harry in reply to her question, 
 "when, I assure you, I was very glad to be surrendered 
 myself, and sent home." 
 
 Harry had always liked Lloyd Hunter, and knew 
 well enough how Catharine had regarded him in the 
 past^ and he was not sorry to see that his name had 
 still the power to awaken some of the old emotion in 
 her heart ; for not only Harry, but the whole family, 
 in their active loyalty, had felt indignant at Catharine 
 for marrying the "old E-ebel General," as he called him, 
 — supposing, of course, that she had done it from motives 
 of ambition, and the desire for wealth and power. 
 
 She would not undeceive them in his Hfetime for a 
 good many reasons ; but now, when she heard the feel- 
 ing plainly expressed, she felt as if it were due to herself, 
 once for all, to explain the facts to her own family. Yet 
 
GOING HOiME. 401 
 
 for the lionor of tlie name slie bore, — her child's, — and 
 the memory of hioi, who, for love of her, had committed 
 such treason, they were not to reveal it to others. So, in 
 saddened tones, and with many tender memories, she told 
 them the story of her wedded life. And then indeed 
 they were all deeply affected by the knowledge of the 
 price she had paid for Harry's life, and all she had suf- 
 fered on account of it, — and Harry more than all the 
 rest, who begged her forgiveness for his harsh judgment. 
 And when they heard of all Gen. Atherton's after 
 kindness, — his sincere penitence and deep sorrow for 
 his part in bringing about the rebellion, his late efforts 
 to bring peace to his distracted country, and of all his 
 really noble qualities of head and heart, — they were 
 ready to forgive him. And they felt, too, as Catharine 
 did, as if God's hand were really guiding her through it 
 all, that she might become a blessing to hundreds. 
 
 Her visit to the old home was eminently satisfactory 
 to the whole family, who enjoyed every moment of that 
 precious re-union ; for each one had a separate history, 
 that would have filled volumes, in all those bloody years, 
 that must be rehearsed for the benefit of the others. 
 And each heart became more endeared to the others by 
 this close communion and mutual sympathy. But every 
 thing in life must have an end ; and so did this memora- 
 ble visit : for it was necessary for Catharine to return to 
 Eichmond to settle up her husband's affairs, and look after 
 the poor dependants upon his estates, who now, though 
 free, in their ignorance and darkness, needed some one 
 to instruct and guide them, until they had learned the 
 art of taking care of themselves. So, taking Theodore 
 with her to look after her affairs, Catharine bade her 
 friends adieu, and set out for Eichmond. 
 
 34* 
 
402 TEffi EEBEL general's LOYAL BBIDE. 
 
 They stopped a few days in Wasliington, where Theo- 
 dore had business connected with the army ; and while 
 there they also visited Grace and Helen Tremont, whoj 
 since the death of their father in a rebel prison, had 
 made that city their home. But they were now anxious 
 to return to Kichmond, and look after the relics of their 
 once large fortune ; so they accepted Catharine's invitation 
 to join her party. 
 
 One evening, w^hile they were in "Washington, they 
 went, for a diversion, to one of President Johnson's 
 levees. For some time they wandered through the gor- 
 geous rooms, considerably amused by watching the indis- 
 criminate crowd of people who on such occasions throng 
 the executive mansion, sunning themselves for a moment 
 in the beams that ever like a halo surround the heads 
 of those in power, — at least to some admiring eyes. 
 They had shaken hands with the presidential party, and 
 were on the retreat, — Theodore and Grace in the ad- 
 vance, and Catharine and Helen in the rear, — when all 
 at once Catharine felt a hand firmly laid upon her 
 shoulder. 
 
 She turned back angrily to see who had taken such 
 an unwarrantable liberty, and was confronted by a face 
 close up to her own, which, though it made lier start, 
 she did not at first recognize. But there was no mis- 
 taking the voice tliat exclaimed a moment later, — 
 
 " Why, how d'ye du. Miss Kate ? I'm darned glad to 
 see ye. Where in the world did ye come from, any 
 way ? Come, let me introduce ye to my wife ; " and, 
 with his long, yellow finger, he pointed admiringly to 
 a prematurely-faded yet still fine-looking woman, ele- 
 gantly dressed, and blazing with jewels, whose casual 
 yet scornful glance at him at that moment plainly an- 
 
GOING ho:me. 403 
 
 nonnced the degree of estimation in whicli slie held him. 
 Her extravagant st^de of dress, too, clearly indicated the 
 reason why she, a deserted and disappointed belle, had 
 married him, — for the sake of his ill-gotten millions. 
 
 But millions could not hide his innate vulgarity, or 
 teach him the decencies of life, or the manners of re- 
 spectable society. Catharine tried to rebuke, and get rid 
 of him, by turning silently away, — as if she did not 
 recognize him ; but it was of no use. 
 
 " Ah, I see ! " he continued with a wicked leer of 
 those little malignant gray eyes she remembered so 
 well, — " top-lofty as ever ! I always liked it, though : 
 it made you look so handsome and queenly. I always 
 had a fancy for queens. It was jest the reason I married 
 that gal yonder, — 'cause she looked so much like ye. 
 But she's proud as Lucifer and ugly as sin," he whis- 
 pered confidentially, as he kept close to Catharine's side 
 as she moved along. " You see," he continued, " that I 
 know all about ye still. Mistress Catharine. I know 
 you've got rid of that dariied old rebel general ; and, if 
 I was only a widower now — by golly, I'd be steppin' 
 up tu ye ! " 
 
 "Do you mean to insult me, sir?^' exclaimed Cath- 
 arine with a withering look of contempt. " I have no 
 desire now or ever, Mr. Sweep, for your further ac- 
 quaintance ; and she swept by him like a queen indeed, 
 caught Theodore's arm, and was soon out of the reach 
 of his impudence and importunity. 
 
 Sweep had indeed gathered his millions ; but he had 
 also caught a Tartar, w^ho despised him, would spend 
 his money in careless extravagance, and harass and 
 torment his whole future life. • 
 
 Catharine re-opened the old Atherton mansion soon 
 
404 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 after her return to Kichmond ; and ^ell, who since her 
 father's death had remained on the old phintation, was 
 invited to make it her home once more. She seemed 
 grateful for the invitation, accepted it at once ; and 
 all her old stiffness and acrimony were soon swept away 
 by Catharine's kindness and forgiving love. They met, 
 not as mother and daughter, however, but more like 
 long-estranged sisters ; united by the tie of that beau- 
 tiful child, the first sight of whom brought back the 
 bitter memory of her own to Xell's bereaved heart, as 
 well as that of the lost father and brother it so strongly 
 resembled. 
 
 That memory was indeed a blessed one to poor 
 storm-tossed, life-wrecked Nell Atherton ; and it bore 
 blessed fruits in a fervent love for the child that had 
 come to fill the places of the dead in more than one 
 bereaved and mourning heart, and to bear the name of 
 a proud race to future generations. 
 
 The change in Nell was indeed as wonderful as it was 
 unlocked for. Her old proud, intriguing spirit had been 
 bowed to the dust in shame and humiliation. And in 
 her wretchedness, misery, and deep regret for all the 
 sins of her past life, she had sought, and felt as if she 
 had found, forgiveness through a Saviour's love, and ob- 
 tained that glorious hope for the future, that can alone 
 make the thought of a blasted and disappointed life 
 endurable. 
 
 And not only had the deformities of the soul been 
 healed, but also those of the countenance ; from whicli 
 the scars had mostly been erased by the healing hand 
 of Time. So, with little of the old pride and arrogance 
 left, she retained much of the old beauty, that ever 
 and always commands attention and admiration. 
 
THE FIRST LOVE AT LAST. 405 
 
 Sooa after their return to Richmond, Catharine and 
 Theodore had a call from Col. James Hooker, one of 
 their friends and near neighbors in early life : and 
 Nell, who happened to be present, proved her power by 
 renewing the passion with which she had inspired him 
 while at school at the jLVTorth in youth's bright and 
 glorious morning. 
 
 She had fascinated, bewitched, and flirted with him 
 then, though considering him her inferior ; but now, 
 when she herself felt as if he was her superior, he suc- 
 ceeded in inspiring her with a nobler and truer affec- 
 tion. 
 
 Catharine at first felt some anxiety regarding his 
 attentions, because he had helped to save her from the 
 fire in Columbia, and knew her past history. Knowing 
 it, and a good many of her faults besides, she thought he 
 would be unwilling to marry her. But she was mis- 
 taken. He had loved her always, and was for that rea- 
 son willing to overlook the past, and make her his wife." 
 There were Southern men too, old admirers of hers, 
 who would have been glad to retrieve their fallen for- 
 tunes by marrying her ; but, in spite of her former 
 treasonable proclivities, she now preferred an energetic, 
 intelligent, Northern business -man to a dilapidated 
 Southern gentleman. All who knew the man consid- 
 ered her fortunate indeed, and felt as if he were far too 
 good and worthy for the lady of his choice. 
 
 Theodore and Grace Tremont, who had also treasured 
 a fond regard for each other since their early school- 
 days, and who had met several times during the war, 
 were to be married at Christmas. Mrs. Hunter, with 
 her old hospitable spirit, had insisted on making the 
 wedding : so now she contrived at the same time to 
 
406 THE REBEL GEXERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 marry off two nieces instead of one ; thougli the melan- 
 choly state of the country made a great display unadvis- 
 able. 
 
 So, when the time arrived, the double wedding came 
 off privately; only the particular friends and relatives 
 of the families being present. Uncle Xick, who was 
 home once more, and Aunt Dinah, were particularly 
 resplendent upon the great occasion ; and Nick espe- 
 cially, who had loved little Grace always, and who, after 
 saving Theodore's life, had become strongly attached to 
 him, shed real tears of joy as he pronounced his blessing 
 upon the union. Lloyd, too, was there, and met Cath- 
 arine for the first time since their sad and hopeless part- 
 ing. Both had dreaded yet perhaps desired this 
 meeting; yet, knowing nothing of each other's present 
 feelings, had felt some anxiety regarding the manner of 
 their future intercourse. 
 
 There was some embarrassment at first ; but, before 
 the evening was over, they found themselves talking 
 quietly together regarding the events of the war, and 
 finally of some of their plans for the future. 
 
 He had, it seemed, since peace was declared, been 
 trying to gather the people upon the old plantation at 
 Hunter Hills, and his own near Richmond, to instruct 
 them in their duties to God, each other, and their late 
 masters ; to establish schools among them, and teach 
 them how to live so as to be self-dependent in tliis life, 
 and prepared for that which was to come. His whole 
 heart seemed to be in the work: which was one in 
 which he had her entire sympathy, and one too, which, 
 by HaiTy's help, she was akeady planning to put in 
 operation upon Atherton Plantation. 
 
 The meeting between Xell and Lloyd was very em- 
 
THE FIRST LOVE AT LAST. 407 
 
 barrassing, as well it might be : but she was used to dis- 
 agreeable contretemps ; and he was so glad, through all 
 his troubles, that she had not chosen to marry him, that 
 both soon recovered their equanimity. 
 
 Upon the whole, the wedding was a very pleasant 
 affair, and, as is often the case, the means of bringing 
 about another a few months later between Harry Hale and 
 Helen Tremont. As she and Grace had inherited con- 
 siderable wealth, some of her Southern friends tried to 
 interfere to prevent, as they said, her sacrificing herself 
 to a poor limping Yankee lover. But neither their per- 
 suasions, Harry's poverty, nor the surgeon's fiat of "lame 
 for life " could in the least destroy the affection she had 
 conceived for him, or her faith in his inherent nobleness. 
 So in the early springtime she married him ; and poor 
 Harry did not seem at all displeased about it. And 
 afterwards, when Theodore and Grace, and IVlrs. Hale 
 and Jessie, had gone back to the North, she and Harry 
 settled down upon the old Tremont plantation. 
 
 Catharine had calculated so much upon having Harry 
 to manage her estate, that she was a good deal disap- 
 pointed by this new arrangement, even though she 
 rejoiced in their happiness. Yet she found, after her 
 return to Atherton j)lantation, that she had some capa- 
 city for farming, as well as several other avocations. 
 
 The work was performed as well indeed as it could 
 be done by the wretched remainder of the people, who 
 once belonged to the estate, vrith all she was able to 
 gatlier from the surrounding country. They had, it is 
 true, run wild v.-ith their vague, unreal ideas of freedom; 
 and it took some time to initiate them into tlie true idea 
 of earning their living by paid labor. But she under- 
 stood the case much better than they ; was very patient 
 
408 THE EEBEL GENERAL'S LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 with their shortcomings^ and very soon thej^ began to 
 see the wisdom of the plan, that so easily procured sub- 
 sistence for their starving families. Nor was it long 
 before they almost worshipped her vrho had led them 
 so wisely, knowing it was for their own best good. 
 
 She established a school and sabbath school, in which 
 grateful little Effie, whom she had taught to read, and a 
 young lady of the neighborhood who had been left 
 homeless and destitute by the war, proved valuable 
 assistants. She also cultivated the acquaintance of her 
 neighbors, and especially of the j)oor whites, who were 
 ver}' destitute, whom she assisted plij^sically, mentally, 
 and morally, to the extent of her power. So you see, 
 the old idea of trying to do good had not left our hero- 
 ine yet, nor will it probably to the end of her useful 
 life. 
 
 So busy had she been, and so much had she found to 
 do, that Catharine hardly realized that summer was 
 over, until one fine September morning, when she re- 
 ceived an unexpected call from Lloyd Hunter. When 
 the slightly-embarrassed greetings were over, he said he 
 had called to announce the fact that his mother, with 
 her family, had returned from the Springs^ where they 
 had spent most of the summer, and Walter had grown 
 better every day; and that they might be expected upon 
 the morrow at Atherton Plantation. 
 
 " Well, I shall be delighted to see them all," said 
 Catharine with a glad look ; ^" and will not jou also 
 remain with us, and add to the pleasure of the visit ? " 
 
 " I should be most hapj)}^ to do so, but cannot spare 
 the time. You know, that, like yourself, I am trying my 
 hand at farming ; and that, with a little unavoidable 
 surgery, gives me plenty of occupation." 
 
THE FERST LOVE AT LAST. 409 
 
 They talked of his pLans a while, and then turned 
 to other subjects, — the weather, the crops, the political 
 aspects of the country, her school, her improvements, 
 and at last her baby, who, just beginning to walk, at that 
 moment, followed by Effie, came toddling into the room. 
 He looked shyly at Lloyd at first, and ran to his 
 mother ; but, before a half-hour was over, he had sidled 
 up to him, climbed upon his knee, and seemed very 
 much inclined to make his acquaintance by laughing, 
 crowing, and pulling his hair and whiskers. 
 
 ^•He is getting too rude. Pray put him down, Mr. 
 Hunter : I never saw him so familiar with a stranger," 
 said his mother, coloring with vexation at the child's 
 conduct. ^'Here, Effie, take him out for a walk." 
 
 "Pie seems to have uncommon sense and penetra- 
 tion," said Lloyd, smiling, as he surrendered the child 
 to his little nurse. " He has discovered that I am not a 
 stranger, but a friend, — or at least ought to be. He 
 seems willing to accept me as one ; will not you ? " 
 
 "Certainly. I hope we shall never be any thing 
 else." 
 
 "But I hope for something else, dear Catharine, — a 
 tie that is nearer and dearer. Is it in vain for me to 
 think of it ? " said he earnestly. 
 
 "You cannot really wi§h it, after all I have gone 
 through," said Catharine in surprise. 
 
 " But I do wish for it, hope for it, pray for it. Oh ! you 
 do not know how I long for your presence, your help, 
 your sympathy. I live on, it is true, and do the best I 
 can. But life is cheerless, joyless, and incomplete with- 
 out that sweet communion of soul you alone can brino* 
 to me, — you, who of all the women in the world I still 
 love." 
 
 35 
 
410 THE EEBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 Catharine was deeply affected by this avowal, whicli 
 touched a responsive chord in her soul; yet after a few 
 moments' silence, during which she was trying to com- 
 mand her feelings, she said in a tremulous tone, — 
 
 " Lloyd, I owe it to your truth and love and con- 
 stancy to own that you are still dear to me. Yet I 
 have little faith, as a general thing, in the happiness of 
 second marriages, and especially those of widows with 
 children, and young men, who, like you, have wealth, tal- 
 ents, and every advantage that could win for them a 
 choice of the youngest and fairest. The world, too, 
 always sneers at such marriages, and talks of the artful, 
 scheming widow, who has entrapped that fine young 
 man by her intrigues." 
 
 " But, Catharine, though a widow, you are not a 
 scheming one; and certainly you have never sought to 
 entrap, but rather repelled me." 
 
 " They would believe it none the less." 
 
 " I care not what they believe, if you will only become 
 my wife, dear Catharine, — the sharer of my destiny." 
 
 "It is not wholly the world's opinion that I care for," 
 said Catharine with a troubled look. " I also care for 
 your happiness, which I do not believe would be in- 
 creased by such a union. The memory of our early 
 love may be very sweet to us both : yet I have known 
 other loves since then ; so we are no longer equals. I 
 have lived much faster than you : I- am 'older tlian you 
 in thought and feeling, physically and mentally. You are 
 still young, having had none of my sad experiences ; 
 and, if you wish to marr}', you can have a choice of 
 youth, beauty, and fortune." 
 
 "I do not wish it if I could. I am four years your 
 senior j so I am older than you in years, if not in expe- 
 
THE FIRST LOVE AT LAST. 411 
 
 rience. But, whether young or old, it is you alone I 
 love, and no one else in this world can, or ever will, 
 fill your place to me. I could wish indeed that you had 
 never been another man's wife ; but, knowing my own 
 past delinquencies, I can never blame you for that." 
 
 "Nor can I regret it," said Catharine thoughtfully. 
 "When I think of that marriage now, it is with the 
 feeling that it was ordained of God to bring about cer- 
 tain events ; and that I was but a feeble instrument in 
 his hands to accomplish his plans of mercy and love." 
 
 "Why, then, may you not believe that another with 
 me may be ordained by him to work out other plans 
 quite as important to the welfare of a great people ? " 
 
 " If I thought so, I might not hesitate. But thus far 
 since my husband's death my path of duty has seemed 
 plain to me. My child, and these poor people around 
 me, literally starving, not only for the bread of earth, 
 but that of heaven, have demanded all my time and 
 care." 
 
 " The same demands are made upon me. But, Catha- 
 rine," he continued eagerly, " could I not be a help, 
 and not a hinderance, in your path of duty ? Could I 
 not be a father to your beautiful boy, and help you to 
 bring him up ' in the nurture and admonition of the 
 Lord'? Could I not assist you in devising plans for 
 the benefit of the people, not only upon your plantation, 
 and mine ten miles away, but also through the whole 
 Southern country? United, could we not do much, 
 — very much more than either of us could do alone ; 
 come nearer to the hearts and homes of our suffering 
 people ; more abundantly and efficiently influence their 
 lives ? " 
 
 " I don't know," she began doubtingly. 
 
412 THE REBEL GEXEEAL'S LOYAL BRLDE. 
 
 "But I know, dear Cn.tharine, if you do not, that it 
 would be so. I know, too, that you must often feel the 
 need of a strong arm and a loving heart on which to 
 lean. You expected to have found it in Harry ; but you 
 were disappointed in that hope. Then, wh}' not accept 
 one upon which you would have a claim for life." 
 
 " I will own that I have often felt this need since I 
 came here, and especially at first; yet there are a 
 great many considerations that forbid the thought of a 
 second marrias^e for me." 
 
 " Well, I want you to think of it," said he earnestly : 
 "I will not take jouv decision now. I know you can 
 sympathize in all my views for the future. I know that 
 your heart is full of that enthusiasm of humanity that 
 would lead you to a life of toil and self-sacrifice for the 
 benefit of the human race. You have the true mis- 
 sionary spirit, as jou have abundantly proved during the 
 war. And I know that you are more capable of inspir- 
 ing other souls with the same feelings — even as you 
 once did mine — than any other woman of my acquaint- 
 ande." 
 
 " I think you overrate my powers." 
 
 " No : I do not. And if you were to go through the 
 whole South, as I have done during and since the war, 
 you would feel, as I do, the imperative need of using 
 them ; for the mental and moral darkness, destitution, and 
 ignorance are everywhere. The late masters, most of 
 them ruined, bereaved, and terribly imbittered against 
 the redeemed race, who are ignorant, helpless, and starv- 
 ing, oppress and tyrannize over them to the extent of 
 their power. They are imbittered, too, against all 
 Northern men and women, and will scarcely listen to 
 their suggestions J but Southern men of just, generous, 
 
THE FIEST LOVE AT LAST. 413 
 
 and pliilantliropic spirit, and able to support themselves, 
 might just now do them an immense amount of good." 
 
 " I have no doubt of that, or tliat you are just the 
 man for such a place ; for you have a strong, sympa- 
 thetic, and personal influence that would convince where 
 others would fail." 
 
 " Well, if I have, I hope you will feel it," said he, smil- 
 ing. " I think myself that I can do some good by per- 
 sonal effort : at any rate, I shall try. But, if I had 
 a faithful female coadjutor, — one whose heart was in 
 the work, and who could mingle freely with the women 
 of the South, wlio now fearfully preponderate, — I could 
 do a hundred times more, — work that would benefit the 
 present, and the results of which might endure to future 
 generations. And will not you, dear Catharine, who 
 have the requisite talents, the thoroughly-practical edu- 
 cation, the energetic will, and the generous enthusiasm 
 needed in such a position, join me in this noble work, 
 before which all other selfish and thoroughly personal 
 considerations should at the present time sink into in- 
 significance ? 
 
 " Oh ! I do think it a work that is needed, — in fact, to 
 fully restore peace and prosperity to the country, imper- 
 atively demanded. But I know you over-estimate my 
 capabilities ; and, above all, forget that I am a Northern 
 woman, a hated Yankee." 
 
 "You have identified yourself so fully with the South 
 during the war, that you are now regarded as a Southern 
 woman by all. Your praises are on many grateful South- 
 ern lips, your memory a green oasis in the desert soil 
 of many Southern hearts. What you have done and suf- 
 fered for friends and foes during the past five years will 
 never, never be forgotten." 
 
 35* 
 
414 THE REBEL GENERAL's LOYAL BRIDE. 
 
 "Well, I believe my own conscience bears me witness 
 tbat I have done what I could." 
 
 " And do not heart and conscience both respond to 
 this ' call from Macedonia, — " Come over and help 
 us '" ? " 
 
 " Yes : I cannot deny it, or that it is just what I have 
 been di-eaming about and longing to do for months. And, 
 had not my home duties seemed to demand all my care, 
 I might have done something more than dream," said 
 Catharine frankly. 
 
 " Those home duties can be easily arranged, now that 
 we have made so fair a beginning. And there are plenty 
 of active business men and women, ruined by the war, 
 who would be glad to take care of our estates, and man- 
 age them as we directed. Your child we should prefer 
 to take with us wherever w^e went. The necessity for 
 this work, now so urgently demanded, will, I hope, soon 
 cease ; and then we can return to our home, with the 
 consciousness that we have done what we could, in the 
 vineyard of the Master, and not misimproved whatever 
 talents God has given us. I believe no thoughtful man 
 could see hundreds and thousands of men falling like 
 autumn leaves around him, as I have done during the 
 war, many of them going to their death with oaths and 
 curses or agonizing prayers for mercy upon their lips, 
 without feeling as if it were the noblest work in the uni- 
 verse to fit men to live as they ought while they are here 
 upon the earth, and to induce them to prepare for the 
 life to come. But this work, to which I have previously 
 referred, seems to be what is demanded of us to-day. I 
 feel as if God demanded it of those whom he has fitted 
 for it; of whom you, Catharine, are one. And I want 
 you to think of it prayerfully before coming to a final 
 decision." 
 
THE FIRST LOVE AT LAST. 415 
 
 When Mrs. Hunter arrived, and heard of Lloyd's pro- 
 posal^ she gave it her unqualified approval, and urged 
 Catharine to accept of it. 
 
 They had been wronged by everybody, she said, in 
 their past separation ; and this would make it all right 
 again. It was just what she had been planning in her 
 own mind for some time. 
 
 A woman had just as much right to make a sec- 
 ond marriage as a man, she said ; though it was not 
 always quite as advisable. Yet the wives of Washing- 
 ton, Franklin, Jackson, and Bonaparte had done it, 
 with multitudes of other noble women, whom the world 
 delighted to honor. It would surely be no discredit to 
 the noble name she bore to exchange it for another 
 quite as distinguished ; and she was sure it would be 
 the best thing that could happen to all concerned. 
 
 Once Mrs. Hunter would hardly have given Catha- 
 rine such counsel as this ; but now she loved her as a 
 sister, and had such a high regard for her worth and 
 talents, that she felt as if Lloyd could not find a nobler 
 woman in the universe to share his destiny. 
 
 Catharine finally consulted her friends at the North ; 
 and, as they were all of Mrs. Hunter's opinion, she con- 
 cluded to follow the bent of her own inclinations, and 
 become Lloyd Hunter's bride. 
 
 So they were quietly married upon the ensuing Christ- 
 mas, and, after a brief visit to her Northern home, re- 
 turned to the South, and began their noble work. 
 From their past connection with army life, both had 
 many acquaintances among all classes of the Southern 
 people, many of whom were deeply indebted to them 
 for past favors, and very grateful. So they were enabled 
 to go with safety into the darkest and most benighte4 
 
416 THE REBEL GEiTEEAL S LOYAL BEIDE. 
 
 regions, where light from the Freedman's Bureau could 
 not penetrate, and where Northern men and women 
 would at that time have been repulsed with indignation 
 and scorn. 
 
 Their own w^ealth, fine talents, and high Southern 
 connections enabled them to go among the highest as 
 well as the lowest; to plead with and persuade the 
 people, in public and in private, in churches, school- 
 houses, or log-cabins, that it was not only for their best 
 earthly interest, but also their solemn duty, to extend 
 the hand of friendship and encouragement to the igno- 
 rant, oppressed, and long down-trodden slaves. They 
 also endeavored, so far as it was in their power, to in- 
 spire both the late masters and the new-born freemen 
 with a spirit of forbearance and conciliation, of mutual 
 forgiveness and forgetfuluess of past injuries, which was 
 the only thing that could conduce to the welfare and 
 happiness of both, and save them and their country from 
 ruin. 
 
 Both could plead earnestly, eloquently, and convin- 
 cingly ; and the good they have been enabled to do in 
 the years that have passed since the war is incalcu- 
 lable. They have succeeded in opening the eyes of 
 hundreds of the former masters and mistresses to the 
 injustice, oppression, inhumanity, and un worthiness of 
 tbeir conduct towards their former slaves, and led them 
 to forbearance and amendment. They have inspired in 
 many other hearts that spirit of the Master that will lead 
 them to try to imitate his noble example. They have 
 been the means of establishing schools, and houses of 
 worship, in many dark and desolate places ; from which 
 streams of knowledge and light from on high will 
 eventually flow to civilize, enlighten, and redeem all the 
 
THE FIKST LOVE AT LAST. 417 
 
 surrounding country. They have mingled among the 
 people, and taught those who were ignorant and shift- 
 less how to make the best use of their slender means, 
 which they increased upon many fitting occasions. 
 
 Thousands of the former masters and mistresses who 
 have lived in affluence, and boasted of their aristocracy, 
 were now poor, spiritless, and dejected, and needed 
 some such reviving influence to lead them to a better 
 and more useful life and a higher destiny. Catharine's 
 eminently practical education fitted her admirably to be 
 a domestic adviser to such as these, as she had been 
 brought up in a home of thrift and economy, where 
 small means had been made to work out the great ends 
 of education, improvement, and respectability. 
 
 Wherever they went, th oy endeavored, so far as was 
 in their power, to abate old and sinful prejudices, to 
 initiate needed reforms, to persuade the discouraged to 
 cast oif their indolence, and begin a thorough reforma- 
 tion of heart, life, and character ; and, above all, to 
 lead souls out of darkness, ignorance, and discourage- 
 ment, up to light and hope here, and a better prospect of 
 glory in that beyond the grave. They are now resting 
 at home ; and happy in their mutual affection, and rich 
 in the gratitude of multitudes, they are on earth laying 
 up treasure in heaven. 
 
RARE BOOK 
 COLLECTION 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 AT 
 
 CHAPEL HILL 
 
 Wilmer 
 71