The White Rose of Memphis
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The pilot had by this time succeeded in driving the nozzle of his boat against the bank, but in consequence of the treachery of the current, he had been compelled to strike the shore nearly a hundred yards below the point first designated by the commander.
The spectators were horrified to see that Wallingford’s face was covered with blood, and when he raised his body above the water they could see the blood spouting from a dozen wounds on his neck, face and shoulders. For several seconds he paused, as if endeavoring to take a little breath; then, giving his head a sudden shake as if to dash the bloody hair back from his face, he raised his body high up out of the water, and, quick as lightning, darted on his adversary, dealing him a tremendous blow on the back of the head with the butt end of the pistol. The sharp point of the hammer went crashing like a bullet through the villain’s skull, and the body of Ben Bowles sank, never to rise again until it and his soul were separated. The lifeless body of the desperate outlaw was found ten days afterward, floating in the water thirty miles from the spot where it and the soul parted. Wallingford, being completely overcome with fatigue and the loss of blood, was incapable of making any further exertion. He fell off of the piece of timber and disappeared under the water, but as he came up a few seconds afterward, Demar seized him by the wrist, as he was sinking the second time, and lifted him into the yawl, when he fell insensible on the floor. The lifeless body of the rash young man was hurriedly conveyed to a state-room on the “White Rose,” where Doctor Plaxico was instantly summoned to take charge of the case.
“There is where the danger lies,” said Plaxico. “The dagger that inflicted that wound penetrated the cavity of the lungs, and internal hemorrhage has resulted.”
Lottie, who had at all times been famous for her courage and self-possession under adverse circumstances, was now completely mastered by her grief. As soon as she recovered her self-possession, she implored the doctor to tell her the very worst.
“You need not be afraid to tell me the truth, doctor. Tell me candidly, is my brother mortally wounded or not?”
“Mrs. Demar, it is impossible for me to give anything like a reliable opinion just now, but, to be frank with you, I fear we may expect a fatal result.” Then, addressing Demar, he said, “Go to Miss Bramlett without delay and examine her wound, and see if anything can be done for her.”
“What a pity it is that such a pretty girl should be murdered by such a fiend as Ben Bowles!” observed George Woodburry, in a whisper to Captain Burk.
“Yes,” replied the captain; “she has lost her life in the attempt to save Wallingford.”
“Were they not engaged to be married?”
“Yes, though it was thought by Miss Bramlett’s friends that she had committed suicide in New York nearly a year ago. There appears to be some strange mystery connected with this business.”
“I wonder if she knew that Navarre was Harry Wallingford in disguise?”
“I am inclined to think she did; but I am of the opinion that he did not know that the lady of the black domino was Miss Bramlett.”
“What a strange and fatal coincidence it is that they should have met here, to die at the same time and place, both murdered by the same desperate villain!”
“Indeed it is!”
“Is Miss Bramlett dead?” inquired Captain Quitman, who was watching attentively near the door.
“No,” replied Demar, “and I am exceedingly glad to be able to inform you that she is not going to die from any cause now existing. Her wound is not at all of a serious character, though she has received a very severe shock; she has entirely recovered from its effect, and is now soundly sleeping, under the influence of an opiate, and I think it is safe to predict that she will be as well as ever in less than a week. The ball struck a rib, glancing round and making its exit just to the left of the spine, inflicting merely a slight flesh wound.”
“Heaven bless you, Demar, for this good news!” exclaimed Captain Quitman, as he seized the surgeon’s hand.
“Go in and see Wallingford immediately, and I pray to God to enable you to bring us such good news from him!”
As soon as Demar went into the room he inquired of Plaxico the condition of the patient.
“Bad enough, Heaven knows!” was the answer. “He is totally unconscious – fever rising – respiration difficult – left lung gorged with blood, and every symptom most unfavorable. That stab under the shoulder-blade is the dangerous one. Demar, you must get some reliable nurse to remain with Miss Bramlett all the time, and let it be distinctly understood that she is to be closely watched – if your wife would undertake the task, I should be very glad.”
“What do you mean, Plaxico? have I not just told you that Miss Bramlett is scarcely hurt at all – she will be able to get up by to-morrow morning. Where is the necessity of such vigilant nursing.”
“That poor girl will commit suicide if Wallingford dies. I think the chances are about a thousand in favor of a fatal result, to one of recovery. You must not lose sight of the fact that Miss Bramlett did on a former occasion contemplate suicide, when she thought Wallingford was hopelessly ill; and you may be assured she will again make the attempt if he dies, which I honestly believe he will do inside of forty hours! It would be advisable to keep her in ignorance of his condition until we know exactly what is to be the result; and I shall depend on you and your wife to do it.”
“I think you will find that rather a difficult task, for the very first word she uttered after she recovered from the swoon was an inquiry about Wallingford; and she will be sure to ask about him as soon as she awakes.”
“We must resort to strategy; and a little deception, under the circumstances, would be perfectly justifiable – you may tell her that I say Wallingford is not dangerously hurt; and if the recording angel has no worse crimes set down against me in the great Day of Judgment, I shall not fear the result.”
Demar and Lottie watched by Miss Bramlett’s bedside during the night, while Plaxico, at his own earnest request, was left alone with Harry, where he sat during the whole night, watching with an anxious eye every movement of his patient.
CHAPTER XLI
Soon after breakfast Miss Bramlett announced her determination to see Wallingford, and no amount of remonstrance which Doctor Plaxico and Demar could bring to bear against the step could prevent it.
“Lottie, help me down on my knees, and I will pray for strength and courage to sustain me under this trying ordeal.”
Lottie gladly rendered the assistance requested, and both girls knelt and prayed in silence for a long time; and when they rose up, an expression of calmness was visible on the pale, beautiful face of Miss Bramlett.
“Lottie dear, you can trust me now, and I fear you will think me superstitious when I tell you that our prayers have been answered; he will not die, and we shall all be happy again. You may let me see him now, without any fears as to my actions; if you will let me lean on your shoulder, I can walk very well.”
The door of Wallingford’s room was thrown open, and a chair placed near his bed. As Miss Bramlett was led to it the pallor of her cheeks increased, but no other signs of emotion were to be seen. The wounded man was muttering continually in a rambling way, and every now and then thrusting his arms out as if striking at an imaginary enemy; and it was plain to be seen that his mind was still on the combat he had had with Bowles.
“He is exhausting his strength very rapidly,” said Plaxico, “and I have been as yet unable to quiet him; I believe if I could keep him still that the internal hemorrhage would cease.”
Just at that moment Harry made a sudden spring, and would have leaped out of the bed, but Miss Bramlett caught and gently laid him down and began to rub his brow with her hand, when he instantly became quiet, and in three minutes was sound asleep.
“Did you see that, Demar?” said Plaxico, in a low whisper.
“See what?”
“How quick he became quiet when she put her hand on his brow?”
“Yes; I suppose it is mesmerism, magnetism, or something of the sort.”
“If we were to live a thousand years, we might learn something new every day; this is a most wonderful occurrence! See, he is sleeping soundly; the respiration is less labored, and his pulse much better. Now, I imagine this strange phenomenon would furnish material for an article in the Lancet, and I think I shall undertake to write it.”
The very instant Miss Bramlett removed her hand from the wounded man’s brow, he awoke and began to move restlessly from side to side; but she immediately replaced it and he was again quiet.
“Well!” observed Demar, “I must say that this is the strangest occurrence that I ever saw. I believe their souls are communing intelligently with each other, and that, notwithstanding Wallingford’s reason is dethroned, he is in some way made to know that Miss Bramlett is near him.”
“I have often read about two souls melting into one,” replied Plaxico, “but this is the first occular demonstration of the process that has ever been witnessed by me. There is more mystery in the anatomy of the human body than is generally believed to exist, anyway.”
“Yes,” rejoined Demar; “especially does that remark apply to the human heart. I speak from experience, to some extent, and I dare say that the hearts of Miss Bramlett and Wallingford are at this very moment conversing intelligently with each other. A sort of telegraph which love has erected is now conducting sweet messages from one heart to the other.”
Wallingford continued to slumber undisturbed for four hours, except when Miss Bramlett would remove her hand from his brow, and then he would begin to show signs of restlessness, which never failed to disappear as soon as she would replace it. The burning fever that had been raging began to subside, and the hemorrhage ceased, curiously, while all the symptoms took a favorable turn.
“Demar,” whispered Plaxico, after he had held his finger on the patient’s pulse for a long while; “I think Miss Bramlett’s treatment has saved our friend’s life; the fact is, she has performed a most wonderful miracle.”
It was late in the evening when Wallingford opened his eyes and began to stare in a bewildered way at the beautiful face that hovered near him, while evidences of restored reason unmistakably appeared in his movements. For two or three minutes he gazed earnestly at Miss Bramlett, then placing his hand on her head, he gently stroked her hair, and then ran his hand over her face, and then took hold of her arm.
“Yes,” he whispered; “it is her, and it was all a dream; and such a horrible one, too; I thought she was dead, and I dreamed that Bowles had killed her, and then drowned me in the river. Why do you not speak to me, Viola? Am I mistaken in thinking I see you?”
As he uttered the last words, he placed his arm round her neck and drew her head down until her cheek touched against his.
“Come away, Demar,” said Plaxico, as he plucked him by the sleeve; “I shall shout with joy if I remain here another moment. That scene is enough to make the angels weep with delight.”
It was on the morning of the fourth day after Wallingford received his wounds, that he made his appearance in the saloon supported by Miss Bramlett and Lottie, each one with a shoulder under his arm, fairly lifting him along by main strength.
Harry Wallingford was lazily reclining in a large cushioned armchair on the hurricane-deck, listening to Lottie, who was reading Mazeppa to him, while Miss Bramlett sat near him, gazing vacantly at the rolling waves that dashed up behind the boat. A long pause ensued when Lottie laid the book down and began to fondle her brother’s dark-brown hair.
“Viola,” said Harry, “I want you to tell me what induced you to give your friends in New York the dodge, leaving them to conclude that you had committed suicide; in fact, I want you to tell me all about everything connected with your history from the time we parted, until the present moment.”
“There is but very little to tell, I assure you, and as I have nothing better to do, and being anxious to amuse you, I suppose I must undertake the task; but before I begin, you must allow me to express my thanks for the beautiful monument you caused to be erected over my grave in New York. Your generosity in that instance, indeed deserves my profound gratitude, and it has convinced me that you did really care something for me.
“But let me leave that subject for future discussion while I proceed with my little history. When I was, by the dishonesty of the trustees who had control of my money, reduced to a pauper, I felt that it was my duty to seek some means of earning an honest living. That there were many friends and relatives of mine ready and anxious to offer me a home, I very well knew, but I could not for a moment bear the idea of being dependent on relatives for support. Above all things I abhor anything like gilded bondage or idle dependence; consequently, I resolved to seek employment. I knew very well that this step would be bitterly opposed by my aristocratic relations, especially if I should dare to seek employment in New York; therefore, I concluded to give them the slip and hunt a distant home. Disguising myself completely, I went to Cincinnati and had the good fortune to secure a position as governess in the family of Mr. Gaterine, the kind-hearted old gentleman who is accompanying me on this trip.
“One evening I was passing along one of the principal streets of Cincinnati, when I was overwhelmed with astonishment to meet Benjamin Bowles. He was disguised, but notwithstanding that I recognized him, and I knew in an instant, from his manner, that he was aware of the fact that I had penetrated his deception. I hurried to the Chief of Police and imparted the information, hoping to have him arrested; but he must have immediately fled, as the officers could not find him. I hired a detective to look for him, but after working a month nothing was accomplished. But when I tell you to whom I am indebted for the discovery of Bowles’ hiding-place I know you will be greatly astonished. Do you see that little, pale-faced, sickly-looking boy yonder, leaning over the bannisters?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, it is to that little hero that I owe the great obligation. His name is Robert Spratt, son of a widow woman residing in Memphis; you doubtless remember him, though he has changed very much in his personal appearance since he left Memphis. They used to call him haunch-back Bob, for his spine was diseased, causing an ugly hump to appear between his shoulders, and seriously affecting his general health, and as I think, greatly retarded his growth. You will notice that he is quite a child in stature, but I can tell you he has the heart, brain and soul of a man. He is a real gallant hero, and you could not find another such a good detective anywhere. He is much older, though, than his little body would indicate.
“I prevailed on him to let me send him to an infirmary at Cincinnati, where he was effectually cured, for which I paid one thousand dollars; and as good luck would have it, I met my little protege on the streets not more than ten minutes after I had met Bowles. I was delighted to see that the ugly hump had disappeared and that my little friend was effectually cured. I hurriedly gave him a description of Bowles, and told him in which direction the murderer had gone, requesting him to follow and try to find him. I did not see Robert any more, or hear a word from him for two months, and I concluded that he had returned to his home in Memphis; but not so, the noble little hero was tracking the great outlaw.
“I cannot command language to describe the surprise as well as joy I felt when I received a telegram from my little hero, informing me that Bowles was on his way to Mexico, and would probably stop a few days at New Orleans, and advising me to come down there as soon as I could. He also requested me to inquire for a dispatch that he would send to Memphis, which would meet me there on my way to New Orleans. He was at Friar’s Point, Mississippi, where Bowles had stopped to wait for one of his pals who had agreed to meet him there.
“Mr. Gaterine kindly consented to go with me to New Orleans, and when I arrived at Memphis I found the promised telegram, which informed me that Bowles was still at Friar’s Point. The ‘White Rose’ being the first boat that would start for New Orleans, we concluded to take passage on her, but learning that Lottie and Edward had been married on the day before I reached Memphis, and that they were going on a bridal tour to the Crescent City, I at once procured a black domino and mask to wear in order to keep them from knowing me. I am sure that I could not have sufficiently disguised my voice to have enabled me to deceive Lottie, had it not been for a severe cold, which, although quite painful, I was glad to endure as long as it would aid me in the accomplishment of my purpose. It was my intention to leave the boat at Friar’s Point, but soon after the ‘White Rose’ landed I was delighted to see my little detective come aboard. He informed me that Bowles had just come aboard, and was going to New Orleans on the ‘White Rose.’ I was overjoyed at this information. You doubtless remember that we landed at Friar’s Point in the night; if I remember correctly, it was about three o’clock in the morning, and you must know how bitter was my disappointment next morning, when, after a diligent search, we failed to find Bowles. I soon ascertained from inquiries made, that the ‘White Rose’ had not landed since we left Friar’s Point, which led me to believe that our man was concealed somewhere on the boat. My little detective was of the same opinion, and I knew that if it was as we suspected, that he would soon discover where the murderer was hidden. I do not know what it was that caused Robert to suspect Napoleon, but nevertheless I soon learned from him that he did suspect him of being the man we were after. It was some time before he succeeded in convincing himself that his suspicions were well founded. By some means which I did not care to know, he succeeded in effecting an entrance to the state-room occupied by Napoleon, when, sure enough, he discovered that it was Bowles. All the stolen money and other property was found hidden in an old boot under the bed, and when I found out that it was stolen property, I instructed my little friend to bring it to me, which he did.”
“Yes,” exclaimed Wallingford, “and I promise you now, Viola, that your brave little friend shall never know what it is to want for anything as long as he lives.”
“Thank you, Harry, a thousand times I thank you,” replied Miss Bramlett, as fresh tears began to trickle down her cheeks, “but you must let me finish my story. Well, my little friend ascertained that Bowles had paid fifty dollars to the gentleman who originally personated the Emperor Napoleon, for his uniform and mask, and you must not blame that gentleman for selling his costume to Bowles, because he did not know he was aiding a cruel murderer to escape, but he was tired of the nonsense, as he was pleased to call it, and finding a chance to get his money back, he at once closed the trade, believing that the purchaser merely wished to enjoy a little innocent sport by deceiving the ladies. As soon as I ascertained the fact that the money, and other valuable things had been stolen, I resolved to restore them to their owners, but before I could carry out my intentions in that respect, Captain Quitman inaugurated his plans to make a search, the result of which you already know.”
“Yes,” said Harry, “that is all very well explained, but how did the dead woman happen to have my ring?”
“I think I can explain that also,” replied Miss Bramlett. “Soon after I arrived in New York, I engaged a young Irish woman to serve me as waiting maid, and soon after she entered my service, I began to miss little articles, which I at first supposed were accidentally lost or mislaid, but it was not long before I became convinced that they were stolen. One of my dresses, a drab silk, mysteriously disappeared, then my ring, and various other valuable articles were missing, and when I became convinced that my maid was a thief I discharged her. It is clear to my mind that the unfortunate woman was wearing my dress and ring when she was drowned.”
“Viola!” said Wallingford in a voice choking with deep emotion, “did you recognize me in my Navarre costume?”
“Yes, indeed I did.”
“How could you remain near me so long without speaking to me? Do you not know that I would have swum through lakes of fire to have found you?”
Viola’s voice now for the first time refused to obey her will, and she was unable to make any reply. Her eyes were bent on the ground, while the violent throbbings of her heart could be distinctly heard by Lottie, who sat near her.
“Viola,” continued Wallingford, “will you not try to love me a little?”
“No!” she replied in a trembling tone which seemed to be uttered with an effort.
“Why?”
“Because I do not think it would be good for me to love any one more than I have loved you for the last ten years.”
“Now stop that, Harry,” exclaimed Demar, as he approached the group. “You may embrace Miss Bramlett if you wish, but to have two women in your arms at once is a little too much. I think you are very selfish; you may embrace Miss Bramlett as often as she will allow it, but you must not be quite so familiar with my wife.”
“Leave me alone with Viola immediately, I beseech you, Ed,” Wallingford whispered as he placed his mouth close to his ear. “Pray, go quick and take Lottie with you. I think Viola is now in the notion to pardon the past errors, and I hope and believe she will promise to marry me.”
“Come, Lottie!” said Demar, endeavoring to assume an indifferent tone, “let us take a little stroll together, as I have a little secret to tell you. I suppose Miss Bramlett can take care of your brother while we are away.”
As soon as Demar and his wife were gone, an embarrassing pause ensued while Harry and Miss Bramlett silently inspected the floor. Each one could distinctly hear the violent throbbings of the other’s heart.
“Viola!” Harry said, after a full five minutes had been spent in silence, “dare I ask you to forgive the great wrong that I have done to you?”
No answer. “I know that I do not deserve, nor have I the right to expect your pardon, yet I am very unhappy in thinking that you must entertain a very unfavorable opinion of the contemptible part I played in that unfortunate affair at Memphis.”
“Harry, how could you ask me to forgive you, when you must know that my heart is overflowing with gratitude to you for the valuable assistance you rendered in that affair? You must indeed have a poor opinion of me, if you could for a moment suppose that I could ever forget your noble, generous exertions in my behalf. If I were to live a hundred years I would remember you and your sweet sister with sentiments of the deepest gratitude. It is I who should seek forgiveness, and I do here, now, most sincerely declare that no act that I have ever committed has caused me half the pain, shame, and mortification that my hateful temper caused me to feel by inducing me to insult you that day in jail. If you can forget and forgive me for that despicable conduct, you are indeed the most generous, noble-hearted man living.”
“Viola, you and I have had many trials and much trouble, and suffered much sorrow since we first met, and we have no doubt learned some valuable lessons, which I have reason to believe will prove a blessing in the end. The hand of a kind Providence seems to have guided our destinies. He first used me as His instrument in saving your life many years ago, and then enabled you to save mine, the other day. Therefore let us agree to let by-gones be forgotten, while we endeavor to profit by the sad lessons taught us by experience.”
“I say amen to that with all my heart.”
“Now, darling, knowing as you do the numerous faults and imperfections that unfortunately belong to my nature, are you willing to trust your happiness to me? Will you confirm my hopes of happiness by promising to be mine?”
“Are you willing to marry a pauper?”
“Don’t mention the money question, I implore you.”
“Yes, but I must mention it, because I owe at least ten thousand dollars, and have no money to pay with.”