The Torn Bible Part 2

"What shall I do?" he said, as he pa.s.sionately struck the table; and then, in the height of his frenzy, he said many bitter, cruel things about his poor guilty companion who lay dead upon his bed in the adjoining room.

"Oh, what shall I do?" he said again; and for some minutes he sat still, gazing with a vacant stare upon the floor; then, as if moved by a sudden impulse, he slowly rose from his chair, and, going into his bed-room, he knelt down by his chest, intending to get some writing paper, that he might reckon up all he owed, and see how far his own resources would help him. Perhaps he was too absorbed to think of what he was doing, for he took out a small parcel, and then, after replacing the things in his chest, he went and sat down by the table. For some minutes he sat with his face covered with his hands, as though he were in deep thought; then he muttered something, and, s.n.a.t.c.hing up the parcel, he broke the string that tied it; one sharp pull drew the paper away, when out upon the table fell his Bible. "Fool, to bring that!" he said, and then he dashed it to the other end of the room. In striking the Bible it came open, and as it came in contact with the corner of a chair two of its leaves were torn out. There was a slight momentary regret in Hubert's heart, when he found what he had done: he hated the book, and could not bear it in his sight; and though he would have been glad to have been rid of it, he never thought, nor perhaps ever intended destroying it in that way, and he stepped across the room to gather it all up. Much of his pa.s.sion subsided as he sat down and tried to replace the torn leaves. The days, however, had long since pa.s.sed when he was accustomed to read his Bible; he was now not only unfamiliar with that sacred book, but all that he once knew appeared to have gone from his memory; and though he turned over and over again one portion after another, to find the part in Ezekiel from which the pages had been torn, it was of no use, he could not replace them; so, with a nervous hand, he thrust them into his pocket, and took the torn Bible back to his chest.

This little incident, though it produced no reflection, subdued for a time the excitement under which he was labouring; and though he disregarded the unseen hand that was dealing so mysteriously with him, the first outburst of bad feeling respecting the difficulty into which he had fallen by the death of his gambling companion was over, and, leaving his room, he walked with gentle step to the one in which his dead comrade lay. The years of folly and sin which Hubert had pa.s.sed had not quite dried up all the fountains of his heart; one of them, at least, was flowing afresh as he closed the door and went up to the remains of his dead friend. He raised the sheet which had been spread over the corpse, and breathed the words, "Oh, poor Harris!" as he gazed upon the once joyous face; then, sitting down beside him, he laid his hand upon the cold forehead and wept as he had not done since his childhood. He had seen death in many forms, and this was not the first time he had lost a companion; but neither tear nor sigh had followed the death of any one before: but for poor Harris, how he wept! Hubert had loved him well. Death, which before had no effect upon him, overwhelmed him now, and it was not until his own wounded arm grew very painful, from the effects of touching the cold dead, that he rose to go away.

Harris was to be buried early on the morrow, and Hubert felt such a strange bitterness at parting that he could scarcely go; but at last, bending over him, he pressed one long, fervent kiss upon the silent lips and turned away.

In pa.s.sing along near the door, his eye caught what he thought to be a piece of folded paper lying near the clothes of his friend; he picked it up, and, upon opening it, found it to be a note from poor Harris--a few lines written by him in pencil, as he lay dying upon the field of battle; and there was not much upon the paper, but there was enough.

Poor Harris, in that brief note, begged the finder to convey the sad story of his death to his mother, and tell her how bitterly he repented having so long forgotten her; that he begged her to forgive him, and earnestly implored the Lord Jesus to have mercy upon him; then came the words--evidently written by a trembling hand--"Comrade, turn and repent; not a moment may be given to you; tell Hubert Goodwin I am dead: he must meet me again."

Hubert had never felt before what he did as he read that note--written as the life-blood wasted, and he the subject of it; how he trembled, bold, daring soldier that he was! it was the voice from the dead; and at first he felt cold--so cold: his teeth chattered, and then a sudden heat rushed over him, and the perspiration trickled down his face; his bosom swelled, his breath grew short; at length, a long, deep groan burst from his overcharged heart, and he went to his own room. Long, very long, silent and alone, Hubert sat in his dreary chamber; there were but few sounds without, and nothing but sighs and groans broke the stillness within; the words on that blood-spotted note touched him deeply, struck many a note of discord in his heart, tore into shreds the cloak of sin and guilt he had worn so long, and exposed to him the part he had taken in dragging his companion, once a pure, n.o.ble-hearted, susceptible boy, down deep into the villanies of his own dissipated life. And he was to meet him again--where?

The teaching of his childhood had not been in vain; the bread cast upon the waters had not all perished; conscience whispered the truth, and Hubert knew where he should meet Harris. The soldier's head bowed; he felt he could not, he dare not, meet the soul he had ruined; the thought of the terrible record against him broke down his spirit. "Great G.o.d!"

as he glanced upward, was all he uttered, in his despair, and his head drooped again in deep anguish upon his bosom.

CHAPTER IV.

ELLEN BUCHAN.

She was the pride Of her familiar sphere,--the daily joy Of all who on her gracefulness might gaze, And in the light and music of her way Have a companion's portion. Who could feel, While looking upon beauty such as hers, That it would ever perish?--WILLIS.

That night, and for many days, Hubert knew no peace; sleeping or waking, Harris was ever in his thoughts; turn where he would, there was a remembrance of his dead companion, the loss of whom he deeply mourned.

Out of health himself, his bereavement was more felt, especially as he was unable to seek other comrades with whom he might drive gloomy thoughts away. At other times, when he had been ill, Harris had ever sought him; but now, no one save those who waited upon him entered his room, and he began to hate the sound of their footsteps, because he felt that he paid for their sympathy. Poor Harris! how he missed him; how long the days seemed, and how slow his recovery! Who shall say it was not an opportunity vouchsafed by the Almighty to bring back his own wandering soul? Why did he not pray in his hours of distress? No; the heart long used to the neglect of that holy privilege and duty but ill knows how to fly to the throne of grace in the hour of woe, and too often throws back the hand of G.o.d with ungrateful murmurings. Hubert never once poured out his burden of distress, never once looked to that loving G.o.d whose eye, notwithstanding his wickedness, watched over him with a father's love, but fretted and repined at the calamity which had befallen him, until every pure and good feeling fled away once more, and he began to be as cold and callous about the death of poor Harris as he was about other things.

Time, the great soother of woe in the human heart, threw its power over Hubert; as it pa.s.sed, it brought him returning health, and, once again mingling in the busy scenes of his profession, the wounded arm, the dead companion, and the warning, all shared the doom of the other events of his life: they were gone, and he was happy in forgetting them. The difficulty into which he had fallen with respect to his money matters, however, taught him a lesson; and though he again joined the society of many of his former companions, he never again fell into that terrible vice which had so nearly ruined his worldly prospects.

Some weeks had pa.s.sed away; all the little effects belonging to poor Harris were being collected, for the captain of his company had found amongst some letters the names of some of the poor fellow's relations in England. Hubert heard of what was being done, and one morning, meeting the doctor of the regiment, they began talking the matter over. "I can tell you where his mother lives," said Hubert, "if you will step into my rooms; for now I remember it, I have by me a little note for her,--at least I have her address upon it."

They walked along together, talking of various matters, and having reached Hubert's rooms he took from a little desk a small piece of paper, and, without a thought, said, as he handed it to the doctor, "I think you'll find it on that."

The doctor read the note, and as he did so a sad expression stole over his face, and then, looking at Hubert, he said, "Oh, Goodwin, what a letter! Poor Harris! What a warning for us all. And what an escape you had; the ball pa.s.sed you, but it pierced his lungs. It might have been your lot; though I trust a better account than this would have been sent home of you."

"Come now, doctor, no preaching; I cannot tell what account will be given of me when I'm knocked off."

"A true one, I have no doubt," was the reply.

"Perhaps so; but I don't care what people say; I do my duty, no one can deny that, and soldiers can't be preachers."

"But they can be Christians, and find as much need of the Bible as the sword. As much! Ah! more; it is a double weapon, a sword and a shield: try it, Goodwin, if you never have, and see if I am not correct. If any man is in heaven, my father is; he was thirty-four years a soldier, fought in forty-one battles, and had as many wounds. And what preserved him? What made him go cheerfully through all the trials of a soldier's life? What made his name honoured and respected, as you yourself have often observed? Was it the battles he fought, or the fame he won? No. He read his Bible every day of his life, and tried to live as that holy book says men ought to live. He infused, by G.o.d's help, the same spirit into his company, and many a year must roll by before the words, 'Good Captain Martin,' will cease to be heard; and the influence of his example will linger still longer. No one can tell the power of example; and it is a serious reflection that we each have to answer for the amount we exercise over our fellow creatures."

Hubert had thrown himself into an easy chain, and, with his hands thrust into his pockets, he silently listened to the doctor; but now he replied: "But surely we cannot possibly help persons imitating what we do. I don't see that we are to be responsible for the folly and evil deeds of others."

"Certainly not, Goodwin; but still, how can we be sure that our conduct has not caused many of the deeds you mention? Thousands of n.o.ble-hearted pure-minded youths who have entered the army have been ruined, both in body and soul, by the example of some wicked comrade."

"Do you refer to Harris?" asked Hubert, starting up from his seat; "because if you do, I may tell you at once that I am not going to be accused of anything he did. If he chose to make a fool of himself, it is nothing to me: my conscience is clear."

"I refer to truth," said the doctor, "and my own experience; and if we would only ask ourselves how far our conduct will affect those around us, we should be better men. Man _will_ imitate, and it is what he imitates that enn.o.bles or debases him; it is example which has filled the heart of man with all that is good and n.o.ble, and it has also helped to make up long catalogues of crime. Our blessed Saviour knew the power of it when He said to His disciples, 'Be ye perfect, as I am perfect.'"

The calm and gentle manner of the doctor subdued Hubert's rising anger, and as he listened to him _he_ also felt the deep power of example.

Before any other man who had dared to refer to Harris, as his heart told him the doctor had done, he would have given way to the pa.s.sion which his guilty conscience prompted; but there was an overpowering influence in the calm demeanour of that good man, which Hubert felt; and when he was gone the room seemed very lonely, and Hubert paced it with rapid stride, as he thought over the past: the life he had led and was still leading, the dead Harris, and the warning note smote upon his memory, and he wished--oh, how earnestly he wished!--that he were but half like that good man who had just left him. It was a difficult matter, however, for Hubert to profit much by what had transpired; the wish to lead a better life was earnest enough, but old habits and evil a.s.sociates had forged their chains of fascination round him, and he went out to seek company which would soon snap the silver cord of purity that was beginning once more to form holy tracery on his heart.

Thus it ever is with the heart that is continually striving against the influences and power of the Spirit. To keep down the still small voice of conscience, nothing is so effectual as the whirlwind of pleasure, and man runs headlong from one sin to another, until the fatal hour dawns when G.o.d's Spirit will no longer strive. Repeated warnings disregarded, and opportunities neglected, ruined Hubert's better nature: in scenes of dissipation the germs of holiness perished, and he sank down deep, deeper still into sin, growing older in wickedness as he grew stronger in manhood, belying, as many do, the n.o.ble image on his brow by the mark of _Cain_ upon his heart.

It was seldom that the regiment to which Hubert belonged remained longer than a few years in one place, so that his stock of worldly possessions had not greatly increased; but it was eighteen years since he left home, and he was now about changing into another regiment, one more stationary than his own, and marrying the daughter of an old English resident at Agra. During the time Hubert had been in India, he had experienced many vicissitudes often marching through the country, often in battle, and occasionally sick and in hospital. He had grown from the pretty rosy boy to a tall, dark sunburnt man, and was now a captain. In military things he had improved; but though of those who went out with him to India more than half had either fallen in battle or died of disease, nothing softened his heart, and it was a wicked boast he frequently made in the mess-room, that when he was unable to fight any longer he would think about going home and being religious. Thus he went on wasting the vigour of his life, tempting by his blasphemy the merciful G.o.d that was sparing him, neglecting every opportunity for repentance, and occasionally tearing up his Bible.

The doctor, who had been nearly the same time in the regiment that Hubert had, but who in age was ten years his senior, never lost an opportunity of trying to influence the soldiers for good. Many a rebuff was the reward of the good man's efforts, but he never wearied. Hubert, though he listened to him once, had grown vain with his military promotion, and shunned the good man who had once brought his heart near to heaven. Dr. Martin, however, never lost sight of the reckless sinner, but breathed many a sigh as he thought of one so gifted, and placed so far above the wants of life, rushing fast to his ruin; and then he prayed, with all the earnestness of a devoted heart, that G.o.d's Spirit would stay him in his course of sin.

Like a gleam of light upon a darkened object came the intelligence that Hubert was about to be married to Ellen Buchan. Nearly every one in Agra knew her, and there were but few who did not also know how good she was; she and her family were distinguished for their piety, and many a darkened soul in the idolatrous city where they resided learnt by their teaching and example to place Christianity above the idol-worship of their childhood, and became followers of the meek and lowly Jesus.

Surely such companionship as Ellen Buchan would be a blessing to Hubert, and a change must come upon him, else he would be no helpmate for one so good as she was; and the doctor wondered whether a change had not already come over him, by his having expressed an intention of moving into another regiment.

How fervently he hoped that it might be so; and though he now seldom exchanged a word with Hubert, he did not forget him, but still hoped that he might lead a better life. Imperceptibly to Hubert, a change had indeed stolen over him since he knew Ellen; many of his old haunts were forsaken, former friends were given up, and Hubert had something to bear from the taunting words and manners of his old a.s.sociates; but he had other thoughts, new habits were being formed, life had a thousand charms, and his face beamed more joyous and more handsome every day; his chief desire was to sell out, and purchase in the regiment stationed at Agra. A few disappointments attended Hubert's change of regiment: it was delayed longer than he had expected; still, the matter was now, to all appearance, nearly settled, and preparations were being made for the marriage. If Hubert had ever been thoroughly happy, he appeared so now: his past life, with all its a.s.sociations, was absorbed in the present, in Ellen every thought was centred.

Alas! how frail are man's hopes. One sultry evening a messenger came to tell Hubert to come at once to Mr. Buchan's, for something had happened.

With a beating heart and hurried step he hastened to the house, but there was sorrow there. Ellen had been complaining all day, and, as the evening drew on, her illness increased, and she was found to be suffering from fever. Hubert was frightened, for the fever had been prevalent, and frequently fatal. That night and the next day he stayed at the house, and then, how dreadful came the intelligence that her life was despaired of! Now Hubert felt, perhaps for the first time in his life, the bitter woe of hopes all crushed; for the thought of losing Ellen was terrible. What could he do! All around him was a scene of woe.

Changed he apparently was in his conduct and habits, but his heart was the same, and his sorrow gave way to murmuring and raving about the affliction. How earnestly he hoped for her recovery, yet how unchastened was his spirit! for upon meeting Dr. Martin, who, after inquiring about Ellen, added kindly, "I hope, if only for your sake, she will recover,"

he replied sharply, "Sir, you hope nothing of the kind; if she dies you will upbraid and taunt me." Unjust and cruel as this remark was, the doctor pitied and forgave him, and stood gazing after him as he turned away.

Ellen died. We need not tell the deep bereavement it was to all who loved her. Reader! it matters nothing to thee; but there was a home made desolate, and more than one heart riven. Such is life! A time will come when the deep mystery of such dealings shall be explained; till then, hope on! trust on! believe on! Satan would tempt thee in the weak, trying hour to doubt, but remember G.o.d does not willingly afflict; the finest gold has been seven times purified, and happy is he who can look upward, even though it be through his tears, and say, "It is thy will, Lord; do with me as it seemeth thee good."

All who knew Hubert pitied him under the deep affliction which had befallen him, and for a time his spirit bowed beneath it; he overcame it, however, sooner than many had expected, joined himself again to many of his old companions, and gave up all intention of selling out of his regiment, and very soon he bade farewell to the friends he had made in Agra, and moved with his regiment to a station further up the country.

CHAPTER V.

HUBERT WOUNDED.

On comes the foe--to arms, to aims, We meet--'tis to death or glory; 'Tis victory in all her charms, Or fame in Britain's story.--W. SMYTH.

Three more years pa.s.sed away: it had been a trying time, for a native tribe near a neighbouring jungle gave Hubert's regiment continual trouble; and now orders were received at the barracks to prepare for a battle, for large numbers of Hindoos were coming down from the hills, and several British regiments were on the march to a.s.sist the station that was menaced.

Hubert received the order, and gave it out again to his company, and then, without another word went to his rooms. It was not his usual way: he generally said something in praise of British bravery, and tried to inspire his men to action; but this time he was silent, and the soldiers did not let it pa.s.s without remark.

Never before had the order for battle been less welcome, and he was unable to account for the strange depression of his spirits; he joined none of his companions, but sat the whole evening by himself, and retired to rest much earlier than usual. His sleep, however, was disturbed, and once, in the still hour of night, he said aloud, "What ails me, that I cannot sleep? I am not ill: I wonder if anything is to happen to me--surely not; after nearly twenty-two years' service, I am to have better luck than be knocked off now; it is a pretty safe thing, they say, if one gets over the twentieth year. I shall see Old England yet." No more sleep, however, came to him; he thought of his home, his parents, and all to whom he had been dear, and he sighed deeply as he wished he had loved them better.

The morning sun had scarcely risen before the bugle sounded, and in a very short time the regiment was on the march, for they had six miles to go, and the heat would be against them later in the day.

On the previous evening, Hubert had pa.s.sed some of the dull hours in looking over the little relics he had collected during his residence in India, and in filling up the box he had brought with him from England, he took out the remains of his Bible; it was sadly destroyed; the covers, some of the Old, and the greater part of the New Testament, were what remained of it, and after hesitating for a few minutes what he should do with it, he thrust it into a pocket in the left side of the bosom of his coat. It was there still; he had forgotten to remove it when he rose hastily at the sound of the bugle, and as he marched with his regiment, he little thought of the blessing which that torn, despised treasure would yet be to him. It was a long, toilsome march, through thick jungle, and the soldiers sat down to rest when they got through it, and waited to be joined by other forces. They had come out against a considerable village, the residence of a great chief, but not so well fortified by architectural defences as by the hordes of its savage inhabitants. From the spot where the soldiers rested they could see the place they had come to attack, and as the day was pa.s.sing without the other regiments appearing, a council was held, and beneath the shadow of the palm trees the soldiers received orders to remain quiet until new commands were issued.

The day at length was closing, and Hubert, with three brother officers, sat down beneath a tree together. At first they talked of the glory in fighting for their king and country, then other matters connected with military life followed; but as the time pa.s.sed away, and the hours of night brought with them their fitful gloom, the conversation changed, and for the first time for many years Hubert talked of his home.

"It is a long time since I left England," he said; "many, many a year; and I have somehow neglected all my old friends there. I often wish I had acted differently, and thought a little more about them, and written to them sometimes; but it is no use regretting--not that I have much to regret, though, for letter-writing is a silly, dawdling business at best, and never was much in my way; but, however, should it so happen to-morrow that the chances run against me--you know what I mean--well, there's some one of the family left, perhaps, who will like to know the end of me; so let me ask a favour. Take this slip of paper, and if your luck is better than mine, just send a letter to that address, and tell them where your old comrade fell, and tell them he--nay, tell them what you like."