We found fresh straw and hot bricks in the bottom of our ambulance when we were ready to leave the next morning, an excellent luncheon and two bottles of wine. Soon after we started the wind changed, the clouds disappeared, and the sun came out. By the time we reached the Chickahominy there was sunshine in plenty—and wind, too.
Not a boat was in sight, and no figure on either bank of man or beast. I thought the lieutenant and the driver would split their lungs hallooing, but there was no response. Nobody answered and nobody came. We waited on the bank an hour without seeing anybody. Then an Indian came by in a skiff and we hailed him. He paddled to the shore, and we asked him if he knew where we could get a boat and some one to put us across.He knew of nothing and nobody of the kind within reach.
“I must hire your skiff then,” said the lieutenant.
The Indian grinned.
“You no get cross in it. You spill out.”
“Never mind that, so you get paid for your skiff. I am an old sailor.”
Powhatan didn’t think the lieutenant could manage that skiff; however, he got his price and gave in.
When he saw the three of us squeezing ourselves into the skiff he remonstrated again.
“Squaws spill out. Squaws git sick,” he insisted. He told the lieutenant that we would be frightened out of our lives before we got across the river. He didn’t know that Millie and I had been brought up on the coast and were as used to water as ducks.
Whoever has rowed an Indian skiff may have some idea of what a cockle-shell it was that took us across the Chickahominy. I sat in one end, Milicent in the other, and Lieutenant Johnston in the middle, paddle in hand, while our little craft switched andwriggled and rocked itself about in a manner that was as extraordinary as it was dangerous, and that was nearer perpetual motion than anything I ever saw.
At last the lieutenant stood up and straddled the boat to balance her. How he ever balanced himself I can’t say, but he stood with one foot on each of her sides and managed her somehow. No one but an old sailor could have done it. I expected every minute to see him fall over into the water.
The sun was shining down, silvering the waters of the Chickahominy. The strong winds churned the waves and blew our hats and veils almost off our heads, and almost blew our breath away—when the rocking skiff left us any. And out on the wide, turbulent, bright river we tossed and tumbled, and laughed and got wet and came near drowning. I never had more fun in any sail. But at last we were safely across, and waiting by the York River Railroad for our train. The half-breed gave us our trunks, and took back his skiff and our money. In a few hours we were in Richmond, where the lieutenantsaw us to our hotel, and left. I sent a letter by him to Dan, begging Dan’s pardon for having my own way.
The next day found us in Petersburg. Our business here was to provide ourselves with money with which to buy Yankee goods—particularly a Confederate uniform—in Yankeeland. I wanted as much gold as our broker could let me have, but he advised me against taking more than enough to make the trip with, and a small margin for contingencies.
“It will be in your way and increase your danger,” he said. “Confederate notes will get you to the Potomac. From there you need a little gold to take you to Baltimore. After you are there I will contrive any sum you want to your trustees in Norfolk. They, being inside the Yankee lines, can send it to Baltimore.”
Our next objective point was Mrs. Rixey’s in Culpeper. Blockade-runners were continually setting out from there, and we thought we would have no difficulty in attaching ourselves to a party. After a rest in Petersburg of a day and a half, we started forCulpeper, reaching Mrs. Rixey’s at nightfall. We told her husband that we wanted to join a party of blockade-runners.
“Mrs. Otis and her two daughters start north to-morrow; perhaps you can go with them,” he said, and went out to see about it.
Unfortunately—or fortunately—the Otis party was complete—there was no vacant seat in their wagon.
“I will be on the lookout for you,” Mr. Rixey said. “Somebody else will be along soon.”
Before breakfast he knocked at our door.
“There are two gentlemen downstairs who are going north,” he said, when Millie stuck her head out. “They give their names as Captain Locke and Mr. Holliway, and they seem to be gentlemen. That is all I know about them. You might see them and talk the matter over.”
We finished dressing hurriedly and went down to the parlor, where we met Captain Locke and Mr. Holliway, and after a brief talk decided to go with them.
The best vehicle we could get was a wagon without springs, and instead of abody four planks laid across the axles, one plank set up on each side, and no ends at all.
Over the rude floor we had a quantity of straw piled, and two chairs were set up for Milicent and me. The gentlemen seated themselves on our baggage, which consisted of two small trunks into which we had crowded a few articles for each of them. The wagoner, a rough mountaineer, sat on a plank which had been laid across the two uprights at the sides.
It was a bitterly cold day. Milicent and I wore thick cloaks, and the wagoner supplied a blanket which we wrapped about our feet. In addition, the gentlemen contributed a large blanket shawl which they insisted upon folding about our shoulders, declaring that their overcoats protected them sufficiently. Now and then they got out of the wagon and walked and stamped to keep their legs from getting stiff with cold, and at last Milicent and I were reduced to the same device for keeping up our circulation. We got so stiff we couldn’t move, and the gentlemen had to lift us out of the wagon, pull us about, and drag us into a walk and a run.
It was dark when we reached the house at which it had been suggested we should stop. Lights were in every window and we could see much moving about. Mr. Holliway went in to ask for lodgings.
He returned quickly and jumped into the wagon, saying to the wagoner:
“Drive on.”
Milicent and I were almost freezing.
“What’s the matter?” we asked in keen disappointment.
Just then the wagon made a turn, and we saw distinctly into the house through an uncurtained window. There was a long white object in the middle of the floor and over it stood a weeping woman.
“Why,” I exclaimed, “somebody’s dead there.”
“Yes, I didn’t want to tell you,” he said. “It’s a dead soldier. I was afraid it might make you feel badly. Ladies are sometimes superstitious, and I feared you might take it as a bad omen for our journey.”
But we found out afterward that it was he who had taken it for a bad omen. He was going north to see his family, and he was soanxious about them that he talked of little else. Captain Locke’s mission was not so clear. He called it business—we little knew what dangerous business it was!—and we troubled our heads no further about it.
It was very late when we at last came upon a tumble-down farmhouse, where we were taken in for the night. The family who lived there did their best for us, but they were far from being comfortable themselves. By this time, however, any quarters and any fare were acceptable. We slept in the room with a goodly company, all fortunately of our own sex, and the gentlemen, as we heard afterward, in even more crowded quarters.
Our poverty-stricken hosts did not wish to charge us, but before we left the next morning we insisted upon paying them.
That morning a little Jew boy was added to our party. Just how, or when, or where we picked him up, I can not recall, and I should probably never have thought of him again if he had not impressed himself upon me most unpleasantly afterward at Berlin.
Our second night we spent according toour program, in Fauquier County, with Mr. Robert Bolling, a friend of my husband’s.
“I am astonished at your trying to run the blockade, Mrs. Grey,” he said.
“Why?” I asked. “And why are you more astonished at me than at Milicent?”
I had been hearing similar remarks, and was becoming curious.
“Because you look like a little girl. I am surprised at such nerve in so youthful a lady.”
“I want a new uniform for Dan,” I said. “He’s promoted.”
Mr. Bolling laughed heartily.
“And I am quite as brave as Milicent,” I insisted.
“Well, I am surprised at you both. It is a dangerous undertaking.”
Our wagoner was invited to take supper with us. He was rough and ill-clad, and he felt out of place, but Mr. Bolling charmed him into ease and talked over our prospective journey with him.
“It is well for you to be on good terms with your wagoner,” he said to us privately, when he sent out the invitation.
Mr. Bolling was old and gray-haired, or he would have been in the field. His home was one of the most celebrated country-seats in Fauquier, and he himself full of honors and one of the best-known men in the State.
The night we spent at this old Virginia homestead was repetition of a night previously described, with variations. Here were the same old-fashioned mahogany furniture with claw feet and spindle legs, and wax lights in brass and silver candelabra, and rare old china, and some heirlooms whose history we were interested in. Several of these had come with the first Bollings from England. There was a sword which had come down from the War of the Roses, and on the wall, in a place of special honor, hung the sword of a Bolling who had distinguished himself in the Revolution. Mr. Bolling took it down and laid it in Milicent’s outstretched hands with a smile.
“I am a believer in State’s rights, and I am a Secessionist, I suppose,” said the old man with a sigh, as he hung the sword back in its place. “But—I hate to fight the old flag. I hate that.”
Above the sword was the portrait of the Bolling who had worn the sword, a soldierly looking fellow in the uniform of a Revolutionary colonel.
“He saved the old flag once at the cost of his life,” the aged man said, sighing again. “He is buried out yonder in the graveyard, wrapped in the folds of the very flag he snatched from the hands of the British. If we were to open his grave to-night, we would find his bones and ashes wrapped in that flag he died to save. Yes, I am sorry to fight the old flag.”
“Then,” I said innocently and without thinking, “it is well that you are exempted from service in the field.”
His eyes flashed.
“Ah, no, my dear! Since fighting there is, I wish I could be in it. If I were young enough and strong enough I’d take that sword down and follow Robert Lee. Virginia is invaded.”
The night of our third day found us at the wagoner’s cottage on the top of the Blue Ridge Mountains. As we climbed our slow and painful way up to the ruddy little light that beckoned us from its wild and eerie perch, moonlight and starlight fell upon snow-capped cliffs and into deep valleys, touching them into solemn, mystical beauty. It was as if we had lost ourselves in the clear, white stillness of the enchanted Snow Kingdom that had enthralled and terrified us in the happy days of fairy tales. But there was nothing magical about the cottage when we finally got there, or the welcome, or the supper. Instead of fairies and cowslip dew and bread of lily pollen, we had a delightfully wholesome, plump Virginia housewife, a Virginia welcome, and, above all, a Virginia supper.
The cottage was plainly furnished, but it was neat as a pin. The mountaineer’s wife and mother served us, the one waiting on us, the other cooking. We sat at table in the kitchen, and such a feast as we had! There was nice apple-butter on the table, and delicious milk and cream, fresh eggs and hot buckwheat cakes, and genuine maple sirup, of course. I have never tasted such buckwheats anywhere. And how fast the old lady fried them, and the wife handed them to us, piping hot! and how fast we ate! and how many!
The furniture in our bedroom, as everywhere else, was exceedingly plain, but so deliciously clean. And such a bed! such a downy, fragrant bed! The sheets were snowy, the coverlet was spotless. As I went to sleep I had an idea that the feathers in that bed must have come from the breasts of mountain birds that had never touched the earth. In the morning the mountaineer took us to a point near his house, where we could stand and look into—I have forgotten how many States, and out upon snowy peaks, and mountain streams, and lovely shadowed vales.
We lost our Confederate captain when we started down the mountain that day; Mr. Holliway had all along been in civilian’s dress, and now Captain Locke changed his uniform for citizen’s clothes, leaving the uniform at the cottage, to be called for on his return.
The fourth night we reached Berryville.
Here it was necessary to hold a council with closed doors, for the presence of the little Jew boy had for several days prevented us from talking freely.
He seemed to have eyes and ears all over him, and we felt vaguely that he would use both to our disadvantage. So we shut him out of the little room at the inn in Berryville where we held our secret council. The morrow would find us inside the Federal lines—it was necessary to prepare our story. We agreed that Captain Locke was to be our brother, because he had fair hair and blue eyes like ourselves. Mr. Holliway was of too entirely different a type to be claimed for a nearer relationship than that of cousin. We were young ladies of Baltimore who had been visiting at Mr. Robert Bolling’s in Fauquier, and our brother and cousin had come southto take us home, not being willing that we should undertake such a journey alone. Captain Locke gave Milicent some papers to be concealed in the lining of her muff. I, too, had some papers to hide for him. Fortunately we did not know until afterward that Captain Locke was a Confederate spy, and that the papers we carried were official documents of importance to the Confederacy, and that if discovered the captain would be strung up in short order and every one of us sent to prison.
If we had known what he was and the nature of the papers, I think our patriotism would have risen to the occasion, but we should have been more nervous and more likely to betray ourselves. So I think he was wise to take the liberty of counting on our patriotism, and also to keep us in the dark as a safeguard for both ourselves and the papers.
The next forenoon we reached the Potomac River, and found ourselves in Federal lines. Our wagoner bade us good-by and left us there on the bank. In the river below lay the lighter on which we were to cross thePotomac. It was crowded with Federal soldiers. There was no way to reach it except to slide down the bank, and the bank was steep. To slide down, it was neither a graceful nor a dignified thing to do. I drew back. The captain took me by the hand to pull me over. I still drew back. I did not want to slide down that bank.
“Come on, sister!” he exclaimed with brotherly crossness.
I grinned broadly, but the captain, his back to the lighter, gave me such a serious look that I sobered in an instant.
“Sister, come along! Don’t be a goose!” he said, and giving me a jerk pulled me over.
The Federal soldiers on the lighter could see and hear. One blunder now and we were lost. I yielded to the inevitable and slid down the bank with the captain; Mr. Holliway followed with Milicent. Another minute, and we stood on the lighter in the midst of Yankee soldiers and Yankee horses. A horse’s nose was over my shoulder the whole way. Soldiers were crowded up against me, there was ample occasion for swears, but Idon’t think I heard an oath the entire distance, and they were courtesy itself to Milicent and me.
Landing at Berlin, we walked into the office of the provost marshal. The provost was out, and the deputy who was at his desk looked at us with cool, inquisitive eyes. He put the usual questions and received ready-made answers.
“Who are you?” he asked Captain Locke in a very suspicious tone.
“Charles D. Moore, of Baltimore.”
“Occupation?”
“I am studying law.”
“Humph!” with a glance that made me keenly alive to the lameness of that story told by the martial-looking captain.
“What are you doing down here?”
“Taking my sisters back home.”
“Humph! Who are you?” turning to Mr. Holliway.
“William H. May, of Baltimore.”
“Studying law too?”
“No. I expect to study medicine.”
“Are you taking these ladies back home too?”
“I am accompanying them, certainly,” said Mr. Holliway with asperity.
“Whoarethese ladies?”
“My sisters,” said Captain Locke firmly, “and I am here to protect them on their way back home.”
“Where have they been?”
“They are from Mr. Robert Bolling’s in Fauquier County, Virginia. They have been visiting at his house. We wished them to return to Baltimore, and I came south for them. My cousin, Mr. May, joined us.”
“And you—what are you doing down here?” with a touch of irony to Holliway.
“Got caught this side by the war, and am trying to get back home.”
“Ah, yes, of course. I can’t pass you. Take seats, please. The marshal will be in directly.”
Our evidence was too smooth.
It was plain the deputy didn’t believe in us, and we felt uneasy and miserable to the soles of our boots—except Captain Locke, who looked thoroughly at his ease.
It was an hour or longer before themarshal came in. It seemed a great deal more, yet I can’t say that I longed to see him.
“What’s all this?” he asked his deputy as he took in our party, braced up against the wall.
“A party who crossed from Virginia this morning. They have been visiting in Fauquier—they say—and want to get back to Baltimore. A lame tale, I call it. I would send them straight back if I had my way with them.”
The provost’s eyes had rested first on me, as I happened to be more conspicuously placed than the others. I have been accredited with a most ingenuous countenance. I returned his gaze with a regard utterly “childlike and bland,” looking up into his face with eyes as frank and trusting as a baby’s. Past me his gaze went to Milicent—I have said before that Milicent had the face of a Madonna; then the manly and straightforward eyes of Locke held him; and last Mr. Holliway’s reserved and gentlemanly countenance met his scrutiny with a quiet dignity that disarmed suspicion. He began by interviewingMilicent and me. When he questioned me I said plaintively:
“I have been here an hour, sir, and I am very tired. I would be so much obliged if you would send us on home. I am almost sick with the journey I have taken, and I should so like to get home to-night.”
“That is impossible,” he said; “but,” he continued kindly, “I do not think you will be detained later than to-morrow morning.”
He conversed in a low tone with his deputy, and then I heard him say: “Let them spend the night at the old German’s on the hill, and to-morrow we will see about it.”
Then turning to us, he said that an orderly would conduct us to a place where we would be lodged for the night. When an officer asked about our baggage, I extended my keys quickly, saying:
“We have two small trunks.”
He took the keys with an apology. As I was passing out of the door I turned back and held out my satchel.
“I forgot that you have to examine this.”
“It is not necessary, miss,” he said, smiling.
The old Dutchman was out, but his wife received us and made us comfortable. While we were at supper he came in. “I speeks mit you after supper,” he said solemnly, and sat in silence until we had finished.
Then he took us into a room, closed and locked the door, came close to us, and whispered:
“I knows dat you haf run te plockate. You bees in ver’ mooch tancher. Town te stdreet I hears you vas at mine house, unt I hears ver’ mooch talk, unt I lis’en. I vill help you if you vill let me.”
He now addressed himself particularly to Captain Locke and Mr. Holliway:
“You, shentlemen, mus’ leave mine house, shoost as soon as you can, or you vill be daken brisoners. I vill help you to get avay.”
“We can’t do it,” said Locke promptly. “I can not leave my sisters alone and unprotected.”
Milicent and I were trembling with fear.
“Brother,” said Milicent, “you and Cousin William must leave us and save yourselves.”
“Please go,” I begged. I could not keep my eyes off the door. I feared every moment to hear the rap of the sergeant come to arrest our friends. But the captain and Mr. Holliway reiterated their determination not to leave us in our present situation. If I had not been scared almost to death I could have laughed at the perfect brotherliness of Locke’s protestations.
“Tere is tancher, shentlemen. I hears te talk town te street,” urged the Dutchman with every appearance of earnestness and good-will.
“What did you hear?” asked Locke nonchalantly.
“Oh, tey tinks you haf not tolt vat you vas. Tey tinks you be Secesh—unt I ton’t know vat tey tinks.”
“I can’t help what they think,” said Locke. “I am going to protect my sisters.”
“How you brotect tem ven you be brisoners,hein?”
“I don’t know,” answered Locke, smiling, “but I certainly shall not leave them.”
“Vat goot you do? I vill take care of teladies. Nopody vill hu’t tem, unt I vill see dat tey gets off all right. Tere is no tancher for tem.”
“Thank you, my friend,” said the captain simply and heartily. “But we can not accept your kind offer. We must take my sisters home ourselves.”
“I ver’ sorry,” said the Dutchman sadly.
As soon as the door closed behind him, we began to plead.
“Captain,” said Milicent, “you and Mr. Holliway must go. We will not consent to anything else.”
“We should be regular deserters to do that,” said Locke contemptuously. “I think the old fellow is exaggerating. Or maybe he is pumping us. Holliway and I will walk down the street and see.”
We thought this was madness, and we were miserable from the moment they left until they were safely back. Captain Locke was, as always, at his ease, but Mr. Holliway was very pale. He knew, as Milicent and I did not, the risk we were all running, and he was more concerned perhaps for Locke’s safety than for his own. For him arrestmeant prison at the worst—for Locke, a halter.
“The Dutchman is right,” he said in answer to our questions. “We stopped outside several places and heard them talking about us and our arrest. We are practically prisoners.”
He tried to speak cheerfully and as if it would be a sure and easy matter to find some way out of our predicament; but the truth was that he had been struggling all along against great depression of spirits; his health was bad, the incident of the first night of our journey had impressed him, and he had evidently felt himself under a cloud ever since our experience at the provost’s.
“That talk doesn’t amount to much,” said Captain Locke carelessly.
The room in which we were sitting was that which had been taken for Milicent’s and my bedroom. Captain Locke got up, walked to the door and locked it.
“You have needles and thread, I think, ladies?”
Milicent and I immediately produced themand slipped on our thimbles. He handed Milicent his open knife.
“Rip the papers out of your muff, Mrs. Norman, and you, little madam, let me have those I gave you.”
The two I had were hidden in my sleeve. While Milicent and I were getting the papers out, I heard Mr. Holliway say:
“Burn those papers, Locke. You can never get them to Baltimore, and you know in what fearful peril they keep us.”
“I might as well turn back if I burn them,” said the captain. “I take those papers to Baltimore, or I die trying—and I won’t die.”
“Excuse the trouble I give you, ladies,” he said, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet on another. “Will you open the hems of my trousers and sew those papers inside? It is a great favor.”
We ripped each hem, folded the papers inside as flat as possible, and sewed the hems up again. I had not made over Dan’s old uniform for nothing, and Milicent was always a skilful needlewoman—our hems looked quite natural and not at all “stuffed.” But wewere so nervous that we worked very slowly, for we felt that a wrong stitch might cost Captain Locke his life.
He had worn his trousers turned up around the bottom to keep them out of the mud. When we had finished he carefully turned them back again, Mr. Holliway looking on gloomily.
“Now, ladies,” said the captain cheerfully, “we will all retire and get a good night’s rest. You have had a hard day and I am sure you must be tired.”
“Aren’t you going away?” we asked anxiously. “What did you take the papers for?”
He smiled.
“Little madam,” he said, “you had best go to bed and get a good night’s rest. That is what I am going to do. Mrs. Norman, make this poor child go to bed. And you will promise me to try to rest too, won’t you?”
There was a rap on the door.
Mr. Holliway opened it to admit the Dutchman.
“Shentlemen,” he began earnestly, “tey haf got te leetle Chew poy trunk mit giffin’ him visky, unt he haf tolt everyding. I pe your vrent. You mus’ get avay pefore mitnight.”
“The little Jew knows nothing to tell,” said the captain. “His drunken babble is not worth attention. We can not leave my sisters.”
“How you help tem by stayin’? I gif you my vort dat tey vill get to Paltimore all right. I hates to see tem Yankees takes you up in mine house.”
Milicent and I believed in the German. So I think did both gentlemen by this time, but we had come this far under their care, and they were loath to leave us unless entirelyconvinced that it was for our safety as well as their own. Mr. Holliway was no less concerned about us than Captain Locke was, but he took a darker view of the situation. He drew Locke aside and they talked together in low tones. I caught the word “reckless” and “those papers,” and “a disadvantage to them,” “safer without us.” When they turned back to us Captain Locke said:
“We leave the question in your hands, ladies. Perhaps we—and more particularly I—endanger you by remaining. But I hate to leave you alone this way, and I am not afraid of anything that can happen to me. If the worst came to the worst, and we were arrested, I have some influence in the North which might still be of benefit to us all.”
“Use it for yourself and Mr. Holliway,” we said, “and go.”
“Think well, ladies. You want us to go now, but when we are gone and you are here alone, won’t you feel desolate and deserted?”
“We will only be glad you’re gone,” I said.
“I don’t think I ever heard such a polite speech in my life,” said Captain Locke, laughing. “Holliway, I think we had better leave immediately.”
He stood cool and smiling, but Mr. Holliway, whose health was not robust, and upon whom the hardships of the journey and the excitement had told, was ghastly. Not that he lacked courage. He would have stayed and died for us, as far as that was concerned; but his physical endurance was not great, and from the first he had been oppressed with a presentiment of evil.
Milicent had drawn Captain Locke aside, and was urging him to go, as I knew, and, as I think, to destroy the papers which Holliway felt imperiled him. He gave her a smiling negative.
“You must go yourself, and please help us make the captain go,” I was saying to Mr. Holliway.
“You will have to do that,” he replied. “I have said what I could. It is madness for us to stay, as I am thoroughly convinced now. You would be safer without us. Locke doesn’t think so, but I know it. Hischaracter and the papers he carries increase the danger for us all.”
Captain Locke and Milicent had finished their conference.
“We will go,” he said quietly. “A pen and ink, my friend,” to the Dutchman.
“Make haste and go,” we pleaded.
But he waited for the pen and ink.
“We have time enough,” he said, consulting his watch very coolly. “It is not yet half-past eleven.”
He wrote a note and gave it to the Dutchman to be mailed that night.
“If you get into any trouble,” he said to Milicent, “telegraph to this address.”
And he gave her a slip of paper on which was written: “ Gov. ——, Baltimore, Md.”
“The letter is to my uncle, and if you are in any trouble he will help you out. The Governor will be advised of your situation, and a telegram to him will be understood.”
“Good night, ladies, andau revoir,” he said gaily, bowing over our hands. “We will meet in Baltimore.”
“I echo that,” said Mr. Holliway with assumed cheerfulness. “It has been a greatpleasure and privilege to know you, ladies. With all its shadows, this journey will always be one of my sweetest memories.”
We might never see them again. We knew it as we looked into Locke’s bonnie blue eyes and Holliway’s dark sad ones. They had been our brave and gentle knights, shielding us and enduring all the hardships cheerfully. One of them was weaker, we knew, because he had given his blanket to keep us warm. We looked bravely back into the two brave faces that looked into ours—one sign of faltering and they would not leave us.
“I will say a ‘Hail Mary’ for each of you every night,” I said.
“I, too,” said Milicent softly.
“Thank you,” there was a quiver in each voice now. “We will try to deserve your prayers, dear ladies.”
Then they bowed themselves out with smiling faces. One of them we never saw again.
The Dutchman went with them to show them the way he said they must take. His wife came in and gossiped with us.
According to her account, it was a miracle that we had passed through the provost’s hands as well as we had.
“If de vimmins had peen dere, dey vould haf pult your close off, unt dey vould haf search you all ofer. I ton’t know as you haf anyding you not vant dem to see, but if you haf anyding, tey pe zhure to fint it. Te vimmins tat haf to pe dere to-tay vas gone avay somevare. If she had peen dere, you vas haf harter times tan you vas haf.”
I thought with a shudder of our muffs and satchels, our pictures in Confederate uniform, and those papers.
“Mine man say some volks vas arrestedtown te river to-tay. Dere vas dree laties unt von shentleman. Tey dry to cross at de Boint of Vrocks [Point of Rocks] unt tey vas took up unt sent pack.”
“What were their names?” we asked eagerly.
We remembered that the Otis party consisted of three ladies and one gentleman. We had kept in sight of their ambulance for some time. But at the parting of our ways, when they had taken one road and we another, our driver had said: “They are going to try to get across at the Point of Rocks, and they’ll sure be turned back or took up, one.”
“I ton’t know vat dere names,” said the Dutchwoman. “Mine man vill know. He forgets notding.”
When he came in he thought a little, and then he said he thought the name was “Odis.” So we had been luckier than we thought in the chance that prevented us from joining their party.
The old German had directed our friends as best he could, and started them on their way. They were to keep to the woods and walk to Frederick, from where, he thought,they might reach Baltimore. He told us that they had not gone away immediately after leaving us, although he had urged them to do so. They had said they wouldn’t go away until they saw how we took being left alone. They had gone around to the window of the room in which we were sitting, and had spied upon us. When they saw us gossiping with the old woman, they had gone off satisfied that we would not break down after their departure.
“Tey vas not so vraid vor her,” he said, indicating Milicent. “It vas you, te leetle matam, as he call you, dat he vas vraid vor. He vraid you vould cry pecause you vas so leetle, unt pecause you vas so ver’ younk. I ask him vat he do if you cry, unt I dry to make him come avay, unt he say: ‘If she cry I von’t go. I vill go in tat room unt I vill dake her up in mine arms unt I vill not stop until I put her safe in Captain Grey’s arms! Dot is vot I vill do.’ He titn’t leaf you off,” to Milicent, “put he dort you pe mo’ prave.”
If he had been at the window then he would have seen tears in our eyes. But I bore a grudge.
“Milicent,” I said, as soon as we were alone, “I don’t see why people should make of me just the exception that they always do. I may be a little younger, but I am married, and I have got just as much sense about some things and I’m just as brave as you are. I’m a soldier’s wife, the wife of a Confederate officer. I wonder how I have behaved that everybody expectsmeto be a coward.”
And Milicent comforted me.
The next morning an orderly rapped at the door of the German’s house and asked for us.
The German answered.
“Tell theladies,” with an emphasis on the word, “the provost says they can go on. The train leaves in fifteen minutes. They will find their baggage at the station. Here are their keys.”
“You see it is vell tat te shentlemen tit not vait vor bermission,” said the German as we hurried into our wraps.
We heard afterward that following our departure a sergeant-at-arms called for the “shentlemen.” Our train was late coming in. As we stood on the platform waiting wesaw that wretched little Jew boy fooling around and watching us. We pretended not to see him. Suddenly I felt a tremor in Milicent’s arm which was linked in mine.
“Do you see who is on the platform talking with the little Jew boy? No, don’t turn your head—don’t look suddenly—don’t look at all. It is the provost’s deputy who didn’t believe in us yesterday.”
Oh, if the train would only come, and we were on it and gone! As it rolled up beside the platform we had to restrain ourselves from getting on it too eagerly. But we were at last in our seats; the whistle blew, and the train moved out of the station.
The station was behind us, out of sight, and we were leaning back enjoying ourselves, when Milicent glanced behind her. I was looking out of the window when I felt her hand on my arm.
“Don’t look suddenly. But when you can, glance behind us.”
Three seats behind us sat the provost’s deputy. He was reading a paper, or, rather, watching us over a paper which he held up before him. He kept us under close observationthe whole way. We had no opportunity to consult about the difficulties of the situation, but we felt that we were to elude our shadow in Baltimore or not at all. Carriages stood thick around the depot. Drivers were cracking their whips and importuning the public for patronage. We stepped off the platform into the midst of them, got to haggling about prices, and found ourselves mixed up in a lot of carriages, the yelling and screaming drivers having closed up behind us around the platform to which they had turned their attention. There we saw the deputy’s hat revolving rapidly, as if he were turning himself about to catch sight of us. Chance stood our friend. We happened to stand between two carriages, the doors of which hung open. A party of two ladies stepped into one. Instantly we took the other.
“Drive fast to No. — Charles Street,” Milicent said to the driver. Several carriages rolled out of the depot with our own, and before we reached Mrs. Harris’s we felt that we had escaped the deputy. Once with mother and Bobby we forgot him.
Mrs. Harris kept a select and fashionable boarding-house. There were many regular boarders and a stream of people coming and going all the time. She was a Southern sympathizer, and her house was a hotbed of sedition and intrigue for both sides. Among her guests were three Yankee officers, whom I made up my mind—or, rather, my mind needed no making up—to dislike. Uniform and all, I objected to them. The day after we came Mrs. Harris was chatting with us in mother’s room.
“I must introduce you to those Federal officers who are in the house,” she remarked.
“I beg you will not!” I replied indignantly. “I will have nothing to do with them.”
“Then you will make a grave mistake, my child. That course would betray you atonce. You’ve put your head into the lion’s mouth, and prudence is the better policy until you get it out again. If you meet these officers and are civil to them they may be of assistance to you when you want to go back.”
Accordingly, when our household met as usual in the parlors that evening, Captain Hosmer, Assistant Adjutant-General William D. Whipple, of Schenck’s command, and Major Brooks—also, I think, of Schenck’s command—were presented to me.
Major Brooks had such a keen, satirical way of looking at me that I immediately took a violent prejudice against him, though I tried hard to conceal it. Schenck’s adjutant I did not like much better. Captain Hosmer was objectionable on general principles as a Yankee, but he was really a handsome fellow and a most charming gentleman, and though I had hard work overcoming my prejudices sufficiently to be quite civil at first, I ended by becoming warmly attached to him. My impulse was to avoid these gentlemen and to show my colors in a passive way. I say in a passive way, because anything approachingdiscourtesy Dan would have condemned. On duty, he would have shot a Yankee down quickly enough; off duty, he would never have failed in politeness to a gentleman in any uniform. As I could not well appear here as a Confederate officer’s wife, I was introduced to these gentlemen as Miss Duncan. The day after our arrival we mailed Captain Locke’s picture, which he had given us for the purpose, to his sister in Harrisburg, and called to see Mr. Holliway’s mother and sisters. They were charming women, and entertained us in true Baltimore fashion.
Indeed, I soon found myself in a whirl of gaiety. Mrs. Harris’s house was a merry one. Of course, being in Baltimore, its politics were mixed, as we have said, but as far as social position and culture were concerned, the guests were above reproach. The parlors in the evening reminded one of those of a fashionable pleasure resort.
Next door was another boarding-house. Mother’s windows overlooked the entrance, and we amused ourselves—according to boarding-house custom and privilege—by watching our own and our neighbors’ callersand guests, and by nicknaming them. There was one of the next-door boarders who entertained us greatly. We dubbed him “the Professor.” He had a funny way of wearing his green goggles as if they were about to fall off his nose. He had long, snaky curls which looked very greasy and glossy, and he walked with a slight stoop, using a gold-headed cane; and he always carried a book under his arm.
In our own house were two ladies who afforded us much amusement. They were sisters, as Captain Hosmer took occasion to inform me early in our acquaintance, but they were politically so opposed to each other that they did not speak.
Mrs. Bonds was a black Republican, Mrs. Lineman a red-hot rebel. This latter fact we discovered by degrees. Women did not gossip in those days—not to talk was a necessary evil—very evil and very necessary in a boarding-house of mixed politics in Baltimore during war times.
Mrs. Harris kept a private parlor for herself and daughters, and here we poor rebels met every now and then with a little less restraint,though even here we had to be very careful. One day a note was brought me.
“Happy greetings, dear friends! Can you arrange without inconvenience to yourselves for me to call, and will you allow me that pleasure? Do not hesitate to decline if you feel so disposed. I will understand.“L.”
“Happy greetings, dear friends! Can you arrange without inconvenience to yourselves for me to call, and will you allow me that pleasure? Do not hesitate to decline if you feel so disposed. I will understand.
“L.”
There was no other signature, but we knew the hand. Thank God! He was alive and well! We took the note to Mrs. Harris. Of course we would see him if we could make a way. After a little consultation it was arranged that we receive him in the little parlor upstairs. We addressed an envelope to ourselves, put a blank sheet of paper in it, sealed it, and enclosed it in a note to the captain. The latter we did not know how to address; we were merely to give it to his messenger, who was waiting. We wrote:
“Delighted. Come to side entrance at half-past eight; present enclosed and you will be shown up.“N. & M.”
“Delighted. Come to side entrance at half-past eight; present enclosed and you will be shown up.
“N. & M.”
At half-past eight we were waiting in Mrs. Harris’s private parlor—there were several ladies there beside ourselves. Of all nights, why couldn’t they keep away this night?—when Mrs. Harris’s maid brought up the envelope we had addressed to ourselves.
“Show him up,” we said.
Why in the world wouldn’t those other women go? And would there be any callers in the private parlor to-night?
“Dr. Moreau!” announced Mrs. Harris’s maid.
Into the room walked the “Professor,” green goggles and all. Who in the world washecoming to see? What was he doing here any way? And on this night of all nights when we were looking for Captain Locke and wishing for as few witnesses as possible! Through the open door behind the “Professor,” we caught a glimpse of Mrs. Bonds out in the hall, following him with curious eyes. If we could only slip down-stairs and keep the captain from coming up to-night! And why didn’t the girl bring the captain in? Milicent was rising to go outinto the hall, when the “Professor,” having glanced around the room, approached us.
“I was invited to call on some ladies here this evening? Am I in the wrong room?” said a perfectly strange voice, the voice you would expect to hear from a fossil.
We looked up in confusion. If we could only get him out of the way before the captain entered! He waited while we pondered how to answer.
“What ladies do you wish to see?” I asked.
“Well, thisisgood! Little madam, may I take this seat beside you?”
He dropped into the chair between us and we caught for an instant his old merry laugh, “nipped in the bud,” it is true, for we gave him a warning glance. Mrs. Harris was considerate and tactful, and we not only had our corner to ourselves, but attention and observation diverted from us as much as possible. We were much amused at Captain Locke’s “make-up,” and he was evidently very proud of it.
“It must be very clever foryoureyes not to have seen through it,” he said. “I havebeen looking up at your window and watching you every day. I saw, too, that you made merry at my expense. It was a great temptation to speak to you many times, but I didn’t want to make advances nor to ask permission to call until I knew something about how the land lay over here.”
“You don’t know how anxious we have been about you, or how glad and thankful we are to see you,” we assured him. “We have been very uneasy at not hearing from you. Where is Mr. Holliway?”
“God knows!” he answered gravely. “He was afraid to follow my fortunes, I think. He left me at Frederick. He ought to be here by now, but if he is he is keeping very close.”
“He is not here,” we answered. “We have been to see his mother and sister, and they know nothing of him.”
“Then something is wrong. He had an idea that we might be tracked to Frederick very easily from Berlin, and from Frederick to this place if we came by the direct route; so he branched off into West Virginia, intendingto reach Baltimore by a more round-about route than mine. Poor Holliway! he was not well, and he was nervous and unstrung over this trip from the first. He felt that I was reckless and that I was throwing away my own chance and his.”
Some one in the room came near us and we returned to generalities. Very soon after Captain Locke made his adieux, promising to call again when we could arrange it.
Captain Hosmer had sought opportunities for showing special courtesies to me, but I had rather repelled him. He was good enough, however, to ignore my bad manners and to persist in turning my music for me. We had dances very often in the evenings, I playing the same tunes for folks to dance by that I played for the Prussians and that I play for my children. One night, I had the audacity to rattle off the Virginia reel, and they danced it with spirit, every Yankee of them. My fingers were just itching to play Dixie, and I don’t know what foolhardiness I might have been guilty of if Captain Hosmer, who was turning my music, had not bent over me and said:
“I would like to have a little private talk with you, Miss Duncan. I know who you are. You are from the South and you have run the blockade. Your position is not free from danger. You are suspected. Pray be careful. When you have finished this, go upstairs and I will follow you.”
His manner was so serious that it took all the saucy daring out of me. Perhaps it saved me from playing Dixie. As soon as I could do so without attracting observation, I got Milicent to take my place, and went up-stairs to the private parlor.
I had hardly taken my seat when he came in.
“I was sorry to attack you so suddenly,” he said, “but you were so shy of me that it was my only chance.”
I had learned to like and to trust him; he was honest and kind, and I told him my situation frankly. Of course I didn’t explain Captain Locke.
“It is not so bad as it might be,” he said, “But you must have a care about your associates. People in this house are always moreor less under observation, and arrest on charge of treason is not an unknown thing in it.”
“I am married—” When I came to that part of my confession the captain looked surprised indeed.
“Didn’t you guess from the dignity I have displayed that I was a matron?”
“I never dreamed it! I don’t mean that you were not dignified,” he added quickly, and in some confusion.
“My husband is a staff-officer in the rebel army,” I added proudly.
“Lucky fellow!”
“I think he is a lucky fellow to be a staff-officer in the rebel army.”
“To be your husband, I meant.”
“I wonder if he would agree with you there!” We were on a subject very interesting to me now.
“I will show you his picture in the morning,” I volunteered.
“Better not,” Captain Hosmer said promptly.
I suppose I must have shown how hurt I was, for he added quickly: “Of course I’llbe glad to see his picture. Don’t forget to bring it down at breakfast.”
But he had frozen me for the time being. I could not talk about Dan to him when I saw it bored him to listen, so we went back to the original subject of our conversation. Among other persons he spoke of Mrs. Lineman.
“I see that you are inclined to form an intimacy there. Mrs. Lineman is in perfect sympathy with the South, but, as you know, her sister is not. They do not speak now, but family differences are frequently made up. Then confidences ensue. And Mrs. Bonds is really a political spy for the North. She thinks the mystery about you is deeper than it is, and you will do well to be on your guard before her and my brothers in arms whom you meet in this house. Major Brooks already has suspicions about you.”
“I don’t like him,” I said viciously.
“Disguise that fact a little better if you can. I don’t think any of the gentlemen whom you meet here are malicious, or that they will go out of their way to harm you, but it is good policy to temper yourcold civility toward them with a little more warmth.”
“You are very good,” I said humbly, “and I really mean to act according to your advice.”
He smiled. “You are not good at playing the hypocrite, are you?”
“I must improve. But I really must tell you—I don’t need to be a hypocrite with you, you know—I believe Major Brooks is malicious.”
He laughed outright. “Be careful not to offend him, then. Ah, I am afraid my first lesson in diplomacy will only have skin-deep results.”
The next morning I did not forget Dan’s picture. I brought it down with me, and slipped it into Captain Hosmer’s hand as I passed behind him to my seat at the breakfast table. I was very much pleased later when he told me what a fine fellow he thought Dan must be, and that he thought the picture very handsome. Then I talked about Dan again until he was bored—when I shut up. After this I saw a great deal of Captain Hosmer. He was always so thoroughly well-bred thathis attentions were very agreeable to me in spite of his uniform, and I formed a warm personal friendship and attachment for him. We were also seeing a good deal of Captain Locke.
I thought him very reckless in visiting us as he did, and I told him so frankly. He had doffed his disguise, wig and all, and appeared now every day, and sometimes oftener, at Mrs. Harris’s in his own proper person, dressed in citizen’s clothes. He came openly to the parlor in the daytime immediately after breakfast or lunch; and he was always there after dinner when the parlors were thronged. Several times he had joined the dance, selecting, by the way, Mrs. Bonds for a partner more than once. In fact, he singled this lady out for a number of pleasant courtesies. I could not keep him out of the way of the Yankee officers, and Major Brooks was always starting up at us somewhere like a Banquo’s ghost. His eyes got sharper and sharper until I thought they would cut me in two. In halls and by-ways I was always coming upon him and always getting out of his way, and I was always surprising a cynicallittle grin on his face. One day I encountered him on the first landing of the stairway, squarely face to face. He addressed me, wishing me good morning gruffly, and standing in such a position that I could not pass him without rudeness unless he moved to one side. He did not move, and I was at bay.
“I know who you are, Miss Duncan,” he said mischievously. “You are a good rebel now, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am a good rebel, as you call it. I’m a Virginian—and a rebel like Washington was, and like Lee is.”
“I thought so. And you ran the blockade to get here.”
“That’s so, too. I got across at Berlin.”
“I wish you’d tell me how.”
I told him how. I sat down on the stairs to talk, and my enemy sat down beside me. Captain Hosmer came in, looked up, and saw the confidential and apparently friendly situation, laughed, and went on to breakfast.
“I don’t call that running the blockade,” he said. “I call that storming it. I didn’t think it possible to cross at Berlin or, indeed, at any other point. Our line at the Potomachas been greatly strengthened and the rules are very rigid and inspection most thorough.”
“I managed to cross at Berlin because you had such a nice provost marshal there. He knew two little women couldn’t do any harm.”
“Humph! He doesn’t know women as I do, then!”
“Perhaps he had always known only very lovely ladies,” I said with the softness of a purring cat.
He grinned. “You’ll be wanting to run back soon, I dare say.”
“I reckon I will. I wish you’d help me. Can’t you tell me how?”
He laughed outright. “Youarecool!” he said.
“You know what my duty is?” he added after a pause.
“Yes,” I answered. “To fight on the right side, but I’m afraid you’ll never do that. Now, I have been wanting to play Dixie ever since I’ve been here, and I’m afraid of nobody but you. To-night I mean to play it.” But I did not. That afternoon a cardwas brought up to Milicent and me. Major Littlebob, U. S. A., was sorry to disturb us, but would we please step down a minute. “Major Brooks came in with him,” said the servant who brought the message.
“Major Brooks is going to have us arrested,” I thought in terror. Milicent also was frightened by the message and by a call from an unknown officer of the United States army who came accompanied by Major Brooks. Mother followed us in fear and trembling to the parlor door as we went in to behold—Milicent’s own curly-headed Bobby, all rigged out in Major Brooks’s regimentals! There he was, all swallowed up in sash, sword, and hat of a United States major of cavalry; beside him was the major, laughing merrily. Milicent, in her relief, bent over and kissed again and again the fairest, softest, cutest, sweetest Major Littlebob that ever wore the regimentals of the U. S. A.; and it is needless to say that after this we were never again afraid of Major Brooks.
“So, the whole purpose of your running the blockade was a visit to your mother?” Major Brooks had asked.
“And to accompany my sister. And—to buy a few things—needles, pins, and so forth,” I added in confusion.
Again the major laughed at my expense. Should I confide the Confederate uniform to him and Captain Hosmer? I decided to draw the line at this, as I had drawn it at Captain Locke. Of course, Captain Locke’s story was his, not mine, and the uniform—well, the uniform was Dan’s, or, rather, I hoped it would be. It was never out of my mind. I would have failed in half my mission if I did not buy it and get it across the Potomac to Dan. To buy shoes, gloves, ribbons, etc., was an easy matter, but to buy, a Confederate uniform in Yankeeland, that was a more delicate affair. It was Captain Locke who helped me out. He told me where I could buy it, and offered to get it for me himself, but he was taking so many risks on his own account that I was determined he should take none on mine. He directed me to a tailoring establishment on the corner of Charles and St. Paul’s Streets. The head of this establishment sympathized with the South and had supplied many Southern uniforms,and his store had a convenient double entrance, one on St. Paul’s and one on Charles Street. One morning I went in at the Charles Street entrance. I had chosen an early hour, and I found no one in but the tailor.
“I want to buy a Confederate uniform,” I said. “Captain Locke referred me——”
“Walk straight on out at the other door,” he whispered. “I see two soldiers coming in from the Charles Street side.”
Without looking behind me I walked straight on as if I had merely passed through the store to get to the other sidewalk. I heard some one coming rapidly behind me, and then I was joined by Captain Hosmer.
“What are you in such a hurry for?” he asked. “Wait a minute and I can walk home with you. I have a commission to execute back here.”
Accordingly I returned to the store with him, was introduced to the friend accompanying him, and after a few moments walked home between the two. But the tailor had given me a hint—I was to come still earlier next day.
The next morning, however, he signaled me to pass on as I was about to enter. At last one morning I caught him alone long enough to get my uniform.
“I have to be very careful lately,” he apologized for waving me off the previous day. “These Yankees suspect me and are always on the lookout. Now we will get the uniform in a hurry. I have several pieces of fine Confederate cloth just in that I will show you. Is your husband a private?”
“Oh, no-o!” I exclaimed indignantly.
“I thought not,” he said suavely. “What is his rank?”
“He is a captain of cavalry now. That is—he was when I left home. But I haven’t heard from him since. He may be major or colonel by now. Can’t you fix up a uniform that would do for him if he is a captain or a colonel or a major when I get back, or—that would do for a general?”
“Certainly, certainly, madam. Very wise of you to think of that.”
He showed me several pieces of very fine and beautiful cloth of Confederate gray, and I made my selection.
“The question is, how are you to get it across the line. In what way will you carry it?”
“Ah, that I don’t know. Captain Locke advised me to consult you.”
The tailor, who seemed to have had a liberal experience in such matters, considered for a moment.
“Are other ladies going with you?”
“My mother.”
“It is easy then. I will cut this cloth into lengths that will be all right for the tailor who makes the uniform. You and your mother can make it into two Balmoral skirts. That’s the way you get your cloth home. Now for the buttons and gold lace. Will you travel in the wrap you have on?”
“In one like it; I shall pack this in my trunk. The inspectors will not be so likely to condemn this if they find it in a trunk as they would be to condemn a new one. So I will get a new cloak South; mother will wear another.”
“I see.” He was impressed with the scheme and made a mental note of it. “Sendme your cloaks and I’ll fix the buttons all right.”
Cloaks of the period were long, sacque-like affairs, double-breasted and with two rows of buttons. The tailor changed the buttons on our cloaks for Confederate brass buttons covered with wadding, and then with cloth like the wrap. The gold lace was to be folded flat and smooth. Mother was to rip the lining from the bottom of her satchel, lay the lace on the bottom, and carefully paste the lining back. We wanted to take Dan some flannel shirts, and again fashion favored us. Ladies wore wide plaid scarfs passed around their necks and falling in long ends in front. We got seven yards of fine soft flannel in a stylish plaid and cut it in two lengths. Mother, being quite tall, could wear a longer scarf than myself, so, between us, we managed to carry around our necks two good shirts for Dan.