“How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord,Is laid for your faith in His excellent word.”
“How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord,Is laid for your faith in His excellent word.”
“How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord,Is laid for your faith in His excellent word.”
“How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord,
Is laid for your faith in His excellent word.”
Then all knelt down to pray. Ernest had the feeling of Jacob when, alone at Bethel, his head pillowed upon rock the patriarch said, “surely the Lord is in this place.” A holy influence gently stole over his soul, as the Doctor, in a husky voice, prayed for their guest. All arose in tears. Ernest shed tears too, but they were strange tears. His faith was firmer, and he felt that he could trust himself in the hands of God.
Alas! those were days that tried men’s souls! When the “soldier boy” went from his home, it was like shaking hands over the grave. The mother drew her darling son to her breast and imprinted burning kisses upon his brow. He broke loose from her frantic embrace, and in a few days afterwards, the news was brought that he was sleeping in the soldier’s bloody grave. Young husbands and wives parted to meet no more till the last trump shall call them up on the resurrection morn. No pen can describe the awful scenes of those four years of fratricidal strife. Sad! sad! sad!
Ernest was accompanied by Mildred to the depot. They rode in a buggy while Dr. Arrington came on horse-back in the rear. Theyoung man endeavored to be lively and cheerful, and this humor was encouraged by Mildred. Yet both could see through this disguised mutual gaiety. It was not natural. Frequently there were long pauses in their conversation. Such is generally the case with two friends, about to part in a very short time, who feel that they ought to talk, but can think of no topic suitable to the occasion. I have seen two brothers, one of whom was condemned to be shot for a military offence, hold their last interview; it was asilentmeeting. So when Ernest and Mildredtriedto keep up a cheerful conversation, they would often relapse into silence.
“O, my Mildred,” cried Ernest with deep emotion, as they neared the depot, “I can keep up this false show no longer. I am not cheerful. The thought of leaving you is as bitter as death, and I may as well give vent to my real feelings. I could almost wish that I had never met you. My thoughts will all run out to you. O, I fear we shall never meet again.”
“Why should we look on the dark side of the picture?” asked Mildred, in low, sweet tones. “There is a kind Father above whorules in the affairs of men. Whatever may happen, be assured the Judge of all the earth will do right. ‘Our times are in His hands.’ He will do that which is best for us. He can throw His everlasting arms around you, and shield you in the terrors of the hottest battle. The Mighty God controls all things.”
“I see,” said Ernest, trying to smile, “that you too, endeavor to comfort yourself with that ‘horrid’ Presbyterian doctrine. You rely on that on all occasions.”
“Certainly I do,” replied Mildred. “I get as much comfort from it as from any truth taught in God’s Holy Word.”
“I am almost convinced,” said Ernest, “that predestination is a doctrine of the Bible, but I wish I could bring it into practical affairs, as you do.”
“It is easy to do,” replied Mildred. “Just put yourself unreservedly into the hands of God, and go out boldly in the discharge of duty. Of what should you be afraid?”
“Sometimes,” said Ernest, “I think perhaps it is predestinated that I shall be lost.”
“If you have that fear, it is an evidence that you are not so predestinated. If you were a reprobate, you would have no such fear. You would be indifferent.”
“If I am one of the elect,” asked Ernest, “how may I know it with certainty?”
“God does not leave us to grope in doubt and darkness,” replied Mildred. “If you love the people of God, love the Church and its services, love religion, love to meditate upon heavenly things, and love to read your Bible, you know that you love the Lord Jesus. That is a certain indication that the heart has been renewed. God has said that His people shall never perish. They were chosen before the foundation of the world. If then, I was chosen from all eternity, how happy I ought to feel; and I will add, how happy I do feel. This doctrine of election and predestination, which is so horrible to some people, is the greatest source of comfort to me.”
“You ought to be the wife of a minister,” said Ernest, thoughtfully.
“I would ask no higher destiny in this world,” modestly replied Mildred.
“There is a Baptist preacher in my town,” said Ernest, “who has tried to make me believe that I am called to preach.”
“What made him think so?”
Ernest then briefly related the circumstances in regard to the matter, with which the readeris acquainted. Mildred listened with the most intense interest, and a flash of joy suddenly illuminated her face.
“I am glad you told me that,” she said, “for now I cannot but believe that God is preparing you for His work just as He did Moses in the land of Midian. Go on, then; do your duty, and have faith in God. I will try to believe that you will be brought through all dangers in safety. God has something for you to do. Are you willing to walk in the path which providence points out?”
“I am.”
“Then have no fears.”
And from that moment she appeared so cheerful and confident, and seemed to have such strong faith in the divine goodness, love and care, that Ernest caught her spirit. By the time they arrived at the depot he was in much better spirits.
“I am now satisfied,” he said, as they were about to part, “that there is something more practical in the doctrines of the Presbyterian Church than I had ever dreamed of. Henceforth I shall try to bring them into my life as you do. But I am very skeptical bynature, and when I leave you I may again fall into doubt. God bless you, my dear Mildred, for helping to lift the clouds from my soul. I feel hopeful. But pray for me, that my faith fail not.”
Mildred tried hard to restrain her tears, but it was in vain. They were tears of joy mingled with tears of sadness. The train was heard rumbling in the distance, and Mildred said: “I hope you will not regard me as a Cassandra, if I prophesy that you will at last return to us in safety?”
“You shall be as a Deborah to me,” replied Ernest. “You must write to me every day.”
“Every day?”
“What I mean is, keep a sort of daily journal, and send it to me once a week, if possible. I will do the same, and it will be a source of pleasure to us.”
The foregoing is no fancy-sketch, but an actual occurrence, and shows how the dearest friends separated during the terrible, uncertain days of the Great Rebellion.
Presently the train came dashing in, and Ernest stepped on the platform, waved his hand to Mildred, and entered the coach. The conductor shouted “All aboard.” The bellrang: sizz—sizz—click—click—and a moment after, a young lady with a solemn face was seen in a buggy, driving slowly and thoughtfully from the depot. Her thoughts followed the train whose roaring she could hear in the distance. When she reached home, how sad all nature appeared! She went to her room, locked the door, fell upon her knees, and prayed God, with all the earnestness of her soul, to shield and protect him upon whom her temporal happiness depended. Hers was a sacred love which God sanctioned.
Ernest, as the train went dashing along through forest and fields, sank down into a seat, and without effort directed his imagination to the residence of the good Doctor Arrington. He thanked God in his heart for sending him to that house. Suppose he had not been wounded, he thought, or suppose he had fallen upon some other part of the field, the probability was, Dr. Arrington would not have found him. How could he fail to recognize the hand of God in all these little circumstances? Then, he prayed the Lord still to be with him, and direct all his footsteps.
In connection with such thoughts as these,his memory revived scenes which had transpired the previous year. He recalled the agony of his unrequited love for Clara Vanclure. He had thought that he never could recover from the wound which she had so ruthlessly inflicted. Three months, or less, after his rejection, she had married his rival, contrary to the wishes of her father. He became enraged when she informed him that she had discarded Ernest Edgefield.
“You have acted like a—a—simpleton,” he exclaimed, suppressing with difficulty a much harsher appellation. “Whom do you expect to marry, I should like to know?”
“Mr. Comston,” she answered hesitatingly.
“Well, well, that surpasses my comprehension—surpasses my comprehension,” he cried. “I should like to know what you fancy in him—yes, fancy in him. Ernest is worth a thousand such cinnamon-scented popinjays—yes, cinnamon-scented popinjays.”
“Mr. Comston does not use cinnamon,” Clara ventured to say apologetically.
“If he don’t,” exclaimed the irritated parent, “he uses musk which is worse, and bear’s oil, and such other tomfoolery—other tomfoolery.”
Clara blushed, but said nothing more, wisely allowing her provoked progenitor to give vent to his indignation till the storm of wrath should subside. Resistance would only increase its fury.
But she married, and Ernest saw her become the bride of his rival; for she had sent him a card to her wedding, and Ernest went, to show her how little he cared.
All this now appeared like some dim dream that flitted through his mind years ago. How thankful he now felt that Comston had removed to the town of —— in time to prevent a complicated involution of the threads of destiny. If that young man had made his advent a few weeks later, the conjugal infelicity of Ernest would have been an assured fact—at least he felt so now. What an insignificant being Clara now appeared when put in contrast with the intelligent, accomplished and pious Mildred Arrington. He almost shuddered as he thought of the narrow escape he had made. And the question came up in his mind, did God have nothing to do with this? If the sparrow does not escape the beneficent observation of the Supreme Being, surely His intelligent creatures will receive adue share of the divine watchfulness and loving care.
Again, while the train was thundering along its iron track, sad and gloomy thoughts and doubts, calculated to banish all cheerfulness, would suddenly spring up in his mind, and the trembling light of hope would almost disappear in the darkness. He recalled the old adage, “Man proposes, God disposes.” Suppose his intended union, after all, with Mildred should not be in accord with the Divine purpose? Could he give her up? Would he not rebel, and murmur against God’s will? Alas! how hard it is for a human being to tread the appointed path of destiny with his will in complete subjection to that of the Heavenly Father! At times, man cannot but think that his own chosen way is best. The retrospective view convinces him of his folly and infirmity.
“While I mused, the fire burned,” said the Psalmist. While the train rattled along, Ernest thought and mused. Presently a brakesman cried out, “—— Station.” Ernest gathered up his baggage, and in a short time was shaking hands with his comrades-in-arms.
A DANGEROUS MISSION.
In the progress of the present story we have now come to some of those strange, startling, and almost incredible events which prove the truth of the old proverb, “Truth is stranger than Fiction,” and which could occur only in those times when the foundations of society are shaken by martial upheavals and commotions.
We stop at a small farm-house a few miles from Manassas, and not far from the residence of Dr. Arrington. It is in the afternoon of a beautiful day. We open the door of one room of the little farm-house, and find ourselves in the presence of two Confederate officers, of high rank, who are engaged in an earnest conversation. Both have long since passed into history, and are inseparably connected with the “Great Rebellion.” The whole history of any war is, in fact, comprised in the biographies of a few individuals. Thelives of Lee, Grant, Jackson, Sherman, and a few others that could be readily named, cover the entire field of the War of Secession.
It is not essential to our story that we should give the names of the two Generals to whom reference has just been made. For reasons which are clear to the author, it is deemed advisable to leave our reader the pleasure of identifying them, if he can. Merely for the sake of convenience we will designate one as General A. and the other as General B. As we stand in one corner of the room, eaves-dropping, as is the privilege of the Novelist, we hear the following colloquy:
“It will require a peculiar person for the business,” said Gen. A. in a rather low tone. “It must be a woman—and a woman of intelligence, discretion and courage.”
“I know just such a one,” replied Gen. B., “but I should dislike to ask her to run the risk that must be incurred.”
“These are times,” answered Gen. A., “which demand sacrifices. Our Southern men and women should be willing to incur danger for the sake of their country. Cannot the South furnish an Iphigenia if one is necessary to the success of our arms?”
“No doubt, many can be found,” replied Gen. B., “but I should dislike to sacrifice any of our noble women, if it could possibly be avoided.”
“Would it not be better,” coolly asked Gen. A., “to sacrifice a woman in the prosecution of this business than a good soldier? But who is the lady you mentioned? We can discuss the ethics of the case at some other time.”
“It is the daughter of Dr. Arrington,” answered Gen. B. “I dined with his family last Sabbath, and I was impressed with the idea that the young lady is just such a woman as you have described.”
“I am willing,” said Gen. A., “to take your judgment in this case. When can we have an interview with her, do you suppose?”
“Any time we may call, I think.”
“Suppose we go at once, then,” said Gen. A. “The business is urgent.”
Accordingly the two officers mounted their horses. Half an hour later they alighted at Dr. Arrington’s residence. They were met by the Doctor, and shown into the parlor. After talking a short time upon general topics, Gen. B. broached the particular subject that had caused the visit.
“Dr. Arrington,” said he, “Gen. A. is in search of a person to perform a delicate and hazardous duty. The service is of such a nature that no one but a lady can perform it well, and it must be a lady of bravery, discretion and intelligence.”
“I do not know where you can find one in this community who will fulfill such requirements,” said the Doctor.
“I have taken the liberty,” said Gen. B., without seeming to have noticed the Doctor’s remark, “to suggest your daughter, Miss Mildred.”
“I doubt,” replied the Doctor, “that she possesses the qualifications you have named—at least, I do not know that she is brave.”
“Probably,” suggested Gen. A., “you have never seen her courage put to the test.”
“No, I cannot say that I have.”
“However,” continued Gen. A., “the business I have in hand requires more tact than courage.”
“Is it a perilous business, General?”
“Perilous in case of detection; yes, sir.”
“I profess to love my country,” said the Doctor, “and I am willing to make sacrifices for it, but I cannot speak for my daughter. Iwill call her, if you wish, and let her speak for herself.”
“If you please,” said Gen. A. “We mentioned the matter to you first in order to get your consent to an interview with her.”
The Doctor went out of the room, and in a few moments returned with Mildred, introducing her to Gen. A., who had never seen her before. An explanation of how and why Gen. B. had formed the acquaintance of this family would, no doubt, lead at once to his personal identification.
“Shall I remain in the room?” asked the Doctor, after Mildred was seated.
“Certainly; we expected you to do so,” replied Gen. A.
The true, actual history of the war of 1861 will never be written. It cannot be. It is only general events that the dignity of history will condescend to record. Take the battle of Bull Run, which has been so briefly described in previous pages of our story. Scarcely anything more than the events which we have outlined will go down to future generations. The thousand little incidents which constituted the veryessenceof the fight, and give to it a coloring which the historical brush must evermiss, will never be known. The history of a battle is nothing more than a picture of it: three-fourths of the scenes are left out.
From one till three o’clock who can tell what occurred on the field of Bull Run? The war-cloud floated in fragments: it was like a fog. The contest seemed to dwindle almost into individual combats. The grim warriors were mixed up in a dense cloud of smoke, through which the historian cannot see clearly. It was not till after three o’clock that the battle presented an aspect that comes within the scope of history. To get the correct history of those two or three hours, each individual like Ernest would have to tell what occurred within his sight. Little incidents, though thrilling, such as we are about to relate, are rejected from the domain of sober history. Individual deeds of daring and heroism, necessity demands shall find their place in the province of biography. Accordingly that which Mildred performed will be found recorded nowhere except in the pages of this story.
“We have a mission,” said Gen. A. presently, “which only a lady can accomplish, and Gen. B. has suggested you as a person who wouldbe likely to undertake it; and this is the object of our present visit.”
Mildred looked surprised.
“If it is anything I can do, General,” she said, “I think I have sufficient patriotism to undertake it.”
“I have no doubt of that. But, to make a long story short, we want a lady to go into the capital—Washington City, I mean.”
Gen. A. watched her face closely and critically as he said this. Mildred did not appear to be amazed at this information, but she quietly said:
“Will that be easy to do?”
“I do not know; it depends upon the tact of the person that tries it,” answered Gen. A.
“I infer, then,” she said, “that I would have to avoid the pickets and sentinels?”
“Not so much that as other things which I will explain to you. But I shall not conceal the fact from you, that if you are detected, the consequences will be enough to terrify not only a lady, but a desperate man.”
“Death, would it be?” she asked in a firm, but gentle tone which convinced Gen. A. that Gen. B. was not mistaken in his estimate of her character.
“Death, and ‘death by hanging’,” answered Gen. A. with an emphasis designed to test her nerves.
“O, General!” exclaimed the Doctor in some alarm, “that is asking too much of my child. She is too delicate and timid to take such a risk.”
“I shall not insist upon anyone’s undertaking it,” replied Gen. A. with a disappointed look. “Gen. B. here suggested that your daughter would be the kind of person we need, but if you object we will say no more about it.”
“My kind father has spoken hastily,” said Mildred with dignity. “I do not know why the women of our country should not sometimes risk their lives as well as the soldiers. Suppose I should lose my life, it is no more than hundreds have already done. I am not afraid. I will go, General, unless my father positively forbids it.”
“There will be no very great risk, though, after all,” said Gen. A., “especially after you are in the city. I have a paper to be delivered to a certain person in Washington. If you were caught with that paper, you would no doubt be treated as a spy, but a lady of intelligence and tact can conceal it.”
“Could I not commit the contents to memory and write them out after I get into the city?” asked Mildred.
“No; the person who is to receive it must have the original paper.”
Mildred reflected for a moment, and turning to the Doctor said:
“Father, I am willing to do this small service for the General.”
“It is no small service, I should think,” interrupted the Doctor.
“No,” replied the General, “it is a very great service, one which will bring your country under obligations.”
“What do you say, father?” asked Mildred.
“My child,” said the doctor with some emotion, “I cannot encourage you to do it. I will leave it to your own judgment. I, however, would prefer to undertake the mission myself, if that would answer.”
“If the business,” answered Gen. A., “could be accomplished by a man, we have any number of soldiers in camp who would cheerfully volunteer, but no person will answer but an intelligent lady. You will see that when I enter into fuller explanations.”
“If this be so, father, it seems to me that Iought to perform this service for the country. The enemy can but destroy this body, if I should be detected. Suppose, General,” turning to him, “you can find no lady who will undertake the affair, what will be the consequence?”
“That will be difficult to foretell or foresee,” replied Gen. A. “It might cause the loss of a great battle. On the other hand, her going might result in achieving the independence of the Confederate States. Very little affairs of this kind frequently result in great things.”
“Then, father,” said Mildred with firmness, “I can no longer hesitate. We helpless women ought to serve our country in some way in the hour of need. Will you give your consent, father.”
“I can not tell you either to go or to stay,” answered the Doctor. “Do as you please.”
“Then, General, I will go and do the best I can for you. What is it you wish me to do?”
“When can you start?” asked Gen. A.
“To-morrow, if you desire it.”
“Very well: now give me your attention and I will tell you what is to be done. The paper of which I spoke is this,” taking a folded document from his pocket. “You see this is a map.”
It is not necessary to enter into details in regard to this map. Besides it might not be advisable to unfold any portion of the secret history of the “Great Rebellion” at this time when some of the actors in the scenes we are now describing are yet living.
“This,” continued the General, “is to be delivered to a gentleman by the name of Beall.”
“What is his address?” asked Mildred.
“That I am not able to give you at present,” responded Gen. A. “He changes his quarters frequently; but there are five hotels at which he stops, and you will find him registered in one of them.” The General here informed her how she could identify Beall, with whose melancholy history our reader is probably acquainted. “This paper must be put into the hands of Captain Beall,” continued Gen. A., “and no one else.”
“Yes, I understand,” said Mildred.
“The principal danger,” the General went on, “lies in this. If you should be arrested with this paper on your person or in your possession, your fidelity to your country will cost you very dearly, you understand.”
“Yes, sir, my life will be the price.”
“When you meet Beall,” coolly resumedGen. A., “he will give you another paper which you are to bring to me. Of course I will have to leave some of the details to your own good sense and tact. If you should get into any difficulty, do not lose your presence of mind and self-possession. Keep cool under all circumstances, and I think you will soon come back to us in safety.”
After some further directions and explanations, which can be omitted without detriment to our story, the General said:
“Now, you fully understand what is to be done; are you still willing to go?”
Mildred looked appealingly at her father, but he said not a word.
“What do you say, father?” she again asked.
“I candidly confess,” he replied at last “that I dislike to see my daughter subjected to exposure of this sort. Probably the result may be such as makes me shudder to think about it, and then my gray hairs would be brought in sorrow to my grave. In that case, I never could forgive myself for not having forbidden her to go.”
“Well,” said Gen. A., “I shall not even now insist upon her going. She can stilldecline if she wish. The danger is just what I have represented it. If,” turning to Mildred, “you shrink from it, you would better decline at once.”
“It is not the danger I dread,” answered Mildred. “I am willing to serve my country in any way I can, even to the extent of shedding my blood, but I dislike to do anything that will cause my father to suffer. But I have already told you I would go, and so I will unless my father sees proper to exercise his parental authority and forbids it.”
“I shall not forbid,” said the Doctor. “I want you to consult your own feelings and judgment and act accordingly.”
“Then General,” said Mildred with firmness, “I shall start in the morning. There is no use of any further discussion.”
“God bless you!” exclaimed General B., who had not taken any part in the conversation. “I thought I could not be mistaken in your character. I knew your religious training had developed those very traits which peculiarly qualify you for this perilous undertaking. May God protect and crown the undertaking with deserved success.”
As the officers were riding away, Gen. B. said:
“What a pity it would be if that noble girl should be arrested and—”
“Hanged?” spoke up Gen. A., finishing the uncompleted sentence.
“Yes; it would be terrible,” answered Gen. B.
“Well,” said Gen. A. deliberately, “war signifies bloodshed. If the young lady falls a victim, does not the occasion demand the sacrifice.”
And the two officers rode on.
A BRAVE GIRL.
It might seem strange to the reader who is unacquainted with the nature of war, that a young, intelligent, and accomplished lady should have undertaken such an enterprise as that partly described in the previous chapter. But it must be remembered that war introduces customs and modes of thought which would be subversive of our notions of propriety in times of peace. The women of the South were frequently thrown by the force of circumstances into strange and unusual situations during the dark and stormy days of the “Great Rebellion.” They had to perform many duties which would have been palpable violations of the laws of etiquette under different circumstances. Besides, we are all creatures of habit, and our character depends upon our education. This fact is our authority for the assertion, that in our social relations there is scarcely anything, if there is really anything, proper or improperper se—anything inherently absolute. Many of our terms are merely relative: they have no fixed definition. No absolute rules can be laid down that shall determine whether a given line of conduct is modest or immodest. Circumstances only can determine. An angel, for instance could use language in the pulpit which ordinary ministers of the Gospel would not dare to employ. One nation regards a thing as proper, which another considers improper. Hence, there can be no fixed code of propriety.
Bearing these facts in mind, we can understand why it was that Mildred could see no impropriety in undertaking to make her way alone into Washington—which she did in less than forty-eight hours after the interview with the two Confederate Generals. The statement of this fact is sufficient, without entering into particulars in regard to the difficulties which she encountered. She remained in the city three days till she found the unfortunate Captain Beall, to whom she delivered the papers, and from whom she received others for Gen. A. Her mission having been successfully accomplished, she returned, and reported to the Confederate officer. His rather stern faceassumed a smile, as he took her by the hand and congratulated her upon her success.
“Here is a check for a thousand dollars,” he said as she finished her report.
“But I did not expect to be paid, General,” she said. “I undertook the mission because I love my country, and desire to do something in the struggle for independence.”
“You are not a soldier,” replied Gen. A. “We have no right to your services without compensation. This is only a partial reward for what you have done.”
“I do not ask any remuneration.”
“You have been in danger,” said Gen. A. “Besides, I will want you to go on a similar mission in a few days, and I have no right to your time. I am aware that the salary of ministers is small, and funds do not come amiss. You have earned this money, and I insist upon your taking it. It is yours.”
“I can do with it as I please?” asked Mildred after a short pause.
“Certainly you can.”
“Then,” said Mildred, “I will take it. I know how I can use it to good purpose.”
“Well,” said the General, handing her the check, “can you go on a similar mission?”
“To the same place?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, sir; I will go.”
“When can you start?”
“To-morrow, if necessary.”
“I am truly glad,” said Gen. A. “for I have another paper which ought to be in Washington now. I was afraid to entrust it to you till you had proved that it was practicable to go in and out of the city. But since you know now exactly what to do, I feel that there will be little risk.”
“It, too, is a dangerous paper, is it?”
“It is, and if you are detected with it, the death of another party will be the consequence. If you can manage to give it to Capt. Beall there will be no danger to you.”
“I can do that,” replied Mildred. “I know how to find him.”
“You see,” said Gen. A. “I have written the message on this pocket handkerchief so that you can conceal it in your clothing.”
“Yes, sir,” said Mildred, taking the handkerchief, “I can conceal this so that it will escape the most rigid search.”
“I can trust you for that,” said the General.
“If nothing providential interferes,” said Mildred, “I shall start in the morning.”
“Thank you,” answered Gen. A. “When you return, you shall receive your reward.”
“We will talk about that when I get back,” she said, as she took her leave.
Accordingly, the next morning she again started for the city of Washington, without the slightest misgiving or premonition of evil. Indeed what had she to fear? She knew exactly how to proceed. She, therefore, boldly entered the city, after having complied with such military requisitions as were necessary in those days. It was frequently the case that the most elegant ladies of the South, mounted upon bales of cotton in an ox-wagon, went shopping in cities that were under Federal jurisdiction. Some had to take the oath of allegiance to the U. S. Government, and others, by their extreme cleverness, managed to “get through the lines” without compromising their fealty to the Confederacy. It is not necessary to describe Mildred’s military maneuvers in order to secure both ingress and egress. But more light will be thrown on this subject as the story proceeds.
Again Mildred was in Washington. She registered at the very same hotel at which she had put up before. This was the first mistakethat she had made. For even her first visit had aroused the suspicions of the head clerk. However, without manifesting the least surprise, he assigned her to a room, remarking that it would be half an hour before the chamber would be ready for occupancy.
“You can sit in the parlor for that length of time?” he asked with a bland smile.
“Certainly,” replied Mildred.
“Thanks,” he said, bowing politely. “Please step this way.”
Mildred followed him to the elegant parlor, and seated herself on one of the luxurious sofas.
“I will return in a short time,” said the urbane clerk, “and have you shown to your room. Please make yourself comfortable.”
He bowed himself out of the apartment, and was gone about twenty minutes. Seating himself, he manifested a disposition to engage in conversation—at which Mildred exhibited surprise as well as aversion.
“You have no friends in the city, lady?” he said half inquiringly and half declaratively. She could construe it either way.
“Sir?” said Mildred in a tone that plainly indicated disinclination to talk.
“I made a remark about your friends,” said the clerk, “but it does not matter. You have been to the city before have you not?”
“I have, sir,” answered Mildred in a frigid tone. “Is my room ready?”
“Not quite, ma’am. The chambermaid will be in presently. How long will you want the room?” asked the clerk.
“Why do you wish to know?”
“O, merely to know. Sometimes we like to know how long our guests will remain—it is a matter of—of—convenience.”
“I will notify you when I am ready to vacate it,” said Mildred coldly.
“O, yes, of course, you can retain it as long as you wish. I meant no offence. Have you heard the news?”
“What news?” asked Mildred.
“Why, a terrible battle has been fought—it was on yesterday at ——: an awful fight.”
“No, sir, I have not heard of it,” answered Mildred changing to a more gentle tone, yet expressive of indifference.
“You do not seem to take much interest in military affairs?” remarked the clerk. “I thought everybody was eager to hear of the success of our arms. The Rebels received a fearful chastisement yesterday.”
“They did?” asked Mildred, trying to appear indifferent under the searching gaze of this impudent clerk.
“Indeed, they did. You will hear the guns booming presently in honor of the great victory. There were ten thousand rebels killed, yes, left dead on the field. Wasn’t it glorious? Wasn’t it glorious?” he exclaimed rubbing his hands in glee.
“I see nothing glorious in shedding human blood,” replied Mildred.
“Don’t you rejoice at hearing of the defeat of the rebels, and that so many thousands were killed?” inquired the clerk.
“God forbid,” exclaimed Mildred with more warmth than she intended to manifest, “that I should rejoice at the death of any human being.”
“But the rebels have got to be killed, you know, in order to bring the war to an end and to restore the Union.”
“That may he so,” answered Mildred, drawn into a conversation in spite of herself, “but I dislike to hear of wholesale murder. The great God did not put His intelligent creatures here to butcher each other. I cannot, therefore, but think that war is a sin.”
“No doubt, the aggressive party is guilty,”answered the clerk. “The rebels brought on the war. Don’t you think, then, that the rebels are responsible for all the blood that has been, and may be shed?”
“I was speaking on general principles,” answered Mildred. “It does not become me to measure the degree of guilt that may attach to either party. It is a sin to commit murder; it is a violation of God’s commandment.”
“Is it, when done in self-defence?”
“I suppose,” replied Mildred, “that if homicide is absolutely necessary to the preservation of one’s life, it would be justifiable. But in the case of war, who is to determine which party is fighting purely in self-defence?”
“In the present war,” said the clerk, “I don’t see how there can be any doubt about it. The rebels fired the first gun, and dishonored the flag of our country.”
“Yet,” said Mildred, “the rebels claim that they are fighting in self-defence.”
“Do you sympathize with the rebels?” asked the clerk, looking narrowly into her face, as though he would read her thoughts. “Probably you may be a Copper-head?”
“I did not say I sympathized with either party,” answered Mildred quietly.
“No; but one would infer that you leaned toward the rebels.”
“I do not know upon what you could base such an inference,” rejoined Mildred, “for I have not used an expression that could be construed into sympathy for either side. I told you I was speaking only on general principles.”
“Do you mind telling with which party you do sympathize?” quoth the clerk.
“I am neither politician, nor soldier, nor am I regarded as a citizen by the law,” answered Mildred. “You will, therefore, please excuse me from any expression of opinion on this subject. Why should you wish to know?”
“Why should you mind expressing an opinion?”
“It is not necessary, is it?” asked Mildred.
“No, ma’am; it is not a matter of life or death,” replied the smiling clerk, “but I can imagine no good reason why you should be so extremely cautious—that is, unless you have come upon some illegal business.”
For an instant Mildred seemed startled at this insinuation.
“I’m sure I asked a civil question,” said the clerk.
“Certainly,” answered Mildred with a little birdlike laugh, intended to ward off suspicion, “but I should like to know by what authority you propound questions to me.”
“O,” said the clerk, breaking into a laugh, “I am no court of inquisition. I questioned you only by the authority of social etiquette. It is no breach of politeness, I hope, to ask ordinary questions in a common conversation. We sometimes ask questions merely for the sake of vivifying conversation.”
“The authority of social etiquette,” replied Mildred, “is sometimes insolent, and even ordinary questions may in times of public disturbance lead to grave consequences.”
“I had no intention of making so serious a matter of it,” said the clerk. “I asked the question more for the sake of saying something than anything else. Certainly, if you wish to conceal your opinions and sentiments, I’m no inquisitor to try to force you to reveal them. I, however, admire your prudence, since you are a stranger in the city.”
Mildred suddenly laughed outright.
“What do you see in my remark,” inquired the clerk very soberly, “to excite your risibility?”
“I was laughing at your making so seriousa matter out of nothing,” answered Mildred. “You speak of my prudence, as if I were some astute diplomatist who had come to Washington to negotiate a treaty of peace, or some other important business. The whole of my prudence consists in not directly answering questions that might lead to the discussion of unpleasant topics.”
“Why is the war such an unpleasant subject?” asked the clerk. “It ought to be agreeable to all loyal people to hear about the destruction of rebels. I wish I could kill some of them myself.”
“If you have such a blood-thirsty disposition,” said Mildred a little contemptuously, “I think you could easily find opportunities to gratify it.”
“You may be sure, if I could stand the exposure which camp life involves, I should have gone out at the first tap of the drum. Besides, I have a family.”
“There are soldiers on both sides who have families,” said Mildred.
“I only wish I had physical strength,” said the clerk. “Nothing would delight me more than to kill rebels.”
Mildred could not suppress a smile of derision, for the clerk was a large, well-developedman, presenting every aspect of perfect health. This exhibition of contempt did not escape his notice, since he closely watched her throughout the entire interview. He felt provoked at her insinuations, but he was too polite to manifest his vexation.
“But here comes the chamber-maid,” he said, “who will show you to your room. I hope you may have a pleasant time in the city, if the business upon which you have come will permit you to seek pleasure.”
“How do you know that I have come upon any business?” asked Mildred.
“Strangers generally have business, when they visit the city,” said the clerk significantly, as Mildred thought. But she concluded that she would say nothing more. Rising, she silently followed the chamber-maid. The clerk walked back to his desk in a thoughtful mood; and this is what was passing through his mind:
“That is one of those proud Southern women, and she is bent upon mischief. Well, if she is not very cautious, I shall trap her as I have done others. She seems to be an intelligent, accomplished woman, but what is she doing here alone? If she is a spy, as I begin to suspect, and is detected, what a fate awaits her!”
IN PRISON.
As soon as the chamber-maid’s footsteps had died away, Mildred locked the door, and sat down to think. Suffering herself to be drawn into an interview with a stranger was her second blunder, as she now perceived. Why had the clerk manifested such a sudden interest in her affairs? Did he not suspect her? What made her so foolish as to engage in a conversation with him? She could not but feel a little uneasy and anxious, and she determined to transact her business as quickly as possible, and leave the city. As soon as she would rid herself of Gen. A.’s message she would be out of danger. She must find Beall at once.
She then rose from her seat, and looked around the room, and even under the bed. She cast her eyes up to the ceiling, and as she did so imagined that she heard a sudden, but slight movement overhead. A small bit ofplaster dropped to the floor. She at once made the discovery that about two feet square of the plaster had fallen off, or at least was gone. This fact, under ordinary circumstances, would have made no impression upon her mind, but now it awakened her suspicions, and she narrowly examined the unsightly blemish. Why should it not have been repaired? But it may have been recently done. To discover whether this might be so, she examined the carpet immediately under it, but she saw only a few grains of sand, and the little lump that had just fallen. Perhaps Sir Isaac, in the same length of time, did not study more profoundly in regard to the descent of that famous apple which revolutionized philosophy, than Mildred did about that insignificant bit of rubbish. Was its fall, too, due simply to the law of gravitation, or was it caused by some eavesdropper? After reflecting for some moments, a new thought seemed suddenly to flash into her mind, for she partially disrobed herself, as if to rest, and lay upon the bed, pretending to fall into a deep sleep. She was, in fact, wide awake, listening with all her ears. An hour passed away, and she arose. Taking a pair of small scissorsfrom her pocket, she cut a small aperture in the lining of her dress so that she could secure easy access to the General’s manuscript pocket-handkerchief. This done, she drew her chair to the window where she could look down upon the busy street. She gazed at the crowds rushing along in pursuit of the varied objects that occupy the attention of the inhabitants of a gay city, like the capital of the United States. She beheld officers of every grade walking among the throng with proud, military step, who appeared to glory more in their magnificentphysiqueand splendid, spotless uniform, than in the deeds of valor they had performed on the field of battle. In this gay, beautiful city, she felt a keen sense of loneliness. There was, so far as she knew, only one person in all the place, whose sympathies were like her own, and she had no intimate acquaintance with him. This person was Capt. Beall. She now determined to find him at once, deliver the General’s document, and immediately start homeward. Accordingly, she rose from her chair, donned her cephalic attire, and opened the door. She started back in amazement and horror! There stood before her a policeman, a woman, andthe head-clerk with whom she had conversed not more than two hours since. What awful thoughts now came crowding into her mind! It is impossible to describe them. Persons who have been in similar situations remember how active is the mind in the first moment of surprise. The sense of danger, the line of defence, the means of escape, all are discussed in a few seconds. Thoughts such as these, and a hundred others of a different character, flashed in the most rapid succession through Mildred’s mind. Among other things Gen. A.’s cautions came vividly to her memory. He had told her how necessary is self-possession, and she was now making the most desperate efforts to be calm. The trio stood watching her face, as she gazed steadily at them. As they said nothing, she presently, in a quiet tone broke the silence.
“I am patiently waiting to learn the object of this intrusion,” she said with dignity.
“We are not guilty of intrusion,” replied the clerk, “we are merely standing before the door.”
“If that is all,” said Mildred calmly, “please let me pass, and you can enjoy your harmless pleasure to your heart’s content.”
“Not so fast, sarcastic lady,” spoke the clerk. “You must give a better account of yourself than you did a while ago. I suspected your disloyalty to the Federal Government sufficiently to induce me to make an effort to ascertain if my suspicions were correct.”
“What effort do you propose to make?”
“Would you object to being searched?”
“For what?” asked Mildred with inward trepidation, as she perceived treachery gradually unfolding. For one moment the most bitter hatred toward that deceptive clerk sprang up in her heart, and she felt that she could have taken his life. But it was only for a moment.
“We wish to see if you have anything contraband,” replied the clerk.
“I suppose you intend to search me anyhow, whether I consent or not?”
“We don’t like to resort to force,” answered the clerk, “and we hope you’ll readily give your consent. Indeed, a willingness on your part to submit will be taken as evidence of your loyalty to the government.”
“I do not see it in that light,” said Mildred as quietly as possible. “What have I done to arouse your suspicions?”
“That does not matter, lady,” replied the clerk. “I have no feeling of malice toward you. I sincerely hope that I am mistaken, and that you may prove as innocent of any sinister intentions towards the government as the angels of heaven. I was prepossessed in your favor by your general appearance and your conversation. But if you have come to the city with any dark purpose, it is but natural that you should oppose being searched.”
“Can you not see,” asked Mildred, speaking slowly, “that it is a personal indignity to be subjected to a search?”
“Not in such times as these,” said the clerk. “It is generally the case, that, when innocent people are suspected, they demand an investigation, instead of shrinking from it.”
“That depends upon circumstances,” replied Mildred coolly. She was endeavoring to prolong the conversation as much as possible in order to think what was best to be done. If she could avoid this search, she would be safe. A score of schemes rapidly presented themselves during these few moments. She thought of bribery; but that would be an acknowledgment of guilt. If there had been a fire in the room, she wouldhave hastily thrown the dangerous kerchief into it; in that case all that the authorities could do would be to imprison her for a while as a suspicious character. But there was no fire, and she did not have even a match. If Mildred had only known it, all her scheming was to no purpose, for she had been watched. That wiry, pert little woman, one of the trio had been in the room over-head, which had been prepared for suspicious characters. When Mildred had suddenly looked up to the ceiling, in her examination of the room, the woman involuntarily drew back, and in so doing had caused the lump of loose plaster to fall. She saw Mildred make the rent in the dress, and that was enough. Mildred at last came to the conclusion that it would be advisable to submit with the best grace possible, and trust to Providence for protection. Sending up a silent, but earnest prayer, she said:
“I suppose you have brought this lady to do the work? If so, it is useless to discuss the matter. So proceed.”
“That is right,” said the clerk. “You can both go into the room, and close the door. This officer and myself will await the result in the hall, here.”
Accordingly the little woman, with eyes, as Mildred thought, keen enough to see through a mill-stone, entered the apartment, and closed the door.
“Well, what do you wish?” asked Mildred.
“Let me have your dress first, please.”
“You wish me to take it off?”
“Yes, take it off.”
“What do you expect to find?” asked Mildred. “You can feel the dress anywhere, and you will discover no papers.”
“Take it off,” said the woman sharply. “I don’t know what I will find. I’ll show you when I am through searching.”
Mildred deliberately removed the garment, and while so doing, made two or three unsuccessful attempts to withdraw the treacherous kerchief unobserved; but the diminutive woman was watching with an Argus-eyed vigilance that would have instantly detected any suspicious manipulation. The little lady took it, turned it inside out, and stretched it upon the bed. In an instant her keen eyes fell upon the fatal rent. Mildred felt a choking sensation when she perceived the nimble fingers deftly close upon the General’s handkerchief.
“O, heaven! what shall I do?” was her inward exclamation as she saw the kerchief quickly jerked out. She felt a sickening sensation creeping over her. She tried hard to preserve her equanimity. Would falsehood avail in this instance? or should she tell the truth, and meet death with Christian resignation?
“Ah! what is this?” exclaimed the little woman, holding up the kerchief by two corners, and gazing at it with a most provoking air of triumph.
Mildred’s first impulse was to snatch the terrible document from her hands, and thrust it in the fire, but alas! there was no fire in the room.
“It may be some old rag,” said Mildred in a hoarse, trembling voice, “put in to thicken the lining.” It was the first time in her life that she had practiced prevarication, and the words seemed to blister her tongue.
“Hardly probable,” said the Lilliputian lady with an ironical smile. “Hardly probable; it is almost new, don’t you see? But I will give it to Mr. Twombly, and let him examine it while I continue the work.”
Accordingly, she opened the door, gave thekerchief to the clerk, and resumed the search. But a half hour’s further investigation revealed nothing else of a suspicious character. The woman said:
“Well, unless that handkerchief contains evidences of disloyalty you will go free. Put on your clothing. I will assist you.”
In a little time Mildred was again presentable, and the door being re-opened, the two men entered without ceremony. The little woman was the first to speak.
“That’s the only suspicious article I’ve been able to discover.”
“And that is enough,” said the clerk. “Alas! young lady, we are forced to arrest you as a spy. I am sorry for you.”
“I do not need your sympathy,” said Mildred indignantly. “I would rather be anything than a detestable informer, showing a ‘Devil’s purpose with an angel’s face’—sneaking among your unsuspecting guests, smiling and fawning upon them in order to convert their blood into gold. ‘I’d rather be a dog and bay the moon than such a Roman.’ Yes, I’d rather die a thousand times than act the base part of a contemptible hypocrite.”
“High! wrathful lady,” exclaimed theclerk without betraying any symptoms of vexation and annoyance, “how can you blame me for discharging my duty to my country?”
“Don’t you remember that King Philip said he loved the treason, but despised the traitor? That is the case with your masters; they love your treachery, but they hate you. Every honest man heartily execrates a cold-blooded, villainous informer,” cried the enraged Mildred.
“Nevertheless, young lady,” coolly said the clerk, “it is our duty to arrest you as a spy.”
“I am no spy,” exclaimed Mildred. “I have not come to Washington to find out anything of a military character. I call God to witness that I have not come here for any such purpose.”
“Why, don’t you know the contents of this document?” asked the clerk.
“God in heaven, who sees me, knows that I never read a single word, or syllable of it.”
“Then,” said the clerk in surprise, “you know not what a dangerous handkerchief you have been carrying.”
“Yes, sir; I knew it was attended with some sort of danger, but I do emphatically denybeing a spy. All I had to do was to deliver the handkerchief to a certain person, and go back home.”
“And that person is named here,” replied the clerk. “I wouldn’t given a snap of my finger for his life.”
Mildred turned pale on hearing this, and on re-calling the fact that General A. had told her that if she were detected, a third party would be compromised.
“Notwithstanding your unnecessary abuse of myself,” said the clerk, “I hope your excuse will be considered sufficient to procure your release. Your friends have made a mere tool of you for the accomplishment of their own purpose. But I must take you to head-quarters. If you will promise to go along quietly, I will accompany you myself; if you are not, I will turn you over to the police.”
“I will go with you,” said Mildred, who was now ready almost to faint.
The clerk and Mildred descended to the street, and entered a passing hack. In a few moments they alighted at the head-quarters of Gen. ——, to whom the clerk delivered the handkerchief. He read it over twice and said:
“A pretty kettle of fish is this! Are you the bearer of this, young lady?”
“I am, sir.”
“She had it carefully concealed in her clothing, General,” spoke up the clerk. “I suspected her, and had her watched.”
“You have done your country a great service,” replied the General. “Have you arrested the other party?”
“No, sir, I thought it best to deliver that article to you first.”
“Very well,” answered the General. “I thank you heartily for what you have done. Now, young lady,” continued the General, turning his attention to Mildred who was pale but calm, “how came you with this document?”
Mildred had concocted a falsehood which might have obscured her connection with the affair with a shadow of dubitation. But in early life the little story of George Washington and the cherry tree had made a deep, ineffaceable impression upon her mind, and neither could she “tell a lie.” If she spoke at all, she determined to tell the truth, let the consequences be what they might. So she answered:
“I brought it to a certain person in this city.”
“What is his name?”
“I cannot tell,” she replied. “You can do as you please with me, but I shall not compromise others.”
“It does not matter,” replied the General. “His name is Beall. I shall have him arrested in an hour or so. He is an important character, it seems. Do you not know, lady, that you are acting the spy?”
“No, sir. I deny being a spy.”
“I pity your ignorance,” replied the officer. “You are exactly in the attitude of a spy. The penalty—do you know what it is?”
“Death, is it not?” replied Mildred calmly.
“Death, and death by hanging.”
“O, General!” exclaimed Mildred, whose feelings were alternating between trepidation and tranquility. “Can you not pardon me when I was ignorant that I was acting in such a capacity?”
“I never knew a spy to be pardoned,” said the General thoughtfully. “There was universal sympathy for the unfortunate Major Andre, and Washington would have saved him, if possible. But the law is inexorable. I have no power to do anything. You will have to be tried by a military court, and youcan easily imagine what will be the result. A spy always takes his life in his hands, well knowing the consequences of detection. If you are ignorant of these consequences, I am truly sorry for you. You will,” he continued, turning to the clerk, “give the lady a room in your hotel, and I will send a guard to stand at the door to prevent escape. I do not care to send so elegant a lady to a common prison. Give her a room from which there is no practicable egress except through the door.”
“I understand, General,” replied the clerk. “The corner room of the fourth story is perfectly safe.”
“General,” said Mildred who had been trying to be brave, “may I write to my parents?”
If the officer had spoken harshly, she could have borne her misfortune more courageously, but he spoke kindly, and the womanish heart would betray itself. Under such circumstances, without tears, she would have been untrue to her sex. The General was touched, as nearly all men are, by the sight of a beautiful woman down whose cheeks are flowing the evidences of her distress. When the grim old General looked at the innocent truth-telling face of this magnanimous girl, upon whose features Godhad stamped the seal of honesty, and especially when she broke down at the thought of the distress of her parents, and Ernest, all the better feelings of his heart were touched. His chivalry prompted him to release her, but the claims of duty were paramount. He, at the time, thought that surely no court-martial would deal with her as with one of the “rougher sex.” Her innocence, beauty, and intelligence would be her defense, and, under all circumstances, would be a greater protection than a Roman shield. He, therefore, replied:
“Certainly, you may. This gentleman,” turning to the clerk, “will see that you have everything that you want. Remember, sir, she is a lady, and treat her accordingly.”
“She herself will testify, General, that I have extended to her the treatment which every lady deserves, notwithstanding the fact, that she abused me roundly for simply discharging my duty.”
When they again entered the hack, such a sense of the awfulness of her situation came over Mildred that she covered her face, and sobbed audibly. Her woman nature strongly asserted itself, and she yielded. For the firsttime a sense of shame reddened the cheeks of the clerk, sitting silent in front of her.
“Confound it,” said he to himself, “what great deed have I done? She is nothing but an innocent girl, ignorant of her own danger. If it were some sharp man, I might feel self-complacent. The man to whom she was to deliver that handkerchief is really the guilty party. But it is too late now. I must obey orders.”
They soon reached the hotel, and in ten minutes Mildred found herself in the corner room of the fourth story. And she sat down, and wept bitterly.