CHAPTER X
THE FORTUNES OF WAR
It was dreary waiting in the stuffy room. Miss Metoaca, who had resigned herself to the inevitable after her recent explosion, was busy knitting a talma, a round cape which, like Penelope's web, seemed to the uninitiated to have no beginning and no end. She always carried it with her in a voluminous pocket as she hated to be idle. Nancy, busy with her own thoughts, sat gazing abstractedly at the dingy wall. The tread of the sentries could be distinctly heard as they tramped back and forth before the windows and door. The sergeant and Symonds sat by the entrance, watching their prisoners closely. The piercing shriek of a locomotive broke the stillness, and soon with a grinding of brakes the special train came to a standstill in front of the depot. Symonds and Lieutenant Field, of the Provost Guard, met Lloyd as he jumped to the platform.
"Miss Newton and her niece are in the waiting room, Captain Lloyd," reported the lieutenant, "under guard. Their luggage is in the station master's room awaiting your inspection."
"Good!" Lloyd's tone of satisfaction made Goddard's blood boil. Lloyd turned to his silent friend, and held out his hand. "How are you, Bob?"
Goddard ignored the outstretched hand and the cordial greeting.
"What do you mean by this high-handed outrage, Captain Lloyd?" he demanded bitterly.
Lloyd's eyes flashed. "Do not stretch my friendship too far, Bob. Your apparent infatuation for that rebel spy"—Goddard winced perceptibly, and his color heightened—"blinds your judgment. I give you fair warning, sir, that if you interfere in any way in this affair you will be placed in close arrest."
Without a word Goddard turned on his heel and walked to the further end of the platform. Lloyd returned to the car, and joined two women who stood waiting patiently by its side.
"This way, Miss Watt," and followed by both women he led the way to the waiting room. Lieutenant Field threw open the door.
"Captain Lloyd," he announced.
Miss Metoaca's busy fingers stopped and she surveyed the newcomer from head to foot, but Nancy never turned in his direction.
"What do you want?" inquired Miss Metoaca, seeing that neither of them spoke.
"The copy of the despatch from the adjutant general's office dropped by Colonel Mitchell last night."
"Haven't such a thing. Wouldn't know it if I saw it," snapped Miss Metoaca.
"Symonds, you and the sergeant can step outside." Lloyd waited until they were well out of hearing. "Miss Newton," turning directly to Nancy, "you and I have met before."
Nancy raised her head and glanced closely at him. "Oh, yes," she said. "I believe I have seen you once or twice."
"Twice?" Lloyd laughed. "I have a better memory than you. How about the 27th of December?"
Nancy looked at him in genuine surprise. "You speak in riddles," she said disdainfully.
"I think you can solve this one," he touched the scar on his temple. "The blow from your revolver kept me in the hospital for some time."
"Is the man crazy?" Miss Metoaca straightened indignantly in her chair. "My niece does not go around knocking men on the head, though she has broken some hearts."
"Come, Miss Newton, evasion will not help you," said Lloyd impatiently, paying no attention to Miss Metoaca's remark. "I know you are a rebel spy..."
"Do you know the meaning of the word 'spy'?" inquired Nancy hotly.
"Perfectly," briefly. "I have wasted quite enough time. Give me that despatch!"
"What despatch?"
Lloyd lost all patience. "Once for all, do you intend to give me that despatch, or not?"
Nancy shrugged her shoulders. "It is impossible to give what we do not possess."
Lloyd strode to the door and beckoned to the two women standing in the hall.
"Search these ladies," he directed, pointing to Miss Metoaca and Nancy, "and see that you search them thoroughly. I am positive the older lady is padded." Miss Metoaca's face was a study. "If they give you any trouble I will send in a guard to assist you," and with this parting threat he walked out of the room and banged the door to behind him.
"Don't you lay a finger on me," ordered Miss Metoaca belligerently. "If you do I will box your ears!"
"What good would that do you?" asked Miss Watt practically. "I guess you would rather have me than one of the men undress you. Do be reasonable."
"Yes, Aunt Metoaca, let us get it over and done with." Nancy's face was white, and she looked with frightened eyes at the two women. "President Lincoln shall hear of this outrage."
"He shall!" Miss Metoaca's tone spoke volumes as she reluctantly began undressing.
Deftly the women detectives went about their work. Nothing escaped their notice. Garments were held up to the light to see if anything lay concealed in the linings, some were ripped open; their shoes were examined with care. Nothing was discovered.
"I hope you are satisfied," snapped Miss Metoaca, hot in spirit, but decidedly cold physically. "I do not enjoy impersonating Eve. Give me those underclothes at once!"
Miss Watt handed her the necessary articles. "Take down your hair," she directed.
Miss Metoaca stopped dressing, one stocking suspended in air.
"What?" she exclaimed indignantly. "Is nothing above suspicion?" She whirled around and saw the other detective cutting open a pincushion. "Mercy sakes, what do you think you will find in that?"
"Quinine," answered the woman curtly. But her search was not rewarded, and she threw the useless pincushion on the floor.
Without a word Nancy let down her hair. It fell in profusion over her shoulders and down her back. Quickly the detective ran her fingers over the girl's head. Without further ado Miss Watt did the same with Miss Metoaca's scant gray locks.
"You can put on your clothes," she said, more kindly, and with skillful fingers she assisted Miss Metoaca into her dress, and helped her arrange her hair.
"Well!" Miss Metoaca drew a long breath. "I have been through a good deal in my life, but I reckon this beats creation. I look like a scarecrow! Nancy, are you ready? Yes. Then, perhaps, Miss Watt, you will be good enough to inform that apology for a gentleman, Captain Lloyd, that I would like to see him."
Lloyd came at once in answer to the detective's call. His face fell when she declared nothing had been found of a suspicious nature, and no trace of the missing despatch.
"Do you mean to say Miss Metoaca Newton was not padded?" he asked incredulously.
"No, sir," Miss Watt hesitated. A slow smile passed over her sharp face. "That is just natural development," she added.
Nancy turned and addressed Lloyd. "This farce is played out. I demand our instant release from this humiliating situation."
Lloyd pondered for a moment. His thorough search of their luggage had revealed nothing compromising. Apparently the Newtons were innocent. He had no authority to keep them under arrest unless he had found positive evidence of their guilt. He thought over the situation quickly, and came to a sudden decision.
"If I have put you to annoyance, it was but in the line of duty," he said gravely. "Accept my apologies, ladies."
"Seems to me they come a little late in the day," retorted Miss Metoaca, struggling into her wrap. "Are we at liberty to go to a hotel, if there is such a thing near this depot?"
"I am going on to Winchester, and will take you both there in my special car." Lloyd led the way to the platform. "Miss Watt, a train leaves for Washington in half an hour which you and your companion can take. On your arrival report at once to Colonel Baker."
They found Goddard waiting at the steps of the car.
"I hope you suffered no indignities, Miss Metoaca," he asked, assisting her up the high steps; then, without waiting for an answer, he turned eagerly to Nancy, who colored hotly as she placed her hand for one second in his before entering the car.
CHAPTER XI
WHO LAUGHS LAST
The trip to Winchester was uneventful. The country through which they passed had been made desolate by the contending armies; and Nancy gazed sad-eyed at the ruined homes and wasted fields. War, grim war, had devastated the entire valley.
Miss Metoaca spent most of her time repairing the rents made in her wardrobe by Miss Watt and her assistant, and she ignored Lloyd's existence with studied insolence. Goddard tried to engage Nancy in a low-toned conversation, but she did not respond to his overtures; so, tired and worried over the whole situation, he went to the farther end of the car and found what comfort he could with a cigar.
The station master and regular detail of soldiers were at Stephenson's Depot when the special train reached its destination. On inquiry Goddard learned from the officer in command of the detachment that the usual escort had come from Winchester for the mail and supplies brought by the regular train, which had arrived several hours ahead of them.
"Captain Gurley was very much excited when the conductor told him the Misses Newton, whom he had come to meet, were detained at Harper's Ferry," continued the officer. "He had to return to Winchester. He said he would ride back here, or send an escort for you if he learned by wire to Harper's Ferry that the ladies would reach here to-night."
"Is there any conveyance I can get to take these ladies over to Winchester?" inquired Goddard.
"Ole Miss Page sent her mules an' road wagon," volunteered the station master, "for them. Captain Gurley left your hoss hitched under the shed across the street, Major, thinkin' if you came through sooner than he could get back you'd want him. I reckon you'll find Miss Page's worthless nigger boy asleep in the shed, too, 'cause I tole him he couldn't loaf 'round here."
"I will stay with the ladies, Bob," said Lloyd. "You and Symonds go for your horse and the mules."
Goddard turned over an empty crate. "Better sit on this, Miss Metoaca," he advised, noting the lines of fatigue in the spinster's haggard face. "There is room for you, too, Miss Nancy. Symonds, come with me," and the two men hastened across the road to the tumbled down shed.
Goddard's mare, Brown Betty, welcomed him with a whinny of delight, and he stopped a moment to caress her. The mules, harnessed to an open two-seated wagon, were hitched beside his horse, but there was no sign of the negro driver.
"You will have to drive them, Symonds," said Goddard, pulling the blanket off his mare, and tightening the saddle girths. "Here, Sergeant," as that worthy approached, "help back these mules out into the street."
It took some moments to induce the mules to move at all, but by dint of much whipping and shouting the animals were finally made to mind. Once out of the shed, Symonds had no difficulty in driving up to the depot, where Goddard soon joined him, leading his horse.
"The darky has disappeared," he explained briefly to Miss Metoaca, as he helped her and Nancy into the back seat and covered them with the warm laprobes that were in the bottom of the wagon.
"Captain Lloyd," Miss Metoaca leaned forward with the inborn breeding inherited from generations of gentle blood, "you appear to have no way of reaching Winchester except by foot. May I offer you the fourth seat in this wagon?"
Lloyd colored as he raised his hat. "Thank you, madam." He caught Nancy's mocking smile, and murmured: "Is it to be an armed truce?"
"Why look on me as an enemy?" she retorted calmly.
Without answering, Lloyd seated himself by Symonds, and they started slowly off. Goddard stayed a moment to exchange a few more words with the officer stationed at the depot, then put spurs to his mare, and soon overtook the rest of his party.
The winter day was drawing to a close, and dusk was falling as they left the last cluster of houses behind them. The mules were old and poorly fed. It was impossible to get them to move faster than a jog-trot. They had gone some distance when Goddard saw a small detachment of cavalry approaching, leisurely walking their horses along the road from Winchester. Their blue uniforms reassured him, and he rode forward to meet the sergeant, and recognized on nearer view the insignia of his corps on the latter's uniform.
"Did Captain Gurley send you to escort these ladies?" he asked, as the sergeant spurred up and saluted.
"Yes, Major."
Goddard turned and beckoned to Symonds, who had stopped some yards in the rear. "What do you mean by letting your men straggle so along the road?" he demanded sharply. "Have them close up."
The sergeant again saluted, and wheeled his horse just behind Goddard's. "Close up, men!" he ordered. "Close up!"
Obediently the cavalrymen trotted to their places on either side of the wagon, and Symonds urged his mules to their utmost speed to keep up with the escort.
"How far are we from Winchester, Bob?" called Lloyd.
"About...." Goddard's words died in his throat as a strong hand seized his bridle rein, and he looked into the barrel of the sergeant's army revolver. Swiftly his right hand sought his own revolver, and he fired from his hip, but the sudden rearing of his startled mare spoiled his aim. The next instant his weapon was wrenched from him by a trooper who had dashed to the sergeant's assistance, and his arms were pinioned behind his back. At the same moment Lloyd and Symonds were covered by the revolvers of the cavalrymen on either side of the wagon.
"Resistance is useless," called the sergeant. "Stop those mules!"
His orders were instantly obeyed. Lloyd, realizing that he was helpless, sank back into his seat.
"Who the —— are you?" roared Goddard, as the men, with no gentle hand, searched him for other weapons.
"Willard Tucker, Captain, C.S.A., now serving with Colonel Mosby," was the quiet reply. "We were reconnoitring when we met your party, Major, and you obligingly asked us to 'close up.'"
Goddard inwardly cursed his own stupidity. He remembered, too late, that it was a favorite trick of Mosby's guerillas to disguise themselves in Federal uniforms and raid the mail and supply trains.
"Where are you taking us?" he inquired as, obedient to an order from Captain Tucker, the squad wheeled to the left at the fork of the roads.
"To Mosby," was the brief response. "Your name and regiment, and the names of your companions, Major?"
Goddard quickly supplied the desired information, and Tucker rode up to the wagon. "I am sorry to inconvenience you, ladies," he said, "but I must take you with me to headquarters."
Miss Metoaca and Nancy had sat spellbound watching Goddard's capture with startled eyes.
"Very well," said Miss Metoaca, with resignation, drawing a long breath. "Apparently it is as difficult for me to get to Winchester as it is for our troops to enter Richmond."
Tucker laughed as he leaned forward and addressed Symonds.
"If you try to drive anywhere but in the direction I tell you you will be instantly shot; and you, too, Captain Lloyd," he added sternly.
Symonds nodded glumly. Both he and Lloyd had been searched and their revolvers taken from them. Escape just then appeared to be out of the question. They were but three men against twenty guerillas. It was impossible to make the old mules go faster than a jog-trot; while the rebels were well mounted. Goddard, with his arms bound behind him, rode with a trooper on either side, each holding one of his reins.
After about an hour's ride over a rough road, that was really nothing more than a cow path, they turned to the east until they reached a creek.
Tucker shouted an order to his men, then turned to Miss Metoaca.
"We will bivouac in the woods yonder, near this ford," he said courteously. "It is impossible for us to reach Mosby to-night."
The rough and ready camp was soon organized, and a special shelter was arranged for Miss Metoaca and Nancy on the extreme left of the camp fire. They had watched the preparations with interest and, glad of the warmth of the fire, sat as near it as they conveniently could while a hasty meal was being cooked.
From the first moment of their capture Lloyd had watched Nancy like a lynx. Not a movement of her hands had escaped him. Had she planned their capture? If so, she would be sure to betray herself by some overt act or word. What treatment would Tucker accord her? Would he consider her a prisoner of war, or—a friend? They had met as strangers. Lloyd gave his parole so that he might keep Nancy under constant surveillance.
While these thoughts were occupying Lloyd Goddard was busy puzzling his brain for a way to escape. He might chance a dash for the open later on. Brown Betty was picketed near him, but there were Miss Metoaca and Nancy to be considered. He could not desert them. No plan seemed feasible; he would have to bide his time, and see what the fortunes of war would bring forth. He had just reached this conclusion when Captain Tucker approached him.
"If you will give me your parole not to attempt escape," he said, "I will have your arms freed."
Goddard thought quickly. "I promise—until to-morrow morning," he agreed reluctantly.
Tucker called one of the guerillas, and with his assistance released Goddard, who rubbed his stiff arms until the blood again circulated freely.
"Come over by the fire and have some supper," suggested the rebel captain, and with a muttered word of thanks Goddard hastened to join his friends. Nancy made room for him beside her.
"Don't be so down-hearted," she whispered, handing him a piece of corn-pone. "Our fate might be worse. I feel sure we will escape somehow."
"You are a brave girl to take it that way," he answered, and his eyes kindled with admiration. "I wonder how many men would have gone through this morning's humiliating experience and to-night's capture with such pluck."
Nancy laughed softly. "It is well you judge me from the exterior. I assure you I am 'all av a trimble,' and my heart quakes with fear of what the future may have in store for me," and she glanced anxiously at the rough men about her.
"Miss Newton, won't you sing for us?" called Captain Tucker across the camp fire. "It is not often we capture ladies, and I am longing for the sound of a woman's voice."
"Do," pleaded Goddard, low in Nancy's ear.
She hesitated before answering; then: "Certainly, Captain Tucker, provided you will sing first."
"Agreed." Tucker cleared his throat, thought a moment, then began:
'Tis years since last we met,And we may not meet again,I have struggled to forget,But the struggle was in vain.For her voice lives on the breeze,And her spirit comes at will;In the midnight, on the seas,Her bright smile haunts me still!
'Tis years since last we met,And we may not meet again,I have struggled to forget,But the struggle was in vain.For her voice lives on the breeze,And her spirit comes at will;In the midnight, on the seas,Her bright smile haunts me still!
'Tis years since last we met,
And we may not meet again,
I have struggled to forget,
But the struggle was in vain.
For her voice lives on the breeze,
And her spirit comes at will;
In the midnight, on the seas,
Her bright smile haunts me still!
Dropping their various occupations the guerillas drew in about the camp fire as the familiar words of the famous rebel song reached them. Few joined in the chorus; they were busy thinking of their sweethearts and wives far away. Tucker glanced appealingly at Nancy as he began the next verse, but her face was averted.
I have sailed 'neath alien skies,I have trod the desert path,I have seen the storm ariseLike a giant in his wrath;Every danger I have known,That a reckless life can fill;Yet her presence has not flown,Her bright smile haunts me still!
I have sailed 'neath alien skies,I have trod the desert path,I have seen the storm ariseLike a giant in his wrath;Every danger I have known,That a reckless life can fill;Yet her presence has not flown,Her bright smile haunts me still!
I have sailed 'neath alien skies,
I have trod the desert path,
I have seen the storm arise
Like a giant in his wrath;
Every danger I have known,
That a reckless life can fill;
Yet her presence has not flown,
Her bright smile haunts me still!
A round of applause rang out as Tucker's rich tenor voice ceased.
"Be quiet, you fellows," he directed. "Now, Miss Newton, I hold you to your promise."
Nancy looked about her. The fire had not been replenished, and the darkness was creeping in. It was difficult to clearly distinguish each man's face by the flickering light from the hot embers, but Goddard's expression caught her attention. Her woman's intuition read, and read aright, what he but dimly realized.
A burning blush dyed Nancy's pale cheeks, and for a moment her heart beat more rapidly; then sank. She was a rebel—a spy; he a—ah, not hated—Yankee—a gallant,honorablefoe. She must not encourage him. That should not be charged against her when the reckoning came. The old words, "he who breaks—pays," recurred to her. Let hers be the pain, not his. She forgot "My Old Kentucky Home," instead came the words:
Take back the heart that thou gavest,What is my anguish to thee?Take back the freedom thou cravest,Leaving the fetters to me.Take back the vows thou hast spoken,Fling them aside and be free.
Take back the heart that thou gavest,What is my anguish to thee?Take back the freedom thou cravest,Leaving the fetters to me.Take back the vows thou hast spoken,Fling them aside and be free.
Take back the heart that thou gavest,
What is my anguish to thee?
Take back the freedom thou cravest,
Leaving the fetters to me.
Take back the vows thou hast spoken,
Fling them aside and be free.
Her eyes caught and held Goddard's. Would he understand?
Smile o'er each pitiful token,Leaving the sorrow for me;Drink deep of life's fond illusion,Gaze on the storm-cloud and fleeSwiftly, through strife and confusion,Leaving the burden to me.
Smile o'er each pitiful token,Leaving the sorrow for me;Drink deep of life's fond illusion,Gaze on the storm-cloud and fleeSwiftly, through strife and confusion,Leaving the burden to me.
Smile o'er each pitiful token,
Leaving the sorrow for me;
Drink deep of life's fond illusion,
Gaze on the storm-cloud and flee
Swiftly, through strife and confusion,
Leaving the burden to me.
Not a man stirred as her glorious voice died away. Goddard's eyes fell, and he prodded the ground viciously with nervous fingers. His mouth was set in stubborn lines. No one spoke. Goddard roused himself. One quick compelling look at Nancy and his fine baritone voice took up the song she had left unfinished:
Then when at last, overtaken,Time flings its fetters o'er thee,Come, with a trust still unshaken,Come back a captive to me.Come back in sadness or sorrow,Once more my darling to be.Come as of old, love, to borrowGlimpses of sunlight from me.Love shall resume her dominion,Striving no more to be free,When on her world-weary pinion,Flies back my lost love to me.
Then when at last, overtaken,Time flings its fetters o'er thee,Come, with a trust still unshaken,Come back a captive to me.Come back in sadness or sorrow,Once more my darling to be.
Then when at last, overtaken,
Time flings its fetters o'er thee,
Come, with a trust still unshaken,
Come back a captive to me.
Come back in sadness or sorrow,
Once more my darling to be.
Come as of old, love, to borrowGlimpses of sunlight from me.Love shall resume her dominion,Striving no more to be free,When on her world-weary pinion,Flies back my lost love to me.
Come as of old, love, to borrow
Glimpses of sunlight from me.
Love shall resume her dominion,
Striving no more to be free,
When on her world-weary pinion,
Flies back my lost love to me.
"Good, Major, good," exclaimed Tucker heartily, as the applause rang out. "Do sing again, Miss Newton?"
Miss Metoaca answered for Nancy. "Not to-night, Captain Tucker. We have had a trying day and are completely worn out. With your permission we will go to our tent."
"Of course, Miss Newton," exclaimed Tucker, springing to his feet. "You and your niece are at liberty to walk about the camp, provided you do not approach the picket line."
"Thanks," Miss Metoaca's tone was dry. "Coming, Nancy? Good night, gentlemen," and she stalked to her temporary shelter with as much dignity as the uneven ground permitted.
Nancy rose, bade Tucker a courteous good night and, accompanied by Goddard, followed her aunt.
"Good night, Major," she said, and turned to enter the canvas shelter.
Goddard took her half extended hand in both of his.
"One moment," he implored, in so low a tone that she barely heard the words. "Did you intend that song to have an especial meaning for me?Did you?"
Nancy simply bowed her head in an affirmative.
Goddard drew a deep breath. His eyes scanned her face yearningly.
"No man or circumstance shall part us," he said grimly.
"You forget, sir, that it is my privilege to choose my friends and acquaintances."
The accent on the last word was unmistakable. Goddard paled under his tan.
"Do you dislike me?" he demanded.
"Yes."
Goddard could not see the effort the monosyllable cost her. In bitter disappointment he dropped her hand. As Nancy turned abruptly away she tripped over the root of a tree. Instantly Goddard caught and steadied her. Her soft hair brushed his cheek ... one breathless moment ... he clasped her in his arms and showered kisses on the face pressed against his shoulder. Desperately Nancy wrenched herself free and disappeared inside the tent. With shining eyes and bounding pulse he rejoined Tucker and Lloyd by the camp fire.
Some hours later Goddard awoke from an uneasy sleep. At first, bewildered by his surroundings, he lay without moving; then gradually the occurrences of that day recurred to him. His thoughts flew to Nancy, and raising himself on his elbow, he glanced in the direction of her improvised shelter some distance to his left.
In the stillness the snores of the sleeping men sounded clearly; surely it had not been that which had awakened him? As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness he saw dimly the outlines of a man's figure approach Nancy's tent and disappear behind it. He was wide awake on the instant. Some midnight marauder was trying to enter her tent. The pickets were far away. Captain Tucker, knowing they were within the Confederate lines, had relaxed his vigilance, and the camp was but lightly guarded.
Goddard wasted no time in idle speculation. He slid out of his blanket; then softly, very softly, crouching behind each bush he stole toward the tent. Then cautiously, on hands and knees, he crept around it. He was about to rise when fingers closed over his throat, and a heavy body fell upon him. Silently the two men struggled in the little clearing. Goddard's eyes were starting from his head as the pressure tightened on his windpipe. His breath came in panting gasps. With strength born of desperation he tore the gripping hands away, and the fresh air rushed into his stifled lungs.
"Lloyd! Lloyd! Help!" he gasped. His weak voice did not carry far; but the figure above him stiffened.
"My God! Is it you, Bob?" whispered Lloyd. "We have been fighting each other." He slid off Goddard's body, and assisted him to sit up.
"What—what—in blazes did you jump on me for?" demanded Goddard, in a hoarse whisper, tenderly feeling his aching throat.
"I did not know it was you, Bob. I have been dozing off and on; and suddenly heard a faint noise in this direction. Thinking it might be Tucker trying to communicate unseen with Miss Newton, I stole over here. When you came creeping around the corner there I sprang on you."
"Have you still got that bee in your bonnet?" whispered Goddard scornfully. "When will your persecution of that girl cease? Your search this morning proved she hadn't any despatch. Besides, you did not actually see her pick up that said despatch in Gautier's; you simply jumped to that conclusion because the despatch was not on the floor when you reached their table. Any one might have picked it up. Now, we both have proof that she has not communicated with Tucker. We mistook each other for him, that is all. Let's go back to our blankets." His advice was good, and Lloyd followed it.
Inside the tent, a girl, sad at heart, crouched against the canvas; her fingers felt around theemptyhole in one of her pear-shaped earrings. As she deftly fitted the two halves together into one pendant she crooned softly:
Better the fire upon thee roll,Better the blade, the shot, the bowl,Than crucifixion of the soul,Maryland! My Maryland!
Better the fire upon thee roll,Better the blade, the shot, the bowl,Than crucifixion of the soul,Maryland! My Maryland!
Better the fire upon thee roll,
Better the blade, the shot, the bowl,
Than crucifixion of the soul,
Maryland! My Maryland!
CHAPTER XII
THE FIGHT AT THE FORD
The sentry slackened his walk and rubbed his sleepy eyes. It was almost time for his relief. He glanced behind him at the motionless figures lying around the ashes of the camp fire. If it had been a bivouac of the dead the silence could not have been more profound. Even Lloyd had dropped into the heavy sleep that comes in the early hours of the morning. The guerilla gazed for a moment at the other sentries, dim shadowy forms in the early dawn; then continued on his way. He had almost reached the evergreen which marked the end of his patrol, when a faint, very faint, sound in the woods to his left caused him to wheel in that direction. Surely something moved among the trees. Instantly his challenge rang out:
"Who goes there? Halt!Halt!or I fire!"
A flash—a loud report! Tucker sprang to his feet as the camp awoke.
"Up, men, up!" he roared. "Secure the prisoners; then mount."
Goddard, who had jumped up, stood bewildered for a second; then dashed toward Nancy's tent. A burly guerilla clutched him by the shoulder, but Goddard sent him reeling back with a well directed blow, and continued his race to the tent. He must shield Nancy.
"Stop, Goddard!" thundered Tucker. "Remember your parole."
"No parole holds in the presence of a rescue," panted Goddard. "Lloyd, Lloyd, this way, man!"
Frightened by the sudden commotion and firing, Nancy stepped out of the tent, followed by Miss Metoaca, and paused, uncertain where to go, or what to do. To his horror, Goddard saw a guerilla seize her roughly and push her toward the plunging, frightened horses. Miss Metoaca screamed.
With a bound Goddard threw himself forward and grappled with the man, who knocked Nancy roughly to one side the better to tackle the Union officer. Reeling backward and forward, the two men fought locked in a close embrace. The guerilla grasped an old pistol in his right hand, and tried desperately to use it; but Goddard kept its muzzle turned skyward, and gradually forced the man's arm, folded, against the other's chest. Suddenly the guerilla tripped and stumbled backward, carrying Goddard down on top of him as he fell. A flash, a deafening report; the red-hot flame seared Goddard's face and forehead, and he sank into oblivion.
Tucker, whose right arm dangled helpless by his side, tried desperately to rally his men. They had sought what shelter they could and were returning the enemies' fire frantically.
"Secure the prisoners!" he shouted again and again. "Then to horse!"
Before his orders could be obeyed the Federals came crashing, bounding through the trees. The guerillas sent a volley into the advancing men; then turned and dashed for their horses. One moment of wild confusion, and they were in full flight, pursued by the cheering Federals. Tucker, seeing it was hopeless, dug spurs into his horse and raced after his men.
"Bob, Bob, where are you?" bellowed a stentorian voice, and a tall figure came sprinting toward the camp fire.
"Here," called Nancy. She was crouching by Goddard's body. Captain Gurley sped in the direction of her voice.
"Nancy," he gasped. "Safe, thank God! But—where's Bob?"
"Here," Nancy again bent over the motionless man. "I—I—am afraid he is dead." The hopeless misery of her voice was not noticed by Gurley, who had dropped on his knees beside Goddard.
'I—I—am afraid he is dead.'"'I—I—am afraid he is dead.'"
"This light may help you." Miss Metoaca reappeared on the scene with a candle in her hand. "The daylight is too dim in these woods to tell what is the matter with the major, so I went to get this candle out of my bag. Why, John, where did you drop from?"
"Winchester," was the brief reply, as Gurley examined Goddard's condition. "Belden, one of Colonel Young's spies, saw your capture. He followed you some distance to discover which road you took, then returned to the cantonment and reported. I was ordered in pursuit, and brought Belden with me. He knows this country by heart, so we were able to steal up on the camp and surprise the guerillas."
"It was splendidly done," declared Lloyd, who had silently approached in time to hear Gurley's last remarks. "I cannot express my thanks and admiration for your gallant rescue." Seeing Gurley's start of surprise and suspicion, he hastened to add: "I am Captain George Lloyd, of the Secret Service"; then in another tone, "Is Bob badly hurt?"
"Can't tell yet," grunted Gurley. Nancy was gently wiping the powder-stained and bleeding face with some water which Symonds had brought her. "I think he is only stunned. Apparently the bullet did not penetrate; these are only flesh wounds," touching Goddard's face tenderly. "The powder has burned off his eyebrows, too. Miss Metoaca, have you any clothes which I can use for bandages?"
Without answering, the spinster hastened to her tent; she returned in a few moments with the necessary article and, pulling the edges of the wounds together, Gurley bandaged them as best he could.
"Won't a sip of this do him good?" inquired Miss Metoaca, unscrewing the stopper of a small flask. Lloyd forced some of the brandy down Goddard's throat. Quickly the stimulant took effect, and his eyelids fluttered faintly.
"He will come round all right," said Gurley, much relieved. "How soon can you and Nancy be ready to start for Winchester, Miss Metoaca?"
"We are ready now," was the prompt reply, "for we did not undress or unpack our bags last night."
"Good. Then we will leave at once; for we must get back inside our lines as quickly as possible. Mosby will hear of this skirmish, and may send a superior force after us. By the way, Miss Metoaca, did you ride or drive from Stevenson's Depot?"
"Drove in an open two-seated wagon."
"In that case I will put Major Goddard in the wagon with you. And you, Captain Lloyd?"
"If you will permit me, I will ride Major Goddard's mare; that is, if she hasn't been stampeded, or carried off by the guerillas. Symonds, my assistant, who drove the ladies, can surely drive them back."
"All right." Gurley nodded curtly. "I see no objection to that plan. Will you assist the ladies in getting their belongings into the wagon? I must see if there are any casualties among our men. Orderly, stay here with Major Goddard, and let me know instantly if he regains consciousness."
The troopers were returning from their fruitless pursuit of the guerillas, and they congregated about the lieutenant, who was busy examining the prisoners.
"Nine prisoners, Captain," he reported, as Gurley strode up. "Wounded, but not badly enough to prevent their riding. Five guerillas were killed, and three of our men. They are lying yonder," pointing to a clump of trees.
"Were any of our men wounded?"
"Three have flesh wounds—nothing serious."
"Then bury the dead as quickly as you can...."
"Is Major Goddard dead?" inquired the lieutenant anxiously, not waiting for his superior to finish his sentence.
"No, indeed," cheerily, "simply stunned by the explosion of an old pistol before his face. Sergeant, take some men and carry Major Goddard over to that wagon standing by the roadside."
Symonds had removed one of the long cushions belonging to the back wagon seat, and the men carefully lifted Goddard on it, and carried him as gently as possible and placed him in the wagon.
"Sit here, Nancy," directed Gurley, "and hold on to Bob; otherwise I am afraid he will fall out."
Nancy sprang into the wagon and made Goddard as comfortable as she could. Miss Metoaca, who had been occupied in putting her luggage under the seat, clambered into the vehicle and sat down by Symonds. The mules had been hitched to the wagon by the sergeant and two troopers.
"All ready, Miss Metoaca?" asked Gurley, tucking the laprobe around the spinster. "Bugler, sound 'Boots and Saddles.'"
As the call ended man after man filed out into the path leading his horse, and the ranks were rapidly formed by Sergeant Crane. A few swift orders, and the troop started on their return trip to Winchester, the wagon, followed by the mounted prisoners, in their midst.
CHAPTER XIII
FOR THE CAUSE
Captain Gurley pushed open the rickety gate impatiently, and strode up the walk to "Page Hall" with jingling spurs and clanking saber. The rambling old house, with shutters askew, bore mute testimony to the fallen fortunes of its owner. The paint was peeling off the tall pillars, and the boards of the gallery shook ominously under Gurley's weight.
"Miss Page done say yo' was ter walk inter de pawler, Marse Cap'in," said the old darky, bowing and scraping on the threshold of the open door, "an' Miss Nancy'll be down d'reckly."
Gurley followed the old man in to the big, square room, and waited with what patience he could muster for Nancy's appearance. When she finally entered the room she was dressed for walking.
"Do you think the authorities would allow me to send a telegram, John?" she asked, after a few words of greeting.
"I don't know, Nancy; Colonel Smith is very strict. But I can ask him. Is it important?"
"Aunt Metoaca has just received a letter from our cousin, Mrs. Green, saying that her house was burned to the ground, and she is homeless. So Aunty wants to telegraph her to go to our house, and that we will return to Washington at once."
Gurley's face fell. "Oh, don't say you are going away. I am sorry about Mrs. Green's misfortune; but surely your servants can take care of her in your absence?"
"Mrs. Green is a cripple, and we fear the shock and exposure at the time of the fire may make her ill. Aunt Metoaca also feels that she should be with her cousin in case she is financially embarrassed by her loss."
"I will escort you to the telegraph office, Nancy, and try and arrange to have your despatch sent at once. But I call it beastly hard luck," grumbled Gurley, as they sauntered through Miss Page's garden and into the main street of the town. "I have hardly seen a thing of you; you spend your entire time with Bob Goddard...."
"Reading to him," supplemented Nancy calmly. "It is the least I can do, John, when you think that he was injured in trying to protect me."
"I wish to gracious my eyes had been blinded by the explosion of that pistol," exclaimed Gurley bitterly. "Then perhaps I might have enjoyed some of your society."
"For shame!" Nancy stopped and glared indignantly at her companion. "Do you think my society compensates for a ruined career? Think of being doomed to a life of dependence upon others—in darkness for the rest of your days!"
"It must be horrible," agreed Gurley contritely. "I spoke hastily, Nancy, and without thought. Doesn't the surgeon hold out any hope that Bob may recover his sight?"
"He has advised Major Goddard to consult Doctor Boyd, and I think he expects to return to Washington soon to be under the latter's care."
"I sincerely hope he recovers. Goddard is too fine a fellow to have his life blasted by such a fate," said Gurley earnestly, ashamed of his churlishness. "I did hope, Nancy, that you would remain in Winchester for the fox-hunt on the 28th. Colonel Young has secured three red foxes, and a large pack of hounds from the people in the neighborhood. It promises to be great sport. Do postpone going away until March."
"I wish I could, John, but I fear it is out of the question. Is this the place?"
"Yes; this way."
The sentry in front of the house paused and inspected them carefully, then, recognizing Gurley, allowed them to pass. Gurley held the door open for Nancy, and stepped after her into the room. She glanced with interest at her surroundings; the bare walls, worn pine furniture, the operators' tables with their telegraph equipments, the shelves of batteries, and at the half dozen men who filled the room. Seeing a woman in their midst all conversation ceased, and the officers rose and hurriedly pulled on coats and removed hats. Considerably embarrassed, Nancy hesitated, and Gurley came to her rescue.
"Colonel Smith," he said, saluting a tall gray-haired officer who stood by the stove, "this is Miss Newton. She has a pass from President Lincoln to Winchester, and is visiting her relative, Miss Lindsay Page. Miss Newton desires to send a telegram to Washington for her aunt, Miss Metoaca Newton, who is also visiting Miss Page."
"I already know your aunt, Miss Newton." The colonel advanced and shook hands warmly. "What is the message you wish to send?" He listened attentively to Nancy's explanation. "If that is all, Miss Newton, I will have the despatch sent to Washington as soon as the wires are free. Wilson, will you clear that table and give Miss Newton some paper and ink. Now, if you will sit here," pushing a chair before the table, "you can write your despatch at your leisure."
"Thank you, Colonel!" Nancy bowed gravely to the officers who made way for her, and, seating herself, she toyed with the pen a moment.
The officers reseated themselves and resumed their interrupted chat, glancing covertly at Nancy as often as they could. Colonel Smith and Gurley were standing by the window so deep in conversation that neither noticed the flight of time.
Nancy wrote down Mrs. Green's temporary address in Washington; then paused to compose her message. The telegraph instruments kept up an incessant clicking. Almost subconsciously she listened to the instrument nearest her; apparently the sender was having trouble in getting his message over the wire. A dash—two dots—another dash—then quickly the instrument woke to full life, and Nancy realized with fast beating heart that she was reading off a despatch of vital importance with the same ease as the Union operator who was receiving it. Her lessons in the War Department in Richmond were not wasted.
With a desperate effort Nancy controlled herself, and sat with impassive face as she dallied with her pen. The instrument stopped sounding, the despatch was given to a waiting orderly, and Nancy wrote a few words on a fresh piece of paper and signed her aunt's name. Then she rose.
"I hope this message is not too long," she said, handing the paper to Colonel Smith. "It took me some time to condense my aunt's message."
"It is all right. I will see that it is sent myself. Please give my compliments to your aunt," and the gallant colonel escorted her to the door.
"I have to see Colonel Edwards a moment, Nancy," said Gurley, as they started to retrace their steps to Miss Page's. "Do you mind going to his house with me?"
"Oh, no."
"This way, then. Do you see much of Captain Lloyd?"
"No," Nancy was devoutly thankful for the fact. "Why do you ask?"
"His face puzzles me—an elusive likeness to some one I have known formerly, and whose name I cannot for the life of me recollect. I have an idea the fellow avoids me."
"Perhaps ..." A man in nondescript clothes slouched along the sidewalk just ahead of Nancy. As he stepped back to allow her room to pass he straightened up and looked her squarely in the face. Nancy's voice died in her throat.
"What did you say, Nancy?" asked Gurley, whose attention had been diverted by the bolting of a horse down the crowded street.
Nancy's lips were dry and she moistened them with her tongue before answering. "Perhaps Major Goddard can tell you something about Captain Lloyd. They seem to be warm friends."
"That's a good idea. I will ask Bob the next time I see him alone." They stopped before an old mansion which Colonel Edwards had taken for his quarters, and Gurley led the way inside the broad hall. "Now, Nancy, if you will wait in this side room," conducting her across the hall, "no one will disturb you here."
"Don't be long, John."
"I won't," and Gurley carefully shut the door behind him as he went out.
Nancy walked over to the window, raised the curtain and looked out into the street. The stranger in nondescript clothes was standing in front of the house talking to the corporal of the guard. He produced a soiled paper, at sight of which the corporal signed to him to enter. Nancy, sure that she had been seen by him, dropped the curtain into place and returned to the mantel. She drew out a piece of paper and a small pencil and, leaning on the mantel, wrote rapidly. She had just finished when the hall door was cautiously opened. Quickly she crumpled the paper in her hand; then, seeing the intruder's face, she stepped into the center of the room. The man entered and closed the door gently behind him.
"George!" Nancy's voice was no more than a whisper. Are you mad? Suppose you are recognized?"
"It is not likely to happen. Don't be so worried, Nancy," the Confederate moved swiftly to her side and caught her outstretched hand in both of his. "One of Young's spies was captured inside our lines. I am using his pass and his clothes. Believe me, I am running no unnecessary risks. Tucker told me you were here. I laid my plans carefully, so as not to involve you if my disguise is penetrated. Have you any news for us?"
"This despatch has just come for Sheridan; it is of vital importance," Nancy unrolled the paper. "It is in cipher. I have not had time to translate it, so just jotted down the words and put the key at the bottom."
"Good." The Confederate took the paper and concealed it about his person. "General Lee has recommended arming the blacks."
"What!"
"It has become a military necessity," briefly. "Columbia has surrendered to Sherman; we have evacuated Charleston, and the Yanks under General Gilmore are occupying the city. All the ammunition and provisions stored there and in the vicinity were destroyed." Nancy uttered an exclamation. "We are in such straits we cannot find money to replace the loss," went on Pegram bitterly. "Our currency," he shrugged his shoulders expressively, "in Richmond gold is 4,400 per cent, premium; the women and children are suffering daily privations there which——"
"George, can't you take me with you to Richmond?" broke in Nancy passionately. "I will gladly endure all and every privation; for I am sick,sickof worming secrets from trusting friends, and spying upon those who shelter me."
George Pegram looked at her aghast. "Nancy, Nancy, what are you saying?" Then, glancing more keenly at her, "You are over-wrought, child. You won't feel the same after a good night's rest."
"Rest, did you say? I feel as if I could never rest in peace again. I tell you, George, I am living under the shadow of the gallows. At night I dream the noose is fastened about my throat, and wake myself feeling for the rope."
"Poor child!" He stroked Nancy's hair soothingly. "You have done us inestimable service. Lee told me that he had the greatest admiration for your ability and pluck."
Nancy smiled wanly. "Thanks, George, for telling me that. But I fear my days of usefulness are over; I am already suspected. Captain Lloyd, of the Secret Service, is dogging my footsteps, waiting and watching for a fatal slip on my part, so far without success. But you know the fate of the pitcher that went too often to the well."
"I will back your quick wits against any man's. But I never thought to find you lacking in courage, Nancy."
Stung by his tone, she drew back. "How dare you say such a thing! I am not afraid to face danger. It's—it's—this life of deceit that is killing me."
"The end justifies the means, Nancy. Remember your oath to a dying man."
"I have remembered," proudly, "and in keeping it have forgotten sex, and played the part of a man. But," more calmly, "I can be of little use now that I am suspected."
"You are wrong, Nancy. We are fighting against time now. Soon, very soon, the Confederate States of America will be recognized by the foreign powers. Lee has come to the conclusion that Petersburg and Richmond must be abandoned; that only in the mountainous regions upon the borders of Virginia and North Carolina can the war be protracted. He wishes to get his army safely out of Petersburg. Therefore, it is imperative that we know Grant's plans so that we can checkmate them. Your place is in Washington, Nancy. Your father gave his life for the Cause, would you do less?"
"He died an honorable death—while I——" Nancy's voice broke; then in a different tone: "You must go, George, every moment may increase your danger. Tell General Lee I am still fighting for the Cause."
"For the Cause!" echoed her companion. "It claims us all! God bless you, Nancy."
He threw his arms about her and, stooping, pressed his lips to her white cheek; then stood transfixed as the hall door swung slowly open, disclosing a Union officer facing them on the threshold. Nancy's lips moved, but no sound escaped her. Her terrified eyes stared unblinkingly at the newcomer.
"Is any one here?" asked Goddard slowly.
Nancy's muscles relaxed and she leaned limply against the Confederate. She had forgotten that Goddard was blind. A slight pause—then she spoke.
"It is I, Nancy Newton. I was so surprised to see you without your bandages that it quite took my breath away. Nor did I realize you were strong enough to leave your quarters."
Goddard's sad face had brightened, and he made a hesitating step forward. "My orderly brought me over here, as I wished to say good-bye to Colonel Edwards. I am practicing finding my way about alone." He turned directly toward the Confederate, who, watching with breathless interest, was waiting to take his cue from Nancy.
"Won't you sit by me over here?" Nancy went forward, and gently piloted Goddard to the sofa by the window. She turned and nodded her head toward the open door, and with catlike quickness the Confederate stole from the room, closing the door behind him. Nancy's knees shook under her, and she sank on the sofa by Goddard, trembling in every limb.
"I have waited in my rooms all day long, hoping you would come." Goddard reached over, and felt about for Nancy's hand, and she placed her cold fingers reluctantly in his. "Are you having a chill?" he asked, alarmed.
"Oh, no; my hands are always cold," with well-simulated lightness; then she hastened to change the subject. "I am glad you are so much better."
"Thanks. Doctor Scott is very much encouraged by my improvement, and insists on my going to Washington to-morrow. He says I must see Doctor Boyd."
"And he is right."
"I know." Goddard hesitated. "I should have gone last week, but—but—I could not bear to leave you."
Nancy flushed warmly. "Aunt Metoaca and I return to Washington on the same train with you. So you see we will not be separated—yet."
"God! how I wish it could be never, my darling!" The words seemed wrung from Goddard. His face laid bare his secret. Then pulling himself up abruptly: "I—I—ask your pardon—Miss Nancy—pay no heed. For the moment I forgot—my blindness. What I would ask in happier circumstances cannot be spoken now."
Nancy's answer was drowned in the sudden rush of feet outside, and the shout: "Corporal of the guard, this way!"
The door was dashed open, and Lloyd, followed by a file of soldiers, strode into the room.
"Arrest——" He stopped short and gazed blankly at Nancy and Goddard. One searching look around showed him they were the only occupants of the room.
"What is the matter?" demanded Goddard, much startled.
"We are searching for a rebel spy who entered Winchester with a false pass. The corporal thinks he saw him enter this room thirty minutes ago."
"I beg pardon, Captain; it might have been Major Goddard that I saw. It is dark in the hall, and I did not see clearly," interrupted the bewildered corporal.
"How long have you been in this room, Bob?" asked Lloyd sternly.
Nancy's fingers closed convulsively over the edge of the sofa. Goddard's sightless eyes were turned for an instant in her direction.
"Nearly three-quarters of an hour, Lloyd," was the tranquil answer.