CHAPTER XITHE VIRGINIA MAIDEN
“Where have you been, father?” said the young lady in a very sweet and gentle tone, which, however, sounded like the knell of doom to poor Somers. “I have been waiting for you half an hour.”
But then, perceiving a stranger with her father, she drew back, abashed at her own forwardness.
“Come here, Sue,” said the old man. “Come here; I want to see you.”
She advanced timidly from the bushes where she had been partially concealed from the gaze of the passers-by. She was certainly a very pleasant and comely-looking maiden; but, if she had been the “Witch of Endor,” she could not have been any more disagreeable to Somers. He was as fond of adventure as any young man; and if he could have forgotten that poor Owen Raynes, the son and the brother, was at that moment lying in the mud of the swamp; his manly form no more to gladden the hearts of those who stood before him; his voice hushed in death, no more to utter the accents of affection to the devoted father and his loving sister—if he could have forgotten his relations with the dead Owen, he might even have enjoyed the exciting situation in which he was placed.
Sue, with a blushing face and half-averted gaze, stepped out into the road, and stole a few timid glances at the young lieutenant. It was quite evident that she did not have a suspicion of the identity of the young soldier before her. Her father appeared to have a vein of romance in his character, and was disposed to torture her for a time with the torments of suspense, before he declared to her the astounding truth, that the young soldier was her well-known but hitherto unseen friend from Alabama, the bosom companion of her brother Owen, and, if everything worked as the loving conspirators intended, the future husband of the affectionate maiden.
She did not like to ask who the stranger was; and she thought it was very provoking of her father not to tell her, when she was so fearfully embarrassed by her position. She continued to blush; and Somers felt so awkward, that he couldn’t help joining her in this interesting display of roses on the cheeks.
“Don’t you know him, Sue?” demanded the farmer, when he had tantalized her as long as the circumstances would warrant.
“Why, of course I don’t, father!” stammered the Virginia maiden.
“Look in his face, and see if you can’t tell,” persisted Mr. Raynes.
“How absurd, father!”
“Absurd, child? Not at all absurd! Haven’t you his picture in the house? And, if I mistakenot, you have looked at it as many as three times a day for the last year.”
“Now, father, you are too bad! I haven’t done anything of the sort,” protested Sue, pouting and twisting her shoulders as any country girl, who had not been trained in a satinwood seminary, would have done under such trying circumstances. “You don’t mean to say that is Allan Garland?” added she, her pretty face lighting up with an expression of intense satisfaction.
“But I do, Sue,” replied Mr. Raynes with emphasis.
“Why, Allan! I am so glad to see you! I was afraid I should never see you!” exclaimed Sue, rushing up to the young man, and extending both her hands, which he felt compelled to accept.
He was fearful that she would kiss him; and, though he would have been under obligations to submit to the infliction, he was not sure that the operation would not cause him to faint. Fortunately for him, Sue was reasonable in her behavior; and he escaped cheaper than he expected, when he beheld the impetuous charge which the maiden made upon him. If he had really been Allan Garland, his reception would have been entirely proper, and highly creditable to the affectionate nature of the Virginia damsel. He was not the young gentleman from Alabama; and he felt as though he had been flanked on both sides, with no chance to beat off the enemy in front, or to run away in the rear. He was only a short distance from a line of rebelsentinels, and he did not consider it prudent to escape by taking to his legs. He did not wear his fighting socks at this time, and felt that it would be no disgrace to run away from such an enemy as that which confronted him.
“I am very glad to see you, Allan,” repeated Sue, as the wretched young man did not venture to use his tongue.
“Thank you, thank you, Miss Raynes!” said he at last, when silence seemed even more dangerous than speech.
“Miss Raynes! Dear me, Allan, how very formal and precise you are! You called me Sue in your letters.”
“Did I? Well, I didn’t know it,” replied Somers with a stroke of candor not to be expected under the circumstances.
“Certainly you did. I don’t think you ever mentioned such a person as Miss Raynes.”
“I am confident I didn’t,” added he with another touch of candor. “But I will always call you Sue hereafter, when I have occasion to speak to you.”
“Thank you, Allan! You begin to sound a little like yourself.”
Somers was very glad to hear it, but wished he had been five miles off, even if it had been in the very jaws of the Fourth Alabama.
“You don’t look a bit like your photograph,” continued Sue, gazing with admiration at the face of the young man; for which those who ever saw Lieutenant Somers will cheerfully pardon her.
“Do you think so?”
“I’m sure you don’t.”
“That’s very strange. Everybody who has seen my photograph says it looks exactly like me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I gave one to a young lady of my acquaintance, who said it was perfect.”
“Indeed! Who was she?”
“She is a young lady whom I have met only two or three times.”
“What is her name?”
“Lilian Ashford.”
“What a pretty name!” said Sue, endeavoring to be magnanimous; though it was evident that she was troubled by the honest avowal of the young soldier.
“Where does she live?”
“She is at the North, now,” answered Somers, who could not bear to tell a lie when there was no need of such a sacrifice.
He was becoming very uneasy under this rigid catechizing, and hoped she would not ask any more questions about Lilian Ashford. He had mentioned her name with the hope that it might produce a coldness on her part which would afford him some advantage. She did not, however, seem to be annihilated by the prospect of a rival, and was proceeding to interrogate him still further in regard to the lady, with whom he was apparently intimate enough to present her his photograph, when Mr. Raynes reminded her that they werestanding in the road, and had better go into the house.
“Now, Mr. Raynes, as I have seen Sue, and Sue has seen me, I think I had better hasten to my regiment,” suggested Somers.
“Not yet, Allan,” replied the old man.
“Do you wish to run away, and leave me so soon, you monster?” added Sue. “I tell you, sir, I shall not let you go yet.”
“But, Sue! you forget that I have just returned from the Yankees. I was furnished with a pass, to enable me to find my regiment.”
“You shall find it in good time.”
“Come to the house, Allan: we will not detain you long,” added Mr. Raynes.
“You must and shall come!” protested Sue, taking him by the arm, and absolutely compelling him to go, or be guilty of the most unpardonable rudeness to the fair Virginia damsel.
“I should be very glad to go with you, Sue, if my duty did not call me elsewhere. I am to be sent off on very important service.”
“Again?—so soon?”
“This very day. I may never see you again.”
“And you would coolly run away and leave me without even going into the house!”
“But my duty, Sue!”
“You will be in time for your duty.”
“I may be arrested as a deserter.”
“Nonsense! You have a pass in your pocket.”
“In spite of the pass, if your father had nothappened to see me, I should have been arrested, and might have spent a day or two in the guardhouse before the case could have been explained.”
“No more argument, Allan,” said the persevering girl. “Here is the house; you shall go in and look at mother, if you don’t stop but a minute. Besides, I want to see your photograph while you are present; for I am sure you don’t look any more like the picture than the picture does like you.”
“Probably not,” replied Somers, as the resolute maiden dragged him into the house; where, without stopping to breathe, she presented him to her mother, with the astounding declaration, that he was Allan Garland.
Mrs. Raynes gave him a cordial Virginia welcome; and, while he was endeavoring to make himself as agreeable as possible to the old lady, Sue rushed up-stairs to procure the faithless photograph. She returned in a moment with the picture in her hand, and proceeded at once to institute a comparison between the shadow and the substance.
“Now, stand up here, sir, and let me see,” said she, as she playfully whisked him round and scrutinized his features. “I told you it did not look like you; and I am very sure now that it does not.”
“Let me see,” added Somers, extending his hand for the picture.
“Will you promise to give it back to me?”
“Certainly I will! You don’t imagine I would be so mean as to confiscate it?”
“I should not care much if you did, now that I have found out it does not look any more like you than it does like me,” she answered, handing him the photograph.
“Where did you get this picture, Sue?”
“Where did I get it? Well, that is cool! Didn’t you send it to me yourself?” And Sue began to exhibit some symptoms of amazement.
“I am very sure I never sent you this picture,” added Somers gravely.
“You did not?”
“Never.”
“Why, Allan Garland!”
“This is not my picture.”
“I shouldn’t think it was.”
Thereupon Mr. Raynes began to laugh in the most immoderate manner; opening his mouth wide enough to take in a very small load of hay, and shaking his sides in the most extraordinary style.
“What are you laughing at, pa?” demanded Sue, blushing up to the eyes, as though she already felt the force of some keenly satirical remark which was struggling for expression in the mouth of the farmer.
“To think you have been looking at that picture three times a day for a year, studying, gazing at it; kissing it, for aught I know; and then to find out that it is not Allan after all!” roared the Virginia farmer between the outbreaks of his mirth. “I haven’t done anything but groan since the war began, and it does me good to laugh. Ihaven’t had a jolly time before since the battle of Bull Run, as the Yankees call it.”
“You are the most absurd pa in Virginia. I didn’t look at it three times a day, I never studied it, and I’m sure I never kissed it. No wonder Allan wants to get away, when he finds what an absurd girl you make me out to be. You think I’m a fool, don’t you, Allan?”
“I do not, by any means. I’m sure, if I had your picture, I shouldn’t have been ashamed to look at it three times a day,” replied Somers, gallantly coming to the rescue of the maiden. “But, really, my Virginia patriarch,” he added, using an expression which he had found in the correspondence in his pocket, “I must tear myself away.”
“You seem to be glad enough to go,” pouted Sue.
“Sorry to go, but compelled by the duty I owe my country to leave you.”
“When will you come again?”
“Of course, that question I cannot answer. I may never see you again. This is a terrible war, and we cannot tell what a day may bring forth,” replied Somers solemnly; and the thought was all the more solemn when he thought of the cold corpse of the son and brother concealed in the mire of the swamp.
He had seen the old man laugh as none but a happy man can; and he could not help feeling what a terrible revulsion a few words from him might cause. He had watched the playful manner ofSue, and had joined in the gay raillery of the moment. A word from him would crush her spirit, and bow that loving mother to the ground. The scene had not been one of his own choosing; and he would gladly escape the necessity of dissembling before those affectionate hearts.
“We are on the eve of a terrible battle,” added the old man very gravely. “Hundreds of our poor boys went down yesterday, never to rise again. We tremble when we think of you in the field. I may never see my son again; for the issue of the war may depend on the battles of the next few days.”
“What do you mean?”
Mr. Raynes seemed to know more than he had dared to speak; and Somers was full of interest.
“The Yankees, who expect to go into Richmond, will be driven down the Peninsula, where they came up, like flying sheep, within a week. I have heard a few words, which satisfies me that great events are coming.”
Though it was not supposable that the people in the vicinity of Richmond knew the plans of General Lee, from what he had seen, and from what he had heard from men in power, he had formed a very correct idea of the intended operations of the rebel chief; and he stated his views very clearly to Somers. While he was listening to the old man’s theory, Mrs. Raynes had spread her table, and placed upon it such food as was available for a hasty lunch. She insisted that heshould partake; and, while he enjoyed the welcome refreshment, Mr. Raynes told him everything about the movements of the Confederate army in the vicinity, with full particulars of the battle of the preceding day. While the scout was thus answering the ends of his mission, he was in no hurry to depart.
General McClellan’s “change of base” was not suspected by the rebels at this time. It was their purpose to flank the Union army on the right and left, and destroy it effectually. The dispositions had been made for this purpose; and, as Mr. Raynes was a man of influence and intelligence, his information was as reliable as could be deduced from the preliminary movements of the rebel army. He was confident of success. The execution of the plan had already been commenced, and the right of the Union line was in the act of falling back.
He expatiated upon the perils of the campaign, and the terrible fighting which was to be expected; and manifested the utmost solicitude for the safety of his son, and hardly less for his guest.
Somers prolonged his repast, that the old man might leave nothing unsaid that would be important for the Union generals to know. Sue occasionally joined in the conversation; but she was quite serious now, as she contemplated the perils to which her brother and her friend from Alabama must be subjected.
“Do you know where General Jackson is now?” asked Somers.
“I don’t know exactly where he is; but I know what part he has to play in the great drama. The last we heard of him was, that he was watching McDowell, near Fredericksburg. If McDowell keeps quiet, Jackson will rush down on the left flank of the Yankees, and cut off their retreat.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am very sure. I can tell you why.”
Before he had time to tell him why, a knock at the door disturbed the conference; and a young man, in a tattered rebel uniform, was ushered into the room.
CHAPTER XIITHE DIGNIFIED YOUNG REBEL
Lieutenant Somers, who had been very nervous and uneasy before, was exceedingly annoyed by the appearance of another actor on the stage. He had become in some slight degree familiarized with the awkwardness of his situation; for the fact, that no suspicion had yet been cast upon his identity, was encouraging, and he began to have some confidence in his position, open as it was to an assault from any direction. The advent of the tattered stranger was a new cause for alarm, and he at once became very anxious to beat a retreat.
There is no night without some ray of light to gladden it. His first impression was that the visitorbelonged to the Fourth Alabama, and would readily recognize him as an impostor; but he was in a measure relieved to find that none of the family gave the soldier more than a friendly greeting, which proved him to be a stranger to them as well as to himself. Yet he might belong to the Fourth Alabama; and then it occurred to him that the man had come to inform Mr. Raynes of the death of his son while on picket duty.
In the brief period which elapsed between the advent of the stranger, and the statement of the object of his visit, Somers was disturbed by a dozen fearful theories; all of which seemed to end in a rebel prison at Richmond, and even in a rebel gallows—the fate of the spy. The minutes were fearfully long; and, before the momentous question of the object of the stranger’s visit could be introduced, he decided to make an abrupt retreat.
“Well, Mr. Raynes,” said he, approaching the old man as he put on his cap, “I have already run a great risk in stopping here so long; and, with many thanks to you for your kindness and for your generous hospitality, I must take my departure.”
“I suppose we cannot keep you any longer, Allan; but you must promise to call again at the first convenient opportunity.”
“I promise you that I will the first time I can safely do so,” responded Somers warmly, and with the fullest intention of redeeming his promise. “Good-by, sir!”
“Good-by, my dear boy! May you be spared inthe hour when the strong men bite the dust!” said Mr. Raynes solemnly, as he gave his hand to Somers.
“Good-by, Sue!” added the young lieutenant, taking the hand of the Virginia damsel.
“Adieu, my brave soldier-boy!” she replied.
“You are a soldier, I see,” said the stranger, as Somers approached him on his way out of the house.
“Yes, sir,” answered the latter nervously; for he would gladly have escaped any communication with the newcomer.
“What regiment do you belong to?” persisted the dilapidated soldier.
What business was that to him? Why should he trouble himself about other people’s affairs? It sounded like a very impertinent question to the excited lieutenant, and he was tempted to inform the busy-body that it was none of his business; but, as he had already earned a good character for civility with the interesting family in whose presence he still stood, his bump of approbation would not permit him to forfeit their esteem by so inconsiderate a reply.
“Good-by, all!” said he with energy, turning away from the rebel soldier, and moving towards the door.
“What regiment did you say you belonged to?” demanded the persistent rebel.
“I didn’t say,” replied Somers, not in the most gentle tones.
“Will you oblige me by telling me to what regiment you belong?” added the rebel.
“I think I will not,” continued Somers, more and more displeased with the persistence of the other. “I came very near being arrested as a deserter just now, though I have a pass in my pocket; and I don’t care about exposing myself to any further annoyance by my own indiscretion.”
“I assure you I am a friend, and I would not betray you if I knew you were a deserter,” said the stranger in very civil tones.
Thus appealed to, and perceiving that he was not gaining in the estimation of Mr. Raynes by his reticence, he decided that he could not make the matter much worse by answering the question.
“To the Fourth Alabama,” he replied desperately; “but you must excuse me; for I am in a tremendous hurry.”
“The Fourth Alabama! I thought so,” exclaimed the stranger with a pleasant smile, as though the information was particularly agreeable to him. “I belong to the Fourth Alabama myself.”
“Do you, indeed?” added Somers with the most intense disquiet, wishing all the time that the soldier had been in Alabama, or anywhere but in the house of Mr. Raynes.
“Can you tell me where the regiment is?”
“I cannot. I have been looking for it myself for the last two hours. As I can be of no assistance to you, you will excuse me if I leave you.”
“Not so fast, comrade; I will go with you. I have some directions which I think will enable us to find the regiment; and, if you please, I will bear you company.”
Somers did not please; but he could hardly refuse the offer without exciting the suspicion of the family, which he felt might be fatal to him. It would be better to depart with the member of the Fourth Alabama, and part company with him by force of stratagem when they had left the house.
“I won’t keep you waiting but a minute. I called here to see my friends; but none of them seem to know me. You are Mr. Raynes, I presume?” continued the soldier, addressing the old man.
“I am; but I don’t remember to have ever seen you before,” replied the farmer.
“You never did, sir; but I will venture to say that my name is well known in this house,” added the soldier with a mysterious smile, which caused Somers to dread some new development that would compromise him.
“Ah!” said Mr. Raynes, ever ready to welcome any one who had the slightest claim upon his hospitality.
“I am well acquainted with your son, Owen; I suppose I shall not be disputed here, when I say that he is the best fellow in the world. Don’t you know me now?” demanded the tantalizing rebel, who appeared to be very anxious to have hisidentity made out in the natural way, and without any troublesome explanations.
“Really, I do not,” answered Mr. Raynes, much perplexed by the confident manner of the visitor.
“This is Sue, I suppose?” pursued the soldier, advancing to the maiden, and extending his dirty hand; which, however, was not much dirtier than that which she had so eagerly grasped before. “Don’t you know who I am, Sue?”
“I do not, sir,” she replied rather coldly.
“When I tell you that I belong to the Fourth Alabama, don’t you know me?”
“I do not, sir.”
“And when I tell you that I am the intimate friend of your brother Owen?”
Allan Garland stood by the door; and, of course, it was not he; therefore she could not, by any possibility, conceive who he was; and she said so, in terms as explicit as the occasion required.
“I live in Union, Alabama, when I am at home. Don’t you know menow, Sue?” persisted the perplexed visitor, who, perhaps, began to think he had entered the wrong house.
If the veritable Allan Garland, however little his photograph resembled him, had not stood by the door, she would have been rejoiced to see him, and to recognize in him her unknown friend and correspondent. As it was, she did not know him; and she was candid enough to express her conviction without reserve, in spite of the disagreeableeffect which her want of perception seemed to produce upon the mind of the stranger.
“This is very strange,” said the soldier, taking off his cap, and rubbing his head to quicken his faculties, which seemed to have led him into some unaccountable blunder. “Will you be kind enough to inform me who lives in this house?”
“Mr. Raynes,” replied Sue, quite as much mystified as the stranger seemed to be.
“There is some mistake; but I can’t make out what it is,” said the stranger.
“I cannot wait any longer,” said Somers, who had been riveted to the spot by the astounding revelation to which he had just listened.
He had been almost paralyzed by the words of the rebel, in whom he promptly recognized the young man whose name and antecedents he had borrowed for the present occasion. His first impression was to take to his heels, and to run away; but a certain worldly prudence prevented him from adopting this doubtful policy. If you attempt to run away from an angry dog, he will certainly bite you; whereas, by facing him boldly, you may escape all injury. This fact, which Somers had fully exemplified in his own experience before he left Pinchbrook, was the foundation of his action. Seeing that the stranger was perplexed and annoyed by the failure of the family to recognize him, even after he had told them everything except his name, he decided that he might safely retire under the plea of haste.
“I beg your pardon, sir, for this intrusion,” said the soldier, blushing with mortification as he retreated a pace towards the door. “You will excuse me, Miss Raynes, for my unwarrantable familiarity; but I have made a blunder, or you have,” he added rather bitterly. “Perhaps, when Owen comes to introduce me, you will know me better.”
“Owen’s friends are my friends, young man; and you are as welcome as my son would be, whoever you are.”
“Thank you, sir; but, with many regrets for this intrusion, I will take my leave.”
“No, no, my young friend,” interposed the old man. “You must not leave us in this manner. It is true, we do not recognize you; but you are none the less welcome on that account.”
“Thank you kindly, sir. I have deceived myself into the belief that I was better known here than I find I am. It was weak in me to thrust myself across your threshold without an introduction; and, if you will pardon me, I will leave you, with the promise to come again with Owen.”
“Not yet, sir; at least, not till you have told us who you are.”
“Excuse me; but I must go now,” replied the young rebel with an exhibition of gentle dignity, which quite won the heart of Somers, as it did that of the family.
“Pray, give me your name, sir,” interposed Sue, whose woman’s curiosity could no longer endurethe silence which maidenly reserve had imposed upon her, especially as the stranger proposed to depart without solving the mystery.
“You’ll excuse me, Miss Raynes, if I decline for the present. My comrade is in a desperate hurry, and it is not reasonable for me to detain him any longer.”
“But, young man, you wrong me, you wrong my daughter, and above all, you wrong my son, who is your friend, by leaving in this manner,” said Mr. Raynes earnestly. “You actually charge us with a want of hospitality by this abrupt withdrawal.”
“You will pardon me, sir, for saying it; but after the description I have given of myself, if you do not know me, I am compelled to believe that it is because you do not wish to know me.”
“That is very unjust, and we do not comprehend the force of the remark.”
“Why, sir, I have written to you, and to your daughter, and your daughter has written to me; and now you seem never to have heard of me. I have told you that I reside in Union, Alabama; and that I am a friend of Owen.”
“We know a young man from that town very well, though we never saw him. His name is Allan Garland; but it is impossible that you should be the person.”
“I must go, comrade,” said Somers desperately, as he rushed out of the door.
“Wait a moment!” exclaimed Mr. Raynes,grasping him by the arm; for the old farmer seemed to think his presence was necessary to the perfect unraveling of the mystery. “It seems to me you ought to know this young man, if none of us do.”
“I do not, Mr. Raynes; never saw him before in my life,” protested Somers, feeling very much like a condemned criminal.
“My name is Allan Garland,” quietly continued the dignified young rebel. “I am, undoubtedly, the person to whom you allude.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed Mr. Raynes, still holding Somers’s arm with the grasp of a vise.
“Impossible!” almost shouted the fair Sue, more excited than she would have been, if, through patient reading, she had arrived at the last chapter of a sensational novel, where the pin is pulled out and all the villains tumble down to perdition and all the angels stumble upon their apotheosis.
“Impossible!” chimed in Mrs. Raynes, who had preserved a most remarkable silence, for a woman, during the exciting incidents we have transcribed.
“May I be allowed to inquire why you think it is impossible?” calmly demanded the gentle rebel, who, in his turn, was amazed at the singular course of events.
Sue did not know what else to do; so she sat down in a chair, and laughed with hysterical vehemence at the strange aspect of the affair. The old man opened his eyes, and opened his mouth; but he did not forget to hold on with all his mightto the arm of the unfortunate lieutenant, who was just then picturing to himself the interior of a rebel dungeon; which view suddenly dissolved into an indistinct representation of a tree, from a stout limb of which was suspended a rope, hanging down over a cart—these latter appurtenances being symbolical of the usual rebel method of hanging a spy.
The affair, which had been growing desperate for some time, had now actually become so to poor Somers. He placed his hand upon his revolver, in the breast-pocket of his coat; but some prudential considerations interposed to prevent him from using it. The house was on a line of rebel sentinels. Whole divisions of Confederate infantry, artillery and cavalry, were encamped around him, and any violent movement on his part would have been sure to result in an ignominious disaster. The doughty old farmer, who was not less than six feet three in his stockinged feet, held on to him as a drowning man clings to a floating spar. It was not possible to get away without resorting to violence; and if he offered any resistance to what, just then, looked like manifest destiny, the rebel soldier would become an ally of the farmer, and the women could call in the sentinels, if nothing more.
“Really, Mr. Raynes, you are very unkind to detain me, when I tell you that my leave has nearly expired,” said Somers, when he had fully measured the situation; which, however, was donein a tithe of the time which we have taken to transcribe it.
“Young man, there is somemistake,” said Mr. Raynes, placing a wicked emphasis on the word, which went to the very core of the scout’s heart. “This man says he is Allan Garland, and you say you are Allan Garland. One of you is an impostor. Neither of you shall go till we determine which is the one. Sue, bring out your photograph again.”
“Oh, dear!” gasped Somers, as in a fit of momentary despondency, he gave himself up for lost, when the maiden went for the picture.
CHAPTER XIIIAN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL
Miss Sue hastened to procure the photograph, which she had placed in her mother’s room after it had been fully discussed by herself and the supposed original. At the same time, her father conducted Somers into the room again; and, being fully conscious of his desire to get away, he kept a watchful eye upon him, though he removed his grasp from the arm. The rebel soldier looked on in utter amazement at the singular proceedings of all the party, and seemed utterly unable to comprehend the meaning of them.
“Here is the picture,” said Sue, returning with the photograph in her hand; “but I don’t see that it looks any more like you than it does like the other gentleman;” and she proceeded to institute a comparison between the new claimant and the picture.
Somers began to cherish a faint hope again, and to be very grateful for the general truth, that photographs do not always look like the originals. This encouragement, slight as it was, gave our hero a new inspiration, and in a measure restored his impudence; which, under the pressure of circumstances, had begun to give way.
“I am sure it does not look at all like you,” continued Sue, after she had patiently balanced all the points of resemblance, and all the points of disagreement.
“You should remember that the picture was taken more than a year ago; and that I have been an invalid for ten months of the time,” suggested the rebel soldier.
“That may be; but I am sure this picture could never have been taken for you.”
“Let me see it, if you please?”
Sue handed him the card, and he glanced at it with an expression of great curiosity.
“Where did you get this picture?” demanded he.
“It was sent to me by the original,” replied she.
“This is not my picture.”
“That is just what the other gentleman said; and I am perfectly willing to believe both of you.”
“But I sent you a picture of myself, though this is not the one.”
“Well, that is very singular.”
“If you will remember, there were two in the same letter; the other was a young man whom Owen was acquainted with, and who desired something to remember him by. He is in a Mississippi regiment now.”
“Dear me! what a blunder!” exclaimed Sue, laughing heartily. “I am sure I took the best looking of the two for Allan Garland’s.”
“Perhaps that is not very complimentary to me; but where is the other picture?”
“I put it in Owen’s room. I told him what I had done with the two pictures; but he has been at home so little, that I suppose he never looked at them. I will get the other.”
“We are beginning to get a little light on the subject,” said Mr. Raynes, when his daughter had left the room.
“And I think you will let a little light through my body with a bullet-hole,” added Somers, whose last hope was gone again, though his impudence still remained.
“Be patient, young man; we shall soon see the mystery explained, and be able to inform you whether you are Allan Garland or not.”
“I am sorry to put you to so much trouble, Mr. Raynes; but you will remember that I was very much opposed to coming into your house at all;that I was literally dragged in by yourself and your daughter.”
“And you will also remember that I saved you from arrest, when you gave your name as Allan Garland, of the Fourth Alabama. I think I have imparted to you some very valuable information; and I intend to see what use is to be made of it, before I take my eyes off you.”
“You are very affectionate, Mr. Raynes; and, in behalf of the great Southern Confederacy, I thank you for the zeal and loyalty which you have displayed,” replied Somers boldly; for it was plain that nothing but the most brazen impudence could save him.
“You are a bold youth, and it is plain that you have brilliant talents; I hope they have not been abused.”
“They have been, and will continue to be, used in the service of my suffering country.”
“I like you, and I hope everything is all right about you; but I cannot see your object in coming here under an assumed name.”
“Then you have decided the case against me—have you?” said Somers, glancing at the rival Allan.
“Perhaps I was a little too fast,” added the old man, mortified to find that his character for strict justice had been compromised by this hasty avowal.
Sue was absent a long time; and it was clear that the photograph had been mislaid. Somers was in hopes she would not be able to find it;though he had but a meager expectation of over-throwing the claims of his rival to the name of Allan Garland. It was a hot day, and the windows of the house were all open. His legs seemed to promise the only satisfactory solution of the problem; and while he was considering the propriety of jumping out through one of the open windows, and trusting to them for safety, Sue returned with the photograph.
“This looks more like you than the other; and more like you than it does like the other gentleman,” said Sue.
The rebel soldier took the card, and acknowledged that it was his photograph; at the same time, he was compelled to allow that it was but an indifferent likeness of himself. His hard service in the army had changed his appearance much. Sue gazed at the picture, and at the original, and her father did the same; but both of them were in doubt.
“There, sir! I have waited patiently for you to end this farce,” said Somers, in deep disgust apparently. “You have looked at the pictures, and you are not satisfied yet. I can stand it no longer; I am tired of the whole thing. You have treated me very handsomely, and I am grateful to you for your kindness to me; but I cannot and will not remain any longer.”
Somers spoke decidedly, and was fully resolved to use his pistol, if occasion required. He was notwilling to remain for a decision to be made between him and the other claimant.
“I will go with you, brother Allan Garland,” said the rebel soldier facetiously; “I think between us we can readily decide which is the right man.”
“I am ready.”
“But we desire to be satisfied, especially in regard to this young man, who was suspected of being a deserter, and for whom I feel that I am responsible,” said Mr. Raynes.
“I can do nothing for you, sir,” replied Somers.
“But I can do something for you; and I propose to take you to the sergeant where I found you, and let the military authorities decide,” continued the old man, whose ire was roused, as he moved towards the impudent young man.
“I propose that you shall do nothing of the kind,” answered Somers, drawing the pistol, and cocking it for use.
“Don’t, father, don’t!” exclaimed Sue, rushing between Mr. Raynes and the active youth, pale with terror.
Somers would have been very unwilling to use his weapon on the old man. He pitied him, and could not help thinking of the terrible blow which was in store for him when he should hear that his only son had been killed. He hoped that something would interpose to prevent any violence, and he expected much from the gentle dignity of the young rebel.
“I am sorry that you compel me to draw thispistol,” added Somers; “yet nothing but the duty I owe to myself and my country would permit me to use it upon those who have treated me so kindly.”
“I will be responsible for him,” said Allan Garland—the real one; for there could be no doubt that he was what he claimed.
“You shall not go near him, father! He will kill you!” cried Sue, terrified, as her father attempted to push her aside, and advance upon the armed young man.
“Come! brother Allan,” said the soldier: “we can best end this scene by leaving the house.”
As they approached the door, a hand was placed on the handle outside; but the old man had taken the precaution to fasten it, in order to insure the safety of his prisoner. A heavy knock succeeded.
“Who is that?” gasped Sue, afraid that any newcomer would only complicate the difficulties of the moment, and that the bold youth would be compelled to use his pistol.
“Perhaps it is Owen,” replied the old man, a little calmer than before.
“I hope it is.”
The words sent a shudder through the frame of Somers, as he again thought of Owen Raynes, cold and dead in his oozy grave in the swamp.
“Open the door,” said a voice from without.
Allan Garland drew the bolt, and threw the door wide open.
“Why, Allan, my dear fellow!” exclaimed ayoung man who stood at the outside of the door in his shirt sleeves, as he grasped both of the rebel soldier’s hands, and proceeded to make a most extravagant demonstration of rejoicing. “I am glad to see you!”
“Owen, my dear boy!” replied Allan Garland, as he returned with equal warmth the salutation of the newcomer.
“Where did you come from, Allan? I had given you up for lost?”
“I escaped from the Yankees the next day after I was taken, and have been beating about the woods ever since.”
Somers was thrown all aback by this arrival, which was certainly the most remarkable one that had taken place during the day. He couldn’t help feeling very much like the hero of a sensational novel; and realized the very original idea that truth is stranger than fiction. He could not exactly account for the presence of Owen Raynes, whom he had satisfactorily buried in the swamp, and whose clothes he had the honor to wear at that moment. He did not believe in things supernatural, and it never occurred to him that the form before him might be the ghost of Owen.
“I am glad you have come just as you did, Owen,” said Mr. Raynes.
“So am I; otherwise I might not have met Allan. But who is this?” he added, glancing at Somers.
“Your most obedient servant,” replied Somers, trying to pass him in the narrow entry.
“Stop, young man!” shouted the old man. “Don’t let him go, Owen!”
“Who is he?”
“His name is Allan Garland, of Union, Alabama; and he is a private in the Fourth Alabama,” replied Allan with a smile, as Owen placed himself between Somers and the door.
“What!”
Mr. Raynes, being the oldest man present, was entitled to the position of spokesman; and he made a very prolix statement of all the events which had transpired since he first saw the pretended Allan Garland.
Owen Raynes was a very good-natured young man, and the recital of the affair amused him exceedingly. He did not fly into a passion, being a very amiable and reasonable rebel; and seemed to regard the whole thing as a stupendous joke.
“Then your name is Allan Garland, is it?” demanded he, with a broad laugh still playing on his lips.
“That is my name at present,” replied Somers.
“But have you no other name?”
“None worth mentioning.”
“Good! To what regiment do you belong?”
“To the Fourth Alabama, Colonel Jones; but I have already told your respected father all the facts relating to myself, and some relating to you.”
“Say, is this a joke, a sell?” demanded Owen.
“I suppose that would be a very proper interpretation to put upon it.”
“You seem to be a good fellow, and deal in four-syllable words.”
“Now, as you seem to have the best of the joke, I hope you will not detain me any longer. I have a pass in my pocket to prove that I am all right; and, as I am in a great hurry, I must move on.”
“Not till you explain the joke. Eh? What’s this? Where did you get this coat?” said Owen, glancing at the garment which Somers wore.
“This is the key to the joke.”
“The key to it! I am of the opinion that this is my coat,” replied Owen, as he felt of the garment, and turned up the lapel.
“May I be allowed to inquire where you left your coat?” asked Somers, who was quite curious to know how Owen Raynes happened to be alive just at that moment.
“Certainly you may; but first let me ask where you found it.”
“Over by the picket-line beyond the hill,” replied Somers.
“Just so. A young fellow in a Mississippi regiment, encamped next to ours, borrowed it of me last night, when he was detailed for picket-duty. The poor fellow had no coat, and picket-duty is rather steep at night when a man has no clothes. He is a good fellow, in poor health; and I lent him mine.”
“The nights are cool, but the days are hot,”added Somers. “He took it off, and left it on the edge of the woods, where I found it. I didn’t know that it belonged to anybody. I found some papers and a diary in the pocket——”
“Did I leave my papers in the pocket? Well, that was stupid,” interrupted Owen.
“I read the papers with a great deal of interest. Seeing frequent allusions in them to Allan Garland, I took the liberty to appropriate the name myself; for the owner of it seemed to be a very good fellow.”
“Thank you!” said Allan; “but, as you seem to have no further use for it, I see no objection to your giving your own name.”
“On the contrary, there are some very strong objections, and I must trouble you for the use of your name an hour or two longer.”
“Oh, very well! I am satisfied,” replied Allan.
“So am I.”
“But I am not,” interposed Mr. Raynes. “I think the fellow is an impostor, if nothing worse.”
“Anything you please; but my time is out, and I must report for duty,” replied Somers boldly, as he took off the borrowed coat, and restored it to the owner. “I am very much obliged to you for the use of this garment. When we meet again, I trust we shall understand each other better.”
Owen Raynes was an easy-going young man; familiar with the practical jokes of the army, enjoying them with the most keen relish when no one’s feelings were hurt, and no damage was doneto person or property. He was not, therefore, disposed to put a serious construction on what seemed to him to be one of these farces; but his father took an entirely different view of the affair. He wanted to argue the question, and show that it could not be a joke; but Somers was too impatient to listen to any eloquence of this description.
Sue, who had now actually found the young man who had been indicated as her “manifest destiny,” was in no hurry to part with him; and when the father proposed that Owen and Allan should accompany the impostor, as he insisted upon calling him, to the brigade headquarters, where his pass was dated, she decidedly objected to the proposition. The earnestness of Mr. Raynes, however, at last vanquished her and the young man; and they started to escort our young lieutenant to the place indicated.
Now, Somers, being a modest man, as we have always held him up to our readers, and being averse to all the pomp and parade of martial glory in its application to himself, was strongly averse to an escort. He preferred to go alone, tell his own story, and fight his own battles, if battles there were to be fought. Owen and Allan were unutterably affectionate. They received him into their small circle of fellowship, and stuck to him like a brother. They were both good fellows, splendid fellows; and, under ordinary circumstances, Somers would have been delighted to cultivatetheir friendship. As it was, he ungratefully resolved to give them the slip at the first convenient opportunity.
Unhappily for him, no opportunity occurred, for his zealous friends would not permit him to go a single rod from them; and Somers had about made up his mind to trust the matter to the judgment of Major Platner, who had shown a remarkable discrimination during the former interview, when the trio came to a line of sentinels guarding a brigade camp.
“What regiment do you belong to?” demanded the guard.
“Fourth Alabama,” replied Owen.
“You can’t pass this line, then.”
“But I have a pass,” interposed Somers.
“Show your pass.”
Somers showed the important document, which the sentinel, after a patient study, succeeded in deciphering.
“Your pass is right—pass on; but you can’t go through,” he added to Owen and Allan.
Owen explained.