CHAPTER XXIX

CHAPTER XXIXDE BANYAN AT WORK

“How do you feel, my dear boy?” asked Captain de Banyan as soon as the doctor had left the room.

Somers, by the skilful applications of the physician, had been restored to consciousness, and had listened with astonishment, not unmingled with alarm, to the last part of the conversation between his friend and their host.

“I feel a little better, captain; at any rate, I am more comfortable,” replied Somers.

“I am glad to hear it. I have been terribly worried about you.”

“I think I shall do well enough. But what shall I say for myself?”

“Say nothing, Somers—not a word. Don’t commit yourself to anything.”

“What have you told him?”

“Nothing; and I don’t intend to tell him anything. He is a jolly old fellow, who thinks he is very eccentric, and takes pride in being considered so. When I was in the Crimea——”

“Never mind the Crimea now,” interrupted Somers with a languid smile.

“I was only going to say that I understand the old doctor first-rate, and can manage him as easily as I could an old plow-horse. Keep still, Somers; don’t let on, under any circumstances. Leave me to do all the talking.”

“But the cavalry are after us now.”

“Never mind; the doctor will take care of them.”

“They will recognize our horses, if they don’t know us.”

“No matter if they do.”

Somers thought it was matter; and he could not see for the life of him how De Banyan was to get out of such a scrape as this; for it was an infinitely worse one than his own experience on the Williamsburg road. He could only hope for the best, expecting nothing but disaster.

“Good! Bully for the doctor!” exclaimed DeBanyan as the sounds of an excited controversy at the side door reached the ears of the patient and his friend. “He is doing just what I expected him to do.”

“Pray, what did you expect him to do?” asked Somers, who could not see what a rebel surgeon could be expected to do under the circumstances, besides delivering them up to the military authorities.

“I expect him to protect us to the utmost of his ability; and, in my opinion, he has quite as much influence as any other man in Petersburg. When you see a man like Dr. Scoville, you may depend upon it he is a power in the community where he lives. He knows it as well as any other person. Let the doctor alone, and he will manage the matter as skilfully as he dressed your wounded arm.”

Whatever confidence Captain de Banyan had in the will and the ability of Dr. Scoville to protect them, he was curious to hear what the soldiers and what the doctor had to say. He was not quite willing to be seen by the rebel soldiers; so he passed quickly into the entry, and took a position where he could hear without being observed.

“Do you know who I am, you villain?” demanded the doctor, in tones so full of rage, that the troopers ought to have been annihilated, though it appears that they were not.

“I don’t care who you are; I want the men thatcame here an hour ago,” replied one of the troopers.

“If Jeff Davis himself came for them, he couldn’t have them!” roared Dr. Scoville.

“I tell you, sir, one of them is a deserter, and the other is a Yankee.”

“I don’t care what they are. Report my answer to the provost-marshal; tell him Dr. Scoville will be responsible for the safety of the men.”

“I won’t report any such answer to him.”

“If a man of you attempts to enter my house, I’ll shoot him!” replied the doctor, taking a rifle from a nail in the entry.

“Very well, sir; if you can shoot any better than we can, you may begin,” said the soldier. “But, as sure as you fire, you are a dead man.”

“And those of you whom I don’t shoot will be hung as soon as you report the death of Dr. Scoville at headquarters.”

Whatever the soldiers thought, they were not willing to assume the responsibility of shooting a man like the doctor, whose splendid mansion was a guaranty of his wealth and high standing, and whose strong words assured them that he was a man of influence. Even the possibility of being hanged in such a cause was not agreeable to contemplate; and the doctor carried the day against his assailants.

“I don’t want to shoot you, Dr. Scoville; but I shall put a guard over your house, and wait forfurther orders,” said the soldier, who appeared to be a sergeant.

“Do anything you please; but don’t you enter my house. Every man, woman and child here is under my protection,” replied the doctor, as he restored the rifle to its original position; and the troopers retired from the door.

Captain de Banyan withdrew from the hall, and joined Somers in the sitting-room, where he was immediately followed by the doctor. The situation did not look very hopeful, even to a man of such desperate fortunes as the bold Tennessean. The house was surrounded by rebel soldiers, and a report of the case would probably be made to the provost-marshal; therefore it was not at all likely that the doughty doctor could long remain contumacious.

“So, my mysterious friend, you are a Confederate deserter, are you?” said the doctor, as he placed himself in front of the captain, thrust his hands deep down into the pockets of his pants, and stared at his guest with all the vigor of an active and piercing eye.

“You say that I am; but I adhere to my original resolution, to say nothing at present,” replied De Banyan, returning the gaze of the doctor as earnestly as it was given.

“If you were Abe Lincoln himself, you are safe in my house,” said the doctor after a long pause. “But I wish you to understand clearly and precisely what I mean. I am not the man to shield adeserter or a Yankee from the penalty due to his crimes. You came into my house with a wounded man. I am an Arab on the subject of hospitality. Whoever comes into my house is my guest; and I never betrayed a man who trusted in me.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“You needn’t thank me, for I despise you from the deepest depths of my heart; and in due time you will fall into the hands of the military authorities, but not in my house.”

“Thank you, Dr. Scoville. I appreciate your hospitality, and despise you as much as you do me,” answered De Banyan.

“Despise me! How dare you——”

“Oh! I dare do anything; and I beg leave to inform you that neither myself nor my friend will fall into the hands of the soldiers, either in your house or outside of it. You can set your mind entirely at ease on that subject.”

“I am tempted for once to violate even my own law of hospitality.”

“As you please, doctor; that matter is for you to consider, not for me. But I beg you to understand precisely what I say. I am very thankful to you for your kindness; and I assure you that whatever you do and say, I shall remember your hospitality with the most grateful emotions. I speak for myself and for my friend.”

Dr. Scoville seemed to be very much perplexed, as the captain evidently intended he should be; and, turning abruptly from the deserter, he pacedthe room, rapidly and in silence, for several minutes. De Banyan sat down by the side of Somers, and said a great many comforting things to him, which, in his weak and suffering condition, were as grateful as a woman’s smile at the couch of pain.

Breakfast was ready, and with the utmost politeness the doctor conducted his guest to the table, while one of the black women was ordered to supply the wants of the patient on the sofa. During the meal, not a word was said about the war, or the peculiar circumstances under which the patient and his friend had come to the house. The captain discoursed about the wars in other lands, and it is more than probable that he exercised the credulity of the doctor to the utmost. Both the host and the guest were affable to the last degree; for the choleric physician was conscious that he had more than a match in the other.

After breakfast, Somers was conducted to the guest-chamber on the second floor of the mansion. He was as tenderly cared for by the doctor and the servants as though he had been an honored friend, instead of a hunted enemy. In the course of the forenoon, Dr. Scoville received a visit from the provost-marshal, attended by half a company of cavalry. Of course, the captain was exceedingly curious to know the result of this interview, which was conducted in the most courteous manner; and he was so impolite as to play the part of a listener. The officer was informed that CaptainSheffield had been dangerously wounded by the fugitives; but the eccentric physician positively refused to have his guests taken from his house, assuring the provost-marshal that he would be responsible for their safe-keeping, and offered to board a dozen men who should be employed in guarding them. The officer protested in gentlemanly terms against such a course; but it was evident that the doctor was the greatest man in Petersburg, and must have his own way.

The result of the conference was, that the provost-marshal yielded the point, and a sentinel was placed at the door of Somers’s chamber, to which the captain had retreated. The officer visited the room, and fully identified his prisoner, between whom and himself a sharp conversation ensued, much to the amusement of the doctor. The captain was assured that in due time, he should swing, which pleasant information he received with becoming good nature, promising to be present when the exciting event should take place. The provost-marshal retired, satisfied with the precautions he had taken.

For the following three days, the sentinel at the door, with a loaded musket in his hand, kept guard over his prisoners. Somers had improved rapidly, though by the advice of his managing friend, he pretended to be much worse than he really was. Dr. Scoville, though he still kept his word and maintained his position with regard to the prisoners, continually “thorned” the captain with aprospect of the gallows, which he declared was his certain doom. De Banyan still preserved his equanimity, and still declared that he should never be hanged.

“What do you intend to do?” asked Somers on the third day of his confinement, after the doctor had taunted his guest with more than usual severity.

“I haven’t the least idea, my dear boy,” replied the captain with a grim smile. “So far, I have no plans. When you are able to move, Somers, we will see what can be done.”

“I can move now; you need not delay a single hour on my account. I am all right but my arm.”

De Banyan was by no means as cheerful as he appeared to be. He was troubled, and paced the room with uneasy tread; but, the moment the doctor entered the room, he was as gay as a Broadway beau. Somers had vainly attempted to persuade him to make his own escape, and leave him to his fate; but the brave fellow steadily refused to desert him under any circumstances that could possibly present themselves.

The captain was remarkably still for him, after Somers had convinced him that he was able to move. He paced the room as before; but his eyes were glancing uneasily at the floor, the ceiling, and the walls of the apartment. The work had commenced in his mind; and Somers watched his movements with interest, yet without hope. On one side of the fire-place in the room there was adoor, which was locked, but which evidently opened into a closet.

Before this door, De Banyan suddenly came to a dead halt. He examined it with the utmost care; and then with a fork from the breakfast things which had not been removed, he commenced operations upon the lock. One of the prongs of the fork was broken off between two bricks in the fire-place, and the other bent; so that the instrument formed a very good pick-lock. The door was opened without the expenditure of much time or patience; and the captain proceeded to explore the interior of the closet, after instructing his fellow-prisoner to give him timely warning of any movement on the part of the sentinel.

Somers did not see the captain again for half an hour, but when he came out he looked as though he had endured the tortures of a month of suspense; but, with a ghastly smile, he told his companion that the hour for action had come.

“What do you mean, captain?” demanded Somers.

“Let us use haste; we shall have more time to talk to-morrow, when we get back to the camp on the other side of the James River. Are you very sure that you can stand the fatigue of a long walk?”

“I know I can.”

“Then come with me; but a particle of noise will be fatal to us.”

De Banyan led the way to the closet; but, beforehe entered himself, he tied together the two sheets of the bed, and made one end fast to one of the bed-posts, near a window at the end of the house, which he opened without noise. Dropping the sheet out, he retreated to the closet, and with the pick-lock secured the door. They were in darkness now, and seating themselves on the floor, with palpitating hearts they waited the issue. For more than an hour they waited the expected alarm. They could occasionally hear a movement on the part of the sentinel in the entry; but he probably thought it was foolish to be very vigilant over a man so sick as Somers. But the demonstration came at last; and the prisoners, sweltering in the confined air of the closet, listened with breathless interest to the shouts of the soldiers outside, and to the rapid steps of those within the mansion.

The doctor and the sentinel entered the chamber so lately occupied by the prisoners. The former swore in no measured terms at the faithlessness of the sentry at the door, and at the stupidity of those who guarded the house outside. But they seemed to have no doubt as to the manner of the escape.

There was the open window, and the rope made of the bed-linen, which De Banyan had pulled with his hands till it had the appearance of having sustained a great weight. Dr. Scoville did not even try the door of the closet; and the anxious listeners soon had the pleasure of hearing the sounds of horses’ hoofs, as the cavalry rode off to engage in the search for the fugitives.

Everything about the house soon subsided into the most profound quiet, and it was evident that the doctor and all the soldiers were engaged in the search. After this solemn stillness had continued for a time, they heard the voices of the servants in the chamber. They talked about the escape, and all of them expressed a hope that “poor young massa would get out ob de way.” Here was an opportunity for an alliance, offensive and defensive, which the prudent captain could not reject. Carefully opening the door, he presented himself to the astonished negroes. With considerable difficulty, he hushed their noisy exclamations, and opened the case so eloquently, that all three of them readily promised to help the fugitives in making their escape. They grinned with delight when they comprehended the trick by which the doctor and the soldiers had been put on the wrong scent.

With their assistance, the fugitives left the house, and made their way to the stable, where Alick, the man who had waited upon them in the room, raised a plank in the floor, and introduced them to secure but not very comfortable quarters under the building. There was no cellar under the stable, and the space which they occupied was not more than two feet in height; but what it lacked in this direction, it made up in length and width.

When the fugitives were fairly installed in their new hiding-place, Alick sat down on the floor, andtold them all he knew about the events which had transpired since their absence had been discovered. He brought them an abundant supply of food and drink, and promised to provide them with horses as soon as it was dark. It was nearly night before the doctor returned; and while attending to his horse, Alick asked him some questions about the chase. He was not very communicative, for, of course, the pursuit had been unsuccessful; but the ingenious black wormed some facts out of him in regard to the events of the day, which enabled him to be of great assistance to the fugitives.

The doctor had hardly gone into the house before Alick commenced his preparations for departure; and three horses instead of two were in readiness when Somers and the captain emerged from their covert. Alick was to be one of the party; and by the fields in the rear of the house they commenced their perilous journey.

CHAPTER XXXANOTHER COMMISSION

The horses which De Banyan and Somers rode were those taken from the stable of Captain Sheffield, which had not yet been removed from Dr. Scoville’s stable; while that on which Alick was mounted was one of the best of his master’s stock.The party proceeded through the fields for a short distance till they came to a cross-road, when they put their horses to the top of their speed. The guide was familiar with all the roads in the vicinity. The information which he had obtained from the doctor was exceedingly valuable; for it assured the fugitives in what direction the search for them had been pushed.

Dr. Scoville believed that the prisoners were concealed in the vicinity of the city, and that at night they would attempt to make their way in the direction of City Point; and he assured Alick that they would certainly be caught before morning, for the country in that region was strongly picketed by cavalry. It is more than probable they would have been taken if the doctor had not been so obliging as to inform Alick of these facts. The faithful black, who had served his master, man and boy, for forty years, was entitled to this consideration. Of course, he could not have believed that Alick would be so ungrateful and ungenerous as to run away from him; but it is a fact which speaks well for the negro race, that so many have preferred liberty with toil and hardship to slavery with ease and plenty.

Somers had over-estimated his power of endurance; and a hard gallop of five miles was about the extent of his capacity. The rude jolting of his arm made it extremely painful, while his system, reduced by the fever attending the wound, was incapable of supporting such a heavy draftupon his strength. He bore up against the pain and faintness which beset him as long as he could; but at last, to the oft-repeated inquiries of Captain de Banyan in regard to his condition, he was compelled to answer in the most discouraging terms.

“We must stop and rest,” said the captain. “We have about fifteen miles more to go; and you mustn’t break down yet, Somers.”

“Here, massa, take some of this,” said Alick, as he reined in his horse.

“What is it?” asked Somers faintly.

“Brandy.”

“I can’t drink brandy.”

“It will do you good, my dear boy. There is strength in brandy—only as medicine. Don’t be stubborn, Somers.”

“Good brandy, massa,” added Alick. “I brought it along on purpose for you. I was mighty feared you wouldn’t be able to stand the ride.”

“I am willing to take it if it will do me any good,” said Somers. “I am about used up.”

The sufferer drank two or three swallows of the fiery liquid from the bottle after he had dismounted. The potion gave him an artificial life, which enabled him to ride five miles farther, though at a much slower pace than before. The roads seemed to be entirely deserted, and the party felt satisfied that they had passed out of the reach of a successful pursuit. Another dose of brandy gave Somers strength enough to accomplish fifteen miles of the journey; but at this point he was absolutelyunable to sit on his horse. With the assistance of De Banyan, he got off and lay for two hours on the ground, where his devoted companions made him a bed of their coats. Alick produced some bacon and crackers, which he had brought for an emergency, of which Somers partook in small quantities. Pressed by his fellow-fugitives, he again drank some brandy; and while his head was flying round like a top, his friends placed him on the horse again.

In the overpowering weakness and suffering of the hour, Somers had begged his companions to leave him to his fate; but De Banyan declared that he would be hanged a dozen times before he would do so mean and wicked an act. With the fumes of the brandy darting in every direction through his brain, which seemed to be about fifty feet above his shoulders, he spurred on his horse. The liquor had inspired him to a kind of desperation. He hardly knew what he was about, and even forgot the pain of his wounded arm.

“Halt!” shouted De Banyan, as the party dashed over a rude bridge extending across a broad creek. “Halt, Somers!”

But Somers heeded not the word, and still spurred on, till the captain, who rode the fastest animal, could overtake him. He succeeded in stopping the furious rider, and in making him understand that they had reached the end of their journey in this direction. They returned to the bridge, where the sharp eye of the captain had discerneda boat moored to a tree, a short distance below the road. Somers, still stupefied by the effects of the brandy, tamely submitted to whatever disposition his companions chose to make of him. Taking off their coats, they made for him a bed in the bottom of the boat, which was a large yawl, evidently used for conveying merchandise to some point farther up the creek. The horses were turned loose, and the captain and Alick took the oars.

After pulling for half an hour, they were rewarded by a view of the broad river which to them was like the Land of Promise; and moored in the middle there was a steamer, which in those waters could belong to no other party than the United States Government. They rowed out to this vessel, and hailed her. Of course they were cordially welcomed after a satisfactory explanation had been given.

“Glory hallelujah! How do you feel, Somers?” said Captain de Banyan, after he had insured a proper reception on board of the steamer.

“Badly, very badly,” replied Somers faintly.

“Well, cheer up, my boy! We have got home again.”

“Home!” said Somers, raising himself partially up at the sound of that magical word.

The captain and Alick lifted him tenderly, and assisted him up the accommodation-ladder of the steamer. The vessel was a gunboat bound up the river, and was waiting for the daylight. Somers was taken to the ward-room, where the surgeondressed his arm, and prescribed for his bodily ailments. Alick was duly installed as his nurse, though Captain de Banyan performed the greater part of his duty. But the consciousness that he was again beneath the old flag did more for the patient than even the assiduous care of his devoted friends.

After leaving Petersburg the fugitives had pursued a nearly easterly course till they arrived at the bridge over Chipoak Creek, where they had abandoned their horses, and taken the boat. Alick had chosen this direction to avoid the pickets which were on the lookout for them in the vicinity of the City Point Railroad. His calculations had been well made, and he was rewarded for his zeal and skill by the priceless boon of freedom, which he preferred even to the life of comfort and ease he had enjoyed beneath the roof of his kind but eccentric master.

How Dr. Scoville ever made his peace with the provost-marshal of Petersburg we are not informed; but we will venture to say that his whims were not respected after the events we have narrated. He was a wilful man; but his guests were very sorry to be compelled to make him such an ungenerous return for his noble hospitality. When the war is ended, and he is enabled fully to understand the meaning of treason to our beneficent Government, no doubt he will be very thankful that his prisoner guests escaped as they did.

At nine o’clock on the following morning, thegunboat dropped her anchor off Harrison’s Landing. Somers, who had slept for several hours, was more comfortable, though he was still in a deplorable condition. With the kindly assistance of his friends, he was landed at the pier, and conveyed in an ambulance to the headquarters of the division. Leaning on the arm of De Banyan, he entered the tent of the general.

“Captain Somers!” exclaimed the general. “I had given you up for lost. Why, you have grown ten years older in five days!”

“I have the honor to make my report, general,” said Somers with a faint smile.

“Your report? Good! After losing you, I did not dare to send another officer upon such a perilous errand. But, Captain Somers, you are all used up,” added the general, with a glance filled with sympathy—a look which Somers regarded as an adequate reward for all he had suffered; for to havethatman feel an interest in him was better in his estimation than the plaudits of the multitude. “What is the matter with your arm?”

“I was shot at Petersburg,” replied Somers.

“Well, well, captain, you must go to the hospital: and Captain—what’s-his-name——”

“Captain de Banyan, at your service,” promptly responded Somers’s faithful friend.

“Captain de Banyan shall report for you, and tell me all about this scrape,” added the general. “Get into your carriage, Captain Somers, and goto the hospital. I will call and see you to-day or to-morrow.”

“Thank you, general.”

Captain de Banyan assisted him into the ambulance; and, when he had placed him in the care of the surgeon, he returned to headquarters to tell the marvelous story of their capture by the rebels, and their escape from Petersburg. It is quite likely that he did not add his experience in Tennessee; but when the general called on Somers at the hospital the next morning, the latter supplied all that had been withheld. The general had a higher regard for the captain’s patriotism than ever before, for he had voluntarily renounced the ranks of the rebellion, and placed himself on the side of his country. There was nothing against him; on the contrary, his conduct had been in the highest degree praiseworthy. But Captain de Banyan was sensitive on this point; and the general readily promised to conceal what the brave fellow regarded as a stain upon his character.

Captain Somers did not improve so rapidly as his friends desired. The surgeon declared that his night ride from Petersburg, in his feeble condition, had done him more injury than a year’s hard service; and after he had been in the hospital ten days, it was deemed advisable to give him a furlough, and send him home, especially as the division was then under orders to march to Yorktown. The gallant young hero regretted the necessity of leaving the regiment just as he had been promoted;but he was in no condition to endure the long and weary march. He was able to walk about a little; and on the day before the sailing of the transport by which he was to proceed to Washington, he received another visit from the general.

After a few kind inquiries in regard to the invalid’s condition, the general took from his pocket one of those great official envelopes which so often carry joy to the heart of the gallant officer. Somers was amazed. It could not be possible that his own promotion was indicated by this document. It was not three weeks since his commission as captain had reached him; but then Senator Guilford was a great man, and wielded a tremendous influence, both at Washington, and with the military authorities of his native State.

Recalling his former declaration to Captain de Banyan, he was fully resolved to decline any further promotion, at least until he had done something which entitled him to this distinction. The general held up the formidable packet, while Somers’s pale face was suffused with blushes.

“I have brought you a major’s commission, Somers; and I know it will give you joy.”

“Really, sir; ah! general, I don’t think——”

“Don’t you?” laughed the general.

“I don’t deserve it, general; and you will pardon me if I say I cannot accept it. I am very grateful to you; but——”

“Oh, it isn’t for you!” roared the general as he handed him the official paper.

“Major de Banyan!” exclaimed Captain Somers as he read the superscription with a thrill of delight. “It is indeed a joy to me. I am ten times as happy as I should have been if my own name had been coupled with that title. I am ever so much obliged to you.”

“Senator Guilford again! By the way, Captain Somers, you must call on him when you get to Washington.”

“I shall certainly do so. But I know my friend could not have been promoted without the good word which you have spoken for him.”

“Well, it is all right, captain. Major de Banyan is a brave fellow. He has done you a good turn; and I waylaid this document so as to afford you the pleasure of being the first to address him by his new title.”

“Thank you, general.”

“And, captain, if you could prevail on the major to be a little more reasonable in some of the lies he tells, his reputation for veracity would be improved.”

“I will endeavor to do so.”

The general bade the invalid a hearty and even affectionate adieu; and they did not meet again till they grasped hands on the bloody field of Antietam, where Somers acted in a new sphere of duty. No sooner had the general departed, than Somers, inspired to new vigor by the joyful event which had just transpired, hastened to the camp of the regiment.

“Ah, Somers; my dear boy! how are you now?” said his friend as he seized his hand.

“Better, I thank you,Majorde Banyan.”

“Come, now, Somers, that is cruel! A friend of mine, just before the battle of Solferino——”

“Confound the battle of Solferino, Major de Banyan!”

“I was about to say that a friend of mine, just before the battle of Solferino, made fun of my aspirations, just as you do now——”

“I don’t do anything of the sort. Here’s the official document. If I read right, it says Major de Banyan.”

“Somers,” said the captain, winking very rapidly to dissipate some evidences of weakness which were struggling for existence in his eyes—“Somers, you have done this.”

“I did write to Senator Guilford about you before we went over the river; and now I thank God with all my soul that I did so.”

“Somers, you are one of the best of friends!” exclaimed the major as he stood with the unopened document in his hand.

“And so are you. Without you, I should have been in a rebel prison or under the sod at this time.”

“God bless you, Somers!” ejaculated De Banyan, as with trembling hand he opened the envelope, and took therefrom his major’s commission. “I have loved you just like a younger brother; not selfishly, my dear boy, but with mywhole heart. You haven’t disappointed me, only once, when——”

“Don’t mention it. I thought you were a rebel then, but I repented.”

“I don’t blame you. Now, Somers, you are going home. May God bless you and keep you! I shall be as sad as a maiden who has lost her lover, while you are gone.”

“I shall not be absent long. We shall be together again in a few weeks.”

“I hope so. I have no home now. It has been desolated by treason. I heard since I came over that my wife was dead. I had a son, a boy of fifteen; I know not where he is. Well, well; I will not groan or complain. I will do my duty to my country, and that shall cheer my heart;” and with an effort of his powerful will, he banished the sad reflections from his mind, and smiled as though earth had no sorrows. “After the battle of Magenta, I had the blues, and——”

“One word, De Banyan.Wereyou at the battle of Magenta?” said Somers solemnly.

The major looked on the ground, at the commission he had just received, and then into the sympathizing face of his friend.

“To tell the truth, Somers, I was not; but I fought in every battle in Mexico, from Vera Cruz up to the capital.”

Somers improved this opportunity to repeat the injunction of the general.

“Now promise me, major, that you will neversay Magenta or anything of the sort again as long as you live,” added Somers.

“That would be a rash promise. I have got a bad habit, and I will try to cure myself of it. On my soul I will, my dear boy!”

In the course of the conversation the major, who was now in a truth-telling mood, informed Somers that he had, after his escape from the rebel army, enlisted in the regular army, where he had been made a sergeant, and, through the influence of a Massachusetts officer, had been commissioned as a captain. His gallantry had won a swift reward.

On the following day they parted on board the transport in the river; and in that sad hour the friendship which, though brief in duration, had been fruitful enough for a lifetime, was pledged for the future. They parted, De Banyan to mingle in the terrible scenes in which the regiment was engaged before the close of the month, and Somers to bask in the smiles of the loved ones at home. Alick, who had been regularly installed as the captain’s servant, went with him.

CHAPTER XXXIWASHINGTON, BOSTON AND PINCHBROOK

Though the session of Congress had closed a month before, Captain Somers was gratified to learn on his arrival that Senator Guilford andhis family were still in Washington, the distinguished gentleman having been detained by important public business. As soon as he could make himself presentable, he hastened to pay his respects to the Senator, and thank him for his kindness. He was not at home. Emma received him with a warm blush of pleasure on her fair cheeks. She had entirely recovered from the effects of the accident; and her tribute of gratitude was so eloquently poured forth, that the gallant young captain, who had hardly seen a young lady before for two months, could not exactly tell whether he stood on his head or his heels; for praise from those beautiful lips produced a sensation of giddiness in the region of the brain.

Young men will be silly in spite of all we dignified old fogies can say to convince them of the folly of being carried away by the witching arts of pretty, graceful little creatures like Emma Guilford. Perhaps the remembrance of the scene on the railroad was some excuse for him; and it is entirely unnecessary to apologize for anything a beautiful girl may do, especially if she be the daughter of a Senator. The young lady said a great many pretty things, and the young gentleman a great many smart ones, before she discovered that the captain was wounded in the arm, though she had already remarked upon his pale face and rather attenuated form.

He told her when and where he was wounded; and of course she wanted to know all about hisadventures in Secessia. He was as willing as Othello to speak

“Of most disastrous chances,

Of moving accidents, by flood and field;

Of hairbreadth scapes i’ the imminent deadly breach;

Of being taken by the insolent foe.”

All this to hear did Emma Guilford seriously incline. But he had hardly commenced the story before the Senator himself entered the room.

“Ah! Captain Somers, I am delighted to see you!” said he with enthusiasm, as he extended his hand, which our hero as warmly grasped.

“Thank you, sir. I have called to express my obligations to you for all your kindness to me and to my friend. Major de Banyan wished to be kindly remembered to you.”

“I am happy to hear from the major; and as for the rest, I feel that I have not yet begun to discharge my obligation to you. Why didn’t you write to me before?”

“I did not wish to burden you with any remembrance of such a humble individual as myself.”

“You are too modest by half, Captain Somers. I should not have known anything about you if it hadn’t been for General—— Well, no matter who,” laughed the Senator.

“Now, papa, you have cut short the most interesting story that ever was told!” interposed Emma.

“The captain must begin again, then. Ofcourse, you will make my house your home while in the city.”

“Thank you, sir. I left my servant at the hotel”

Senator Guilford insisted on sending for the servant and the baggage; and, in half an hour, Alick was present to confirm the wonderful tale which Somers told of his captivity in Petersburg, to which Emma and her father listened with the most intense interest.

Very much to his surprise, Captain Somers found himself quite a lion in Washington. He was introduced to Senators and Representatives; and on the following evening actually took the President of the United States by the hand, just as though he had been one of the patriarchs of Pinchbrook.

In spite of all these brilliant surroundings, Somers was anxious to get home. He was too feeble to endure the excitement of the capital; and on the third day after his arrival, he started for home. When he reached Boston, by an unfortunate chance it was two hours before a train would start for Pinchbrook. As he had spent two days with a Senator in Washington, and shaken hands with the President, he deemed himself qualified to call at No. — Rutland Street, where the carriage soon set him down.

Lilian Ashford was at home; and Captain Somers, who had faced a whole rebel brigade, trembled and blushed in the presence of the maidenlike the veriest coward in the world. But it was some satisfaction to know that the other party was similarly affected. The young hero could not exactly explain how he felt. It was a different sensation from that which had come over him in the presence of Emma Guilford. He experienced a feeling of awe before her, but he could talk as fast as ever; while to Lilian he stammered, couldn’t remember anything, and made woful confusion in his words and in his ideas.

When the ice was broken, he succeeded in telling her something about his adventures in Virginia, and roused a very strong desire in her mind to see the wonderful Major de Banyan. But his brief hour expired all too soon; it faded in a moment, and seemed like a tale that was told.

“I wore your socks at the battles of Savage’s Station, Glendale and White Oak Swamp, Miss Ashford,” said he; “and I shall keep them for future service of the same kind. If I am killed in battle, I shall be found with those socks on my feet.”

“Oh, I hope you won’t be killed!” exclaimed she with a shudder.

“Well, I hope not; but, as soon as I am able, I shall return to my duty.”

“What a brave fellow you are! I shouldn’t think you would dare to stand up before the cannons, and the muskets, and the bayonets.”

“When I feel like running away, I always think of my socks,” said Somers.

But the carriage had come for him, and Alick stood at the door waiting for his appearance. He took the little soft white hand in his own, and readily promised, when she invited him, to call again soon and see her grandmother, who was out of town that day. Of course, Somers was deeply interested in that venerable lady, and actually looked forward with intense pleasure to the anticipated visit.

He was driven to the railroad station, and reached Pinchbrook at “high twelve,” when the Pinchbrookers were just going to their dinners. Captain Barney, as usual, was at the depot, and gave him a seaman’s welcome home. He insisted upon being driven to the cottage before dinner; and the old shipmaster, finding that Captain Somers carried too many guns for him, gracefully yielded the point.

“Bless my stars, if there ain’t Thomas!” cried Mrs. Somers as she jumped up from the dinner-table, and actually upset the teapot in the operation.

“How do you do, mother? How do you do, father?” exclaimed the young captain as he shook hands with his father and Gran’ther Green, kissed his mother, and hugged his sister.

“How pale you look, Thomas!” said his mother. “I declare, you are as thin as a hatchet! How is your arm?”

“Better, mother; I shall be as good as new in a few days.”

“You look pale; but your face is as nateral as life,” said Gran’ther Green. “I don’t know what we shall do with two cap’ns in the family.”

“I think we can manage that, gran’ther,” replied Somers, as he took the place at the table which had been prepared for him.

We drop the curtain upon the scenes which followed; for our patient reader can better imagine than we can describe them. Our hero was once more within the hallowed precincts of home; all its sacred joys flowed in upon his soul; and he thanked the good Father who had conducted him through so many perils, and restored him to the hearts of the loved ones who yearned for him in his absence. They were as grateful for his return as he was—grateful that God had restored him at all; but doubly so that he had come with his soul unstained by the vices of the camp and the wickedness of the great world.

The health of Captain Somers did not permit his return to the army to participate in those great battles before Washington in which his regiment was reduced to a mere skeleton of its former self. But, while the country was breathing slowly and fearfully before the terrors of Lee’s invasion of Maryland, there came to Pinchbrook a letter from the gallant general of division—now in command of acorps d’armée—under whom he had before served, containing an appointment on his staff. Though still but partially restored to health, hehastened to accept his new position, and started at once for the scene of strife.

His suffering country needed him; and he could not satisfy his sense of duty, even with the reasonable excuse of a shattered physical frame. He went, and his record was always honorable and noble in success and in misfortune.

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