CHAPTER XXVIA NIGHT IN PETERSBURG
The sergeant who had captured our hero seemed to be a very clever fellow, and appreciated the sterling merits of his captive. While he was rigidly devoted to the discharge of his duty, he treated his prisoner with all the consideration which one human being has the right to expect of another, whatever the circumstances under which they meet.
Somers was disgusted with the result of the adventure, even while he had no reason to blame himself for any want of care or skill in conducting his affairs under the trying circumstances. He was only a few hours behind his late companion, Captain de Banyan; whom he had now a reasonable expectation of meeting again before the close of the day.
If Somers was disgusted with the issue of the adventure, he did not yet despair of effecting his escape. This was all he had to live for at present; and he was determined not to lose sight of thisgreat object of existence. Libby Prison was a flourishing institution, even at the time of which we write; and he was determined not to be sent there, if human energy and perseverance could save him from such a fate. It was easier to avoid such a trap than it would be to get out of it after he had fallen into it. As he walked along with the talkative sergeant, he kept his eyes open, ready to avail himself of any opportunity which might afford him a reasonable prospect of shaking off his disagreeable companion.
His captor asked him a great many questions in regard to himself, and to the Army of the Potomac on the other side of the river, which Somers answered with skill and discretion; though we suppose that even a rigid moralist would have excused some slight variations from the strict letter of the truth which crept into his replies. He was an officer in the Yankee army; but he dared not acknowledge his rank, lest he should be accused of being a spy. If he was a captain, he ought to have worn the uniform of his rank in order to have it recognized. As he was a private, his chance of spending the summer on Belle Isle was better than that for Libby. But, as Somers was fully resolved not to go to Richmond in advance of the noble army whose fortunes and misfortunes he had shared, he did not deem it necessary to consider what quarters he should occupy.
The sergeant was a faithful soldier. Somers found no opportunity to slip away from his guardon the way to the camp. He was duly delivered to the officer of the day, and his intimacy with his good-natured captor was at an end. The officer who was responsible for him made some inquiries in regard to the prisoner, and learned that he had escaped from the troopers in the morning. When he understood the case, as it was only eight miles to the railroad station, where the other prisoner was probably waiting a conveyance in the camp, he decided to send Somers forward at once, fearful that he might again take leave of his captors. From what he had heard from Captain Osborn and the cavalry soldiers in charge of him, he concluded that the young man was a person of more consequence than he appeared to be—that he was either high in rank, or guilty of enormous military misdemeanors.
A two-horse wagon used for general business about the camp was brought up, and Somers was sent forward in charge of two soldiers, who were especially ordered to shoot him if he attempted to escape; which they would probably have done of their own free will and accord, without any orders. The captive looked in vain for an opportunity to elude the vigilance of the guard; they hardly took their eyes off him during the ride. Possibly they thought the young fellow was President Lincoln in disguise, and that the salvation of the Southern Confederacy depended upon his safe delivery into the hands of the provost-marshal at Richmond.
The roads were very muddy from the recentrains, and it required two hours to accomplish the distance to the railroad station. On their arrival, Somers was handed over to another officer in charge of the camp at the station. Captain de Banyan had already been sent forward to Petersburg, and another train would not depart till evening. Somers was carefully guarded during the remainder of the day, and an attempt to get away would have been equivalent to committing suicide. At dark he was put into a baggage-car, with two soldiers to guard him; and in a short time reached the city of Petersburg. With several other unfortunate Union soldiers, he was placed in a small room in the station-house, to remain until a train should start for Richmond. Of course, they were carefully guarded; and Somers began to fear that he should, after all, be compelled to visit the rebel capital without the army.
The room was on the second floor, with two windows opening into the street; but the prisoners were charged, on penalty of being shot, not to look out at them. There was not the ghost of a chance to operate under such unfavorable circumstances; and Somers gave up all thoughts of doing anything that night. Stretching himself on the floor, he tried to sleep; but his spirit was too great to permit him calmly to view the prospect of a rebel prison. As he lay on the floor, he ransacked his brain for some expedient which would save him from the horrors of Libby or Belle Isle.
The best scheme that suggested itself was toleap from the cars on the way to Richmond. It involved the liability to a broken neck or a broken limb; but he determined to watch for an opportunity to execute this reckless purpose. His companions in bondage were worn out with long marches, and all of them slept on the floor around him in a few moments after they entered the room. They had asked him some questions; but he kept his own counsel, and endeavored to cheer their desponding spirits with the hope of being soon exchanged.
At last Somers went to sleep himself, after he had heard a church clock in the city strike eleven. He had slept none on the preceding night, and his slumbers were as sound as if he had been in his attic-chamber in the cottage at Pinchbrook. Even the opening of the door, and the entrance of three men with a lantern, did not disturb him. One of the party was an officer. He wore a military cloak over the gray uniform of the Confederate army.
“Which is the man?” demanded he in sharp tones of the two soldiers who accompanied him.
“I don’t know which he is now,” replied the corporal of the guard. “What’s his name?”
“Tom Leathers,” answered the officer.
The corporal then passed round among the sleeping prisoners, and roughly kicked those who were asleep, including Somers, who sprang to his feet, and was rather disposed to make a “row” on account of this rude treatment, before he remembered where he was.
“Now they are all awake,” said the corporal when he had been the rounds. “Is there any such man as Tom Leathers here?”
“Tom Leathers,” repeated the officer in a loud tone.
No one answered to the name; but, in a moment, Somers happened to think that this was the appellative which he had assumed when he was a pilot down on the creek by the James River. He was evidently the person intended; but he was in doubt whether to answer the summons. The antecedents of the young pilot of the James were not such as to entitle him to much consideration at the hands of the rebels; and he was disposed to deny his identity. While he was debating the question in his own mind, the corporal repeated the name.
“There’s no such man here,” he added, turning to the officer.
“He must be here. He came up in the night train.”
“He don’t answer to his name.”
“Hold your lantern, and let me look these prisoners in the face.”
The corporal passed from one to another of the captives till he came to Somers; thrusting the lantern into the face of each, so that the officer could scan his features.
“What’s your name?” he asked, as the corporal placed the lantern before Somers.
Not having made up his mind as to the effect ofacknowledging his identity with the pilot, he made no reply.
“That’s the man,” said the officer decidedly.
“Is your name Tom Leathers?” added the corporal, as he made a demonstration with his bayonet at the prisoner.
“Put down your musket, corporal; you needn’t be a brute to your prisoners.”
“I only wanted to make him answer the question. If you give me leave, I’ll find a tongue for him.”
“He is the man I want; bring him out,” replied the officer.
“Bring him out? I beg your pardon, sir; but I don’t know who you are. I can’t give up a prisoner without orders.”
The officer, who seemed to be suffering with a bad cold, and wore the collar of his cloak turned up so as to conceal the greater part of his face, opened the lower part of his garment, so that the corporal could see his uniform. At the same time he took from his pocket a paper, which he opened, and handed to the guard.
“That’s all right,” said the latter, when he had read the document. “Of course, you will leave this with me?”
“Certainly. Now bring out the man; and lose no time, for I am in a hurry.”
Somers was conducted from the room to the car-house below, where the officer asked for a soldier to guard the prisoner to the office of the provost-marshal,who was waiting for him. The corporal furnished the man; and the captive walked off between his two companions, bewildered by the sudden change which had taken place in the course of events. He could not imagine why he had been singled out from the rest of the prisoners in the station-house, unless some specific and more definite charge than being in arms against the great Southern Confederacy had been laid at his door. The most unpleasant thought that came to his mind was that Captain de Banyan had betrayed the object of his mission to the south side of the river. There was good evidence that his fellow-officer had come over as a spy; and the hope of saving his own life might have induced him to sacrifice even one who had been his best friend.
It was not pleasant to think of Captain de Banyan as capable of doing so mean an act; for he had been regarded in the regiment as the soul of honor,—of worldly honor, which scorns to do a vile thing if public opinion has condemned it. But the astounding information which he had obtained among the rebels concerning his friend’s antecedents had destroyed his confidence in him, and he was prepared for anything from him. In this light, his situation was almost hopeless; for the evidence would certainly condemn him before any court-martial in the Confederacy, and the chances of escape were lessened by his separation from his unfortunate companions in arms. He had probably been taken away from them to prevent eventhe possibility of exercising his talent in getting away, as he had done after his capture.
They walked in silence along the gloomy and deserted streets; and Somers felt just as if he were marching to his execution. He knew that the rebel officers had a summary way of dealing with cases like his own; and he was prepared to be condemned, even before another sun rose to gladden him with his cheerful light. He thought of his mother, of his father, of the other members of the family, and of the blow it would be to them to learn that he had been hanged as a spy. He thought of Pinchbrook, of the happy days he had spent there, and of those who had been his true friends. He thought of Lilian Ashford, the beautiful one, in the remembrance of whose sweet smile he had reveled every day since they parted, and which he had hoped to enjoy again when war should no more desolate the land, and he should be proudly enrolled with the heroes who had saved the nation from ruin.
All these pleasant memories, all these bright hopes, all these loving forms, though present in his heart, seemed dim and distant to him. He had nothing to hope for in the future on this side of the grave, nothing in the present but an ignominious death on the scaffold. Yet it was sweet to die for one’s country; and, disgraceful as his end might be in its form, it was still in the service of the nation. He felt happy in the thought; and, if there was nothing more on earth to hope for, therewas still a bright heaven beyond the deepest and darkest grave into which the hate of traitors could plunge him, where the ruptured ties of this life are again restored, never again to be subject to change and decay.
There was a tear in his eye as he thought of his fond mother; and he wept for her when he could not weep for himself. No one saw that tear, and the officer permitted him to indulge his sad revery in silence. But, after they had walked two or three squares, his companion in authority suddenly stopped.
“I have left a book, which I carried in my hand, at the depot,” said he, in tones full of chagrin at his carelessness. “I must have it; for I can do nothing without it.”
“Where did you leave it?” asked the soldier.
“In the guard-room. You may go back, and bring it to me. Give me your gun; you needn’t carry that.”
“Where shall I find you?”
“Here, where you leave me. Go quick, my man.”
“I won’t be gone ten minutes,” replied the soldier, as he started off at a run for the missing volume.
The officer took the gun, and stood by the side of his prisoner, at the corner of the street, till the soldier disappeared in the darkness. Somers, still thinking of the sad fate which he was confident was in store for him, wished to confirm his impressionsin regard to his destiny. His companion seemed to be a gentleman of a kindly nature, though stern in the discharge of his duty. It was possible that he would give him some information in regard to the probable disposal of him.
“Will you tell me, sir, why I am separated from the rest of the prisoners?” said he, as soon as the sentinel had departed upon his errand.
“Because you are an officer.”
“How do you know I am?” asked Somers, very desirous of ascertaining how much Captain de Banyan had told in regard to him.
“We know all about you,” answered the officer, muffling his cloak more closely around his face, as if afraid the night air might injure his lungs as he opened his mouth.
“What do you know about me?”
“All about you.”
“That isn’t very definite.”
“In a word, you are Captain Thomas Somers, of the —th regiment.”
“Who told you that?”
“That’s of no consequence.”
“What is to be done with me?”
“I don’t know.”
“I suppose I am only a prisoner of war?”
“You crossed the James River in disguise, and went into our lines for the purpose of obtaining information. I suppose you can put those two things together.”
Somers’s worst fears were confirmed. He wasto be tried as a spy, and De Banyan had told all he knew about him. Before he had time to dwell on the dark prospect any longer, the officer said he was cold, and could not stand there any longer. Taking his prisoner by the arm, he led him down the cross-street. Somers was just thinking of an attempt to bid his companion good-night, when the latter spoke again:
“I shall catch my death from this night air,” said he. “Just before the battle of Magenta——”
“Captain de Banyan!” exclaimed Somers.
CHAPTER XXVIIA FRIEND INDEED
“Hush, my dear boy! not a word!” said Captain de Banyan in an impressive whisper, as he led the way along the street.
Somers made no reply; for he readily perceived that the utmost caution was necessary, though he did not understand the position of his friend, or what complications there were in the situation. He was filled with rejoicing at finding himself again in the way of getting back to the Union army. Of course, his feelings towards Captain de Banyan, in spite of his antecedents in the Third Tennessee, underwent a sudden and agreeable change; and in the joy of his heart he was disposedto embrace his friend, and beg forgiveness for the suspicions he had entertained of him.
They had advanced but a short distance from the main street, when they heard the clatter of horses’ hoofs.
“That’s bad,” said Captain de Banyan, as he stopped to ascertain in what direction the horsemen were going.
“What’s bad?” demanded Somers.
“My absence has been discovered, I am afraid. The provost-marshal has a section of cavalry to run down Union prisoners who may escape. I think they are after me; at any rate, we must be very careful where we go.”
A few moments later, a small party of horsemen dashed down the street by which the captain was conducting his retreat. It would prove fatal to their hopes, if they were seen; and Captain de Banyan entered the yard of a house, followed by his companion. There was a stable on the premises; and, without a special invitation from the owner, they entered, making their way to the hay-loft, which seemed to be the most promising place of concealment. A horse in the stall below whinnied when they reached the second floor, expecting, no doubt, his morning rations of hay.
Unfortunately for the fugitives, still more unfortunately perhaps for the horse, there was very little hay in the loft; so that a secure hiding-place was not readily found. But, as it was no part of the captain’s intention to remain long in this loft,they seated themselves on a grain chest, to wait till the troopers should pass the house.
“What time is it, captain?” asked Somers.
“About four in the morning. We are rather late. It will be daylight in about an hour.”
“Where have you been since we parted?”
“Since we parted, my boy? We didn’t part. You did all the parting, Somers,” replied De Banyan in a reproachful tone.
“I know I did; but, after what I had heard, you need scarcely wonder. You acknowledged that you had been a rebel officer, and a member of the Third Tennessee regiment.”
“I grant it; but I thought enough else was said to enable you to understand my position.”
“Well, I had some hopes that you were all right; but I could not banish my fears. How could I know that you had not been sent over on the other side for the same purpose that we crossed the James?”
“You might have known it, my dear fellow. They don’t usually send men over on such business whose loyalty is doubtful. You heard the captain say that I had been suspected.”
“I did; but I could not fully understand your position.”
“And so you gave me the slip? Well, Somers, I forgive you.”
“I am sure, if I had not been in doubt in regard to what you were, I would not have left you, even if I had been certain of hanging with you.”
“I know you wouldn’t, my boy. I confess there were a great many dark things against me; but I assure you I am a loyal and true man. I have suffered more for the Union than you have; for I was born in the sunny South, and all my friends and neighbors went with the rebels. I had no alternative but to go into the army, where my experience in the Crimea, in Italy, and in Mexico, made me an officer. I escaped as soon as I could, and enrolled myself on the right side.”
Somers grasped the hand of his brave and devoted companion, which he pressed with a warmth that indicated his feelings more eloquently than words could have done. He was entirely satisfied with the explanation, because it was fully sustained by the conduct of the captain, and by the words of the rebel cavalry officer who had claimed his acquaintance. He was even disposed to believe that De Banyan had been a soldier in the European wars and in Mexico; which was a degree of credulity hardly to be expected of a sensible young man.
“You will forgive me for my unjust suspicions, captain? I assure you it went against my grain to believe that you were a rebel.”
“You had good reason for it. I was more afraid of you, when I confessed my sins to the rebel officer, than I was of him. We are friends again, Somers; that’s all I want.”
“You have proved yourself my friend by this last act; and I should have needed no further explanationto convince me that you were a loyal man.”
“I am all that, my dear boy.”
“Where have you been since I parted from you?”
“I got up to Petersburg in the afternoon. I was put in that hole where I found you at first; but, when the provost-marshal learned my story, he sent for me, and I was conducted to his office. Just as I came out of the depot, you went in. He wanted to question me, he said. Well, I happened to know him, though he did not know me. I knew his weak point; and, in a word, I bamboozled him. I assured him I was an officer in the Third Tennessee, and that, on further inquiry, he would find I was all right; that I had rendered greater service to my country by going over to the Yankees than I could possibly have done by remaining with my regiment; which, you are willing to believe, was strictly true.
“I asked the privilege of putting on my uniform again, which he granted; and, with the gold in my pocket, I purchased a full fit-out of the quartermaster. The provost-marshal told me that I must report at Richmond, which I promised to do; and, my dear boy, I hope I shall be able to do so at no distant day, though it doesn’t look much like it just now. He gave me an apartment next to his office, for the night; where, of course, he expected to find me in the morning. In the night, Igot up, and went into his office to transact a little business on my own account.
“After I saw you at the depot, my dear fellow, I couldn’t forget your sad look. You seemed to be as hopeless as a stray chicken in the wet grass, and I was trying to think what I could do for you. I couldn’t have gone back to Harrison’s Landing without you; it would have broken my heart. And what could I have said to the general, when he asked for you? How could I have made my peace with the officers of the regiment, if I had gone back without you?”
“It was very kind of you, after the shabby manner in which I had treated you,” added Somers.
“That was the very reason why I was bound to help you out of the scrape, if I could. I wanted to set myself right with you. I wanted to convince you I wasn’t the man you took me to be.”
“You have convinced me in the fullest manner; and I owe you a debt of gratitude which I shall never be able to pay.”
“Steady, my boy; we are not out of the scrape.”
“No matter whether we get out of the scrape or not, my feelings towards you will be just the same.”
“Thank you, Somers; I am satisfied.”
“But where did you get the pass you gave the corporal of the guard at the depot?” asked Somers.
“I found the provost-marshal’s signature on certain papers, one of which I filled out to suit myself.But there was a sentinel at the door of the office, put there, I suppose, for my benefit; though I was sorry to trouble the poor fellow to stand there on my account. My friend, the provost, had done this little act in the most delicate way in the world. He did not tell me that I was under guard; but I happened to find out before I put my foot in the trap.
“In a word, not wishing to disturb the sentinel, I took the liberty of leaving by the way of the window of my chamber, instead of the door. Luckily there was a one-story shop next to the office; and with the aid of a blanket from my bed, I dropped down upon it, without disturbing the meditations of the sentinel or the slumbers of the provost. I got into the street, and went to the depot. There I told the corporal of the guard a very interesting story about the prisoner who had been brought up in the afternoon, meaning myself; and that the man I wanted was needed immediately as a witness. You know the rest, my dear fellow; and here we are.”
“And here we are likely to remain, I’m afraid,” added Somers.
“Not a bit of it. I haven’t exhausted half my expedients yet. On the night before the attack on the Redan, at Sebastopol, I went all over that city, and spent the evening at the house of one of the most distinguished citizens—a gentleman who had a government contract for rations. Of course, he didn’t know me.”
“Hush! There is some one coming into the stable below,” said Somers, as he heard a door opened on the floor below.
It was impossible to move then without making noise enough to excite the attention of the person who had entered; for the stable was old and rickety, and the boards creaked at every step they took. The fugitives listened with breathless interest to the movements of the unwelcome visitor. The horse whinnied again; and the person entered the stall, and spoke to him. The sound of his voice filled the occupants of the loft with consternation; for evidently the speaker was not a negro servant, as they had hoped and expected to find him, but a white man, and one who used the English language well.
“Come, Jenny, there’s a job on hand for us; and you must postpone your breakfast till we catch the Yankee prisoners,” said the person, who, the fugitives were now satisfied, was an officer of the cavalry service.
While De Banyan was telling his story, they had heard some noise at the house; and they now concluded that the party which had ridden up the street had come to call this officer for duty. They hoped that nothing would require him to pay a visit to the loft, and that, like a good officer, he would be as expeditious as possible in his preparations.
“You are my prisoner, if he comes up-stairs,” whispered De Banyan.
Somers pressed the hand of his companion to assure him that he understood his plan; and they held their breath, in the intense anxiety of the moment, for further developments. The present seemed to be the turning point in the career of the adventurers; and, if they could once escape from the horns of this dilemma, skill and prudence would conduct them in safety to the Union lines.
The officer below, after he had politely informed “Jenny” of the early movement, seemed to be in no hurry to get into the saddle. He went out at the door of the stable, and all was silent again, except the voice of Jenny, who seemed to be protesting against any movement before she had received her customary feed of corn.
“Peters!” shouted the officer from the door, “hurry up! The Yankees will get to the James River before you get the saddle on my horse. Where have you been?”
“I was looking for my boots.”
“An orderly ought to wear his boots to bed with him, if he can’t put them where he can find them,” replied the officer, as the heavy step of another man was heard in the stable below.
“What news did you hear?” asked the officer, as the orderly led the horse from the stall.
“The sergeant said some officer that had been took as a deserter done runned away,” replied Peters, as the fugitives heard the rattle of the saddle-gear.
“Hurry up, then!”
“He done took a Yankee prisoner from the depot with him,” added Peters, who, if he had not been called an orderly, the listeners would have taken for a negro.
“You may take a peck of corn in a bag for Jenny, Peters. We may have a long ride of it,” added the officer, as he left the stable.
A peck of corn! De Banyan and Somers were sitting on the grain chest! It was impossible to avoid discovery; and De Banyan threw off his cloak, ready for the emergency.
“Somers, my boy, we must change our tactics. They have heard the whole story, and we can’t blind them. We must make the best of it. Have you a pistol?” whispered the captain.
“No; all I had was taken from me,” replied Somers.
“I have only one. No matter; it would never do to fire up here,” added De Banyan, as he picked up a short pitch-fork which lay near him.
“Are you going to kill him?” asked Somers.
“It’s life or death for you and me! We can’t stop for trifles,” answered the captain in hurried tones, but still in a whisper.
They listened for a moment longer to the quick movements of Peters in the stable below. It was evident that Jenny was duly caparisoned for service; and then another horse was led out, which belonged to the orderly. He was prepared for service in less time than Jenny had required; and, a moment later, the step of Peters was heard on thestairs. With the bag in his hand, he was coming up for the corn, as he had been ordered by the officer. He did not see the fugitives till he had reached the last step; when, as he was on the point of opening his mouth to speak, De Banyan leveled a blow at his head with the handle of the pitch-fork, which felled him to the floor.
He sank down upon the stairs stunned or dead; and the captain, as though he had carefully matured his plan beforehand, dragged the body to one corner of the loft, where he covered it with hay.
“Not a word, Somers,” said he in an excited whisper, as he crouched down behind the grain chest.
“Are you going to stay here?” demanded Somers, astonished at this singular disposition of the forces.
“Hush—the officer is close by.”
With beating heart, Somers waited for the further action of his resolute companion. It was the most critical period of his life, it seemed to him, especially as he did not fully comprehend the purpose of De Banyan. Only a moment elapsed, but it was long enough to be a week, before the owner of Jenny returned to the stable.
“Peters! What are you about?” shouted he angrily. “I shall never get off at this rate. Peters!”
Peters was not in condition to answer the summons at that moment. Somers hoped he was notdead; but he might as well have been dead, so far as speaking was concerned.
“Peters!” shouted the officer again, with a string of Southern Confederacy oaths; “where are you? What are you about?”
Of course, the orderly could not answer; and his silence only added to the rage of his master, who continued to swear in a manner which must have disgusted the gentle Jenny, and the other respectable horse standing on the stable-floor.
The officer rushed out of the stable, and the heaviness of his step indicated the state of his mind. He had gone to look for Peters; but, as Peters was not outside, he must be inside; and the officer entered again. He now walked towards the stairs leading to the loft.
“Peters!” he continued to roar as he rushed up the stairs. “Peters! this is your last day’s service with me!”
But the poor orderly was unable to remove the stain which rested upon his fidelity. He still held his peace; still silently submitted to the unjust imputations on his character. The officer landed in the loft just as Captain de Banyan rose to receive him.
“Who are you?” demanded he, as the stout form of the captain confronted him.
“Your most obedient servant to command,” replied De Banyan.
“You are a Confederate officer?”
“I seem to be; but I am not. Be that as it may,your presence is dangerous to my health and comfort.”
“I see: you are the deserter.”
“I am; but the future lies between you and me.”
“Then we will let the future speak for itself,” answered the officer, drawing a pistol from his belt. “Surrender, or you are a dead man!”
“I must positively decline the honor,” replied De Banyan, as he swung the pitch-fork over his head, and attempted to strike him down.
He failed; and the officer fired, but without effect. At that moment, Somers stepped forward with a billet of wood he found on the floor. At the same time, De Banyan raised the pistol; but the rebel fired a second time before he could discharge it. Somers instantly dropped his stick, and his left arm fell to his side; the ball had passed through it. De Banyan fired; the officer sank down, not killed, but badly wounded.
CHAPTER XXVIIIDR. SCOVILLE’S PATIENT
The ball from De Banyan’s pistol had passed through the right side of the officer; and he sank upon the floor, the blood flowing copiously from the wound. These proceedings were so irregular, that Somers could not reconcile himself to them.He was wounded himself; but, when the officer fell, he was full of sympathy for him. It was evident that the sufferer would bleed to death in a short time, if left to himself without any attention; and Somers could not endure the thought of letting even an enemy die in this forsaken condition.
“Come, my boy; we have no time to lose. It’s daylight now, and we ought to be five miles from the city before this time,” said De Banyan, as he moved towards the stairs. “Take the man’s pistol and ammunition, and come along as fast as you can.”
“Will you leave this gentleman in this condition?” asked Somers, gazing with pitying tenderness at the pale face of the fallen officer.
“Leave him? Of course; we can’t take him with us.”
“But he will bleed to death if we leave him here.”
“Let him bleed to death; I can’t help that. Many a better man than he has bled to death since this war began. Come along, Somers! What is the matter with your arm?” demanded he, when he saw that it hung useless at his side.
“I was hit.”
“Hit! We are lost, then!”
“No, we are not lost, either. I am not killed,” replied Somers, whose arm was still numb from the effect of the shot.
“That’s a misfortune. I am afraid it will spoil everything. Can you sit on a horse?”
“Of course I can. But I can’t bear to let this man die here alone. He is a brave fellow, and deserves a better fate.”
“Come along, Somers! You are an odd stick, when you are wounded, to trouble yourself about your enemies. Let me see your arm.”
The captain examined the wounded member, which was now bleeding very freely. He tied a handkerchief around the arm, and did the best which the circumstances would admit for his friend. He then led the way down-stairs, where the horses were impatiently waiting for their riders. Jenny was a noble mare, and the orderly’s horse was an excellent animal. De Banyan, knowing how much might depend upon the endurance of the horses in the flight before them, filled the bag with corn in the loft, after he had helped Somers to mount the horse of Peters, which appeared to be the steadier beast of the two.
The noise of the affray in the loft had probably been heard by some of the occupants of the house; and, just as the fugitives had mounted the horses, a black woman from the dwelling approached the stable. She gazed with astonishment and alarm at the riders, and seemed to be satisfied that all was not right.
“Your master is up in the loft,” said Somers, as they rode by her. “He is hurt, and wants attention.”
“Now whip up, Somers. We must make quick time; for we shall have the whole city after us inten minutes,” said De Banyan, as he urged Jenny to the top of her speed.
The spirited animal seemed as willing to exert herself for the enemies as the friends of the Southern Confederacy; thus proving that she was a neutral horse, or cherished Union sentiments. But the other horse could not keep pace with her, and De Banyan was compelled to restrain her speed. The fugitives had scarcely appeared in the street before a hue and cry was raised; for the place had been thoroughly aroused by the clamor which the troopers had created. Still, there was nothing in sight which promised to offer any serious resistance to their progress.
A few moments brought them to the outskirts of the town; though in what direction, or to what point, the road they had taken would lead them, neither De Banyan nor Somers had the most remote idea. To go in the wrong direction was equivalent to plunging into certain ruin; to go in any direction was hardly less perilous; for the rebel cavalry was out upon every road, intent upon capturing the deserter and the Yankee. As they emerged from the more thickly settled parts of the city, they discovered a negro approaching them.
“Where does this road lead to?” demanded De Banyan, reining in his fiery steed.
“Prince George’s Court House, massa,” replied the man. “Wha’ for you gwine down dar?”
De Banyan was not disposed to answer anyunnecessary questions, and again spurred on his horse.
“See here, massa!” shouted the negro.
“What do you want?” asked De Banyan impatiently; for, being a Southerner himself, he had no particular respect for the negro race.
“Don’t go down dar, massa.”
“Why not?”
“Git cotched if you do, massa,” said the man with an expressive grin. “De sodgers on de horses is down dar arter you.”
“How do you know they are after us, you black rascal?”
“Kase dey ax dis chile if he see two men, one ob ’em dressed like de ’federate ossifer, and de odder a Yank. Dis nigger didn’t see no sich pussons den; but, golly, sees um now fur sartin. You done git cotched as shore as you was born, massa, if you go down dar.”
“Where shall we go, then?”
“Dunno, massa; but you mustn’t be seen gwine down dar.”
“How many soldiers did you meet?”
“Four, sar.”
“This won’t do, Somers. How is your arm?”
“It begins to ache. We may as well go forward as back,” said Somers, who was now suffering severely from his wound, which had not been improved by the hard gallop of the horse he rode.
“Who lives in that house?” demanded De Banyanof the negro, pointing to a splendid dwelling a short distance ahead.
“Dr. Scoville, massa.”
“Doctor?” replied the captain, glancing at Somers.
“Yes, sar; Dr. Scoville. Dat’s a mighty fine mar you rides, massa. I reckon dat’s Captain Sheffield’s mar.”
“Very likely.”
“Don’t mind me, massa; dis chile’s a Union man for shore,” grinned the negro.
“All the negroes are Union men,” replied Somers faintly.
“Dat’s so, massa!”
“What’s Dr. Scoville?” asked De Banyan hopefully.
“Secesh, massa—drefful secesh. He done been in de army fur a surgeon.”
“He is a dangerous man, then.”
“Dar, massa, dar!” shouted the negro suddenly, as he pointed down the road over which the fugitives had just come. “Dey’s some more arter you.”
De Banyan started his horse again, followed by Somers; but it was evident from the appearance of the latter that the chase was nearly finished for him. He was beginning to feel very faint from the loss of blood, while the pain of his wounded arm was almost unsupportable. The gait of the horse seemed to wrench the bones asunder, and cause the shattered parts to grate against each other.
“Hurry up, Somers, my dear boy,” said his companion, as he glanced back at the pale face of his friend.
“I am afraid I can’t go much farther, De Banyan,” replied Somers. “I am very faint. I feel sick.”
“Cheer up, and make one effort more. The rebels are upon us!”
“I cannot. I shall fall from the horse, I am afraid.”
“Don’t do that.”
“I won’t if I can help it; but the motion of the horse almost kills me. Leave me, De Banyan; save yourself if you can.”
“Leave you? I haven’t the remotest idea of doing anything of the sort.”
“Better go on, and save yourself. It is all up with me.”
“A mother would sooner leave her baby than I would leave you,” replied De Banyan in tones as tender as a woman’s. “I’ll never leave you, Somers. If you go to Richmond, I shall go with you.”
“You cannot do me any good. Save yourself before it is too late.”
“Not I.”
“I beg you——”
“Cease your blarney, my dear boy! We are one flesh; and we will hang together to the end of life, oratthe end of it, as the case may be. Here,Somers, stick to your horse a moment more, and we will call and see the doctor.”
“Dr. Scoville!” exclaimed Somers, alarmed at the idea.
“Very likely he is a good surgeon. You are on the sick-list now; mind what I say, and do just what I tell you.”
De Banyan, without stating what he intended to do, dashed up the roadway leading to Dr. Scoville’s house. It was evident that he was about to resort to some desperate expedient to retrieve the shattered fortunes of his party; but he kept his own counsel; and Somers yielded himself to the master will of his companion like a child, as indeed he was in his exhausted and suffering condition. The roadway led to the rear of the house where the stable was located; and De Banyan reined up his foaming steed as soon as he reached the corner of the building.
“Keep still a moment, Somers, and I’ll have you taken care of,” said De Banyan, as he rode back to a point where he could see the road without being seen.
It was evident that they had been observed by the party of horsemen which had just come out of the city; and he wished to ascertain whether they had seen him turn in at the doctor’s premises. The pursuers (for every mounted man was a pursuer on that eventful morning) were riding in every direction in search of the fugitives. He hoped they would pass by, satisfied that any personwho should boldly call upon Dr. Scoville must be a rebel.
He was disappointed. When the party reached the road, they reined up their horses; and De Banyan, without losing a moment, dismounted, fastened Jenny to a post in the yard, and ran down to intercept the troopers. The captain walked with the quick, sharp, consequential tramp of a military commander; and, when the soldiers saw him, they involuntarily saluted him.
“What are you doing up here?” he demanded in tones of authority.
“We are looking for the prisoners that runned away,” replied a corporal.
“Well, do you expect to find them in the dwelling-house of Dr. Scoville? Ride down the road as fast as you can, and turn to the first left. If you meet the major, report Captain Sheffield badly wounded—shot by one of the prisoners.”
“Then the prisoners have gone down this way?”
“Certainly they have. Off with you as fast as you can!”
The corporal saluted, wheeled his horse, and dashed off, followed by the rest of the party. De Banyan wiped away the cold sweat from his brow, and returned to his suffering companion. He helped him to dismount and seated him on a block while he secured the horse. By this time, a couple of negro women came out of the house. They were the early risers of the family, and at once manifested the most abundant sympathy for thesufferer. The doors of the house were thrown wide open to him; and Captain de Banyan, supporting Somers, followed the servants into the sitting-room, where the patient was laid upon the sofa in a fainting condition.
“Now call your master,” said De Banyan, with as much assurance as though he had been the lord of the manor.
“Yes, massa,” replied one of the women as she hastened to obey the order.
“How do you feel, my dear boy?” said De Banyan, bending over his charge.
But Somers was past answering. He had fainted from loss of blood and the agony of his wound. The resolute captain did not wait for Dr. Scoville in this emergency; but, taking a bottle of cologne from the mantel, he applied himself with skill and vigor to the restoration of his patient. While he was thus engaged, the doctor made his appearance. He was a man of fifty, of forbidding aspect and rough exterior.
“Who are you, sir?” demanded he in brusk tones, placing himself in front of the captain, and without bestowing more than a glance at the patient on the sofa.
“Captain Sheffield,” replied De Banyan as sharply as the question had been put.
“Are you, indeed? Then you have altered a great deal since I saw you yesterday,” added Dr. Scoville, with an expression of malignant triumph on his face.
This reply was a damper on any little scheme which the over-confident De Banyan had proposed to carry out; but the captain was a profound student in the mysteries of human nature, and at once correctly read the character of the gentleman who stood before him.
“You didn’t see me yesterday, and you know you didn’t,” he replied in tones hardly less savage than those of his involuntary host.
“That’s very true; I did not,” said the doctor.
“This point settled, I’ll thank you to turn to the next one, which is the patient before you.”
“You are a plain-spoken man,” added Dr. Scoville, still gazing intently into the face of the captain; who, however, returned the look as resolutely and as earnestly as it was given.
“I am; I don’t waste words when my friend is dying, for aught I know. Will you attend to this man?”
“Who is he?”
“He is a man shot through the arm, and needing instant surgical attendance,” answered De Banyan impatiently. “It isn’t necessary to know any more before you examine him.”
“Good!” exclaimed the doctor with a smile such as that in which a hyena might be supposed to indulge when pleased, if hyenas ever are pleased.
He turned to Somers, and proceeded to examine into his condition. The coat of the patient was removed from his insensible form, and he was carefully disposed on the sofa, according to the directionsof the doctor; the captain and the negro women assisting in the work. Though the surgeon was as rough as a bear in his tone and manner, he was as tender as a loving mother in his treatment of the sufferer, and handled him as carefully as though he had been a new-born babe. The blood was stanched, and the wound dressed as skilfully as human hands and human knowledge could perform the operation.
“What do you think of him?” asked De Banyan, full of anxiety for his suffering companion.
“He won’t die just yet; but he may lose his arm.”
“Good heavens! do you think so?” exclaimed the captain.
“No; I don’t think so.”
“What did you say so for, then?”
“I didn’t say so.”
“Didn’t you say he would lose his arm?” demanded De Banyan savagely.
“I didn’t say so.”
“What did you say, then?”
“I said he might lose his arm. You may lose your arm; but I think you are more likely to lose your head. Who is this young man?”
“He is a friend of mine; and, as I find it necessary to be entirely candid with an old fellow like you, I shall answer no questions in regard to him at present.”
“Indeed!”
“Not a question, Dr. Scoville. I intend to havehim stay at your house till he is able to join his regiment; and I intend to stay with him.”
“You do me unmerited honor by making my humble house your home,” said the doctor satirically.
“I think you are worthy of the honor, Dr. Scoville. As your humble house, I think it is very well got up, creditable to your taste, and altogether a fine place.”
“Thank you,” growled the host. “I suppose you have no objection to my informing the Confederate States military officers in the city of your presence here?”
“Not the slightest,” answered De Banyan promptly. “I propose to inform them myself in due time.”
“What did you say your name was?”
“Captain Sheffield.”
“Of Petersburg?”
“No, sir.”
“Not of Petersburg?”
“No, sir; of Nashville, Tennessee, which I can further inform you is the capital of the State. I have the honor to be a captain in the Third Tennessee. I served in Mexico, in the Crimea, and in Italy. I was present at four battles in the Crimea, seven in Italy, five in Mexico; I have been engaged in nine battles of the present war, and have been wounded six times.”
“Were you ever killed?”
“Never was so unfortunate. Can I furnish you with any further information?”
“No more at present,” replied the doctor, compressing his lips, apparently to keep from laughing, but really because he could not think of anything sharp enough to dash so ready a talker. “If you do me the honor to remain here a week, I shall have better opportunities of hearing your marvelous experience, Captain Sheffield. Ah, what have we here?” continued he as three horsemen galloped up the roadway.
A violent knocking was presently heard at the side door of the house, and Dr. Scoville hastened to learn the errand of the excited visitors.