On leaving the hotel Vincent walked a short distance and then stopped until Dan came up to him.
"Anything de matter, sah?"
"Yes, Dan. There is a notice in the paper that the police have obtained information that I am traveling disguised as a minister, and have a negro servant with me."
"Who told dem dat?" Dan asked in surprise.
"We can talk about that presently, Dan; the great thing at present is to get away from here. The train for the South starts at ten. Give me the bag, and follow me at a distance. I will get you a ticket for Nashville, and as you pass me in the station I will hand it to you. It must not be noticed that we are traveling together. That is the only clew they have got."
Dan obeyed his instructions. The journey was a long one. The train was slow and stopped frequently; passengers got in and out at every station. The morning's news from the various points at which the respective forces were facing each other was the general topic of conversation, and Vincent was interested in seeing how the tone gradually changed as the passengers from St. Louis one by one left the train and their places were taken by those of the more southern districts. At first the sentiment expressed had been violently Northern, and there was no dissent from the general chorus of hope and expectation that the South were on their last legs and that the rebellion would shortly be stamped out; but gradually, as the train approached the State of Tennessee, the Unionist opinion, although expressed with even greater force and violence, was by no means universal. Many men read their papers in silence and took no part whatever in the conversation, but Vincent could see from the angry glances which they shot at the speakers that the sentiments uttered were distasteful to them. He himself had scarcely spoken during the whole journey. He had for some time devoted himself to the newspaper, and had then purchased a book from the newsboy who perambulated the cars. Presently a rough-looking man, who had been among the wildest and most violent in his denunciation of the South, said, looking at Vincent:
"I see by the papers to-day that one of the cursed rebel officers who gave them the slip at Elmira is traveling in the disguise of a minister. I guess it's mighty unpleasant to know that even if you meet a parson in a train, like as not he is a rebel in disguise. Now, mister, may I ask where you have come from and where you are going to?"
"You may ask what you like," Vincent said quietly; "but I am certainly not going to answer impertinent questions."
A hum of approval was heard from several of the passengers.
"If you hadn't got that black coat on," the man said angrily, "I would put you off the car in no time."
"Black coat or no black coat," Vincent said, "you may find it more difficult than you think. My profession is a peaceful one; but even a peaceful man, if assaulted, may defend himself. You say it's unpleasant to know that if you travel with a man in a black coat he may be a traitor. It's quite as unpleasant to me to know that if I travel with a man in a brown one he may be a notorious ruffian, and may as likely as not have just served his time in a penitentiary."
Two or three of the passengers laughed loudly. The man, starting up, crossed the car to where Vincent was sitting and laid his hand roughly on his shoulder.
"You have got to get out!" he said. "No man insults Jim Mullens twice."
"Take your hand off my shoulder," Vincent said quietly, "or you will be sorry for it."
The man shifted his hold to the collar of Vincent's coat amid cries of shame from some of the passengers, while the others were silent, even those of his own party objecting to an assault upon a minister. It was only the fact that the fellow was a notorious local ruffian that prevented their expressing open disapproval of the act. As the man grasped Vincent's collar with his right hand Vincent saw his left go under his coat toward the pocket in the back of the trousers where revolvers were always carried. In an instant he sprang to his feet, and before the man, who was taken by surprise at the suddenness of the movement, could steady himself, he struck him a tremendous blow and at the same moment springing at his throat, threw him backward on to the floor of the carriage. As he fell the man drew out his revolver, but Vincent grasped his arm and with a sharp twist wrenched the revolver from his grasp, and, leaping up, threw it out of the open window. The ruffian rose to his feet for a moment half-dazed by the violence with which he had fallen, and poured out a string of imprecations upon Vincent. The latter stood calmly awaiting a fresh attack. For a moment the ruffian hesitated, and then, goaded to fury by the taunting laughter of the lookers-on, was about to spring upon him when he was seized by two or three of the passengers.
"I reckon you have made a fool enough of yourself already," one of them said; "and we are not going to see a minister ill-treated, not if we know it."
"You need not hold him," Vincent said. "It is not because one wears a black coat and is adverse to fighting that one is not able to defendone's self. We all learn the same things at college, whether we are going into the Church or any other profession. You can let him alone if he really wants any more, which I do not believe. I should be ashamed of myself if I could not punish a ruffian of his kind."
"Let me get at him!" yelled Mullens; and the men who held him, taking Vincent at his word, released him. He rushed forward, but was received with another tremendous blow on the mouth. He paused a moment in his rush, and Vincent, springing forward, administered another blow upon the same spot, knocking him off his legs on to the floor. On getting up he gave no sign of a desire to renew the conflict. His lips were badly cut and the blood was streaming from his mouth, and he looked at Vincent with an air of absolute bewilderment. The latter, seeing that the conflict was over, quietly resumed his seat; while several of the passengers came up to him, and, shaking him warmly by the hand, congratulated him upon having punished his assailant.
"I wish we had a few more ministers of your sort down this way," one said. "That's the sort of preaching fellows like this understand. It was well you got his six-shooter out of his hand, for he would have used it as sure as fate. He ought to have been lynched long ago, but since the troubles began, these fellows have had all their own way. But look to yourself when he gets out; he belongs to a gang who call themselves Unionists, but who are nothing but plunderers and robbers. If you take my advice, when you get to the end of your journey you will not leave the station, but take a ticket straight back North. I tell you your life won't be safe five minutes when you once get outside of the town. They daren't do anything there, for, though folks have had to put up with a great deal, they wouldn't stand the shooting of a minister; still, outside the town I would not answer for your life for an hour."
"I have my duties to perform," Vincent said, "and I shall certainly carry them through; but I am obliged to you for your advice.I can quite understand that ruffian," and he looked at Mullens, who, with his handkerchief to his mouth, was sitting alone in a corner—for the rest had all drawn away from him in disgust—and glaring ferociously at him, "will revenge himself, if he has the opportunity. However, as far as possible, I shall be on my guard."
"At any rate," the man said, "I should advise you, when you get to Nashville, to charge him with assault. We can all testify that he laid hands on you first. That way he will get locked up for some days anyhow, and you can go away about your business, and he won't know where to find you when he gets out."
"Thank you—that would be a very good plan; but I might lose a day or two in having to appear against him. I am pressed for time and have some important business on hand, and I have no doubt I shall be able to throw him off my track, finish my business, and be off again before he can come across me."
"Well, I hope no harm will come of it," the other said. "I like you, and I never saw anyone hit so quickly and so hard. It's a downright pity you are a preacher. My name's John Morrison, and my farm is ten miles from Nashville, on the Cumberland River. If you should be going in that direction, I should be right glad if you would drop in on me."
The real reason that decided Vincent against following the advice to give his assailant in charge was that he feared he himself might be questioned as to the object of his journey and his destination. The fellow would not improbably say that he believed he was the Confederate officer who was trying to escape in the disguise of a clergyman and that he had therefore tried to arrest him. He could, of course, give no grounds for the accusation, still questions might be asked which would be impossible for him to answer; and, however plausible a story he might invent, the lawyer whom the fellow would doubtless employ to defend him might suggest that the truth of his statements might be easily tested by the dispatch of a telegram,in which case he would be placed in a most awkward situation. It was better to run the risk of trouble with the fellow and his gang than to do anything which might lead to inquiries as to his identity.
When the train reached Nashville, Vincent proceeded to an hotel. It was already late in the afternoon, for the journey had occupied more than thirty hours. As soon as it was dark he went out again and joined Dan, whom he had ordered to follow him at a distance and to be at the corner of the first turning to the right of the hotel as soon as it became dark. Dan was at the point agreed upon, and he followed Vincent until the latter stopped in a quiet and badly lighted street.
"Things are going badly, Dan. I had a row with a ruffian in the train, and he has got friends here, and this will add greatly to our danger in getting to our lines. I must get another disguise. What money have you left?"
"Not a cent, sah. I had only a five-cent piece left when we left St. Louis, and I spent him on bread on de journey."
"That is bad, Dan. I did not think your stock was so nearly expended."
"I had to keep myself, sah, and to pay for de railroad, and to buy dem t'ree suits of clothes, and to make de nigger I lodged with a present to keep him mouth shut."
"Oh, I know you have had lots of expenses, Dan, and I am sure that you have not wasted your money; but I had not thought about it. I have only got ten dollars left, and we may have a hundred and fifty miles to travel before we are safe. Anyhow, you must get another disguise, and trust to luck for the rest. We have tramped a hundred and fifty miles before now without having anything beyond what we could pick up on the road. Here's the money. Get a rough suit of workingman's clothes, and join me here in an hour's time. Let us find out the name of the street before we separate, for we may miss our way and not be able to meet again."
Passing up into thebusy streets, Vincent presently stopped and purchased a paper of a newsboy who was running along shouting, "News from the war! Defeat of the rebels! Fight in a railway car near Nashville! A minister punishes a border ruffian!"
"Confound those newspaper fellows!" Vincent muttered to himself as he walked away. "They pick up every scrap of news. I suppose a reporter got hold of someone who was in the car." Turning down a quiet street, he opened the paper and, by the light of the lamp, read a graphic and minute account of the struggle in the train.
"I won't go back to the hotel," he said to himself. "I shall be having reporters to interview me. I shall be expected to give them a history of my whole life: where I was born, and where I went to school, and whether I prefer beef to mutton, and whether I drink beer, and a thousand other things. No, the sooner I am away the better. As to the hotel, I have only had one meal, and they have got the bag with what clothes there are; that will pay them well." Accordingly, when he rejoined Dan, he told him that they would start at once.
"It is the best way, anyhow," he said. "To-morrow, no doubt, the fellow I had the row with will be watching the hotel to see which way I go off, but after once seeing me go to the hotel he will not guess that I shall be starting this evening. What have you got left, Dan?"
"I got two dollars, sah."
"That makes us quite rich men. We will stop at the first shop we come to and lay in a stock of bread and a pound or two of ham."
"And a bottle of rum, sah. Bery wet and cold, sleeping out of doors now, sah. Want a little comfort, anyhow."
"Very well, Dan; I think we can afford that."
"Get one for half a dollar, massa. Could not lay out half a dollar better."
Half an hour later they had left Nashville behind them, and were tramping along the road toward the east, Dan carrying a bundle in which the provisions were wrapped, and the neck of the bottle of rum sticking out of his pocket. As soon as they were well in the country Vincent changed his clothes for those Dan had just brought him, and making the others up into a bundle, continued his way.
"Why you not leave dem black clothes behind, sah? What good take dem wid you?"
"I am not going to carry them far, Dan. The first wood or thick clump of bushes we come to I shall hide them away; but if you were to leave them here they would be found the first thing in the morning, and perhaps be carried into the town and handed over to the police, and they might put that and the fact of my not having returned to the hotel—which is sure to be talked about—together, and come to the conclusion that either Mullens was right and that I was an escaped Confederate, or that I had been murdered by Mullens. In either case they might get up a search, and perhaps send telegrams to the troops in the towns beyond us. Anyhow, it's best the clothes should not be found."
All night they tramped along, pausing only for half an hour about midnight, when Dan suggested that as he had only had some bread to eat—and not too much of that—during the last forty-eight hours, he thought that he could do with some supper. Accordingly the bundle was opened, and they sat down and partook of a hearty meal. Dan had wisely taken the precaution of having the cork drawn from the bottle when he bought it, replacing it so that it could be easily extracted when required, and Vincent acknowledged that the spirit was a not unwelcome addition to the meal. When morning broke they had reached Duck's River, a broad stream crossing the road.
Here they drew aside into a thick grove, and determined to get a few hours' sleep before proceeding. It was nearly midday before they woke and proceeded to the edge of the trees. Vincent reconnoitered the position.
"It is just as well we did not try to cross, Dan. I see the tents of at least a regiment on the other bank. No doubt they are stationed there to guard the road and railway bridge. This part of the country is pretty equally divided in opinion, though more of the people are for the South than for the North; but I know there are guerrilla parties on both sides moving about, and if a Confederate band was to pounce down on these bridges and destroy them it would cut the communication with their army in front, and put them in a very ugly position if they were defeated. No doubt that's why they have stationed that regiment there. Anyhow, it makes it awkward for us. We should be sure to be questioned where we are going, and as I know nothing whatever of the geography of the place, we should find it very difficult to satisfy them. We must cross the river somewhere else. There are sure to be some boats somewhere along the banks; at any rate, the first thing to do is to move further away from the road."
They walked for two or three miles across the country. The fields for the most part were deserted, and although here and there they saw cultivated patches, it was evident that most of the inhabitants had quitted that part of the country, which had been the scene of almost continued fighting from the commencement of the war; the sufferings of the inhabitants being greatly heightened by the bands of marauders who moved about plundering and destroying under the pretense of punishing those whom they considered hostile to the cause in whose favor—nominally, at least—they had enrolled themselves. The sight of ruined farms and burned houses roused Vincent's indignation; for in Virginia private property had, up to the time of Pope's assuming command of the army, been respected, and this phase of civil war was new and very painful to him.
"It would be a good thing," he said to Dan, "if the generals on both sides in this district would agree to a month's truce, and join each other in hunting down and hanging these marauding scoundrels. On our side Mosby and a few other leaders of bands composed almost entirely of gentlemen have never been accused of practices of this kind; but, with these exceptions, there is little to choose between them."
After walking for four or five miles they again sat down till evening, and then, going down to the river, endeavored to find a boat by which they could cross, but to their disappointment no craft of any kind was visible, although in many places there were stages by the riverside, evidently used by farmers for unloading their produce into boats. Vincent concluded at last that at some period of the struggle all the boats must have been collected and either sunk or carried away by one of the parties to prevent the other crossing the river.
Hitherto they had carefully avoided all the farmhouses that appeared to be inhabited; but Vincent now determined to approach one of them and endeavor to gain some information as to the distance from the next bridge, and whether it was guarded by troops, and to find out, if possible, the position in which the Northern forces in Tennessee were at present posted—all of which points he was at present ignorant of. He passed two or three large farmhouses without entering, for although the greater part of the male population were away with one or other of the armies, he might still find two or three hands in such buildings. Besides, it was now late, and whatever the politics of the inmates they would be suspicious of such late arrivals, and would probably altogether refuse them admittance. Accordingly another night was spent in the wood.
The next morning, after walking a mile or two, they saw a house at which Vincent determined to try their fortune. It was small, but seemed to have belonged to people above the class of farmer. It stood in a little plantation, and was surrounded by a veranda. Most of the blinds were down, and Vincent judged that the inmates could not be numerous.
"You remain here, Dan, and I will go and knock atthe door. It is better that we should not be seen together." Vincent accordingly went forward and knocked at the door. An old negress opened it.
"We have nothing for tramps," she said. "De house am pretty well cleared out ob eberything." She was about to shut the door when Vincent put his foot forward and prevented its closing. "Massa Charles," the negress called out, "bring yo' shot-gun quick; here am tief want to break into the house."
"I am neither a thief nor a tramp," Vincent said; "and I do not want anything, except that I should be glad to buy a loaf of bread if you have one that you could spare. I have lost my way, and I want to ask directions."
"Dat am pretty likely story," the old woman said. "Bring up dat shot-gun, quick, Massa Charles."
"What is it, Chloe?" another female voice asked.
"Here am a man pretend he hab lost his way and wants to buy a loaf. You stand back, Miss Lucy, and let your brudder shoot de villain dead."
"I can assure you I am not a robber, madam," Vincent said through the partly opened door. "I am alone, and only beg some information, which I doubt not you can give me."
"Open the door, Chloe," the second voice said inside; "that is not the voice of a robber."
The old woman reluctantly obeyed the order and opened the door, and Vincent saw in the passage a young girl of some sixteen years old. He took off his hat.
"I am very sorry to disturb you," he said, "but I am an entire stranger here, and am most desirous of crossing the river, but can find no boat with which to do so."
"Why did you not cross by the bridge?" the girl asked. "How did you miss the straight road?"
"Frankly, because there were Northern troops there," Vincent said, "and I wish to avoid them, if possible."
"You are a Confederate?" the girl asked, when the old negress interrupted her:
"Hush, Miss Lucy! don't you talk about dem tings; der plenty of mischief done already. What hab you to do wid one side or de oder?"
The girl paid no attention to her words, but stood awaiting Vincent's answer. He did not hesitate. There was something in her face that told him that, friend or foe, she was not likely to betray a fugitive, and he answered:
"I am a Confederate officer, madam. I have made my escape from Elmira prison, and I am trying to find my way back into our lines."
"Come in, sir," the girl said, holding out her hand. "We are Secessionists, heart and soul. My father and my brother are with our troops—that is, if they are both alive. I have little to offer you, for the Yankee bands have been here several times, have driven off our cattle, emptied our barns, and even robbed our hen nests, and taken everything in the house they thought worth carrying away. But whatever there is, sir, you are heartily welcome to. I had a paper yesterday—it is not often I get one—and I saw there that three of our officers had escaped from Elmira. Are you one of them?"
"Yes, madam. I am Lieutenant Wingfield."
"Ah! then you are in the cavalry. You have fought under Stuart," the girl said. "The paper said so. Oh, how I wish we had Stuart and Stonewall Jackson on this side! We should soon drive the Yankees out of Tennessee."
"They would try to, anyhow," Vincent said, smiling, "and if it were possible they would assuredly do it. I was in Ashley's horse with the Stonewall division through the first campaign in the Shenandoah Valley and up to Bull Run, and after that under Stuart. But is not your brother here? Your servant called to him."
"There is no one here but ourselves," the girl replied. "That was a fiction of Chloe's, and it has succeeded sometimes when we have had rough visitors. And now, what can I do for you, sir? You said you wanted to buy a loaf of bread, and therefore, I suppose, you are hungry. Chloe, put the bacon and bread on the table, and make some coffee. I am afraid that is all we can do, sir, but such as it is you are heartily welcome to it."
"I thank you greatly," Vincent replied, "and will, if you will allow me, take half my breakfast out to my boy, who is waiting over there."
"Why did you not bring him in?" the girl asked. "Of course he will be welcome, too."
"I did not bring him in before because two men in these days are likely to alarm a lonely household; and I would rather not bring him in now, because, if by any possibility the searchers, who are no doubt after me, should call and ask you whether two men, one a white and the other a negro, had been here, you could answer no."
"But they cannot be troubling much about prisoners," the girl said. "Why, in the fighting here and in Missouri they have taken many thousands of prisoners, and you have taken still more of them in Virginia; surely they cannot trouble themselves much about one getting away."
"I am not afraid of a search of that kind," Vincent said; "but, unfortunately, on my way down I had a row in the train with a ruffian named Mullens, who is, I understand, connected with one of these bands of brigands, and I feel sure that he will hunt me down, if he can."
The girl turned pale.
"Oh!" she said, "I saw that in the paper too, but it said that it was a minister. And it was you who beat that man and threw his revolver out of the window? Oh, then, you are in danger indeed, sir. He is one of the worst ruffians in the State, and is the leader of the party who stripped this house and threatened to burn it to the ground. Luckily I was not at home, having gone away to spend the night with a neighbor. His band have committed murders all over the country, hanging up defenseless people on pretense that they were Secessionists. They will show you no mercy, if they catch you."
"No. I should not expect any great mercy, if I fell into their hands, Miss Lucy. I don't know your other name."
"My name is Kingston. I ought to have introduced myself to you at once."
"Now you understand, Miss Kingston, how anxious I am to get across the river, and that brings me to the question of the information I want you to give me. How far is it from the next bridge on the south, and are there any Federal troops there?"
"It is about seven miles to the bridge at Williamsport; we are just halfway between that and the railway bridge at Columbus. Yes, there are certainly troops there."
"Then I see no way for it but to make a small raft to carry us across, Miss Kingston. I am a good swimmer, but the river is full and of considerable width; still, I think I can get across. But my boy cannot swim a stroke."
"I know where there is a boat hid in the wood near the river," the girl said. "It belongs to a neighbor of ours, and when the Yankees seized the boats he had his hauled up and hidden in the woods. He was a Southerner, heart and soul, and thought that he might be able sometimes to take useful information across the river to our people; but a few weeks afterward his house was attacked by one of these bands—it was always said it was that of Mullens—and he was killed, defending it to the last. He killed several of the band before he fell, and they were so enraged that, after plundering it, they set it on fire and fastened the door, and his wife and two maidservants were burned to death."
"I wish instead of throwing his pistol out of the window, I had blown his brains out with it," Vincent said; "and I would have done so, if I had known what sort of fellow he was. However, as to the boat, can you give me instructions where to find it, and is it light enough for two men to carry?"
"Not to carry, perhaps, but to push along. It is a light boat he had for pleasure. He had a large one, but that was carried away with the others. I cannot give you directions, but I can lead you to the place."
"I should not like you to do that," Vincent said. "We might be caught, and your share in the affair might be suspected."
"Oh there is no fear of that," the girl said; "besides, I am not afraid of danger."
"I don't think it is right, Miss Kingston, for a young lady like you to be living here alone with an old servant in such times as these. You ought to go into a town until it's all over."
"I have no one to go to," the girl said simply. "My father bought this place and moved here from Georgia only six years ago, and all my friends are in that State. Except our neighbors round here I do not know a soul in Tennessee. Besides, what can I do in a town? We can manage here, because we have a few fowls, and some of our neighbors last spring plowed an acre or two of ground and planted corn for us, and I have a little money left for buying other things; but it would not last us a month if we went into a town. No, I have nothing to do but to stay here until you drive the Yankees back. I will willingly take you down to the boat to-night. Chloe can come with us and keep me company on the way back. Of course it would not be safe to cross in the daytime."
"I thank you greatly, Miss Kingston, and shall always remember your kindness. Now, when I finish my meal, I will go out and join my boy, and will come to you at eight o'clock; it will be quite dark then."
"Why should you not stay here till then, Mr. Wingfield? It is very unlikely that anyone will come along."
"It is unlikely, but it is quite possible," Vincent replied; "and were I caught here by Mullens, the consequence would be very serious to you as well as to myself. No, I could not think of doing that. I will go out, and come back at eight o'clock. I shall not be far away; but if anyone should come and inquire, you can honestly say that you do not know where I am."
"I have two revolvers here, sir; in fact I have three. I always keep one loaded, for there is never any saying whether it may not be wanted; and the other two I picked up last spring. There was a fight about a quarter of a mile from here, and it was after it was over and they had moved away, for the Confederates won that time and chased them back toward Nashville, I went with Chloe with some water and bandages to see if we could do anything for the wounded. We were at work there till evening, and I think we did some good. As we were coming back I saw something in a low bush, and going there found a Yankee officer and his horse both lying dead; they had been killed by a shell, I should think. Stooping over to see if he was quite dead I saw a revolver in his belt and another in the holster of his saddle, so I took them out and brought them home, thinking I might give them to some of our men, for we were then, as we have always been, very short of arms; but I have never had an opportunity of giving them away, and I am very glad now that I have not. Here they are, sir, and two packets of cartridges, for they are of the same size as those of the pistol my father gave me when he went away. You are heartily welcome to them."
"Thank you extremely," Vincent said as he took the pistols and placed the packets of ammunition in his pocket. "We cut two heavy sticks the night we left Nashville so as to be able to make something of a fight; but with these weapons we shall feel a match for any small parties we may meet. Then at eight o'clock I will come back again."
"I shall be ready," the girl said; "but I wish you would have stopped, there are so many things I want to ask you about, and these Yankee papers, which are all we see now, are full of lies."
"They exaggerate their successes and to some extent conceal their defeats," Vincent said; "but I do not think it is the fault of the newspapers, whose correspondents do seem to me to try and tell the truth to their readers, but of the official dispatches of the generals. The newspapers tone matters down, no doubt, because they consider it necessary to keep up the public spirit; but at times they speak out pretty strongly, too. I am quite as sorry to leave as you can be that I should go, Miss Kingston, but I am quite sure that it is very much the wisest thing for me to do. By the way, if I should not be here by half-past eight I shall not come at all, and you will know that something has occurred to alter our plans. I trust there is no chance of anything doing so, but it is as well to arrange so that you should not sit up expecting me. Should I not come back you will know that I shall be always grateful to you for your kindness, and that when this war is over, if I am alive, I will come back and thank you personally."
"Good-by till this evening!" the girl said. "I will not even let myself think that anything can occur to prevent your return."
"Golly, Massa Vincent, what a time you hab been!" Dan said when Vincent rejoined him. "Dis chile began to tink dat somefing had gone wrong, and was going in anoder five minutes to knock at the door to ask what dey had done to you."
"It is all right, Dan. I have had breakfast, and have brought some for you; here is some bread and bacon and a bottle of coffee."
"Dat good, massa; my teeth go chatter, chatter wid sleeping in these damp woods; dat coffee do me good, sah. After dat I shall feel fit for anyting."
"By the way, Dan," Vincent said when the negro had finished his meal, "we have not talked over that matter of my clothes. I can't imagine how that letter saying that one of us was disguised as a minister and would have a negro servant came to be written. Did you ever tell the people you lodged with anything about the disguise?"
"No, sah, neber said one word to dem about it; dey know nothing whatsoeber. De way me do wid your letter was dis. Me go outside town and wait for long time. At last saw black fellow coming along. Me say to him, 'Can you read?' and he said as he could. I said 'I got a letter, I want to read him. I gib you a quarter to read him to me;' so he said yes, and he read the letter. He a long time of making it out, because he read print, but not read writing well. He spell it out word by word, but I don't tink he understand dat it come from prison, only dat it come from someone who wanted some rope and a turn-screw. Me do just the same way wid de second letter. As for de clothes, me buy dem dat day, make dem up in bundle, and not go back to lodging at all. Me not know how anyone could know dat I buy dat minister clothes for you, sah. Me told de storekeeper dat dey was for cousin of mine, who preach to de colored folk, and dat I send him suit as present. Onless dat man follow me and watch me all de time till we go off together, sah, me no see how de debbil he guess about it."
"That's quite impossible, Dan; it never could have been that way. It is very strange, for it would really seem that no one but you and I and the other two officers could possibly know about it."
"Perhaps one ob dem want to do you bad turn, massa, and write so as to get you caught and shut up again."
Vincent started at this suggestion. Was it possible that Jackson could have done him this bad turn after his having aided him to make his escape! It would be a villainous trick; but then he had always thought him capable of villainous tricks, and it was only the fact that they were thrown together in prison that had induced him to make up his quarrel with him; but though Jackson had accepted his advances, it was probable enough that he had retained his bad feeling against him, and had determined, if possible, to have his revenge on the first opportunity.
"The scoundrel," he said to himself, "after my getting him free, to inform against me! Of course I have no proof of it, but I have not the least doubt that it was he. If we ever meet again, Mr. Jackson, I will have it out with you."
"You got two pistols, sah," Dan said presently. "How you get dem?"
"The lady of the house gave them to me, Dan; they are one for you and one for me."
"Dis chile no want him, sah; not know what to do wid him. Go off and shoot myself, for sure."
"Well, I don't suppose you would do much good with it, Dan. As I am a good shot, perhaps I had better keep them both. You might load them for me as I fire them."
"Bery well, sah: you show me how to load, me load."
Vincent showed Dan how to extricate the discharged cartridge cases and to put in fresh ones, and after a quarter of an hour's practice Dan was able to do this with some speed.
"When we going on, sah?" he said as, having learned the lesson, he handed the pistol back to Vincent.
"We are not going on until the evening, Dan. When it gets dark the lady is going to take us to a place where there is a boat hidden, and we shall then be able to cross the river."
"Den I will hab a sleep, sah. Noting like sleeping when there is a chance."
"I believe you could sleep three-quarters of your time, Dan. However, you may as well sleep now if you can, for there will be nothing to do till night."
Vincent went back to the edge of the wood, and sat down where he could command a view of the cottage. The country was for the most part covered with wood, for it was but thinly inhabited except in the neighborhood of the main roads. Few of the farmers had cleared more than half their ground; many only a few acres. The patch, in which the house with its little clump of trees stood nearly in the center, was of some forty or fifty acres in extent, and though now rank with weeds, had evidently been carefully cultivated, for all the stumps had been removed, and the fence round it was of a stronger and neater character than that which most of the cultivators deemed sufficient.
Presently he heard the sound of horses' feet in the forest behind him, and he made his way back to a road which ran along a hundred yards from the edge of the wood. He reached it before the horseman came up, and lay down in the underwood a few yards back. In a short time two horsemen came along at a walking pace.
"I call this a fool's errand altogether," one of them said in a grumbling tone. "We don't know that they have headed this way; and if they have, we might search these woods for a month without finding them."
"That's so," the other said; "but Mullens has set his heart on it, and we must try for another day or two. My idea is that when the fellow heard what sort of a chap Mullens was, he took the train back that night and went up North again."
Vincent heard no more, but it was enough to show him that a sharp hunt was being kept up for him; and although he had no fear of being caught in the woods, he was well pleased at the thought that he would soon be across the water and beyond the reach of his enemy. He went back again to the edge of the clearing and resumed his watch. It was just getting dusk, and he was about to join Dan when he saw a party of twelve men ride out from the other side of the wood and make toward the house. Filled with a vague alarm that possibly someone might have caught sight of him and his follower on the previous day, and might, on being questioned by the searchers, have given them a clew as to the direction in which they were going, Vincent hurried to the spot where he left Dan. The negro jumped up as he approached.
"Me awake long time, sah. Began to wonder where you had got to."
"Take your stick and come along, Dan, as fast as you can."
Without another word Vincent led the way along the edge of the wood to the point where the clump of trees at the back of the house hid it from his view.
"Now, Dan, stoop low and get across to those trees."
Greatly astonished at what was happening, but having implicit faith in his master, Dan followed without a question.
It was but ten minutes since Vincent had seen the horsemen, but the darkness had closed in rapidly, and he had little fear of his approach being seen. He made his way through the trees, and crept up to the house, and then kept close along it until he reached the front. There stood the horses with the bridles thrown over their necks. The riders were all inside the house.
"Look here, Dan," he whispered, "you keep here perfectly quiet until I join you again or you hear a pistol shot. If you do hear a shot, rush at the horses with your stick and drive them off at full gallop. Drive them right into the woods if you can, and then lie quiet till you hear me whistle for you. If you don't hear my whistle you will know something has happened to me, and then you must make your way home as well as can."
"Oh, Master Vincent!" Dan began; but Vincent stopped him.
"It's no use talking, Dan; you must do as I order you. I hope all will be well; but it must be done, anyhow."
"Let me come and load your pistol and fight with you, sah."
"You can do more good stampeding the horses, Dan. Perhaps, after all, there will be no trouble."
So saying, leaving Dan with the tears running down his cheeks, Vincent went to the back of the house and tried the door there. It was fastened. Then he went to the other side; and here the light streaming through the window, which was open, and the sound of loud voices, showed him the room where the party were. He crept cautiously up and looked in. Mullens was standing facing Lucy Kingston; the rest of the men were standing behind him. The girl was as pale as death, but was quiet and composed.
"Now," Mullens said, "I ask you for the last time. You have admitted that a man has been here to-day and that you gave him food. You say he is not in the house; and as we have searched it pretty thoroughly, we know that's right enough. You say you don't know where he is, and that may be true enough in a sense; but I have asked you whether he is coming back again, and you won't answer me. I just give you three seconds;" and he held out his arm with a pistol in it. "One!" As the word "Two" left his lips, a pistol cracked and Mullens fell back with a bullet in his forehead.
At the same time Vincent shouted at the top of his voice, "Come on, boys; wipe 'em out altogether! Don't let one of them escape!" As he spoke he discharged his pistol rapidly into the midst of the men, who were for the moment too taken by surprise to move, and every shot took effect upon them. At the same moment there was a great shouting outside, and the trampling of horses' feet. One or two of the men hastily returned Vincent's fire, but the rest made a violent rush to the door. Several fell over the bodies of their comrades, and Vincent had emptied one of his revolvers and fired three shots with the second before the last of those able to escape did so. Five bodies remained on the floor. As they were still seven to one against him, Vincent ran to the corner of the house, prepared to shoot them as they came round; but the ruffians were too scared to think of anything but escape, and they could be heard running and shouting across the fields.
Vincent ran into the house. He had seen Lucy Kingston fall prostrate at the same instant as the ruffian facing her. Strung up to the highest tension, and expecting in another second to be shot, the crack of Vincent's pistol had brought her down as surely as the bullet of Mullens would have done. Even in the excitement of firing, Vincent felt thankful when he saw her fall, and knew that she was safe from the bullets flying about. When he entered the room he found the old negress lying beside her, and thought at first that she had fallen in the fray. He found that she was not only alive, but unhurt, having, the instant she saw her young mistress fall, thrown herself upon her to protect her from harm.
"Am dey all gone, sah?" she asked, as Vincent somewhat roughly pulled her off the girl's body.
"They have all gone, Chloe; but I do not know how soon they may be back again. Get your mistress round as soon as you can. I am sure that she has only fainted, for she fell the instant I fired, before another pistol had gone off."
Leaving the old woman to bring Miss Kingston round, he reloaded his pistols and went to the door. In a few minutes the sound of horses galloping was heard.
"Halt, or I fire!" he shouted.
"Don't shoot, sah! don't shoot! it am me!" and Dan rode up, holding a second horse by the bridle. "I thought I might as well get two ob dem, so I jump on de back ob one and get hold ob anoder bridle while I was waiting to hear your pistol fire. Den de moment I heard dat, I set de oders off, and chased dem to de corner where de gate was where dey came in at, and along de road for half a mile; dey so frightened dey not stop for a long time to come. Den I turn into de wood and went through de trees, so as not to meet dem fellows, and lifted two of de bars of the fence, and here am I. You are not hurt, massa?"
"My left arm is broken, I think, Dan; but that is of no consequence. I have shot five of these fellows—their leader among them—and I expect three of the others have got a bullet somewhere or other in them. There was such a crowd round the door that I don't think one shot missed. It was well I thought of stampeding the horses; that gave them a greater fright than my pistols. No doubt they thought that there was a party of our bushwhackers upon them. Now, Dan, you keep watch, and let me know if you see any signs of their returning. I think they are too shaken up to want any more fighting; but as there are seven of them, and they may guess there are only two or three of us, it is possible they may try again."
"Me don't tink dey try any more, sah. Anyhow, I look out sharp." So saying, Dan, fastening up one of the horses, rode the other in a circle round and round the house and little plantation, so that it would not be possible for anyone to cross the clearing without being seen. Vincent returned to the house, and found Miss Kingston just recovering consciousness. She sat upon the ground in a confused way.
"What has happened, nurse?"
"Never mind at present, deary. Juss you keep yourself quiet, and drink a little water."
The girl mechanically obeyed. The minute she put down the glass her eye fell upon Vincent, who was standing near the door.
"Oh, I remember now!" she said, starting up. "Those men were here, and they were going to shoot me. One—two—and then he fired, and it seemed that I fell dead. Am I not wounded?"
"He never fired at all, Miss Kingston; he will never fire again. I shot him as he said 'two,' and no doubt the shock of the sudden shot caused you to faint dead away. You fell the same instant that he did."
"But where are the others?" the girl said with a shudder. "How imprudent of you to come here! I hoped you had seen them coming toward the house."
"I did see them, Miss Kingston, and that was the reason I came. I was afraid they might try rough measures to learn from you where I was hidden. I arrived at the window just as the scoundrel was pointing his pistol toward you, and then there was no time to give myself up, and I had nothing to do for it but to put a bullet through his head in order to save you. Then I opened fire upon the rest, and my boy drove off their horses. They were seized with a panic and bolted, thinking they were surrounded. Of course I kept up my fire, and there are four of them in the next room besides their captain. And now, if you please, I will get you, in the first place, to bind my arm tightly across my chest, for one of their bullets hit me in the left shoulder, and has, I fancy, broken it."
The girl gave an exclamation of dismay.
"Do not be alarmed, Miss Kingston; a broken shoulder is not a serious matter, only I would rather it had not happened just at the present moment; there are more important affairs in hand. The question is, What is to become of you? It is quite impossible that you should stay here after what has happened. Those scoundrels are sure to come back again."
"What am I to do, Chloe?" the girl asked in perplexity. "I am sure we cannot stay here. We must find our way through the woods to Nashville, and I must try and get something to do there."
"There is another way, Miss Kingston, if you like to try it," Vincent said. "Of course it would be toilsome and unpleasant, but I do not think it would be dangerous, for even if we got caught there would be no fear of your receiving any injury from the Federal troops. My proposal is that you and Chloe should go with us. If we get safely through the Federal lines I will escort you to Georgia and place you with your friends there."
The girl looked doubtful for a moment, and then she shook her head.
"I could not think of that, sir. It would be difficult enough for you to get through the enemy by yourselves. It would add terribly to your danger to have us with you."
"I do not think so," Vincent replied. "Two men would be sure to be questioned and suspected, but a party like ours would be far less likely to excite suspicion. Every foot we get south we shall find ourselves more and more among people who are friendly to us, and although they might be afraid to give shelter to men, they would not refuse to take women in. I really think, Miss Kingston, that this plan is the best. In the first place, it would be a dangerous journey for you through the woods to Nashville, and if you fall into the hands of any of those ruffians who have been here you may expect no mercy. At Nashville you will have great difficulty in obtaining employment of any kind, and even suppose you went further north your position as a friendless girl would be a most painful one. As to your staying here, that is plainly out of the question. I think that there is no time to lose in making a decision. Those fellows may go to the camp at the bridge, give their account of the affair, declare that they have been attacked by a party of Confederate sympathizers, and return here with a troop of horse."
"What do you say, Chloe?" Lucy asked.
"I'se ready to go wid you whereber you like, Miss Lucy; but I do tink dat, in times like dis, dat a young gal is best wid her own folk. It may be hard work getting across, but as to danger dar can't be much more danger than dar has been in stopping along here, so it seems to me best to do as dis young officer says."
"Very well, then, I will, sir. We will go under your protection, and will give you as little trouble as we can. We will be ready in five minutes. Now, Chloe, let us put a few things together. The fewer the better. Just a small bundle which we can carry in our hands."
In a few minutes they returned to the room, Chloe carrying a large basket, and looking somewhat ruffled.
"Chloe is a little upset," the girl said, smiling, "because I won't put my best clothes on; and the leaving her Sunday gown behind is a sore trouble to her."
"No wonder, sah," Chloe said. "Why, dey say dat thar am no pretty dresses in de 'Federacy, and dat blue gown wid red spots is just as good as new, and it am downright awful to tink dat dose fellows will come back and take it."
"Never mind, Chloe," Vincent said, smiling. "No doubt we are short of pretty dresses in the South, but I dare say we shall be able to find you something that will be almost as good. But we must not stand talking. You are sure you have got everything of value, Miss Kingston?"
"I have got my purse," she said, "and Chloe has got some food. I don't think there is anything else worth taking in the house."
"Very well, we will be off," Vincent said, leading the way to the door.
A minute later Dan rode past, and Vincent called him and told him they were going to start.
"Shall we take de horses, sah?"
"No, Dan. We are going to carry out our original plan of crossing the river in a boat, and I think the horses would be rather in our way than not. But you had better not leave them here. Take them to the farther side of the clearing, and get them through the fence into the forest, then strike across as quickly as you can and join us where we were stopping to-day. Miss Kingston and her servant are going with us. They cannot stay here after what has taken place."
Dan at once rode off with the two horses, and the others walked across to the edge of the clearing and waited until he rejoined them.
"Now, Miss Kingston, you must be our guide at present."
"We must cross the road, first," the girl said. "Nearly opposite to where we are there is a little path through the wood, leading straight down to the river. The boat lies only a short distance from it."
The path was a narrow one, and it was very dark under the trees.
"Mind how you go," Vincent said, as the girl stepped lightly on ahead. "You might get a heavy fall if you caught your foot in a root."
She instantly moderated her pace. "I know the path well, but it was thoughtless of me to walk so fast. I forgot you did not know it, and if you were to stumble you might hurt your arm terribly. How does it feel now?"
"It certainly hurts a bit," Vincent replied in a cheerful tone; "but now it is strapped tightly to me it cannot move much. Please do not worry about me."
"Ah!" she said, "I cannot forget how you got it—how you attacked twelve men to save me!"
"Still less can I forget, Miss Kingston, how you, a young girl, confronted death rather than say a word that would place me in their power."
"That was quite different, Mr. Wingfield. My own honor was pledged not to betray you, who had trusted me."
"Well, we will cry quits for the present, Miss Kingston; or, rather, we will be content to remain for the present in each other's debt."
A quarter of an hour's walking brought them to the river.
"Now," Lucy said, "we must make our way about ten yards through these bushes to the right."
With some difficulty they passed through the thick screen of bushes, the girl still leading the way.
"Here it is," she said; "I have my hand upon it." Vincent was soon beside her, and the negress quickly joined them.
"There are no oars in the boat," Vincent said, feeling along the seat.
"Oh, I forgot! They are stowed away behind the bushes on the right; they were taken out, so that if the Yankees found the boat it would be of no use to them."
Dan made his way through the bushes, and soon found the oars. Then, uniting their strength, they pushed the boat through the high rushes that screened it from the river.
"It is afloat," Vincent said. "Now, Dan, take your place in the bow."
"I will row, Mr. Wingfield. I am a very good hand at it. So please take your seat with Chloe in the stern."
"Dancan take one oar, anyhow," Vincent replied; "but I will let you row instead of me. I am afraid I should make a poor hand of it with only one arm."
The boat pushed quietly out. The river was about a hundred yards wide at this point. They had taken but a few strokes when Vincent said:
"You must row hard, Miss Kingston, or we shall have to swim for it. The water is coming through the seams fast."
The girl and Dan exerted themselves to the utmost; but, short as was the passage, the boat was full almost to the gunwale before they reached the opposite bank, the heat of the sun having caused the planks to open during the months it had been lying ashore.
"This is a wet beginning," Lucy Kingston said, laughing, as she tried to wring the water out of the lower part of her dress. "Here, Chloe; you wring me and I will wring you."
"Now, Dan, get hold of that head-rope," Vincent said; "haul her up little by little as the water runs out over the stern."
"I should not trouble about the boat, Mr. Wingfield; it is not likely we shall ever want it again."
"I was not thinking of the boat; I was thinking of ourselves. If it should happen to be noticed at the next bridge as it drifted down, it would at once suggest to anyone on the lookout for us that we had crossed the river; whereas, if we get it among the bushes here, they will believe that we are hidden in the woods or have headed back to the North; and we shall be a long way across the line, I hope, before they give up searching for us in the woods on the other side."
"Yes; I didn't think of that. We will help you with the rope."
The boat was very heavy, now that it was full of water. Inch by inch it was pulled up, until the water was all out except near the stern. Dan and Vincent then turned it bottom upward, and it was soon hauled up among the bushes.
"Now, Miss Kingston, which do you think is our best course? I know nothing whatever of the geography here."
"The next town is Mount Pleasant; that is where the Williamsport road passes the railway. If we keep south we shall strike the railway, and that will take us to Mount Pleasant. After that the road goes on to Florence on the Tennessee River. The only place that I know of on the road is Lawrenceburg. That is about forty miles from here, and I have heard that the Yankees are on the line from there right and left. I believe our troops are at Florence; but I am not sure about that, because both parties are constantly shifting their position, and I hear very little, as you may suppose, of what is being done. Anyhow, I think we cannot do better than go on until we strike the railway, keep along by that till we get within a short distance of Mount Pleasant, and then cross it. After that we can decide whether we will travel by the road or keep on through the woods. But we cannot find our way through the woods at night; we should lose ourselves before we had gone twenty yards."
"I am afraid we should, Miss Kingston."
"Please call me Lucy," the girl interrupted. "I am never called anything else, and I am sure this is not a time for ceremony."
"I think that it will be better; and will you please call me Vincent? It is much shorter and pleasanter using our first names; and as we must pass for brother and sister, if we get among the Yankees, it is better to get accustomed to it. I quite agree with you that it will be too dark to find our way through the woods unless we can discover a path. Dan and I will see if we can find one. If we can, I think it will be better to go on a little way at any rate, so as to get our feet warm and let our clothes dry a little."
"They will not dry to-night," Lucy said. "It is so damp in the woods that even if our clothes were dry now they would be wet before morning."
"I did not thinkof that. Yes, in that case I do not see that we should gain anything by going farther; we will push on for two or three hundred yards, if we can, and then we can light a fire without there being any chance of its being seen from the other side."
"That would be comfortable, Mr.—I mean Vincent," the girl agreed. "That is, if you are quite sure that it would be safe. I would rather be wet all night than that we should run any risks."
"I am sure if we can get a couple of hundred yards into this thick wood the fire would not be seen through it," Vincent said; "of course I do not mean to make a great bonfire which would light up the forest."
For half an hour they forced their way through the bushes, and then Vincent said he was sure that they had come far enough. Finding a small open space, Dan and Lucy, and the negress set to work collecting leaves and dry sticks. Vincent had still in his pocket the newspaper he had bought in the streets of Nashville, and he always carried lights. A piece of the paper was crumpled up and lighted, a few of the driest leaves that they could find dropped upon it, then a few twigs, until at last a good fire was burning.
"I think that is enough for the present," Vincent said. "Now we will keep on adding wood as fast as it burns down, so as to get a great pile of embers, and keep two or three good big logs burning all night."
He then gave directions to Dan, who cut a long stick and fastened it to two saplings, one of which grew just in front of the fire. Then he set to work and cut off branches, and laid them sloping against it, and soon had an arbor constructed of sufficient thickness to keep off the night dews.
"I think you will be snug in there," Vincent said when he had finished, "The heat of the fire will keep you dry and warm, and if you lie with your heads the other way I think your things will be dry by the morning. Dan and I will lie down by the other side of the fire. We are both accustomed to sleep in the open air and have done so for months."
"Thank you very much," she said. "Our things are drying already, and I am as warm as toast; but, indeed you need not trouble about us. We brought these warm shawls with us on purpose for night work in the forest. Now, I think we will try the contents of the basket Dan has been carrying."
The basket, which was a good-sized one, was opened. Chloe had, before starting, put all the provisions in the house into it, and it contained three loaves, five or six pounds of bacon, a canister of tea, loaf-sugar, a small kettle, and two pint mugs, besides a number of odds and ends. The kettle Dan had, by Chloe's direction, filled with water before leaving the river, and this was soon placed among the glowing embers.
"But you have brought no teapot, Chloe!"
"Dar was not no room for it, Miss Lucy. We can make tea bery well in de kettle."
"So we can. I forgot that. We shall do capitally."
The kettle was not long in boiling. Chloe produced some spoons and knives and forks from the basket.
"Spoons and forks are luxuries, Chloe," Vincent said, laughing. "We could have managed without them."
"Yes, sah; but me not going to leave massa's silver for dose villains to find."
Lucy laughed. "At any rate, Chloe, we can turn the silver into money if we run short. Now the kettle is boiling."
It was taken off the fire, and Lucy poured some tea into it from the canister, and then proceeded to cut up the bread. A number of slices of bacon had already been cut-off, and a stick thrust through them, and Dan, who was squatted at the other side of the fire holding it over the flames, now pronounced them to be ready. The bread served as plates, and the party were soon engaged upon their meal, laughing and talking over it as if it had been an ordinary picnic in the woods, though at times Vincent's face contracted from the sharp twitching of pain in his shoulder. Vincent and Lucy first drank their tea, and the mugs were then handed to Dan and Chloe.
"This is great fun," Lucy said, "If it goes on like it all through our journey, we shall have no need to grumble. Shall we, Chloe?"
"If you don't grumble, Miss Lucy, you may be quite sure dat Chloe will not. But we hab not begun our journey at present; and I spec dat we shall find it pretty hard work before we get to de end. But neber mind dat; anyting is better dan being all by ourselves in dat house. Terrible sponsibility dat!"
"It was lonely," the girl said, "and I am glad we are away from it, whatever happens. What a day this has been! Who could have dreamed, when I got up in the morning, that all this would take place before night? It seems almost like a dream, and I can hardly believe"—and here she stopped with a little shiver as she thought of the scene she had passed through with the band of bushwhackers.
"I would not think anything at all about it," Vincent said. "And now I should recommend your getting to sleep as soon as you can. We will be off at daybreak and it is just twelve o'clock now."
Five minutes later Lucy and her old nurse were snugly ensconced in their little bower, while Vincent and Dan stretched themselves at full length on the other side of the fire. In spite of the pain in his shoulder Vincent dozed off occasionally, but he was heartily glad when he saw the first gleam of light in the sky. He woke Dan.
"Dan, take the kettle down to the river and fill it. We had better have some breakfast before we make our start. If you can't find your way back, whistle, and I will answer you."
Dan, however, had no occasion to give the signal. It took him little more than five minutes to traverse the distance that had occupied them half an hour in the thick darkness, and Vincent was surprised when he appeared again with the kettle. Not until it was boiling, and the bacon was ready, did Vincent raise his voice and call Lucy and the nurse.
"This is reversing the order of things altogether," the girl said as she came out and saw breakfast already prepared. "I shall not allow it another time, I can tell you."
"We are old campaigners, you see," Vincent said, "and accustomed to early movements. Now please let us waste no time, as the sooner we are off the better."
In a quarter of an hour breakfast was eaten and the basket packed, and they were on their way. Now the bright, glowing light in the east was sufficient guide to them as to the direction they should take, and setting their face to the south they started through the forest. Soon they came upon a little stream running through the wood, and here Vincent suggested that Lucy might like to bathe her face, a suggestion which was gratefully accepted. He and Dan went a short distance down the streamlet, and Vincent bathed his face and head.
"Dan, I will get you to undo this bandage and get off my coat; then I will make a pad of my handkerchief and dip it in the water and you can lay it on my shoulder, and then help me on again with my coat. My arm is getting horribly painful."
Vincent's right arm was accordingly drawn through the sleeve and the coat turned down so as to enable Dan to lay the wet pad on the shoulder.
"It has not bled much," Vincent said, looking down at it.
"No, sah; not much blood on de shirt."
"Pull the coat down as far as the elbow, Dan, and bathe it for a bit."
Using his cap as a baler, Dan bathed the arm for ten minutes, then the wet pad was placed in position, and with some difficulty the coat got on again. The arm was then bandaged across the chest, and they returned to the women, who were beginning to wonder at the delay.