LEON A PRISONER.
“Ah!” said Eph, “you’re there yet. You are thinking over how you can
escape being hung for your treason. Well, that’s a good way to put in
one’s time.”
Cale did not answer. He sat with his elbows on his knees and his head
bowed upon his hands, and he was thinking deeply—not of how he could
escape being hanged, but of where he should go and what he should do in
case he made the attempt at escape successful. He had heard Mr. Sprague,
when he placed sentinels over his house, one in front and another
behind—had heard him tell them not to let his father or mother go out of
the house—and he knew it would be foolhardy to go home after that. The
sentries would capture him and bring him back to his prison. Eph took an
unbounded delight in bothering the boy. He knew that the most that would
be done with Cale would be to ship him off among his friends, and that
would be the last of him. He glanced at the window to see that it was
all right, and then went out, closing the door behind him.
“That fellow keeps telling me that I am going to be hung,” said Cale,
raising his head and glancing at the door through which Eph had just
gone out. “What would I give to be in here at night when he comes in and
finds the window open and Cale Newman gone? I tell you that would be
worth some money. Now, if I could only find Dan. He would know where to
go and what to do.”
For long hours Cale sat there and listened to the tread of the sentinel,
and every time the clock struck down-stairs he lifted his head and
looked at the sentinel, who opened the door and looked in. They were
changed every two hours, and finally it began to grow dark. By that time
Cale began to grow hungry, and while he was thinking about it the door
opened and in came Mr. Faulkner, whose hands were filled with bedclothes
and eatables.
“I can’t bear to have any man around me who I know is hungry, even if he
is going to be hung,” said he. “Let me put this bread and meat on the
chair. There’s something for you to lie down on. It’s pretty rough, I
know, but I expect you get rougher at home. Good-night and pleasant
dreams.”
Cale examined the bedclothes as well as he could in the dark, and found
that he had a pillow and, what was better than all, two quilts, which he
could tear up, fasten to the chair, and thus let himself down from the
window. He chuckled to himself and devoted his attention to the viands.
By the time he had got through the sentry opened the door, and Cale saw
a light streaming in.
“Oh, I’m here yet,” said Cale.
“I know you are,” said the man. “And you’re going to stay there until
you come out to be hung.”
“All right. But you won’t hang me until you catch my brother. He had the
most to do with talking with that captain.”
“No matter. You was knowing to it all, and that counts for a heap
against you.”
The sentry closed the door, and in an instant Cale was on his feet.
Things had to be done in a hurry, and quietly, too, for in an hour more
the man would look in to see if his prisoner was all right. It was
something of a job to tear the quilts; but fortunately he had them all
done at last, and when he knotted them together he was glad to see how
long they were. He didn’t think he would be obliged to drop more than
ten feet.
The next thing was opening the window and fastening the quilts to the
chair; but he accomplished it without alarming the sentinel, and drawing
in a long breath, he launched himself over the side of the window and
heard the chair bang loudly as he threw his weight upon the quilts. In
his haste the quilts did not do much toward assisting him to the bottom,
for he slid rapidly down them and landed all in a heap under the window
just as the sentry opened the door to see what was going on.
“Are you there yet, Cale?” asked the man, as he looked all around the
room. “By gracious, he has gone!”
With two jumps the man reached the window and leaned over and looked
out. Everything was concealed by darkness, and even the crouching Cale,
who was close to the wall, right under the man’s gaze, escaped his
notice. Then the man thought of his rifle. He rushed back into the hall
and got it, fired it once out of the window, and then went down-stairs
to tell the men what an extraordinary escape Cale had made. This was the
time for the prisoner to make the most of his opportunity. He arose to
his feet and made good time across the narrow cotton-field that lay
between him and the woods, and he never ceased running until he reached
the banks of a little bayou a mile back in the forest, where he stopped
and sat down to rest.
“There, sir,” said Cale, wiping the big drops of perspiration from his
forehead. “I’ve done it; as sure as the world I have done it. That is
the first time I ever was put in jail for something I didn’t do. Let
them get somebody else and talk about hanging them. Now, if I could only
find Dan.”
Cale did not take very long to rest himself before he got upon his feet
again and cautiously worked his way toward his father’s shanty. The
darkness had no effect upon Cale, for he took his course as straight as
he could have done in the daytime. The sentries might have been removed
by this time, but all the same he made his way stealthily through the
bushes, as though the sentries were there and liable at any minute to
jump out and make a prisoner of him. It would never do to be captured
again, for the next time he would be put where it would be impossible
for him to get away. But he walked right onto Dan, who had been up to
the house for the same purpose; that is, he wanted to see if there was
any chance for him to communicate with his father. As Cale was working
his way cautiously through the bushes, going so still that he could not
hear the thicket rattle behind him, he was startled out of a year’s
growth by hearing a voice close at his side mutter:
“I’ll be dog-gone if there ain’t Cale!”
“D—Dan, is that you?” stammered Cale, so overjoyed that he could
scarcely speak.
“You’re right, it’s me,” said Dan. “Where you been?”
“They had me shut up in jail,” was the answer.
“In the calaboose?”
“No, in the hotel; and they left one window there without any sentry to
guard it, and I just come out.”
“Well, sir, I will say hereafter that you’ve got pluck. But come up
here. I’ve got something to show you.”
Cale began feeling his way toward the place where Dan was, and in a few
moments he placed his hand upon his shoulder. But there was something
else that he touched there. It was a revolver.
“Why, Dan, where have you been to get that?” asked Cale, in surprise.
“I have not only got that, but the man what owns it,” returned Dan, with
the same pride he would have exhibited had he won an enemy’s colors in
battle. “I’ve got Leon Sprague.”
Cale was so astonished that he couldn’t say anything just then.
“While you have been shut up in jail I have been working for the
glorious cause,” said Dan. “I got him just as easy as falling off a log.
I’ve heard so much tell about Leon’s courage that I was kinder afraid to
tackle him; but pshaw! I handled him as easy as you would handle a
baby.”
Let us now go back for a moment and tell what had happened to Dan while
Cale was being shut up in the hotel. When he came back from holding his
interview with the Confederate captain he did not go to bed, as Cale
did, but filled his pipe with negro-twist and lay down on the ground to
smoke and think. He lay there for an hour—he didn’t want any breakfast;
besides, he was getting tired of corn-bread and bacon, anyway—building
his air-castles and dreaming how proud he would be if he could only hold
a position equal to the captain’s.
“Boots on his feet that came up to his knees and gloves on his hands
that came clear up to there,” said Dan, motioning with his finger to a
point on his arm that came clear up to his elbow. “And didn’t he handle
that horse gay? She was a frisky animal, but he managed her as easy as
if he was seated in a rocking-chair. And, dog-gone him, he went and
fooled me!”
By this time his father had eaten his breakfast and came out to his
usual place on the threshold, pipe a-going. He took a few pulls at the
tobacco, cast his eye up to the clouds to see what the weather was going
to be, and was then ready to begin his topic of conversation.
“The South is going to whip,” said he. “It don’t stand to reason that
one county in the midst of a State that’s in rebellion is going to whip
all the counties around her.”
“But, father, do you think they are going to fight?” asked Dan.
“Fight! No, they won’t. I only wish I could get my position as colonel.
I would show them how to clean these men out.”
“And the men here wouldn’t give you the position of Secretary of War,”
said Dan. “What would you have done if you had got that position?”
“Eh? Well, I would have done a heap more than that old Sprague is doing,
I can tell you that. I would have made you boys officers, to begin with.
You would make a bully captain, Dan.”
“That’s just what I think, and—and—I ought to be one, too.”
“Yes; and think of the money we would make. That’s what makes me so down
on all these officers. That must be worth six or eight thousand dollars
a year.”
“Whew!” whistled Dan. “And old Sprague is making that much?”
“I have no doubt of it. At any rate they might have offered it to me,
and I would ask how much they was going to give. If the price didn’t
suit me—What’s the matter?” added Mr. Newman, seeing that Dan removed
his pipe from his mouth and sat up straight on the ground. “Do you hear
anything?”
“Father, there is some one coming along through the bushes,” said Dan,
involuntarily lowering his voice to a whisper. “And they are coming
fast, too.”
Mr. Newman listened, and presently he heard the faint rustle of the
thicket as a body of men worked its way through them. It was still very
faint, but it came plainly to his ears.
“I’ve got to go,” said Dan, hurriedly. “You call Cale.”
“What have you been a-doing?” said his father, in astonishment. “You
stay where you are, and if they should put one of you in the calaboose
I’d cut it down as soon as I could get to it with my axe.”
“I know, but I’ll tell you at some future time what I have been a-doing.
Call Cale.”
Dan turned and made a dive for the bushes, and no sooner had he
disappeared than Mr. Sprague came in sight. While Mr. Sprague was
holding his colloquy with the father and mother, who stood at the door,
and Bud McCoy had gone around the house in time to catch Cale Newman
coming out of the window, Leon noticed the pipe which Dan had thrown
down, and which was not yet extinguished. He took a few pulls at it, and
it went as lively as it ever did.
“Dan is out here in the bushes,” said he to Tom and young Dawson, who
remained close at his side. “Let’s go out and capture him.”
“All right,” said Dawson. “Let us spread out a little, so that we will
cover more ground. Be in a hurry, now.”
Leon was out of sight before he had ceased speaking. He made no attempt
to draw his revolver, for he did not think it would be worth while. He
had always known Dan, and knew him to be a lazy, worthless fellow, but
he was little prepared for what happened afterward. He was looking
everywhere for Dan—he must have been half a mile or more from his
friends by this time—when suddenly, as he pressed down a thicket to look
into it, he felt something on his back and he was thrown violently on
his face. Knowing in a minute what it was, his hand went behind him, but
he felt some fingers at work with his own, and his revolver was torn
from his grasp. A feeling of horror came over him when he knew that he
was disarmed. The weight was lifted off his back, he was rolled over, so
that he could see what he had to contend with, and his own revolver was
looking him in the face. It was cocked, too, and it needed only the
pressure of a finger to make all things blank to him. It was Dan Newman
who was bending above him. His face was very pale, but there was a glint
in his eyes that spoke volumes.
“Not a word out of you,” said Dan, fiercely. “Not a word out of you.
Roll over, with your face downwards.”
Leon had no alternative but to obey. There was shoot in Dan’s eyes, and
Leon saw it. He rolled over, and Dan arose to his feet and took off his
coat, and then his shirt, which he proceeded to tear up into small
strips. It was then a task of no difficulty to bind Leon’s arms. It was
done in less time than it takes to tell it, and then Leon was pulled to
a sitting posture, while Dan stood and looked down at him.
“I’ve got you, ain’t I?” said Dan, who hardly knew whether he stood on
his head or his heels. “Now, what are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t see that I can do anything,” said Leon, wondering if he was to
give up and remain a prisoner in the hands of this man. “You can do what
you please with me.”
“And it pleases me to take you down to Mobile and give you up to our
folks,” said Dan. “Mebbe they’ll think that my company is in a condition
for me to command it. It ain’t often that a man can get the son of a
Secretary of War prisoner, is it?”
Leon did not care to talk any longer. He knew what Dan was going to do
with him, and he did not feel much elated over it. He sat there in
silence and watched Dan, who was grinning all over and hardly knew
whether or not his good fortune had stood him so well in stead or not.
He wanted to be sure about it, and so began a conversation with Leon; or
rather, he talked and Leon listened. He examined his revolver
repeatedly, took aim at certain spots on the trees, and acted for all
the world like one who was bereft of his senses. Having spent an hour in
this way, and being at last satisfied that Mr. Sprague had looked around
the house without being able to find him, Dan thought he would go home
and hold a short consultation with his father.
“The old man will be dreadful glad I’ve got you,” said Dan, wondering
how he was going to leave Leon so that he wouldn’t arouse the whole
neighborhood by his yelling, “and perhaps he’ll think I had better do
something else with you. I want to go home and get a shirt, too, for
these nights are mighty damp.”
“Does the old man believe as you do?” asked Leon. He thought it would be
policy to learn all he could concerning the belief of the squatter’s
family, for he did not expect to remain a prisoner all his life. When he
returned he would know how to go to work. The first thing he did would
be to put all that family under arrest.
“Of course the old man believes as I do,” said Dan. “The South is going
to send men enough in here to whip you. I tell you, Leon, you fellows
are crazy.”
“What are you going to do with that?” asked Leon, referring to a piece
of shirt which Dan was carefully folding.
“I am going to use it as a gag,” said Dan. “You must think that I am a
pretty smart man to go away and leave you with your mouth wide open.
Now, I guess this will do.”
“I assure you that I won’t halloo,” exclaimed Leon, who did not like to
have any of Dan’s clothing in his mouth. “Try me and see.”
“No, I reckon I’d best be on the safe side. If you will let this go into
your mouth, well and good; if not, it will have to go in anyway,” said
Dan, picking up his revolver.
There was but one course open to Leon, and he submitted to have a wad of
shirt tucked into his mouth that almost made him sick. It was tied hard
and fast, too, so that he could not get rid of it. Dan next turned his
attention to his feet, which he bound with another piece of shirt, and
fastened them to a tree so that he could not get up. Then he looked at
the way his hands were fastened and got up, shoving the revolver into
his pocket.
“I won’t be gone but a little while,” said Dan, straightening up the
thicket in which Leon lay. “I reckon I’ll bring the old man back here
with me. You will be glad to see him, I know. My father might have been
top-notch in this county if it hadn’t been for your old man. But no,
they wouldn’t have him for Secretary of War, and now they see what they
made by it.”
Dan took one more look at his prisoner to see that his bonds were all
safe, and then went away. He was hardly out of sight before Leon began
tugging and twisting at his fastenings in the hope of being able to get
rid of some of them; but the harder he worked the more he exhausted
himself. Dan had done his work well, and finally Leon gave it up as a
bad job. Dan was gone fully an hour, and when he came back Leon noticed
that he didn’t have a shirt on. He noticed, too, that he was in pretty
bad humor.
“They have got two sentries up there to the house, dog-gone them, and I
guess they must be waiting for me,” said Dan, as he began to undo the
fastenings that confined Leon’s mouth. “They think I’ll come back after
awhile, but they don’t know Dan Newman.”
When Leon felt the gag removed from his mouth he coughed once or twice
and acted as if he was about to expel the contents of his stomach; but
after awhile he was able to reply to Dan’s question.
“It makes you sick, don’t it?” asked Dan.
“Yes, and that shirt would make anybody sick. I suppose they have got
the sentries there in order to catch you when you come back.”
“But I say they don’t know me,” retorted Dan. “I didn’t go near the
house till I had looked around a bit, and then I saw those men there and
I came away. They won’t let me get even a shirt. I wonder if they have
got Cale?”
“Where was Cale when the men came up to capture you?”
“He was in the house and fast asleep.”
“Then of course they have got him. He didn’t come out of the front door
or I would have seen them. It rather bothers a man to be up all night,
don’t it?”
“Who said I was up all night?” asked Dan.
“I do. You were up all night, and held a conference with that rebel
captain.”
“Who’s got a better right? You fellows here in this county won’t give me
anything, and I have a right to go where I can get to be a captain.”
“Well, untie my feet, will you?” said Leon, who didn’t seem disposed to
discuss this matter with Dan. “You have got them fastened to that
sapling until they hurt me.”
Dan was accommodating enough to untie his feet, but he didn’t make any
move towards untying his hands. After that he sat down and held a long
talk with his prisoner, who, considering the situation in which he was
placed, took the matter very coolly. He knew he couldn’t get away, but
there would come other times, he thought, when his hands would be at
liberty, and then he would try his best at escape. They passed the
afternoon in this way, and finally it began to grow dark. Leon was
getting hungry, and he knew that Dan was bothered the same way, and
consequently he was relieved when his captor said he would try and reach
home again and get something.
“But first I must tie you up,” said he.
“Now, what’s the use of going to all that trouble?” said Leon, who
couldn’t bear the thought of having that shirt thrust into his mouth for
the second time. “I didn’t halloo before.”
“No, of course you didn’t,” said Dan, with a laugh. “’Cause why, the gag
wouldn’t let you. I won’t be gone but a little while, and then I will
untie you.”
Leon yielded with a very bad grace while Dan was placing the gag in his
mouth; and well he might, for there was the revolver, lying within easy
reach of his captor’s hand. He was tied up just as he was before, and
Dan, after a few parting words, disappeared in the darkness.
“Oh, how I wish Tom Howe knew where I was!” panted Leon, after he had
tried in vain to get rid of some of his bonds. “I’ll bet you that I
wouldn’t be here much longer. Now, what will be done with me if I am
given up to the rebels? Beyond a doubt I’ll be hanged, for of course
they will take revenge on my father through me. Well, if I go up there
will be one less to fight them.”
Dan was gone longer than he was before, and when he came back Leon was
surprised to hear him talking to somebody. Of course, it was so dark
that he couldn’t see anything, but as his captor drew near he began to
recognize Cale Newman’s voice. Leon was thunderstruck. He did not know
where Cale had been confined, but by some inadvertence on the part of
his jailers he had got away. Leon was impatient to hear Cale’s version
of it.