MINGLING WITH THE ENEMY
It was weary work, this tramping along the Tennessee shore, through mud,
or fields of stubble, over rocks, or amid dripping trees; but the three
kept on towards Chattanooga for a couple of hours, until all the good
effects of their warming at Farmer Hare's were quite vanished. Watson,
having showed by his mother-wit and presence of mind that he was a man to
be relied upon, had now resumed his privilege of growling, and gave vent
to many angry words at the roughness and unutterable dreariness of the
way.
"Why was America ever discovered by that inquisitive, prying old
Christopher Columbus?" he grunted, after he had tripped over the stump of
a cottonwood-tree, and fallen flat with his face in the slime. "If he had
never discovered America there would never have been any United States;
had there never been any United States there would never have been any war
between North and South; had there never been any war between North and
South I wouldn't be making a fool of myself by being down here. I wish
that fellow Columbus had never been born--or, if he was born, that he had
never been allowed to sail off for America. Ugh!"
In a few minutes they reached a log cabin situated on an angle of land
where a little stream emptied itself into the now stormy waters of the
Tennessee River. There was no light nor sign of life about the mean abode,
and the travelers were almost upon it before they saw its low outline in
the dense gloom.
"Look here," said Watson, calling a halt. "There's no use in our trying to
go further to-night. It's too dark to make any sort of time. And we are
far enough away now from Jasper to avoid any danger of pursuit--even if
our amiable friend Mr. Hare should inform the Vigilants."
"Don't be afraid of that," said Macgreggor and George in the same breath.
Hare was not likely to relate a joke so much at his own expense as their
clever escape had proved. Even if he did, they reasoned, the chances of
capture were now rather slim, whatever they might have been when the three
fugitives were nearer Jasper.
"Then let us get a few hours' sleep in this cabin," urged Watson. "Some
negro probably lives here--and we can tell him our usual Kentucky story.
Give the door a pound, George, and wake him up."
George used first his hands and then his boots on the door, in a vain
effort to make some one hear. He took Waggie out of his pocket, and the
shrill little barks of the dog added to the noise as he jumped around his
master's feet.
"Let's break the door down," urged Macgreggor. "The seven sleepers must
live here. We might pound all night and not get in."
With one accord the three threw themselves vigorously against the door.
They expected to meet with some resistance, due to a bolt or two; but,
instead of that, the door flew open so suddenly that they were
precipitated into the cabin, and lay sprawling on the ground. It had been
latched but neither locked nor bolted.
"We were too smart that time," growled Watson, as the three picked
themselves up, to the great excitement of Waggie. "The place must be
deserted. So much the better for us. We can get a little sleep without
having to go into explanations."
He drew from inside his greatcoat, with much care, three or four matches.
By lighting, first one and then the others, he was able to grope around
until he found the hearth of the cabin. Cold ashes marked the remains of a
fire long since extinguished. His foot struck against something which
proved to be a small piece of dry pine-wood. With the flame from his last
match Watson succeeded in lighting this remnant of kindling. He carefully
nursed the new flame until the stick blazed forth like a torch. Then the
travelers had a chance to examine the one room which formed the whole
interior of the lonely place. The cabin was deserted. It contained not a
bit of furniture; nothing, indeed, save bare walls of logs, and rude
mortar, and a clean pine floor.
"This palace can't be renting at a very high price," remarked Macgreggor,
sarcastically.
"It will do us well enough for a few hours' sleep," said George.
Watson nodded his head in assent. "It's a shelter from the rain, at
least," he said, "and that's something on such a pesky night." While he
was speaking the rush of the rain without confirmed the truth of his
words, and suggested that any roof was better than none. Ere long the pine
stick burned itself out; the intruders were left in absolute darkness. But
they quickly disposed themselves on the floor, where, worn out by the
fatigues of the day and the stirring adventure of the evening, they were
soon fast asleep. They had closed the door, near which Waggie had settled
his little body in the capacity of a sentinel. George dreamed of his
father. He saw him standing at the window of a prison, as he stretched his
hands through the bars and cried out: "George, I am here--here! Help me!"
Then the boy's dream changed. He was back in the dark woods near
Shelbyville, listening to Andrews as the leader outlined the expedition in
which they were now engaged. In the middle of the conference some one
cried: "The Confederates are on us!" George tried to run, but something
pinned him to the ground--a wild animal was at his throat.
He awoke with a start, to find that Waggie was leaping upon his chest,
barking furiously.
"Hush up, you little rascal!" ordered George. He felt very sleepy, and he
was angry at being aroused. But Waggie went on barking until he had
succeeded in awakening Macgreggor and Watson, and convincing his master
that something was wrong.
"What's the trouble?" demanded Watson.
"Listen," said George, softly. He was on his feet in an instant, as he ran
first to one and then to the other of the two windows which graced the
cabin. These windows, however, were barricaded with shutters. He hurried
to the door, which he opened a few inches. The rain had now stopped, and
he could hear, perhaps a quarter of a mile away, the sound of horses
moving cautiously through the mud, along the river bank. In a twinkling
Watson and Macgreggor were at his side, straining their ears.
"Can it be cavalry?" asked Macgreggor.
"Mounted men at least," whispered Watson. "Perhaps the Vigilants are on
our track, bad luck to them!"
"Can Hare have told them, after all?" queried George.
"Don't know about that," muttered Watson, "but I think we have the
gentlemen from Jasper to deal with once again."
"Let's decamp into the darkness before it's too late," said Macgreggor.
"Come, come," whispered Watson impatiently. "If they are on the scent, and
we leave this hut, they will only run us to earth like hounds after a
fox."
The baying of dogs which were evidently accompanying the party gave a
sudden and terrible effect to the force of Watson's argument. And now the
Vigilants, if such they were, came nearer and nearer. The three
Northerners who listened so anxiously at the doorway could already detect
the sound of voices.
"There's but one thing for us to do," quickly murmured Watson. "We must
stay in this cabin."
"But they won't pass the place by," urged Macgreggor. "If they know it to
be deserted by a tenant this is the very reason for their looking in to
see if we are hiding here. And when it comes to defending ourselves, how
can we put up any sort of barricade?"
"When you can't use force, or hide yourself, try a little strategy,"
answered the soldier. "Can either of you fellows talk like a darky?"
"Not I," said Macgreggor. Had he been asked if he could speak Hebrew, he
would not have been more surprised.
"Can you, George?" asked Watson, as he shut the door.
"I might," whispered George. "When I was up in Cincinnati we boys
used----"
"Never mind what you boys did--only do as I tell you, and if you can give
a good imitation you may save us from arrest, and worse!"
The horsemen now seemed to be within a few yards of the cabin. They had
evidently halted for consultation. Meanwhile Watson was whispering some
instructions to George. After he had finished he leaned against the door
with his whole weight, and indicated to Macgreggor that he was to do the
same thing. The latter obeyed in silence.
The horsemen without made a great deal of clatter. If they were pursuing
the fugitives they did not seem to think secrecy of movement very
necessary. "Whose cabin is this?" demanded one of them.
"It did belong to old Sam Curtis, but he's moved away, down to Alabama,"
some one answered.
"Some darky may live in it now, eh?" said the first voice.
"Perhaps it's empty, and these tarnation spies are in it," was the
rejoinder in a lower tone.
The men moved their horses closer to the house, which they quickly
surrounded. No chance now for any one to escape; it seemed as if the three
men in the cabin must inevitably be caught like rats in a trap. Yet they
waited courageously, breathlessly. It was a tense moment. Another minute
would decide their fate. Would they remain free men, or would they fall
into the hands of their pursuers, with all the consequences that such a
capture implied?
Already one of the Vigilants, evidently the leader, had dismounted.
Approaching the door of the cabin, he gave it a push as if he expected it
would open at once. But there was no yielding; Watson and Macgreggor were
still leaning firmly against the other side.
The leader began to knock on the door with a revolver. "Here, here," he
shouted; "if there's any one in this cabin, come out--or we'll have you
out!"
At first there was no response, save a bark from Waggie. The leader
rattled savagely at the door. "Let's break in," he cried to his
companions, "and see if the place has any one in it!"
The Vigilants were about to follow the example of their leader, and
dismount when there came a wheedling voice--apparently the voice of a
negress--from within the cabin.
"What you gemmen want dis time o' night wid poor Aunty Dinah?"
"A nigger's living here," muttered the leader, in surprise.
"What for you gwyne to disturb an ole niggah at dis hour?" asked the voice
from within.
"It's all right, aunty," called out the leader. "We only want some
information. Come to the door."
"In one minute I be with you," was the answer. "I'se a nursin' my old man
here--he done gone and took the smallpox--and----"
The smallpox! Had the voice announced that a million Union troops were
descending upon the party the consternation would not have been half as
great. The smallpox! At the mention of that dreaded name, and at the
thought that they were so close to contagion, the Vigilants, with one
accord, put spurs into their horses and rushed madly away. The leader,
dropping his revolver in his excitement, and not even stopping to pick it
up, leaped upon his horse and joined in the inglorious retreat. On, on,
dashed the men until they reached the town of Jasper, tired and provoked.
Like many other men, North or South, they were brave enough when it came
to gunpowder, but were quickly vanquished at the idea of pestilential
disease.
"Bah!" cried the leader, as they all reined up in front of the village
tavern, which now looked dark and uninviting; "those three spies, if spies
they are, can go to Guinea for all I care. I shall hunt them no more."
There was a general murmur of assent to this fervent remark. One of the
Vigilants said, in an injured tone: "I wish Jake Hare was at the bottom of
the ocean!"
In explanation of which charitable sentiment it may be explained that
Farmer Hare, on the departure of Watson, Macgreggor and George Knight, had
run all the way to Jasper. Here he told the Vigilants that the three men
had returned in the boat (which he had previously declared they had taken)
and landed on the bank of the river. They could be easily caught, he said.
He carefully suppressed any account of the way in which he had been
outwitted by Watson. The fact was that Hare made up his mind, logically
enough, that the fugitives would keep along the Tennessee until morning
came, and as he had seen the direction they had taken he determined to set
the Vigilants on their track. His scheme, as we have seen, was nearly
crowned with success.
* * * * *
"A miss is as good as a mile," laughed Watson, as he stood with his two
companions in the pitch black interior of the cabin, listening to the last
faint sounds of the retreating Vigilants.
"There's nothing like smallpox, eh?" said George.
"Or nothing like a boy who can imitate a darky's voice," put in
Macgreggor. "Where did you learn the art, George?"
"We boys in Cincinnati had a minstrel company of our own," the boy
explained, "and I used to play negro parts."
"I'll never call the minstrels stupid again," said Watson. "They have been
instrumental in saving our lives."
"Rather say it was your own brains that did it," interposed George.
So they talked until daybreak, for they found it impossible to sleep.
Meanwhile the weather had changed. When the sun came peeping over the
horizon, between tearful clouds, as if afraid that it was almost too damp
for him to be out, the trio were pushing cautiously along the bank of the
Tennessee, in the direction of Chattanooga.
"I don't know who brought the Vigilants out for us the second time, unless
it was our dear friend Hare, and I don't know whether they will give us
another chase this morning," said Watson, as they were laboriously
ascending one of the mountain spurs which led down to the river shore,
"but we must go steadily on, and trust to luck. To delay would be fatal.
This is Friday--and we must be in Marietta by this evening."
On they trudged, over rocks and paths that would have taxed the ability of
a nimble-footed chamois, as they wondered how the rest of their friends
were faring, and where might be the intrepid Andrews. Sometimes Waggie
scampered joyously on; sometimes he reposed in his master's overcoat. The
clouds had now cleared away; the sun was shining serenely over the swollen
and boisterous waters of the crooked Tennessee. Nature was once more
preparing to smile.
"I'm getting frightfully hungry," cried George, about noon-time. "I
wouldn't mind a bit of breakfast."
"There's where we may get some," said Macgreggor. He pointed to an
old-fashioned colonial house of brick, with a white portico, which they
could see in the centre of a large open tract about a quarter of a mile
back of the river. The smoke was curling peacefully from one of the two
great chimneys, as if offering a mute invitation to a stranger to enter
the house and partake of what was being cooked within. In a field in front
of the mansion cattle were grazing, and the jingle of their bells sounded
sweetly in the distance. No one would dream, to look at such an attractive
picture, that the grim Spectre of War stalked in the land.
"Shall we go up to the house, and ask for something?" suggested
Macgreggor, who was blessed with a healthy appetite.
Watson looked a little doubtful. "There's no use in our showing ourselves
any more than is necessary," he said. "Rather than risk our necks, we had
better go on empty stomachs till we reach Chattanooga."
But such a look of disappointment crept over the faces of George and
Macgreggor, and even seemed to be reflected in the shaggy countenance of
Waggie, that Watson relented.
"After all," he said, "there's no reason why there should be any more
danger here than in Chattanooga or Marietta. Let's make a break for the
house, and ask for a meal."
Hardly had he spoken before they were all three hurrying towards the
mansion. When at last they stood under the portico, George seized the
quaint brass knocker of the front door, and gave it a brisk rap. After
some delay a very fat negress opened the door, and eyed the strangers
rather suspiciously. Their tramp over the country had not improved their
appearance, and her supercilious, inquisitive look was not strange, under
the circumstances.
"What you folks want?" she asked, putting her big arms akimbo in an
uncompromising attitude. Watson was about to reply when an attractive
voice, with the soft accent so characteristic of the Southerners, called:
"What is it, Ethiopia? Any one to see me?"
The next instant a kindly-faced gentlewoman of about fifty stood in the
doorway.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked pleasantly.
Macgreggor proceeded to tell the customary story about their being on
their way from Kentucky to join the Confederate army further south. His
heart smote him as he did so, for she was so gentle and sympathetic in her
manner that he loathed to practice any deception, however necessary; but
there was no help for it. So he ended by asking for something to eat.
"Come in," said the mistress of the mansion, for such she proved to be,
"and take any poor hospitality I can offer you. My husband, Mr. Page, and
both my children are away, fighting under General Lee, and I am only too
glad to do anything I can for others who are helping the great cause." She
smiled sweetly at George, and patted his dog. The boy regarded her almost
sheepishly; he, too, hated the idea of imposing on so cordial a hostess.
Mrs. Page led the party into a great colonial hallway, embellished with
family portraits. "By-the-way," she added, "there is a Confederate officer
in the house now--Major Lightfoot, of the --th Virginia Regiment. He
reached here this morning from Richmond and goes to Chattanooga this
afternoon on a special mission."
Watson bit his lip. "We're coming to too close quarters with the enemy,"
he thought, and he felt like retreating from the mansion with his
companions. But it was too late. Such a move would only excite suspicion,
or, worse still, lead to pursuit. "We must face the thing through," he
muttered, "and trust to our wits."
Mrs. Page ushered the strangers, including the delighted Waggie, into a
large, handsomely paneled dining-room on the left of the hallway. She made
them gather around an unset table. "Sit here for a few minutes," she said,
"and the servants will bring you the best that Page Manor can offer you.
In the meantime, I'll send Major Lightfoot to see you. He may be able to
help you in some way."
She closed the door and was gone. "I wish this Major Lightfoot, whoever he
is, was in Patagonia at the present moment," whispered Watson. "It's easy
enough to deceive the Southern country bumpkins, and make them think you
are Confederates, but when you get among people with more intelligence,
like officers----"
"What difference does it make?" interrupted Macgreggor, looking longingly
at a mahogany sideboard. "Didn't you hear Mrs. Page say the Major was a
Virginian? He doesn't know anything about Kentucky."
"That's lucky," laughed Watson, "for we don't either."
"Hush!" came the warning from George. The door opened, and several negro
servants began to bring in a cold dinner. What a meal it was too, when the
time came to partake of it, and how grateful the three hungry travelers
felt to the mistress of the house. When it had been disposed of, and the
servants had left the dining-room, George said, almost under his breath:
"Hadn't we better be off? We have a good number of miles yet, between here
and Marietta."
Watson was about to rise from the table when the door opened to admit a
tall, stalwart man of about thirty, whose cold, gray-blue eyes and
resolute mouth denoted one who was not to be trifled with. He was dressed
in the gray uniform of a Confederate officer, but he had, presumably, left
his sword and pistols in another room. The visitors stood up as he
entered.
"Glad to see you, my men," he said, shaking hands with each one.
"Is this Major Lightfoot?" asked Watson, trying to look delighted, but not
making a brilliant success of it.
"Yes," returned the Major. "I hear you boys are Kentuckians."
"We are," said Macgreggor stoutly; "we are ready to die for our country,
and so we are journeying southward to enlist."
"You're a pretty young chap to take up arms," observed the Major, eyeing
George keenly.
"One is never too young to do that," answered the boy. He was determined
to put a bold face on the affair, and he saw no reason why the Confederate
officer should suspect him if he spoke up unhesitatingly.
"The South has need of all her loyal sons," remarked Watson, who felt no
compunction in deceiving the Major, whatever might have been his
sentiments as to hoodwinking Mrs. Page.
"So you all come from Kentucky?" went on the officer. "That interests me,
for I come from Kentucky myself!"
The jaws of the three strangers dropped simultaneously. Had a bomb fallen
at their feet they could not have been more disconcerted. What did they
know about Kentucky, if they had to be put through a series of
cross-questions by a native! But there was no reason, after all, why the
Major should dwell on the subject.
"I thought Mrs. Page said you belonged to a Virginia regiment," exclaimed
Macgreggor, almost involuntarily.
"So I do," replied the Major, "but I only settled in Virginia two years
ago. I was born and bred in Kentucky, and there's no state like it--now is
there?"
"No!" cried the trio, with a well-feigned attempt at enthusiasm. They felt
that they were treading on dangerous ground, and resolved to play their
parts as well as they could.
"Do you all come from the same part of Kentucky?" queried the Major, as he
sat down on a chair, evidently prepared for a pleasant chat.
"From Fleming County," said Watson carelessly, quite as if he knew every
other county in the State. "I fear, sir, we must be moving on towards
Chattanooga. We are in a hurry to enlist, and we have already been delayed
too long."
The Major completely ignored the latter part of this sentence. "From
Fleming County," he said. "Well, that's pleasant news. I know Fleming
County like a book. There is where my father lived and died. What part of
the county do you come from?"
Had the Major asked them to tell the area of the United States in square
inches he could not have propounded a more puzzling question.
"Dunder and blitzen;" thought Watson. "If I only knew more of Kentucky
geography I might get myself out of this scrape."
"We come from the southeastern part of the county," said Macgreggor, after
an awkward pause.
"Near what town?"
Another pause. Oh, for the name of a town in the southeastern part of
Fleming County, Kentucky. The Major was looking at the visitors curiously.
Why this sudden reticence on their part?
At last Watson spoke up, although evasively. "We were a long distance from
any town; we worked on adjoining farms, and when the call to arms came we
determined to rush to the rescue of our beloved Southland."
The Major gave Watson one searching look. "Humph!" said he, "that's all
very pretty, and I'm glad you are so patriotic--but that won't do. What is
the nearest town to the places you live in?"
The name of Carlisle flashed through Watson's mind. He recalled that it
was somewhere in the part of Kentucky in which Fleming County was
situated. A man he knew had once lived there. He would risk it.
"The nearest town is Carlisle," he said shortly. "And now, Major, we
really must be off! Good-bye!"
He started for the door, followed by George and Macgreggor, who were both
devoutly wishing that such a state as Kentucky had never existed.
"Wait a second," suddenly commanded the Southerner, stepping in front of
the door to bar the way. "You seem to be strangely ignorant of your own
county. Carlisle happens to be in the adjoining county."
"Here, sir, we're not here to be examined by you, as if we were in the
witness box," cried Watson, who hoped to carry the situation through with
a strong hand. He would try a little bluster.
A sarcastic smile crossed the firm face of Major Lightfoot. "Don't try to
bluff me," he said quietly but sternly; "for it won't work. I see very
clearly that you fellows have never been in Fleming County, nor do I think
you have ever been in Kentucky at all, for the matter of that. You
certainly talk more like Yankees than Kentuckians."
"Then you don't believe us?" asked Macgreggor, trying to assume an air of
injured innocence.
"Certainly not," answered the Major. He folded his arms, and regarded the
visitors as if he were trying to read their inmost thoughts. "You are
lying to me! And as you've lied to me about coming from Kentucky, it's
quite as likely you've lied to me about your being on your way to enlist
in the Confederate army. For all I know you may be Union spies. In short,
my friends, you are acting in the most suspicious way, and I put you under
arrest!"
George's heart sank within him. He was not afraid of being arrested, but
to think that he might never take part in the bridge-burning expedition.
Lightfoot turned the key in the door.
Watson walked up to the Major, and tapped him on the shoulder. "Look
here," he said, in the tone of a man who is quite sure of his position.
"You talk about putting us under arrest, but you're only playing a game of
bluff yourself. We are three to your one--and I'd like to know what is to
prevent our walking out of this house, and knocking you down, too--or, if
you prefer, shooting you--if you attempt to stop us?"
Lightfoot laughed, in a superior sort of way. "Go, if you want," he said
curtly; "but I don't think you'll go very far." His eyes glistened, as if
he thought the whole scene rather a good joke. "Half a mile back of this
mansion there's a squadron of Confederate cavalry picketed. If I give them
the alarm they'll scour the whole countryside for you, and you'll all be
in their hands within an hour."
Watson turned pale. It was the paleness of vexation rather than of fear.
"Why were we fools enough to come to this house," he thought. He knew how
quickly they could be caught by cavalrymen.
The Major smiled in a tantalizing manner. "I think you will take my advice
and surrender," he said, sitting down carelessly in a chair and swinging
one of his long legs over the other. "If, on investigation, it proves that
you are not spies, you will be allowed to go on your way. If there's any
doubt about it, however, you will be sent to Richmond."
Macgreggor, with a bound, leaped in front of the Confederate, and, pulling
out a revolver, pointed it at Lightfoot's head. "Unless you promise not to
have us followed, you shan't leave this room alive!" he cried with the
tone of a man daring everything for liberty. George fully expected to see
the officer falter, for he had seen that the Major was unarmed.
But Lightfoot did nothing of the kind. On the contrary, he gave one of his
provoking laughs. "Don't go into heroics," he said, pushing Macgreggor
away as though he were "shoohing" off a cat. "You know I would promise
anything, and the second your backs were turned I'd give the alarm. You
don't think I would be fool enough to see you fellows walking away without
making a trial to get you back?"
Macgreggor hesitated, as he looked at George and Watson. Then he answered
fiercely, handling his pistol ominously the meanwhile: "We've but one
chance--and we'll take it! We will never let you leave this room alive,
promise or no promise. You are unarmed, and there are _three_ of us,
armed."
The Major did not seem to be at all startled. He merely changed the
position of his legs, as he answered: "Killing me wouldn't do you any
good, my boy! If you do shoot me before I can escape from the room the
shooting would only alarm the house--the cavalry would be summoned by Mrs.
Page, and you would find yourself worse off even than you are now."
Watson touched Macgreggor on the shoulder. "The Major's right," he said;
"we would only be shooting down a man in cold blood, and gaining nothing
by it. He has trapped us--and, so long as those plagued cavalrymen are so
near, we had better submit. I think I've got as much courage as the next
man, but I don't believe in butting one's head against a stone wall."
Macgreggor sullenly replaced his pistol. He could not but see the force of
Watson's reasoning. The Major rose to his feet. He was smiling away again,
as if he were enjoying himself.
"We surrender!" announced Watson with a woebegone expression on his strong
face.
"You'll admit," said Lightfoot, "that I was too clever for you?"
There was no answer. George picked up Waggie. "Can I take my dog along
with us, wherever we go?" he asked.
[Illustration: The Major Merely Changed the Position of His Legs]
The Major suddenly advanced towards George, and patted the tiny animal.
"Hello! Waggie, how are you, old man?" he cried.
George gasped. "How on earth did you know Waggie's name?" he asked. For
Waggie had been chewing at a bone on the floor ever since the entrance of
the Confederate, and his master had not addressed a word to him during
that time.
"I know his name almost as well as I do yours, George Knight," said
Lightfoot.
In his excitement George dropped Waggie on a chair. The three Northerners
heard this last announcement with open-mouthed astonishment.
Lightfoot burst into a great laugh that made the mystery the more intense.
"Why, comrades," he cried, "I ought to go on the stage; I had no idea I
was such a good actor. Don't you know your friend, Walter Jenks?" The
Southern accent of the speaker had suddenly disappeared.
The listeners stood dumfounded. Then the whole situation dawned upon them.
They had been most gloriously and successfully duped. This Major Lightfoot
was none other than Walter Jenks, a sergeant from General Mitchell's camp,
whom Andrews had sent out on the bridge-burning party. He had shaved off
his beard, and assumed a Southern accent (something he was able to do
because he was a Marylander), so that the guests at the Page mansion had
failed to recognize him.
Jenks shook the three warmly by the hand. "It was a mean trick to play on
you fellows," he explained, lowering his voice, "but for the life of me I
couldn't resist the temptation."
"How on earth did you turn up here in the guise of a Confederate officer?"
asked Watson, who now felt a sense of exhilaration in knowing that he
might yet join Andrews at Marietta.
"It is too long a story to tell," whispered Jenks. "I'll only say here
that I got lost from the other two fellows I was traveling with--was
suspected of being a spy in one of the villages I passed through--and, to
avoid pursuit, had to shave off my beard and disguise myself in this
Confederate uniform, which I was lucky enough to 'appropriate.' I was
nearly starved--stumbled across this place or my way down--told a
plausible story (Heaven forgive me for deceiving so delightful a lady as
Mrs. Page)--and here I am! And the sooner we set off from here, the sooner
we will meet at the appointed town."
"When the war's over," remarked Macgreggor, "you can earn a fortune on the
stage."
Half an hour later the four Northerners had taken a grateful farewell of
the unsuspecting Mrs. Page, and were hurrying along the bank of the
Tennessee. By four o'clock in the afternoon they had reached a point
directly opposite Chattanooga. Here they found a ferryman, just as they
had been given to expect, with his flat "horse-boat" moored to the shore.
He was a fat, comfortable-looking fellow, as he sat in tailor-fashion on
the little wharf, smoking a corncob pipe as unconcernedly as though he had
nothing to do all day but enjoy tobacco.
Watson approached the man. "We want to get across the river as soon as
possible," he explained, pointing to his companions. "This officer
(indicating Walter Jenks, who retained his Confederate uniform) and the
rest of us must be in Chattanooga within half an hour."
The ferryman took his pipe from his mouth and regarded the party
quizzically. "You may want to be in Chattanooga in half an hour," he said,
in a drawling, lazy fashion, "but I reckon the river's got somethin' to
say as to that!" He waved one hand slowly in the direction of the stream,
which was, without a shadow of doubt, an angry picture to gaze upon. Its
waters were turbulent enough to suggest that a passage across them at this
moment would be attended by great risk.
But to the anxious travelers any risk, however great, seemed preferable to
waiting. If they missed the evening train from Chattanooga to Marietta
their usefulness was ended. No bridge-burning adventure for them!
"I tell you we _must_ get over to-night," urged Jenks, who hoped that his
uniform would give him a certain prestige in the eyes of the ferryman. "I
am Major Lightfoot, of the --th Virginia, and I'm on an important mission.
Every minute is precious!"
"That may be true enough, Colonel," replied the man, ignoring the title of
"major," and taking a whiff from his pipe. "That may be true enough, but I
calculate nature's got somethin' to say in this world. And I calculate I
ain't a-going to risk my life, and the happiness of my wife and five
children, by tryin' to stem the Tennessee in this turmoil."
George's heart sank within him. To be so near the realization of his dream
of adventure, and to be stopped at the eleventh hour by this stupid,
cautious boatman! Waggie, who had been frisking near him, suddenly became
solemn.
Watson pulled from his coat a large pack of Confederate money. "There's
money for you," he cried, "if you'll take us over!"
The ferryman eyed him in a sleepy way, and took another pull at that
provoking pipe.
"Money!" he said, after a long pause, during which the Northerners gazed
at him as if their very lives depended on his decision. "Money! What's the
use to me of money, if we all get drowned crossing over?"
As he spoke the river roared and rushed downwards on its course with a
heedlessness that quite justified him in his hesitation. "Wait till
to-morrow morning, and the Tennessee will be quieter. Then I'll help you
out."
"Wait till doomsday, why don't you say?" thundered Jenks. "We must take
the risk--and I order you to take us over, at once!"
"You may be a very big man in the army," answered the ferryman, "but your
orders don't go here!" He produced a small tin box from the tail of his
coat, leisurely poured from it into his pipe some strong tobacco, and
slowly lighted the stuff. Then he arose, walked to the edge of the wharf,
and beckoned to a lad of nine or ten years old who was half asleep in the
boat. The boy jumped up, leaped upon the wharf, and ran off along the
river's bank in the opposite direction from which the four strangers had
come. He had received a mysterious order from the ferryman.
"What's the matter now?" asked Macgreggor, who had a strong desire to
knock down this imperturbable fellow who refused to be impressed even by a
Confederate uniform.
"Nothing," replied the man, stolidly. He sat down again, crossed his legs,
and took a long pull at the pipe.
"For the last time," shouted Jenks, shaking his fist in the smoker's face,
"I order you to take out that boat, and ferry us across the river!"
"For the last time," said the man, very calmly, "I tell you I'm not going
to risk my life for four fools!"
George walked up closer to Watson, and whispered: "Let's seize the boat,
and try to cross over ourselves!"
Watson beckoned to his two companions, and told them what the boy
suggested.
"We will be taking our lives in our hands," said Jenks, "but anything is
better than being delayed here."
"Besides," added Macgreggor, "although the river _is_ pretty
mischievous-looking, I don't think it's any more dangerous than waiting
here."
Jenks took out his watch, and looked at it. "I'll give you just five
minutes," he said, addressing the ferryman, "and if by that time you
haven't made up your mind to take us over the river, we'll take the law
into our own hands, seize your boat, and try the journey ourselves."
Waggie began to bark violently, as if he sympathized with this speech.
The man smiled. "That will be a fool trick," he answered. "If it's
dangerous for me, it'll be death for you uns. Better say your prayers,
partner!"
"Only four minutes left!" cried Jenks, resolutely, keeping an eye on the
watch.
The ferryman closed his eyes and resumed his smoking. The others watched
him intently. Meanwhile George was thinking. Two minutes more passed. The
boy was recalling a saying of his father's: "Sometimes you can taunt an
obstinate man into doing things, where you can't reason with him."
"Time is up!" said Jenks, at last. "Come, boys, let's make a break for the
boat!"
The ferryman placed his pipe on the ground with the greatest composure.
"Take the boat if you want," he observed, rising to his feet, "but you
fellows won't get very far in it! Look there!"
He pointed up the river's bank. The boy who had been sent away a few
minutes before was coming back to the wharf; he was now, perhaps, a
quarter of a mile away, but he was not alone. He was bringing with him
five Confederate soldiers, who were walking briskly along with muskets at
right shoulder.
"You fellows looked kind o' troublesome," explained the ferryman, "so as
there's a picket up yonder I thought I'd send my son up for 'em!"
Watson made a move towards the boat. "Better stay here," cried the
ferryman; "for before you can get a hundred feet away from the bank in
this contrary stream those soldiers will pick you off with their muskets.
D'ye want to end up as food for fishes?"
The men groaned in spirit. "It's too late," muttered Jenks. He could
picture the arrival at Marietta of all the members of the expedition save
his own party, and the triumphal railroad escapade the next day. And when
the Northern newspapers would ring with the account of the affair, his own
name would not appear in the list of the brave adventurers.
Suddenly George went up to the ferryman, and said, with much distinctness:
"I see we have to do with a coward! There's not a boatman in Kentucky who
wouldn't take us across this river. Even a Yankee wouldn't fear it. But
you are so afraid you'll have to get your feet wet that you actually send
for soldiers to protect you!"
George's companions looked at him in astonishment. The boatman, losing his
placidity, turned a deep red. "Take care, young fellow," he said, in a
voice of anger; "there's not a man in Tennessee who dares to call Ned
Jackson a coward!"
"I dare to call you a coward unless you take us over to Chattanooga!"
answered the boy, sturdily. "You're afraid--and that's the whole truth!"
Jackson's face now underwent a kaleidoscopic transformation ranging all
the way from red to purple, and then to white. All his stolidity had
vanished; he was no longer the slow countryman; he had become the
courageous, impetuous Southerner.
"If you weren't a boy," he shouted, "I'd knock you down!"
"That wouldn't prove your bravery," returned George, regarding him with an
expression of well-feigned contempt. "That would only show you to be a
bully. If you have any courage in your veins--the kind of courage that
most Southerners have--prove it by taking us across the river."
The soldiers were gradually drawing near the wharf. Meanwhile George's
companions had caught his cue. He was trying to goad Jackson into ferrying
them over the riotous stream.
"Humph!" said Macgreggor; "a good boatman is never afraid of the water;
but our friend here seems to have a consuming fear of it!"
"He ought to live on a farm, where there is nothing but a duck pond in the
shape of water," added Jenks. Jackson was actually trembling with rage;
his hands were twisting nervously.
Watson eyed him with seeming pity, as he said: "It's a lucky thing for you
that you didn't enlist in the Confederate army. You would have run at the
first smell of gunpowder!"
Jackson could contain his wrath no longer. "So you fellows think I'm a
coward," he cried. "Very well! I'll prove that I'm not! Get into my boat,
and I'll take you across--or drown you all and myself--I don't care which.
But no man shall ever say that Ned Jackson is a coward!" He ran to the
boat, leaped into it and beckoned to the Northerners. "Come on!" he
shouted. Within a minute George, Macgreggor, Watson and Jenks were in the
little craft, and the ferryman had unmoored it from the wharf.
"Never mind," he cried, waving his hand to the soldiers, who had now
reached the wharf. "I don't want you. I'm going to ferry 'em over the
river--or go to the bottom! It's all right."
Already were the voyagers in midstream, almost before they knew it. It
looked as if Jackson, in his attempt to prove his courage, might only end
by sending them all to the bottom. Waggie, who was now reposing in a
pocket of George's coat, suddenly gave a low growl. George produced from
another pocket a bone which he had brought from Mrs. Page's house, and
gave it to the dog.
"Well," laughed Watson, in unconcern, "if Wag's to be drowned, he'll be
drowned on a full stomach--and that's one consolation."
"He's the only critter among you as has got any sense," snarled the
ferryman; "for he's the only one who didn't ask to be taken across this
infarnal river!"