_A Virginia Home.--Unwelcome Visitors.--Mr. Harcourt Arrested and
Released.--Dan McCowan Makes Forcible Love to Mary Harcourt.--The Girl
in Peril.--A Timely Rescue.--The Villain Punished._
The important information brought to my notice by Operative Curtis, on
his return from Richmond, concerning the character and working of the
"Subterranean Headquarters," at once determined me on a plan of using
the same body of men, or rather the information they carried, for the
benefit of the Union forces, instead of allowing them to use it in the
interests of the Confederates. To accomplish this, I detailed several
members of my force, both at Washington and Baltimore, to co-operate
with Curtis, whom I intended now should become an active agent of the
rebels in carrying dispatches to and from Richmond. The plan was, in
short, that all dispatches entrusted to him should be accurately copied,
the copies to be delivered to his confederates, and the originals
forwarded to their destination.
In war, as in a game of chess, if you know the moves of your adversary
in advance, it is then an easy matter to shape your own plans, and make
your moves accordingly, and, of course, always to your own decided
advantage. So in this case, I concluded that if the information intended
for the rebels could first be had by us, after that, they were welcome
to all the benefit they might derive from them.
In a few days, then, having completed my arrangements, Curtis started to
Richmond, by the way of Wilson's Landing and Glendale, he having decided
that, provided as he was with his pass from the Secretary, it would be
perfectly safe, and at the same time a much shorter route than by the
way of Petersburgh.
Leaving him for the present, then, to make his way to Richmond as best
he can, we will turn our attention to other persons and to other scenes.
The interior of a comfortable farm-house, the place, and early evening
the time.
The family are gathered around the tea-table, and are discussing
earnestly the war, and the chances of the success of the Northern
troops. The family consisted of five persons: the husband and wife, both
traveling down the western slope of life, a young and beautiful
daughter, apparently about twenty years of age, and two younger
children, a boy and girl, aged, respectively, fourteen and twelve years.
These latter are listening attentively to the conversation going on
about them, and anon interjecting some childish observation, or asking
some question commensurate with the quaint views and ideas of childish
years.
"Well," finally observed the old gentleman, "it is hard that one dare
not speak their own sentiments in a country like this; my grandfather
fought in the revolution, my father in the war of 1812, and I, myself,
took a hand in the brush with Mexico; but I never dreamed of seeing the
day when a man dared not speak his honest convictions, for fear of
having his roof burnt from over his head, and, worse than all, endanger
even his own life, and those dearest to him."
"I have always told you, William," replied his good wife, "that the day
would come when this fearful curse of slavery would have to be wiped out
in blood, and you all know now that I prophesied truly. And," she added,
"as for me, I have no fears for the result. _Our_ only mistake has been
in casting our lot and settling in the South, and in the very presence
of an evil we could not avert."
"True, mother," rejoined her husband, "but you know I have ever been
outspoken against slavery, and its attendant curses. I also flatter
myself that I have had some influence in mitigating, at least, the
condition of not a few of the black race. You remember Colonel Singleton
liberated his slaves at the very outset of this war."
"And was compelled to flee to the North to save his own life," answered
his wife; "and had we been wise, we would have gone to a country more
congenial to our views, and while we could have done so with safety. I
am afraid," she continued, "if it becomes known that our son has joined
the Union army, serious trouble may befall us at the hands of men who
have long desired an excuse for arresting you and confiscating your
property; if, indeed, they would be content with sparing your life."
"If I were younger," said the old gentleman, "I would defy them to do
their worst; and, as it is, my only fears are for my family, not for
myself. Still," he added, "my neighbors are all friendly, and the
majority of them, though thinking differently from me on these
questions, are under obligations to me, so that I feel I have but little
to fear at their hands. As to our boy, who has gone to fight for the old
flag, I am proud of him; I fought for it, so did my fathers before me,
and I would disown the child who would refuse, if necessary, to lay down
his life in its defense."
And here, fired with the sentiments he had just uttered, he arose from
the table in an agitated manner and began to pace the floor.
"Ah," he continued, "I love that old flag, and old as I am, would fight
for it yet."
Going to a case that stood in a corner of the room, he took from a shelf
a beautiful silken banner, and holding it aloft, he exclaimed, with
great earnestness, "There is the flag I fight under--the flag of the
Union and of the country our fathers fought to save."
"Father," exclaimed his eldest daughter, "you forget yourself in your
enthusiasm; even now some one may be outside listening; you forget that
Dan McCowan and his desperate gang may be in the vicinity and give us a
call at any moment."
Scarcely had the warning fell from her lips, when there came a loud
knocking at the door, followed by a few vigorous and well-directed blows
that threatened to take it from its hinges.
The whole family started up in alarm, and while one snatched the flag
from the old gentleman and hastily deposited it in its hiding-place,
another answered the summons from without.
The old man himself, while not frightened, was somewhat disconcerted by
the noise, and remained standing in the center of the room, when the
door was suddenly burst open, revealing a body of Confederate soldiers
headed by a villainous-looking fellow, their leader, who now entered the
room, and approaching him, said:
"Mr. Harcourt, I have orders to place you under arrest, so you will
prepare to accompany us to Glendale at once!"
"What crime have I committed?" demanded the old man, now perfectly calm,
"that you dare enter my house in this manner!"
"You will know that soon enough," replied the officer; "so hustle on
your duds, as we must be going. Bill," he commanded, turning to a fellow
near him, "you will search the house and take possession of anything
contraband or treasonable that you can find."
This order was exactly what his followers wanted, as it meant really an
order to plunder the house and appropriate to their own use whatever
articles of value they found and that pleased them to take.
As none of the family had offered the slightest resistance, the
unwelcome intruders had conducted themselves, so far, very orderly. Mrs.
Harcourt, a kind and matronly-looking woman, with a firmness and
self-control, that under the circumstances was admirable, bustled about
the room, getting together a small bundle of clothing for her husband to
take with him on his enforced journey to Glendale; and anon, while doing
this, spoke soothing words of comfort and encouragement to the younger
children, who, white and speechless with terror, were crouching in the
darkest corner of the room.
The eldest daughter, at a sign from her father, accompanied the two men
detailed to search the premises, and proceeded with them from room to
room, as they rummaged chests and drawers, appropriating various little
articles to their own use, in spite of the indignant protest of the
spirited girl at such barefaced robbery.
Finally, with much reluctance, she was compelled to admit them to her
own room, and to witness their ruthless handling of the contents of a
small trunk, in which were various little articles, trinkets and
mementoes, worthless to any one else, but, of course, priceless to her.
But what she most prized among them, and which caused her the most alarm
should they be discovered, was a small packet of letters from her
brother already mentioned as serving in the Union army, and a small
locket containing his miniature. Judge of her dismay were one of the men
picked up the letters, and with a laugh exclaimed: "These are from your
feller, I suppose;" and then, observing the locket, he opened it and
with a leer on his face, said: "And this is his picture, I reckon, eh?"
"Yes," said the girl eagerly uttering, or rather echoing, the falsehood.
"Yes," she repeated, "please don't take them, as they are of no account
to any one but myself."
"All right," said the fellow, good-naturedly, "I guess you can have
them;" as he handed them to her. She eagerly seized them, trembling at
the narrow escape they had had from falling into the possession of
those, who knowing their contents, would have given her poor old father
much trouble indeed.
Having completed their search, and finding nothing that could be
considered of a treasonable character, they returned to the room below,
and reported to their Captain the result of their search. He then
ordered his men to retire to the outside, where he followed them, and
after consulting a short time, he returned to the house and brusquely
informed Mr. Harcourt that as he had found nothing to convict him of
treason against the Confederate government, he might go this time, but
to be d--d careful in the future, or he would get him yet. He then
slammed the door behind him, rejoined his companions who mounted their
horses and rode slowly away.
Satisfied that they had left, the family ventured to express their
congratulations at the departure of their unwelcome visitors, and at
once set to work rearranging the disordered room. They, however, felt
that this was only the commencement of their prosecutions, and they well
knew that another time, the chances were that they would not escape so
easily; for should it become known that their son was in the Federal
army, they could no longer hope to live in peace and safety. The men who
had visited them on this occasion, were evidently strangers in the
neighborhood, and were, no doubt, a scouting or foraging party, who had
stopped more from a want of having anything else to do, than from a
desire to do them any injury. They, however, knew, that from those in
their own vicinity, there was much more to be feared; and of one person
in particular, they stood in especial dread. That person was Dan
McCowan, the man whose name was mentioned by Mary Harcourt, in her
warning to her father, only a moment before the soldiers, had entered
their dwelling. Dan McCowan was a man who for years had pursued the
detestable calling of a negro-hunter.
He was about thirty-five years of age, tall, of an ungainly form, and
slightly stoop-shouldered; his hair and eyes were dark, and his
complexion as swarthy as an Indian. His features, naturally coarse and
repulsive, were rendered still more so, by being bronzed and hardened by
long-continued exposure to the weather. His only associates and his most
intimate friends appeared to be his blood-hounds, which he used in
hunting and bringing back to their masters, the poor negroes who were
seeking to escape from a life of continued toil and bondage. The
following unique hand-bill, which he used to post up in various places
over the country, will serve to show the nature of his business, and
also the vast amount of intelligence necessary to carry it on.
NO TIS.
The undersind taiks this methed of makkin it none that he
has got the best NIGGER HOUNDS in the state, and is always
redy to ketch runaway niggers at the best rates.
My hounds is well trained, and I heve hed 15 yeres
experience. My rates is 10 dollurs per hed if ketched in the
beate where the master lives; 15 dollurs in the coonty, and
50 dollurs out of the coonty.
DAN MCCOWAN.
N. B.
Planters should taik panes to let me know, while the niggers
tracks is fresh, if they want quick work and a good job.
It is scarcely necessary to say that his services were frequently
employed to catch and bring back the poor runaways, and more than once
had the Harcourt family been awakened in the night by his hounds, as
they made the woods echo with their baying. Often had they pictured to
themselves the terror of the poor wretches, over whose trail, with
unerring scent, swept the monsters, who would tear them limb from limb,
and whose only choice was death at their hands or the old life of labor
and the lash.
Mr. Harcourt was a strong anti-slavery man. Holding these views, he had
ever spoken consistently against slavery. He was also a man of deeds, as
well as words, for many a poor fugitive had been assisted by him on his
long and perilous journey northward in search of friends and the freedom
he craved.
Owing to these proclivities, and to the fact that he had never taken
pains to conceal his views, a mutual antipathy had long existed between
Mr. Harcourt and Dan McCowan, the nigger-hunter. While the latter had no
direct proofs, yet he had long suspected Mr. Harcourt of being a friend
to, and a sympathizer with the very runaways whom it was his business to
catch and return to the bondage they were endeavoring to escape from.
Notwithstanding his dislike for the father, however, the fellow had
conceived a violent attachment for Mary Harcourt, his daughter, and for
a year past had greatly annoyed not only the poor girl herself, but the
whole family, by his uncouth attentions.
Finally, Mr. Harcourt told him plainly that his attentions to his
daughter were extremely distasteful to her, and added a polite, yet firm
request, that he cease his troublesome visits.
Mary, who was a young lady of sweet and lovely disposition, possessing
both intelligence and refinement, shrank from the fellow as she should
from a viper in her path; while his odious attempts to lavish his
unsought affections upon her so disgusted and frightened her that she
always avoided his presence.
Dan McCowan, however, was just the man, when thwarted in his plans, to
at once take steps for revenge. For some time he had kept a close
espionage of the house and the movements of its inmates. He had somehow
obtained possession of the knowledge that young Harcourt was in the
Union army, and he determined to use this in his well-laid plans to
persecute the poor girl, who had been so unfortunate as to have been the
object of his passion.
On the day following the incidents just related, Mary, who had been
spending the afternoon with a neighbor's family, towards evening was
returning to her home, when she was suddenly and most unexpectedly
confronted by Dan McCowan. So startled was she by this unlooked-for
meeting, that she involuntarily gave a slight scream, as she recognized
who it was that stood before her.
"I see as how I have skeered you right smart now," said the fellow,
grinning in her face with a wicked leer. "Your father told me as how he
would be much obliged to me if I would stop my visits to his house,
which, bein' a gentleman, I was bound to do, and as I had a little
something to say to you, I thought this would be the time to say it."
The girl, who had now somewhat recovered her composure, yet fully
realizing the character of the man with whom she had to deal, stood
quietly looking him full in the face, and said, in a tone that betrayed
her contempt, "I suppose I must listen to you, sir, but be brief, as it
is getting late, and my folks will be uneasy at my long absence."
"Well, Miss Harcourt," he replied, "I will come to the point at once.
You have a brother, who has been away from home fur some time. Do you
know where he is?"
Mary was silent, and he muttered, half to himself, "I thought so; the
whole family are traitors. No more than is to be expected from these
d--d abolitionists. I can tell you where he is," he continued; "he is on
the other side, and fighting against the South."
"And what if he is in the Federal army? He is fighting for the
government you and yours are seeking to destroy," answered the spirited
girl.
"It don't matter much to me which side he fights on; but suppose I tell
it around, that he is fighting with the Yankees, do you think it would
matter to you then?"
[Illustration: "_While she was struggling in his grasp, he was startled
by a violent clutch upon his collar from behind._" P. 441.]
"My brother is his own man," replied Mary, "and he alone is responsible
for his acts; surely they would not harm my father and us for that; and
surely you would not tell what you know, to injure us?"
"That depends on you, Miss Mary," the fellow replied, now approaching
closer, and attempting to take her hand.
"What do you mean, you scoundrel?" demanded the girl, drawing back,
while the fire flashed from her eyes. "Don't offer to touch me, Dan
McCowan, or I'll----"
"What would you do, now?" he exclaimed; and, before she was aware of his
intentions, he had sprang quickly forward, seized her about the waist,
and placed one hand over her mouth, but not until she had given one long
and piercing call for help.
The fellow's base designs were evident, and that he would have been
successful there is no doubt; but help, fortunately, was at hand. While
he was yet struggling with the girl, he felt a violent clutch on his
collar, from behind, and before he could see from whence it came he was
thrown violently to the ground, and was writhing under the well-directed
kicks, which were most lavishly bestowed upon him by the new-comer, who
was no less a personage than my operative George Curtis.
The girl had sank to the ground almost fainting from fright, but so
enraged was Curtis at the scene he had witnessed, that he continued to
shower his kicks on the miserable wretch, who roared and begged for
mercy, until the girl interposed, and begged him, for her sake, not to
kill him, but to desist, and let him go.
At this my operative ceased, more, however, from mere lack of breath
than from a feeling that the fellow had been sufficiently punished, and
allowed him to regain his feet. "You contemptible, cowardly brute," he
exclaimed, as McCowan arose; "I have a mind to finish you, while I have
my hand in. Miss," he continued, turning to the girl, "I am happy to
have arrived in time to be of service to you. I do not know anything
about this difficulty, but from what I saw, I concluded that I had not
time to make any inquiries."
"I am very grateful to you, sir, for what you have done in saving me
from that villain. Look out!" she exclaimed, "he has a pistol."
Curtis turned his head in time to see the fellow in the act of drawing a
revolver. Quicker than a flash, his own weapon was in his hands, and
covering the man, he said, coolly:
"Drop your hands, you hell-hound, or I will blow you to atoms in a
second."
The fellow saw that he was foiled, and dropped his hands at his sides.
Curtis advanced and disarmed him; then, stepping back a pace, he said:
"Go now while I am in the humor to let you; another move like that, and
I will shoot you as I would a dog."
McCowan reluctantly obeyed, and slunk away muttering threats of
vengeance.
My operative, however, paid no attention to him now, but turned to the
young lady who proceeded to relate the circumstance of her meeting with
McCowan, from which his timely interference had saved her, and ended by
a cordial invitation, blushingly given, that he would accompany her
home, and spend the night under her father's roof. As he was anxious to
find a lodging-place for the night, at any rate, the detective
gratefully accepted the invitation, feeling such an interest in this
really beautiful girl that he could not resist the desire to cultivate
further the acquaintance, so strangely begun. He hastily brought his
horse from where he had left him by the roadside, and leading him by the
bridle, walked by the side of his companion until they reached the
house. As they strolled along, Mary frankly told him the secret of
McCowan's attack, and proceeded to explain the man's character, and the
detestable nature of the business in which he was engaged.
By this time, they had reached her father's house, where they were met
at the gate by the old gentleman himself, who was alarmed and anxious at
his daughter's absence so far beyond her usual time for return.
"Father," said the girl, "this is"--here she paused, visibly
embarrassed, and gazed timidly into the face of the detective.
"Pardon me," said Curtis hastily, seeing the cause of her confusion; "my
name is George Curtis; we have been so busy talking that I had not
thought of names."
She then introduced them, and briefly related to her father the cause of
her detention, and her adventure with McCowan, not forgetting to mention
the part my operative had played in her timely rescue from the villain's
hands.
The old man thanked him again and again, and so profusely, that Curtis
begged that he would not mention it, as he had done nothing more than
any gentleman, under the same circumstances, would have done, gone to
the lady's rescue at her call for help.
His horse was ordered to be taken to the barn, and he himself was soon
seated in the house, receiving the tearful thanks of good Mrs. Harcourt,
and the object of the admiring gaze of Mary's younger brother and
sister, who regarded him as a hero, and a person who had no small claim
on their affection and esteem.