Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/prisonerofmillor00haze
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
THE PRISONER OF THE MILL;
Or,
Captain Hayward’S “Body Guard.”
by
LIEUTENANT-COLONEL HAZELTINE.
Author of “The Border Spy.”
New York:
The American News Co., Publishers’ Agent,
No. 121 Nassau Street.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864,
by Sinclair Tousey, Publishers’ Agent, in the
Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United
States for the Southern District of New York.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE
PRISONER OF THE MILL.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER I.
_Brother and Sister—Forebodings—Nettleton._
WAR! Oh! how much of misery is expressed in that one word! It tells its
own tale of woe, of blood, of broken hearts and desolated homes, of
hopes blighted, of poverty and crime, of plunder, peculation and
official tyranny, of murder and sudden death. In short, it develops all
the baser passions of the human heart, changing a peaceful world to a
world of woe, over which the destroying angel well might weep.
Come, oh, thou angel, PEACE!
The “Army of the Mississippi,” as it was termed, had been unsuccessful
in their pursuit of the rebel General Price. A portion of it, or rather
the division commanded by General Sigel, had advanced from Springfield,
Missouri, upon the Wilson creek road, as far as the famous battle-ground
rendered immortal by the death of General Lyon, but finding no enemy, it
had encamped upon Grand Prairie, a few miles to the west of the bloody
field. All in camp was upon the “tip-toe of expectation.” The lovely
scene spread out before the view, was sufficient to inspire the heart of
man to great and glorious deeds. The broad, rolling prairie lay there,
like heaven’s great carpet. The long grass waved in the breeze,
presenting the appearance of a deep-green sea, undulating in low swells
as if Queen Mab’s wand were wafting over it; the autumn’s frost had
changed thousands of the delicate emerald blades to purple, yellow, and
scarlet, while, intermixed with these, was the white prairie flower,
lending to the scene an almost fairy-like aspect. The large “Fremont”
tents were arranged in rows, in a tasty manner; flags were flying; bands
were discoursing sweet strains which echoed far and wide; squads of
soldiers in vari-colored uniforms were lounging lazily on the grass,
while those detailed for mess or guard duty, were busily prosecuting
their assigned tasks. To the east of the camp appeared a wall of
forest-kings, their verdure, also, touched by the frost, presenting a
variety of colors, and glistening in the sunlight.
Few in that small army had witnessed the horrors of the battle-field;
but, like all “green” troops, conceiving that there was much of romance
connected with the deadly field, and that heroes were created by a
single brave deed, the mass of Sigel’s men were eager to meet the foe.
It had been given out that the entire army was to join this division on
the prairies, and that an advance was to be made at once against Price,
who was then at Cassville, some forty miles distant, to the southward.
“I think we can safely count upon a desperate battle by the day after
to-morrow,” exclaimed one of a party of five, seated within a captain’s
tent—four of whom were at a table, with cups and wine before them. The
fifth person was making himself generally useful, acting in the capacity
of a servant.
“You have fleshed your maiden sword at Springfield, and I did not
suppose you would be anxious for another fight. I confess I can not gaze
upon such scenes without a shudder, and, if duty would permit, I would
willingly sheathe my sword forever.”
“Captain Hayward, you are low-spirited to-day,” answered the first
speaker.
“I am, indeed, Lieutenant Wells. And can you wonder? My sister is here!”
“I only wish mine was!”
“That is a rash wish, my friend. She would be exposed to much danger,
and I never want mine to gaze upon a battle-field. No! where _men_ cut
each other’s throats, delicate, sensitive women should not be near!”
“Could you find no way in which to send her from Springfield to St.
Louis?” asked Wells.
“I could have done so by the mail coach but, you know, the entire
distance of one hundred and thirty miles, from Springfield to Rolla, or
to Tipton upon the other route, is infested with guerrillas, and I
feared to send her. I preferred she should brave the dangers of the camp
or even the battle-field with me.”
Captain Hayward bent his head upon his hands and was silent. It was some
moments before any one ventured to speak. All appeared to be oppressed
with a strange sadness. At length one of the party, Captain Gilbert,
slapping him familiarly upon the shoulder, and endeavoring to speak
gayly, said:
“Come, come, Harry, this won’t do! you must shake off every vestige of
blues. You are suffering still from the wound you received in the Warsaw
skirmish, and it makes you low-spirited. No doubt your sister will be
perfectly safe, and I know she had much rather be with you, to assist
you should you need her aid, than to be safe in St. Louis, enduring the
tortures of suspense.”
Hayward made no reply. At this moment, a female, delicate and fair, came
tripping lightly into the tent, her face wreathed in smiles, and her
eyes sparkling with delight; but, as she caught sight of Hayward, she
paused, and gazed upon him for a moment, exhibiting the most intense
interest; then advancing, and placing her hand upon his shoulder, she
spoke:
“Brother!”
Hayward started, and clasping her in his arms, he pressed her close to
his heart for a moment. But, gazing into his eyes, she asked:
“What is the matter, dear Harry, you appear ill?”
The countenance of Hayward underwent an instant change, as he replied:
“Not ill, but somewhat depressed in spirits, perhaps, in view of what a
day may bring forth.”
“Oh! Harry,” she said, “I hear there is going to be another fight. Will
_you_ have to go into it and leave me?”
“Should there be a battle, I shall endeavor to protect you, dear
sister.”
“But, you will be in danger; perhaps wounded—perhaps killed! Oh! what
_would_ I do, then? Don’t go, Harry!” and the gentle girl threw her arms
around her brother’s neck and wept. After a moment, he raised her, and
pressing his lips to her forehead, said:
“I wish to speak with these gentlemen a moment. Go to your friend
Alibamo’s tent. I will come for you, soon!” The sister cast back a look
of fond solicitude, and left the tent.
Hayward gazed after her a moment, muttering audibly:
“Poor child, what _would_ you do if I should fall. You would indeed be
alone!”
“Now, captain, I don’t think that’s half fair,” exclaimed the one spoken
of as being the servant. “Do you think I am such a darn skunk as to—if
you was killed—the darn—not to fight for my capt’n’s sister—the
skunk—no, I mean, if you die—if she—darn me, if I don’t—I—I—” and the
speaker, as if unable to express what he _did_ mean, suddenly left the
tent. All present smiled broadly, and good-humor was thus, for the
moment, infused in all hearts.
“Nettleton had a sudden call!” said one.
“He has gone to the sutler for a dictionary!” added another.
“His heart is in the right place,” remarked Hayward.
“That’s so!” responded all, with emphasis.
“You are safe, with such a ‘darn skunk’ for your body-guard, Captain
Hayward,” Gilbert declared, with comic seriousness.
William Nettleton was in height about six feet. His general appearance
was very singular. His hair was nearly white—naturally so; his eyes of a
light green and large; his carriage very loose—indeed, when he walked,
one would almost expect to see him fall in pieces. His feet were huge in
dimensions. He had the appearance of a half-witted, illy-formed person;
but he was, withal, neither one nor the other. Having been detached from
the company to which he belonged, to act as servant to Captain Hayward,
he soon became so greatly attached and devoted to the captain, as to be
styled his “body-guard.” This attachment was not fictitious, nor did it
proceed from a spirit of military sycophancy or subserviency; it was
felt. Nettleton had evinced more than ordinary courage on several
occasions, and had, also, displayed so much judgment with his
intrepidity, that he had received offers of advancement; but these he
declined, preferring, as he expressed himself, “to stay with my capt’n,
the first what promoted me.”
It will also be well to explain the presence of ladies in the camp. Miss
Mamie Hayward was the sister of Captain Hayward, who, having received
intelligence that her brother was wounded, had visited Springfield for
the purpose of ministering to his wants. At the time of her arrival
Fremont’s “Army of the Mississippi” was marching upon that place, and
the journey from Rolla or Tipton was safe. But soon, those roads were
infested with guerrillas, and, as they were poorly guarded, it was not
thought prudent that the ladies who had reached Springfield should
attempt a return. Miss Hayward, therefore, remained with her brother.
This same reason will apply to all the ladies in camp, of which there
were several—conspicuous among whom was the wife of Adjutant Hinton, one
of the officers of the well-known “Benton Cadets.” She was usually
addressed as “Alibamo”—her name when a captive in Price’s hands. She was
very beautiful, and of that daring, determined nature which has
immortalized so many women of the West. In company with Alibamo, was a
young lady who acted in the capacity of waiting-maid, but who really
appeared more like a companion. This female possessed the not
particularly euphonious name of Sally Long.
“I must join with Nettleton in my reproaches, Captain Hayward,” answered
Lieutenant Wells, in a subdued tone. “You forget my conversation with
you last night!”
“No, Wells. You informed me of your affection for my sister, but you
have never addressed her as a lover. How do you know that she will
return your love? If she could return it, I confess, lieutenant, I do
not know any one to whom I would more willingly see her united; but, if
she can not, how could you assume to become her protector?”
“If such should be the case, and the fortunes of war should deprive her
of a brother, rest assured that, not only myself, but every man in camp
would willingly shed his blood in her defense, and care for her as a
sister!”
“Thank you. I _do_ feel a foreboding of evil. I believe I shall be
killed in the coming battle. If this should be the case, I commend her
to your care. But, my nerves are excited. I will walk into the open air.
No! I would be alone!” he added, as one of the officers arose as if to
accompany him.
As he left the tent one of the party, a Captain Walker, exclaimed:
“Well, I hope things are all right, but I have my doubts!”
“Your doubts of what?” asked Wells.
“Humph! well, no matter. _You_ are too directly interested to listen to
the explanation. But, perhaps you will find out some day.”
“Do you intend, sir, to cast any slur upon Captain Hayward?”
Captain Walker did not reply, but left the tent. An hour or more had
passed, and Hayward did not return. It was now quite dark, when suddenly
the assembly was sounded, and, all anxious, the troops fell in. The
order was read:
“Pack knapsacks, and have every thing in readiness for a move at
daylight.”
All was excitement, and every preparation was made for a forward
movement. But soon it began to be whispered that the orders were to
return. In a short time it was officially announced that the movement
was, in reality, _back to Springfield_, and from thence to Rolla and St.
Louis. Many were the expressions of disappointment and regret, and some
even ventured to denounce the policy. Fremont had been superseded in the
field, and General Hunter, his successor, had abandoned the campaign,
then on the very eve of its final consummation.