_The Tragedy of the Stream. Who was Guilty?_
WHEN Captain Hayward left the tent, he proceeded to the stream which
skirted the woods. Bending over it, he bathed his fevered brow. Then he
seated himself upon the bank of the river, and, resting his head upon
his hands, was, for a long time, absorbed in his thoughts. A human form
flitted lightly past. Hayward raised his head and listened, but all was
quiet again, and, in the darkness of the night he could distinguish
nothing.
“I was mistaken!” he said to himself. “If I was not, and a human being
is around, I will wager it was Nettleton, who, anxious for my safety,
has followed me.”
The captain was again silent for a moment, when the breaking of a twig
betrayed the presence of some person. Hayward raised his head and
called:
“William! William Nettleton!”
“Sir!” answered a voice but a few feet from the captain.
“Why did you follow me, William?”
“Cos I’m a darn skunk,” drawled the person addressed, as he emerged out
of the darkness. “And——_Curse you_!”
The person speaking was before him. In an instant Hayward sprung to his
feet, but, with a cry of agony exclaimed: “Great God, Nettleton—why have
you—oh God, save me—you’ve killed me—I die!” And, falling heavily
forward, the words died upon his tongue.
The murderer bent over the murdered for a moment; then, with some haste,
rolled the body into the water, and turned from the spot. He paused
under the shade of a tree, and listened for the tread of a sentry, that
he might enter the camp unobserved. With a half-suppressed laugh he
uttered his thoughts:
“I have done it, sure; and now that it is done, I must progress—no
retreating now. I think I’ll win. Good-by, captain, and give my respects
to my friends as you float downstream.”
He proceeded with caution toward the camp, and was soon lost in the city
of canvas.
The tattoo soon sounded. Lights were extinguished, and all was quiet,
save in a few tents, which appeared to be those of officers. Yet, there
were aching hearts within that camp, and, as the night progressed, many
were the anxious inquiries as to why Captain Hayward did not return.
In a large tent, near that occupied by Captain Hayward, were seated
three ladies. One was Miss Hayward; another was Alibamo, or, as she is
now a wife, she should be called Mrs. Adjutant Hinton; the other was
Miss Sally Long, the waiting-maid of Alibamo. Before this tent paced a
special guard; beside it was a tent of much smaller dimensions, occupied
by Nettleton and _his_ servant, black George, or, as Nettleton used to
call him, “Swasey’s nigger.”
“I fear something has befallen my brother. He does not return, and it is
now twelve o’clock!”
“Don’t be alarmed,” said Alibamo, in a soothing voice; “your brother is
most likely at the head-quarters of General Sigel. He may be detained on
business. Come, let us retire.”
“No, not while my brother is absent.”
At this moment the guard came to the tent entrance and said:
“Ladies, if you have not yet retired Captain Walker requests the
pleasure of a few words with Miss Hayward.”
“Oh, Alibamo, I fear that man; he looks at me so strangely. But perhaps
he brings news of my brother. I will see him. Bid the captain enter.”
As Walker entered he appeared agitated, but controlling his emotions, he
said:
“Ladies, you will pray excuse me. I feel that I _must_ speak now, as it
may be my last opportunity. We—or, I should say the army—will be
separated at Springfield, and I shall see you no more.”
“Do you bring news of my brother?” asked Miss Hayward.
“No! His disappearance is very strange. But I came to speak of myself.”
“What would you say?”
“This, Miss Hayward. I have loved you long and dearly. To-morrow we may
be parted, and I would ask you, should the fortunes, or rather the
misfortunes, of war deprive you of a brother’s love and protection, will
you not permit me to seek you out and become your future protector?”
“Captain Walker, these words surprise me, and I think propriety demanded
that they should have been spoken in the presence of my brother.”
“Pardon me, dear lady. I have waited until this hour for your brother’s
return, and at last, fearing I should have no other opportunity, I
ventured to visit you now. You have a friend and sister in Alibamo, and
surely you will not fear to speak before her.”
“I can not answer your question—it refers to the future.”
“Then for the _present_. Let me speak plainly, and I beg you will do the
same. Can you not at least regard me _now_ as your friend and protector,
and give me a friend’s privileges?”
The timid girl turned toward Alibamo, and in an inaudible voice, spoke a
word.
“She answers promptly, _no_!” replied Alibamo, somewhat sterner than was
her usual manner.
“You _love_ another, then?” asked Walker.
Miss Hayward did not reply.
“Is the favored one Lieutenant Wells?” again asked Walker.
“You are impertinent, Captain Walker,” replied Alibamo. “I must request
you to retire. How can you thus, in her brother’s absence, address her
in this manner?”
At this moment there was a commotion in the tent of Nettleton. The voice
of the negro was heard, exclaiming:
“I he’rd you, massa Nettleton. There ain’t no use in you denyin’ it. I
he’rd massa cap’n say, ‘Oh, Nettleton, ye kill me!’ Oh Lord, if eber I
get out ob _dis_ scrape, ye’ll neber catch dis chile in such another
one.”
“Is the nigger crazy? What is the darn skunk talking about?”
“Oh, you needn’t make b’lieve ignoramus on dis ’ere question. I he’rd
ye.”
“Now, look a here, you unconscionable dark; if you have got any thing to
say, spit it out. Don’t make a darn skunk of yourself.”
“Oh! won’t I fotch ye up in de morning? Yes, sah!”
“Are you going to speak, and say what you mean?”
“Oh, golly! You go back on de cap’n dat way!”
“What cap’n? Out with it, or I’ll break your head and every bone in your
body,” exclaimed Nettleton, in a state of undisguised excitement.
“Serve dis nigger as ye did de cap’n, and den put his body in de riber!”
The negro had scarcely uttered these words when Nettleton seized him. He
set up a terrible howl, which brought Captain Walker to their tent.
“What is all this fuss about?” asked Walker.
The negro went on to explain as follows:
“Why, ye see, massa cap’n, I went ober to dat yar house across de riber,
to see Miss Julia, a col’d gal dat used to be my sweetheart. Well, I
see’d de Johnnies comin’, and I ran down to de riber to come on dis
side, but dey come so close to me dat dis chile hid behind a big log.
Den dey stop right by me, and say, ‘Golly, we can’t cotch nobody.’ Den I
he’rd some one on de oder side ob de riber say, “Oh, Nettleton, you—”
“Silence this stuff! You have been drunk. If you speak upon this subject
again, I’ll cut your black throat.”
“I’se dumb, massa cap’n.”
Quiet had now been restored, and all parties retired for the few hours
that intervened before morning. But it was evident all were not asleep.
Several times a stealthy step was heard, and a shadow flitted past the
white canvas tent, dimly seen by the pale starlight.
Morning came at last, and all was astir. Captain Hayward had not yet
returned. The inquiry was made if any one had seen him.
“I have not seen him since last evening at twilight,” replied Walker,
“at which time he acted very strangely, and talked about the injustice
of war. I am inclined to think he has deserted and joined the enemy.”
“Oh, you darn skunk!” yelled Nettleton, as he sprang forward, and was
about to strike the speaker. But, checking himself, he added: “It’s well
you wear them gilt things on your shoulders, or I’d teach you to call
_my_ cap’n such names.”
“If you would save yourself trouble you had better remain quiet,
Nettleton,” replied Walker, as he fixed his eyes significantly upon him.
“_I_ knows where Cap’n Hayward am,” said the negro, stepping forward.
“Where is he?” sobbed Miss Hayward, pressing forward, in her eagerness.
“He is—”
“Silence!” yelled Walker.
“Let him speak,” said the colonel. “Go on, George. Where is the
captain?”
“Down dar!” The negro trembled violently, and glanced at Nettleton.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s in de riber—killed dead, sure!”
A wild shriek rose upon the air as Miss Hayward fell back into the arms
of Alibamo, insensible.
“By whom was he killed?”
“By massa Nettleton dar, _sure_. I he’rd across de riber, jis as plain
as day.”
Nettleton started back in horror, his eyes extending widely, and his
frame trembling. A general murmur of disbelief ran through the crowd.
“Did you _see_ him do the deed?” asked the colonel.
“Golly, I couldn’t see much, it war so dark. But I hear massa cap’n say,
‘Oh, Nettleton, you kill me!’ Golly, see how massa Nettleton shake!”
“Where was this?”
“Rite down by dat tree. His blood is all ober de ground; I jest see it.”
In an instant Nettleton had dashed off for the spot indicated. In
accordance with an order from the colonel he was pursued. Reaching the
locality named, he gazed upon the ground. It was red with blood—fresh
blood. He threw himself upon the earth, and wept and moaned, and called
upon his captain to return. His grief was terrible to behold. By this
time the officers and many of the men had arrived. They gazed upon the
grief-stricken servant with respect, and more than one expression of
sympathy was heard.
“If Captain Hayward has been murdered, it was not by that boy. Nettleton
loved his captain too much to harm him,” said Lieutenant Wells. “I am
inclined to think the deed has been done by skulking guerrillas.”
“I incline to your opinion, Lieutenant Wells, as to the innocence of
Nettleton. But, as to the deed having been done by guerrillas, it is not
likely. It is much too near camp.”
“But Hayward certainly had no enemy in our camp who would have done this
deed.”
“We do not know the secret motives which animate the human heart,”
replied Walker, in a tone and manner not devoid of meaning.
“Let instant search be made for the body,” commanded the colonel. It was
done, but no trace of it could be found, although the water was too
shallow to have permitted it to float down the river. Attention was
again directed to Nettleton, who was sitting erect, gazing at a piece of
sharp, bloody steel which he held in his hand. Viewing it a moment, he
sprung to his feet, and fixed his eyes upon Lieutenant Wells. Then he
turned to the colonel and handed him the blade. That officer examined
it. Directing his gaze upon Lieutenant Wells, he asked:
“Has any one among you a small Spanish dirk, with a highly-polished and
ornamented blade?”
“I _had_ such a one,” replied Wells, “but I have missed it for several
days.”
The colonel instantly turned toward the camp, commanding all to follow
him. He halted before the tent of Lieutenant Wells, and said:
“You, Captain Walker, and you, Adjutant Hinton, enter this tent, and
tell me what you find.”
The search lasted but a moment, during which time Wells had been
assisting Miss Hayward, but not without evincing much agitation. Walker
now appeared, holding in his hand a bowl of bloody water, and exhibiting
the broken stiletto, covered with blood, which had been found in the
overcoat pocket of Wells. A shirt, also, was found, which was stained
with blood.
“What can you say to this damning proof of your guilt?” asked the
colonel.
“I know nothing of it.”
“Arrest the murderer of Captain Harry Hayward!” commanded the colonel,
in a loud voice.
The guards instantly seized him.
“Murderer! _He_ a murderer—and of my brother! No! no! This is some
dreadful dream. Oh, tell me my brother is not murdered; it will kill me.
Oh, see! Pity a friendless girl who kneels to you and begs you to tell
her that you have _not_ deprived her of a dear brother. Speak to me,
Edward. I did love you, and you would not harm him.”
Wells could not speak. He had never spoken to Miss Hayward of his love
for her; but _now_, in the delirium of her grief, she had confessed her
love for him. Oh, what a moment!
Walker advanced to raise Miss Hayward from her bended position before
Wells.
“Paws off, ye darn skunk!” yelled Nettleton, as he hurled Walker to the
ground. “_I_ alone am her protector now.”