_Gone!—The Signal Song._
WE must now take the reader back to Springfield. It was one week after
the exposure and confinement of Walker, and something like a month
before the army had commenced its retrograde movement, as described in
the foregoing chapter.
Walker, after the first paroxysm of his rage was over, settled himself
down to think. Although he had shown a bold front at first, his final
conviction drove from his heart all resolution, and he evinced the most
abject cowardice—the cowardice of conscious guilt, which makes the
strongest tremble.
But Walker was not a man to sit quietly in his cell, and submit to his
fate. His mind having been settled in the conviction that certain death
would follow, he began to form his plans of action. To arrive at any
definite conclusion was no easy matter, as he was chained, and a double
guard placed around his quarters. Yet he had hope—time was given and all
might yet be right. He learned that he was not to be tried by a division
court-martial, but would be removed to St. Louis, in order that a
general court might act upon his case. He also learned that it would be
at least a month, before the army would take up its march. Thus he had
time—time precious to him—for, like all shrewd villains, he had his
confederates, even in the army as well as out of it, and to these he now
looked for his bodily safety.
It was the third night of his incarceration, that, springing to his
feet, he listened intently. There were three distinct taps on the door.
“The rescuers—the gang—I’m saved!” he muttered, as he gave three taps on
the door, in response.
“What’s the word?” was asked from the outside.
“C. S. A. and the Bars!” answered Walker. “And you?”
“Good! Union against oppression!”
“To-night?” asked Walker, with eagerness.
“No, the pal on the other side ain’t for Union. Can’t before day after
to-morrow. Jim goes on then, and though it ain’t my turn, I think I can
get pony No. 2 drunk, and the job can be done. I’ll try.”
“Be cautious. Trust no one without the word. It was the neglect on my
part, thinking it all right, to demand the ‘words,’ which brought me
into this scrape!”
The “rounds” approached, and the sentinel was relieved.
Nothing of importance transpired in camp for the next three days. An
unusual quiet prevailed. It is true, there was much talk upon the
subject of the attempted murder, and many expressions of bitterness
against Walker. Some even went so far as to suggest the hanging of that
wretch before the army left Springfield, lest he should escape. None
were more vehement than a repulsive looking soldier, known throughout
camp as “ugly Jim!” He stated that he had been on guard only a few
nights before in front of the prisoner’s quarters, and that he had every
reason to believe Walker was trying to escape, adding that he wished he
had been satisfied of the fact, as he would have been glad of an
opportunity to put a bullet through the murderous scoundrel.
The party had been drinking freely, and had become exceedingly
communicative. One of the soldiers, whose post was No. 1 on guard duty
that night—that is, in front of the prisoner’s door—swore he would shoot
Walker if he could find any pretext.
“_You_ have no spite against him,” exclaimed ugly Jim, “and _I_ have.
Let _me_ take the matter in hand. I will stand your guard, and if the
villain attempts to move, I’ll riddle him, sure as Potosi lead mines.”
“Enough said. I am on the second relief. I go on at seven and off at
nine; again at twelve and off at two. This will be your time.”
“Good! I shall be on hand!”
Ugly Jim then approached the tent of Miss Hayward, and requested an
audience alone with that lady. It so happened that she was alone,
Alibamo having gone to visit her husband, and Sally being at the time
strolling through the camp with Nettleton.
“If you wish to learn all the particulars about your brother, I think
you can do so,” said Jim, in a tone of great kindness.
“Oh! in what manner?” asked Miss Hayward, eagerly.
“I don’t exactly know. But I will tell you what I _do_ know. You see I
am on guard to-night from twelve till two, over the cell of Walker. I
don’t like the villain any way, but, he told me if I would get you to
come to him, he would tell you all he knows of the matter!”
“Certainly I will go. Call Alibamo, and we will go together, at once!”
“I will,” answered Jim, as he turned to depart. Then pausing, he added:
“Miss Hayward, now I recollect that Walker said you must come alone. He
declared he would not commit himself by speaking before any one.”
“I dare not go alone!”
“Poor child!” exclaimed Jim, as he wiped his eyes. “Do you think you
_can_ be alone when this old soldier, as folks call ‘ugly Jim,’ is near
you? I know my face is ugly, but I don’t think my heart is! Besides, you
won’t _see_ the wretch himself. You will only talk to him through a
crack between the logs, and I shall be as close to you as Walker will
allow. Of course he wont let _me_ hear what he says, but I shan’t let
you be out of my sight, so there will be no danger!”
“Why can we not go at once?” asked Miss Hayward.
“Because I don’t go on post until twelve o’clock, and the other guard
wouldn’t let you speak to him.”
“Then I will come at quarter past twelve. But I shall rely upon you for
protection!”
“You may do that, miss. And I really think you do right. I know Walker
is a _very_ bad man, but he has got to die, and may be he wants to make
a confession to relieve his mind, and to ask your pardon. And I always
think it best to give a dying man a chance to relieve his mind, and
confess.”
“You may expect me!”
Jim bowed, and left the tent.
Twelve o’clock came; the guard was relieved, and “ugly Jim” had taken
the place of his _sick friend_, in front of Walker’s prison. All was
quiet, save the clanking of a chain, a few hurried whispers, and the
opening and closing of a heavy door, which sounds were in close
proximity to Walker’s dungeon. The words “_C. S. A. and Bars_” were
answered by “_Union against Oppression_,” and two dark forms glided to
concealment beside the thorn hedge, while the guard remained at the
door.
* * * * *
The evening dragged slowly along for Miss Hayward. A hundred times she
had almost resolved to communicate to her friends the fact of her
intended visit to Walker, and to ask their advice, and, if need be, to
request that some one should follow in the distance, to lend assistance,
should any be required. But what had she to fear? Walker was secure in
his cell, and one of the faithful guard had promised his protection.
Besides, she had promised to go alone. If she did not, it would imply
suspicion of an honest soldier. Walker might also ask if she had come
entirely unattended, and how could she answer him?
Miss Hayward was naturally timid, and by no means self-reliant. When the
news of the supposed death of her brother reached her, she was almost
paralyzed with grief. But, now that hope had filled her heart, she began
to nerve herself to the task of unremitting search, even though she must
encounter the greatest dangers.
The hour of twelve arrived. Closely muffled in a cloak, she crept from
her tent, and then paused to listen. She heard nothing, save the slow
and regular breathing of the sleepers, and the violent beating of her
own heart. She started, but her steps seemed to fail her, and she leaned
against a tree for support. The thought of her dear brother, and the
probable unraveling of the mystery which surrounded his attempted
assassination, and his present fate, gave her renewed courage, and she
sped onward. In a few moments she had cleared the camp, and arrived in
the center of the garden, where stood the doomed man’s prison. As she
neared the door, the guard asked:
“Is that you, Miss Hayward?”
“It is!” came the low response.
“Approach and fear nothing.”
She had barely reached the threshold, when two forms, darting from
beneath the hedge, threw a heavy blanket over her head, thus entirely
smothering any attempt, on her part, to give the alarm. Who and what her
captors were, she could not divine, or what might be their purpose.
Strange to say, her reason did not forsake her. She felt herself borne
rapidly along, but not a word was spoken. It appeared to her that hours
passed by, and she even longed to hear some word uttered which might
give a clue to the intentions of those in whose power she was, or to
throw some light upon the subject, as to whom her captors were. The
blanket, which was very heavy, almost causing suffocation, had been
removed, and a lighter one substituted.
At length the parties halted, and, seating themselves upon the ground,
the covering was removed, and Miss Hayward was permitted to gaze around
her. Her eyes first met those of Captain Walker. She shuddered, and
turned away. Then glancing at his two companions, she at once recognized
“ugly Jim,” and a person known in camp as “stupid Dick,” both of whom
had served as Union soldiers, for a long time, under Walker. As her eyes
met those of “ugly Jim,” she exclaimed:
“Oh! _you_ will protect me?”
A laugh was the only reply.
“I trust Miss Hayward will permit _me_ to become her protector!” said
Walker, in an assumed tone of kindness.
Miss Hayward did not reply, but gazed around her. She was in a wild
spot. She was seated beside a lovely stream of water, in a deep valley,
while high on either hand were ragged hills or mountains. She knew the
country for at least ten or twelve miles from Springfield in all
directions was quite level, and she judged she must be near the Ozark
country, the first range of whose ridges she had frequently seen from
that point.
“Does not the lovely Miss Hayward deign a reply to her most devoted
lover?” asked Walker.
“What was your purpose in tearing me from my friends, and conveying me
here?” asked Miss Hayward.
“A pardonable one, I think. My life was forfeited in the Federal camp,
and personal interest required me to depart. I could not think of
leaving without you, and so I resorted to a little stratagem. My love
for you must plead my excuse.”
“But I have told you, Captain Walker, that I could not love you. Do you
suppose after what has transpired that I could entertain any other
feeling toward you than detestation?”
“I am aware of that. But, when you know me better, I am sure you will
consent to reward my devotion. I am going to convey you to your
brother!”
“Then I _will_ thank you, at least!” exclaimed Miss Hayward.
“Nothing else?”
She shuddered.
“I must be plain with you,” continued Walker. “I am _not_ what I have
seemed to be while with the Federals. I am a colonel in the Confederate
army, but I accepted a commission in the so-called Union army, that I
might furnish information to my Generals. Or, if you like the term
better, you may call me a spy. These two soldiers have been with me for
the same purpose. And we were not alone. There are now, in the army of
the Mississippi, over three hundred privates, and over twenty officers,
who _pretend_ loyalty to the Federal cause; and I think, when his sister
has become the wife of Captain Walker, or Colonel Brown, he may be
induced to join us!”
“Will you take me to my brother?”
“On one condition, I will.”
“And this condition?”
“Miss Hayward, I love you with all the ardor of my soul. You have become
necessary to my very existence—_are_ a part of my life. When you spurned
me, it drove me frantic, and I am so now. Beware—oh! beware how you turn
this heart, which is yet pure, so far as you are concerned, into a hell
of furies! Pity me! Oh! dear Miss Hayward, pity me!”
“But my brother—what of him?”
“I will tell you of your brother when you have answered my questions.”
“Proceed, sir!”
“Do not speak so coldly. I will be frank with you. Your brother is a
prisoner—not in the Confederate camp, but in a secure place, on the very
stream beside which you are now sitting. The murmuring and singing of
these very waters will, ere two hours, greet his ears with the same
strain. Warble those strains to which I have so often listened while in
camp, and which stirred my soul, and they will be borne direct to your
brother’s hearing, to relieve his brain perhaps from the insanity which
now enchains him!”
“Insanity!” echoed Mamie. “My brother insane?”
“He is a raving maniac! And but one thing can restore him!”
“Oh wretched, horrible news! What _can_ I do to save my brother?”
“You are the only person who _can_ save him. Nor is the task a hard one.
Only a few miles from here is a Confederate camp. A chaplain is in
attendance. He will perform the ceremony which will make you irrevocably
and securely mine. Go with me. Become my wife, and to-morrow I will take
you to your brother, and we will not only restore his shackled feet to
liberty, but his shattered senses to reason. We alone can do it. Can you
assume the responsibility of a refusal?”
Miss Hayward remained silent for a few moments, and then gazed
alternately at the three villains. An unnatural fire lit up her eyes. At
length she said:
“Captain Walker, I do not know but you are even now deceiving me. You
may not know any thing about where my brother is.”
“Ask these soldiers,” replied Walker.
Miss Hayward turned her eyes upon them.
“The captain speaks right,” answered Jim. “He _does_ know where your
brother is. He _is_ crazy and is chained in the—”
“Silence!” commanded Walker. “Do you believe, Miss Mamie?”
“I must believe the worst,” answered Miss Hayward. “Soldiers,” she
added, turning to the soldiers, “do you believe in the truth of Captain
Walker’s profession of love for me?”
“I should like to know why not!” replied Jim, doggedly. “Nobody could
_help_ loving you; even I loves you, but I know it ain’t no use, and so
I don’t say nothing!”
“What have _you_ to say?” asked Mamie, turning to the other soldier.
“Lord, Miss Mamie, I allers loved you, but ‘stupid Dick’ never thinks of
such as you, and so I acted mean just to spite!”
“Gentlemen,” cried Miss Hayward, springing to her feet, “listen to me.
You have wronged me deeply, by aiding this wretched villain, your
captain, to abduct me. I despise, loathe him; and, sooner than become
_his_ wife, I would permit my brother to die as he is, for I know that
he would curse me were I to save him at such a sacrifice. It will be
_but_ death, and I shall suffer very little, for my brother’s pure soul
will scarce have taken its flight, ere mine will follow!”
“Miss Hayward!”
“Silence, Captain Walker. Soldiers, you have human hearts, and this man
has not. I appeal to you. Save me! Find my brother and return him
safely, and I promise to pay you one thousand dollars each. If I fail to
do this, I swear, by the hope of heaven, that I will become the wife of
one of you, the choice to be decided by lots between you!”
These words acted like an electric shock upon the soldiers. They sprung
to their feet and confronted Walker. But he had anticipated the effects
of her words, and stood sword and revolver in hand.
“You would play me false!” demanded Walker, fiercely.
“Guess I would!” replied Jim.
“Take that, then!” yelled Walker.
The report of a pistol echoed through the valley, and Jim fell without
so much as a groan.
“And how do _you_ decide?” asked Walker, turning and pointing his
revolver toward Dick.
“I was only goin’ to help you. I ain’t no such foolish cuss as to think
of marrying a fine lady like that! I’m all right!”
“Prove yourself so, and you shall _have_ your thousand. Deceive me, and
you share his fate!”
As Walker spoke he stepped to a clump of thick bushes, and drew a small
boat from concealment. Handing Miss Hayward to a seat, and preceded by
Dick, Walker entered, and the little craft swept gently along with the
current, down the stream.
They had proceeded but a short distance, when Miss Hayward burst forth,
and sung a wild, thrilling air, which echoed far and wide, through the
valley and across the hills. There was something strangely beautiful in
her song, and something still more strange in her actions. As each
strain echoed over the hills, and gave back the ringing notes, she would
start, and listen attentively, and a gleam of joy would lighten up her
pale face, upon which a shade of disappointment would almost as soon
appear. Her hearers sat in silence, and in apparent wonder.
“Those words are significant!” exclaimed Walker. “What is their import?”
“_She’s_ going mad, too, I opine!” exclaimed Dick. “Better _let_ her
go!”
“Silence!” cried Walker. “Miss Hayward, do you think your voice will
penetrate _his_ retreat?”
She made no answer, but, as the little boat swept onward, ever and anon
the same words, and the same wild music broke the stillness of the
forest, now sounding like a wail of sorrow, and then becoming almost
hushed in hopeful expectation. The words had the appearance of being
extemporized for the occasion, and were as follows:
Break those fetters—I am calling—
Listen _only_ to my song!
I am waiting—loved one—waiting!
I have waited—oh, so long!
Give but one fond word to cheer me,
As I pray, and hope, and weep!
Let _thy echo_ say thou’rt near me,
As my vigils thus I keep!
Echo, as along I glide,
This my song, from thy retreat,
And I’ll bound to thy dear side!
Are we e’er again to meet?
Yes, a Seraph from on high
Whispers to me, thou art nigh!
Friends are waiting—friends are near—
Dearest brother—do not fear!