A FRIEND INDEED
"Hush, my dear boy! not a word!" said Captain de Banyan in an impressive
whisper, as he led the way along the street.
Somers made no reply; for he readily perceived that the utmost caution
was necessary, though he did not understand the position of his friend,
or what complications there were in the situation. He was filled with
rejoicing at finding himself again in the way of getting back to the
Union army. Of course, his feelings towards Captain de Banyan, in spite
of his antecedents in the Third Tennessee, underwent a sudden and
agreeable change; and in the joy of his heart he was disposed to embrace
his friend, and beg forgiveness for the suspicions he had entertained of
him.
They had advanced but a short distance from the main street, when they
heard the clatter of horses' hoofs.
"That's bad," said Captain de Banyan, as he stopped to ascertain in what
direction the horsemen were going.
"What's bad?" demanded Somers.
"My absence has been discovered, I am afraid. The provost-marshal has a
section of cavalry to run down Union prisoners who may escape. I think
they are after me; at any rate, we must be very careful where we go."
A few moments later, a small party of horsemen dashed down the street by
which the captain was conducting his retreat. It would prove fatal to
their hopes, if they were seen; and Captain de Banyan entered the yard of
a house, followed by his companion. There was a stable on the premises;
and, without a special invitation from the owner, they entered, making
their way to the hay-loft, which seemed to be the most promising place of
concealment. A horse in the stall below whinnied when they reached the
second floor, expecting, no doubt, his morning rations of hay.
Unfortunately for the fugitives, still more unfortunately perhaps for the
horse, there was very little hay in the loft; so that a secure
hiding-place was not readily found. But, as it was no part of the
captain's intention to remain long in this loft, they seated themselves
on a grain chest, to wait till the troopers should pass the house.
"What time is it, captain?" asked Somers.
"About four in the morning. We are rather late. It will be daylight in
about an hour."
"Where have you been since we parted?"
"Since we parted, my boy? We didn't part. You did all the parting,
Somers," replied De Banyan in a reproachful tone.
"I know I did; but, after what I had heard, you need scarcely wonder. You
acknowledged that you had been a rebel officer, and a member of the Third
Tennessee regiment."
"I grant it; but I thought enough else was said to enable you to
understand my position."
"Well, I had some hopes that you were all right; but I could not banish
my fears. How could I know that you had not been sent over on the other
side for the same purpose that we crossed the James?"
"You might have known it, my dear fellow. They don't usually send men
over on such business whose loyalty is doubtful. You heard the captain
say that I had been suspected."
"I did; but I could not fully understand your position."
"And so you gave me the slip? Well, Somers, I forgive you."
"I am sure, if I had not been in doubt in regard to what you were, I
would not have left you, even if I had been certain of hanging with you."
"I know you wouldn't, my boy. I confess there were a great many dark
things against me; but I assure you I am a loyal and true man. I have
suffered more for the Union than you have; for I was born in the sunny
South, and all my friends and neighbors went with the rebels. I had no
alternative but to go into the army, where my experience in the Crimea,
in Italy, and in Mexico, made me an officer. I escaped as soon as I
could, and enrolled myself on the right side."
Somers grasped the hand of his brave and devoted companion, which he
pressed with a warmth that indicated his feelings more eloquently than
words could have done. He was entirely satisfied with the explanation,
because it was fully sustained by the conduct of the captain, and by the
words of the rebel cavalry officer who had claimed his acquaintance. He
was even disposed to believe that De Banyan had been a soldier in the
European wars and in Mexico; which was a degree of credulity hardly to be
expected of a sensible young man.
"You will forgive me for my unjust suspicions, captain? I assure you it
went against my grain to believe that you were a rebel."
"You had good reason for it. I was more afraid of you, when I confessed
my sins to the rebel officer, than I was of him. We are friends again,
Somers; that's all I want."
"You have proved yourself my friend by this last act; and I should have
needed no further explanation to convince me that you were a loyal man."
"I am all that, my dear boy."
"Where have you been since I parted from you?"
"I got up to Petersburg in the afternoon. I was put in that hole where I
found you at first; but, when the provost-marshal learned my story, he
sent for me, and I was conducted to his office. Just as I came out of the
depot, you went in. He wanted to question me, he said. Well, I happened
to know him, though he did not know me. I knew his weak point; and, in a
word, I bamboozled him. I assured him I was an officer in the Third
Tennessee, and that, on further inquiry, he would find I was all right;
that I had rendered greater service to my country by going over to the
Yankees than I could possibly have done by remaining with my regiment;
which, you are willing to believe, was strictly true.
"I asked the privilege of putting on my uniform again, which he granted;
and, with the gold in my pocket, I purchased a full fit-out of the
quartermaster. The provost-marshal told me that I must report at
Richmond, which I promised to do; and, my dear boy, I hope I shall be
able to do so at no distant day, though it doesn't look much like it just
now. He gave me an apartment next to his office, for the night; where, of
course, he expected to find me in the morning. In the night, I got up,
and went into his office to transact a little business on my own account.
"After I saw you at the depot, my dear fellow, I couldn't forget your sad
look. You seemed to be as hopeless as a stray chicken in the wet grass,
and I was trying to think what I could do for you. I couldn't have gone
back to Harrison's Landing without you; it would have broken my heart.
And what could I have said to the general, when he asked for you? How
could I have made my peace with the officers of the regiment, if I had
gone back without you?"
"It was very kind of you, after the shabby manner in which I had treated
you," added Somers.
"That was the very reason why I was bound to help you out of the scrape,
if I could. I wanted to set myself right with you. I wanted to convince
you I wasn't the man you took me to be."
"You have convinced me in the fullest manner; and I owe you a debt of
gratitude which I shall never be able to pay."
"Steady, my boy; we are not out of the scrape."
"No matter whether we get out of the scrape or not, my feelings towards
you will be just the same."
"Thank you, Somers; I am satisfied."
"But where did you get the pass you gave the corporal of the guard at the
depot?" asked Somers.
"I found the provost-marshal's signature on certain papers, one of which
I filled out to suit myself. But there was a sentinel at the door of the
office, put there, I suppose, for my benefit; though I was sorry to
trouble the poor fellow to stand there on my account. My friend, the
provost, had done this little act in the most delicate way in the world.
He did not tell me that I was under guard; but I happened to find out
before I put my foot in the trap.
"In a word, not wishing to disturb the sentinel, I took the liberty of
leaving by the way of the window of my chamber, instead of the door.
Luckily there was a one-story shop next to the office; and with the aid
of a blanket from my bed, I dropped down upon it, without disturbing the
meditations of the sentinel or the slumbers of the provost. I got into
the street, and went to the depot. There I told the corporal of the guard
a very interesting story about the prisoner who had been brought up in
the afternoon, meaning myself; and that the man I wanted was needed
immediately as a witness. You know the rest, my dear fellow; and here we
are."
"And here we are likely to remain, I'm afraid," added Somers.
"Not a bit of it. I haven't exhausted half my expedients yet. On the
night before the attack on the Redan, at Sebastopol, I went all over that
city, and spent the evening at the house of one of the most distinguished
citizens--a gentleman who had a government contract for rations. Of
course, he didn't know me."
"Hush! There is some one coming into the stable below," said Somers, as
he heard a door opened on the floor below.
It was impossible to move then without making noise enough to excite the
attention of the person who had entered; for the stable was old and
rickety, and the boards creaked at every step they took. The fugitives
listened with breathless interest to the movements of the unwelcome
visitor. The horse whinnied again; and the person entered the stall, and
spoke to him. The sound of his voice filled the occupants of the loft
with consternation; for evidently the speaker was not a negro servant, as
they had hoped and expected to find him, but a white man, and one who
used the English language well.
"Come, Jenny, there's a job on hand for us; and you must postpone your
breakfast till we catch the Yankee prisoners," said the person, who, the
fugitives were now satisfied, was an officer of the cavalry service.
While De Banyan was telling his story, they had heard some noise at the
house; and they now concluded that the party which had ridden up the
street had come to call this officer for duty. They hoped that nothing
would require him to pay a visit to the loft, and that, like a good
officer, he would be as expeditious as possible in his preparations.
"You are my prisoner, if he comes up-stairs," whispered De Banyan.
Somers pressed the hand of his companion to assure him that he understood
his plan; and they held their breath, in the intense anxiety of the
moment, for further developments. The present seemed to be the turning
point in the career of the adventurers; and, if they could once escape
from the horns of this dilemma, skill and prudence would conduct them in
safety to the Union lines.
The officer below, after he had politely informed "Jenny" of the early
movement, seemed to be in no hurry to get into the saddle. He went out at
the door of the stable, and all was silent again, except the voice of
Jenny, who seemed to be protesting against any movement before she had
received her customary feed of corn.
"Peters!" shouted the officer from the door, "hurry up! The Yankees will
get to the James River before you get the saddle on my horse. Where have
you been?"
"I was looking for my boots."
"An orderly ought to wear his boots to bed with him, if he can't put them
where he can find them," replied the officer, as the heavy step of
another man was heard in the stable below.
"What news did you hear?" asked the officer, as the orderly led the horse
from the stall.
"The sergeant said some officer that had been took as a deserter done
runned away," replied Peters, as the fugitives heard the rattle of the
saddle-gear.
"Hurry up, then!"
"He done took a Yankee prisoner from the depot with him," added Peters,
who, if he had not been called an orderly, the listeners would have taken
for a negro.
"You may take a peck of corn in a bag for Jenny, Peters. We may have a
long ride of it," added the officer, as he left the stable.
A peck of corn! De Banyan and Somers were sitting on the grain chest! It
was impossible to avoid discovery; and De Banyan threw off his cloak,
ready for the emergency.
"Somers, my boy, we must change our tactics. They have heard the whole
story, and we can't blind them. We must make the best of it. Have you a
pistol?" whispered the captain.
"No; all I had was taken from me," replied Somers.
"I have only one. No matter; it would never do to fire up here," added De
Banyan, as he picked up a short pitch-fork which lay near him.
"Are you going to kill him?" asked Somers.
"It's life or death for you and me! We can't stop for trifles," answered
the captain in hurried tones, but still in a whisper.
They listened for a moment longer to the quick movements of Peters in the
stable below. It was evident that Jenny was duly caparisoned for service;
and then another horse was led out, which belonged to the orderly. He was
prepared for service in less time than Jenny had required; and, a moment
later, the step of Peters was heard on the stairs. With the bag in his
hand, he was coming up for the corn, as he had been ordered by the
officer. He did not see the fugitives till he had reached the last step;
when, as he was on the point of opening his mouth to speak, De Banyan
leveled a blow at his head with the handle of the pitch-fork, which
felled him to the floor.
He sank down upon the stairs stunned or dead; and the captain, as though
he had carefully matured his plan beforehand, dragged the body to one
corner of the loft, where he covered it with hay.
"Not a word, Somers," said he in an excited whisper, as he crouched down
behind the grain chest.
"Are you going to stay here?" demanded Somers, astonished at this
singular disposition of the forces.
"Hush--the officer is close by."
With beating heart, Somers waited for the further action of his resolute
companion. It was the most critical period of his life, it seemed to him,
especially as he did not fully comprehend the purpose of De Banyan. Only
a moment elapsed, but it was long enough to be a week, before the owner
of Jenny returned to the stable.
"Peters! What are you about?" shouted he angrily. "I shall never get off
at this rate. Peters!"
Peters was not in condition to answer the summons at that moment. Somers
hoped he was not dead; but he might as well have been dead, so far as
speaking was concerned.
"Peters!" shouted the officer again, with a string of Southern
Confederacy oaths; "where are you? What are you about?"
Of course, the orderly could not answer; and his silence only added to
the rage of his master, who continued to swear in a manner which must
have disgusted the gentle Jenny, and the other respectable horse standing
on the stable-floor.
The officer rushed out of the stable, and the heaviness of his step
indicated the state of his mind. He had gone to look for Peters; but, as
Peters was not outside, he must be inside; and the officer entered again.
He now walked towards the stairs leading to the loft.
"Peters!" he continued to roar as he rushed up the stairs. "Peters! this
is your last day's service with me!"
But the poor orderly was unable to remove the stain which rested upon his
fidelity. He still held his peace; still silently submitted to the unjust
imputations on his character. The officer landed in the loft just as
Captain de Banyan rose to receive him.
"Who are you?" demanded he, as the stout form of the captain confronted
him.
"Your most obedient servant to command," replied De Banyan.
"You are a Confederate officer?"
"I seem to be; but I am not. Be that as it may, your presence is
dangerous to my health and comfort."
"I see: you are the deserter."
"I am; but the future lies between you and me."
"Then we will let the future speak for itself," answered the officer,
drawing a pistol from his belt. "Surrender, or you are a dead man!"
"I must positively decline the honor," replied De Banyan, as he swung the
pitch-fork over his head, and attempted to strike him down.
He failed; and the officer fired, but without effect. At that moment,
Somers stepped forward with a billet of wood he found on the floor. At
the same time, De Banyan raised the pistol; but the rebel fired a second
time before he could discharge it. Somers instantly dropped his stick,
and his left arm fell to his side; the ball had passed through it. De
Banyan fired; the officer sank down, not killed, but badly wounded.