IN THE CAVE.
The cave was dry and comparatively comfortable, and Tom felt as he
entered it almost like going home. Will Mather had spent a day and a
night there, while better than all, Maude De Vere was with him, her
bright eyes shining upon him through the darkness, and her hands
touching his as she groped around for the candle her uncle had said was
on a shelf in the rock.
It was presently found, and with the aid of the match Maude had brought
with her a light was soon struck, its flickering beams lighting up the
dark recesses of the cavern with a ghastly kind of light, which to Maude
seemed more terrible than the darkness. She was not afraid, but her
nerves were shaken as only threatened danger to Tom Carleton could shake
them, and she felt strangely alone on the wild mountain side and in that
silent cavern.
Tom did not seem like much of a protector in that woman’s garb, but
when, with a shake and a kick and a merry laugh, he threw aside the
bonnet, shawl and dress, and stood before her in his own proper person,
minus the boots, she felt all her courage coming back, and with him
beside her could have defied the entire Southern army. There was water
enough in the spring to wash the black from his face, and Maude lent her
own pretty ruffled white apron for a towel, and then, when his toilet
was completed, began to speak of returning.
“At this hour, and alone, with the road full of robbers? Never, Maude,
never! You must either stay here with me, or I shall go back with you,”
Tom said, and he involuntarily wound his arm around the waist of the
young girl, who trembled like a leaf.
She did not think of Arthur then, or her promise to him, for something
in Tom’s voice and manner as he put his arm about her and called her
Maude, brought to her a feeling such as she had never experienced
before. Perhaps Tom suspected that he was understood, for he held her
closer to him, and passing his hand caressingly over her burning cheek,
he whispered:
“Dear Maude, I cannot let you incur any danger which I must not share.
You understand me, don’t you?”
She thought of Arthur then, and the thought cut like a knife through her
heart. She must _not_ understand; she must _not_ listen to words like
these; she must not stay there to hear them, and with a quick gesture
she was removing Tom’s arm from her waist, when his wary “Hist!” made
her pause and stand where she was, leaning against him, and heavily,
too, as terror overcame every other feeling. Footsteps were coming near,
and coming cautiously, too, up to the very entrance of the cave, where
they stopped as some one outside seemed to be listening.
It was a moment of terrible suspense, and Maude could hear the throbbing
of her heart, while Tom strained her so close to him that his chin
rested on her hair, and she felt his breath upon her cheek.
“Maude,—sister Maude,” came reassuringly in a low whisper, and with a
cry Maude burst away from Tom, exclaiming:
“Charlie, what brings you here?”
He explained to her why he was there, and that she must stay all night,
and with a shudder as she thought of what might befall her uncle, Maude
acquiesced in the decree, feeling glad that Charlie was with them, a
hindrance and preventive to the utterance of words she must not hear. A
hindrance he was, it is true, but not a total preventive, for by and by
the tired boy’s eyes began to droop as drowsiness stole over him, and
when Tom made him a bed with Lois’s dress and shawl, and bade him lie
down and sleep, he did so at once, after first offering the impromptu
couch to Maude.
Seen by the dim candle-light, Maude’s face was very white, and her eyes
shone like burning coals as she watched Captain Carleton, and guessed
his motive. Had there been no Arthur in the way, she would not have
shrunk from Captain Carleton; but with that haunting memory she could
have shrieked aloud when she saw the weary lids droop over Charlie’s
eyes, and knew by his regular breathing that he was asleep.
Tom knew it as soon as she did, but for a time he kept silence; then he
came close to her, and sitting down by her side, said, softly:
“Maude, you and I have been very strangely thrown together, and as I
once said to you, there is a meaning in it, if we will but find it.
Shall I try and solve it for you, or do you know yourself what is in my
mind?”
She did know, but she could not answer; and her face drooped over her
brother, whose head she had pillowed upon her lap.
“Perhaps this is not the fitting place for me to speak,” Tom continued,
“but if the morning finds me in safety, I must be gone, and no one can
guess when we may meet again. Let me tell you, Maude, of my early life
before ever I saw or dreamed of you.”
Surely she might hear this, and the bowed head lifted itself a little,
while Captain Carleton told first of his home in Boston, of beautiful
little Rose, and saucy, dark-eyed Jimmie, and then of the pale, proud
Mary, his early manhood’s love, who at the last had lost the pride and
hauteur inherited from her race, and had died so gentle and lowly, and
gone where her husband one day hoped to meet her. Then there came a
pause, and Tom was thinking of a night when poor Jimmie sat by his side
before the lonely tent fire, and talked with him of Annie Graham. Should
he tell Maude of that? Yes, he would; and by the even beating of his
heart, as he made that resolve, and thought of Annie, he knew he had
outlived his fancy for one of whom he spoke unhesitatingly, praising her
girlish beauty, telling how pure and good she was, and how once a hope
had stirred his heart that he, perhaps, might win her.
“But I gave her up to Jimmie. Annie will be my sister, and I know now
why it was so appointed. God had in store for me a gem as beautiful as
Annie Graham, and better adapted to me. I mean you, Maude. God intends
you for my wife. Do you accede willingly? Have you any love for the poor
Yankee soldier who has been so long dependent upon you?”
He had her head now on his arm, and with his hand was smoothing her
bands of satin hair, while he waited for her to speak. He had dealt
honestly with her. She would be equally truthful with him, and she
answered at last:
“Oh, Mr. Carleton, you don’t know how much it pains me to tell you what
I must. I might have loved you once, but now it is too late. I promised
Arthur, if he would be kind to the poor prisoners and help the escaped
ones to get away, and,—oh, I don’t know what, but I am to be his wife
when the dreadful war is over. Pity me, Mr. Carleton, but don’t love me.
No, no, don’t make me more wretched by telling me of a love I cannot
return.”
“Could you return it, Maude, if there were no promise to Arthur?”
Tom spoke very low, with his lips close to her burning cheek, but Maude
did not reply, and Tom continued:
“Maude, was the getting me here in safety any part of the price for
which you sold yourself?”
She did not answer even then, but by the low, gasping sob she gave as
she shed back from her hot brow the heavy hair Tom knew the truth, and
to himself he said, “It shall not be.” And then from his heart there
went up a silent prayer that God would give him the brave, beautiful
girl, who drew herself away from him, and leaning over her sleeping
brother, sat with both hands clasped upon her face. They did not talk
together much more, and once Tom thought Maude was asleep, she sat so
rigid and motionless, with her face turned toward the entrance of the
cave.
But she was not asleep, and her dark eyes were fixed wistfully upon the
one bright star visible to her, and which seemed whispering to her of
hope. Perhaps Arthur would release her from her promise, and
perhaps,—but Maude started from _that_ thought as from an evil spirit,
and her white lips whispered faintly, “God help me to keep my promise.”
The night was very still, and as the hours wore on, and the faint dawn
of day came over the mountain tops, Maude’s quick ear caught the echo of
the fierce shouts in the valley below, and laying Charlie’s head from
her lap she went out of the cave, followed by Captain Carleton, who
wondered to see how that one night had changed her. The brilliant color
was gone from her cheek, which looked haggard and pale, as faces look
when some great storm of sorrow has passed over them. Her hair had
fallen down and lay in masses upon her neck, from which she shook it off
impatiently, and then intently listened to the sounds which each moment
grew louder. Shoutings they were, and tones of command, mingled with the
distant tramp of horses’ feet, while suddenly, above the tall tree-tops
which skirted the mountain side, arose a coil of smoke. Too dark, too
thick to have come from any chimney where the early morning fire was
kindled, it told its own tale of horror, and Maude’s eyes grew so black
and fierce that Tom shrunk back from her, as pointing her finger toward
the fast increasing rings of smoke and flame, she whispered:
“Do you see that, Captain Carleton? It’s Uncle Paul’s dwelling; they
have set it on fire. I never thought they would do that, though I have
watched more than one burning house in these mountains, and have almost
felt a thrill of pride as I thought how dearly we were paying for our
love to the old flag; but when it comes to my own home, the pride is all
gone, the fire burns deeper, and one is half tempted to question the
price required for the Union.”
Tom was about to speak to her, when she turned abruptly upon him, and
said:
“Captain Carleton, do you believe your Northern we men,—your Rose, your
Annie would bear and brave what the loyal women of the South endure?
They may be true to the Union,—no doubt they are, and they think they
know what war means; but I tell you they do not. Did they ever see their
friends and neighbors driven to the woods and hills like hunted beasts,
or watch the kindling flames devouring their own houses, as I am doing
now? for I know that is my Uncle Paul’s, and whether he still lives, or
is hung between the earth and heavens, God only knows, and perhaps _he_
has forgotten. I sometimes think he has, else why does he not send us
aid? Where are your hordes of men? Why do they not come to save us, when
we have waited so long, and our eyes and ears are weak and weary with
watching for their coming?”
She was talking now more to herself than to her companion, and she
looked a very queen of tragedy, as, with her hair floating over her
shoulders, and her hands pressed tightly together, she walked hurriedly
the length and breadth of the long flat rock which bordered a precipice
near to the cave
Tom was about to answer her, when a ball went whizzing past him, while
the loud shouts of the men, whose heads were visible beneath the distant
trees, told that he had been discovered.
To return to the cave and take Maude with him, was the work of a moment,
and amid yells of fury the drunken mob came on to where Maude,
forgetting everything now except Tom Carleton, stood waiting for them.
They would not harm her, she knew, and like a lioness guarding its
young, she stood within the cave, but so near the entrance that her face
was visible to the men, who at sight of her stopped suddenly, and asked
what she was doing there, and who she had with her.
“My brother Charlie and Captain Carleton, the man whom you sought at
Uncle Paul’s,” she answered, fearlessly, as she held with a firm grasp
the dangerous-looking weapon, which she knew how to use.
“And pray, what may you be doing with the Yankee? asked one of the
coarser of the men; and Maude replied
“I am standing between him and just such creatures as you are.”
While Tom, grasping her shoulder, said:
“Step aside, Maude; I cannot endure this. You, a girl, defending me! I
must go out. Let me pass.”
“To certain death? Never!” Maude replied, thrusting him back with a
strength born of desperation.
Charlie, who had roused from his sleep, and fully comprehended what was
going on, caught Tom around the neck, and nearly strangled him, as he
said:
“Let Maude alone, Captain Carleton. They’ll not harm her. They would
only shoot you down for nothing.”
Thus hampered and importuned, Tom stood back a little, while Maude held
a parley with her besiegers threatening to shoot the first man who
should attempt to pass her. She did not think of danger to herself, and
she stood firmly at her post; while the men consulted together as to the
best course to be pursued. And while they talked, and Maude stood
watchful and dauntless the flames of Paul Haverill’s house rose higher
in the heavens, and strange, ominous sounds were heard in the
distance,—sounds as of many horsemen riding for dear life, with shouts
and excited voices; and Maude became aware of some sudden influence
working upon the crowd around her.
Then a band of cavalry dashed into sight, and all was wild hurry and
consternation. But, above the din of the strife without, Tom Carleton
caught sounds which made his heart leap up, and springing forward past
Maude De Vere, he exclaimed:
“Thank God, the Federals have come! We are saved! Maude, we are saved!”
As his tall form emerged into view, a brutal soldier, maddened by the
surprise and unavoidable defeat, leveled his gun and fired, recking
little whether Tom or Maude was the victim. The ball cut through the
sleeve of Maude’s dress, and grazing her arm enough to draw blood,
lodged harmlessly in the rocks beyond.
At that sight all Charlie’s fire was roused, and the shot which went
whizzing through the air made surer work than did the one intended for
Tom Carleton. Tom was out upon the ledge of rocks by this time, grasping
the hands of the blue coats, who were a part of a company sent out to
reconnoiter, and who had reached Paul Haverill’s house just after the
rebels had left it. At first they had tried to extinguish the flames,
but finding that impossible, they had followed the enemy, most of whom
were made prisoners of war.
Some months before, John Simms had been transferred from the Army of the
Potomac to the Army of the Cumberland, and he it was who led his men to
the rescue, doing it the more daringly and willingly when he heard who
was in danger. _He_ was a captain now, and he stood grasping Tom
Carleton’s hand, when a piercing shriek rose on the air, and turning
round, the young men saw Maude De Vere bending over the prostrate form
of a soldier, whose head she gently lifted up, as she moaned bitterly:
“Oh, Arthur, Arthur! how came you here?”