Tim woke to the sound of knocking on his door and the voice of MacNeil.
“Will you join me at supper in twenty minutes?”
“Thank you, sir.”
The room was dark except for the flickering light on the hearth.
Outside, the gaudy sky above the nearby hills was laced across with
thin gray clouds.
Tim struck a match and lit a lamp on the bedside table. He turned down
the wick so that it wouldn’t smoke the glass. When he had finished
dressing he looked into a mirror that hung near the lamp. His eyes were
sunken and he had a light beard.
He buttoned his blouse and straightened the tattered sleeves, smoothed
the front. He sat on a chair to put on his boots. The boots were still
damp. His stomach was painfully hollow but after a meal he would be fit
as a fiddle.
Tim puzzled about MacNeil. The man seemed moderate in his views. He had
a fine sense of justice and it was plain he had a core of steel.
Tim heard voices outside and realized he hadn’t lowered the window. He
caught the sound of Kane’s voice. “It’s folly to keep them here. They
should be shut in a shed with guards all around.”
Tim heard the whine of a dog. MacNeil’s voice had an edge of
impatience. “They shall have a meal and a good night’s sleep. They’ll
have a spell of bread and water back in Richland Jail.”
“If I had my way I’d break their spirits now.”
“Good night, Kane.”
Kane mumbled sourly. There was still enough light so that Tim could
see the dark shapes of the man and his dogs as they moved into the
gathering dusk.
Tim heard the slam of MacNeil’s front door. He lowered the window and
turned down the lamp and opened the door a crack.
The light in the hall was dim, but he could see the guard lean forward
in his chair, his pistol pointed at the crack. “You can come out now,
hands in the air.”
Tim did as he was told. The guard said, “Now stand there by the door.”
Red was stirring about inside his room. His voice came loud. “I’m
coming out.”
Red winked at Tim. The prisoners walked down the staircase ahead of the
guard. Their host waited for them in the hall.
“Good evening,” he said. “Did you rest well?”
Red grinned. “Thank you, sir. We did.”
Red’s manner showed a change of spirit, and MacNeil eyed him sharply
before he asked his captives to sit for a moment by the fire. “Would
you like a glass of sherry, gentlemen?”
Red said, “Begging your pardon, sir, but our stomachs are so empty that
it might not set too well.”
Tim chuckled to himself and the Scotsman smiled. “Then we’ll go right
in. Luke will serve wine with the meal.”
The table was set with a white cloth and cut glass. Silverware gleamed
in the candlelight. The vegetables were served by a middle-aged colored
woman who wore a crisp white apron and a little starched cap with
frills on top.
MacNeil carved the chicken, a fine fat bird.
“I noticed a rosewood piano at the end of your sitting room,” Tim said.
“Do you play, sir?”
“Not a note,” their host said. “My daughter plays. I took her to
Greenville to visit a cousin. I’ll be happy to fetch her back again. It
was her son who saw you and gave the alarm.” MacNeil smiled faintly.
“He’s dying to see you again. We’ll put you on exhibition after dinner,
if you don’t mind.”
Red said, “Not at all.”
Their host was generous with helpings of chicken, and the colored woman
passed the gravy boat and vegetables several times.
MacNeil turned to Tim. “Where is your home?”
“I’m from a small town on the Connecticut River, a place called Stone’s
Brook. My father is the only doctor in town. Lieutenant Kelly is a New
Haven man. He left a wife and child at home.” Tim knew he was telling
more than he’d been asked. “But as for me, I’m an unmarried man.”
Their host smiled. “You can’t be twenty. You still have time.”
Red said, “He’s picked his girl.”
“You’ve been serving with the Department of the South, I presume. Where
were you captured, may I ask?”
“On Morris Island, sir, on July eleventh last,” Red said.
“That would be Battery Wagner.”
“Yes. Fort Wagner, we call it.”
MacNeil fingered the stem of his glass and smiled dryly. “I guess it
earned that designation.”
After dinner they retired to the living room and their host spoke to a
guard who sat in the hall.
When MacNeil joined them again he said, “Some of my neighbors want to
have a look at you. I’ve decided to let them come. I want them to know
that you aren’t wild beasts.” He fingered the butt of his pistol and
said, as if to himself, “They’ll have to leave their firearms outside
the door.”
MacNeil made small talk until the first knock sounded at the door. A
man with gray hair came into the room with his wife.
MacNeil introduced them as Dr. and Mrs. Sellers. “Dr. Sellers is our
family doctor.”
Soon five more people filed into the room, two women and three men, all
well past middle age. They sat stiffly at first until the manner of
their host made them feel at home.
The doctor turned his bright blue eyes on Tim and asked in a gentle
drawl, “Do you know much about the progress of the war?”
“Very little, sir, I’m afraid,” Tim said. “We were in jail more than
five months before we escaped.”
Their host nodded toward the man who had asked the question and turned
to Tim. “Doctor Sellers is our only doctor--your father’s Southern
counterpart.”
The doctor spoke softly. “In wartime we think of our enemies as
unrelenting scoundrels. Of course we know in our hearts it isn’t
so. But I can’t for the life of me see why the North must bring our
long-established institutions down.” He shook his head. “Now I’m
talking like a child. Slavery is already doomed.”
The doctor’s wife gasped. “Surely not if we win the War.”
The doctor said, “I’m sorry, Mary. Our lamp is burning mighty low.”
A hard-faced woman rose from her chair. “I never thought to hear such
talk. I think I’ll be moving along.”
A heavy knock came at the door and Kane was let in, followed by three
men, one of them with a bad limp, unmistakably Kane’s son. MacNeil
greeted the men and in the silence that followed Tim heard the yelping
and scratching of hounds.
Kane stood, his head nearly touching one of the heavy beams, the
firelight making his face an ugly mask. He spoke in his rasping drawl.
“In the presence of your neighbors, Mr. MacNeil, I want to say it one
more time. These men should be treated as prisoners.”
“Prisoners of war, not criminals, Mr. Kane.”
Kane mumbled “Good night” and moved toward the door with his son and
friends trailing behind. They were followed shortly by the hard-faced
woman and one of the men who must be her husband.
The doctor, speaking for the people who remained, said, “I bid you
gentlemen good night.” He smiled sadly. “This village was a happy place
before the War. I wish you could have known us then.”
When his neighbors had left, MacNeil gave orders to the guard. “Station
yourself in the upstairs hall. I’ll show the prisoners to their rooms
a little later on. The night is cold. There’ll be no need of guards
outside. Two can sleep while two stand watch outside the bedroom doors.
You can set the shifts as suits you best.”
The Scotsman set fresh logs on the fire, sat down and pressed the tips
of his fingers together. He spoke without a sign of hesitation. “Of
course I know well what’s in your minds. I can’t lift a finger to send
you on your way. If the guards are alert they can hear the slightest
sound through the bedroom doors. But suppose for a moment that you
reach the ground. Kane defers to me because he has no choice, but
there’s nothing to stop him from setting up a guard along the road and
I suspect he may have done just that. Such men will shoot to kill. Kane
has a pack of ugly hounds. Even if you had a decent start, the alarm
would soon be raised. Kane would like a chase like that. I’d give you
very little chance.”
MacNeil tapped the butt of his pistol, then put his fingers together
again and spoke above the crackling of the fire. “Suppose you cleared
the county and the state?” Tim had the strong impression that MacNeil
was speaking exactly as he would to his own sons. “You have no
overcoats, no food to speak of.” He massaged his temples with the thumb
and fingers of his right hand. “And the last I heard, Knoxville was
under siege.”
Red pulled at his beard. “You’ve done as much as you possibly could to
make us feel at home. You’ve restored our spirit.”
The Scotsman looked at Red with a trace of fun on his handsome face.
Then he grew serious again. “I hope I have no reason to regret the
restoration of your spirit.” He stood abruptly. “I retire early. I’m
afraid you gentlemen must do the same.”
Two guards stood together by a lamp that hung on the wall at the back
of the hall. They nodded their heads when they saw MacNeil.
MacNeil said, “Lieutenant Bradford, I hope you’ll forgive me. I forgot
to get your diary and photographs from Kane.”
“That’s all right,” Tim said. “It was quite an exciting afternoon.”
“I’ll see that you get them in the morning.”
There was a stir at the back of the hall and one of the guards said,
“Ho, Mr. MacNeil, here’s your grandson prowling about.”
“Go to bed, Michael,” MacNeil said.
“You promised I could see the Yanks before I went to bed.”
“So I did.”
Red said, “Good evening, lad.”
The boy stood in the lamplight, his nightgown nearly reaching the
floor. His face was tough for a boy so young. “You look better now,” he
said. “You frightened me most to death outside.”
Tim smiled.
The boy said, “You’re most as good-lookin’ as people down here.” He
lowered his eyes and frowned again. “Do you have any news of my father?
Lieutenant Curtis is his name. A friend saw him wounded at the battle
of Malvern Hill.”
Tim looked down at the boy’s unruly hair and questioning eyes. He spoke
softly. “This is a mighty big war, lad. We didn’t fight at Malvern
Hill.”
MacNeil spoke up. “Now off to bed, Michael. Sorry I forgot to keep my
promise.”
The boy looked up, speaking man to man. “I know you’re busy with the
Yankees and such.”