THE HOUR AND THE MAN
Lacy tore off his coat and vest, and threw them on the wharf, saluted
the general and stepped into the boat. Some one in the group lifted a
lantern. The flickering light fell on the pale faces of the determined
men.
"Good-by, sir," said Beauregard. "You, at least, are an officer, a
soldier of whom the South is proud. Remember the flagship is your game.
She lies at anchor right off the Main Ship Channel. Good luck to you. A
colonel's shoulder straps await you here if you come back. God bless
you all!"
He wrung the major's hand, watched him step into the _David_ and
whisper an order to his men, heard him call out "Good-by, sir. If we
don't come back, don't forget us," and that was all.
The little boat was shoved away from the wharf by willing hands and in
a moment was lost in the darkness of the bay. There was no moon, and
the night was dark. There was no light save from the stars. The torpedo
boat slipped through the water without making a sound. She became
entirely invisible a hundred feet away. The officers rubbed their eyes
as they stared in the direction where they had last seen her, almost
fearing that she had again sunk beneath the sea. They stayed there
perhaps five minutes, at least until the blockade-runners, none of them
showing a light of any description, could get under way in obedience to
a lantern signal from the general and noiselessly slip down the bay in
the wake of the frail little craft which it was hoped would be able to
clear the path for them.
"Now," said Beauregard, turning away at last, "for Mr. Sempland. I do
not understand it. I never thought him a coward."
"Nor am I, sir!" panted a voice out of the darkness, as a pale and
breathless man burst through the group surrounding the general.
"Mr. Sempland!"
"For God's sake, sir, am I in time? The boat?"
"Gone."
"How long? Call her back!"
"It is too late. She has been gone ten minutes. Where were you, sir?"
"Who took her out?"
"Major Lacy. Answer my question, sir!"
"He! My God! I am disgraced! Dishonored! And she--"
"Where were you, sir?"
"I--I--"
The young man hesitated.
"Why don't you answer? Do you realize your position? You begged this
detail. Why were you not here?"
"Oh, General Beauregard--"
"How could you forget your honor, the South? Where were you, I say?
Answer, or I will have you shot in the morning!"
"I--I--was detained, sir. I--"
"Is that your only excuse, sir?" sternly.
Sempland was in a fearful predicament. To have restrained him by force
was an act of high treason. He could only explain himself by
implicating the woman he loved. The consequences in either case were
dreadful. Fanny Glen a traitor to the South? Beauregard was a stern,
inexorable soldier. He would not condone such an offence as hers. That
she had failed in her effort to prevent the expedition would mean
nothing to the general. Fanny Glen, the pride of Charleston, the woman
who had done more for the South than any other woman in the Carolinas,
perhaps, to be disgraced, certainly to be punished, it might be--shot!
She had ruined him, but he had kissed her. He could not say the word
which would incriminate her and leave him free. He was disgraced
already, he would be cashiered. Well, what mattered it? His chance was
gone, the woman did not love him. His heart was hot against her. Yet he
remembered the scene in the strong room--had she indeed returned his
kiss? He closed his lips firmly and said nothing. He would not, he
could not betray her, even to himself.
"You do not answer, sir! What excuse have you to offer?"
"None."
"You sought this detail. You forced yourself into the expedition. Have
you nothing to say for yourself?"
"Nothing."
"You are under arrest, sir, for disobedience of orders, for dereliction
of duty! By heavens!" said the general, striking his left hand with his
right, "for cowardice!"
"For God's sake, not that, sir!"
"For cowardice, sir! You knew the expedition was one of extreme hazard.
You have no excuse to offer for not having been here. What else is it?"
"Not that, sir! Not that!" pleaded the lieutenant. "Anything but that!"
"A traitor, a coward, I say!"
"General Beauregard!" cried a high-pitched voice out of the darkness,
shrill and unnatural with terror and fatigue. The next moment Fanny
Glen herself, bareheaded, panting from her rapid run, white-faced in
the light cast by the lantern held by the staff officer, pushed through
the group surrounding the general.
"Where is Mr. Sempland, sir?" she asked.
"Here, under arrest. He failed to arrive in time. Can you explain it?"
"The boat?"
"Gone."
"Gone? Then who--"
"Major Lacy took it out."
"And the _Wabash_?"
"Will be blown up, please God, if all goes well."
The girl put her face in her hands as if to shut out some dreadful
picture. She kept them there for a few seconds, then she lifted her
head and looked unsteadily from the severe face of the general to the
cold, disdainful countenance of Sempland. The man she loved shrank away
from her.
"Useless! Too late!" she murmured, then fell fainting at their feet.