DIGGS GETS OUT OF HIS SCRAPE AGAIN.
Mr. Diggs' views, in the cold, dark prison, and through iron bars, of a
soldier's life, were very gloomy. The first night of his incarceration,
for hours, he tossed about unable to sleep.
"I am a failure," he moaned, "a miserable failure. I went into the army,
intending to rise to be a general, and only got to be a corporal; then
taken prisoner, lost my office, retaken by my own company and treated
coolly. No chance of promotion, only kicks, cuffs, and bumps all through
this cruel world. Others have risen to higher positions. There's Abner
and Oleah, both captains. They were never taken prisoner, ducked in a
creek, or thrown into a thorn bush; why should I? and now I am to be
tried by a court-martial as a deserter, and I know I shall be killed."
"Shut up!" yelled half a dozen fellow prisoners. "Do you intend to
sleep, or let any of us sleep to-night?"
"We're all going to be led out and shot to-morrow," whined Diggs.
"Well, is that any reason ye should be keepin' us awake all night?"
replied one gruff fellow in an adjoining cell. The doors of all the
cells were open.
Diggs was awed into silence by the tones of his companions, and, while
wondering how these men could take their coming fate so coolly, fell
asleep. He attributed his own emotions to the possession of finer
sensibilities than those of his companions.
"What's to be done with us?" he asked next morning of the soldier who
brought their breakfast.
"Don't know," was the reply, as that worthy set the breakfast on the
stand and departed. Mr. Diggs did not have an excellent appetite.
"Say, messmate," said a mischievous prisoner, "don't eat too much, for
these Yankees are cannibals, and, when they have fattened their
prisoners, they eat 'em."
Poor Diggs pushed back his plate, sick at heart, and commenced pacing
the hall in front of his cell. Seeing a soldier on guard duty outside,
he went to the grating and called to him:
"Can I speak to you?"
"I reckon you can," was the answer.
"Do you know what's going to become of me?"
"I think, sir," said the soldier, gravely, "that you will be in h--l
before morning."
"Oh! they do really intend to kill me," cried Diggs, and running back to
his cell, he fell upon his knees and tried to pray.
"If ever I get out of this," he vowed, "I'll be a preacher. I was made
for a preacher."
"Well, now, who cares if you are?" said a fellow prisoner, roughly, who
was playing cards with three others at the table. "You needn't be
disturbin' honest men, who hev no desire for sich things. Keep yer jaw
and yer preachin' to yerself!"
"How can you be so wicked," said Diggs, "to carry on such unholy games,
when you know that the judgment awaits you?"
"Oh, dry up!--I'll pass," said one.
"Remember, you wicked men, that you have souls to save!" cried Diggs,
growing quite warm and earnest in this, his first exhortation.
"Oh, hush up yer nonsense!--Order him up, Bill," said another.
"You have souls," persisted Diggs.
"We've got no such thing!--I'll order you up and play it alone," replied
the one called Bill.
"Remember, poor dying sinners, you have souls," Diggs went on.
"Remember, sir, you have a head," said one of the players, "and if you
don't keep it closed, you'll get it punched."
Abashed and crestfallen, Diggs again retired to a corner to pray, this
time in silence, and to wonder at the perverseness and wickedness of
this generation.
The day passed, the next, the next, and the next without any news from
the outside world. Diggs asked the soldier, who brought their meals
twice a day, at each visit, what was to be done to him, the soldier on
each occasion answering that he did not know.
Diggs had grown despondent; his round, red face had become pale and
attenuated, and his little gray eyes had lost even their silly twinkle.
He thought of all the imprisoned heroes and martyred saints he had ever
read of; finally he came to imagine himself a hero, and determined that,
when he was released, he would write a book on prison life, relating his
own experience. As an author, he certainly would achieve fame. If only
he could have pen, ink and paper, he would at once begin the wonderful
production, which was to astonish the world. Mr. Diggs thought, if he
himself could not be a hero, he could portray heroes with life-like
effect. He was half persuaded to become a novelist. He would be a
preacher or lawyer, a novelist, any thing in the world but a soldier; he
had had enough of that. As he had not yet been ordered out and shot, Mr.
Diggs' hopes began to rise in his breast, and already, he felt half
ashamed of the weakness he had displayed.
On the fifth day after his arrival at the prison, he was called to the
door. It was not more than ten o'clock in the forenoon. Half a dozen
soldiers, headed by a sergeant, were waiting outside the prison. He was
ordered to come out, and once more stood in the open air. He was marched
at once to Colonel Holdfast's head-quarters in the Courthouse at
Snagtown. Colonel Holdfast, two other Colonels, Major Fleming, and
another officer were sitting in the place, which was occupied by civil
judges in times of peace. An awful silence seemed to pervade the
court-room, as Mr. Diggs was marched in. A number of soldiers were
lounging about on the seats, and several officers were conferring in
whispers. What it meant Mr. Diggs was not long in conjecturing. It was
the dreadful court-martial. His hopes sunk, his knees knocked together,
and his head swam as he was placed before the terrible tribunal. The
orderly placed a seat for him in front of the officers, and he rather
fell into it than sat down.
"Is your name Patrick Henry Diggs?" said Colonel Holdfast.
"I--I believe it is," faintly gasped the terrified man.
"You are charged with having deserted from our army and gone over to the
enemy. What have you to say to the charge?" asked the colonel.
There was no response. Diggs hung his head.
"What do you say, sir?" demanded the colonel, sharply.
"N--n--not guilty, your honor."
"Here is your name on our rolls as having enlisted in my own Company B,
Abner Tompkins, captain. Is that true?"
"I--I--I reckon so."
Corporal Grimm and Sergeant Swords were called, and both testified that
Diggs had been captured with other rebels in the late encounter; that,
when taken, he was armed and fighting in the rebel cause. Uncle Dan
Martin also testified that he had been present at the capture of Diggs,
and that he was in arms for the Southern cause.
There was no jesting this time. Mr. Diggs found it all serious business.
The officers were not long in arriving at a verdict. They retired into
another room for a few moments' consultation, and returned with their
verdict, which Colonel Holdfast read. It was simply the terrible word:
"Guilty!"
"Stand up, prisoner, that sentence may be passed," said the Colonel.
The prisoner did not move. He had fainted outright on hearing the
verdict pronounced. The regimental surgeon was present and administered
restoratives, and Diggs was held up by two strong soldiers.
"In view," began the colonel, "of the accumulative and convincing
character of the evidence against you, proving you to be a spy, you are
condemned to death."
"Oh, I knew, I always knew I should be killed!" interrupted Diggs, in a
feeble voice.
"Therefore," went on the colonel, slowly and solemnly, hoping his words
might have effect on the listeners and prevent other desertions, "you
will be taken from here to your place of confinement, and there kept
until this day week, when you will be taken therefrom, led to the field
north of this town, at the hour of ten o'clock in the forenoon, and
there shot until you are dead, and may the Lord have mercy on your
soul."
The colonel sat down, and Diggs, again fainting, was carried back,
almost insensible, to his prison.
When Abner heard of the trial and the decision of the court-martial, he
endeavored to persuade the officers to reconsider the case, representing
to them that Diggs was imbecile in mind and not actually responsible for
his deeds. Irene, hearing with horror that the poor fellow was awaiting
execution, which was hourly approaching, hastened to Snagtown to plead
with the commanding officers in his behalf, and Uncle Dan used his
influence, too, for poor Diggs' fate, but argument and entreaty were
alike unavailing, the officers declaring that the case was plain, and
justice must be done, and an example made.
Irene visited poor Diggs in prison and found him on the verge of
despair. He had wept until his eyes were swollen. He would not eat or
sleep, and his abject terror, his want of food and sleep had made him a
pitiable-looking object. She remained only a few moments, but they were
the only moments of comfort he had known since his sentence was passed,
for Irene came to tell him it had been arranged that Captain Tompkins
should go to Washington to intercede with the President on his behalf.
Almost daily Mrs. Williams and Mrs. Jones, who had known Diggs from his
babyhood, came to visit him. They both had sons in the rebel army, and
so could sympathize with poor Diggs. These were the only faces from the
outside world that he saw, except the guard, who were sometimes
kind-hearted, allowing him all possible privileges, but often rough and
surly, adding to his misery by coarse taunts and harsh treatment.
A man with a heart of stone might have felt compassion for Diggs. The
little fellow's vanity and boasting were gone. He was humble and meek,
and he seldom spoke. Even his fellow prisoners treated him with
consideration, and endeavored to cheer and encourage him. Captain
Tompkins obtained leave of absence, went to the Junction, and took the
first train for Washington. He knew that if he could see the President,
a pardon would be obtained, but to secure an interview with the
President, when the country was in such a condition as it was at that
time, was no easy matter. Days and weeks might elapse and leave him
still waiting for an opportunity. The village pastor found in Diggs a
ready convert now, but while he professed to have found peace for his
soul, he was by no means anxious to quit this world. Hour after hour
dragged slowly by, until the day was gone, and no news from Captain
Tompkins. The next day and the next came and passed, the doomed man
waiting anxiously, hour by hour, the captain's return. He had heard of
James Bird, the hero of Lake Erie, celebrated in song and story, how he
had been condemned to death and pardoned, and how the messenger came
bearing the pardon a few seconds too late, even while the smoke of the
executioner's gun yet hung in the air, and feared that this fate would
be his. It was now Wednesday, and the captain had not come and had sent
no word. Diggs did nothing but pace his narrow cell--he was closely
confined--bemoaning his fate and imploring every one, who came to see
him, to save him from his horrible fate, from being cut off in the prime
of life. Thursday dawned, and the captain did not come. Even if he did
return, he might not bring the pardon. It was a day of agony to poor
Diggs. To-morrow, that dread to-morrow, he must die. The minister
remained with him most of the day, and Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Williams
stayed with him several hours. Singing and prayers were frequently heard
from the cell of the condemned man, who, most of the time, crouched in
the corner with his face bowed in his hands.
The fatal morning dawned. Poor Diggs! despair had seized him. His most
intimate friends would not have recognized that haggard, wild-looking
face. The minister, at his request, came early to his cell, also the
sympathizing old ladies, who had passed so many weary hours with him.
But the morning hours now seemed to fly. No message or messenger came.
The minister looked at his watch. It was only a few minutes before ten.
All was silence, save an occasional sob from the prisoner or the old
ladies. No one dared speak. The minister sat silently holding his watch,
noting the swift flying moments, his lips moving in silent prayer for
the soul of the man, who was soon to appear at the bar of God.
Ten o'clock came. There was a rattling of keys, a sliding of iron bolts
and bars, and the jailer called the name of
"Patrick Henry Diggs!"
The minister and all, in the doomed man's cell, bowed for a moment in
silence, then the good man lifted up his voice to that God, whom all the
universe worships, in a prayer for a soul about to take flight.
Two soldiers entered and supported the prisoner beyond the prison walls,
the minister following with the guard.
The dread place was reached. Sergeant Swords and Corporal Grimm had
charge of the execution. At the farther extremity of the field was a
fresh dug grave--a rude coffin beside it--and, standing in line beneath
an oak tree, were twelve soldiers with muskets in their hands. The sight
was too much for Diggs and he again fainted. The regimental surgeon
administered restoratives, and the officers in charge advanced to
prepare the prisoner for his fate.
The minister approached Sergeant Swords, asking permission, before this
was done, to offer a last prayer. It was granted.
The prayer was long and earnest, appealing to the Ruler of the universe,
in universal terms. The minister prayed for the prisoner, he prayed for
his executioners; he prayed for the officers who composed the
court-martial; he prayed for the soldiers, who were to execute the
sentence; he prayed for the army, for both armies, for all the armies in
the world, for all the armies that had been, and for all that might be.
Having completely finished up the army business, the preacher commenced
on civilians, and prayed, and prayed, and prayed, until both soldiers
and officers looked at him and at each other in amazement.
"Sergeant," whispered Corporal Grimm, "did you ever hear as long a
prayer in your life?"
"No," was the whispered reply. "There! I'll be hanged if he ain't gone
back to Moses!"
The prayer still went on, and on, and on; and the soldiers, tired of
standing, kneeled; tired of kneeling, sat; tired of sitting, lay
down--and still the prayer went on. It was long past high noon, before
the faltering "Amen!" was pronounced.
"Ready, fall in!" came the sharp order.
The men rose from the grass and fell in line, and the sergeant led Diggs
over to the coffin by the side of the grave; but Diggs, sobbing
piteously, clung to him with such tenacity that it was difficult for the
sergeant to free himself. He finally succeeded, forced him to kneel by
his coffin, put the bandage over his eyes. Just as he stepped away, the
clatter of hoofs were heard coming around the bend in the road.
"Attention!" said the sergeant. "Ready!"
A loud cry interrupted the order, and a horseman came dashing up the
hill.
"Hold!" said Sergeant Swords. "There comes the captain."
On, on he came, waving a paper high over his head. The soldiers rested
on their guns.
Abner Tompkins was among them in a minute, and declared the prisoner
free by the authority of _Abraham Lincoln_.
When released, Diggs sprang to his feet and, in his joy, embraced the
preacher, embraced the officers and would have embraced the soldiers,
had not one threateningly pointed his bayonet at him.
As they returned to the village, all pleased with the happy result,
Corporal Grimm, approaching the minister, said:
"I shall always hereafter be a believer in the saving power of prayer.
Praying often and praying _long_, does the work."