ON TRIAL.
My eyes followed the long sweep of the mountains, their shaggy outline
cutting the clear blue of the skies; then they came back to the court,
and for the moment I thought that they had deceived me, for either I
saw the flutter of a woman's dress or imagination was my master. A
woman in this rough fortress was the last thing for me to expect. But
I reflected that it was not so strange, after all. A serving-woman,
probably, the wife of one of the colonel's retainers. It was in keeping
with the character of the place, which in my fancy I had turned into a
baronial keep.
I saw the flutter of the dress again, and then its wearer came into
better view. She was looking at the river, and stood with her back
toward the house. That was no common serving-woman, the wife of no
laborer. The figure was too slender, too erect; there was too much
distinction and grace in the pose, and the dress itself was of good cut
and material. That was all that I could see, save a mass of coiled,
dark brown hair.
I was full of curiosity, nor do I think I was prying because of it.
Put yourself in my place and see. In a few moments she turned and
looked directly up at my window, though she could not have known that
I was gazing out at her. It was the face of a girl of twenty, fair and
strong, yet sad. Even at the distance between us, I could see enough
resemblance to guess that she was Colonel Hetherill's daughter. A
likely enough supposition, anyway, for what girl of such appearance
could be here unless his daughter?
She looked up at my window only a moment or two, and then, walking with
a light and graceful step, disappeared through some door opening into
the court. I hold that I am not without a fair share of imagination;
and easily I builded a fine romance for myself. Here was I, an innocent
prisoner in the cruel baron's castle, and this was his fair daughter,
who would fall in love with me and rescue me. By Jove! she was handsome
enough for me to fall in love with her. The only trouble about my
romance was that in the morning after a good night's rest I would be
sent with a guide to our hunting-camp, and that would be the end of it.
Happily, when I reached this conclusion, the door was opened, and
Crothers came in with food, for which I was devoutly grateful.
Crothers--I had heard the colonel call him so--was the man who had
opened the door for us, a hatchet-faced, battered old fellow, who
walked with a limp and who yet looked strong and active.
Evidently the colonel had no mind to starve me, for Crothers bore
enough for two upon his tray. A smoking pot of coffee, steaks of
venison and beef, warm biscuits, and butter, made a sight as welcome
to my eyes as a Raphael to an artist's, and created odors that were
divine. My spirits rose to the summer-heat mark.
"I see that the colonel has a proper regard for my health and
well-being, Crothers," I said, jovially.
"The colonel hates all Yankees, and so do the rest of us," he said,
in surly fashion; "but he doesn't want to starve any of you to death,
though I guess you starved enough of us to death in Camp Chase."
"Camp Chase? what the deuce was that?" I asked.
"One of your war prisons," he replied. "Try that coffee; you'll find it
good, and you'll find the venison and the beef to be good too."
I had no doubt that I would. I put the question immediately to proof,
which, I may add, was satisfactory. Encouraged by his friendly comment
upon the food, in which he seemed to take a certain pride, perhaps
having cooked it himself, I spoke to him in friendly fashion, expecting
a reply of like tenor. But he seemed to have repented of his sudden
courtesy, and made no reply. He had placed the tray upon the table, and
without further word or action left the room. I heard him locking my
door with as much care as if he had been Colonel Hetherill himself.
I began now to feel that I was in truth and reality a prisoner, a fact
which I contemplated before only in a humorous or make-believe way.
Nevertheless it did not interfere with my appetite. I realized that
prisoners may become as hungry as free men, and, as I could truthfully
say I knew not where the next meal would come from, I made satisfactory
disposition of this.
Refreshed and strengthened, I put the emptied tray on the floor, and
drew my stool to the window, where I took a seat, hoping that the lady
of the castle, for so in my fancy I had named her, would appear again.
But the lady did not condescend, nor did any other human being. Perhaps
they did not know that I was waiting. Instead, I saw the coming of the
night.
Since that night I have felt pity for every prisoner in his cell who
watches the approach of darkness. There is so much friendliness, so
much good cheer and encouragement about the sun that even the felon
must look to him, through bars though it be, as a friend. Even I, who
was conscious of no crime and had just eaten a good warm supper, the
best of all tonics, felt my spirits decline with the day.
My window looked to the southwest, right into the eye of the setting
sun. It was a very big sun and a very red sun, turning all the
mountains into red, its blazing scarlet dyes rubbing out the more
modest yellows and browns, and even touching the withered grass with
flame. The red lances of light fell across the river, and the water
foaming around the mound seemed to break in bubbles of fire.
Lower sank the sun. One edge of the flaming globe disappeared behind
the mountains, and a line of dusk began to creep up under the rim of
the red horizon. It looked like a battle between night and day, with
day losing despite all the power of its ally, the sun. Broader grew the
band of dusk, and narrower became the red segment of the sun. Only the
crest of the mountains, long and sharp like a sword-blade, was in the
light now. There every shrub, every rock, stood out magnified by the
last but most brilliant light of the sinking orb. Beneath this luminous
ribbon, trees, rocks, earth, all were gone. The mountain crests seemed
to swim in the air.
I had seen many sunsets in the mountains, but never before in such a
peculiar situation, and I own that I felt awed. The sun became but
a red fragment; the red leaves and the fiery bubbles on the river
were gone. I could hear the rush of the water, but I could not see
the torrent. I looked up again: the sun, yielding to the night, had
disappeared, leaving but a faint gleam to mark where he had retreated
behind the mountains, to come up again in another place, victorious
in his turn, the next morning. Save for this remembering gleam, the
mountains and the valley were in complete darkness.
It was dark in my room, too, and it was only through accustoming my
eyes to the coming of the night that I was able to see the outlines
of the scanty furniture. My spirits were heavy. I knew nothing of the
nature of the man into whose hands I had fallen, and in these secluded
mountains there was nobody to help me. You can credit, if you will,
much of this feeling to the darkness, which often is a wet blanket upon
the feelings not alone of children, but of grown and experienced men as
well.
It was then with a sensation of relief that I heard some one fumbling
at the door. Any company would be better than none. The door opened,
and the colonel entered, followed by the man who had brought my supper
and a third whom I had not seen before. This new man was of better
dress and presence than Crothers, and the colonel introduced him
briefly.
"Dr. Ambrose, my military surgeon, sir, and a very good one too, I can
assure you."
Crothers put a lighted candle on the table. Dr. Ambrose examined my
swollen ankle. He bound around it a cloth soaked in liniment, and said
it would be well in the morning.
"Now, sir," said the colonel, speaking in a brisk, curt manner, "having
done our duty by you as a disabled prisoner, we will proceed with your
examination. Doctor, it is necessary that this should be taken in
writing. You will kindly act as clerk while I question the prisoner."
I opened my mouth to protest and to demand explanation, but the colonel
cut me short with a "Be silent, sir, until the time comes for you to
speak;" and, rather than be exposed to another such insult, I remained
silent. Moreover, the scene amused me somewhat. I was wondering what
this strange old man would do next.
Dr. Ambrose drew up my stool--I had taken a seat on the bed--and
produced a roll of paper, pen, and small ink-well. His was the
deliberation of a military mind provided with time and bent upon doing
things well. The colonel stood before me, straight and stern.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Arthur West," I replied. "This is the second answer to the same
question."
"Your home?"
"City of New York, State of New York."
"Your age?"
"Twenty-seven."
At every question and answer I heard the scratching of the doctor's
industrious pen across the pad of the paper. Now, be it understood,
I knew no law compelling me to answer these questions, but I thought
it better to do so, and then I might see to what end the matter would
come. I smiled a little: the colonel saw it at once.
"No levity, sir!" he cried, fiercely. "You do not seem to be aware of
your position?"
Perhaps I was not; but I said nothing.
"What were you doing within our lines in civilian's dress?" he asked.
"Whose lines?" I replied. "I do not know what you mean."
"The lines of Fort Defiance, the last stronghold of the Confederacy;
which stronghold I have the honor to command," he replied, his ancient
blue eyes lighting up with the fires of zeal.
I laughed.
"The Confederacy!" I said, in derision. "Why, the last stronghold of
the Confederacy surrendered more than thirty years ago."
"You lie, sir!" thundered the colonel, "and for the proof that you
lie, look around you! The stars and bars still fly above this fort,
and I and my men have never surrendered to the Yankees, nor ever will.
For many hours now you have been on the soil of the Confederacy, and
I, for the lack of higher authorities, am in supreme command, both
civil and military.--Is not all that I say true, doctor? Is it not so,
Crothers?"
Crothers and the doctor bowed in a manner indicating deep belief. I saw
that I was to receive neither help nor sympathy from them.
"What is your occupation?" asked the colonel.
"I do not see that it is any business of yours," I said; "but, as I am
not ashamed of my profession, and you may have saved my life on the
mountains, I've no objection to telling you. I'm an artist."
At this modest announcement the colonel's face, to my surprise, became
more threatening. Never did I see a man's expression more thoroughly
betoken suspicion.
"An artist?" he exclaimed. "You paint, you draw things?"
"Some of the critics say I don't, but my friends say I do," I replied.
He grumbled to himself and looked at me with angry, distrustful eyes.
"What were you doing on these mountains?" he asked. "Why were you
approaching Fort Defiance?"
"I told you I was on a hunting-trip and lost myself," I said. "I hadn't
the slightest idea I was approaching Fort Defiance. I never heard of
the place before."
He pulled his fierce, gray moustache in doubt, looking at me as if
mine were the most unwelcome face that ever met his gaze. Presently he
beckoned the doctor to the door, and they whispered together there for
a few moments. Then he returned to me.
"You have in reality a bad ankle, the doctor says, and he is inclined
to give you the benefit of the doubt," he said, "and so am I. At any
rate, we will not treat you badly, though we may be forced to keep you
as a guest for a little while."
I thanked him for his gracious consideration.
"We are compelled to keep you locked in to-night," he continued, "but
we may be able to do better for you in the morning."
"Very well," I said, with some impatience. "Keep me locked in if you
choose, but at any rate let me sleep."
I thought his rough treatment of me offset the favor I had owed him.
Moreover, I was very tired and sleepy, and the obligation of politeness
seemed to rest upon me no longer.
The doctor folded his notes and handed them to the colonel, who placed
them carefully in an inside pocket. Then they bowed stiffly, and went
out, locking the door as usual.
I looked out through my window. The moon was rising above the
mountains. In the valley the foliage was tipped with silver. The
bubbles on the river, fire-color at set of sun, had turned to silver
now. Nothing seemed to stir; all was peace.
Wondering what would be the end of my strange adventure, I lay down on
the bed, and in five minutes forgot wonder and all other things in a
deep sleep.
I might have slept all the next day too, but I was awakened by a good
shaking at the hands of Crothers, and found the room full of light.
Crothers was standing beside me. He was a sour-faced fellow, but he
seemed to be less hostile that morning, and I asked him cheerfully if
he was going to bring me my breakfast. He said no, but told me I was
invited to the colonel's own table.
"It's Miss Grace who did it," he said. "She didn't think the colonel
was treating you just right."
"Miss Grace is the colonel's daughter, is she not?" I asked.
"Yes."
I was sure that the girl I had seen in the court the evening before was
Grace Hetherill. This invitation looked promising. The colonel would
surely come to his senses now and act like a man who knew it was the
year of our Lord 1896, and not 1864. As there was to be a lady present,
I asked for a bath and comb and brush, as I wished to make myself very
spruce. All these I obtained, finding that the fort was not without
its comforts. Then, Crothers still my escort and guide, I went to the
breakfast-table.
I was not prepared for the scene of comfort, even luxury, that met
me in the dining-room. Yet I was not astonished. The presence of a
cultivated young woman in the year 1896 is responsible for much. It was
a large apartment, decorated with horns and antlers and some fine old
silver-bound drinking-cups of a past age. But I had little time for
inspection. The table was set, and the company was waiting.
I seemed to pass suddenly from the position of prisoner to guest, and
the transformation, in seeming at least, was complete. The colonel,
with all the dignity of Kentucky good blood and the military life,
saluted and introduced me to his daughter.
"My daughter, Miss Hetherill, Mr. West of New York, one of the other
side."
I made my best bow. She was worthy of it. It was the girl I had seen
in the court. No fainting maiden, no Mariana in the moated grange, was
this, but a tall, red-cheeked girl with brown eyes, lustrous dark brown
hair, and modern attire. Here was one who had seen life beyond the
walls of Fort Defiance or its valley. Any fool would have known it at
the first glance. In the presence of this splendid woman, who received
me with so much tact and grace, I began to feel as if the father owed
me no apology.
The breakfast-table was worthy of the hostess who poured the coffee for
us. I glanced again at the room. On the wall, gazing at me with calm
eyes, was a fine portrait of General Lee. Near it was one of Stonewall
Jackson. Farther on was Jefferson Davis, and as I looked at the four
walls of the room I saw that the whole Confederacy was present.
Wreathed over the door somewhat after the fashion of a looped-up
curtain was the Confederate flag.
I wished to ask many questions of this strange household, but courtesy
forbade it, when I saw that every time I led the conversation in the
direction of curiosity it was skilfully turned aside. Instead, we
talked of the great world outside, and made very good progress, barring
a certain unfamiliarity on the part of the colonel, who spoke as if all
these things were vague and unreal to him.
There was a wide window at the end of the room, and I could see that
it was a glorious morning without. The torrent, thirty feet down,
dashed and sparkled in front of the window, the gay sunlight falling
on it and showing rocks and pebbles in its clear depths. All the
brilliant colors of late autumn, which I had admired so much the day
before, reappeared, more dazzling after a brief eclipse. I knew that
the air outside was tonic like good wine, but there was enough just
then to keep me content in that breakfast-room, the heart of the lost
Confederacy. The lost Confederacy! How could I say that, with its
president and ministers and generals looking down from the walls at me
as if all the world were theirs, while the stars and bars, under which
I had just passed, hung in loops over the door!
As his daughter and I talked more, the colonel talked less. Seen in
the light of the morning, his face looked rather worn, and once when
he threw his yet thick white hair back with his hand I noticed the
scar of a deep wound across his head. I began to feel sympathy for him
without knowing exactly why. He rose presently and excused himself,
saying it was time to give his men some directions for the day. Miss
Hetherill and I dawdled a little over the coffee-cups, and I took
the opportunity to thank her for her intercession with her father in
my favor. She did not make light of my thanks or of her act, and her
manner appeared to indicate a belief on her part that I had been in
real danger; which, however, I had not been able to persuade myself was
so, nor could I yet.
She asked me if I would look through the house,--I noticed she did not
call it fort, and I consented with gladness, saying I would be pleased
to go anywhere with so fair a guide, which she accepted with the
carelessness of one who had heard the like before.
She took me into a room she called the great parlor, and a noble room
it was, too, though here, as elsewhere, the atmosphere was distinctly
military. It was full thirty feet square, with a vaulted ceiling of
polished oak. Furs were on the floor and arms on the wall, repeating
rifles, revolvers, bayonets, swords in much variety.
"It is my father's chief delight to polish these and to see that they
are in perfect order," she said.
"Miss Hetherill," I said, speaking suddenly from impulse, "why does
your father cherish this delusion? Why does he not go and live among
his kind?"
I regretted instantly that I had spoken so, for she turned upon me with
a sudden flash of anger.
"Delusion, sir?" she exclaimed. "You forget yourself. It is the most
real thing in the world to him. Be careful how you make use of such
expressions here. I advise you also not to forget that you are still
my father's prisoner."
She spoke with so much earnestness that I was impressed, more from
fear that I had wounded her feelings than from fear for myself. I felt
confident yet that it was the year 1896; and that all the world was at
peace, barring the little wars of England, which don't count. She took
me no further than the great parlor--or the armory, if its fit name
be applied. My unfortunate question seemed to make some change in her
intentions, and she suggested that we walk outside on the terrace.
It was a delight as keen as any I had ever felt to step out after
imprisonment into the brilliant sunshine of the free and open world.
Miss Hetherill threw a light cloak over her shoulders, for there
was a sharp coolness in the air, and together we strolled over the
terrace. I admired the solidity and strength of Fort Defiance, though
a good-sized modern cannon could have knocked it to pieces with ease,
if any one were ever able to get a cannon over the maze of mountains
that separated this valley from the remainder of the world. It was
impregnable to attack by small arms, if well guarded. The drawbridge
was still up, and I spoke of it.
"It is up most of the time," she said, frankly, "but to-day it will be
up more than usual. That is on your account. You are to be kept well
guarded."
"The current of the river is too swift," I said; "but I think I could
swim the moat."
"If you succeeded," she said, "you would probably starve to death in
the mountains."
"Then I shall remain here," I said. "I'm glad that I have so good an
excuse for remaining."
I sought to be gallant, but she only frowned, and I did not attempt it
again. She left me presently, going into the house, while I continued
my stroll in the crisp, invigorating air. I could take but a limited
walk at best, merely the circuit of the hill-top, embracing perhaps a
couple of acres around the house. Within that space I could wander at
will, and no watch seemed to be set upon me.