IN THE PRESENCE OF SHERIDAN
It had been dark for nearly an hour before we entered what was from
all appearances a large and populous camp. Hurried forward constantly,
closely surrounded by my guard, I was enabled to gain but an inadequate
conception of either its situation or extent. Yet the distance traversed
by our party after passing the outer sentries and before we made final
halt, taken in connection with evidence on every side of the presence
in considerable numbers of all the varied branches of the service,
convinced me we were within no mere brigade encampment, but had
doubtless arrived at the main headquarters of this department.
Although I noted all this in a vague way, so as to recall it afterwards,
yet I was too thoroughly fatigued to care where I was or what became
of me. Hardened as I had grown through experience to exposure and
weariness, the continuous strain undergone since I had ridden westward
from General Lee's tent had completely unnerved me. No sooner was I
thrust into the unknown darkness of a hut by the not unkindly sergeant,
than I threw myself prone on the floor, and was sound asleep before the
door had fairly closed behind him.
My rest was not destined to be a long one. It seemed I had barely closed
my eyes when a rough hand shook me again into consciousness. The flaming
glare of an uplifted pine-knot flung its radiance over half-a-dozen
figures grouped in the open doorway. A corporal, with a white chin
beard, was bending over me.
“Come, Johnny,” he said tersely, “get up--you're wanted.”
The instinct of soldierly obedience in which I had been so long trained
caused me to grope my way to my feet.
“What time is it, Corporal?” I asked sleepily.
“After midnight.”
“Who wishes me?”
“Headquarters,” he returned brusquely. “Come, move on. Fall in, men.”
A moment later we were off, passing between long lines of dying fires,
tramping rapidly along a rough road which seemed to incline sharply
upward, our single torch throwing grotesque shadows on either side. The
swift movement and the crisp night air swept the vestiges of slumber
from my brain, and I began instinctively to gather together my scattered
wits for whatever new experience confronted me.
Our march was a short one, and we soon turned abruptly in at a wide-open
gateway. High pillars of brick stood upon either hand, and the passage
was well lighted by a brightly blazing fire of logs. Two sentries stood
there, and our party passed between them without uttering a word. As we
moved beyond the radiance I noted a little knot of cavalrymen silently
sitting their horses in the shadow of the high wall. A wide gravelled
walk, bordered, I thought, with flowers, led toward the front door of a
commodious house built after the colonial type. The lower story seemed
fairly ablaze with lights, and at the head of the steps as we ascended a
young officer came quickly forward.
“Is this the prisoner brought in to-night?”
The corporal pushed me forward.
“This is the man, sir.”
“Very well; hold your command here until I send other orders.”
He rested one hand, not unkindly, upon my arm, and his tone instantly
changed from that of command to generous courtesy.
“You will accompany me, and permit me to advise you, for your own sake,
to be as civil as possible in your answers to-night, for the 'old man'
is in one of his tantrums.”
We crossed the rather dimly lighted hall, which had a sentry posted
at either end of it, and then my conductor threw open a side door, and
silently motioned for me to enter in advance of him. It was a spacious
room, elegant in all its appointments, but my hasty glance revealed only
three occupants. Sitting at a handsomely polished mahogany writing-table
near the centre of the apartment was a short, stoutly built man,
with straggly beard and fierce, stern eyes. I recognized him at once,
although he wore neither uniform nor other insignia of rank. Close
beside him stood a colonel of engineers, possibly his chief of staff,
while to the right, leaning negligently with one arm on the mantel-shelf
above the fireplace, and smiling insolently at me, was Brennan.
The sight of him stiffened me like a drink of brandy, and as the young
aide closed the door in my rear, I stepped instantly forward to the
table, facing him who I knew must be in command, and removing my hat,
saluted.
“This is the prisoner you sent for, sir,” announced the aide.
The officer, who remained seated, looked at me intently,
“Have I ever met you before?” he questioned, as though doubting his
memory.
“You have, General Sheridan,” I replied, “I was with General Early
during your conference at White Horse Tavern. I also bore a flag to you
after the cavalry skirmish at Wilson's Ford.”
“I remember,” shortly, and as he spoke he wheeled in his chair to face
Brennan.
“I thought you reported this officer as a spy?” he said sternly. “He is
in uniform, and doubtless told you his name and rank.”
“I certainly had every reason to believe he penetrated our lines in
disguise,” was the instant reply. “This cavalry cloak was found with
him, and consequently I naturally supposed his claim of rank to be
false.”
Sheridan looked annoyed, yet turned back to me without administering the
sharp rebuke which seemed burning upon his lips.
“Were you wearing that cavalry cloak within our lines?” he questioned
sternly.
“I was not, sir; it was indeed lying upon the floor of the hut when
Major Brennan entered, but I had nothing to do with it.”
He gazed at me searchingly for a moment in silence.
“I regret we have treated you with so little consideration,” he said
apologetically, “but you were supposed to be merely a spy. May I ask
your name and rank?”
“Captain Wayne, ----th Virginia Cavalry.”
“Why were you within our lines?”
“I was passing through them with despatches.”
“For whom?”
“You certainly realize that I must decline to answer.”
“Major Brennan,” he asked, turning aside again, “was this officer
searched by your party?”
“He was, sir, but no papers were found. He stated to me later that his
despatch was verbal.”
“Had it been delivered?”
“I so understood him.”
“Well, how did he account to you for being where he was found?”
Brennan hesitated, and glanced uneasily toward me. Like a flash the
thought came that the man was striving to keep her name entirely out of
sight: he did not wish her presence mentioned.
“There was no explanation attempted,” he said finally. “He seemed simply
to be hiding there.”
“Alone?”
Again I caught his eyes, and it almost seemed that I read entreaty in
them.
“Excepting the wife of the mountaineer,” he answered hoarsely.
“Is this true?” asked Sheridan, his stern face fronting me.
I made my decision instantly. There might be some reason, possibly her
own request, whereby her being alone with me that night should remain
untold. Very well, it would never be borne to other ears through any
failure of my lips to guard the secret. She had voluntarily pledged
herself to go to Sheridan in my defence; until she did so, her secret,
if secret indeed it was, should remain safe with me. I could do no less
in honor.
“It is not altogether true,” I said firmly, “and no one knows this
better than Major Brennan. I was there, as I told him, wholly because
of an accident upon the road, but as to its particulars I must most
respectfully decline to answer.”
“You realize what such a refusal may mean to you?”
“I understand fully the construction which may unjustly be placed upon
it by those who desire to condemn me, but at present I can make no
more definite reply. I have reason to believe the full facts will be
presented to you by one in whose word you will have confidence.”
I caught a gleam of positive delight in Brennan's eyes, and instantly
wondered if this seeming reluctance upon his part was not merely a
clever mode of tricking me into silence,--into what might seem an
insolent contempt of Federal authority. I would wait and see. There
would surely be ample time for her to act if she desired to do so.
Anyway, I was little disposed to find shelter behind a woman's skirts.
Sheridan straightened in his chair, and looked across the table at me
almost angrily.
“Very well, sir,” he said gravely. “Your fate is in your own hands, and
will depend very largely upon your replies to my questions. You claim
to have been the bearer of despatches, and hence no spy, yet you possess
nothing to substantiate your claim. As your regiment is with Lee, I
presume you were seeking Longstreet. Were your despatches delivered?”
“I have reason to believe so.”
“By yourself?”
“By the sergeant who accompanied me, and who continued the journey after
I was detained.”
“Is Lee contemplating an immediate movement?”
“General Sheridan,” I exclaimed indignantly, “you must surely forget
that I am an officer of the Confederate Army. You certainly have no
reason to expect that I will so far disregard my obvious duty as to
answer such a question.”
“Your refusal to explain why you were hiding within our lines is ample
reason for my insistence,” he said tartly, “and I am not accustomed to
treating spies with any great consideration, even when they claim Rebel
commissions. You are not the first to seek escape in that way. Was
your despatch the cause of the hurried departure of Longstreet's troops
eastward?”
This last question was hurled directly at me, and I noticed that every
eye in the room was eagerly scanning my face. I had the quick, fiery
temper of a boy then, and my cheeks flushed.
“I positively decline to answer one word relative to the despatches
intrusted to me,” I said deliberately, and my voice shook with sudden
rush of anger. “And no officer who did not dishonor the uniform he wore
would insult me with the question.”
A bombshell exploding in the room could not have astonished them as did
my answer. I realized to the full the probable result, but my spirit
was high, and I felt the utter uselessness of prolonging the interview.
Sooner or later the same end must come.
Sheridan's face, naturally flushed, instantly grew crimson, and a
dangerous light flamed into his fierce eyes. For a moment he seemed
unable to speak; then he thundered forth:
“You young fool! I can tell you that you will speak before another
twenty-four hours, or I'll hang you for a spy if it cost me my command.
Major Brennan, take this young popinjay to the Mansion House under
guard.”
Brennan stepped forward, smiling as if he enjoyed the part assigned to
him.
“Come on, you Johnny,” he said coarsely, his hand closing heavily on my
arm. Then, seeming unable to repress his pleasure at the ending of the
interview, and his present sense of power, he bent lower, so that his
insolent words should not reach the others, and hissed hotly:
“Stealing women is probably more in your line than this.”
At the sneering words, and the insulting look which accompanied them, my
blood, already boiling, leaped into sudden fire. All the fierce hatred
engendered within me by his past treatment, his cowardly insinuations,
his unknown yet intimate relationship to the woman I loved, flamed up in
irresistible power, and I struck him with my open hand across the lips.
“You miserable hound!” I cried madly. “None but a coward would taunt a
helpless prisoner. I only hope I may yet be free long enough to write
the lie with steel across your heart.”
Before he could move Sheridan was upon his feet and between us.
“Back, both of you!” he ordered sharply. “There shall be no brawling
here. Major Brennan, you will remain; I would speak with you further
regarding this matter. Lieutenant Caton, take charge of the prisoner.”