I BECOME A COLONEL OF ARTILLERY
My own situation at this moment was too critical, too full of peril and
uncertainty, to afford opportunity for moralizing over Bungay's chances
of escape. Only one possibility lay before me--there remained no choice,
no necessity for planning. It is pure luck which pries open most doors
of life, and it was upon luck alone I must rely now. I have often
wondered since how I ever succeeded in squeezing my body through that
narrow opening into the empty fireplace without at least knocking over
something during the difficult passage. But I did manage, working my way
down slowly, creeping inch by inch like a snake, carefully testing each
object I touched in the darkness for fear of its proving loose, until I
finally lay stretched at full length upon what was evidently, from its
feeling, a carpet of unusually fine texture.
The room proved to be an inner one and unlighted, a bedchamber, as I
soon determined, for my outstretched hands encountered the posts of a
bed. Then a slight gust of air partially swept aside a hanging curtain,
which rustled like silk, and I caught a brief glimpse of the adjacent
parlor. It was likewise unillumined, but the door leading into the
front hall stood ajar, and through that opening there poured a stream
of radiance, together with the incessant hum of many voices in animated
conversation, the deep blare of the band, with the ceaseless movement of
dancing feet.
Satisfying myself by sense of touch that the bed was unoccupied, for I
was far too experienced a soldier to leave an enemy in my rear, I crept
cautiously forward to the intercepting curtain, and drawing it
aside took careful survey of the outer apartment. It was a large and
handsomely furnished room, a polished mahogany writing-table littered
with papers occupying a prominent position against the farther wall. A
swivel chair stood beside it, and across its back hung what appeared to
be a suit of clothing. I saw no other signs of human occupancy.
Convinced that the apartment was deserted, and discovering no different
means of egress, I crossed the room on tiptoe, and peered cautiously out
into the hall. It was not a pleasing prospect to one in my predicament.
The lower portion, judging from the incessant hum of voices, was filled
with people, who were either unable to find place within the crowded
ballroom, or else preferred greater retirement for conversation. Even
the wide stairway had been partially pre-empted, a young lieutenant,
as I judged from his shoulder-straps, sitting just beneath the landing,
whispering eagerly into the attentive ear of a pronounced blonde who
shared the broad carpeted step with him.
I drew back noiselessly, to figure out the situation and determine what
was best for me to attempt. It would be sheer madness to venture upon a
passage to the front door, clad as I was in travel-worn gray uniform; to
rush through that jam was impossible. If I were to wait until the
dance was concluded the later hours of the night might indeed yield me
somewhat clearer passage, yet it was hardly probable that the house,
used as I knew it to be for a military prison, would be left unguarded.
Besides, such delay must absolutely prevent my getting beyond the
Federal picket lines before daybreak, and would hence render valueless
the news I sought to bear to Lee.
I moved to the only window and glanced out; it opened upon the back of
the house and presented a sheer drop to the ground. At the slight
noise of the moving sash a sentry standing at the corner glanced up
suspiciously. Evidently each side of the great building was abundantly
protected by patrols.
Something had to be attempted, and at once. The room I was in bore
unquestionable evidence of recent occupancy, and at any moment might
be re-entered. My searching eyes fell upon the articles of clothing
carelessly folded over the chair-back. I picked up the garments one by
one and shook them out; they composed the new uniform of a colonel of
artillery, and were resplendent with bright red facings and a profusion
of gold braid. With all my soul I loathed the thought of disguise, and
especially the hated uniform of the enemy. It was repugnant to every
instinct of my being, and would certainly mean added degradation and
danger in the event of capture.
Yet I saw no other way. Sheridan, Brennan, Caton, the three who would
certainly recognize me on sight, I was assured were absent, although
they might return at any moment. The greater reason for haste, the less
excuse for delay. But if I should chance to run foul of the rightful
owner of the garments amid that crush below, and he should recognize
them, what then? I stood close beside the writing-table as I revolved
these considerations rapidly in mind, and my eye chanced to fall upon an
open paper. It was an official order, bearing date at 5 P. M. that same
day, commanding Colonel Culbertson to move his battery at once down the
Kendallville pike, and report to Brigadier-General Knowls for assignment
to his brigade. Evidently the new dress uniform had been carefully
brushed and laid out to be worn at the ball that evening; the sudden
receipt of this order had caused the owner to depart hastily in his
service dress, vigorously expressing his feelings, no doubt, while his
servant, now enjoying liberty below stairs, had neglected to pack up his
master's things.
This knowledge was the straw which decided me; I would chance it.
Hastily I drew on the rich blue and red over my old gray, adding the
dress sword I had discovered in a closet, and then, wondering curiously
what sort of figure I might cut in all these fine habiliments, sought a
glance at myself within a mirror hanging upon the bedroom wall. Faith!
but it was God's mercy that I did!
Such a face as grinned at me from that glass, peering over the high-cut,
decorated collar, would surely have created a genuine sensation in those
rooms below. Serious as my situation was, I laughed at the thought of it
until tears ran down my cheeks, leaving white streaks the full length of
them; for no chimney-sweep in the full tide of his glorious career
was ever worse sooted and begrimed. I thought of the elegantly dressed
lieutenant and the blonde young lady upon the stairs--surely they would
have supposed the very devil himself was coming down.
It took me nearly a quarter of an hour to get myself tolerably clean,
and I could not have done that had I not used some grease that was upon
the stand. At the end, however, I stepped back from the glass confident
that with good luck I should run the gantlet safely.
Just as I prepared to step forth a new thought occurred to me--who was
I? If questioned, as was highly probable, how could I account for my
presence? Who should I pretend to be? I turned over the mass of papers
lying before me on the table. They were mostly accounts and detailed
orders about which I cared nothing, but finally my search was rewarded
by the discovery of a recent army list. I ran my eyes hastily down the
artillery assignments--Barry, Sommers, Fitzmorris, Sloan, Reilly. Ah,
there at last was exactly what I wanted--“Patrick L. Curran, Colonel
Sixth Ohio Light Artillery, McRoberts's Division, Thomas's Corps,
assigned special service, staff Major-General Halleck, Washington, D.
C.”
“Curran, Sixth Ohio”--good; and the other? I glanced again at the open
order. “Culbertson, Fourteenth Pennsylvania.” I would remember those
names, and with a jaunty confidence in my success, born of thorough
preparation, I stepped to the open door and strode forth into the
brilliantly lighted hall. Barring the single accident of encountering
a possible acquaintance in the throng below, I felt fully capable of
deceiving his Satanic Majesty himself.