Produced by Gary Sandino, from scans generously provided
by the Internet Archive (www.archive.org.)
CASTLEMON'S WAR SERIES.
MARCY, THE REFUGEE
BY
HARRY CASTLEMON,
AUTHOR OF "GUNBOAT SERIES," "ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES," "SPORTSMAN'S CLUB
SERIES," ETC., ETC.
Four Illustrations by Geo. G. White.
PHILADELPHIA:
PORTER & COATES.
COPYRIGHT, 1892,
BY PORTER & COATES.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. WHAT BROUGHT BEARDSLEY HOME, 1
II. ALLISON IS SURPRISED, 23
III. THE NEIGHBORHOOD GOSSIP, 42
IV. VISITORS IN PLENTY, 66
V. MARCY'S RASH WISH, 92
VI. THE WISH GRATIFIED, 116
VII. MARCY SPEAKS HIS MIND, 140
VIII. THE ARRIVAL OF THE FLEET, 164
IX. LOOKING FOR A PILOT, 190
X. BEARDSLEY IN TROUBLE, 214
XI. MARCY IN ACTION, 239
XII. HOME AGAIN, 264
XIII. A REBEL SOLDIER SPEAKS, 287
XIV. A YANKEE SCOUTING PARTY, 310
XV. MARCY SEES SOMEBODY, 340
XVI. A FRIEND IN GRAY, 361
XVII. MARCY TAKES TO THE SWAMP, 385
XVIII. CONCLUSION, 406
MARCY, THE REFUGEE.
CHAPTER I.
WHAT BROUGHT BEARDSLEY HOME.
In this story we take up once more the history of the exploits and
adventures of our Union hero Marcy Gray, the North Carolina boy, who
tried so hard and so unsuccessfully to be "True to his Colors." Marcy,
as we know, was loyal to the old flag but he had had few opportunities
to prove it, until he took his brother, Sailor Jack, out to the Federal
blockading fleet in his little schooner Fairy Belle, to give him a
chance to enlist in the navy. That was by far the most dangerous
undertaking in which Marcy had ever engaged, and at the time of which we
write, he had not seen the beginning of the trouble it was destined to
bring him. Not only was he liable to be overhauled by the Confederates
when he attempted to pass their forts at Plymouth and Roanoke Island,
but he was in danger of being shot to pieces by the watchful steam
launches of the Union fleet that had of late taken to patrolling the
coast. But he came through without any very serious mishaps, and
returned to his home to find the plantation in an uproar, and his mother
in a most anxious frame of mind.
Although Marcy Gray was a good pilot for that part of the coast, and
knew all its little bays and out-of-the-way inlets as well as he knew
the road from his home to the post-office, his older brother Jack was
the real sailor of the family. He made his living on the water. At the
time we first brought him to the notice of the reader he had been at sea
for more than two years, and it was while he was on his way home that
his vessel, the _Sabine_, fell into the hands of Captain Semmes, who had
just begun his piratical career in the Confederate steamer _Sumter._
But, fortunately for Jack, Semmes was not as vigilant in those days as
he afterward became. He gave the _Sabine's_ crew an opportunity to
recapture their vessel and escape from his power, and they were prompt
to improve it. By the most skilful manoeuvring, and without firing a
shot, they made prisoners of the prize crew that Semmes had put on board
the _Sabine_, turned them over to the Union naval authorities at Key
West, and took their vessel to a Northern port. On the way to Boston,
and while she was off the coast of North Carolina, the brig was pursued
and fired at by a little schooner which turned out to be Captain
Beardsley's privateer _Osprey_, on which Marcy Gray was serving in the
capacity of pilot.
When Jack Gray found himself in Boston, the first thing he thought of
was getting home. The Potomac being closely guarded against
mail-carriers and smugglers who, in spite of all the precautions taken
against them, continued to pass freely, and almost without detection,
between the lines as long as the war lasted, the only plan he could
pursue was to go by water. Being intensely loyal himself, Jack never
dreamed that Northern men would be guilty of loading vessels to run the
blockade, but there was at least one such craft in Boston--the _West
Wind;_ and through the good offices of his old commander, the captain of
the _Sabine_, Jack Gray was shipped on board of her as second mate and
pilot. Her cargo was duly consigned to some house in Havana, but the
owners meant that it should be sold in Newbern; and there were scattered
about among the bales and boxes in her hold, a good many packages that
would have brought the vessel and all connected with her into serious
trouble, if they had been discovered by the custom-house officers.
When the _West Wind_ was a short distance out from Boston, the second
mate learned by accident that one of his best foremast hands was also
bound for his home in North Carolina. His name was Aleck Webster, and
his father lived on a small plantation which was not more than an hour's
ride from Nashville. Being a poor man Mr. Webster did not stand very
high in the estimation of his rich neighbors, but that made no sort of
difference to Jack Gray, and a warm and lasting friendship at once
sprung up between officer and man. Although they belonged to a vessel
that was fitted out to run the blockade they were both strong for the
Union, and many an hour of the mid-watch did they while away in talking
over the situation. All they knew about their friends at home was that
they were opposed to secession; but they dared not say so, because they
were surrounded by rebels who would have been glad of an excuse to burn
them out of house and home. The two friends got angry as often as they
talked of these things, but of course they could not decide upon a plan
of operations until they had been at home long enough to "see how the
wind set," and "how the land lay." We have told what they did when they
got ashore. When they were paid off and discharged in Newborn they made
their way home by different routes, Jack arousing his brother in the
dead of the night by tossing pebbles against his bedroom window, and
afterward going off to the Federal fleet to enlist under the flag he
believed in. Aleck Webster remained ashore for a longer time; and
finding that his father belonged to an organized band of Union men who
held secret meetings in the swamp, and whose object it was to oppose the
tactics pursued by their rebel neighbors, he joined his fortunes with
theirs, and went to work with such energy that in less that two weeks'
time he had the settlement in such a panic that its prominent citizens
thought seriously of calling upon the garrison at Plymouth for
protection.
It was Mrs. Gray's misfortune to have many secret enemies about her, and
the meanest and most dangerous among them were Lon Beardsley, who lived
on an adjoining plantation, and was the owner and captain of the
schooner to which Marcy belonged, and her overseer, whose name was
Hanson. Beardsley's enmity was purely personal; but with Hanson it was a
matter of dollars and cents. The captain took Marcy to sea against his
will, because he wanted to persecute his mother; while the overseer was
working for the large reward Colonel Shelby had promised to give if
Hanson would bring him positive information that Mrs. Gray was in
reality the Union woman she was supposed to be, and that she had money
concealed in her house. When Sailor Jack had been at home long enough to
find out how and by whom his mother was being persecuted, he told Aleck
Webster about it, and the latter stopped it so quickly that everybody
was astonished, and the guilty ones alarmed.
While Marcy was gone to take his brother out to the fleet, a very
strange and startling incident happened on Mrs. Gray's plantation.
Sailor Jack had predicted that the morning was coming when the negroes
would not hear the horn blown to call them to their work, for the very
good reason that there would be no overseer on the plantation to blow
it, and his prediction had been verified. One dark night, just after
Marcy and Jack set out on their perilous voyage, a band of masked men
came to the plantation, took Hanson, the overseer, out of his house and
carried him away. Where he was now none could tell for certain; but
Marcy had heard from Aleck Webster that he had been "turned loose with
orders never to show his face in the settlement again." Perhaps he had
gone for good; but the fear that he might some day come back to trouble
her caused Mrs. Gray no little uneasiness.
While every one else in the settlement was so excited and uneasy, and
wondering what other mysterious things were about to happen, Marcy Gray
was as calm as a summer's morning. To use his own words, he was "getting
ready to settle down to business." The overseer being gone, there was no
one but himself left to manage the plantation; and he was glad to have
the responsibility, for it gave him something to occupy his mind. When
Aleck Webster told him that Hanson would not trouble him or his mother
any more, he had also given him the assurance that he would never again
be obliged to go to sea as Captain Beardsley's pilot. There was a world
of comfort in the words, and Marcy hoped the man knew what he was
promising when he uttered them; but he thought he would feel more at his
ease when he saw Beardsley's schooner at her moorings in the creek, and
Beardsley himself at work in the field with his negroes.
On the morning of the day on which our story begins, the leaden clouds
hung low, and the piercing wind which came off the Sound, bringing with
it occasional dashes of rain, and scattering the few remaining leaves
the early frosts had left upon the trees, seemed to cause no little
discomfort to the young horseman who was riding along the road that led
from his father's plantation to the village of Nashville. He had turned
the collar of his heavy coat about his ears, dropped the reins upon his
horse's neck, and buried his hands deep in his pockets. It was Tom
Allison, the boastful young rebel whom Marcy Gray, then the newly
appointed pilot of Captain Beardsley's privateer schooner, had once
rebuked and silenced in the presence of a room full of secession
sympathizers.
Allison was on his way to the post-office after the mail, and to listen
to any little items of news which the idlers he was sure to find there
might have picked up since he last saw them; and, as he rode, he thought
about some things that puzzled him. He went over the events that had
taken place along the coast during the last few months, beginning with
the bombardment and capture of forts Hatteras and Clark, and ending with
the Confederate occupation of Roanoke Island, and he was obliged to
confess to himself that things did not look as bright for the South now,
as they did after that glorious victory at Bull Run. Finally, he thought
of the incidents that had lately happened in his own neighborhood, and
in which some of his acquaintances and friends were personally
interested. In fact he was deeply interested in them himself, and would
have given any article of value he owned for the privilege of holding
five minutes' conversation with some one who could tell him what had
become of Jack Gray and Hanson.
"I can tell you in few words what I think about it," said Tom to
himself. "There's more behind the disappearance of those two fellows
than the men folks around here are willing to acknowledge. That's what
_I_ think. I notice that Shelby, Dillon, and the postmaster don't talk
quite as much nor as loudly as they did before Hanson and Gray left so
suddenly, and when I ask father what he thinks of it, he shakes his head
and looks troubled; and that's all I can get out of him. They are
frightened, the whole gang of them; and to my mind we would all be safer
if that Gray family was burned out and driven from the country. They
know everything that is said about them, and it beats me where they get
the news. The settlement is full of traitors, and probably I meet and
speak to some of them every day."
While Allison was talking to himself in this strain his nag brought him
to a cross-road, and almost to the side of another horseman who, like
himself, was riding in the direction of Nashville. The two pulled their
collars down from their faces, raised their hats, and looked at each
other; and then Allison was surprised to find that he was in the company
of Lon Beardsley, the privateersman and blockade runner. There had been
a time when he would not have noticed the man any further than to give
him a slight nod or a civil word or two, for he was the son of a wealthy
planter, and thought himself better than one who had often been seen
working in the field with his negroes. There used to be a wide gulf
between such people in the South. For example, N. B. Forrest was not
recognized socially while he was a civilian and made the most of his
money by buying and selling men and women whose skins were darker than
his own, but _General_ Forrest, the man who massacred Union soldiers at
Fort Pillow and took their commander, Major Bradford, into the woods and
shot him after he had surrendered himself a prisoner of war, was held in
high esteem. To Allison's mind, Captain Beardsley, who had smelled
Yankee powder and run two cargoes of contraband goods safely through the
blockade, was more worthy of respect than Lon Beardsley the smuggler,
and he was willing to gain his good-will now if he could, for he
believed the captain had it in his power to punish Marcy Gray--the boy
who had dared to taunt Allison with being a coward because he did not
shoulder a musket and go into the army.
"Why, captain, I thought you were miles away and making money hand over
fist by running the blockade," said Allison, with an awkward flourish
which was intended for a military salute. "I hope when you go out again
you will be sure and take that so-called pilot of yours with you, for we
don't want him hanging about here any longer. I don't believe his arm is
so very badly hurt, and neither does anybody else. I am glad to see you
back safe and sound. When did you get in?"
"In where?" said Beardsley gruffly; and then the boy saw that he was in
bad humor about something.
"Into Newbern, of course. And when and how did you come up here?"
"I came up last night in the _Hattie._"
"You did? You don't mean to say that your schooner is in the creek, do
you?" exclaimed Allison, who was surprised to hear it. "You did not do a
very bright thing when you brought her there, for the first thing you
know the Yankees will send some of their gunboats up to the island, and
then you will be blocked in. I should think you would have stayed at
Newbern, where you could run out and in as often as you felt like it."
"Don't you reckon I know my own affairs better'n you do?" snapped
Beardsley. "I didn't quit a money-making business of my own free will
and come home because I wanted to, but because I couldn't help myself."
"I don't understand you," answered Tom, who was all in the dark. "Our
authorities didn't send you home, of course, and the Yankees couldn't.
If your schooner is in good shape----"
"The _Hattie_ is all right," said Beardsley, with a ring of pride in his
tones. "She has been in some tight places, I can tell you, and if she
hadn't showed herself to be just the sweetest, fastest thing of her
inches that ever floated, I wouldn't be here talking to you now. And the
Yankees did send me home too; or their friends did, which amounts to the
same thing. What's become of Mrs. Gray's overseer, Hanson?"
"I can't make out what you mean, when you say that the Yankees or their
friends sent you home," replied Allison. "We haven't heard of their
making many captures along the coast lately."
"I dunno as it makes any sort of odds to me what you didn't hear. I know
what I am talking about. What's happened to Hanson, I ask you?"
"How do you suppose I can tell? And if you only came home last night,
how does it come that you know anything has happened to him?" inquired
Tom, who thought he saw a chance to learn something. "I haven't seen
that man Hanson for a long time."
"Nor me; but I know well enough that there's something went wrong with
him," said Beardsley very decidedly. "I know that he was took out of his
house at dead of night by a gang of men, that he was carried away, and
that nobody ain't likely to see hide nor hair of him any more."
"That news is old, and I don't see why you should assume so mysterious
an air in speaking of it," said Tom. "Your daughter has had time enough
to tell you all about it since you came home."
"But I heard about it before I left Newbern."
"You did! Who told you?"
"Well, I heard all about it."
"What if you did? I don't see how Hanson's disappearance could interfere
with your blockade-running."
"Mebbe you don't, but I do. If you had been in my place, and somebody
had sent you a letter saying that if you didn't quit business and come
home at once, some of your buildings would be burned up, what would you
think then? Do you reckon it would bust up your blockade running or
not?"
"Do you pretend to tell me that you received such a letter?" cried
Allison, who could scarcely believe his ears.
"That is just what I pretend to tell you--no less," answered the
captain, tapping the breast of his coat as if to say that he could prove
his words if necessary.
"Why--why, who could have sent it to you? Who do you think wrote it?"
"You tell. I don't know the first thing about it; I wish I did. I am
here now, and if I could only put my finger on the chap who caused me
all this bother, I'd fix him."
"Would you bushwhack him?" inquired Allison, wondering if there was any
way in which he could prevail upon Beardsley to show him that letter.
"No; but I would put the authorities on to him tolerable sudden and have
him forced into the army. Because why, I am scart of that chap myself.
He's hanging around here now, waiting for a good chance to do some more
meanness."
"You don't say!" exclaimed Tom, growing frightened. "He ought to be got
rid of. But who is he? Is there any one about here that you know of who
has reason to be down on you? Any one besides the Grays, I mean?"
Beardsley dropped his reins, pulled the collar of his coat down from his
face with both hands, and looked hard at his companion.
"Why, of course the Grays are down on you heavy, and all your friends
and mine know it," continued Tom. "You know it, don't you?"
"There, now!" exclaimed the captain, rearranging his collar and picking
up his reins again. "I never once thought of blaming it on that there
Marcy."
"I don't blame it on him, and I don't want you to think so for a
moment," said Tom, who had not yet arrived at the point of being
confidential with Beardsley. "I never hinted that Marcy wrote the
letter; but just look at the way the thing stands. A man who knows as
much about this coast as you do never wanted a pilot, but you did want
to marry Mrs. Gray's plantation; and when she gave you to understand
that she wouldn't have it so----"
"See here, young feller, you're going too fur," cried the captain,
pulling his collar down with one hand and shaking his whip threateningly
at Allison with the other. "You don't know what you're talking about,
and I won't hear another word of it."
"What's the use of getting mad because somebody tells you the truth?"
demanded Tom. "Every one says so, and what every one holds to can't be
so very far wrong. You know you don't need a pilot, and I know it too.
You have nothing against Marcy Gray personally----"
"I ain't, hey?" shouted the angry captain. "He's just the biggest kind
of a traitor that ever----"
"That isn't what I am trying to get at, and you know it," interrupted
Tom. "You want to hurt him and his mother by taking him to sea against
his will and hers. Now if you were in Marcy's place, and knew all these
things, as he most likely does, and you saw a good chance to get even
with the man who was persecuting you, would you let that chance slip? I
reckon not."
"But if it's Marcy who has been a-pestering of me, how can I prove it on
him?" inquired Beardsley, who was as angry as Allison had ever known him
to be.
"Let me see the letter," replied Tom.
"No, I reckon not. What do you want to see it fur?"
"I can tell you whether or not Marcy Gray wrote it, for I know his hand
as well as I know my own."
Beardsley hesitated. Ever since the morning he took the letter in
question from the office in Newbern, he had been burning with anxiety
and impatience to find out whom he had to thank for sending it to him,
and he was now on his way to call upon his friends Shelby and Dillon to
see if they could not put him on the track of the writer. He wanted to
ask them what they thought of the whole miserable business any way, and
did not care to show the letter until he heard what they had to say
about it.
"I know the handwriting of every man and boy in this settlement,"
continued Allison, "and if I can't tell you who wrote it no one can; not
even the postmaster."
This settled the matter, to Allison's satisfaction. The captain opened
his coat and drew out the letter, which was written in a hand that was
plainly disguised, for the same characters were not formed twice alike.
It was not very long, but it was to the point, and ran as follows:
This is to inform you that you have spent jes time enough in
persecuting Union folks in this settlement on account of
them not beleeving as you rebbels do, and likewise time
enough in cheeting the government by bringing contraband
goods through the blockade. And this is to inform you that
if you do not immediately upon resep of this stop your
disloyal practices and come home at once, you will not find
as many buildings standing, when you do come, as you have
got standing now at this present time of writing. And this
is likewise to inform you that the first proof that we mean
jes what we say, you will get in a letter from your folks,
who will tell you that a letter something like this was
found on the front gallery of your house on a certain night,
and that a lot of dry weeds and stuff was likewise found
piled against the back of said house. Proof number 2 will be
in the same letter, which will tell you that Mrs. Gray's
overseer has been toted away by armed men, and that he won't
never be seen in this settlement again. For every day you
delay in coming home immediately after this letter has had
time to reach you in Newbern, you will loose a building of
some kind or sort, beginning with the house you live in.
This is from those who believe in defending the wemen and
children you rebbels are making war on, and so we sign
ourselves, THE PERTECTORS OF THE HELPLESS.
"Marcy Gray never had a hand in getting up this letter, more's the
pity," thought Tom, as he again ran his eye over the plainly written
lines in the hope of finding something that would give him an excuse for
saying that Marcy did write it. "Look at the spelling and the bungling
language! Marcy couldn't do that if he tried."
"Well, what do you reckon you make of it?" demanded the captain.
"It's perfectly scandalous the most outrageous thing I ever heard of!"
exclaimed Allison. "Just think of the impudence this fellow shows in
ordering you--ordering, I say----"
"Oh, there's more'n one feller mixed up in it," said Beardsley, with a
groan.
"Perhaps there is, and then again, perhaps there isn't," replied Tom.
"Couldn't I write a letter and sign a hundred names to it, if I wanted
to? I say it is a burning shame that good and loyal Confederates should
submit to be ordered about in this way, and you were foolish for paying
the least attention to it. You ought to have gone on with your business
and come home when you got ready."
Beardsley turned down the collar of his coat, threw his left leg over
the horn of his saddle, and shook his whip at Allison as if he were
about to say something impressive.