While conversing with Captain DeLacy, I had become as familiar with the
interior of the tent as I could by the light of one inferior candle and
the use of my eyes. There seemed nothing there to invite investigation.
Even after Captain DeLacy had reluctantly left me, a closer inspection
revealed nothing more promising. I sat on a camp stool, in a corner;
near was a pile of blankets; a rough camp chair stood between me and the
bed; a bayonet stuck in the ground did duty for a candlestick, and on an
empty wooden box near me lay a paper-covered book.
I had just had time to run a hasty glance through the book, when the fly
was raised and an officer entered. As was only natural, he started when
he saw me, then lifted his hat with a half-spoken apology, tossed a
newspaper carelessly on the bed, threw his overcoat over the chair and
went out again.
I recognized him instantly as General Dare. His actions and looks struck
me as those of a man who felt at odds with the world and who was nursing
a grievance, but I was too deeply concerned about my own affairs to be
more than casually impressed with what I learned afterwards was the
case.
It is a strange fact that in times of most intense suffering, deadly
peril and deepest thought, the eye will be attracted by the most trivial
objects. While I anxiously pondered my next move, my eye mechanically
followed in and out the fantastically curved line made by the shadows
cast by the pile of blankets, then by the edge of the coat cape as it
trailed along the floor. I had followed it almost to the end when my
gaze was arrested by a spot of color differing from the rest. With a
start, I realized that I was looking at a flat, long book. I could not
tell then and I cannot tell now whether it fell from the overcoat or was
lying there when I entered, but I do not see how it could have been
there at first and escaped my observation.
I determined at once to see the contents of that book. There was not one
instant to be lost. I well knew that even then some one might be
standing at the entrance and that the Captain would return at any
moment. But examine that book I must, even at the risk of surprise,
detection and death. It was the most critical moment I had yet
encountered. I had to think and act together.
Throwing myself at full length on the grassy floor, with my head
screened from the first glance of any one entering, intending to feign a
swoon if any one did come, I extended my arm above my head, in the
shelter of the chair, and had the book in my impatient fingers.
Opening it hastily, I scanned it in the dim light which came over my
shoulder from the flickering candle. I was confronted by a series of
blank pages. General Dare's name was on the fly leaf. Only the first
three pages were written on, and they contained nothing except detached
items of interest to him only. Evidently, the book had been newly
purchased, for the dates ran but a few days back.
Bitterly disappointed, I ran over the pages again, and a folded paper
slipped into view. Even to this day I can distinctly feel the wild bound
of exultation my heart gave when I knew that I held in my hands a copy
of Special Order No. 000, issued by the Rebel Commander in Chief only
four days before, and regulating the movements of all the divisions of
his army for several days to come.
At the sight of that paper every drop of blood in my body seemed to rush
to my heart, only to leave it again with a wild speed that turned me
faint and dizzy. The letters danced before my eyes, but even in that one
hasty glance I took in enough to know that I need seek no further
information. I had succeeded even beyond my hopes and expectations. If I
could get safely back with that paper, and whatever else I had learned,
I felt check to the Rebels must be insured.
Hastily concealing the paper, I pushed the book under the bed, and had
barely regained my place when Captain DeLacy re-entered with the passes.
There was no time for further private conversation between us, which I
regarded as a piece of good luck.
Captain DeLacy told me, while he hastily assorted the papers in his
hand, that he was obliged to proceed without delay on the important duty
for which he was preparing when Colonel Sofield had called him to me;
that as the first part of our way lay the same as his, he could act as
my escort until his road turned off from the one I was to follow. From
where he had to leave me, to H---- was only ten miles, and he exacted a
promise that I would remain there with friends until morning.
I could not but be touched at his anxiety about me, impatient as I was
at the delay which it caused.
We started almost immediately. Captain DeLacy rode at the side of the
buggy and the squad of men with him a short distance in advance. The
road was clear, and we made excellent time.
At last the moment of separation came. His real farewell had already
been said, so before following his men down the dark path, into which
they had turned, the Captain paused only for some cautions to Ned and a
quickly spoken "good bye" to me, which held as much as was ever put in
that simple word.
I realized fully what the parting was to him. He had accepted me as
Salome, without doubt or question, and to leave me with no other
protector than Ned tried him sorely.
I leaned out of the buggy and looked back after him, with a feeling of
pain that surprised me. As he disappeared, a presentment that I should
never see him again crept over me, followed by an idle speculation
whether it was he or I who was first to meet our fate, a feeling which I
remembered well a few months later, when I received the news that
Captain DeLacy had been shot in battle.