A NOISE AT THE WINDOW.
Mrs. Gray's countenance grew white with alarm. She flew down the steps,
and throwing both her arms about her son's neck, hid her face on his
shoulder and sobbed violently. Marcy put his uninjured arm around her,
and his mother leaned so heavily upon it that the boy thought she was
going to faint.
"Now see what you have done, you black rascal, by wagging your tongue so
freely," said Marcy angrily. "I've the best notion in the world to have
you sent to the field."
"But, moster," protested the frightened coachman, "de Yankees did
shoot----"
"Hold your tongue! If you lisp another word I will have you sent to the
overseer as sure as you are a living darkey. Now take those things out
of the carriage and put them in my room; and when you have done that, go
off somewhere and spend an hour or two every day telling the truth, so
that you will get used to it. Come into the house," he added gently,
leading his mother up the steps, "and I will tell you all about it. I
wasn't shot. I was struck by a splinter."
"Oh, Marcy," sobbed Mrs. Gray, "your face tells a different story. You
have suffered--you are suffering now; and there isn't a particle of
color in your cheeks. Don't try to deceive me, for I must know the worst
sooner or later."
"I am not trying to deceive you," answered Marcy, although he _was_
trying to break the disagreeable news as gently as he could. "I was
knocked down by a splinter and my arm was broken."
"There now," began his mother.
"But it's all right," Marcy hastened to add. "Beardsley set the bone in
less than three hours after it was broken, and the surgeon I consulted
in Newbern said he made a good job of it. I don't know what you think
about it, but I am not sorry it happened."
"Oh, Marcy! why do you say that?"
"Because it gave me a chance to come home. To tell you the truth,
blockade running is getting to be a dangerous business. We had four
narrow escapes this trip. Beardsley's impudence and a Union captain's
simplicity brought us out of the first scrape, a storm came to our aid
in the second, sheer good luck and a favoring breeze saved us in the
third, and a shot from the second mate's revolver brought us out of the
fourth. We are liable to fall into the hands of the cruisers any day;
and suppose I had been captured and thrown into a Northern prison! You
might not have seen me again for a year or two; perhaps longer. Bring
those bundles in here and take the valise upstairs," he added to the
coachman, who just then passed along the hall with Marcy's luggage in
his hands. "Open that bundle, mother. You need not be ashamed to wear
those dresses, for they were bought in Nassau with honest money--money
that I earned by doing duty as a foremast hand. I didn't pay any duty on
them because no one asked me for it. And in fact I don't know whether
there is a custom-house in Newbern or not. The box in the other bundle
contains nothing but bottles of quinine."
"What induced you to get so much?" asked Mrs. Gray, who had wiped away
her tears and was trying to look cheerful again.
"Captain Beardsley first called my attention to the fact that medicine
had gone up in price, and I saw by a paper I got in Nassau that the
rebels are already smuggling quinine across the Potomac," answered
Marcy. "There's a good deal of ague about here, and we'd be in a pretty
fix if we should all get down with it, and no medicine in the house to
help us out." Here he got up and drew his chair closer to his mother's
side, adding in a whisper, "I've twenty-one hundred dollars in gold in
my valise, lacking what I paid for my railroad ticket, and nearly four
hundred dollars of it belongs to me. The rest belongs to the captain of
the _Hollins._"
"Do you still cling to the hope that you will some day meet him again?"
asked his mother.
"I know it will be like hunting for a needle in a haystack, but if I
don't find him I shall have the satisfaction of knowing that I tried to,
and that I haven't spent any of his money. I'll keep it locked in my
trunk until my arm gets so that I can handle a spade, and then I'll hide
it in one of the flower beds. Now, how is everything about home? Has
Kelsey shown his ugly face here since I went away, or have you heard
anything from those 'secret enemies' that Wat Gifford spoke of? How has
Hanson behaved himself?"
Mrs. Gray's report was so satisfactory that Marcy was put quite at his
ease. She had had nothing to worry over, she told him, except, of
course, his absence and Jack's, and if she had not received so many
warnings she would not have suspected that there were such things as
secret enemies around her. But she had relaxed none of her vigilance,
and was always on her guard when any of the neighbors came to see her.
It was a dreadful way to live, but there was no help for it.
By the time Marcy had removed some of the stains of travel from his face
and clothing, supper was announced; and as he had to talk about
something during the meal, he entertained his mother with a minute
description of the exciting incidents that happened during the
_Hattie's_ homeward run. He could talk of these things in his ordinary
tone of voice, and he did not care who overheard him. More than that, he
was satisfied that every word he uttered in the presence of the girl who
waited at table would go straight to Hanson's ears, and he was really
talking for Hanson's benefit. He retired at an early hour, after his arm
had been bathed and bandaged again (his mother could not keep back her
tears when she saw how inflamed and angry it looked), and left his lamp
burning, as he had done every night since his friend Gifford dropped
that hint about a visit from an organized band of 'longshoremen. Before
he got into bed he unlocked his valise and took from it two things that
his mother knew nothing about,--a brace of heavy revolvers,--which he
placed where he could get his hands upon them at a moment's warning.
"Thank goodness the old flag is above me once more, and not that
secession rag that Beardsley seems to be so proud of," thought Marcy, as
he pounded his pillow into shape and drew the quilts over his shoulders.
"If Colonel Shelby and the rest knew that there are two Union flags
somewhere among these bedclothes, how long do you suppose this house
would stand? If those men are such good rebels, I can't for the life of
me understand why they don't go into the service, instead of staying at
home and making trouble for their neighbors. I should think they would
be ashamed of themselves."
There were plenty of such men all over the South, and Marcy Gray was not
the only one who wondered why they did not hasten to the front, seeing
that they were so very hostile to the Yankees and their sympathizers,
and professed so much zeal for the cause of Southern independence. His
cousin Rodney often asked himself the same question while Dick Graham
was staying at his father's house, waiting for a chance to get across
the Mississippi River. Tom Randolph, who could not forget that Captain
Hubbard's Rangers had refused to give him the office he wanted, was
Rodney's evil genius. Although Tom became in time commander of a small
company of Home Guards, he could be for the old flag or against it, as
circumstances seemed to require. When the Union forces took possession
of Baton Rouge and the gunboats anchored in front of the city, Randolph
sent more than one squad of Yankee cavalry to search Mr. Gray's house
for firearms, and took measures to keep Rodney, Dick Graham, and the
other discharged Confederates in constant trouble; but when General
Breckenridge and his army appeared, and it began to look as though the
rebels were about to drive the Union forces out and take possession of
Baton Rouge and the surrounding country, Tom Randolph gave his scouts
the names of all the Union men in Mooreville and vicinity, and of course
they did not escape persecution. But Tom, sly as he was, could not play
a double part forever. His sin found him out and his punishment came
close upon the heels of it. We shall tell all about it in its proper
place.
Having no watch to stand on this particular night, and having no fear of
capture by cruisers or a fight with armed steam launches, Marcy soon
fell asleep, to be awakened about midnight by a sound that sent the cold
chills all over him. He could not have told just what it was, but all
the same it frightened him. He sat up in bed and pulled one of his
revolvers from under his pillow. He listened intently, and in a few
seconds the sound was repeated. Then he knew that it was made by a
pebble which some one in the yard below had tossed against his window.
It was a signal of some sort, but who made it, and why should the
visitor, whoever he might be, seek to arouse him without disturbing his
mother?
"By gracious!" thought Marcy, resting his revolver on his knee with the
muzzle turned toward the window, as if he half expected to see some one
try to force an entrance there. "What can it mean! It may be a dangerous
piece of business to draw the curtain and open that window, for how do I
know but that there's somebody below waiting for a chance to pop me
over? How do I know but those 'longshoremen have come up----"
When this thought passed through the boy's mind his fear gave place to
indignation; and hesitating no longer he threw off the bedclothes and
advanced toward the window, just as another pebble rattled against it.
He dashed the curtain aside, threw up the sash, and thrust his head and
his revolver out of the window. The night was so dark that he could not
see a thing except the dark sky and the darker shadows of the trees
against it.
"Who's there?" he demanded. "Speak quick."
"The despot's heel is on thy shore;
His torch is at thy temple door.
Avenge the patriotic gore
That flecks the streets of Baltimore
And be the battle queen of yore--
Maryland! my Maryland!"
That was the answer he received to his challenge. It was given in a
voice that he had never heard before, and Marcy was so utterly amazed
that he could not interrupt the speaker, or say a word himself when the
verse was concluded. It was part of a rebel song that had recently
become very popular in Baltimore, but it had not yet reached North
Carolina. For only an instant, however, did Marcy stand motionless and
speechless, and then he pointed his weapon in the direction from which
the voice sounded, saying in steady tones:
"If you don't give me an answer that I can understand, I'll cut loose.
Who are you?"
"I am a homeless, friendless smuggler," replied the voice; and at the
same instant a familiar bark, followed by an impatient whine, told the
astonished Marcy that his faithful watchman, Bose, was under the window
with the stranger. The unexpected discovery made every nerve in his body
tingle with excitement, and his next words were uttered in a husky and
indistinct tone.
"Jack!" he exclaimed. "Oh, Jack! Is that you?"
"It's I," answered the visitor, speaking in his natural voice this time.
"I'm here safe and sound, and none the worse for having been a prisoner
in the hands of that pirate, Captain Semmes."
"Go round to the front door and I will be right down," said Marcy, in
suppressed tones. He could not imagine why his brother should make his
presence known in this guarded way instead of boldly demanding
admittance at the door, but he knew that there was some reason for it
and conducted himself accordingly. He moved about his room very quietly
while he dressed himself as well as he could with only one hand to work
with, and then he caught up the lamp, hurried downstairs and made his
way to his mother's room. His low tap met with an instant response.
"Oh, mother," exclaimed Marcy, "Jack's come home, and he's Union."
"Of course he is for the Union," answered Mrs. Gray calmly, although she
was almost as highly excited as Marcy was. "I have never thought of him
as being a rebel."
"The rebels had him prisoner," added Marcy; and with this bit of news to
add to his mother's excitement, the boy ran to the front door. The
moment he opened it a stalwart young fellow sprang upon the threshold
with his arms spread out; but he stopped suddenly when his eyes fell
upon Marcy's white face and upon the sling in which he carried his left
hand.
"What's happened to you?" he demanded, as soon as he could speak.
"I got that while helping Captain Beardsley run a cargo of contraband
goods through Crooked Inlet," replied Marcy, laughing at the expression
of surprise and disgust that came upon the young sailor's bronzed face
as he listened to the words. "First I was a privateer and now I am a
blockade-runner."
"There must be some good reason for it, because I know as well as you do
that you do not belong on that side of the house," said the returned
wanderer, closing and locking the door after beckoning to Bose, who was
never permitted to enter the house except upon extraordinary occasions.
"I had a fine chance to become a rebel pirate. When the prize-master who
was put aboard of us after we were captured, found that I was from a
seceded State, he promised if I would ship on the _Sumter_ to ask
Captain Semmes----"
Just at this point the young sailor looked over his brother's shoulder
and saw his mother coming along the hall. A second later he held her
clasped in his arms. She looked very small and frail while standing
beside that tall, broad-shouldered son, who was as fine a specimen of an
American sailor as could be found anywhere outside of New England.
Although he was but three years older than Marcy, who was by no means a
puny fellow, he stood head and shoulders above him, and was built like a
young Hercules. It was little wonder that Mrs. Gray and Marcy had
awaited his coming with the greatest anxiety and impatience, or that the
former should say to himself: "From this time on I can sleep in peace.
Jack's got home and mother's property is safe."
"Now that you have got through saying 'hallo,' I'd like to have you tell
me why you came home like a thief in the night instead of knocking at
the door," said Marcy. "I don't know when I have been so frightened."
"Aha! That shows that I did not make a mistake in going to so much
trouble to be on the safe side. You are afraid of the neighbors, are
you? I read the papers when I could get them, and among other things I
learned that the South is divided against itself, and that few men know
for certain who their friends are. Let's go somewhere and sit down."
Jack led his mother into the sitting-room. Marcy following with the
lamp, and taking care to see that all the doors were closed before he
seated himself.
"I should judge from your actions, Marcy, that this family is divided
against itself, and that you are afraid to trust the servants," said
Jack. "If that's the case, the papers told the truth. Now tell me how
you got that bad arm. Were you shot?"
Marcy did not spend much time on his story, for he was impatient to
learn when and where his brother had been captured, and how he had
managed to escape after a prize crew had been thrown aboard his vessel.
He simply told of his experience in the blockade-runner _Hattie_,
leaving his exploits in the _Osprey_ to be narrated at some future
time.
"I am glad the _Hattie_ got through the blockade all right seeing that
you were aboard of her," said Jack, when Marcy brought his story to a
close. "But if Uncle Sam doesn't do something to break up
blockade-running, he'll have a war on his hands that will make him open
his eyes. It will not take me five minutes to tell my story. I was a
prisoner not more than twelve hours, and during that time not the first
exciting thing happened. If it hadn't been for the fact that there was a
strange officer in command of the brig, and that our old man was walking
around with his hands in his pockets, saying nothing, we wouldn't have
known that we were prisoners at all."
With this introduction the returned sailor settled into an easy position
among the sofa pillows and related his experience very nearly as
follows, with this exception: He quite forgot to say that he was the one
who first conceived the idea of taking the _Sabine_ out of the hands of
the prize crew that Semmes had placed aboard of her, and that, if it had
not been for his courage and prompt action, the brig would either have
been sold for the benefit of the Confederate Government, or burned in
the Caribbean Sea after her neutral cargo had been put ashore.
It happened on the morning of July 4, and the _Sabine_, in company with
the brig _Herndon_, was sailing along the southern coast of Cuba, having
recently left the port of Trinidad-de-Cuba with a cargo of sugar and
molasses, which was consigned to an English port in the Island of
Jamaica. Although there was some sea on and rain squalls were frequent,
there was but little breeze, and consequently the _Sabine_ could not
have run into neutral waters even if second mate Jack Gray, who had
charge of the deck, had known that the steamer that was bearing down
upon her was the freebooter, _Sumter_.
"What do you mean by neutral waters?" Marcy wanted to know.
"Why, every country that owns a strip of seacoast owns also the waters
for three miles out," replied Jack. "And inside of that marine league,
as it is called, the cruisers of one nation mustn't trouble the ships of
another with which it happens to be at war. For example, if two armed
vessels belonging to two different nations who are at loggerheads,
happen to sail into the same neutral port, they can't fight there, but
must go outside; and if one of them runs out, the other must wait
twenty-four hours before following her."
The coast of Cuba was in plain view when the _Sumter_ was sighted, but
as there was little breeze stirring, and the brigs could not escape,
Captain Semmes was not obliged to resort to the cowardly trick he
usually practiced--that is, hoisting the English ensign to quiet the
fears of the crew of the unlucky vessels he intended to destroy. He
began business at once; and the first thing that drew the attention of
second mate Jack Gray, as he planked the quarter-deck thinking of almost
everything except Confederate war vessels, was the roar of a thirty-two
pounder. Jack looked up to see a thick cloud of white smoke floating
slowly away from the side of the steamer, and to take note of the fact
that a peculiar looking flag floated from her peak. Jack had never seen
it before, but he knew in a minute what it was. At the same time he
noticed that the _Herndon_ which was half a mile or so in advance of the
_Sabine_ had backed her main topsail and hoisted her own colors--the
Stars and Stripes.
"Tumble up here, Captain," exclaimed Jack, rushing to the top of the
companion-ladder. "There's a rebel steamer on the lee bow, speaking to
us."
"I wondered what that noise was," said the captain, as he came up the
ladder in two jumps, and saw that a boat had already been lowered from
the steamer and was putting off to take charge of the _Herndon_.
The captain knew that there were rebel privateers afloat, for in a
foreign port he had read of the escape of the _Savannah_ from Charleston
on June 2, and of the inglorious ending of her short career as a
freebooter. The _Savannah_ captured one merchantman with a cargo of
sugar, and afterward gave chase to a brig, which turned out to be the
man of war _Perry_. The _Savannah_ was captured after a little race, and
her crew were sent to New York as prisoners. But the captain of the
_Sabine_ never knew until that moment that the rebels had let loose
steam vessels to prey upon the commerce of the Northern States. He
looked at the "pirate," which, having sent off a boat to complete the
capture of the _Herndon_ had put herself in motion again and was drawing
closer to the _Sabine_ glanced up at the sails, and then turned his
wistful eyes toward the Cuban coast line.
"There isn't the ghost of a chance," said Jack, who easily read the
thoughts that were passing in the mind of his commander. "If we try to
run and she doesn't feel like chasing us, she'll shoot us into little
bits."
"She's got five guns," remarked the first mate, who was making a close
examination of the steamer through the spyglass. "She's loading one of
them, and it might be a good plan for us to come to and show colors."
These words brought the captain to his senses. He gave the necessary
orders, and in a few minutes the brig's maintopsail had been backed and
the Union emblem was floating from her peak. There were an astonished
lot of men aboard of her, and they were so angry, too, that they could
not stand still. They clenched their hands and gritted their teeth when
they saw a boat filled with armed men put off from the steamer, and when
the boarding officer came over the side and informed the captain of the
_Sabine_ in courteous tones, that his vessel was a prize to the
Confederate cruiser _Sumter_ they could scarcely control themselves.
"I suppose I shall have to give in," said the Yankee skipper. "But I
tell you plainly that if I had five guns and as many men as you've got,
one or the other of us would have been on his way to the bottom before
this time."
"Oh, I don't doubt that you would make us plenty of trouble if you had
the power," said the rebel officer, with a smile. "But, fortunately, you
haven't got it. I shall have to ask you to get your papers and go off to
the _Sumter_ with me. What's your cargo, where from, and whither bound?"
he added, turning to Jack, when the captain had disappeared in the
cabin.
The second mate did not waste any time or words in giving the desired
information.
"Ah! A neutral cargo bound from one neutral port to another," said the
officer. "I am sorry to hear that."
"Why are you?" inquired Jack.
"Because under the circumstances we cannot destroy your vessel."
"What's the use of being so mean just because you happen to possess the
power?" said Jack.
"Young man," replied the officer sharply, "we are bound to harass you
Yankees all we can and in every way we can. That's what your people are
doing to us. But what else can we do? France and England have denied us
the privilege of taking our prizes into any of their ports, and there's
but one course left for us to pursue. But Spain hasn't spoken yet, and
perhaps we shall test her friendship for us by taking you into a Cuban
port."
Things turned out just as the boarding officer thought they would. The
captain of the brig was taken off to the _Sumter_, and after his papers
had been examined he was sent back, and a prize crew, consisting of a
midshipman and four sailors, was placed on board the brig. Both prizes
were then taken in tow by the _Sumter_, which steamed away for the
harbor of Cienfuegos, Captain Semmes laboring under the delusion that
Spain would permit him to have his Yankee prizes condemned and sold in a
Spanish port. The Confederate midshipman commanded the brig, the Yankee
sailors sullenly performed the little work there was to be done, and the
four Confederate sailors stood around and kept watch of them.
Only one thing that was worthy of note occurred during the day. The
_Sumter_ steamed slowly along the coast, making not more than five knots
an hour, and the Yankee sailors, enraged over the loss of their vessel,
and looking forward to nothing else but a long term of confinement in a
Southern prison, were very uneasy, and naturally enough they wanted to
exchange opinions on the situation; but that was something the
midshipman would not permit. He was vigilant, and would not allow the
brig's crew to get together for fear that they might hatch up a plan for
recapturing their property. If a couple of them got near enough together
to whisper a few words to each other, he would call out roughly:
"What are you about, there? Get farther apart, you two."
This state of affairs continued until night came and darkness settled
down over the Caribbean Sea, and then Captain Semmes himself did
something that caused the heart of every one of the _Sabine's_ crew to
beat high with hope.