BANQUO'S GHOST
Robert Goddard felt at peace with himself and the world as he strolled
down Pennsylvania Avenue on his way to the Capitol the next morning. He
had spent most of the night explaining to Secretary Stanton the lay of
the land in and about Winchester. Having been on many scouting parties
under General Torbet, he was well acquainted with the Shenandoah
Valley, that "Garden of Virginia," as it was called.
The Avenue was alive with people, and the army uniform predominated,
although numerous congressmen hurried by, intent on dodging the mud
holes which dotted the streets, so that they might reach the Capitol
with fairly clean boots and trousers.
Goddard stopped before the Kirkwood House to watch with much amusement
the efforts of several negroes to drag a one-horse hack out of the mud
into which it had sunk up to its hubs. Suddenly the occupant of the
carriage opened the door and beckoned to him. Recognizing Mrs. Bennett,
Goddard, with a rueful glance at his immaculate boots, floundered
through the mud to the side of the carriage.
"Good morning, Major." Mrs. Bennett held forth a slender hand in
greeting. "This is a nice predicament; and I have an important
engagement at eleven o'clock."
"It is too bad," sympathized Goddard. "Still, the condition of the
Avenue is due to a patriotic cause; the passing back and forth of heavy
artillery and cavalry all these years has made it like a ploughed
field."
"Mud is not confined to this Avenue," sighed Mrs. Bennett. "Last Sunday
my carriage stuck in the middle of H Street right in front of St.
John's Church, and my husband had to carry me to the sidewalk."
"May I do the same now?" inquired Goddard quickly.
Mrs. Bennett hesitated; Goddard's fine physique looked quite equal to
the strain of carrying her slight form, but she was not at all certain
her husband would approve.
"You are very kind, Major, but----" she began dubiously. "Oh, here is
Colonel Bennett." A tall soldierly man of middle age strode up to the
carriage. "My dear, you have arrived just in time to rescue poor me.
Major Goddard, my husband. The major has just volunteered to carry me
through the mud, Charles."
"Much obliged to you, sir," exclaimed Bennett heartily. "I was passing,
and recognized my coachman, so concluded my wife was stuck again. Now,
Cora, stand on the step, and I will carry you over to the hotel." And
in a few seconds, with Goddard's assistance, Mrs. Bennett was safely
deposited on the sidewalk.
"It was a shame, Major, that you had to leave Mrs. Warren's so early in
the evening." Mrs. Bennett straightened her clothes as best she could,
while she waited for her husband to return from giving directions to
the driver of the stalled carriage. "I hope it was no bad news that
took you away?"
"Oh, no; Captain Lloyd came to tell me that I was wanted at the
department. I am afraid I must be running along, Mrs. Bennett. Will you
excuse me?"
"Why, certainly, Major. Many thanks for offering to assist me. I hope
you will come and see me before you leave."
Thanking her for the invitation, Goddard bade Mrs. Bennett and her
husband a hasty good-bye, and resumed his interrupted stroll down the
Avenue. At the corner of John Marshall Place, he saw two ladies waiting
by the curb. As the younger turned toward him, he recognized Nancy, and
saw the inevitable Misery sitting close at her side. Quickening his
steps, he hastened across the street and joined her.
"This is better luck than I hoped for," he said, his eyes lightening
with pleasure. "I planned to call at your house on my return from the
Capitol, but now...."
"Aunt Metoaca," Nancy smiled demurely as she extricated her hand from
Goddard's eager clasp, "may I present Major Goddard? The major has most
kindly offered to escort me to Winchester, as I told you last night."
Miss Metoaca Newton inspected Goddard keenly as she returned his low
bow. First impressions counted with her. Goddard was also taking stock
of Miss Metoaca. He decided in his own mind he had never seen a more
angular frame, nor so large a nose as her physiognomy presented.
"I hope you have given your consent to Miss Newton's trip?" he asked
eagerly.
"Yes and no." Miss Metoaca's voice surprised him by its thin treble.
It did not seem possible that so little sound could come out of so big
a cavity. "I don't hold with so much gadding about. 'Twasn't so when I
was a girl, fifty-odd years ago. The way women run hither and yon after
Tom, Dick, and Harry is surprising. I declare I am the only virgin in
Washington these days." She stopped to search in her reticule for her
handkerchief. "So I have just decided, as long as Nancy has set her
heart on it, to go with her to Winchester. Besides which, I am anxious
to see Lindsay Page."
"That is splendid!" Goddard's face lighted with pleasure, then fell.
"How about your passes? Shall I ask Secretary Stanton for them?"
"Young man, when I want a thing, I go to headquarters for it; so I am
on my way to see President Lincoln now. I reckon he will give them to
me. Many thanks, all the same," she wound up, conscious she had been
abrupt in her refusal.
"May I walk up to the White House with you, then?"
"I will be glad of your company, but Nancy is not going with me." Her
eyes twinkled as she saw Goddard's disappointment. "Secondly, I am not
walking this morning. Nancy is just waiting to put me on that new
Yankee contraption, the horse car."
"Here comes one now." Nancy pointed to that slow-moving vehicle as it
toiled leisurely up the avenue.
"Of all the miserable inventions," groaned Miss Metoaca, glancing with
indignation at the ankle-deep mud that lay between her and the car
track. "Why don't they fix it so it can come over here and take in its
passengers? What does anyone want with a stationary track way off
yonder? Nancy, keep that dratted dog from under my skirts,"
indignantly, as her hoop tilted at a dangerous angle. "Don't you let
him follow me; I won't have mud splashed over my new dress." Nancy
clutched Misery's collar obediently. "Well, here goes."
Gathering her ample skirts about her, and with Goddard in close
attendance rendering what assistance he could, the spinster plunged
through the mud until she reached the car step, by the side of which
hung two pictures of a woman, illustrating the proper and improper way
to get on and off a car. Miss Metoaca paused to take breath and
readjust her Fanchon bonnet. As she was about to enter the car, she
noticed a grinning black boy standing with one foot on the step.
"Where's that nigger going?" she demanded of the conductor.
"On top, ma'am," he answered respectfully.
Her question was overheard by a man in clerical dress who sat next the
door, and, as she took the seat opposite, he leaned across and
addressed her.
"You evidently forget, madam," he said severely, "that the blacks are
the Lord's people as well as we, and are entitled to go where we go,
being good and free Americans."
"If the good Lord intended those worthless niggers to be my equals,
He'd have bleached them out," retorted Miss Metoaca, the light of
combat in her eyes. Goddard waited to hear no more, but bolted out of
the door and across the Avenue to where Nancy stood waiting, and they
walked slowly in the direction of Capitol Hill.
"I am a stranger within your gates," quoted Goddard softly. "Take pity
on me, and tell me something about the people I met last night at Mrs.
Warren's."
"Let me see, whom did you meet? Oh, yes, Doctor John. He is the most
cantankerous and the dearest man I ever met. His patients positively
worship him, and yet he has many enemies who would gladly see him
humiliated."
"All strong characters are bound to make enemies, and I dare say Doctor
Boyd has a caustic tongue," laughed Goddard, helping Nancy around an
extra deep mud hole. "Is Captain Gurley's aunt good fun?"
"Mrs. Arnold?" Nancy dimpled with a merry smile. "She is our 'Mrs.
Malaprop.' Her husband secured a big contract to furnish clothing to
the government at the breaking out of the war. Now he is very wealthy.
Mrs. Arnold does not approve of me."
Goddard colored hotly as he recalled the conversation of the night
before. "Why not?" he demanded.
"Because she does not like my friendship with her nephew. When they
first came to Washington, the Arnolds lived at the National Hotel, but
last year Mr. Arnold bought a vacant lot on our street, and has built a
large double house with a ballroom, if you please. I believe Mrs.
Arnold is to give her house-warming some time soon. It was she who made
the original remark about having a 'spinal staircase in the back,' and
Doctor Boyd told her it was quite the proper place for it."
"Is Mrs. Bennett a friend of yours?"
"Mrs. Bennett?" echoed Nancy. "She is Mrs. Arnold's shadow. Aunt
Metoaca sees more of her than I do. I somehow don't believe Mrs.
Bennett cares for me. She is quite literary in her tastes, and I hear
is writing a book about Washington. It ought to prove interesting
reading," Nancy's dimples appeared again, "as she imagines every man
she meets is in love with her. Her husband, Colonel Bennett, is
stationed in the quartermaster general's office, and is just as nice as
he can be, and perfectly wrapped up in his pretty wife. They were
married about two years ago. Little is known here of Mrs. Bennett's
antecedents."
"Which way are you going, Miss Newton?" asked Goddard, as they crossed
the street and walked through the Capitol grounds. He looked with
admiration at the stately lines of the building which sheltered the
law-makers, and bared his head to the Stars and Stripes floating lazily
to and fro from the flag poles on each wing of the Capitol. "I can't
help it," with a quick, boyish laugh. "I have seen too many die in
defense of the flag not to salute it on all occasions."
Nancy nodded comprehendingly. "It is everything to have an ideal," she
said softly. "I am going down A Street to see one of Doctor John's
charity patients."
Absorbed in watching his companion, Goddard did not notice the
direction they were walking until Nancy called his attention to an
unpretentious, rambling building standing on the corner of First and A
streets. "Old Capitol Prison," she said, in explanation. "In 1800 it
was a tavern; then after the burning of the Capitol by the British it
was used by both houses of Congress, hence the name, 'Old Capitol.'"
Goddard stopped and inspected the building with interest. As his eyes
passed along the rows on rows of barred windows, he was attracted by
the actions of one of the sentries. After watching him for a few
seconds, he turned to Nancy.
"Something is wrong over there," he said briefly. "If you will wait
here, I will go over and investigate." Without waiting for a reply, he
crossed the street and accosted the sentry. "What's the trouble here?"
The sentry wheeled about and swung his bayonet to the charge; then,
recognizing the uniform and shoulder straps, he lowered his Springfield
and saluted.
"It's the prisoner there, Major," pointing to a woman who was leaning
as far out of an open window on the ground floor as the bars would
permit. "I can't make her go back."
"Call the corporal of the guard."
"I have, Major; but the devil a bit of good that did me. She wouldn't
pay any more attention to his orders than to mine."
"Well, then, why not stop shouting at the woman, and leave her alone?"
"It's against orders for any prisoner, man or woman, to approach near
enough to touch the window sill or the bars. The corporal says I'm to
shoot her unless she moves back, and the superintendent says the same.
Damn it! Do they think I 'listed to shoot women?" He mopped his heated
face. "Last week they court-martialed a guard for not obeying orders;
so I must do it." Then, in a loud, authoritative voice, he called, "For
the last time, ma'am, get back from that window. I'll count three; then
I'll fire. One----" His rifle jumped to his shoulder, and he took aim.
The woman stood as if carved from stone, gazing steadily at the sentry,
down whose white face beads of perspiration were trickling. "Two----"
"Wait," whispered Goddard, then shouted: "Look out, madam; there's a
mouse!"
With a convulsive start, the woman sprang back from the window. The
sentry dropped the butt of his gun on the sidewalk, and turned
gratefully to Goddard.
"Thanks, Major. If that prisoner shows her face again, I'll just start
some real mice through the window." And, saluting, he resumed his beat.
Nancy did not wait, but joined Goddard before he could recross the
street.
"I go down this way," she said, and Goddard, suiting his step to hers,
strolled with her along A Street. "What train do you propose taking to
Winchester, Major?"
"The nine o'clock, if that is convenient for you and your aunt."
"Perfectly so." She stopped before an unpretentious house. "Shall we
meet at the depot to-morrow?"
"If you will let me, I will call for you and your aunt."
"We shall be delighted." The front door had been opened by a small boy
in answer to Goddard's imperative knock. Nancy turned and held out her
hand. "Until then--good-bye." And the door slammed shut.
Turning on his heel, Goddard retraced his steps to the Capitol, but
when he reached the building he concluded not to enter, so continued on
his way to his boarding house opposite the Ebbitt. On leaving the
Capitol grounds, his progress was blocked by a regiment of raw recruits
on its way to the front, which halted and "marked time." Their band
struck up "Three Hundred Thousand More," and the soldiers instantly
sang the stirring words:
We are coming, Father Abra'am, three hundred thousand more,
From Mississippi's winding stream and from New England's shore;
We leave our ploughs and workshops, our wives and children dear,
With hearts too full for utterance, with but a silent tear;
We dare not look behind us, but steadfastly before:
We are coming, Father Abra'am, three hundred thousand more.
You have called us, and we're coming, by Richmond's bloody tide
To lay us down, for Freedom's sake, our brothers' bones beside;
Or from foul treason's savage grasp to wrench the murderous blade,
And in the face of foreign foes its fragments to parade.
Six hundred thousand loyal men and true have gone before;
We are coming, Father Abra'am, three hundred thousand more.
Goddard promptly joined in the singing with others in the crowd which
had collected. Suddenly a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and facing
about he found Lloyd standing behind him.
"Come out of this crowd," said the latter, sternly. In silence the two
men walked up the Avenue to Third Street, and Lloyd led his companion
into that quieter thoroughfare. Looking to see that no one was near
enough to hear what he said, he turned savagely on Goddard.
"I should arrest you at once."
Goddard stared blankly at Lloyd, unable to believe his ears.
"On what charge?" he demanded, hotly.
"Aiding and abetting the enemy."
Goddard's face cleared. "You are crazy," he remarked, tersely.
"Am I? We shall see. I warned you Nancy Newton was a spy."
Goddard's eyes snapped angrily, and his color rose.
"Suppose we leave Miss Newton's name out of the discussion," he said,
haughtily; then, in a more friendly tone: "Here I am, happy and
carefree, and you appear, like 'Banquo's ghost,' and shout your silly
theories, which you admit you can't prove, into my ears."
"My theories do hold water," was the stern reply. "Better for you, you
blockhead, if they didn't."
Goddard's face went white. "By heavens! I allow no one to address me in
that way. If it wasn't for our long friendship...."; his clenched hands
finished the sentence.
"It is owing to our old friendship that I haven't had you arrested,
Bob," Lloyd spoke more quietly, realizing he had gone a step too far.
"Then explain what your insinuations mean."
"I will. Half an hour ago you were in front of Old Capitol
Prison"--Goddard nodded assent--"helping the sentry make that woman
behave herself. Well, it was all a plant."
"A plant?"
"Yes. While you and the sentry were engaged with that woman, Nancy
Newton was signaling from an opposite doorway to another prisoner in
the same row."
Goddard gazed incredulously at Lloyd. "How do you know?"
"I was following you both down the street, and saw the whole affair. I
was too far away to interfere, and by the time I had reached the prison
you and your companion were a block away." Goddard stood biting his
lip, so Lloyd, after waiting for a reply, continued: "The comedy was
well played. Your presence but added realism to it in case passers-by
noticed the scene. In some way, she and the woman arranged to engage
the sentry's attention while she signaled to the other prisoner; and
there you are."
"What are you going to do about it?" asked Goddard; then added
stubbornly: "Mind you, Lloyd, I am still convinced Miss Newton is
innocent of the grave charge you bring against her. Many Washingtonians
have been arrested for various offences and put in the Old Capitol;
possibly one of them is a friend of Miss Newton's, and, seeing her
standing opposite the prison, seized the opportunity to wave to her."
But Lloyd remained obstinately silent, and Goddard repeated his first
question, "What are you going to do about it?"
"Arrest her as a suspect. No, on second thoughts, I will leave her
free, but watched. Take my word for it, Bob; if you give that clever
girl rope enough she will hang herself."