It was afternoon and over on the eastern side of the James where the old
Turnpike leads up over the rolling hills to Richmond the sun was pouring
down a flood of heat. The 'pike was ankle deep with dust and the fine,
white powder, churned into floury softness by artillery and the myriad
iron heels of war, had settled down on roadside bush and tree and vine
till all the sweet green of summer hung its head under the hot weight
and longed for a cooling shower which would wash it clean.
In fairer times the Pike had been an active thoroughfare for the
plantations and hundreds of smaller truck farms which fed the capitol,
but of late months nearly all this traffic had disappeared. For the days
of the Confederacy were drawing slowly but none the less surely to a
close.
Inside the breastworks and far flung fortifications which encompassed
Richmond the flower of the rebel arms, the Army of Northern Virginia,
lay like a rat caught in a trap. On three sides, north, east and south
the Army of the Potomac under Grant beleaguered the city while the
tireless Sheridan, with that lately developed arm of the Federals, the
cavalry, raided right and left and struck hard blows at the crumbling
cause where they were least expected. Yet in this same dark hour there
had been a ray of light. Once the Confederacy had come within
hairbreadth of overwhelming success, for Early's hard riding troopers
had made a dash for Washington but a few weeks before and, with the
prize almost in their grasp, had only been turned back by a great force
which the grim, watchful Grant suddenly threw in between their guns and
the gleaming dome of the nation's capitol.
But even this small success was not for long for when Early, crossing
over into the luscious valley of the Shenandoah, began to scourge it
with his hosts and threaten a raid into Pennsylvania, Sheridan broke
loose from the restriction of telegraph wires and followed him to the
death and finally broke the back of the great raid with his mad gallop
from Winchester.
Meanwhile around Richmond, Lee and Grant, a circle within a circle, were
constantly feeling each other out, shifting their troops from point to
point in attack and defense,--for all the world like two fighting dogs
hunting for an opening in the fence. And all the time the grim, quiet
man in blue kept contracting his lines around the wonderful tactician in
gray until the whole world came to know that unless Lee could break
through the gap to the southwest the end of the war was plainly in
sight.
And so it happened that on this hot July day the only sign of life on
the 'pike was a small cloud of dust which drifted lazily in the wake of
two people who passed along the road on foot.
One of the two was a tired, gaunt man in a ragged uniform of gray who
stared up the long, hot road ahead of him with eyes in which there was,
in spite of every discouragement the light of a certain firm resolve.
The other of the two was a child with bare, brown legs and tattered
gingham dress who limped painfully along beside the man, her sunny hair
in a tangle half across her pinched and weary little face.
At a faint sigh of exhaustion from the child the man looked down,
gathered her up in his arms and perched her on his shoulder. Then he
plodded on again, a prey to weariness and hunger. The turning point in
Herbert Cary's life had come. Thanks to a generous enemy; Virgie and he
were now reasonably sure of food if once they could reach the
Confederate lines but as for himself, with the woman he had loved asleep
forever beneath the pines, the future could only be an unending, barren
stretch of gray.
Then, almost as quickly, recollection of his duty towards her whom he
carried in his arms came to him and he raged at himself for his moment
of selfish discouragement. Spurred on by the necessity of gaining a
point of safety for his child he began to calculate the distance yet to
be covered and their chances of gaining friendly lines before
encountering scouting parties of Federals. Behind him, a few miles south
on the other bank of the James at Light House Point Sheridan was in camp
with two brigades and Cary knew this fast riding, hard striking
cavalryman too well not to suspect that the country, even in front of
him, was alive with Union men. There was the pass which Morrison had
given him, of course, but the worth of a pass in war time often depends
more on him who receives it than on the signature.
But all those things, even food, would have to wait for a while because
he was consumed with thirst and must find water before he went another
mile forward.
A tired sigh from Virgie caught his ear and he stopped by a stone wall
and let her get down from his shoulder. The child stood up on the broad,
flat stones and then gave a little cry of pain. She raised one foot up
and nursed it against her dusty, brown leg, meanwhile clutching her doll
closer to her neck.
"It's all right, honey; be a brave little girl," her father said
consolingly. "There's a spring along here somewhere and we can look
after that poor little foot. Ah, there it is," he cried, as he caught
sight of a big rock behind a stone wall with a seepage of water under it
among some trees at one side. "Just sit still a minute--till I rest--and
then we'll have a look." He leaned back against the wall and closed his
eyes to shut out the dizziness with which exhaustion and hunger filled
his aching head.
The child watched him anxiously for a moment and then put a soft little
hand on his shoulder:
"Are you _so_ tired, Daddy-man?"
"Yes, dear," he answered with a faint smile as he opened his eyes. "I
had to catch my breath, but I'm really all right. Now then, we'll call
in the hospital corps."
Virgie slipped down and sat on the top of the wall with her foot in her
hand, rocking to and fro, but bravely saying nothing until her father's
eye caught the look of pain on her pinched face.
"Does it hurt you much, dear?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. It--it hurts like the mischief," answered Virgie in a small
voice. "It keeps jumping up and down."
"Little woman, that's too bad," he said with a consoling pat on the head
which seemed to take most of the pain away. "But after we bathe it and
tie it up it will feel better."
Kneeling beside the spring he took off his campaign hat of felt and
dipped it full of clear, cold water.
"Wow!" cried Virgie suddenly in the interval and she slapped her leg
with a resounding whack. "There are 'skeeters roun' this place. One of
'em bit me--an old _he_ one. Jiminy!"
"Did he?" asked her father, smiling as he came back with the hat. "Well,
honey, there are much worse things in this world than those little
fellows and if you don't complain any more than that you're going to be
a very happy lady when you grow up."
"Like Mamma?" asked the little tot, with a thoughtful face.
"Just like Mamma," the man repeated. "The loveliest--the bravest--and
the _best_." He wavered a little on his feet and the hat threatened to
slip through his fingers, but his daughter's great, dark eyes were
steady on his and, curiously enough, he seemed to draw strength to pull
himself together.
"And now, let's see. We'll have to get the grime off first. Just dip the
little wounded soldier in."
"What! My foot in your hat!" protested Virgie with a little scream. "Oh,
you poor daddy!"
"Why, that's all right, honey," he laughed, pleased at her daintiness.
"That hat's an old veteran. He don't mind anything. So--souse her in.
"There--easy now--_easy_" as she threatened to capsize this curious
basin. "Big toe first.
"Yes, I know it's cold," he laughed as the water stung the broken skin
and made her twitch involuntarily, "but bathing will do it good. I just
know it feels better already--doesn't it?"
"Yes, sir," answered Virgie meekly, "only--it jumps up and down harder
than ever. But of course I know it must be getting better."
"Good! What did I tell you? Now let Daddy look."
He lifted her foot up tenderly and examined it with care. "My, my!" he
murmured. "You poor little soldier. If I hadn't looked around that time
I expect you'd been willing to walk all the way to Richmond on a foot
that would make a whole regiment straggle. Just see where you've cut
it--right under the second little piggie. We'll have to tie it right up
and keep the bothersome old dust from getting in. By morning you'll
hardly feel it."
With a soldier's readiness he opened his coat and began to tear a strip
from his shirt from which to make a bandage. But his small daughter
interrupted him with a vigorous protest.
"Wait!" she cried, with a face full of alarm at the willful destruction
of his garment. "Don't do that. Here! You can take it off my petticoat."
"_That_ petticoat," her father laughed, with the first real mirth she
had heard for many weeks. "That poor little petticoat wouldn't make an
arm bandage for Susan Jemima. Now--up with your hoofie and let's play
I'm a surgeon and you're a brave soldier who has fought in every battle
since we first made the Yanks skedaddle at Bull Run."
With the painful foot securely bandaged the little girl gave herself up
to thought, emerging from her study at last to ask what was an
all-important question.
"Daddy--"
"Yes?"
"Do you reckon, by the time the war is over, we could call Susan Jemima
a vet'ran?"
"I should say we could," the father agreed heartily, without the symptom
of a smile. "Hasn't she grown bald in the service? And hasn't she almost
lost an arm--or is it a leg I see dangling so terribly? I'll tell you
what we'll do! We'll give her an honorable discharge--and decorate her.
How's that?"
"Oh, fine!" she cried, clapping her hands with delight at the fantasy.
"And we'll get that Yankee man to write her a pass just like mine. Do
you hear that, Cap'n Susan," she crooned to the doll, unconscious of the
convulsion of silent amusement beside her. "When we get to Richmon'--if
we ever _do_ get there--I'm going to make you a uniform!"
Then she turned to her father with a little sigh, for the miles seemed
very long.
"How far _is_ it to Richmon', Daddy-man?" she said.
"Just about twelve miles," her father answered. "But they're real old
country miles, I'm sorry to say."
"Can we get to it to-night?"
The simple little question made the man's heart ache. What wouldn't he
give for an hour of Roger once more--or Belle--or Lightfoot!
Anything--even one of the old plantation mules would do if he could only
perch her up on its back and take her into Richmond like a lady and not
like the daughter of poor white trash, tramping, poverty stricken, along
a dusty road.
"No, dear, not to-night," he sighed. "We've come a long way and we're
both tired. So when it gets dark we'll curl up somewhere in the nice,
sweet woods and take a snooze, just like camping out. And then--in the
morning, when the old sun comes sneaking up through the trees, we'll
fool him! We won't wait till he can make it hot, but we'll get right up
with the birds and the squirrels and we'll just run right along. And by
twelve o'clock we'll be in Richmond--where they have good things to eat.
So there you are--all mapped out. Only now we'll have a belt supper."
"A belt supper?" queried the child curiously, though her face brightened
at the thought of _any_ kind of supper, made out of belts or any other
thing.
"Um-hum," asseverated her father gravely. "See--this is the way it's
done."
He cupped his hands and took a draught from the spring, pretending to
chew it as it went down. "You take a big drink of nice cold water; then
draw up your belt as tight as you can--and say your prayers."
To his surprise his small daughter only sniffed scornfully.
"Oh, shucks, Daddy! I know a better way than that. Susan an' me used to
do it all the time while you were away."
"What did you do?" he asked curiously, for he had forgotten that more
than half the childish play world is the world of "make believe.'"
"Why, we--we just '_let on_,'" she answered, with simple naïveté. "Sit
down an' I'll show you how."
He sat down obediently, but not before he had picked up an old tin can
from nearby and set it carefully between them.
"This rock is our table--the moss is the table cloth. Oh, it isn't
green," she cried as he looked down in serious doubt. "You must _help_
me make believe. Now--doesn't it look nice and white?"
"It does, indeed. I can see nothing but snowy linen of the finest
texture," he responded instantly.
"That's better," complimented his hostess. And then with a grand air--
"I'm so glad you dropped in, sir--an' just at supper time. Pass your
plate an' allow me to help you to some batter bread."
"Batter bread! Ah, just what I was hoping for," her guest replied,
thankfully extending his plate for the imaginary feast.
"Thank you. Delicious. The very best I've tasted for a year. Did you
make it yourself?"
"Oh, dear, no--the cook."
"Ah, of course! Pray pardon me, I might have known."
The little hostess inclined her head. "Take plenty of butter. 'Cause
batter bread isn't good 'thout butter."
"Thank you--what lovely golden butter. And--goodness gracious! What is
this I see before me? Can this really be a sausage?"
"Yes, sir," laughed Virgie with delight. "And there's the ham. I smoked
it myself over hick'ry wood. Please help yourself."
She pretended to arrange a cup and saucer in front of her and held
daintily in her fingers a pair of imaginary sugar tongs.
"Coffee? How many lumps? And _do_ you take cream?"
"Five, please--and a little cream. There--just right."
She passed the cup gracefully and added a little moue of concern for the
efficiency of her ménage.
"I'm afraid you won't find it very hot," said this surprising young
hostess. "That butler of mine is growing absolutely _wuthless_."
"Then perhaps we can have something better," her guest responded
readily, and he picked up the battered old tin can. "Permit me, Miss
Cary, to offer you a glass of fine old blackberry wine which I carefully
brought with me to your beautiful home. It has been in my family wine
cellars since 1838.
"Well--" he cried, as Virgie suddenly sat back with a look of painful
recollection on her face.
"Oh, Daddy," she murmured pathetically, "_don't_ let's call it
_blackberry_ wine."
"Forgive me, darling," her father said tenderly, and he took the small
face between his hands and kissed her. "There, now--it's all right. It's
_all right_."
To create a diversion he looked behind him with a frown and spoke with
great severity to an imaginary waiter.
"Here, _Jo_! How dare you bring such terribly reminiscent stuff to our
table. Go get the port.
"We'll surely have to discharge that butler," he said. "He's too
shiftless. And now, fair lady, will you honor me by joining the humblest
of your admirers in a sip of port."
"With pleasure," answered his hostess, and lifted the can of water in
both hands. "Your health, sir. May your shadow never grow littler."
Half way through her drink Virgie stopped and slowly put the can down.
She looked at her father, who already had his finger at his lips. Voices
had come to them from down the road--the sounds of a party of men
talking and laughing as they marched along.
Cary's face took on again the grim lines which had been wiped away
momentarily by their little bit of play. He was trying to make himself
believe that the approaching party might be friends, although he knew
only too well that such a possibility was full of doubt. There were too
many scouting parties of Federals ready to pounce on Rebel patrols in
these perilous days to allow any but large forces of men to venture far
from Richmond, and when his own men sallied forth they did not go with
laughter but with tightly drawn, silent lips.
"S-s-s-h," he whispered, and held up his finger again, as she seemed
ready to burst into questioning.
Immediately she snuggled close to him and whispered hotly in his ear,
"Who are they, Daddy?"
"I don't know, honey," he whispered back. "But I'm afraid they're Yanks.
Keep quiet till they pass." And quickly deserting the stone under the
trees where they had had their "belt supper" he drew her with him behind
the large ledge of rock from under which the spring flowed out. Looking
behind them he saw that with good luck they could reach the shelter of
the woods and get up over the hill without being seen. But just now they
could not stir from their hiding place unless--unless the men were
Confederates. This faint hope, however, soon flickered out when he saw
the color of their uniforms.
Up the road came four dismounted men with a corporal in command. They
were taking it easy as they walked along, their caps thrust back, their
coats open and their Sharps' carbines carried in the variety of ways
that a soldier adopts to ease his shoulder of the burden that grows
heavier with every mile.
"Here's the place, boys," the Corporal called out as his eye fell on the
spring. "We can get some decent water, now. That James River water's too
yellow for any white man to put inside of him."
At the sound of a voice which he had heard that same morning while he
hid in the attic of the overseer's cabin Cary's hold on his daughter's
hand tightened warningly.
"Come along, Virgie," he whispered. "We'll get out of the way."
"But, Daddy," she protested in low tones, "we've got our pass."
"Yes, yes, I know," he answered, with a twinge of regret that the rest
of the world could not trust so faithfully to human kindness. "But
that's for emergency. Come along, honey--quick!"
Silently as a shadow the two stole out of the shelter of the ledge of
rock, and by dint of keeping it between them and the troopers, managed
to cover most of the open space between the spring and the protecting
trees without being seen. Meanwhile, they heard the Corporal giving his
commands.
"You, Collins, take sentry duty out there in the road for a while. As
soon as we make the coffee we'll bring you out a cup. Now--over the wall
with you, men."
Leaving one man behind to pace slowly up and down the dusty road the
four sprang over the wall and advanced towards the spring. It was well
the sight of the cool water held their eyes for if they had only looked
up they might have seen Virgie wresting her hand out of her father's
grasp and standing suddenly petrified with the thought that she had left
behind her one beloved possession.
"Here's the spring, Smith--under the rock. Fill up the canteens. Here,
Harry, help me get fire wood."
With a soldier's readiness when it comes to making camp one of the
troopers promptly collected the canteens and knelt down by the spring,
carefully submerging one at a time so as to get the sweet, cold water in
all its purity. Another opened the knapsacks and took out a can of
coffee, biscuits and some scraps of meat--not much with which to make a
meal but still so much more than many a Rebel soldier had that day as to
take on the proportions of a feast. Meanwhile, Corporal Dudley had drawn
his saber and was engaged in leisurely lopping off the dead branches of
a fallen tree.
"This strikes me a lot better than the camp," he remarked as he tossed
his firewood into a heap. "A man and his friends can have a quiet drink
here, without treating a whole battalion."
His eye fell on the ground near the spring as he spoke and he paused.
Then, with a grin on his face, he jabbed his saber into something which
lay there and held it transfixed on the point.
"Say, boys--look at this," and he shook poor Susan Jemima till her arms
and legs wiggled spasmodically and her dress seemed on the point of
complete disintegration.
Perhaps, if Corporal Dudley had not laughed derisively Virgie might have
stayed hidden in the protection of the trees, but this outrageous
insult combined with the terrible sight of poor Susan Jemima impaled on
a Yankee sword was too much for her bursting heart. With blazing eyes
she broke away from her father and dashed back to the group at the
spring.
"Here, you! You stop that," she cried angrily at the astonished
troopers, who caught up their carbines at the sound of feet. "_How dare
you!_"
There was a moment of surprise and then the four broke out in guffaws of
laughter.
"Well, hang me if it isn't the little girl we saw this morning," shouted
Dudley, without, however, stopping the torture of the defenseless Susan
Jemima. "Where did _you_ drop from?"
"Ne'm min' where I dropped from," commanded the wrathful Virgie with her
dark eyes like twin stars of hate. "You're the meanest old thing I ever
saw. _Give me back my baby!_"
Back in the trees a little way a man was watching with a heavy heart. He
knew only too well what was to come. No matter what the final outcome
might be when he showed his safe-guard to his own army's lines there
would be a delay and searching questions and more of the old insults
which always made his blood boil--which always made the increasing
burden of despair still harder to bear. But there was no use in putting
off the trial--Virgie had slipped away in spite of every whispered
remonstrance and now that she was there in the center of that group of
guffawing Yankees, there, too, was the only place for him. And so, he
stepped out swiftly and faced the enemy.
"Hah!" shouted Dudley, looking up at the sound of branches crackling
underfoot. "A Johnnie Reb, eh--walking right into camp! That's right,
Harry, keep him covered."
He looked Cary over from head to foot with a sneer at his tattered
uniform.
"Well, sir," he asked, "who are you?"
"A Confederate officer," was the quiet reply, "acting as escort for this
child. We are on our way to Richmond."
Cary's hand went into the breast of his coat and he drew out a folded
paper.
"Here is my authority for entering your lines--a pass signed by
Lieutenant-Colonel Morrison."
At the sound of the name Corporal Dudley started and quickly took the
paper. But before he opened it he gave Cary a keen look which, to the
Confederate officer, did not bode well for the prospect of immediate
release. It seemed as if the man's sharp wits had suddenly seized on
something which he could profitably turn to his own account.
With his back turned on Cary and Virgie the Corporal unfolded the pass
and studied it carefully, while the troopers gathered behind him and
tried to read its contents over his shoulder.
"Pwhat does it say?" asked the young Irishman, Harry O'Connell, who had
covered Cary with his carbine. "'Tis a precious bit of paper, bedad--if
it passes him through _me_."
"It says: 'Pass Virginia Cary and escort through all Federal lines, and
assist them as far as possible in reaching Richmond,'" read the
Corporal.
Deep in thought he turned the paper over and studied the name on the
back. At the sight of the signature there his mouth fell open and he
uttered a shout of surprise. His eyes brightened and he stepped back
from the group and threw up his head with a look of triumph on his dark
face. He struck the paper a slap with the back of his hand.
"Morrison on _one_ side--and 'Old Bob' on the _other_" he exclaimed.
"What luck! What a _find_."
"How so--a find?"
The man who had had to put his own brother under arrest a few short
weeks before and then had seen him shot through the heart by this same
officer whose name was on the pass looked at the questioner with an ugly
glitter in his eyes. He was beginning to taste already the sweets of
revenge. For blood ties bind, no matter how badly they are stretched,
and long ago Corporal Dudley had sworn to wipe out his grudge.
"Why, man, can't you see?" he whispered excitedly. "This Johnnie Reb is
the man that was hiding in the cabin loft this morning. Morrison lied
when he said he wasn't there--you remember, he was the only one who
looked--he lied and as soon as he got us out of the way he let him come
down and he gave him _this_. Could any man ask for better proof that we
had the spy right in our hands and then our commanding officer
deliberately let him go?"
At the sound of the man's excited whispering Cary's fears as to the
value of Virgie's pass grew too strong to warrant this agony of watching
and waiting, and he stepped forward with a sharp question:
"Well, Corporal, isn't the pass satisfactory?"
"Oh, perfectly--perfectly," Dudley answered with baleful readiness, but
made no move to return it.
Cary put out his hand. "Then I would like to have it again, if you
please."
By way of answer Corporal Dudley carefully found an inside pocket and
buttoned the pass up in his coat. "Oh, no, you don't," he said, with an
evil grin. "I've got a better use for that little piece of paper."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that you're my prisoner, Mister Johnnie Reb," was the brutal
answer.
"For what?" asked Cary, while his heart grew sick inside him and his
lips twitched. Richmond--and food for Virgie were growing farther away
every moment.
"Because you're a Rebel _spy_, that's why," came the biting answer.
"Oh--none of that," as Cary's fists doubled up and he made a forward
step at the Corporal. "I guess you know what's good for you, with three
guns at your back. If Colonel Morrison wouldn't take you as a spy, _I
will!_"
"Here, boys," he said in brusque command to his men, "we'll have to cut
the supper and take this man to camp. There'll be a sunrise hanging
to-morrow or I miss my guess. Come on, now. Bring him along."
"Wait a minute, Corporal," O'Connell said. "Sure I've something to say
to ye," and he led him aside where the others could not bear.
All unconscious of the fatal predicament into which Susan Jemima and
she had got them Virgie looked up at her father from where she stood in
the shelter of his arm.
"Daddy," she questioned, in a small, puzzled voice, "what are they going
to do?"
"S-s-s-h," her father commanded as he patted her head comfortingly.
"Everything will be all right, honey, I'm sure." But he had caught
enough of the Corporal's altercation with Trooper O'Connell to make him
see that things were very far from being what he wanted Virgie to
suppose.
"Ye'd better be careful now," O'Connell said to Dudley. "Ye know well
that if the pass is all right ye'll be getting yerself into a peck o'
trouble."
"It isn't _me_ that'll get in trouble," Dudley answered, with grim
triumph. "It's someone else."
"Faith, then, _who_?" was the query.
"_Morrison_," snapped Dudley, with an ominous click of his teeth.
"The Colonel? Why?"
"_Because he helped this spy escape!_ that's why. He killed my brother,
shot him. Shot him down like a dog. But now I'm even with him."
He shook the pass under the trooper's nose and crowed with satisfaction.
"I've been waiting for a chance like this," he chortled, "and now I'm
going to make him sweat--sweat blood."
"Don't be a fool, Corporal," the trooper counseled. "What'll ye be after
doin'?"
"_Report him, at headquarters_--for helping a spy escape! If I have the
man and _this_," and he slapped the paper, "it'll mean his sword and
shoulder straps--if not a bullet! Come on!"
He turned away, to scramble over the wall, but Trooper O'Connell caught
his arm.
"Hold on! Ye may get in trouble."
In answer Dudley broke away and doggedly kept on towards the stone wall
and the road. "Keep off," he snarled. "_I'm_ running this."
"I know ye are," the trooper replied, "but wait," and he pointed to the
rear. "Don't forgit that the Colonel's out yonder reconnoiterin'. If he
happened to overtake ye on the road--"
Struck with the sudden thought Dudley paused. "Well, that's so," he
growled as he saw how easily he could be held for disobeying orders and
how quickly all his plans for vengeance could be smashed. He stood still
for a moment gnawing his lip, then suddenly struck his doubled fist into
the palm of the other hand.
"Then you stay here to guard the prisoner," he said. "I'll cut through
the woods--make my report--come back with the horses--and my authority."
"Here, Smith! You and Judson come along with me. Never mind the grub.
We'll get that later."
Turning to O'Connell, "If you hear anyone coming, take those two into
the woods. Collins! You'll have to stay on sentry duty till I get back.
If any troops pass here, get out of sight at once and give Harry
warning. Now, boys--come along with me--we'll take it on the trot," and
climbing quickly over the wall the man who held two lives in the hollow
of his hand ran down the road with the two troopers, finally cutting
over into the woods and disappearing from view.
Gary and Virgie stood still by the spring. Out in the road the sentry
paced back and forth. Behind them Trooper O'Connell stood on guard, his
carbine in his arms across his breast.
Virgie pulled gently at her father's hand.
"Daddy," she whispered, "are they--are they goin' to carry us off to the
Yankee camp?"
"I'm afraid so, darling, but I don't know," he answered sadly. "We'll
just have to wait. Wait," he repeated, as he sat down on a rock and drew
her close to him. Without being seen either by Virgie or O'Connell he
picked up a jagged stone the size of his fist and hid it under his knee
against the rock. It would be a poor weapon at best, but Cary had grown
desperate and if the trooper once turned his back and gave him
opportunity poor Harry O'Connell would wake up with a very bad headache
and Virgie would be in Richmond.
But Virgie's eyes were on neither the hidden stone nor her father's
watchful, relentless face. All that Virgie could see was a knapsack open
on the ground and food--real food displayed round about with a
prodigality which made her mouth water and her eyes as big as saucers.
"Daddy," she murmured, clutching at his sleeve, "while we are waitin' do
you reckon we could take just a _little_ bit of that?"
"No, dear--not now," her father answered, with a touch of impatience. It
would be too much, even in those bitter times, to accept a man's food
and then break his head for it.
"Well," said Virgie, completely mystified at the restraint, "I don't see
why they shouldn't be polite to us. We were just as polite as could be
when the Yankees took our corn."
Just then the young Irishman with the carbine turned around and caught
the wan look on Virgie's face and the hunger appeal in her big dark
eyes. At once a broad smile broke over his freckled countenance and he
gestured hospitably with his gun.
"Have somethin' to eat, little wan."
Cary's knee loosened. The jagged stone fell to the ground.
"Thank you, old fellow," he cried, springing to his feet. "I can't show
my gratitude to you in any substantial way at present--but God bless
you, just the same." He dropped down on the rock again and hid his face
in his hands. Another moment and the kindhearted trooper might have been
lying face downwards in the muddy ground around the spring. It had been
only touch-and-go, but the man's warm Irish heart had saved him.
"Oh, that's all right, sir," O'Connell answered freely. "Sure an' _I'd_
like to see ye get through, though I ain't the Gineral. At least, not
yet," he grinned.
"There ye are, little girl," he went on, pushing the knapsack over
towards Virgie with the muzzle of his carbine. "Jist help yerself--an'
give yer dad some, too."
With a little cry of delight Virgie swooped down on the knapsack and
explored its interior with eager hands.
"I'm much obliged, Mr. Yankee. We cert'ny do need it--bad." She tossed
the tangled hair back from her eyes and looked thankfully up at this
curious person who had so much food that he could really give part of it
away. "Please, Mr. Yankee--won't you tell me your name?"
"Harry O'Connell, at your service, miss."
"Thank you," she bowed. "I'm very glad to meet you." Then her searching
hands found something wonderful in the knapsack and she sprang up and
ran with her prizes to her father.
"Look, Daddy--_two biscuits!_ Take one. It's--it's _real_!"
Cary's eyes grew moist.
"Thank you, darling. Thank you." Just now the lump in his throat would
not have allowed him to eat soup, let alone a rather hard biscuit, but
he looked up with a laugh and waved a genial salute to the trooper, who
as genially responded.
Virgie, however, had become quite single minded since she had discovered
food, and with a happy sigh she raised the biscuit to her lips. Just
then the sentry in the road flung up his hand with a shout.
"Look out, O'Connell! They're coming," and he clambered quickly over the
wall and dropped behind it, his gun in readiness.
"What is it?" demanded the other trooper.
"Detachment of cavalry. A small one."
"But whose is it, man. Can ye not see?"
Collins, holding his hand behind him in a gesture which commanded them
to stay where they were, raised his head cautiously over the wall.
"Morrison's," he answered, after a quick look, and he dropped down again
out of sight.
At the sound of hoof beats and the name she remembered so well Virgie,
with her biscuit all untasted, sprang up from the ground as if she would
run out on the road. But her father caught her, for O'Connell had turned
to them with a serious face.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I'll have to trouble ye to get under cover in the
woods. No argymint, sir," he said decisively, as he saw some show of
resistance on Cary's part. "I'm under orders."
"Yes, yes, I know," Cary cried, impatiently, "but I want to speak to
Colonel Morrison. I _must_ speak to him. Give me a moment, man. You
won't ever regret it."
"Come now--none o' that," commanded the trooper, pushing him back with
the carbine across his breast. "Don't make me use force, sir. Ye'll have
to go--so go quietly. And mind--no shenanigan!"
Cary stood his ground for a moment, meeting the trooper eye to eye--then
turned with hanging head and walked a few steps back into the woods.
"Come, Virgie," he said, "I guess we won't get to see Colonel Morrison
after all."
But Virgie, being a woman, had her own ideas about what she would or
would not do. At the same moment that the trooper was forcing her father
step by step back into the woods, Virgie was running madly towards the
stone wall and before either of the soldiers could stop her she had
clambered up on its broad top and was calling out to a man who clattered
by at the head of a troop of cavalry.
"Colonel Morrison! Colonel Morrison!"