A Perplexing Question.
Tom Somers, who had had some experience, in a small way, in the kind of business now before him, was filled with hope when he had adopted his plan. He was a resolute and energetic young man, and to resolve upon any thing was almost equivalent to doing it. There were a great many difficulties in the way of success, it is true; but, nothing daunted by these, he determined to persevere. The church in which the prisoners were confined was carefully guarded on the exterior, and the sentinels carried loaded muskets in their hands—so that the affair before him was more hazardous and trying than that of escaping from the attic chamber of Squire Pemberton’s house in Pinchbrook.
If he succeeded in making his way out of the church and eluding the guard which surrounded it, even then his trials would only have commenced; for there were many miles of hostile country between him and Washington, whither he supposed the Federal army had been driven. The captain who intended to escape at the same time gave him some information which would be of service to him in finding his way to the Potomac. He charged him particularly to follow the railroad, which would conduct him to Alexandria, in the vicinity of which he would probably find the regiment.
At dark the prisoners disposed of themselves as well as they could for the night. Tom saw the captain go through all the forms of preparing for a comfortable lodging, and he did the same himself. For hours he lay ruminating upon his purpose. When it was midnight, he thought it was time for him to commence the enterprise. He worked himself along on the floor till he reached the principal entrance. The door was open, as it had been all day, to enable the guards to obtain an occasional view of the prisoners.
The sentinels were evidently in no condition to discharge their duties with fidelity, for they had been marching and fighting for two or three days, and were nearly exhausted. Leaning against the door, Tom discovered a musket, which the careless guard had left there. On the floor in the entry lay two rebel soldiers. They had stretched themselves across the threshold of the door, so that no one could pass in or out of the church without stepping over them.
Tom carefully rose from his recumbent posture, and took possession of the musket. Then, with the utmost prudence, he stepped over the bodies of the sleeping soldiers; but with all his circumspection, he could not prevent one of his shoes from squeaking a little, and it required only a particle of noise to rouse the guard.
“Who goes there?” demanded one of them, springing to his feet.
“Is this the way you do your duty?” replied Tom, as sternly as though he had been a brigadier general.
“Who are you?” said the soldier, apparently impressed by the words and the tones of him who reproved his neglect.
“Who am I, you sleepy scum! I’ll let you know who I am in about ten minutes,” added Tom, as he passed out at the front door of the church.
“Give me back my gun—won’t you?” pleaded the confused sentinel.
“I’ll give it back to you at the court-martial which will sit on your case to-morrow.”
“Who goes there?” challenged one of the sentinels on the outside.
“Who goes there!” added Tom, in a sneering tone. “Have you waked up? Where were you five minutes ago, when I passed this post? There won’t be a prisoner left here by morning. The long roll wouldn’t wake up such a stupid set of fellows.”
“Stop, sir!” said the astonished sentinel. “You can’t pass this line.”
“Can’t I, you stupid fool? I have passed it while you were asleep.”
“I haven’t been asleep.”
“Where have you been, then?” demanded Tom with terrible energy.
“Been here, sir.”
“I’ll court-martial the whole of you!”
“Stop, sir, or I’ll fire at you!” added the soldier, as Tom moved on.
“Fire at me! Fire, if you dare, and I’ll rid the army of one unfaithful man on the spot!” said the soldier boy, as he raised the musket to his shoulder.
“Don’t fire, you fool!” interposed one of the men whom Tom had roused from his slumbers in the entry. “Don’t you see he is an officer?”
“I’ll teach you how to perform your duty!” added Tom, as he walked away.
The soldier, governed by the advice of his companion, offered no further objection to the departure of Tom; and he moved off as coolly as though he had just been regularly relieved from guard duty. He had walked but a short distance before he discovered the camp of a regiment or brigade, which, of course, it was necessary for him to avoid. Leaving the road, he jumped over the fence into a field—his first object being to place a respectful distance between himself and the enemy.
The scene through which he had just passed, though he had preserved the appearance of coolness and self-possession, had been exceedingly trying to his nerves; and when the moment of pressing danger had passed, he found his heart up in his throat, and his strength almost wasted by the excitement. He felt as one feels when he has just escaped a peril which menaced him with instant death. It was singular that the soldier had not fired, but the fact that he did not convinced Tom that there is an amazing power in impudence.
For half an hour, he pursued his way with haste and diligence, but without knowing where he was going—whether he was moving toward Richmond or Washington. As the musket which he had taken from the church was not only an encumbrance, but might betray him, he threw it away, though, thinking some means of defence might be useful, he retained the bayonet, and thrust it in his belt. Thus relieved of his burden, he walked till he came to a road. As there was no appearance of an enemy in any direction, he followed this road for some time, and finally it brought him to the object of his search—the railroad.
But then came up the most perplexing question he had yet been called upon to decide. To that railroad, as to all others, there were, unfortunately, two ends—one of which lay within the Federal lines, and the other within the rebel lines. If Tom had been an astronomer, which he was not, the night was too cloudy to enable him to consult the stars; besides, some railroads are so abominably crooked that the heavenly orbs would hardly have been safe pilots. He did not know which was north, nor which was south, and to go the wrong way would be to jump out of the frying pan into the fire.
Tom sat down by the side of the road, and tried to settle the difficult question; but the more he thought, the more perplexed he became—which shows the folly of attempting to reason when there are no premises to reason from. He was, no doubt, an excellent logician; but bricks cannot be made without straw.
“Which way shall I go?” said Tom to himself, as he stood up and peered first one way and then the other through the gloom of the night.
But he could not see Washington in one direction, nor Richmond in the other, and he had not a single landmark to guide him in coming to a decision.
“I’ll toss up!” exclaimed he, desperately, as he took off his cap and threw it up into the air. “Right side up, this way—wrong side, that way; and may the fates or the angels turn it in the proper way.”
He stooped down to pick up the cap, and ascertain which way it had come down. It came down right side up, and Tom immediately started off in the direction indicated. Although he had no confidence in the arbitrament of the cap, he felt relieved to find the question disposed of even in this doubtful manner.
He kept both eyes wide open as he advanced, for if he had taken the wrong way a few miles of travel would bring him to the main camp of the rebels in the vicinity of Manassas Junction. He pursued his lonely journey for some time without impediment, and without discovering any camp, either large or small. He gathered new confidence as he proceeded. After he had walked two or three hours upon the railroad, he thought it was about time for Fairfax station to heave in sight, if he had chosen the right way—or for the rebel camps to appear if he had chosen the wrong way. With the first place he was familiar, as his regiment had encamped a short distance from it.
He was sorely perplexed by the non-appearance of either of these expected points. The country began to look wilder and less familiar as he proceeded. The region before him looked rugged and mountainous, and the dark outlines of several lofty peaks touched the sky in front of him. But with the feeling that every step he advanced placed a wider space between him and his captors at Sudley church, he continued on his way till the gray streaks of daylight appeared behind him.
This phenomenon promised to afford him a gleam of intelligence upon which to found a correct solution of his course. Tom knew that, in the ordinary course of events, the sun ought to rise in the east and set in the west. If he was going to the north, the sun would rise on his right hand—if to the south, on his left hand. The streaks of light grew more and more distinct, and the clouds having rolled away, he satisfied himself where the sun would appear. Contrary to both wings of his theory, the place was neither on his right nor his left, for it was exactly behind him. But his position might be upon a bend of the railroad whose direction did not correspond with the general course of the road. For half an hour longer, therefore, he pursued his way, carefully noting every curve, until he was fully convinced that his course was nearer west than north. The sun rose precisely as had been laid down in the programme, and precisely where he expected it would rise.
It was clear enough that he was not moving to the south; and, satisfied that he was in no danger of stumbling upon Richmond, his courage increased, and he plodded on till he discovered a small village—or what would be called such in Virginia—though it contained only a few houses. As he still wore the uniform of the United States army, he did not deem it prudent to pass through this village; besides, he was terribly perplexed to know what station it could be, and what had become of Fairfax. Though he must have passed through the country before, it did not look natural to him.
Leaving the railroad, he took to the fields, intending to pass round the village, or conceal himself in the woods till he could go through it in safety. After walking diligently for so many hours, Tom was reminded that he had a stomach. His rations on the preceding day had not been very bountiful, and he was positively hungry. The organ which had reminded him of its existence was beginning to be imperative in its demands, and a new problem was presented for solution—one which had not before received the attention which it deserved.
In the fields and forest he found a few berries; but all he could find made but a slight impression upon the neglected organ. If Tom was a philosopher, in his humble way, he was reasonable enough to admit that a man could not live without eating. At this point, therefore, the question of rations became a serious and solemn problem; and the longer it remained unsolved the more difficult and harassing it became.
After he had rested all the forenoon in a secluded spot, without interruption from man or beast, he decided to settle this question of rations once for all. If impudence had enabled him to pass a line of rebel sentries, it ought to furnish him with a dinner. Leaving his hiding place, he walked till he discovered a small house, at which he determined to apply for something to eat.
Chapter XVII.
Dinner and Danger.
The house at which Tom applied for food evidently did not belong to one of the “first families,” or, if it did, the owner’s fortunes had become sadly dilapidated. It was built of rough boards, with a huge stone chimney, which was erected on the outside of the structure. The humblest fisherman in Pinchbrook Harbor would have thought himself poorly accommodated in such a rough and rickety mansion.
If Tom’s case had not been growing desperate, he would not have run the risk of showing himself to any person on the “sacred soil” who was “to the manor born;” but his stomach was becoming more and more imperative in its demands, and he knocked at the front door with many misgivings, especially as his exchequer contained less than a dollar of clear cash.
The inmates were either very deaf or very much indisposed to see visitors; and Tom, after he had knocked three times, began to think he had not run any great risk in coming to this house. As nobody replied to his summons, he took the liberty to open the door and enter. The establishment was even more primitive in its interior than its exterior, and the soldier boy could not help contrasting it with the neat houses of the poor in his native town.
The front door opened into a large room without the formality of an entry or hall. In one corner of the apartment stood a bed. At one side was a large fireplace, in which half a dozen sticks of green wood were hissing and sizzling in a vain attempt to make the contents of an iron pot, which hung over them, reach the boiling point. No person was to be seen or heard on the premises, though the fire and the pot were suggestive of humanity at no great distance from the spot.
A door on the back side of the room was open, and Tom looked out in search of the occupants of the house. In the garden he discovered the whole family, consisting of a man and his wife, a girl of twelve, and a boy of ten. The man was digging in the garden, and the rest of the troupe seemed to be superintending the operation. The head of the family was altogether the most interesting person to Tom, for he must either shake hands or fight with him. He did not look like a giant in intellect, and he certainly was not a giant in stature. With the bayonet still in his belt, Tom was not afraid of him.
“How are you, people?” said Tom, as he walked towards the family, who with one accord suspended all operations, and gave their whole attention to the stranger.
“How are ye, yourself?” replied the man, rather gruffly.
“Do you keep a hotel?” demanded Tom, who concealed the anxiety of his heart under a broad grin.
“I reckon I don’t. What do you want here?”
“I want something to eat,” replied Tom, proceeding to business with commendable straight-forwardness.
“We hain’t got nothin’ here,” said the man, sourly. “That ain’t what ye come fur, nuther.”
“Must have something to eat. I’m not very particular, but I must have something.”
“You can’t hev it ’bout yere, no how. That ain’t what ye come fur, nuther.”
“If you know what I came for better than I do, suppose you tell me what it is,” added Tom, who was a little mystified by the manner of the man.
“You air one of them soger fellers, and you want me to ’list; but I tell yer, ye can’t do nothin’ of the sort. I’ll be dog derned if I’ll go.”
“I don’t want you to go,” protested Tom. “I’m half starved and all I want is something to eat.”
“Yer don’t reelly mean so.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Where d’yer come from?”
“From down below here. Have you seen any soldiers pass through this place?”
“I reckon I hev; but they hain’t seen me; and I reckon they won’t see me very soon;” and the man chuckled at his own cleverness in keeping clear of recruiting officers.
“I don’t want you, and if you will give me something to eat, you will get rid of me very quick.”
“Betsey, you kin feed the feller, if yer like, and I’ll go over and see whar the hogs is.”
The man dropped his shovel, and began to move off towards the woods, probably to see whether Tom would attempt to detain him. At the same time “Betsey” led the way into the house, and the visitor paid no further attention to the master.
“We hain’t got much to eat in the house,” said the woman, as they entered the room. “There’s some biled pork and pertaters in the pot, and we’ve got some bread, sech as ’tis.”
“It will do me very well. I’m hungry, and can eat any thing,” replied Tom.
The woman placed a tin plate on the table, and dished up the contents of the kettle on the fire. She added some cold hoe cake to the dinner, and Tom thought it was a feast fit for a king. He took a seat at the table, and made himself entirely at home. The food was coarse, but it was good, and the hungry soldier boy did ample justice to the viands. The boy and girl who had followed him into the house, stood, one on each side of him, watching him in speechless astonishment.
“Where did yer come from?” asked the woman, when Tom had about half finished his dinner.
“From down below,” replied Tom, rather indefinitely.
“Don’t b’long in these yere parts, I reckon?”
“No, marm.”
“Where are ye gwine?”
“Going to join my regiment.”
“Where is yer rigiment?”
“That’s more than I know, marm.”
“How long yer been travelling?” persisted the woman, who was perhaps afraid that the guest would eat up the whole of the family’s dinner, if she did not make some kind of a feint to attract his attention.
“Only a few days, marm.”
“Kin yer till me what all thet noise was about day ’fore yesterday?”
“Yes, marm; it was a big battle.”
“Gracious me! Yer don’t say so! Whar was it?”
“Down below Centreville.”
“Which beat?”
“The Confederates drove the Yankees off the field,” answered Tom, suspending business long enough to glance at the woman, and see how the intelligence was received.
“Yer don’t! Then they won’t want my old man.”
Tom was unable to determine whether his hostess was Union or “Secesh” from her words or her looks. He could not inform her whether they would want her old man or not. When he had eaten all he could, he proposed like an honest youth to pay for what he had eaten; but Betsey had the true idea of southern hospitality, and refused to receive money for the food eaten beneath her roof. She had a loaf of coarse bread, however, in which she permitted Tom to invest the sum of six cents.
“I am very much obliged to you, marm; and I shall be glad to do as much for you, any time,” said Tom, as he went towards the front door.
As he was about to open it, his ears were startled by an imperative knock on the outside. He stepped back to one of the two windows on the front of the house, where he discovered an officer and two “grayback” soldiers. The ghost of his grandmother would not have been half so appalling a sight, and he retreated to the back door with a very undignified haste.
“Gracious me!” exclaimed the lady of the house. “Who kin thet be?”
“An officer and two soldiers,” replied Tom, hastily.
“Then they are arter my old man!” said she, dropping into the only chair the room contained.
“Don’t say I’m here, marm, and I’ll help your husband, if they catch him. Tell them he has gone off to be absent a week.”
“He’d be absent more’n thet if he knowed them fellers was arter him.”
The woman moved towards the front door, and Tom through the back door; but as he was about to pass into the garden, he caught a glimpse of one of the graybacks in the rear of the house. For a moment his case seemed to be hopeless; but he retreated into the room again, just as the woman opened the front door to admit the officer. He could not escape from the house, and his only resource was to secure a hiding place within its walls. There were only two which seemed to be available; one of these was the bed, and the other the chimney. If any search was made, of course the soldiers would explore the bed first; and the chimney seemed the most practicable.
There was no time for consideration, for the woman had already opened the door, and was answering the questions of the Confederate officer; so Tom sprang into the fireplace, and, by the aid of the projecting stones, climbed up to a secure position. The chimney was large enough to accommodate half a dozen boys of Tom’s size. The fire had gone out, and though the stones were rather warm in the fireplace, he was not uncomfortable.
The fears of the lady of the house proved to be well grounded this time, for the party had actually come in search of her “old man;” and what was more, the officer announced his intention not to leave without him.
“He’s gone away fur a week, and he won’t be hum before the fust of August, no how,” said the woman resolutely, and adopting Tom’s suggestion to the letter.
“All nonsense, woman! He is about here, somewhere, and we will find him.”
“You may, if you kin.”
The officer then went out at the back door, as Tom judged by his footsteps, and the woman asked one of the children what had become of the other soldier man. The boy said he was up chimney. She then told them not to tell the officer where he was.
“What shell I do?” said she, placing herself before the fireplace.
“Don’t be alarmed. He will keep out of their way,” replied Tom.
“But the officer man said he was gwine to stay ’bout yere till he gits hum,” moaned the poor woman.
“He will not do any such thing. Your husband has the woods before him, and he won’t let them catch him.”
“Deary me! I’m ’feared they will.”
“Where are they now?”
“They’re gone out to look for him.”
The officer and his men returned in a few moments, having satisfied themselves that the proprietor of the place was not on the premises.
“Now we’ll search the house,” said the officer; and Tom heard them walking about in the room.
Of course the militia man could not be found, and the officer used some very unbecoming language to express his disapprobation of the skulker, as he called him.
“Woman, if you don’t tell me where your husband is, I’ll have you arrested,” said he, angrily.
“I don’t know myself. He’s gone off over the mountains to git some things. Thet’s all I know about it, and if yer want to arrest me, yer kin.”
But the officer concluded that she would be a poor substitute for an able bodied man, and he compromised the matter by leaving one of the privates, instructing him not to let the woman or the children leave the house, and to remain till the skulker returned.
This was not very pleasant information for Tom who perceived that he was likely to be shut up in the chimney for the rest of the day, and perhaps be smoked or roasted out at supper time. Climbing up to the top of his prison house, he looked over, and saw the officer and one private disappear in the woods which lay between the house and the railroad. Looking over the other way, he saw the coveted recruit approaching the house from beyond the garden.
Chapter XVIII.
The Rebel Soldier.
Tom Somers was not very well satisfied with his situation, for the soldier who had been left in possession of the house was armed with a musket, and the prospect of escaping before night was not very flattering. The patriarch of the family, who had such a horror of recruiting officers, was approaching, and in a few moments there would be an exciting scene in the vicinity.
Independent of his promise made to the woman to help her husband, if she would not betray him, Tom deemed it his duty to prevent the so-called Confederate States of America from obtaining even a single additional recruit for the armies of rebellion and treason. Without having any personal feeling in the matter, therefore, he was disposed to do all he could to assist his host in “avoiding the draft.” What would have been treason in New England was loyalty in Virginia.
The unfortunate subject of the Virginia militia law was unconsciously approaching the trap which had been set for him. He had, no doubt, come to the conclusion, by this time, that the hungry soldier boy was not a recruiting officer, or even the corporal of a guard sent to apprehend him, and he was returning with confidence to partake of his noonday meal. Tom, from his perch at the top of the chimney, watched him as he ambled along over the rough path with his eyes fixed upon the ground. There was something rather exciting in the situation of affairs, and he soon found himself deeply interested in the issue.
The unhappy citizen owing service to the Confederate States climbed over the zigzag fence that enclosed his garden, and continued to approach the rude dwelling which the law had defined to be his castle. Tom did not dare to speak in tones loud enough to be heard by the innocent victim of the officer’s conspiracy, for they would have betrayed his presence to the enemy. Sitting upon the top stones of the chimney, he gesticulated violently, hoping to attract his attention; but the man did not look up, and consequently could not see the signals.
He had approached within ten rods of the back door of the house, when Tom, fearing his footsteps might attract the attention of the soldier, ventured to give a low whistle. As this was not heeded, he repeated the signal when the man was within two or three rods of the house; but even this was not noticed, and throwing his head forward, so that the sound of his voice should not descend the chimney, he spoke.
“Halloo!” said he.
The man suddenly stopped, and looked up. Tom made signals with his hands for him to leave; but this mute language appeared not to be intelligible to him.
“Consarn yer picter, what are yer doin’ up thar?” said the proprietor of the castle, in tones which seemed to Tom as loud as the roar of the cannon at Bull Run.
“Hush! Hush!” replied Tom, gesticulating with all his might, and using all his ingenuity to invent signs that would convey to the militiaman the idea that he was in imminent danger.
“You be scotched!” snarled the man. “What are yer doin’? What ails yer?”
“They are after you!” added Tom, in a hoarse whisper.
The fellow most provokingly refused to hear him, and Tom thought his skull was amazingly thick, and his perceptions amazingly blunt.
“Now you come down from thar,” said he, as he picked up a couple of stones. “You act like a monkey, and I s’pose yer be one. Now make tracks down that chimley.”
But instead of doing this, Tom retreated into his shell, as a snail does when the moment of peril arrives. The soldier in the house was not deaf; and if he had been, he could hardly have helped hearing the stentorian tones of his victim. Instead of going out the back door, like a sensible man, he passed out at the front door, and in a moment more Tom heard his voice just beneath him.
“Halt!” shouted the soldier, as he brought his musket to his shoulder. “Your name is Joe Burnap.”
“That’s my name, but I don’t want nothin’ o’ you,” replied the embarrassed militiaman, as he dropped the stones with which he had intended to assault Tom’s citadel.
“I want something of you,” replied the soldier. “You must go with me. Advance, and give yourself up.”
“What fur?” asked poor Joe.
“We want you for the army. You are an enrolled militiaman. You must go with me.”
“Ill be dog derned if I do,” answered Joe Burnap, desperately.
“If you attempt to run away, I’ll shoot you. You shall go with me, dead or alive, and hang me if I care much which.”
Joe evidently did care. He did not want to go with the soldier; his southern blood had not been fired by the wrongs of his country; and he was equally averse to being shot in cold blood by this minion of the Confederacy. His position was exceedingly embarrassing, for he could neither run, fight, nor compromise. While matters were in this interesting and critical condition, Tom ventured to raise his head over the top of the chimney to obtain a better view of the belligerents. Joe stood where he had last seen him, and the soldier was standing within three feet of the foot of the chimney.
“What ye going to do, Joe Burnap?” demanded the latter, after waiting a reasonable time for the other to make up his mind.
“What am I gwine to do?” repeated Joe, vacantly, as he glanced to the right and the left, apparently in the hope of obtaining some suggestion that would enable him to decide the momentous question.
“You needn’t look round, Joe; you’ve got to come or be shot. Just take your choice between the two, and don’t waste my time.”
“I s’pose I can’t help myself,” replied Joe. “I’ll tell ye what I’ll do. I want to fix up things about hum a little, and I’ll jine ye down to the Gap to-morrow.”
“No you don’t, Joe Burnap!” said the soldier, shaking his head.
“Then I’ll jine ye to-night,” suggested the strategist.
“My orders are not to return without you, and I shall obey them.”
Mrs. Burnap, who had followed the soldier out of the house, stood behind him wringing her hands in an agony of grief. She protested with all a woman’s eloquence against the proceedings of the soldier; but her tears and her homely rhetoric were equally unavailing. While the parties were confronting each other, the soldier dropped his piece, and listened to the arguments of Joe and his wife. When he turned for a moment to listen to the appeals of the woman, her husband improved the opportunity to commence a retreat. He moved off steadily for a few paces, when the enemy discovered the retrograde march, and again brought the gun to his shoulder.
“None of that, Joe,” said the soldier, sternly. “Now march back again, or I’ll shoot you;” and Tom heard the click of the hammer as he cocked the piece. “I’ve fooled long enough with you, and we’ll end this business here. Come here, at once, or I’ll put a bullet through your head.”
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! For mercy’s sake don’t shoot,” cried Mrs. Burnap.
“I’ll give him one minute to obey the order; if he don’t do it then, I’ll fire. That’s all I’ve got to say.”
Tom saw by the soldier’s manner that he intended to execute his threat. He saw him brace up his nerves, and otherwise prepare himself for the bloody deed. But Tom did not think that Joe had the stubbornness or the courage, whichever it might be called, to run the risk of dodging the bullet. He foresaw, too, that, if Joe gave himself up, his hiding place would be exposed, and the soldier would have two prisoners to conduct back to his officer, instead of one. It was therefore high time for him to do something for his own protection, if not for that of his host.
The necessity of defending himself, or of doing something to cover his retreat in an emergency, had been anticipated by Tom, and he had made such preparations as the circumstances would admit. His first suggestion was to dart his bayonet down at the rebel soldier, as he had seen the fishermen of Pinchbrook harpoon a horse mackerel; but the chances of hitting the mark were too uncertain to permit him to risk the loss of his only weapon, and he rejected the plan. He adopted the method, however, in a modified, form, deciding to use the material of which the chimney was constructed, instead of the bayonet. The stones being laid in clay instead of mortar, were easily detached from the structure, and he had one in his hands ready for operations.
“Come here, Joe Burnap, or you are a dead man,” repeated the soldier, who evidently had some scruples about depriving the infant Confederacy of an able-bodied recruit.
Tom Somers, being unembarrassed by any such scruples, lifted himself up from his hiding place, and hurled the stone upon the soldier, fully expecting to hit him on the head, and dash out his brains. The best laid calculations often miscarry, and Tom’s did in part, for the missile, instead of striking the soldier upon the head, hit him on the right arm. The musket was discharged, either by the blow or by the act of its owner, and fell out of his hands upon the ground.
Now, a stone as big as a man’s head, does not fall from the height of fifteen feet upon any vulnerable part of the human frame without inflicting some injury; and in strict conformity with this doctrine of probabilities, the stone which Tom hurled down upon the rebel, and which struck him upon the right arm, entirely disabled that useful member. The hero of this achievement was satisfied with the result, though it had not realized his anticipations. Concluding that the time had arrived for an effective charge, he leaped out of the chimney upon the roof of the house, descended to the eaves, and then jumped down upon the ground.
The soldier, in panic and pain, had not yet recovered from the surprise occasioned by this sudden and unexpected onslaught. Tom rushed up to him, and secured the musket before he had time to regain his self-possession.
“Who are you?” demanded the soldier, holding up the injured arm with his left hand.
“Your most obedient servant,” replied Tom, facetiously, as he placed himself in the attitude of “charge bayonets.” “Have you any dangerous weapons about your person?”
“Yes, I have,” replied the soldier, resolutely, as he retreated a few steps, and attempted to thrust his left hand into the breast pocket of his coat.
“Hands down!” exclaimed Tom, pricking his arm with the bayonet attached to the musket. “Here, Joe Burnap!”
“What d’ yer want?” replied the proprietor of the house, who was as completely “demoralized” by the scene as the rebel soldier himself.
“Put your hand into this man’s pocket, and take out his pistol. If he resists, I’ll punch him with this,” added Tom, demonstrating the movement by a few vigorous thrusts with the bayonet.
With some hesitation Joe took a revolver from the pocket of the soldier, and handed it to Tom.
“Examine all his pockets. Take out everything he has in them,” added Tom, cocking the revolver, and pointing it at the head of the prisoner.
Joe took from the pockets of the rebel a quantity of pistol cartridges, a knife, some letters, and a wallet.
“Who’s this fur?” asked Joe, as he proceeded to open the wallet, and take therefrom a roll of Confederate “shin-plasters.”
“Give it back to him.”
“But this is money.”
“Money!” sneered Tom. “A northern beggar wouldn’t thank you for all he could carry of it. Give it back to him, and every thing else except the cartridges.”
Joe reluctantly restored the wallet, the letters, and the knife, to the pockets from which he had taken them. Tom then directed him to secure the cartridge box of the soldier.
“You are my prisoner,” said Tom; “but I believe in treating prisoners well. You may go into the house, and if your arm is much hurt, Mrs. Burnap may do what she can to help you.”
The prisoner sullenly attended the woman into the house, and Tom followed as far as the front door.
“Now, what am I gwine to do?” said Joe. “You’ve got me into a right smart scrape.”
“I thought I had got you out of one,” replied Tom. “Do you intend to remain here?”
“Sartin not, now. I must clear.”
“So must I; and we have no time to spare. Get what you can to eat, and come along.”
In ten minutes more, Tom and Joe Burnap were travelling towards the mountains.
Chapter XIX.
Through the Gap.
Joe Burnap was perfectly familiar with the country, and Tom readily accepted him as a guide; and, as they had a common object in view, neither had good cause for mistrusting the other. They walked, without stopping to rest, till the sun set behind the mountains towards which they were travelling.
“I reckon we needn’t hurry now,” said Joe, as he seated himself on a rock.
“I don’t think there is any danger of their catching us,” replied Tom, as he seated himself beside his fellow-traveller. “Can you tell me where we are?”
“I reckon I can. There ain’t a foot of land in these yere parts that I hain’t had my foot on. I’ve toted plunder of all sorts through these woods more’n ten thousand times.”
“Well, where are we?” asked Tom, whose doubts in regard to the locality had not yet been solved.
In the pressure of more exciting matters, he had not attempted to explain why he did not come to Fairfax station while following the railroad.
“If we keep on a little while longer, I reckon we shall come to Thoroughfare Gap,” answered Joe.
“But where do you live? What town is your house in?” asked Tom, who had never heard of Thoroughfare Gap before.
“Haymarket is the nearest town to my house.”
“What railroad is that over there?” asked Tom, who was no nearer the solution of the question than he had been in the beginning.
“That’s the Manassas Gap Railroad, I reckon,” replied Joe, who seemed to be astonished at the ignorance of his companion.
“Just so,” added Tom, who now, for the first time, comprehended where he was.
When he left Sudley church, he walked at random till he came to the railroad; but he had struck the Manassas Gap Railroad instead of the main line, and it had led him away from the great body of the rebels, though it also conducted him away from Washington, where he desired to go. He was perplexed at the discovery, and at once began to debate the question whether it was advisable for him to proceed any farther in this direction.
“I suppose you are a Union man—ain’t you?” said Tom, after he had considered his situation for some time.
Instead of answering this question, Joe Burnap raised his eyes from the ground, and fixed his gaze intently upon Tom. He stared at him for a moment in doubt and silence, and then resumed his former attitude.
“You don’t want to fight for the south,” added Tom; “so I suppose you don’t believe in the Southern Confederacy.”
“I don’t want to fight for nuther of ’em,” replied Joe, after a moment of further consideration. “If they’ll only let me alone, I don’t keer which beats.”
His position was certainly an independent one, and he appeared to be entirely impartial. The newspapers on either side would not have disturbed him. Patriotism—love of country—had not found a resting place in his soul. Tom had not, from the beginning, entertained a very high respect for the man; but now he despised him, and thought that a rebel was a gentleman compared with such a character. How a man could live in the United States, and not feel an interest in the stirring events which were transpiring around him, was beyond his comprehension. In one word, he so thoroughly despised Joe Burnap, that he resolved, at the first convenient opportunity, to get rid of him, for he did not feel safe in the company of such a person.
“Now which side do you fight fur?” asked Joe, after a long period of silence.
“For the Union side,” replied Tom, promptly.
“What are yer doin’ here, then?”
“I was in the battle below, and was taken prisoner, got away, and I want to get to Washington.”
“I reckon this ain’t the way to git thar,” added Joe.
“I doubt whether I can get there any other way.”
Just then, Tom would have given all the money he had in the world, and all that the government owed him, for a good map of Virginia—or even for a knowledge of geography which would have enabled him to find his way by the safest route to Washington. But he had been a diligent scholar in school, and had faithfully improved the limited opportunities which had been afforded him. His mind could recall the map of Virginia which he had studied in school, but the picture was too faint to be of much practical benefit to him.
He had treasured up some information, derived from the newspapers, in regard to the Manassas Gap Railroad. He knew that it passed through the Blue Ridge, at the western base of which flowed the Shenandoah River: this emptied into the Potomac, which would certainly conduct him to Washington. In following these two rivers, he should have to describe nearly a circle, which was not an encouraging fact to a boy on foot, with no resources, and in an enemy’s country.
If he returned by the way he came, the country was filled with rebel soldiers, and he could hardly expect to pass through their lines without being captured. Difficult and dangerous as the route by the Shenandoah appeared, he decided to adopt it.
Joe Burnap proposed that they should have supper and opened the bag which he had filled with such eatables as he could hastily procure on leaving home. They ate a hearty meal, and then resumed their walk for another hour.
“I reckon we’d better stop here,” said Joe. “The Gap’s only half a mile from here, and it’s too arly in the night to go through thar yet. Thar’s too many soldiers goin’ that way.”
“What time will you go through?” asked Tom.
“Not afore midnight.”
“Then I’ll turn in and take a nap. I didn’t sleep any last night.”
“I’m agreed,” replied Joe, who seemed to be indifferent to every thing while he could keep out of the rebel army.
Tom coiled up his body in the softest place he could find, and went to sleep. Exhausted by fatigue and the want of rest, he did not wake for many hours. He came to his senses with a start, and jumped upon his feet. For a moment, he could not think where he was; but then came the recollection that he was in the country of his enemies—a wanderer and a fugitive.
He looked about him in search of his travelling companion; but the fact that he could not see him in the night was no argument that he was not near him. He supposed Joe had chosen a place to sleep in the vicinity, and thinking he might not wake in season to pass through the Gap before daylight, he commenced a search for him. He beat about the place for half an hour, calling his companion by name; but he could not see him, and no sound responded to the call but the echoes of his own voice.
The independent Virginia farmer had anticipated Tom’s intention to part company with him, and, by this time, perhaps, had passed through the Gap. The soldier boy was not quite ready to dispense with the services of his guide, inasmuch as he did not even know where the Gap was, or in what direction he must travel to reach it. While he was debating his prospects, an enterprising rooster, in the distance, sounded his morning call. This assured him that he must be near some travelled road, and, taking the direction from the fowl, he resumed his journey.
A short walk brought him out of the woods, and, in the gray light of the dawn, he discovered a house. As he did not care to make any new acquaintances, he avoided the house, and continued his travels till he arrived at a road. As it was too early in the morning for people to be stirring, he ventured to follow the highway, and soon perceived an opening in the mountains, which he doubted not was the Gap.
At sunrise he arrived at another house, which suddenly came into view as he rounded a bend in the road. Near it were several negroes engaged in various occupations. As he passed the house, the negroes all suspended operations, and stared at him till he was out of sight. He soon reached the Gap; but he had advanced only a short distance before he discovered a battery of light artillery stationed on a kind of bluff, and whose guns commanded the approaches in every direction.
Deeming it prudent to reconnoitre before he proceeded any farther, he also ascertained that the Gap was picketed by rebel infantry. Of course it was impossible to pass through under these circumstances, and he again took to the woods. The scanty supply of food which he had purchased from Mrs. Burnap was now produced, and he made an economical breakfast. Finding a secluded place, he stretched himself upon the ground, and went to sleep. Though he slept till the sun had passed the meridian, the day was a very long one.
When it was fairly dark, he resolved to attempt the passage of the Gap, for he was so tired of inaction that peril and hardship seemed preferable to doing nothing. Returning to the road, he pursued his way with due diligence through the narrowing defile of the mountains, till he suddenly came upon a sentinel, who challenged him. Before he started from his hiding place, Tom had carefully loaded the revolver which he had taken from the rebel soldier; and, as he walked along, he carried the weapon in his hand, ready for any emergency that might require its use.
The guard questioned him, and Tom replied that he had fought in the battle down below, and had a furlough to go home and see his father, who was very sick.
“Where’s your furlough?” demanded the soldier.
“In my pocket.”
“Let me see it.”
“Here it is,” replied Tom, producing an old letter which he happened to have in his pocket.
The sentinel took the paper, unfolded it, and turned it over two or three times. It was too dark for him to read it if he had been able to do so, for all the rebel soldiers are not gifted in this way.
“I reckon this won’t do,” he added, after patiently considering the matter. “Just you tote this paper up to the corporal thar, and if he says it’s all right, you kin go on.”
“But I can’t stop to do all that. Here’s my pass, and I want to go on. My father may die before I get home.”
“What regiment do you b’long to?” asked the guard, who evidently did not wish to disoblige a fellow-soldier unnecessarily.
“The Second Virginia,” replied Tom, at a venture.
“Where does your father live?” continued the sentinel.
“Just beyond the Gap, if he’s living at all.”
“What town?”
Tom was nonplussed, for he did not know the name of a single place on the route before him; and, of course, he did not dare to answer the question.
“About five or six miles from here,” he answered.
“Is it Salem or White Plains?” demanded the soldier, whose cunning was inferior to his honesty.
“White Plains,” added Tom, promptly accepting the suggestion.
“What’s the matter with your father?”
“I don’t know; he was taken suddenly.”
“Pears like your uniform ain’t exactly our sort,” added the soldier.
“Mine was all used up, and I got one on the battle-field.”
“I wouldn’t do that. It’s mean to rob a dead man of his clothes.”
“Couldn’t help it—I was almost naked,” replied Tom, who perfectly agreed with the rebel on this point.
“You kin go on, Old Virginny,” said the soldier, whose kindly sympathy for Tom and his sick father was highly commendable.
The soldier boy thanked the sentinel for his permission, of which he immediately availed himself. Tom did not yet realize the force of the maxim that “all is fair in war,” and his conscience gave a momentary twinge as he thought of the deception he had practised upon the honest and kind-hearted rebel. He was very thankful that he had not been compelled to put a bullet through his head; but perhaps he was more thankful that the man had not been obliged to do him a similar favor.
The fugitive walked, with an occasional rest, till daylight the next morning. He went through three or four small villages. After passing through the Gap, he had taken the railroad, as less likely to lead him through the more thickly settled parts of the country. Before him the mountains of the Blue Ridge rose like an impassable wall, and when the day dawned he was approaching Manassas Gap. He had walked twenty-five miles during the night, and prudence, as well as fatigue, required him to seek a place of rest.
Chapter XX.
Down the Shenandoah.
In that wild mountain region, Tom had no difficulty in finding a secluded spot, where there was no probability that he would be molested. He had been in a state of constant excitement during the night, for the country was full of soldiers. The mountaineers of Virginia were rushing to the standard of rebellion. They were a wild, rude set of men, and they made the night hideous with their debauchery. Tom succeeded in keeping out of the way of the straggling parties which were roaming here and there; but he was filled with dread and anxiety lest he should, at the next moment, stumble upon a camp, or a squad of these marauders.
The nook in the mountains which he had chosen as his resting place was a cleft in the rocks, concealed by the overhanging branches of trees. Here he made his bed, as the sun rose, and, worn out with fatigue and anxiety, he dropped asleep.
When he awoke, the sun was near the meridian. He rose and walked out a short distance from his lodging place, and listened for any sounds which might indicate the presence of an enemy. All was still; silence deep and profound reigned through the solitudes of the mountains. Tom returned to his place of concealment, and after eating the remainder of the food he had brought with him, he stretched himself upon the ground, and went to sleep again. He had nothing else to do, and he needed all the rest he could obtain. It was fortunate for him that he had self-possession enough to sleep—to banish his nervous doubts and fears, and thus secure the repose which was indispensable to the success of his arduous enterprise.
It was after sundown when he finished his second nap. He had slept nearly all day,—at least ten hours,—and he was entirely refreshed and restored. He was rather stiff in some of his limbs when he got up; but he knew this would wear off after a little exercise. He had no supper with which to brace himself for the night’s work; so he took a drink from the mountain stream, and made his way back to the railroad. But it was too early then to commence the passage of the Gap, and he sat for a couple of hours by the side of the road, before he ventured to resume his journey.
While he was passing through the narrow gorge in the mountains, he met several persons, on foot and on horseback; but as he was armed with a pistol, he did not turn out for them; but when a party of soldiers approached, he sought a hiding place by the side of the road until they were out of hearing. When he had passed through the Gap, he came to a road crossing the track, and after debating the question thoroughly, he decided to abandon the railroad, and pursued his course by the common highway towards the North.
Continuing his journey diligently for a time longer, he came to another road, branching off to the left from the one he had chosen, which required further consideration. But his conclusion was satisfactory, and he continued on the same road, which soon brought him to a more thickly settled country than that through which he had been travelling.
By this time Tom’s stomach began to be rebellious again, and the question of rations began to assume a serious aspect. He was not suffering for food, but it was so much more comfortable to travel upon a full stomach than an empty one, that he could not pass a dwelling house without thinking of the contents of the cellar and closets. It was perfectly proper to forage on the enemy; but he could not eat raw chicken and geese, or the problem of rations would have been effectually settled by a demonstration on the hen-coops of the Shenandoah valley.
He came to a halt before a large mansion, which had the appearance of belonging to a wealthy person. Its larder and kitchen cupboards, he doubted not, were plentifully supplied with the luxuries of the season; and Tom thought he might as well obtain his provisions now, as wait till he was driven to desperation by hunger. He entered the front gate of the great house, and stepped upon the veranda in front of it. The windows reached down to the floor. He tried one of them, and found that it was not fastened. He carefully raised the sash and entered.
Tom was determined to put himself upon his impudence on the present occasion; but he satisfied himself that his revolver was in condition for instant use before he proceeded any farther. Passing from the front room to an apartment in the rear, he found a lamp and matches, and concluded that he would have some light on the subject, which was duly obtained. Leaving this room, he entered another, which proved to be the kitchen. A patient search revealed to him the lurking place of a cold roast chicken, some fried bacon, bread, and crackers.
Placing these things on the table, he seated himself to partake of the feast which the forethought of the occupants had provided for him. Tom began to be entirely at home, for having thrown himself on his impudence now; he did not permit any doubts or fears to disturb him; but the handle of his pistol protruded from between the buttons of his coat. He ate till he had satisfied himself, when he happened to think that the coffee pot he had seen in the closet might contain some cold coffee; and he brought it out. He was not disappointed, and even found sugar and milk. He poured out a bowl of the beverage, and, having prepared it to his taste, was about to conclude the feast in this genteel style, when he heard footsteps in the adjoining entry.
Tom determined not to be cheated out of his coffee, and instead of putting himself in a flurry, he took the bowl in one hand and the pistol in the other. The door opened, and a negro timidly entered the room.
“Well, sar!” said the servant, as he edged along the side of the room. “Hem! Well, sar!”
Tom took no notice of him, but continued to drink his coffee as coolly as though he had been in his mother’s cottage at Pinchbrook.
“Hem! Well, sar!” repeated the negro, who evidently wished to have the interloper take some notice of him.
But the soldier boy refused to descend from his dignity or his impudence. He finished the bowl of coffee as deliberately as though the darkey had been somewhere else.
“Well, sar! Who’s you, sar?”
“Eh, Blackee?”
“Who’s you, sar?”
“Good chicken! Good bread! Good bacon!” added Tom. “Are the folks at home, Blackee?”
“No, sar; nobody but de women folks, sar. Who’s you, sar?”
“It don’t make much difference who I am. Where’s your master?”
“Gone to Richmond, sar. He’s member ob Congress.”
“Then he’s in poor business, Blackee,” said Tom, as he took out his handkerchief, and proceeded to transfer the remnants of his supper to its capacious folds.
“Better luff dem tings alone, sar.”
But Tom refused to “luff dem alone,” and when he had placed them on the handkerchief, he made a bundle of them.
“Golly, sar! I’ll tell my missus what’s gwine on down here,” added the servant, as he moved towards the door.
“See here, Blackee,” interposed Tom, pointing his pistol at the negro; “if you move, I’ll put one of these balls through your skull.”
“De Lud sabe us, massa! Don’t shoot dis nigger, massa.”
“Hold your tongue then, and mind what I say.”
“Yes, massa,” whined the darkey, in the most abject tones.
“Now come with me, Blackee, and if you open your mouth, one of these pills shall go down your throat.”
Tom flourished his pistol before the negro, and led the way to the window by which he had entered the house. Passing out upon the veranda, he cautiously conducted the terrified servant to the road; and when they had gone a short distance, he halted.
“Now, Blackee, what town is this?” demanded Tom.
“Leeds Manor, sar,” replied the trembling negro.
“How far is it to the Shenandoah River?”
“Only two or tree miles, massa. Now let dis chile go home again.”
“Not yet.”
“Hab mercy on dis nigger dis time, and sabe him.”
“I won’t hurt you, if you behave yourself.”
Tom questioned him for some time in regard to the river, and the towns upon its banks; and when he had obtained all the information in regard to the valley which the servant possessed, he resumed his journey, driving the negro before him.
“Spare dis chile, massa, for de sake ob de wife and chil’n,” pleaded the unwilling guide.
“I tell you I won’t hurt you if you behave yourself,” replied Tom. “You’ll have the whole place down upon me in half an hour, if I let you go now.”
“No, massa; dis nigger won’t say one word ’bout you, nor de tings you took from de house—not one word, massa. Spare dis chile, and luff him go home.”
But Tom compelled him to walk before him till they came to the river. The place was called Seaburn’s Ford.
“Now, Blackee, if anybody wants me, tell them I’ve gone to Winchester,” said Tom, when he had ordered his escort to halt.
“No, massa, I won’t say one word,” replied the servant.
“If you do, I’ll shoot you the very next time I see you—depend upon that. You can go now.”
The negro was not slow to avail himself of this privilege, and ran off, evidently expecting a bullet from the revolver would overtake him before he had gone far, for he glanced fearfully over his shoulder, begging his captor not to shoot him.
Tom stood upon the bank of the Shenandoah. The negro had told him that he was about thirty miles from Harper’s Ferry, which he knew was in possession of General Patterson’s forces. Attached to a tree on the shore was a small flat-bottomed boat, which attracted the attention of the soldier boy. Tom was accustomed to boats, and the sight of this one suggested a change of programme, for it would be much easier to float down the stream, than to walk the thirty miles. This was a point which needed no argument; and unfastening the painter of the boat, he jumped in, and pushed off. Seating himself in the stern, with the paddle in his hand, he kept her head with the current, and swept down the rapid stream like a dreamy youth just starting upon the voyage of life.
Like the pilgrim on the sea of time, Tom was not familiar with the navigation of the Shenandoah, and he had neither chart nor compass to assist him. The current was very swift, and once in a while the bateau bumped upon a concealed rock, or bar of sand. Fortunately no serious accident occurred to him, though he found that the labor of managing the boat was scarcely less than that of walking.
There was one consolation about it; he was in no danger of missing the road, and he was not bothered by Confederate soldiers or inquisitive civilians. His light bark rushed on its way down the stream, without attracting the notice of any of the inhabitants, if any were abroad at that unseemly hour of the night. The difficulties of the navigation were overcome with more or less labor, and when the day dawned, Tom made up his mind that he had done a good night’s work; and choosing a secluded nook by the side of the river, he hauled up his boat, intending to wait for the return of darkness.
The place he had chosen appeared to be far from any habitation, and he ate his breakfast in a very hopeful frame of mind. Though he was not very tired or very sleepy, yet for the want of something better to do, he felt compelled to go to sleep, hoping, as on the previous day, to dispose of the weary hours in this agreeable manner. His pastime, however, was soon interrupted by loud shouts and the tramp of men, not far from the spot where he lay. A hurried examination of the surroundings assured him that he had chosen a resting place near one of the fords of the river, over which a rebel regiment was then passing.