by Oliver Optic
CHAPTER XXVI
A NIGHT IN PETERSBURG
The sergeant who had captured our hero seemed to be a very clever fellow,and appreciated the sterling merits of his captive. While he was rigidlydevoted to the discharge of his duty, he treated his prisoner with allthe consideration which one human being has the right to expect ofanother, whatever the circumstances under which they meet.
Somers was disgusted with the result of the adventure, even while he hadno reason to blame himself for any want of care or skill in conductinghis affairs under the trying circumstances. He was only a few hoursbehind his late companion, Captain de Banyan; whom he had now areasonable expectation of meeting again before the close of the day.
If Somers was disgusted with the issue of the adventure, he did not yetdespair of effecting his escape. This was all he had to live for atpresent; and he was determined not to lose sight of this great object ofexistence. Libby Prison was a flourishing institution, even at the timeof which we write; and he was determined not to be sent there, if humanenergy and perseverance could save him from such a fate. It was easier toavoid such a trap than it would be to get out of it after he had falleninto it. As he walked along with the talkative sergeant, he kept his eyesopen, ready to avail himself of any opportunity which might afford him areasonable prospect of shaking off his disagreeable companion.
His captor asked him a great many questions in regard to himself, and tothe Army of the Potomac on the other side of the river, which Somersanswered with skill and discretion; though we suppose that even a rigidmoralist would have excused some slight variations from the strict letterof the truth which crept into his replies. He was an officer in theYankee army; but he dared not acknowledge his rank, lest he should beaccused of being a spy. If he was a captain, he ought to have worn theuniform of his rank in order to have it recognized. As he was a private,his chance of spending the summer on Belle Isle was better than that forLibby. But, as Somers was fully resolved not to go to Richmond in advanceof the noble army whose fortunes and misfortunes he had shared, he didnot deem it necessary to consider what quarters he should occupy.
The sergeant was a faithful soldier. Somers found no opportunity to slipaway from his guard on the way to the camp. He was duly delivered to theofficer of the day, and his intimacy with his good-natured captor was atan end. The officer who was responsible for him made some inquiries inregard to the prisoner, and learned that he had escaped from the troopersin the morning. When he understood the case, as it was only eight milesto the railroad station, where the other prisoner was probably waiting aconveyance in the camp, he decided to send Somers forward at once,fearful that he might again take leave of his captors. From what he hadheard from Captain Osborn and the cavalry soldiers in charge of him, heconcluded that the young man was a person of more consequence than heappeared to be--that he was either high in rank, or guilty of enormousmilitary misdemeanors.
A two-horse wagon used for general business about the camp was broughtup, and Somers was sent forward in charge of two soldiers, who wereespecially ordered to shoot him if he attempted to escape; which theywould probably have done of their own free will and accord, without anyorders. The captive looked in vain for an opportunity to elude thevigilance of the guard; they hardly took their eyes off him during theride. Possibly they thought the young fellow was President Lincoln indisguise, and that the salvation of the Southern Confederacy dependedupon his safe delivery into the hands of the provost-marshal at Richmond.
The roads were very muddy from the recent rains, and it required twohours to accomplish the distance to the railroad station. On theirarrival, Somers was handed over to another officer in charge of the campat the station. Captain de Banyan had already been sent forward toPetersburg, and another train would not depart till evening. Somers wascarefully guarded during the remainder of the day, and an attempt to getaway would have been equivalent to committing suicide. At dark he was putinto a baggage-car, with two soldiers to guard him; and in a short timereached the city of Petersburg. With several other unfortunate Unionsoldiers, he was placed in a small room in the station-house, to remainuntil a train should start for Richmond. Of course, they were carefullyguarded; and Somers began to fear that he should, after all, be compelledto visit the rebel capital without the army.
The room was on the second floor, with two windows opening into thestreet; but the prisoners were charged, on penalty of being shot, not tolook out at them. There was not the ghost of a chance to operate undersuch unfavorable circumstances; and Somers gave up all thoughts of doinganything that night. Stretching himself on the floor, he tried to sleep;but his spirit was too great to permit him calmly to view the prospect ofa rebel prison. As he lay on the floor, he ransacked his brain for someexpedient which would save him from the horrors of Libby or Belle Isle.
The best scheme that suggested itself was to leap from the cars on theway to Richmond. It involved the liability to a broken neck or a brokenlimb; but he determined to watch for an opportunity to execute thisreckless purpose. His companions in bondage were worn out with longmarches, and all of them slept on the floor around him in a few momentsafter they entered the room. They had asked him some questions; but hekept his own counsel, and endeavored to cheer their desponding spiritswith the hope of being soon exchanged.
At last Somers went to sleep himself, after he had heard a church clockin the city strike eleven. He had slept none on the preceding night, andhis slumbers were as sound as if he had been in his attic-chamber in thecottage at Pinchbrook. Even the opening of the door, and the entrance ofthree men with a lantern, did not disturb him. One of the party was anofficer. He wore a military cloak over the gray uniform of theConfederate army.
"Which is the man?" demanded he in sharp tones of the two soldiers whoaccompanied him.
"I don't know which he is now," replied the corporal of the guard."What's his name?"
"Tom Leathers," answered the officer.
The corporal then passed round among the sleeping prisoners, and roughlykicked those who were asleep, including Somers, who sprang to his feet,and was rather disposed to make a "row" on account of this rudetreatment, before he remembered where he was.
"Now they are all awake," said the corporal when he had been the rounds."Is there any such man as Tom Leathers here?"
"Tom Leathers," repeated the officer in a loud tone.
No one answered to the name; but, in a moment, Somers happened to thinkthat this was the appellative which he had assumed when he was a pilotdown on the creek by the James River. He was evidently the personintended; but he was in doubt whether to answer the summons. Theantecedents of the young pilot of the James were not such as to entitlehim to much consideration at the hands of the rebels; and he was disposedto deny his identity. While he was debating the question in his own mind,the corporal repeated the name.
"There's no such man here," he added, turning to the officer.
"He must be here. He came up in the night train."
"He don't answer to his name."
"Hold your lantern, and let me look these prisoners in the face."
The corporal passed from one to another of the captives till he came toSomers; thrusting the lantern into the face of each, so that the officercould scan his features.
"What's your name?" he asked, as the corporal placed the lantern beforeSomers.
Not having made up his mind as to the effect of acknowledging hisidentity with the pilot, he made no reply.
"That's the man," said the officer decidedly.
"Is your name Tom Leathers?" added the corporal, as he made ademonstration with his bayonet at the prisoner.
"Put down your musket, corporal; you needn't be a brute to yourprisoners."
"I only wanted to make him answer the question. If you give me leave,I'll find a tongue for him."
"He is the man I want; bring him out," replied the officer.
"Bring him out? I beg your pardon, sir; but I don't know who you are. Ican't give up a prisoner without order
s."
The officer, who seemed to be suffering with a bad cold, and wore thecollar of his cloak turned up so as to conceal the greater part of hisface, opened the lower part of his garment, so that the corporal couldsee his uniform. At the same time he took from his pocket a paper, whichhe opened, and handed to the guard.
"That's all right," said the latter, when he had read the document. "Ofcourse, you will leave this with me?"
"Certainly. Now bring out the man; and lose no time, for I am in ahurry."
Somers was conducted from the room to the car-house below, where theofficer asked for a soldier to guard the prisoner to the office of theprovost-marshal, who was waiting for him. The corporal furnished the man;and the captive walked off between his two companions, bewildered by thesudden change which had taken place in the course of events. He could notimagine why he had been singled out from the rest of the prisoners in thestation-house, unless some specific and more definite charge than beingin arms against the great Southern Confederacy had been laid at his door.The most unpleasant thought that came to his mind was that Captain deBanyan had betrayed the object of his mission to the south side of theriver. There was good evidence that his fellow-officer had come over as aspy; and the hope of saving his own life might have induced him tosacrifice even one who had been his best friend.
It was not pleasant to think of Captain de Banyan as capable of doing somean an act; for he had been regarded in the regiment as the soul ofhonor,--of worldly honor, which scorns to do a vile thing if publicopinion has condemned it. But the astounding information which he hadobtained among the rebels concerning his friend's antecedents haddestroyed his confidence in him, and he was prepared for anything fromhim. In this light, his situation was almost hopeless; for the evidencewould certainly condemn him before any court-martial in the Confederacy,and the chances of escape were lessened by his separation from hisunfortunate companions in arms. He had probably been taken away from themto prevent even the possibility of exercising his talent in getting away,as he had done after his capture.
They walked in silence along the gloomy and deserted streets; and Somersfelt just as if he were marching to his execution. He knew that the rebelofficers had a summary way of dealing with cases like his own; and he wasprepared to be condemned, even before another sun rose to gladden himwith his cheerful light. He thought of his mother, of his father, of theother members of the family, and of the blow it would be to them to learnthat he had been hanged as a spy. He thought of Pinchbrook, of the happydays he had spent there, and of those who had been his true friends. Hethought of Lilian Ashford, the beautiful one, in the remembrance of whosesweet smile he had reveled every day since they parted, and which he hadhoped to enjoy again when war should no more desolate the land, and heshould be proudly enrolled with the heroes who had saved the nation fromruin.
All these pleasant memories, all these bright hopes, all these lovingforms, though present in his heart, seemed dim and distant to him. He hadnothing to hope for in the future on this side of the grave, nothing inthe present but an ignominious death on the scaffold. Yet it was sweet todie for one's country; and, disgraceful as his end might be in its form,it was still in the service of the nation. He felt happy in the thought;and, if there was nothing more on earth to hope for, there was still abright heaven beyond the deepest and darkest grave into which the hate oftraitors could plunge him, where the ruptured ties of this life are againrestored, never again to be subject to change and decay.
There was a tear in his eye as he thought of his fond mother; and he weptfor her when he could not weep for himself. No one saw that tear, and theofficer permitted him to indulge his sad revery in silence. But, afterthey had walked two or three squares, his companion in authority suddenlystopped.
"I have left a book, which I carried in my hand, at the depot," said he,in tones full of chagrin at his carelessness. "I must have it; for I cando nothing without it."
"Where did you leave it?" asked the soldier.
"In the guard-room. You may go back, and bring it to me. Give me yourgun; you needn't carry that."
"Where shall I find you?"
"Here, where you leave me. Go quick, my man."
"I won't be gone ten minutes," replied the soldier, as he started off ata run for the missing volume.
The officer took the gun, and stood by the side of his prisoner, at thecorner of the street, till the soldier disappeared in the darkness.Somers, still thinking of the sad fate which he was confident was instore for him, wished to confirm his impressions in regard to hisdestiny. His companion seemed to be a gentleman of a kindly nature,though stern in the discharge of his duty. It was possible that he wouldgive him some information in regard to the probable disposal of him.
"Will you tell me, sir, why I am separated from the rest of theprisoners?" said he, as soon as the sentinel had departed upon hiserrand.
"Because you are an officer."
"How do you know I am?" asked Somers, very desirous of ascertaining howmuch Captain de Banyan had told in regard to him.
"We know all about you," answered the officer, muffling his cloak moreclosely around his face, as if afraid the night air might injure hislungs as he opened his mouth.
"What do you know about me?"
"All about you."
"That isn't very definite."
"In a word, you are Captain Thomas Somers, of the --th regiment."
"Who told you that?"
"That's of no consequence."
"What is to be done with me?"
"I don't know."
"I suppose I am only a prisoner of war?"
"You crossed the James River in disguise, and went into our lines for thepurpose of obtaining information. I suppose you can put those two thingstogether."
Somers's worst fears were confirmed. He was to be tried as a spy, and DeBanyan had told all he knew about him. Before he had time to dwell on thedark prospect any longer, the officer said he was cold, and could notstand there any longer. Taking his prisoner by the arm, he led him downthe cross-street. Somers was just thinking of an attempt to bid hiscompanion good-night, when the latter spoke again:
"I shall catch my death from this night air," said he. "Just before thebattle of Magenta----"
"Captain de Banyan!" exclaimed Somers.