CHAPTER IX
IN GREATEST PERIL
"Wait!" commanded the minister. There was a new look, one of decision,upon his face. "Heaven forgive me," he said, "if I am not doing right--butI cannot send a man to the gallows!"
He took a step towards the door leading to the entry.
"Not a word, Cynthia," he ordered. He opened a large closet, filled withgroceries and preserving jars, quickly pushed George and Watson into it,and closed the door.
"Now, Rachel," he said, "let the men in." The girl departed. Within thespace of a minute nearly a dozen neighbors, all of them carrying muskets,trooped into the kitchen. They were sturdy planters, and they looked wetand out of humor.
"Well, Dominie," exclaimed one of them, walking up to the fire and warminghis hands, "you can thank your stars you're not out a mean night likethis. Have you heard about the big engine steal?"
"Friend Jason has written me about it," replied Mr. Buckley.
"Why, it was the most daring thing I ever heard tell on," cried another ofthe party. "A lot of Yankees actually seized Fuller's train when he waseating his breakfast at Big Shanty, and ran it almost to Chattanooga. Theyhad pluck, that's certain!"
"We're not here to praise their pluck," interrupted another man. "We arehere to find out if any of 'em have been seen around your place. We'vebeen scouring the country for two hours, but there's no trace of any of'em so far--not even of the man with the boy and the dog, as Jason's sonsaid he saw."
"Why didn't Jason's son tackle the fellows?" asked a voice.
"Pooh," said the man at the fireplace; "Jason's son ain't no 'count. Allhe's fit for is to dance with the girls. It's well our army doesn't dependon such milksops as him. He would run away from a mosquito--and cry aboutit afterwards!"
"You haven't seen any one suspicious about here, have you, parson?" askeda farmer.
The minister hesitated. He had never told a deliberate falsehood in hislife. Was he to begin now?
"Seen no suspicious characters?" echoed the man at the fireplace. "No boywith a dog?"
The tongue of the good clergyman seemed to cleave to the roof of hismouth. He could see the eagle glance of Miss Cynthia fixed upon him. Justthen Waggie, who had been sniffing at the closet door, returned to thefireplace.
"Why, since when have you started to keep dogs, parson?" asked the lastspeaker.
The minister had an inspiration.
"That dog walked in here this evening," he said. "I believe him to be thedog of the boy you speak of." He spoke truth, but he had evaded answeringthe leading question.
"Great George!" cried the man at the fireplace. "Then some of the spiesare in the neighborhood yet!" There were shouts of assent from hiscompanions.
"When did the dog stray in?" was asked.
"More than an hour ago," said Mr. Buckley.
"Come, let's try another hunt!" called out a young planter. The men wereout of the house the next minute, separating into groups of two and threeto scour the countryside. The lights of their lanterns, which had shoneout in the rain like will-o'-the-wisps, grew dimmer and dimmer, andfinally disappeared.
As the front door closed the minister sat down near the table, and buriedhis face in his hands.
"I wonder if I did wrong," he said, almost to himself. "But I could nottake a life--and that is what it would have been if I had given them up."
"Pa, you're too soft-hearted for this world," snapped Miss Cynthia.
Mrs. Buckley looked at her daughter reprovingly.
"Your father is a minister of the gospel," she said solemnly, "and he hasshown that he can do good even to his enemies."
Mr. Buckley arose, and listened to the sound of the retreating neighbors.Then he opened the door of the closet. Watson and George jumped outjoyfully, half smothered though they were, and began to overwhelm the oldman with thanks for their deliverance.
He drew himself up, however, and refused their proffered hand shakes.There was a stern look on his usually gentle face.
"I may have saved your necks," he said, "because I would sacrifice nohuman life voluntarily, but I do not forget that you are enemies who haveentered the South to do us all the harm you can."
"Come," said Watson, "it's a mere difference of opinion. I don't care whathappens, George and I will never be anything else than your bestfriends!"
"That is true," cried George; "you can't call us enemies!"
The manner of the minister softened visibly; even Miss Cynthia looked lessaggressive than before.
"Well, we won't discuss politics," answered Mr. Buckley. "You have as muchright to your opinions as I have to mine. But I think I have done all Icould be expected to do for you. Here, take this key, which unlocks thedoor of my barn, and crawl up into the hayloft where you can spend thenight. If you are there, however, when I come to feed the horse, at seveno'clock to-morrow morning, I will not consider it necessary to keep silentto my neighbors."
"Never fear," said Watson, in genial tones; "we'll be away by daylight.Good-bye, and God bless you. You have done something to-night that willearn our everlasting gratitude, little as that means. Some day thiswretched war will be over--and then I hope to have the honor of shakingyou by the hand, and calling you my friend."
Watson and George were soon safely ensconced for the night in theminister's hayloft, with Waggie slumbering peacefully on top of a mound ofstraw.
"I think we are more comfortable than our pursuers who are running aroundthe country," said George. He was stretched out next to Watson on the hay,and over him was an old horse-blanket.
"Thanks to dear old Buckley," answered Watson. "He is a realSoutherner--generous and kind of heart. Ah, George, it's a shame that theAmericans of one section can't be friends with the Americans of the othersection."
Then they went to sleep, and passed as dreamless and refreshing a night asif there were no dangers for the morrow. At the break of day they were upagain, and out of the barn, after leaving the key in the door.
"I feel like a general who has no plan of campaign whatever," observedWatson, as he gazed at the minister's residence, in the uncanny morninglight, and saw that no one had as yet arisen.
"I guess the campaign will have to develop itself," answered George. Thenight's rest, and the good supper before it, had made a new boy of him.Twelve hours previously he had been exhausted; now he felt in the mood toundergo anything.
The two walked out of the garden, accompanied by Waggie, and so on untilthey reached an open field. Here they sat down, on the limb of a dead andstricken tree, and discussed what they were to do.
"We don't know," mused Watson, "whether any of our party have been caughtor not. But one thing is as certain as sunrise. Just as soon as themorning is well advanced the pursuers will begin their work again, andthey will have all the advantage--you and I all the disadvantage."
"The men will be on horseback, too," added George, "while we will be onfoot. We must remember that."
"Jove," cried Watson, giving his knee a vigorous slap. "I've got anidea."
"Out with it," said George.
"Listen," went on his friend. "Here is the situation. If we try to push tothe westward, to join Mitchell's forces, in broad daylight, or even atnight, we are pretty sure to be captured if we try to palm ourselves offas Kentucky Southerners. If we hide in the woods, and keep away frompeople, we will simply starve to death--and that won't be much of animprovement. That Kentucky story won't work now; it has been used too muchas it is. Therefore, if we are to escape arrest, we must change ourcharacters."
"Change our characters?" repeated George, in wonderment.
"Exactly. Suppose that we boldly move through the country as twoprofessional beggars, and thus gradually edge our way to the westward,without appearing to do so. You can sing negro songs, can't you?"
"Yes; and other songs, too."
"That's good. And Waggie has some tricks, hasn't he?"
"He can play dead dog--and say his prayers--and howl when I sing--and dosome other tricks."
"Then I've got the whole scheme in my mind," said Watson, with enthusiasm."Let me play a blind man, with you as my leader. I think I can fix my eyesin the right way. We can go from farm to farm, from house to house,begging a meal, and you can sing, and put the dog through his tricks.People are not apt to ask the previous history of beggars--nor do I thinkany one will be likely to connect us with the train-robbers."
George clapped his hands.
"That's fine!" he said. There was a novelty about the proposed plan thatstrongly appealed to his spirit of adventure.
Watson's face suddenly clouded.
"Come to think of it," he observed, "the combination of a man, a boy and adog will be rather suspicious, even under our new disguise. RememberFarmer Jason's letter last night."
"That's all very well," retorted George, who had fallen in love with thebeggar scheme, "but if we get away from this particular neighborhood thepeople won't have heard anything about a dog or a boy. They will only knowthat some Northern spies are at large--and they won't be suspicious of ablind man and his friends."
"I reckon you're right," said Watson, after a little thought. "Let us getaway from here, before it grows lighter, and put the neighbors behindus."
The man and boy, and the telltale dog, jumped to their feet.
"Good-bye, Mr. Buckley," murmured Watson, as he took a last look at theminister's house, "and heaven bless you for one of the best men that everlived!"
They were hurrying on the next moment, nor did they stop until they hadput six or seven miles between themselves and the Buckley home. The sun,directly away from which they had been moving, was now shining brightly inthe heavens, as it looked down benevolently upon the well-soaked earth.They had now reached a plantation of some two hundred acres or more, inthe centre of which was a low, long brick house with a white portico infront. They quickly passed from the roadway into the place, and moved upan avenue of magnolia trees. When they reached the portico a lazy lookingnegro came shuffling out of the front door. He gazed, in a superciliousfashion, at the two whites and the dog.
"Wha' foah you fellows gwine come heh foah?" he demanded, in a rich,pleasant voice, but with an unwelcome scowl upon his face.
"We just want a little breakfast," answered Watson. He was holding theboy's arm, and looked the picture of a blind mendicant.
The darky gave them a scornful glance. "Git away from heh, yoh whitetrash," he commanded. "We doan want no beggars 'round heh!"
Watson was about to flare up angrily, at the impudent tone of this order,but when he thought of the wretched appearance which he and Georgepresented he was not surprised at the coolness of their reception. For notonly were their clothes remarkable to look upon, but they were withouthats. Even Waggie seemed a bedraggled little vagabond.
But George rose valiantly to the occasion. He began to sing "Old Folks atHome," in a clear sweet voice, and, when he had finished, he gave aspirited rendition of "Dixie." When "Dixie" was over he made a signal toWaggie, who walked up and down the pathway on his hind legs with a comicalair of pride.
The expression of the pompous negro had undergone a great change. Hisblack face was wreathed in smiles; his eyes glistened with delight; hislarge white teeth shone in the morning light like so many miniaturetombstones.
"Ya! ya! ya!" he laughed. "Doan go way. Ya! ya! Look at de dog! Ho! ho!"
He reentered the house, but was soon back on the portico. With him came ahandsome middle-aged man, evidently the master of the house, and a troopof children. They were seven in all, four girls and three boys, and theyranged in ages all the way from five to seventeen years.
No sooner did he see them than George began another song--"Nicodemus, theSlave." This he followed by "Massa's in the cold, cold ground." As heended the second number the children clapped their hands, and the masterof the house shouted "Bravo!" Then the boy proceeded to put Waggie throughhis tricks. The dog rolled over and lay flat on the ground, with his pawsin the air as if he were quite dead; then at a signal from his master hesprang to his feet and began to dance. He also performed many other clevertricks that sent the children into an ecstasy of delight. Watson nearlyforgot his role of blind man, more than once, in his desire to see theaccomplishments of the terrier. But he saved himself just in time, andcontrived to impart to his usually keen eyes a dull, staring expression.
By the time Waggie had given his last trick the young people had left theportico and were crowding around him with many terms of endearment. One ofthem, seizing the tiny animal in her arms, ran with him into the house,where he must have been given a most generous meal, for he could eatnothing more for the next twenty-four hours.
The handsome man came off the portico and looked at the two supposedbeggars with an expression of sympathy.
"You have a nice voice, my boy," he said, turning to George. "Can't youmake better use of it than this? Why don't you join the army, and sing tothe soldiers?"
George might have answered that he already belonged to one army, and didnot feel like joining another, but he naturally thought he had better notmention this. He evaded the question, and asked if he and the "blind man"might have some breakfast.
"That you can!" said the master, very cordially. "Here, Pompey, take thesefellows around to the kitchen and tell Black Dinah to give them a _good_meal. And when they are through bring them into my study. I want the boyto sing some more."
The black man with the white teeth escorted the strangers to the kitchenof the mansion, where an ebony cook treated them to a typical southernfeast. It was well that Black Dinah had no unusual powers of reasoning orperception, for the beggars forgot, more than once, to keep up theirassumed roles. Watson found no difficulty in eating, despite his supposedinfirmity, and George came within an inch of presenting a Confederate billto Madame Dinah. But he suddenly reflected that paupers were not supposedto "tip" servants, and he stuffed the money back into his trouserspocket.
When they had finished Pompey escorted them to the study of the master ofthe house. It was a large room, filled with books and family portraits,and in it were assembled the host (Mr. Carter Peyton) and his children.The latter were still engaged in petting Waggie, who began to look atrifle bored. From the manner in which they ruled the house it was plainthat their father was a widower. At the request of Mr. Peyton, George sanghis whole repertoire of melodies, and the dog once more repeated histricks. Watson was given a seat in one corner of the study. "It's time wewere off," he thought.
As Waggie finished his performance Watson rose, and stretched out his handtowards George.
"Let's be going," he said.
"All right," answered George. He was about to say good-bye, and lead hiscompanion to the door, when a turbaned negress entered the room.
"Massa Peyton, Massa Charles Jason done ride oveh heh ta see you."
"Is he here now?" asked Mr. Peyton. "Then show him in. I wonder what's thematter? It is not often that Jason gets this far away from home." The girlretired.
Charles Jason! Where had the two Northerners heard that name? Then itflashed upon them almost at the same instant. Charles Jason was the nameof the farmer who had warned Mr. Buckley about them. If he saw them both,and in company with the dog, they would be under suspicion at once.
George drew nearer to Watson and whispered one word: "Danger!" He pickedup Waggie and put him in his pocket.
"We must be going," reiterated Watson, moving towards the door withunusual celerity for a blind man who had found himself in an unfamiliarapartment.
"Don't go yet," urged Mr. Peyton, seeking to detain the supposedvagabonds; "I want Mr. Jason to hear some of these plantation songs. I'llpay you well for your trouble, my boy--and you can take away all the foodyou want."
"I'm sorry," began George, "but----"
As the last word was uttered Farmer Charles Jason was ushered into thestudy. He was a chubby little man of fifty or fifty-five, with red hair,red face and a body which suggested the figure of a plump sparrow--akindly man, no doubt, in the ordinary course of events, but
the lastperson on earth that the two fugitives wanted to see.
"Well, this _is_ a surprise," said the master of the house, verycordially. "It's not often you favor us with a visit as far down thehighway as this."
"When a fellow has gout as much as I have nowadays," returned Jason, "hedoesn't get away from home a great deal. But something important made mecome out to-day."
"Nothing wrong, I hope?" asked Mr. Peyton.
George took hold of Watson's left hand, and edged towards the open door.But Mr. Peyton, not waiting for Jason to answer his question, leapedforward and barred the way.
"You fellows must not go until Mr. Jason has heard those negro melodies."
Owing to the number of people in the room (for all the children werethere), Jason had not singled out the Northerners for any attention. Butnow he naturally looked at them. There was nothing suspicious in hisglance; it was merely good-natured and patronizing.
"Yes, don't go," cried one of the children, a pretty little girl of ten oreleven. "Show Mr. Jason how the doggie can say his prayers." She hauledWaggie from George's coat, and held him in front of the farmer. Georgeseized Waggie and returned him to his pocket. There was an angry flush onthe boy's face. He had no kind feelings for pretty Miss Peyton.
Jason's expression underwent a complete transformation when he saw thedog. An idea seemed to strike him with an unexpected but irresistibleforce. The sight of the dog had changed the whole current of his thoughts.He stared first at Watson, and then at George, with a frown that grewdeeper and deeper. Then he turned to Mr. Peyton.
"I came over to tell you about the Yankee spies who are loose in thecounty," he cried quickly, in excited tones. "One of them was a boy with adog. My son saw them--and I believe this to be the lad. I----"
The farmer got no further.
"Come, George!" suddenly shouted Watson.
At the back of the study there was a large glass door leading out to therear porch of the house. He ran to this, found that it would not open, andso deliberately hit some of the panes a great blow with his foot.
Crash! The glass flew here and there in a hundred pieces. The next momentthe ex-blind man had pushed through the ragged edges of the remainingglass, and was scurrying across a garden at the back of the house. Afterhim tore George. In going through the door he had cut his cheek on one ofthe projecting splinters, but in the excitement he was quite unconsciousof the fact. The children and their father stood looking at Jason in adazed, enquiring way. They had not heard of the locomotive chase; theyknew nothing of Northern spies; they did not understand that the farmerhad suddenly jumped at a very correct but startling conclusion.
"After them!" shouted Jason. "They are spies!"
By this time the whole house was in an uproar. Most of the children werein tears (being frightened out of their wits at the mention of terriblespies), and the servants were running to and fro wringing their handshelplessly, without understanding exactly what had happened. Jason tore tothe broken door, broke off some more glass with the end of the riding whiphe held in his hand, and was quickly past this bristling barrier and outon the back porch. Mr. Peyton was behind him.
At the end of the garden, nearly a hundred yards away, was anold-fashioned hedge of box, which had reached, in the course of manyyears, a height of twelve feet or more. A little distance beyond this boxwas a wood of pine-trees. As Jason reached the porch he could see the twoNortherners fairly squeeze their way through the hedge, and disappear onthe other side. He leaped from the porch, and started to run down thegarden. But his enemy, the gout, gave him a warning twinge, and he wasquickly outdistanced by Mr. Peyton, who sped onward, with several negroesat his heels.
The party continued down the garden until they reached the hedge; thenthey ran to the right for a short distance, scurried through an archedopening in the green box, and thus reached the outskirts of the pinewoods. Next they began to search through the trees. But not a sight of thefugitives could they obtain. After they had tramped over the whole woods,which covered about forty acres, they emerged into open fields. Not atrace of the runaways! They went back and made a fresh search among thepines; they sent negroes in every direction; yet the result was the same.When Mr. Peyton returned, very hot and disgusted, to his usually quietstudy he found Charles Jason lying on the sofa in an agony of gout.Several of the children were near him.
"Oh, papa, I hope you did _not_ catch them," cried one of the latter. Shewas the little girl who had pulled Waggie from George's pocket.
Mr. Peyton laughed, in spite of himself.
"Have you fallen in love with the boy who sang, Laura?" he asked, with atwinkle in his eye.
"No," said Miss Laura, indignantly, "but Mr. Jason says they werespies--and spies are always hung--and I wouldn't like to see that nice doghung."
The father burst into a peal of merriment.
"Don't worry," he said; "I reckon the dog would be pardoned--on the groundthat he was led astray by others older than himself. Anyway, the rascalshave gotten away as completely as if they had disappeared from the face ofthe earth."
Jason groaned. Whether the sound was caused by pain, or disappointment atthe escape of the spies, or both, it would have been hard to tell. When hewas taken to his home, not until the next day, he vowed he would nevermore chase anything, be it even a chicken.
And where were the missing man, boy, and dog? Much nearer to the Peytonhouse than any of its inmates fancied. When Watson and George ran down thegarden their only idea was to get as far off from the house as possible,although they believed that they were pretty sure to be captured in theend. Their pistols were still useless; they did not know the geography ofthe neighborhood; there were enemies everywhere. But after they squeezedthrough the hedge, they found in front of them, between the box and theedge of the woods, a little patch of muddy, uncultivated land, devoted tothe refuse of a farm. A trash heap, a broken plough, empty boxes, barrels,broken china, and other useless things betokened a sort of rusticjunk-shop--a receptacle for objects which had seen their best days.
Among this collection, the quick eye of Watson caught sight of a largemolasses hogshead, now empty and with its open end turned upwards. Hepulled George by the sleeve, pointed to the hogshead, and then looked atthe hedge, as he said, breathlessly: "This is big enough to hold us both;jump in--the hedge is so high they can't see us from the house!"
There was no chance to say more. In a twinkling the two had vaulted intothe huge barrel, and were fairly squatting at the bottom. Above them wasthe open sky and the warm sun. Any pursuer who chose to stand on tiptoeand look in would have been rewarded for his pains. But Watson calculatedthat no one would think of the hogshead for the very reason that it stoodout so prominently amid all the trash of this dumping ground. No one, infact, gave a thought to the spot; it suggested nothing in the way of ahiding-place. Once a negro who had joined the hunt brushed by thehogshead, much to the terror of its occupants, but he gave it no heed. Afew minutes later Mr. Peyton stopped within a few feet of it, to speak tohis white overseer.
"We have searched the wood thoroughly," said the overseer, "but they aregone--that's sure."
"Well, they have gotten out of the place," observed the master. "But theywon't get many miles away. I want you to take the sorrel mare and spreadthe alarm through the neighborhood."
"Yes, sir."
Hardly had Mr. Peyton and his overseer hurried away before Waggie indulgedin a little yelp, to ease his own feelings. He found things rather crampedat the bottom of the hogshead, to which he had been transferred fromGeorge's pocket; he longed to have more leeway for his tiny legs.
"If you had given that bark a minute ago," muttered George, "you wouldhave betrayed us, Master Waggie."
"Oh! oh! oh!" whispered Watson; "I am so cramped and stiff I don't knowwhat will become of me. This is the most painful experience of the war."
There would have been something amusing in the position of the hiders ifit had seemed less dangerous. Watson was now sitting with legs crossed, intailor fash
ion; on his lap was George; and upon George's knee jumpedWaggie.
"You're getting tired too soon," said George. "We will be here some timeyet."
He was quite right, for it was not until dusk that they dared leave theircurious refuge. Sometimes they stood up, when they got absolutelydesperate, and had it not been that the tall hedge protected him, the headof Watson would assuredly have been seen from the Peyton mansion. At lastthey cautiously abandoned the hogshead, and crept into the pines in frontof them. When it was pitch dark the fugitives pushed forward in anorthwestwardly direction, until they reached a log cabin, at a distanceof about four miles from their point of departure. Within the place alight was cheerily burning.
"Shall we knock at the door?" asked Watson, in some doubt.
"I'm very hungry," laughed George. "I think I could risk knockinganywhere--if I could only get something to eat."
"Well, we might as well be hung for sheep as lambs," observed Watson. "Letus try it."
He had begun to think that it was only the question of a few hours beforehe and George would be in the hands of the enemy.
They knocked at the door. It was half opened by a long, lanky man, with ascraggy chin-beard, who looked like the customary pictures of "UncleSam."
"What is it?" he asked the travelers. There was a sound of voices within.
Was it prudent to play the blind man once again? Or had this fellow heardof the excitement at the Peyton mansion? Watson bethought himself of amethod of finding out whether or not he should be endowed with sight.
"Are we anywhere near Squire Peyton's?" he demanded.
"'Bout four miles off, or five miles by the road along the creek," saidthis Southern "Uncle Sam."
"Do you know if he's living at his place now?"
"He was there three days ago, whan I driv over ta sell him some shotes,"returned "Uncle Sam." "Reckon he must be there still."
"Humph!" thought Watson; "this fellow hasn't heard anything about thePeyton _fracas_. I'll lose my sight once again."
He clutched George's hand in a helpless fashion, and poured forth a taleof woe. He was blind and poor, he said; he and his nephew (meaning George)were in need of food and shelter.
"I'll sing for you," said George.
"Tarnation pumpkins," cried Uncle Sam; "I hate squalin'. But come in. Inever shut my door on anybody."
He opened the door the whole way. The two Northerners and the dog walkedinto the dazzling light made by a great wood-fire--and confronted fiveConfederate soldiers and an officer who were toasting their feet at thehearth! They all glanced at the newcomers, who dearly regretted, when toolate, that they had entered. The officer stared first at Watson and thenat George with the air of a man who is searching for some one. Uncle Samintroduced them to the party in a manner more vigorous than polite.
"Here's a couple o' beggars," he said. "Ma, get 'em somethin' to eat!"
"Ma," who was his wife, came bustling out of the second room, or kitchen,of the cabin. She was red in the face, and of generous proportions.
"Look here, pop," she cried, "do you expect me to cook for a hotel? I'vejust been feedin' these soldiers, and now you want me to get victuals forbeggars."
When the plump hostess saw the blind man, the boy and the dog, her facesoftened. She went back to the kitchen, and soon returned with some coarsebut highly acceptable food, which was gratefully eaten by George andWatson.
"Do you two tramp through the country together?" asked the officer. He wasaddressed by his men as Captain Harris. Every line and feature of hisclean-shaven face denoted shrewdness.
"Yes," answered Watson. "My nephew sings--the dog has some tricks--we makea little money--even in war time." He would put the best face possible onthis trying situation.
"You have no home?" went on the officer, in a sympathetic voice.
"None."
"Where did you come from before you took to begging?"
Watson hesitated for a second. Then he said: "Lynchburg, Virginia." It wasthe only place he could think of at that moment, and it seemed far enoughoff to be safe.
"I spent three weeks in Lynchburg last year," said Captain Harris. "Whatpart of the town did you live in?"
This time George came to the rescue. "On Main Street," he answered. He hadknown a boy in Cincinnati whose mother had once resided in Lynchburg, andhe had heard the lad speak of a Main Street in that town.
"On Main Street," repeated the Captain. Was the look that passed quicklyacross his face one of surprise or disappointment?
"Yes, on Main Street," asserted George. He felt very sure of himself now.
"How near were you to the Sorrel Horse Hotel?" asked the Captain, after abrief pause.
"About two streets away, eh George?" said Watson. He had, very naturally,never heard of the Sorrel Horse, and he knew nothing of Lynchburg, but itwould be fatal to show any ignorance on the subject.
"Yes, just about two streets away," agreed the boy.
The men were all sitting near the blazing fire. Suddenly Captain Harris,without saying a word, lifted his right arm and sent his fist flyingtowards the face of Watson, who sat near him. With an exclamation of angerWatson jumped to his feet, just in time to avoid the blow.
"What do you mean?" he cried, as he glared at his antagonist.
The Captain smiled. He did not seem at all pugnacious now.
"I mean," he answered, "that I have proved my suspicions to be true. Ithought you were not blind--and I find that you still have enough sightleft to see a blow when it is coming to you!"
Watson could cheerfully have whipped himself for his blunder.
"Further," went on the officer, in a politely taunting tone that was veryprovoking, "I find that neither you nor the boy ever lived in Lynchburg,for the simple reason that there is no Sorrel Horse Hotel in that place,and there never was!"
How nicely had he planned this little trap! And how foolish the twofugitives felt.
"And now, my dear beggars," went on the Captain, in the same ironicalvein, "allow me to say that I don't believe you are beggars at all. Istrongly suspect that you are members of this engine-stealing expeditionwhich has come to grief. This afternoon I was sent out from Chattanooga,among others, to scour the country, and it will be my duty to march youthere to-morrow morning."
There was a pause painful in its intensity.
"Have either of you got anything to say?" demanded the Captain.
"We admit nothing!" said Watson.
"I'm not surprised," answered the Captain. "Your offense is a hanging one.But you were a plucky lot--that's certain."
CHAPTER X
FINAL TRIALS
The next morning Watson and George Knight, with the faithful Waggie (whowas destined to remain with his master throughout all these adventures, inwhich he had played his own little part), were taken by the detachment ofConfederates to Chattanooga. Here they were placed in the jail, and herealso, in the course of a few days, were brought Andrews and the othermembers of the ill-fated expedition. For they were all captured, sooner orlater, as might have been expected. The whole South rang with the story ofthe engine chase, and every effort was made to track and capture thecourageous Northerners.
After a stay of several weeks in Chattanooga the party were taken byrailroad to Madison, in Georgia, for it was feared that General Mitchellwas about to take possession of the former place. In a few days, however,when the danger had passed, they were returned to Chattanooga. It was notuntil September of 1863 that this city fell into the hands of a Unionforce.
Of the movements and separation of the prisoners after their return toChattanooga, or of the experiences of some of them in Knoxville, it is notnecessary to make detailed mention. Andrews, after a trial, was executedin Atlanta as a spy, dying like a brave man, and seven of his companions,condemned by a court-martial, shared the same fate. It was the fortune ofwar. George could never dance, as he had promised, at his leader'swedding.
Let us change the scene to the city prison of Atlanta, where the remainingfourteen m
embers of the expedition were to be found in the followingOctober. Among them were Watson, George Knight, Jenks and Macgreggor.Waggie, too, was still in evidence, but he would have found life ratherdreary had not the kind-hearted jailer allowed one of his family to takethe dog many a scamper around the city.
"Poor Andrews," said Watson, one afternoon, "it is hard to realize that heand seven others of us have gone."
The party were occupying a well-barred room on the second floor of theprison. This second floor comprised four rooms for prisoners, two on eachside of a hallway. In the hallway was a staircase which led to the firststory, where the jailer and his family had their quarters. Outside thebuilding was a yard surrounded by a fence about nine feet high, and hereand there a soldier, fully armed, was on guard.
"I don't want to be doleful, boys," said Macgreggor, "but I think we willsoon follow Andrews. As the days rolled on and we heard no more of anytrial or execution I began to hope that the Confederate Government hadforgotten the rest of us. I even thought it possible we might be exchangedfor the same number of Confederates in Northern prisons, and thus allowedto go back to our army. But I've kept my eyes and ears open--and I havenow become anxious."
"Why so?" asked George. The boy looked thin and very pale, after his longconfinement.
"I heard some one--I think it was the Provost-Marshal--talking to thejailer this morning, at the front door of the prison. I was looking out ofthe window; you fellows were all playing games. 'Keep a very strict eye onthose engine-stealers,' the marshal said; 'a court is going to trythem--and you know what that means--death! A trial will be nothing morethan a formality, for the whole fourteen of them are spies, under therules of war. They were soldiers who entered the enemy's line in civiliandisguise. So don't let them get away.'"
Macgreggor's listeners stirred uneasily. This was not what might be calledpleasant news.
"Why didn't you tell us before?" asked Jenks.
"I hadn't the heart to," returned Macgreggor. "You boys were all socheerful."
Watson cleared his voice.
"I tell you what it is, boys," he whispered, as he gave Waggie a mournfulpat; "if we don't want to be buried in an Atlanta graveyard we mustescape!"
George's white face flushed at the thought. The idea of liberty wasdazzling, after so many weary days.
"Well," said one of the men, in the same low tone, "it's better to escape,and run the risk of failing or of being re-captured, than to rot hereuntil we are led out to be hanged."
"Let's invent a plan that will enable us not only to get out, but to_stay_ out," laughed Jenks.
There was dead silence for nearly ten minutes. The men, who had beensitting on the floor watching two of their number at a game of checkers,were deep in thought. At last Watson opened his lips.
"I have a plan," he whispered. "Tell me what you think of it. You knowthat about sunset the darkies come into the rooms to leave us our supper.The jailer stands outside. Then, later, the jailer comes and takes awaythe dishes. He is then alone. Suppose we seize him, gag him, take hiskeys, unlock all the doors on this floor, and release all the prisoners.As you know, there are a number besides our own party--whites and negroes.All this must be quietly done, however, if it is to prove successful. Thenwe can go down-stairs, without making any noise, overpower the sevensentinels, take their guns, and make off, after locking up thesegentlemen."
Watson went further into details, to show the probable workings of hisscheme. It was finally agreed that the dash was well worth the trial. AsJenks remarked: "It's either that or a few feet of cold rope, and acoffin!"
The late afternoon of the next day was fixed upon for the escape. Inaddition to the fourteen remaining adventurers, a Union captain from EastTennessee, who shared the room with them, was to be associated in thisdaring enterprise. It seemed to George as if the hour would never come;but as the sun began to sink gradually towards the horizon on thefollowing afternoon he realized, from the feverish restlessness of thewhole party, that there was not much longer to wait.
"Keep up your nerve, fellows," said Watson, who had become the leader ofthe party, "and remember that all depends upon the quietness with which weconduct things on this floor, so that the guard below won't take thealarm."
As he spoke there was a rattling of keys and a creaking of locks. Theheavy door of the room opened, and in walked Waggie. He had been having awalk, with a daughter of the jailer, and one of the negro servants hadtaken him up-stairs and unlocked the door. The next moment the key wasturned; the prisoners were again shut in from the world.
"Poor little Waggie," said Macgreggor. "Is he going too?"
"I've taken him through too much to leave him behind now," said Georgefondly. "Look. This is as good as a kennel." He pointed to an overcoat,which the East Tennessee Captain had given him, and showed on one side alarge pocket. The side of the latter was buttoned up closely to the coat.
The minutes dragged along. Finally Watson said, with a sort of mournfulimpressiveness: "Boys, let us all bid each other good-bye. For some of usmay never meet again!"
The men clasped one another by the hand. In the eyes of most of them weretears--not timid tears, but the tears of soldiers who had become attachedto one another through suffering and hoping together. It was a solemnscene which the rays of the dying sun illumined, and George would neverforget it.
Watson brushed a drop from his cheek.
"I feel better, now," he said cheerfully; "I'm ready for anything.Remember one thing. Treat the jailer as gently as possible. He has been akind fellow where some would have been the reverse."
"Aye," murmured his companions. It was an order which had their heartysympathy.
In a little while there was the long-expected creaking at the door. It wassupper time! Two negroes entered and placed some pans containing food uponthe table. Then they retired, and the door was locked.
"Eat, boys," whispered Watson; "we don't know when we may get our nextsquare meal."
The men soon disposed of the food. Hardly had they finished before thedoor was thrown open, and the jailer, an elderly, bearded man, appeared.
"Good-evening, men," he said, in a pleasant, unsuspicious voice. He haltedat the doorway with the keys in his right hand.
It was a terrible moment. George felt as if he were living ten years inthat one instant.
Watson Placed His Hand Over the Man's Mouth]
"Good-evening, sir," said Watson, approaching the jailer. "It's such avery pleasant evening that we intend to take a little walk." He threw backthe door as he spoke.
The jailer was unprepared for this move. He did not even divine what wasintended.
"How--what do you mean----" he faltered.
"We've had enough of prison life," said Macgreggor, in a calm, even voice,"and we are going to leave you. Now give up the keys, and keep very quiet,or you'll find----"
"Keep off!" cried the jailer, as he tightened his hold on the bunch ofkeys. He was about to call for help, but Watson placed his left hand overthe man's mouth, and with his right clutched the unfortunate's throat.Then Macgreggor seized the keys, after a sharp but decisive struggle, andhurried into the hallway, where he began to release the general prisoners.He quickly unlocked in succession the doors of the three other rooms onthe second floor. The men thus freed did not understand the significanceof it all, but they saw unexpected liberty staring them in the face, andthey ran out of their quarters like so many sheep.
Meanwhile the members of the engine expedition, with the exception ofWatson and Macgreggor, had run almost noiselessly down the staircase,through the jailer's quarters on the first floor, and thus out into theprison yard. Some of them threw themselves upon the three soldiers in therear of the yard, wrenched from them their muskets, crying out at the sametime: "Make a movement or a cry and we'll shoot you down!" The rest of theparty, among whom were George Knight and Jenks, tore into the front partof the yard, where four guards were patroling near the main door of thejail. Two of these guards were quickly disarmed. But the other
two, seeingthe oncoming of the prisoners, ran out of the gate of the picket fence,uttering loud cries as they went. Their escape was entirely unexpected.
The general prisoners now came tumbling into the yard, headed by Watsonand Macgreggor. Watson, warned that there was no time to lose, hadreleased his hold upon the astonished jailer. He did not know that two ofthe sentinels had escaped, but he arrived down-stairs just in time to seethe result of their disappearance. A large reserve guard of Confederates,warned of the jail delivery by these two soldiers, came rushing madly intothe yard.
"Look out, boys!" cried Watson. Other members of the engine party, seeingthe arrival of the troops, released the five remaining sentinels, threwdown their newly acquired muskets, and began to scale the prison fence.There came the sharp crack of rifles from the reserve guard. Whiz! Thebullets rattled all around the heads of the fence-climbers, the whistlingnoise having for accompaniment the cries of the angry Confederates. Whiz!Another volley! Yet no one was hit. On the fugitives went, as theydescended on the other side of the fence, and made for some woods at adistance of nearly a mile from the prison.
"After 'em, men," came the word of command to the Confederates. Soldierswere running hither and thither, while the general prisoners, who had beenreleased by Macgreggor, were soon safely housed in their old rooms. Thebullets were flying thick and fast within and without the prison yard; thescene was one of pandemonium. Ere long five of the engine party had beencaptured, three inside of the yard and two immediately outside. Amongthese were Jenks and Macgreggor who were both uninjured, but both verymuch disheartened. Soon there was the clatter of hoofs, and a troop ofcavalry dashed up to the front of the jail.
"No more chance of escape!" said Jenks bitterly, as he looked out of thebarred window. He could hear the cavalry colonel excitedly crying: "Huntdown the fellows till you have every one of them!"
"I hope some of the boys will get off," remarked Macgreggor. "Any one whois captured is sure to be hung now." Afterwards another prisoner wascaptured. There were now six of the party back in jail.
Where were Watson and George during this escapade? No sooner had theformer cried out his warning, on the approach of the reserve guard, thanhe made directly for George, who was in the back part of the yard.
"Come on," he said, in tones of suppressed excitement, "over the fencewith us. It's our only chance--now!"
Imitating the example of others the man and boy were soon balanced on topof the wooden fence. Whirr! George was conscious of a whistling sound, anda bullet flew by him as it just grazed the tip of one ear.
"Hurry up!" urged Watson. In another second the two had dropped from thefence and were running like mad over a large field.
"Halt!" cried some voices behind them. Looking back they could see thatabout a dozen soldiers were in hot pursuit. A ball sped by George,dangerously near the capacious pocket in which Waggie was ensconced; asecond bullet would have ended the life of Watson had it come an inchnearer the crown of his head.
"Look here," said Watson. "These men are fresh--we are weakened byimprisonment--they will get up to us in the end. Let's try a trick. Thenext time the bullets come we'll drop as if we were dead."
At that moment another volley rattled around and over them. Watson threwup his arms, as if in agony, and sank on the grass. George uttered a loudcry, and went down within a few feet of his companion.
All but one of the Confederates halted, upon seeing the apparent successof their aim, and turned to pursue in a new direction. The remainingsoldier came running up to the two prisoners, and after taking one lookwhich convinced him that they were either dead or dying he scurried backto rejoin his detachment. There was no use in wasting time over corpseswhen living enemies remained to be caught.
The "corpses" waited until all was quiet around them. Then they arose, andkept on towards the woods. These they reached when darkness had fallenupon the trees--a circumstance which aided them in one way, as it lessenedthe danger of pursuit. But in another way the night impeded their progressfor they could not get their bearings. They groped from tree to tree, andfrom bush to bush, like blind men. Once they heard a great rustling, andwere convinced that it was caused by some of their companions, but theydared not speak, for fear of a mistake. At last they stumbled out upon adeserted highroad.
"Where are we?" whispered George.
"I don't know," returned Watson. "Hark! Do you hear anything?"
A sound, at first very faint, became more and more distinct as theylistened. Galloping horsemen and the rattle of sabres proclaimed theapproach of cavalry.
"Back into the woods," urged Watson. "We may be putting ourselves in atrap--but for the life of me I don't know where else to go!"
They hurried into the wood, where they crawled under a scrubby pine bush,and anxiously awaited the outcome. On rushed the horsemen until theyreached the outskirts of the wood. Here they halted. The hiders under thepine bush could hear one of the officers say: "The infantry will soon behere to relieve us."
"We've had a great time to-night," growled another officer. "TheseYankees, not content with troubling us on the battle-field, must even stirthings up when they are prisoners."
"I don't wonder those locomotive-stealers wanted to escape," laughed thefirst officer. "They know what the punishment of a spy always is."
In a few minutes a company of infantry marched to the scene. After a shortconference between their officers and those of the cavalry the horsemengalloped away. The infantry were now formed into squads, and sent to keepguard in the woods.
"Things are getting rather warm!" whispered Watson. George murmured anassent. Well might he do so, for a sentry had soon been posted withinfifty feet of the two fugitives. The situation was fraught with thegreatest danger. Watson and George realized that the soldiers would patrolthe woods until morning, when discovery would be inevitable.
Watson sank his voice so low that it could just be heard by hiscompanion.
"We can't afford to stay here until daylight," he whispered. "We mustwriggle out of here until we come to the edge of the road. Then we mustmake a break and run."
"Run where?" asked George.
"Providence alone knows," answered Watson. "We must trust to chance. Butanything is better than remaining here, to be caught like rabbits bydogs."
"I'm ready," replied George. He already saw himself back in the Atlantaprison, and he even pictured himself with a rope around his neck; but hewas prepared for any adventure, whatever might be the result.
"The sooner the better," whispered Watson. Without any more words the twobegan to wriggle along the ground and kept up this snake-like motion untilthey reached the edge of the wood. It was slow work and very tiresome, butit was their one chance of escape. Then they stood up, and bounded acrossthe highroad.
"There they go!" shouted one of the soldiers in the wood. At once therewas an uproar, as the sentries ran out into the road, and began to firetheir guns in wild confusion. It was pitch dark, and they could seenothing. Over the road and into an open field tore the two fugitives. Theyfelt like blind men, for they could hardly distinguish any object beforethem; moreover they were wholly ignorant of their surroundings. They ranon, however, and finally reached another field in which were several largetrees. Watson made straight for one of them.
"Up we go," he said, and, suiting the action to the order, he had soonclambered up the tree, and seated himself across one of its branches.George was quick to follow; he climbed up with even more celerity thanWatson, and settled himself on a neighboring branch.
They could hear the cries of the sentries, mingled with an occasionalshot. Two of the soldiers passed directly under the tree occupied by theNortherners.
"They have gotten off," one of them was saying.
"I'm not surprised," rejoined the other sentry. "Any fellows who could dowhat they did at Big Shanty are not easy customers to deal with."
In a little while the two sentries returned, and, again passing under thetree, evidently went back to the woods. The uproa
r had ceased; there wasno more firing; it was plain that the chase had been abandoned.
After the lapse of half an hour Watson and George descended from theiruncomfortable perches. Once upon the ground the boy released Waggie fromhis pocket, and the little party pushed on in the darkness for about amile. Here they found a hayrick in a field, alongside of which they laidtheir weary bones and slept the sleep of exhaustion. When daylight camethey had awakened, feeling much refreshed and ready for more adventures.
"I'll tell you what I think," said Watson. "There's a chance for us yet,provided we try a new means of getting away from the South."
"What do you mean?" asked George.
"If we try to move northward," continued Watson, "we are sure to becaught. Every countryman between Atlanta and Chattanooga will be on thelookout for us. Instead of that, let us strike out towards the Gulf ofMexico, where we should reach one of the ships of the Union blockadingsquadron. New Orleans is in the hands of the North, and many of ourvessels must be patroling the Gulf. Once we reach the coast we arepractically free."
"The very thing!" cried the boy. "You're a genius!"
Watson smiled.
"Not a genius," he said, "but I have what they call horse-sense up ourway--and I'm not anxious to return to the delights of the Atlantaprison."
Acting upon this new theory the wanderers began their long journey. Thisthey pursued amid many hardships, not the least of which was hunger. Evenpoor Waggie grew emaciated. First they reached the banks of theChattahoochee River, after which they secured a boat and rowed their waydown via the Apalachicola River, to Apalachicola, Florida, on the Gulf ofMexico. Here they found, to their great delight, that a Federal blockadingsquadron was patroling on the Gulf, near the mouth of Apalachicola Bay.
The two fugitives now pushed their little boat out into the open sea. Theywere a sorry looking couple, with their old clothes fairly dropping fromthem, and their thin, gaunt figures showing the consequences of many daysof privation. Watson was feverish, with an unnatural glitter in his eyes,while George's face was a sickly white. Waggie reposed at the bottom ofthe rickety craft, as if he cared not whether he lived or died.
"Look!" cried Watson, who was at the oars. He pointed out towards thesouth, where were to be seen a collection of masts and smoke-stacks,rising above long black hulls.
"It's the Federal fleet," said George. He was glad to have a look atit--glad to know that deliverance was at hand--but he felt too exhaustedto put any enthusiasm into his voice.
"Can you see any flag?" he asked, wearily. "Perhaps we have been fooledafter all. The ships may belong to the Confederate navy."
Soon they could detect, as they drew nearer, a flutter of bunting from thevessel nearest to them.
"It's the old flag!" cried George, jumping from his seat in the stern witha precipitancy that threatened to upset the boat. "See the blue--and thered and white stripes! Hurrah!" But he was too weak for much enthusiasmeven now and he soon had to sit down once more.
Watson uttered a cry which was meant to be triumphant, although it camelike a hoarse croak from his parched throat. Then the tears gushed intohis eyes as he gazed again upon the flag. It almost seemed as if he werehome again.
Nearer and nearer they rowed to the squadron. There were four ships ofwar, and now they could see the sailors walking the decks and the guns inthe portholes.
"We'll be there in ten minutes now," said Watson, "and I think I can eata----" He gasped and failed to finish the sentence. He half rose from hisseat, relinquished the oars, with a despairing cry, and then, losing allconsciousness, pitched over the gunwale into the sunlit waters of theGulf.
George jumped up from the stern and stretched out his arm to seize theinanimate body of his friend. But the movement was too much for theequilibrium of the frail boat and for the balance of the boy. Out into thewater shot George, overturning the craft until its keel was in the air.
George struck out for Watson and succeeded in grabbing him by the hair ofhis head just as he was about to disappear beneath the waves. Then hechanged his hold upon the man, and with his left hand clutching the neckof Watson's coat he pulled to the side of the upturned boat. To this heheld with his right hand like grim death, as he put his left arm aroundWatson's waist. The boy was panting for breath, and as weak as if he hadbeen swimming for miles. Not until now had he thoroughly realized howhunger, exposure and privation had done their work. The next instant hefelt a gentle paddling near him; he looked down and there was Waggie's wetbut plucky little face.
"Hello! old boy," said George. "I would rather drown myself than see yougo under. So here goes!"
He released his hold of Watson and by a quick movement swung Waggie to theupturned bottom of the boat, near the keel. The tiny animal gave a barkthat said "Thank you," as plainly as if he had spelled out every letter ofthe two words. George again seized Watson and clung to the boat moretightly than before. The soldier gradually came back to consciousness.
"What have I done?" he asked, staring wildly at the hot sun above him.
"Nothing!" answered George. "Only try to hold on to the boat. For I'm soworn out that it's all I can do to keep myself up."
Watson clawed frantically at the gunwale. At last he managed to grasp itwith his tired, bony fingers.
"I can't hold on much longer!" suddenly said George, in a faint voice. Hishands were numb; he felt as if he had not one particle of strength left inhis emaciated body. His mind began to wander. He forgot that he was in theGulf of Mexico; he thought he was holding on to a horse. By and by thehorse began to move. Could he keep his grasp on the animal? No; not muchlonger. The horse started to canter, and the boy felt himself slippingbackward. In reality he had let go his hold upon the boat. So, too, hadWatson. The next moment was a blank. The sun came burning down on poorWaggie, perched on top of the craft, as he growled piteously at the sightof master and friend drifting helplessly away.
* * * * *
When George recovered his senses he was lying on the deck of one of thewar-vessels, and Waggie was barking in an effort to awaken him. Near himsat Watson, with a happy smile on his wan face. Around him was a group ofofficers.
"By Jove," one of the latter was saying. "Those poor fellows had a narrowescape. It was well we saw their plight and sent a boat after them. It gotthere just in time."
"Well, my boys," asked an older officer (who was evidently the captain ofthe vessel), in a gruff but not unkindly tone, "what on earth _are_ you,and where did you come from? You don't appear to have been gorgingyourselves lately."
When George and Watson were a little stronger they told the story of theiradventures, in brief but graphic terms, to the interested group ofofficers. When they had finished the Captain came up to them, and put ahand upon the shoulder of each.
"You fellows want a good round meal!" he said emphatically. "And afterthat some clothes will not come amiss, I guess."
To this they readily assented. How delicious the food tasted when it wasserved to them at the officers' mess; and how comfortable but strange theyfelt when, an hour later, they were arrayed in all the glory of cleanunderclothes, shoes, nice suits and naval caps. When they came on deckagain, how the sailors did cheer. And Waggie! How fine and cheerful helooked, to be sure, all decked out in ribbons provided by the tars; andhow pleased he felt with the whole world since he had eaten--but it wouldtake too long to detail the _menu_ with which the dog had been regaled.The wonder was that he survived the spoiling that he received during thenext four days.
At the end of that time he accompanied his master and Watson, who weresent on a government vessel to New York. From New York they traveled byrail to Washington, where they were to relate their experiences, and theresult of the railroad chase, to President Lincoln.
First they saw Mr. Stanton, the Secretary of War, who made them dine andspend the night as his guests, and who the next morning took them to theWhite House. George trembled when he was ushered into the private officeof Mr. Lincoln.
He felt nervous at the thought of encountering the manwho, more than any one else, held in his hand the destiny of the nation.But, when a tall, gaunt person, with wonderful, thoughtful eyes and ahomely face, illumined by a melancholy but attractive smile, walked up tohim and asked: "Is this George Knight?" all the boy's timidity vanished.As he answered, "Yes, I am George Knight," he felt as if he had known thePresident for years.
Mr. Lincoln listened to the narrative of the two fugitives--now fugitivesno longer--and put to them many questions. When the recital was over thePresident asked: "Do you know that poor General Mitchell has died fromyellow fever?"
They answered in the affirmative, for Mr. Stanton had given them thisunwelcome information upon their arrival in Washington.
Mr. Lincoln pulled a paper from one of the pockets of his ill-fittingblack coat and handed it to Watson.
"Here is a commission for you as a Captain in the regular army," heexplained. "I know of no one who could deserve it more than CaptainWatson."
"How can I ever thank you, Mr. President?" cried Watson.
"The thanks are all on my side," answered the President, smiling. "Thatreminds me of a little story. When----"
Mr. Stanton, who was standing immediately behind his chief, began to coughin a curious, unnatural way.
A gleam of humor came into the unfathomable eyes of the President.
"Mr. Stanton never appreciates my stories," he said, quizzically, "andwhen he coughs that way I know what he means." Then, turning to George, hecontinued: "My lad, you are one of the heroes of the war! I had intendedgiving you, too, a commission, but I find you are too young. But I supposeyou want to see more of the war?"
"Indeed I do, Mr. Lincoln!" cried George.
"Well, since poor Mitchell is dead, how would you like to go as avolunteer aid on the staff of one of our generals?"
"The very thing!" said the boy, with ardor.
Mr. Lincoln faced his Secretary of War.
"You don't always let me have my own way, Mr. Secretary," he observed,dryly, "but I think you must oblige me in this."
"The boy's pretty young," answered the Secretary, "but I fancy it can bearranged."
"Very good," said the President. "And now, George, if you behave with halfthe pluck in the future that you have shown in the past, I'll have no fearfor you. Do your duty, and some day you may live to see--as I may not liveto see--a perfect reunion between North and South; for God surely does notintend that one great people shall divide into two separate nations."
George left the White House in a perfect glow of enthusiasm. The very nextday he was ordered to join the staff of General George H. Thomas, and hejoyfully obeyed the summons to leave Washington. His only regret was inparting from Waggie, whom he was obliged to entrust to the care of afriend of Secretary Stanton's. The boy saw plenty of army life throughoutthe rest of the war. When the conflict was over he hurried back toWashington, found Waggie alive and well, and then went home with him toCincinnati. Here he had a startling but delightful reunion with hisfather, whose mysterious disappearance had been due to his capture by theConfederates, and an incarceration for many months in an out-of-the-waySouthern prison.
There were many things of interest which George did not learn until afterthe last gun of the war had been fired. One was that Watson had made abrilliant record for himself as a regular army officer, and had come outof the war with a sound skin and the rank of Colonel. Another piece ofnews concerned the fortunes of the soldiers who escaped from the Atlantajail. Eight of the engine party and the East Tennessee Captain (thisnumber including Watson and George), managed to escape, and finallyreached the Northern lines in safety. The six prisoners who wererecaptured, among them Macgreggor and Jenks, escaped hanging, and wereexchanged for the same number of Southern prisoners. Jenks was killed atthe battle of Gettysburg; Macgreggor served through the war, was honorablydischarged as a Major of Volunteers, and finally developed into asuccessful physician in the growing city of Chicago.
Waggie has been gathered to his canine forefathers these many years. Butit is comforting to reflect that he lived to a fine old age, and died fullof honors. He was known far and wide as the "Civil War Dog"--a title whichcaused him to receive much attention, and a good many dainty bits of foodin addition to his regular meals. Let it be added, however, that hisdigestion and his bright disposition remained unimpaired until the end.
George Knight is now a prosperous merchant, happily married, and living inSt. Louis. He is proud in the possession of a son who saw active servicein the Spanish-American War as an officer in the navy. Before we saygood-bye to our hero let us record that he never forgot the kindness ofthe Rev. Mr. Buckley, who had saved his life as a boy. Many aChristmas-time gift testified to the gratitude of the Northerner.
In the desk in George Knight's office is a bundle of letters from the oldclergyman. The last of these to be received reads as follows:
"Dear Friend George:
"This is Christmas Day--the last, I am sure, that I will ever see. I am too feeble to write you more than my best wishes for the holiday season, and to say--Thank God, the war has been over these twenty years and we are once more a united nation. No North, no South, no East, no West--but simply America. I have been spared to see this--and I am grateful.
"Cordially yours, "Amos Buckley."
THE END
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