The Master of Warlock: A Virginia War Story

by George Cary Eggleston

  XXIII

  _A NEGOTIATION_

  Agatha did not remain long in the little Pennsylvania town. She foundits people to be positively peppery in their Union sentiments, and shesoon realised that she could make no inquiries from that point withoutattracting dangerous attention to herself. She saw, too, that the littlecity was not large enough for easy concealment. She could not there loseherself in the crowd and pass unobserved whithersoever she pleased. Shepromptly decided that her best course would be to go on to New York, buteven that could not be undertaken with safety for a time. She mustremain where she was for two or three weeks--long enough for herpresence there to lose its character as a novelty.

  Sam, who enjoyed her confidence to the full, suggested that she shouldfeign ill-health, and leave the place under pretence of seeking aresidence better suited to her constitution. That was not the way inwhich Sam expressed his thought, of course, but he made himself clearlyunderstood by saying:

  "Tell you what 'tis, Mis' Agatha, you'se jes' got to git powerful sickan' say you cawn't live in no sich a pesky town as dis here one. Den youkin pack up yer things, ef you've got any, an' move on."

  Agatha laughed, and answered:

  "Why, Sam, I don't know how to be ill. I never had a headache in mylife, and I couldn't look like an invalid if I tried. No, Sam, we mustjust wait here for a time."

  "Why, Mis' Agatha, it's de easiest thing in de world to make out as howyou'se sick when you ain't. I'se done it hundreds of times, when mammywanted me to wuk in de kitchen an' I wanted to go a-fishin'. All you gotto do is to look solemncholy-like, an' say you'se got a pain in yo' haidan' a powerful misery in yo' back, an' cole chills a-creepin' all overyou. Tell you what, it's as easy as nuffin' at all."

  Agatha laughed again, but put Sam's plan aside without furtherdiscussion, whereat that budding strategist went away sorrowful,muttering to himself:

  "I done heah folks say as how 'white man's mighty onsartain,' but Mis'Agatha's a heap wuss'n even a white man, leastwise 'bout some things."

  A week later, Sam presented another plan, which he had wrought out inhis mind at cost of not a little gray brain matter.

  "Mis' Agatha," he asked, "is you got any frien's in New York what youkin trus' to do what you axes 'em to do?"

  "Yes, Sam. There's one gentleman there who will do anything I ask him todo. He's the one to whom I sent the papers that I made you carry till wegot here."

  "Den you kin write to him?"

  "Yes, certainly."

  "Well, now, I'se got a plan dat'll wuk as easy--as easy as playin' of debanjo. You jes' write to dat gentleman, an' git him to sen' you atelemagraph, sayin' as how somebody's a-dyin' over there, somebody yo'sepowerful fond of, an' so you mus' come quick."

  This time Sam's suggestion commended itself to his mistress's mind, andsoon afterward there came a telegram to her, saying:

  "Come quick if you want to see Eliza alive."

  She hurriedly packed the few belongings which she had purchased in thePennsylvania town, bade her friends good-bye, and before noon of thenext day, was safely hidden in the little lodging which MarshallPollard's friend had secured for her in New York. In the great city shemight go and come and do as she pleased without fear of observation, andwithout the least danger of attracting attention to herself. There is nosolitude so secure as that of a thronged city, where men are toocompletely self-centred to concern themselves with the affairs of theirneighbours.

  Agatha's first inquiries concerning Baillie's whereabouts were directedtoward the military prisons and prison-camps, but in none of them couldshe find a trace of the master of Warlock. When she had completelyexhausted this field of inquiry, a great fear came upon her, that theman she sought was dead. The presumption was strong that he had died ofhis wound before he could be sent to any of the prisons provided forcaptured Confederates. A less resolute person would have accepted thatconclusion, but Agatha persisted in her search, extending her inquiriesto all the hospitals of the Federal army, and within a month herpersistence was rewarded.

  What she learned was that Baillie Pegram's wound had been too severe toadmit of his transportation far beyond Washington, and that he, incompany with a few other prisoners in like condition, had been placed inan improvised hospital a few miles north of the capital city, where hestill lay under treatment, with only a slender chance of recovery. Herfirst impulse was to go to Washington at once, and endeavour in some wayto secure permission to enter the hospital as a nurse. Her friends inWashington and in Maryland discouraged this attempt, assuring her notonly of its futility, but of its danger. They were convinced, indeed,that she could not even enter Washington, which was then a vastfortified camp, without the discovery of her identity by the agents of asecret service which had become well-nigh omniscient, so far as personalidentities, personal histories, and personal intentions were concerned.

  "Stay where you are," one of them urgently wrote her, "and keep yourselffree to act if at any time a chance shall come to accomplish any good.It would spoil all and destroy the last vestige of hope, for you toattempt what you suggest. You can do no good here. You may doinestimable good if you remain where you are."

  When this decision was communicated to Sam, his round black face becamelong, and the look of laughter completely went out of his countenance.But Sam was not an easily discouraged person, and he had come to believein his own sagacity. So after a day or two of disconsolate moping, heset his wits at work upon this new problem. Presently an idea was bornto him, and he went at once to lay it before Agatha for consideration.

  "Mis' Agatha," he said, "even ef you cawn't git to Mas' Baillie, Samkin, an' that'll be better'n nothin', won't it?"

  "Yes, Sam," answered the sad-eyed young woman, "very much better thannothing. You could take care of your master, and be a comfort to him,and if the time ever should come when anything could be done for him,you'd be on the ground to help. But how can you get to him?"

  "I could manage dat, ef I was a free nigga," answered the boy,meditatively.

  "But you are free, I suppose," said Agatha. "You've been brought to afree State, practically with your master's consent, and that makes youfree, I believe. But--"

  "O, I don't want to be a sho' 'nuff free nigga," interrupted Sam. "Iain't never a-gwine to be dat. I'se a-gwine to 'long to Mas' Bailliecl'ar to de end o' de cawn rows. But I done heah folks up heah say datde Yankees is a-sendin' back all de niggas what runs away from dermahstahs, an' ef I ain't got nuffin' to say I'se free, dey'd sen' meback to Ferginny ef I went down dat way whar Mas' Baillie is."

  Sam's information on this point was in a measure correct. For in thesingleness of his purpose to save the Union at all costs, and in hisanxiety not to alienate the border slave States by interfering withslavery where it legally existed, Mr. Lincoln steadfastly insisted,during the first year of the war, that military commanders shouldrestore all fugitive slaves who should come to them for protection, orwhere that could not be done, should list them and employ them in workupon fortifications and the like.

  Agatha thought for a time, and then said:

  "I think I can manage that, Sam. I'll try, at any rate. But I must waittill to-morrow. Tell me how you expect to get to your master."

  "I don't rightly know yit, Mis' Agatha. But I'll git dar. Maybe you'llsend a letter to yo' frien's down dat way, tellin' 'em Sam's all right,so's dey'll trus' me. Ef you do dat, Mis' Agatha, I'll do de res'."

  It was impossible, of course, to execute legal papers setting Sam free,nor were any papers at all necessary for his use, so long as he remainedin New York. But in Washington he might have to give an account ofhimself, and by way of making sure that he should not be seized as arunaway slave, and set to work upon the fortifications, Agatha's friend,the banker, gave him a document in which he certified that the negro boywas not a runaway slave, but was known to him as a legally free negro,who had been living in New York, but wished to go to Washington andelsewhere in search of employment.

  Armed with this paper, and with full
instructions from Agatha as to howto find certain of her friends, Sam set out on his journey full ofdetermination to succeed in his affectionate purpose.

  In Washington, he engaged in various small employments that yielded arevenue in the form of tips. He purchased a banjo, and ingratiatedhimself everywhere by singing his plantation songs, including both thosethat he had learned from others, and a few, such as "Oh, Eliza," whichhe had fabricated for himself. In the course of a week or two he learnedall he needed to know about roads, military lines, and the like, and wasprepared to make his way to the hospital where his master lay.

  There he besought employment of menial kinds, at the hands of thesurgeons and other officers, of whom there were only a very few at thepost. Again he strummed his banjo and sang his songs to good purpose,impressing everybody with the conviction that he was a jolly,thoughtless, happy-go-lucky negro, and very amusing withal. The hospitalwas a very small one in a very lonely part of the country, and servicethere was extremely tedious to those who were condemned to it. Sam'sminstrelsy, therefore, was more than welcome as something thatpleasantly broke the monotony, and the officers concerned were anxiousto keep the amusing fellow employed at the post, lest he go elsewhere.They gave him all sorts of odd jobs to do, from blacking boots andpolishing spurs and buckles, to grooming a horse when privileged in thatway, to show his skill in "puttin' of a satin dress onto a good animal,"as he called the process.

  Agatha had provided the boy with a small sum of money for use inemergencies, and, as his living had cost him nothing, he hadconsiderably added to its amount. He cherished it jealously, feelingthat it might prove to be his readiest tool in accomplishing hispurposes.

  For a time he was not permitted to enter the hospital, which was nothingmore than an old barn in which a floor had been laid and windows cut.Four sentries guarded it, one on each of its sides. The patients withinnumbered about fifteen, all of them wounded Confederate officers, forwhom this provision had been made until such time as they should besufficiently recovered to be taken North to a military prison.

  Being in no regular way employed at the post, Sam was free to go andcome as he pleased, and he did a good deal of night-prowling at thistime. He managed in that way to establish relations with certain ofAgatha's friends, whose residence was ten or a dozen miles away. Hevisited them at intervals in order to hear from Agatha, and report toher through them. He had not dared inquire concerning his master in anydirect way, or to reveal his interest in any of the hospital patients.But when two of them had died, he had asked one of the servitors aboutthe place what their names were, and had thus satisfied himself thatneither of them was Captain Pegram. By keeping his ears on the alert, hehad learned also that there were not likely to be any further deaths,and that the remaining wounded men were slowly, but quite surely,recovering. Still further, he had heard one of the doctors, inconversation with the other, comment upon the remarkable vitality ofCaptain Pegram.

  "That wound would have killed almost any other man I ever saw, but uponmy word the man is getting well. Barring accidents, I regard him now aspretty nearly out of danger."

  All this Sam duly reported to Agatha through her friends. It greatlycomforted her, but it seriously alarmed Sam. For Sam had learned theways of the place, and he knew that there was haste made to send everypatient North, as soon as he was in condition to be removed withoutserious danger to his life; and Sam had begun to cherish hopes and layplans which would certainly come to nothing if his master should beremoved from the hospital to a military prison.

  He determined, therefore, to find some way of getting into the hospital,communicating with his master, and finding out for himself preciselywhat the prospects were.

  It was winter now, and besides the snow there was much mud around thehospital, which was freely tracked into it by all who entered. Peter,the rheumatic old negro man who was employed to scrub the place,complained bitterly of this. He said to Sam one day:

  "Dese heah doctahs an' dese heah 'tendants is mighty pahticklah to havede place keeped scrumptiously clean, but dey's mighty onpahticklah towipe dar boots 'fo' enterin' de hospital. Ole Pete's done got mos'enough o' dis heah job."

  "Why don't yo' quit it, den?" asked Sam, with seeming indifference.

  "'Case I can't 'ford to. I ain't got no udder 'ployment fer de rest o'de wintah, an' it's a long ways to blackberry time."

  "How much does dey gib yo' fer a-doin' of it?"

  "'Mos' nothin' 'tall--a dollah an' a half a month an' my bo'd."

  "Yes, an' de job won't las' long, nuther," said Sam, sympathetically,"'cordin' to what I heah. De rebel officers is all a-gwine to git well,I done heah de doctahs say, an' when dey does dat, dey'll be shipped offNorf, an' dis heah 'stablishment'll be broke up. You'se too ole fer sichwuk, anyways, Uncle Pete. Yo' oughter be a-nussin' o' yer knees by afire somewhars, 'stead o' warin' of 'em out a-scrubbin' flo's. You'segot a lot o' prayin' to do yit, 'fo' yo' dies,--'nuff to use up whatknees you'se got left. Give up de job. Uncle Pete, and go off wha' youkin make yer peace wid de Lawd, as de preachahs says you must."

  "But I cawn't, I tell you! I ain't got no money, an' I ain't got no'ployment, 'ceptin' dis heah scrubbin'. Ef I had five dollahs, Ole Petewouldn't be heah fer a day later'n day afteh to-morrow--dat's pay-day."

  Sam sat silent for a time as if meditating on what he had it in mind tosay, before committing himself to the rash proposal. Finally, he turnedto the old man, and said:

  "Look heah, Uncle Pete, I'se sorry fer you, sho' 'nuff I is. I'se done'cumulated a little money, by close scrimpin', an' I'm half a mind tohelp yo' out. Lemme see. You'se a-gwine to git a dollah an' a half dayafter to-morrow. I kin spar yo' six dollahs mo'. Dat'll make sebendollahs an' a half. I'll do it ef you'll take pity on yerse'f an' go totown an' git yerse'f a easier sort o' wuk. Yo' kin owe me de six dollahstell you git rich enough to pay it back."

  The old man was inclined to be suspicious of a generosity of which hehad never known the equal.

  "Who'se a-gwine to take de job ef I gibs it up?" he asked.

  "What de debbil do you k'yar 'bout dat?" asked Sam. "Anyhow, dey ain'ta-gwine to raise de wages. Yo' kin jes' bet yo' life on dat. Yo' kin dojes' as yo' please 'bout 'ceptin' de offer I done made you. I oughtn'tto 'a' made it, but I'se always a-makin' of a fool o' myse'f, when myfeelin's is touched. Six dollahs is a lot o' money, _hit_ is. Maybe yo'think I'm Mr. Astor, to go a-throwin' of money away like dat, or, maybeyo'se Mr. Astor yerse'f, to be hesitatin' 'bout a-'ceptin' of it. ReckonI bettah withdraw de offah--"

  "Who'se a-hesitatin'?" broke in old Peter, hurriedly. "I ain't neverthought o' hesitatin', Sam. I'll take de money sho', an' I thank youkindly for yer generosity, Sam. You'se a mighty fine boy, Sam, an' I'sealways liked you ever since I fust knowed you. Now dat you'se a-behavin'jes' like as if yo' was my own chile, I reck'lec' dat I always had afatherly feelin' foh you, Sam. Lemme have de money now, Sam, so's I kingo to sleep to-night a-feelin' I ain't got but one mo' day to do disheah sort o' wuk."

  "Yo' won't change yo' mind?" asked Sam.

  "Sartain sho'! Wish I may die ef I do."

  Sam regarded that oath as one likely to be binding upon any negroconscience, but he wished to take no risks; so putting on an air ofgreat solemnity, and pushing his face to within four inches of the oldman's, he said:

  "Now you'se done swore it by de 'wish I may die,' an' you mus' keep datsw'ar. Ef yo' don't, it'll be my solemn duty to carry out yo' wish bykillin' you myse'f, an', 'fore de Lawd, I'll do it. Heah's de money."