by G. A. Henty
The woman looked at it.
“Mrs. Grossmith, Worley Farm, near Union. That’s about two miles along the road. If you go on any one will tell you which is Mrs. Grossmith’s.”
Tony hurried on, for he wanted to get back to the camp before it was dark. He had no difficulty in finding Worley Farm.
“Now, then, what do you want?” its owner said sharply, as she opened the door in reply to his knock. “There’s nothing for you here. You can look round if you like. It’s been all stripped clean days ago, so I tell you.”
“Me no want anything, ma’am. Me hab a letter for you.” The woman in surprise took the note and opened it. She read it through and looked earnestly at Tony.
“He says you are to be trusted,” she said. “Is that so?”
“I would gib my life for him twenty times over,” Tony replied. “He got me away from a brutal master and bought my wife out ob slavery for me. What does he say, ma’am? For de Lord sake tell me. Perhaps he tell me how to get him clar.”
The woman read out the contents of the note.
“Dat’s it, missus, sure enough; dat’s the way,” he exclaimed in delight. “Me tink and tink all day, and no manage to tink of anything except to shoot de sentry and fight wid de oders and get him out; but den all de oder sojers come running down, and no chance to escape. If me can get de spirits dat’s easy enough. Me make dem all drunk as hogs.”
“I can give you that,” the woman said. “Is there anything else you will want? What are you going to do with him if you get him free? They will hunt you down like vermin.”
“I tought we might get down to de river and get ober somehow. Dere will be no getting trou der cavalry. Dey will hab dem on every road.”
“Well, you want some clothes, anyhow; you can’t go about in these soldier clothes. The first Yank you came across would shoot you for a deserter, and the first of our men as a traitor. Well, by the time you get back tonight, that is if you do come back, I will get up a chest I’ve get buried with my men’s clothes in it. They didn’t want to take them away to the war with them, so I hid them up.”
She had by this time dug up the keg from its hiding-place, and now filled Tony’s canteen.
“Tank you, missus; de Lord bress you for what you’ve done, wheder I get Massa Wingfield off or wheder we bofe get killed ober de job. But I must get back as fast as I can. Ef it was dark before I got to camp dey would wonder whar I had been.”
“Oh, you have plenty of time,” the woman said; “it won’t be dark till eight o’clock, and it’s not seven yet. I will set to and boil a good chunk of pork and bake some cakes. It’s no use getting out of the hands of the Yanks and then going and getting starved in the swamps.”
Directly Tony got back to his regiment he strolled over to the shed where Vincent was confined. Two sentinels were on duty, the sergeant and the two other men were lying at full length en the ground some twenty yards away. Their muskets were beside them, and it was evident to Tony by the vigilant watch that they kept upon the shed that their responsibility weighed heavily upon them and that Captain Pearce had impressed upon them that if the prisoner escaped they would certainly be shot.
“Well, Sergeant John Newson,” Tony began, “I hab just walked ober to see how you getting on. It am a mighty ’sponsible business dis. I had six hours of him, and it make de perspiration run down my back to tink what a job it would be for me if dat fellow was to run away.”
“Dat’s just what dis chile feel, Sergeant Tony Morris; I am zactly like dat, and dat’s what dese men feel too. We am all on guard. De captain say, put two on guard at de shed and let de oders relieb dem ebery hour. So dey shall; but dose off duty must watch just the same. When it gets dark we get close up, so as to be ready to jump in directly we hear a stir. Dis fellow no fool us.”
“Dat’s the way, Sergeant Newson, dat am de way. Neber close your eye, but keep a sharp look on dem. It’s a pity dat you not in camp tonight.”
“How am dat, how am dat?” the sergeant asked.
“To tell you de truf, sergeant, tree or four ob us hab smuggled in some spirits, and you are one of dose who would hab come in for a share of it if you had been dere.”
“Golly!” the sergeant exclaimed; “but dat is bery unfortunate. Can’t you manage to bring me a little here?”
“Well, you know, it’s difficult to get out ob camp.”
“Oh, you could get through. Dere is no fear about you being caught.”
“I don’t know,” Tony replied with an air of reluctance. “Well, I will see about it. Ef I can crawl troo de sentries, and bring some for you and de oders, I will. It will help keep you awake and keep out de damp.
“Dat’s right down good ob you,” the other said cordially. “You good man, Tony Morris; and if I can do as much for you anoder time, I do it.”
Having settled this, Tony went round to the hospital tent in rear of the regiment, having tied up his face with a handkerchief.
“Well, what is it, sergeant?” the negro, who acted as an orderly and sometimes helped the surgeon mix his drugs, asked. “De doctor am gone away, and I don’t ’spect he come back again tonight.”
“Dat am bery bad ting,” Tony said dolefully. “Can’t you do something for me, Sam Smith? I tink you know quite as much about de medicines as de doctor himself.”
“Not quite so much, sergeant, not quite so much; but I’se no fool, and my old mother she used to make medicine for de plantation and knew a heap about herbs, so it am natural dat I should take to it. What can I gib you?”
“Well, Sam, you see sometimes I’se ’flicted dre’fful wid de faceache him just go jump, jump, jump, as ef he bust right up. Mose times I find de best ting am to put a little laudabun in my mouf, and a little on bit of rag and put him outside. De best ting would be for you to gib me little bottle of him; den when de pain come on I could jess take him, and not be troubling you ebery day. And Sam, jus you whisper—I got hold of a little good stuff. You gib me tin mug; me share what I hab got wid you.”
The negro grinned with delight, and going into the tent brought out a tin mug.
“Dat’s all right, Sam; but you hab no brought de bottle of laudabun too. You just fetch dat, and I gib you de spirit.”
The negro went in again, and in two minutes returned with a small bottle of laudanum.
“Dat’s a fair exchange,” Tony said, taking it, and handing to the man his mug half full of spirit.
“Dat am someting like,” the black said, looking with delight at the liberal allowance. “Me drink him de last ting at night, den me go to sleep and no one ’spect nuffin’. Whereber you get dat spirit?”
“Never you mind, Sam,” Tony said with a grin. “Dar’s more where dat comes from, and maybe you will get anoder taste ob it.”
Then after leaving the hospital tent he poured half the spirits away, for he had not now to depend upon the effect of that alone; and it were better not to give it too strong, for that might arouse the suspicion of the guard. Then he uncorked the bottle of laudanum.
“I don’t know how much to gib,” he said to himself. “No good to kill dem. Me don’t ’spect de stuff bery strong. Dese rogues sell all sorts of stuff to de government. Anyting good enough for de soldier. Dey gib him rotten boots, and rotten cloth, and bad powder, and all sorts of tings. I spect dey gib him bad drugs too. However, me must risk it. Dis bottle not bery big, anyhow—won’t hold more dan two or three teaspoon. Must risk him.”
So saying he poured the contents of the vial into the canteen, and then going to a water-cart filled it up. He waited until the camp was quiet, and then, taking off his boots and fastening in his belt his own bayonet and that of one of the men sleeping near, he quietly and cautiously made his way out of camp. There were no sentries placed here, for there was no fear whatever of an attack, and he had little difficulty in making his way round to the back of the village to the spot where Vincent was confined. He moved so quietly that he was not perceived until he was within a few yards of the shed.
“Sergeant Newson, am you dere?”
“Bress me, what a start you hab given me, for suah!” the sergeant said. “I did not hear you coming.
“You didn’t s’pose I was coming along shouting and whistling, Sergeant Newson? Don’t you talk so loud. Dar am no saying who’s about.”
“Hab you brought de stuff?”
“You don’t suppose I should hab come all dis way to tell you I hab not got it. How am de prisoner?”
“Oh, he’s dere all right. My orders was to look in at dat little winder ebery five minutes, and dat when it began to get dark me was to tie him quite tight, and me hab done so. And one of de sentries goes in every five minutes and feels to see if de ropes are tight. He am dar, sure enough.”
“Dat’s quite right, Sergeant Newson. I knew when you came to have me as de captain knew what he was doing when he choose you for dis job. He just pick out de man he considers de very best in de regiment. Now, here is de spirit; and fuss-rate stuff it am, too.”
“Golly, but it am strong!” the sergeant said, taking a long gulp at the canteen. “Dat warm de cockles ob de heart in no time. Yes, it am good stuff—just de ting for dis damp air. I hear as a lot of de white soldiers are down wid de fever already, and dere will be lots and lots more if we stop here long. Here, you two men, take a drink of dis; but mind, you mustn’t tell no one ’bout it. Dis a secret affair.”
The two negroes each took a long drink, and returned the canteen with warm expressions of approval.
“De oder men are on duty,” the sergeant said with the air of a man who knew his business; “dey mustn’t hab none of it, not until dey comes off. As we are de relief, it am proper and right dat we drink a drop out of a canteen ef we want it.”
“Quite so, Sergeant Newson,” Tony said in a tone of admiration. “Dat’s de way to manage dese tings—duty first and pleasure afterward.”
“It am nearly time to relieve guard,” the other said; “and den dey can have a drink.”
In five minutes the two soldiers relieved those on guard, and they also took a long drink at the canteen, to which the sergeant also again applied his lips.
“Now I must be going,” Tony said. “I will leave the canteen with you, sergeant. I have got some more of the stuff over there, and I dare say you will like another drink before morning.”
So saying he stole away, but halted and lay down twenty yards distant. In ten minutes he heard the sergeant say:
“I feel as if I could do just five minutes’ sleep. You keep your eyes on de shed, and ef you hear any officer coming his rounds you wake me up.”
Tony waited another half-hour and then crawled up. The sergeant was lying on his back sound asleep; the two men with him were on their faces, with their rifles pointing toward the shed, as if they had dropped off to sleep while they were staring at it. Then he crawled on to the shed. The soldier on sentry at the back had grounded his musket and was leaning against the shed fast asleep, while the one at the door had apparently slid down in a sitting position and was snoring.
“I hope I haben’t given it to dem too strong,” Tony said to himself; “but it can’t be helped anyhow.”
He opened the door and entered the shed.
“Are you awake, Marse Wingfield?”
“Yes, I am awake, Tony. Thank God you have come! How did you manage it?”
“I hab managed it, sah, and dey are all fast asleep,” Tony said, as he cut the ropes which bound Vincent.
“Now, sah, let’s be going quick. Dar am no saying when dey may come round to look after de guards. Dat’s what I hab been worrying about de last quarter ob an hour.”
Vincent sprang to his feet as the ropes fell from him, and grasped Tony’s hand.
“Here am a bayonet, sah. I hope we sha’n’t want to use dem, but dar am no saying.”
They made their way cautiously across the fields till they approached another camp. A few sentries were walking up and down in front of it, but they crawled round these and passed through the space between the regiment and that next to it. Several other camps were passed; and then, when Vincent knew that they were well in rear of the whole of them, they rose to their feet and started forward at a run. Suddenly Tony touched Vincent, and they both stood still. A distant shout came through the air, followed by another and another.
“I ’spect dey hab found out we have gone, sah. Dey go round two or tree times in de night to see dat de sentries are awake. Now, sah, come along.”
They were on the road now, and ran at full speed until they approached Union. They left the track as they neared the village, and as they did so they heard the sound of a horse at full gallop behind them.
“That’s an orderly taking the news of our escape. Sheridan’s cavalry are scattered all over the country, and there are two squadrons at Union Grove. The whole country will be alive at daybreak.”
Making their way through the fields they soon struck the track leading to Worley Farm, and in a few minutes were at the door. The woman opened it at once.
“I have been watching for you,” she said, “and I am real glad you have got safe away. Wait a minute and I will strike a light.”
“You had better not do that,” Vincent said. “They have got the alarm at Union Grove already, and if any one caught sight of a light appearing in your window, it would bring them down here at once.”
“They can’t see the house from Union,” the woman said. “Still, perhaps it will be best. Now, sir, I can’t do anything for you, because my men’s clothes are the same sort of cut as yours; but here’s a suit for this man.”
Thanking her warmly Vincent handed the things to Tony.
“Make haste and slip them on. Tony; and make your other things up into a bundle and bring them with you for a bit. We must leave nothing here, for they will search the whole country tomorrow. We will take the horse away too; not that we want it, but it would never do for it to be found here.”
“Will you take your letter again?” the woman asked.
“No, I will leave it with you. It will be no use now if I get through, but if you hear tomorrow or next day that I am caught, please carry it as we arranged. What is this?” he asked as the woman handed him a bundle.
“Here are eight or ten pounds of pork,” she said, “and some corn-cakes. If you are hiding away you will want something, and I reckon anyhow you won’t be able to make your way to our people for a bit. Now, if you are ready I will start with you.”
“You will start with us!” Vincent repeated in surprise.
“Certainly I will start with you,” the woman said. “How do you think you would be able to find your way a dark night like this? No, sir; I will put you on your way till morning. But, in the first place, which line do you mean to take?”
“I do not think there is much chance of getting back the way we came,” Vincent said. “By morning Sheridan’s cavalry will have got a description of me, and they will be scouring the whole country. The only chance will be to go north and cross the river somewhere near Norfolk.”
“I think, sah, you better go on wid your horse at once. No use wait for me. I come along on foot, find my own way.”
“No, Tony, I shall certainly not do that. We will either get off or be taken together. Well, I think the best plan will be to go straight down to the river. How far is it away?”
“About fifteen miles,” the woman said.
“If we got there we can get hold of a boat somehow, and either cross and then make straight for Richmond on foot, or go up the river in the boat and land in the rear of our lines. That we can settle about afterward. The first thing is to get to the river bank. We are not likely to meet with any interruption in that direction. Of course the cavalry are all on the other flank, and it will be supposed that I shall try either to work round that way or to make straight through the lines. They would hardly suspect that I shall take to the river, which is covered with their transports and store-ships.”
“I think that is the best plan,” the wom
an said. “There are scarce any villages between this and the river. It’s only just when you cross the road between Petersburg and Williamsburg that you would be likely to meet a soul, even in the daytime. There is scarce even a farmhouse across this section. I know the country pretty well. Just stop a minute and I will run up to the wood and fetch down the horse. There’s a big wood about a mile away, and you can turn him in there.”
A few minutes later they started, Vincent leading the horse and Tony carrying the bundle of food and his castoff uniform. The woman led them by farm roads, sometimes turning off to the right or left, but keeping her way with a certainty which showed how well she was acquainted with the country. Several times they could hear the dull sound of bodies of cavalry galloping along the roads; but this died away as they got further into the country. The horse had been turned loose a mile from their starting place. Vincent removed the bridle and saddle, saying: “He will pick up enough to feed on here for some time. When he gets tired of the wood he can work his way out into a clearing.”
Here Tony hid away his uniform among some thick bushes, and the three walked steadily along until the first tinge of daylight appeared on the sky. Then the woman stopped.
“The river is not more than half a mile in front of you,” she said; “so I will say good-by.”
“What will you do?” Vincent asked. “You might be questioned as you get near home.”
“I am going to put up at the last house we passed,” she said, “about three miles back. I know the people there, and they will take me in. I will stop there for a day or two, maybe, then walk back, so I shall have a true story to tell. That’s all right.”
Vincent said good-by to her, with many hearty thanks for the services she had rendered him, and had almost to force her to take notes for two hundred dollars from the bundle he had sewn up in the lining of his coat.
“You have saved my life,” he said, “and some day I hope to be able to do more to show my gratitude; but you must take this anyhow to tide you over the hard times, and find food for your husband and sons when they come back from the war.”
As soon as the woman had turned back Vincent and Tony continued on their way. The former had, as soon as they were fairly out from the Federal camp, told Tony in a few words that his wife was safe at home and their boy flourishing, and he now gave him further details of them.