CHAPTER XIV.
MARCY CHANGES HIS CLOTHES.
Marcy Gray was blessed with as much courage as most boys, but he wouldhave been glad if he could have backed out of that car without beingseen, and gone into another. Perhaps the conviction that he was "an oddsheep in the flock," and that he held, and had often published, opinionsthat differed widely from those that animated the excited, gesticulatingmen before him, had something to do with his nervousness and timidity;and it may be that the revolvers he saw brandished by two or three ofthe half-tipsy passengers had more effect upon him. But he could notretreat. They saw his uniform as soon as he opened the door, and some ofthe noisiest among them stumbled to greet him.
"Here's one of our brave fellows now," shouted one, firing his revolverout of the window with one hand while he extended the other to Marcy."Got his soldier clothes on and going to the front before our guns inCharleston harbor have got through smoking. Young man, you're my style.I'm a member of the Baltimore Grays, and I'm on my way home to join 'emin defense of our young republic. What regiment?"
"Company A, Barrington Cadets," replied Marcy, rightly supposing thatthe Baltimore man was too far gone to remember, if indeed he had everheard, that there was a military school in the town they had just left."I'm going home on a leave of absence."
"Course you are," replied the man. "Services not needed at present andmebbe never will be. The Yankees are all mechanics and smalltrades-people, and there's no fight in such. We're gentlemen, andthere's fight in us, I bet you. But you show your good will in puttingon those soldier clothes, and that's what every man's got to do, or goup to the United States. Those who are not for us are against us, andwe'll make short work with 'em. Say, we licked 'em, didn't we?"
"Of course," answered Marcy. "Fifty-one soldiers without food or powderdon't stand much chance against five thousand well-equipped men."
"It would have been all the same if there had been fifty-one thousand of'em," declared the Baltimore man. "Aint got any business there. Fortbelongs to So' Car'lina. Why didn't they get out when Beau'gard told 'emto, if they didn't want to get licked? Three cheers for SouthernConfed'sy!"
Much disgusted, Marcy Gray finally succeeded in releasing his hand fromthe man's detaining grasp and forced his way 'to a seat; but he wasoften stopped to hear his patriotism applauded, and President Lincolndenounced for bringing on a useless war by trying to throw provisionsinto Fort Sumter.
"I don't see what else he could have done," soliloquized the NorthCarolina boy, as he squeezed himself into as small a compass as possiblein a seat next to a window. "The fort belonged to the United States, andit was the President's business to hold fast to it if he could. SouthCarolina wanted a pretext for firing on the flag, and she got it. She'llbe sorry for it when she sees grass growing in the streets of herprincipal city. So I am taken for a rebel, am I? What would thatBaltimore fellow do to me if he knew that I have two Union flags in mytrunk, and that I mean to hoist them some day? My life wouldn't be wortha minute's purchase if these passengers knew how I feel toward them andtheir miserable Confederacy."
All the way to Raleigh, which was nearly three hundred and sixty milesfrom Barrington, Marcy Gray lived in a fever of suspense. Although hedid not know a soul on board the train, he might have had companionsenough if he had been a little more sociable; but he did not care tomake any new acquaintances, especially among people who were so nearlybeside themselves. They all took him for just what he wasn't--a rebelsoldier; and being ignorant of the fact that he was going toward home asfast as steam could take him, they supposed that the reason he was sosilent and thoughtful was because he was lonely, and felt sorrowful overparting from his friends; and so it came about that now and then someone would sit down beside him and try to give him a comforting andcheering word. All the ladies who spoke to him were eager for war anddisunion. They were worse than the men; Marcy found that out before hehad gone fifty miles on his journey.
Marcy mentally denounced these sympathetic and well-meaning rebels as somany nuisances, for they drew upon him attentions that he would havebeen glad to escape. They asked him all sorts of questions, and the boyadroitly managed to truthfully answer every one of them, and withoutexciting suspicion. Matters were even worse when the train stopped. Theflags that were fluttering from the locomotive and the car windowsattracted the notice of the station loafers, who whooped and yelled andcrowded up to shake hands with the passengers. At such times Marcyalways took off his cap; but that did no good, for some one was sure tosee his gray overcoat, and propose cheers for him. Marcy trembled whenhe thought of what they would do to him if they learned that he was thestrongest Union boy in the school he had left. But there was littledanger of that. His secret was safe.
Raleigh was reached at last, and Marcy Gray, feeling like a stranger ina strange land, changed cars for Boydtown, which was a hundred andtwenty miles further on. But before doing that he stepped into atelegraph office and sent the following dispatch to his mother:
"Will take a late breakfast with you to-morrow if you will send Morristo meet me at the depot. Three cheers for the right."
"How much?" he asked the operator, after the latter had read it over.
"Not a cent to a soldier," he replied, reaching out his hand, and takingit for granted that the boy was fresh from the seat of war. "Warm timesin Charleston the other day, I suppose?"
"I shouldn't wonder if it was hot in the fort," answered Marcy, with asmile.
"But you happened to be on the outside."
"You're right, I did. It was no place for me in there."
"No; nor for any other man who believes in the right. Tell us all aboutit. Were you frightened when you heard the shells bursting over yourhead, and did the Yankees--"
"I must ask you to excuse me," said Marcy, hastily, "my train is readyto go, and I have barely time to catch it."
"Well, good luck to you."
Marcy hastened from the telegraph office before any one else could speakto him, and thanked his lucky stars that before another night came hewould be at home where he could appear in his true character; but he wassatisfied, from what his mother had said in her letters, that he wouldfind few friends among the neighbors. They were nearly allsecessionists, Mrs. Gray wrote, and those who were not were compelled topretend that they were, in order to avoid being driven from the country.It was a bad state of affairs altogether, but Marcy knew he would haveto get used to it. He slept but little that night, and it was a greatrelief to him when the train stopped at Boydtown, which was located on anavigable arm of Pamlico Sound, and was as far as the railroad went. AsMarcy lived near Albemarle Sound, there was still a ride of thirty-fivemiles before him, but that would be taken in his mother's carriage,provided any of the negroes had been over to Nashville and got thedispatch he sent from Raleigh the day before. All doubts on this pointwere removed when the train drew up at the station, for the first personhe saw on the platform was Morris, the coachman, who greeted himheartily as he stepped from the car. This faithful old slave was Marcy'sfriend and mentor, and Sailor Jack's as well; and the boy Julius, whohad come with the spring wagon to bring home the trunk, was theirplaymate. Julius was just about Marcy's age. They had hunted and fishedtogether, sailed their boats in the same mudhole, and had many a fightover their marbles, in which, we are sorry to say, Marcy did not alwayscome out first best.
"There's my check, Julius," said Marcy, handing it over, and slipping apiece of money into the black boy's palm at the same time. "Shut thecarriage door, Morris. I am going to ride on the box so that I can talkto you. I want you to tell me everything that's happened since I havebeen away. You are a good rebel, of course."
"Now, Marse Marcy, you know a heap better'n that," replied Morris, whoplumed himself on being the "properest talking colored gentleman on theplantation." "Git up, heah," he shouted to his horses. "Don't you knowthat the long-lost prodigal son has come back? You don't want to say toomuch around heah. Everything in town go
t ears. Wait till we git in thecountry and then you can talk. Yes, sar, your mother is well; quitewell. But she's powerful sorry."
"I know she is. Do you hear anything from Jack?"
"Not the first word. He's on the ship _Sabine_, which done sailed forsome place, but I dunno where."
"I wish he was safe at home," said Marcy. "Somehow I feel uneasy abouthim."
He would have felt more than simply uneasy if he could have looked farenough into the future to see that Jack's ship was destined to be one ofthe first of a large number of defenseless vessels to fall into thehands of Captain Semmes, who, as commander of the _Sumter_, unfurled theConfederate flag on the high seas, June 30, 1861. But, as we shallpresently see, the _Sabine_ did not "stay captured." She escaped, andbrought the prize crew that Semmes had thrown aboard of her into aNorthern port as prisoners.
"There aint no secesh out on the watah, is there, Marse Marcy?"exclaimed Morris.
"I'm afraid there will be some there before long. We're going to havewar, Morris. I saw by a paper I bought on the train to-day thatPresident Lincoln has called out seventy-five thousand men."
"Shucks!" cried the negro. "That aint half enough men. The secesh donegot a hundred thousand already."
"I think myself that he might as well have mustered in half a millionwhile he was about it. But the thing that rather surprises me is that heshould call upon the border States for troops," said Marcy, pulling fromhis pocket the paper of which he had spoken. "Of course he'll not getthem. Hear what the Governor of this State says: 'Your dispatch isreceived; and if genuine, which its extraordinary character leads me todoubt, I have to say in reply that I regard the levy of troops made bythe administration for the purpose of subjugating the States of theSouth, as in violation of the Constitution, and a usurpation of power. Ican be no party to this wicked violation of the laws of the country, andin this war upon the liberties of a free people. You can get no troopsfrom North Carolina.'"
"Marse Linkum oughter hang that man," exclaimed Morris wrathfully.
"That's what I say. He's a pretty fellow to talk about violating theConstitution when South Carolina has already violated it by levying waragainst the United States. The Southern folks seem to have little senseand less consistency. But don't let's waste any more time on politics.How are everything and everybody at home? Is my schooner all right, andhas Bose got over the drubbing that big coon gave him last fall? Howmany of the boys have run away?"
"Now, just listen at _you_," exclaimed Morris. "Who going to run awayfrom the Missus, and where he going to run to?"
"To the Yankees, of course. This war will make you black ones allfree."
"Aw! Go on now, Marse Marcy."
"I really believe it. You darkies are the cause of all this fuss, andyou will have to be killed off or made free before we can be a unitedpeople again."
The coachman's inimitable laugh rang out cheerily. The Northern folksneed not trouble their heads about him, he said. He was better off thanthousands of the poor whites in the free States, and wouldn't accept hisfreedom if it was offered to him. His subsequent actions proved that hemeant every word he said; for when Marcy read the EmancipationProclamation to him and his fellow-servants two years later, and toldthem that they were free to make their way into the Union lines if theycould, Morris refused to budge an inch. A few of the slaves had alreadygone; a few more took Marcy at his word and slipped away by night withtheir bundles on their shoulders, but those who could get back to theplantation were very glad to come. Freedom wasn't such a beautiful thingafter all, because it did not bring the freedom from work that they hadlooked for, and the Yankee soldiers were really harder task-masters thanthe ones from whom they had been so anxious to escape.
During the ride homeward Marcy did not see a single thing to remind himthat there was a war impending--not a tent or Confederate flag orsoldier in uniform was in sight. Negroes sang as they went to their workin the wide fields that stretched out on either side of the road, thebirds chirped, the air was soft and balmy, the wheels hummed a melodioustune as they spun rapidly along the hard road, and all his surroundingsspoke of peace and plenty.
At last an abrupt turn brought him within sight of his home,--in everyrespect a typical Southern home, with wide, cool halls, large and airyrooms, broad piazzas, and spacious, well-kept grounds, in which fruits,flowers, and grand old trees abounded. A few miles away, but in plainview, were the sparkling waters of the sound, peaceful enough now, butdestined ere long to be plowed by the keels of hostile ships, and tossedinto wavelets by shrieking shot and shell. On the left, and about threehundred yards in front of the house, was Seven Mile Creek; and the firstthing in it that caught Marcy's eye was his handsome schooner, the FairyBelle, riding safely at her moorings. Marcy would have found it hard tofind words with which to express his admiration for that little craft,and the way she behaved in rough weather. With her aid, and with Juliusfor a companion, he had explored every nook, corner, and inlet along thedangerous and intricate coast of the sound for miles in both directions;and they were as familiar to him as the road that led from Barrington tothe academy. He and Sailor Jack were good pilots for that coast as fardown as Hatteras Inlet, and on one or two occasions had been fortunateenough to assist distressed vessels in finding a safe anchorage.
Old Bose, the dog that had been so roughly handled by the last coonMarcy helped dispatch, was the first to welcome him when the carriageturned into the yard, and said, as plainly as a dog could say anything,that he was both surprised and hurt because his usually attentive masterhad scarcely more than a word and a pat for him. The boy did not evenhear the greetings of the numerous house-servants who clustered aboutthe carriage when it was brought to a stand-still, for his eyes andthoughts were concentrated upon the pale woman in black who stood at thetop of the wide steps leading to the porch. It was his mother, and in asecond more she was clasped in his arms.
"Are you so sorry I've come that you are going to cry over it?"exclaimed Marcy, when he saw that there were tears in her eyes. "I knowyou'll not expect me to shake hands with you until I have had a chanceto say a word to my mother," he added, addressing the blacks who hadfollowed close at his heels. "I will see you all after a while. Come in,mother. I told you I would be late to breakfast, but I know you havesaved a bite for me."
After a few earnest questions had been asked and answered by both ofthem, Marcy went up to his room, whither his trunk had already beencarried. His first task was to remove some of the North Carolina dustthat had settled on his hands and face, and his next to divest himselfof his uniform and put on a suit of citizen's clothes. During his longride that gray coat had brought him in pretty close contact with somepeople he hoped he would never meet again.
"Stay there," said he, as he hung the garment upon a hook in his closet."I shall never wear you again, but I'll keep you to remind me of oldBarrington."
The boy afterward had reason to wish he had hidden that uniform ordestroyed it. A detachment of Sherman's cavalry scouted through thecountry, after completing their famous march to the sea, went all overthe house in search of valuables and contraband goods, and one of thefirst things they pitched upon was that gray suit. It might have been aserious thing for Marcy, had it not been for the flag Dick Graham gavehim. What became of the other, the one that was hauled down on the daythe news of the surrender of Fort Sumter was received, shall be told inits proper place.
"I feel like a free man once more," he said, when he rejoined his motherin the parlor and walked into the dining-room with his arm thrownprotectingly around her waist. "Where's Dinah?" he added, seeing thatthere was no one to wait at table.
"I preferred to have our first breakfast in private," replied Mrs. Gray."In times like these one doesn't know whom to trust. There's beennothing like open enmity yet," she continued, noticing a shade ofanxiety on her son's face. "I have thought it wise to keep my owncounsel, and have taken no part in the discussions that have been heldin my presence; but I have not escaped suspicion."
"I
understand you perfectly," answered Marcy. "Are there no Union peopleat all in this country?"
"There may be, but I do not know who they are. There are some who havetold me, privately, that they are opposed to secession, but having thebest of reasons for believing that they said so on purpose to induce meto express my opinion, I have kept silent. You must do the same, and beconstantly on your guard. If your friends, or those who were yourfriends once, assure you that their sympathies are all for the Union,you may listen, but you must not say one word. If you do, you may regretit when it is too late to recall it."
"Why, this is worse than Barrington," Marcy declared. "There you knowwho your enemies are; but here you've got to look out for everybody, orthe first thing you know some sneak may get on the blind side of you.Now, mother, let's talk business. How are the darkies?"
"They seem to be as happy and contented as they ever were, and aswilling to work. The overseer hasn't a word of fault to find withthem."
"So far so good. How's the overseer; Union or secesh?"
"You must decide that for yourself after you have talked with him,"replied Mrs. Gray. "I think he will bear watching. At any rate, I do nottrust him."
"Then if I have anything to say, he shall not stay around here a minuteafter his contract runs out. We don't want anybody about that we areafraid of. You're going to run the plantation right along. I suppose?"
"I thought I would, unless you have something better to propose."
"Well, I haven't. This is my boyhood's home and Jack's. By the way,where is Jack?"
"On the high seas somewhere, and that is all I can tell you."
"And Rodney once said he might never get back again," replied Marcy. "Hethinks the South is going to have a navy that will beat anything theworld ever saw. Yes, Rodney is a rebel to the backbone," he added inresponse to an inquiry from his mother. "Says the Northern folks will bewhipped before they can take their coats off; but for all that he showedconsiderable feeling when he came to say good-by. He is under a promiseto enlist under the Stars and Bars within twenty-four hours after hereaches home, and I know he will do it, if he can get to a recruitingoffice. But to return to business. I am sure we had better keep rightalong as we have been going, instead of pulling up stakes and moving tosome new place to meet dangers and difficulties of which we knownothing. We've got to eat, and we must have something to wear; and howare we to get things if we have no crops? Have you any money?"
Mrs. Gray started perceptibly at this abrupt question, and beforereplying arose to her feet and opened, in quick succession, all thedoors leading out of the dining-room.
"Aha!" said Marcy, who thought he knew the meaning of this pantomime."You remind me of old Uncle Toby. _He_ had money which he lost becausehe hid it in the ground instead of putting it where it would have beensafe."
"That is what I have done with ours," said his mother, in a scarcelyaudible whisper. "That is to say, I have concealed it."
"How much?"
"Nearly thirty thousand dollars, and it is all in gold."
"W-h-e-w!" whistled Marcy. "What put it into your head?"
"I took warning; that is all. The Southern people have often threatenedto secede if a Republican President was elected, and I was sure theymeant it; so when the election returns came in and this excitementbegan, I made several quiet business trips to Newbern, Wilmington,Norfolk, and Richmond."
"Why, you never said a word about it in your letters."
"I know it. I did not think it necessary to trouble you with it. I drewa little money each time, brought it home in safety, and I trust withoutexciting suspicion, though on that point, of course, I cannot be sure,and hid it in the cellar at dead of night, after I had taken thegreatest pains to assure myself that every one in the house was soundlyasleep."
"How did you cover up the place where you had been digging?"
"I didn't do any digging," his mother answered, with a smile. "I took astone out of the wall as heavy as I could lift, and cemented it in placeagain, after keeping out a sum sufficient to meet our immediate wants.It took me three nights to do it."
"It's a shame that there wasn't someone here whom you could trust to dothe work for you," said Marcy. "I am here to bear the hard knocks now."
The Southerners were careful of their women. If they had had thefaintest conception of the trials and privations their mothers, wives,and sisters would be called upon to bear, they never would have firedupon Sumter. The patience and heroic endurance exhibited by thesecarefully nurtured women, during the dark days of the war, were littleshort of sublime.
Marcy and his mother sat a long time at the table, and when they arosefrom it Mrs. Gray knew pretty nearly what had been going on atBarrington during the last few months (not a word was said, however,concerning the letter Rodney wrote to Bud Goble), and Marcy had a verycorrect idea of the way matters were being managed on the plantation. Hehad nothing to suggest. The only thing they could do was to keep alongin the even tenor of their way, and await developments. There was onething for which he was sorry, and that was that he could not dischargeHanson, the overseer, that very day. He believed his mother was afraidof him; but the man was under contract for a year, and could haveclaimed damages if he had been turned adrift without good and sufficientreason. It was not the damages that Marcy cared for, but he wasrestrained from urging Hanson's dismissal through fear of setting theneighbors' tongues in motion.
"Hanson is secesh, easy enough," he said to himself. "If he were not,some of those officious planters would have demanded his discharge longago. If we turn him away without a cause, they will say that we arepersecuting him on account of his principles, and that would be bad forus. The man will have to stay for the present, and I'll make it mybusiness to know every move he makes."
Marcy devoted the first few days to renewing old acquaintances among theblack people on the plantation, who were overjoyed to see him safe athome, and in calling upon some of the neighboring planters; but the lastproved to be rather a disagreeable duty, and one which he did notprosecute for any length of time. It seemed to him that somethingintangible had come between him and those who used to be on the best ofterms with him something that could not be seen or felt, but which wasnone the less a barrier to their social intercourse. He was not of them,and they knew it; that was all there was of it. Before he had been athome ten days he began to see the force of his cousin Rodney's warning,that if he did not turn his back upon the Union and proclaim himself asecessionist, his neighbors would not have the first thing to do withhim, and during those ten days two things happened that made thesituation harder to bear than it was at first.
The little town of Nashville, to which Marcy sent his dispatch fromRaleigh, was situated about three miles distant from the plantation.Besides the telegraph, express, and post offices it contained a courthouse, two hotels, and the homes of about five hundred inhabitants. Themail was received twice each day, and as often as it came in, rain orshine, there was some one from Mrs. Gray's house there to meet it. Thisduty was at once assumed by Marcy, who, besides having a fast horse ofhis own which he was fond of riding, was so impatient to see the latestpapers that he could not wait for anybody to bring them to him. Healways read them on his way home, allowing his filly to choose her owngait. On the day he reached home the papers told him that PresidentLincoln had placed an embargo upon the seaports of all the secededStates; but Marcy did not pay much attention to that. It was nothingmore than those States might have expected, but it was a questionwhether or not the navy was strong enough to enforce the blockade. Thesame paper informed him that President Davis was ready to issue lettersof marque and reprisal to anybody who would equip a privateer, and givebonds that the laws of the Confederate States regulating the capture ofprizes should be obeyed. The boy didn't give a second thought to thateither. His schooner wasn't heavy enough to engage in the business ofprivateering, and she would not have gone into it if she had been. Shehad always floated the flag of the Union, and as long as she remained inhis keeping, she nev
er would carry any other. But when on the 29th ofApril Marcy read that President Lincoln, two days before, had includedthe ports of Virginia and North Carolina in the limits of hisproclamation, it made him open his eyes.
"My State hasn't seceded yet, and here he has gone and shut up herports," exclaimed Marcy indignantly. "That's a pretty thing to do, isn'tit now? Hurry up, Fanny. Let's get home and see what mother thinks aboutit."
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