My lady of the South. Randall Parrish
you mean to tell me that you know what our plans of operation are?"
"I know enough of them, at least, to make me particularly anxious to get away. Now stop that. Lieutenant; not another move; doubtless you know what this derringer contains; I will assuredly use it if necessary, and it feels to me like a hair-trigger. Put out your hands; no, hold them close together—so."
The utter uselessness of resistance was very plain, and, reckless as the fellow might have proven if opportunity served, he realized now clearly enough that death would probably be the penalty of refusal. I did a good job of lashing, thoroughly aware that if he once escaped, and succeeded in raising an alarm before morning, I was the one who would suffer. I greatly disliked gagging him, yet at any moment the belated orderly might ride past, and a single cry from the Lieutenant would mean release and pursuit.
The horse waited patiently, his nostrils still thrust down in the cool running water, his rein trailing. I turned him about, as I must ride directly past the Denslow plantation in my effort to escape, owing to the massing of troops to the westward. If I could rely on the word of the Lieutenant, all pickets had already been recalled from the opposite direction, and I would discover clear passage, although this might prove the long way round. I led the horse slowly forward, moving as noiselessly as possible along the turf by the side of the road, hoping thus to steal past beneath the concealing shadows of the trees. The men would never perceive me at that distance from the veranda, unless some unusual noise should reveal our passage; the greater danger of discovery lay with "Massa George" or the negro Joe, one or perhaps both of whom would very likely be with the waiting horses, near where the garden fence came out even with the road.
I advanced thus as far as the shed, seeing and hearing nothing in any way to alarm me; the house was unlighted, and I could perceive no movement in the darkness ahead, not even the restless motion of horses. I knew where these should be tethered, however, and holding my own animal firmly by the bit, my other hand grasping his nostrils, I led him cautiously forward beneath the blackness of the overhanging boughs. We must have advanced thus for a hundred feet or more, scarcely making a rustling in the short grass under-foot, when a horse neighed shrilly to our right. My horse as instantly stopped and flung up his head, the sudden, unexpected movement loosening my grip. As I hastened to restrain him, my hand struck the overhanging branch of a tree, rattling the leaves sharply. Instantly a dim figure rose up apparently in the very middle of the road.
"Who am dar?" It was the voice of the negro, startled, trembling, yet loud with alarm. "Massa George; Massa George, sah!"
He had not even then perceived me in the shadow, yet I durst not move an inch, and I could hear George hastily leap the fence. I swung silently up into the saddle, my first impulse being to drive in the spurs and ride recklessly. But the negro had located me now, and, encouraged by the near presence of his master, sprang directly to the horse's head. The fellow must have possessed the eyes of an owl to have even noted my shape and uniform under such conditions, for to me he was but the merest unrecognizable smudge, yet his shout of recognition came before I could attempt the first motion to escape.
"Fer de Lord's sake, if it ain't Massa Calvert! What fer yer try to fool dis nigger like dat, sah?"
His words awoke within me a sudden hope. Possibly amid that intense darkness I might pass muster, for long enough, at least, to gain some advantage; perhaps even to escape without being compelled to do him bodily injury. It must be either that, or else an instant struggle which could only add to my danger, no matter how it terminated. I was very nearly Dunn's size, for his uniform fitted me as though made to my measure, and I was sufficiently versed in local conditions for all immediate requirements of such a masquerade. My voice was the greatest peril, that and a possible light which might reveal my features. All this swept through my brain in a flash, so that I answered back even before young Denslow reached us.
"It's all right, Joe; my horse went lame back yonder, and the night is so dark I did n't even know I was here yet. What is the matter with the house that you don't show any light?"
The negro laughed loudly, evidently relieved in his own mind, and released his grip on the rein.
"Fore de Lord, Massa Calvert, dat was suah a good joke on you. Nebber did I tink you not know when you git to dis house. Why was it we not hab any light burning? 'Cause de Yankees done took all de oil, an' we ain't got no more to burn. Lor'! we ain't seen no manner o' light in dis yere house for most free weeks. We's jist felt our way 'round. I's bin in de dark so much I done got cat eyes, an' dat's how dis nigger done knowed you jist now. It am Massa Calvert, Massa George, an', shuar as you're alive, he was goin' right by de house, if I had n't a-stopped him—nebber even knowed he was yere yet."
Young Denslow, the dim outline of his figure that of a mere stripling, but standing rather stiffly erect, held out his hand.
"Glad you succeeded in making it, Calvert. We were becoming afraid you might not get away owing to the sudden advance of the troops. Is it true we have started on a movement by the left flank?"
"Yes, that report is all true enough," I replied striving to hold my voice as low as possible, as I could recall no marked peculiarity in the tones of my late antagonist to imitate; "the aides are riding in every direction with orders for a forced march. I went in and saw General Johnston as soon as I first heard the rumor, and explained to him exactly the situation here. The old man was very sympathetic, and as he had already met Jean, he arranged to send me out in this direction with his orders, and gave me a furlough of twenty-four hours in which to attend to my own affairs. I am to be in Minersville at the expiration of that time, no matter what it may cost in horse-flesh."
"What about the Tenth Georgia?"
"They take up the march at midnight, guarding Coyne's Battery."
"The hell! Then that means a hard ride for both Dad and me with little enough time to spare. But dismount, Calvert, and come up to the house. Here, let Joe take care of your horse, and find out what troubles him—got a stone in his hoof most likely."
The boy had his hand on my pommel, the negro still standing directly in front of the horse's head. What action to escape could I take? It seemed at that moment far easier to permit Fate to decide the play than to take it into my own hands. It was not in my heart to shoot down these unsuspecting men in cold blood, and yet there was no other way of getting clear. 1 slipped a revolver from the left saddle holster into the side pocket of my cavalry jacket, and swung reluctantly to the ground, determining to chance another act in this strange melodrama. As he clasped my arm the lad felt the Colt bulging out the close-fitting jacket.
"Travelling loaded, I see."
"Certainly; I am likely to be beyond the lines before morning."
"That's right, old boy," his voice suggestive of a laugh. "Not exactly the kind of a bridal tour that most people would seek, but needs must when the devil drives."
The entire unpleasantness of the situation dawned upon me with a shock at his words. In the excitement of swiftly succeeding events I had entirely forgotten that particular errand which had brought Lieutenant Dunn to this neighborhood. Here was a most awkward predicament, indeed—the prearranged, hurried wedding between him and that young, sweet-faced girl, with the gray-blue eyes. The pleasant memory of her came before me instantly, the musical sound of her soft voice, with its delicate Southern accent, the pathetic pleading of her girlish expression, the carelessly ruffled hair, the indignant tone with which she had spoken of her coming lover. Merciful God! I was certainly up against a hard proposition. What could I do? How, even now, could I manage to escape from the coils steadily closing about me? My head was in a whirl; I was unable to think clearly.
Young Denslow, his hand still grasping my sleeve, his brain full of interest in the affair, was rattling off, in boyish fashion, a string of remarks, the meaning of which scarcely penetrated to the recesses of my bewildered mind. There appeared to me no path leading out from this labyrinth now, but through the killing of some one; yet every manly instinct within me revolted against cold-blooded murder. I was a soldier, but never an assassin. And surely there was yet an opportunity for escape—the very lateness of the hour, the urgent requirement for haste on the part of