CHAPTER XVIII. A PERILOUS UNDERTAKING.

Vincent Wingfield had had an arduous time of it with his squadron of

cavalry. He had taken part in the desperate charge that checked the

advance of Sheridan's great column of cavalry which approached within

three miles of Richmond, the charge that had cost the gallant Stuart his

life; and the death of his beloved general had been a heavy blow for

him. Jackson and Stuart, two of the bravest and noblest spirits of the

Confederate army, were gone. Both had been personally dear to Vincent,

and he felt how grievous was their loss to the cause for which he was

fighting; but he had little time for grief. The enemy, after the

tremendous battles of the Wilderness, swung their army round to Cold

Harbor, and Vincent's squadron was called up to aid Lee in his struggle

there. Then they were engaged night and day in harassing the enemy as

they marched down to take up their new base at Petersburg, and finally

received orders to ride round at full speed to aid in the defense of

that place.

They had arrived in the middle of the second day's fighting, and

dismounting his men Vincent had aided the hard-pressed Confederates in

holding their lines till Longstreet's division arrived to their

assistance. A short time before the terrible disaster that befell the

Federals in the mine they exploded under the Confederate works, he was

with General Wade Hampton, who had succeeded General Stuart in the

command of the cavalry, when General Lee rode up.

"They are erecting siege works in earnest," General Lee said. "I do not

think that we shall have any more attacks for the present. I wish I knew

exactly where they are intending to place their heavy batteries. If I

did we should know where to strengthen our defenses, and plant our

counter batteries. It is very important to find this out; but now that

their whole army has settled down in front of us, and Sheridan's cavalry

are scouring the woods, we shall get no news, for the farmers will no

longer be able to get through to tell us what is going on.

"I will try and ride round, if you like, general," Vincent said. "By

making a long detour one could get into the rear of their lines and pass

as a farmer going into camp to sell his goods."

"It would be a very dangerous service, sir," General Lee said. "You know

what the consequence would be if you were caught?"

"I know the consequence," Vincent said; "but I do not think, sir, that

the risk is greater than one runs every time one goes into battle."

"Perhaps not," General Lee replied; "but in one case one dies fighting

for one's country by an honorable death, in the other--" and he stopped.

"In the other one is shot in cold blood," Vincent said quietly. "One

dies for one's country in either case, sir; and it does not much matter,

so far as I can see, whether one is killed in battle or shot in cold

blood. As long as one is doing one's duty, one death is surely as

honorable as the other."

"That is true enough," General Lee said, "although it is not the way men

generally view the matter. Still, sir, if you volunteer for the work, I

do not feel justified in refusing the opportunity of acquiring

information that may be of vital consequence to us. When will you

start?"

"In half an hour, sir. I shall ride back to Richmond, obtain a disguise

there, and then go round by train to Burksville Junction and then ride

again until I get round behind their lines. Will you give me an order

for my horse and myself to be taken?"

"Very well, sir," General Lee said. "So be it. May God be with you on

your way and bring you safely back."

Vincent rode off to his quarters.

"Dan," he said, "I am going away on special duty for at least three

days. I have got a couple of letters to write, and shall be ready to

start in half an hour. Give the horse a good feed and have him at the

door again by that time."

"Am I to go with you, sah?"

"No, Dan; I must go by myself this time."

Dan felt anxious as he went out, for it was seldom that his master ever

went away without telling him where he was going, and he felt sure that

the service was one of unusual danger; nor was his anxiety lessened when

at the appointed time Vincent came out and handed him two letters.

"You are to keep these letters, Dan, until I return, or till you hear

that something has happened to me. If you hear that, you are to take one

of these letters to my mother, and take the other yourself to Miss

Kingston. Tell her before you give it her what has happened as gently as

you can. As for yourself, Dan, you had your letters of freedom long ago,

and I have left you five hundred dollars; so that you can get a cabin

and patch of your own, and settle down when these troubles are over."

"Let me go with you, master," Dan said, with the tears streaming down

his cheeks. "I would rather be killed with you a hundred times than get

on without you."

"I would take you if I could, Dan; but this is a service that I must do

alone. Good-by, my boy; let us hope that in three or four days at the

outside I shall be back here again safe and sound."

He wrung Dan's hand, and then started at a canter and kept on at that

pace until he reached Richmond. A train with stores was starting for the

south in a few minutes; General Lee's order enabled Vincent to have a

horse-box attached at once, and he was soon speeding on his way. He

alighted at Burksville Junction, and there purchased some rough clothes

for himself and some country-fashioned saddlery for his horse. Then,

after changing his clothes at an inn and putting the fresh saddlery on

his horse, he started.

It was getting late in the afternoon, but he rode on by unfrequented

roads, stopping occasionally to inquire if any of the Federal cavalry

had been seen in the neighborhood, and at last stopped for the night at

a little village inn. As soon as it was daybreak he resumed his journey.

He had purchased at Burksville some colored calico and articles of

female clothing, and fastened the parcel to the back of his saddle. As

he rode forward now he heard constant tales of the passing of parties of

the enemy's cavalry, but he was fortunate enough to get well round to

the rear of the Federal lines before he encountered any of them. Then he

came suddenly upon a troop.

"Where are you going to, and where have you come from?"

"Our farm is a mile away from Union Grove," he said, "and I have been

over to Sussex Courthouse to buy some things for my mother."

"Let me see what you have got there," the officer said. "You are rebels

to a man here, and there's no trusting any of you."

Vincent unfastened the parcel and opened it. The officer laughed.

"Well, we won't confiscate them as contraband of war."

So saying he set spurs to his horse and galloped on with his troop.

Vincent rode on to Union Grove, and then taking a road at random kept on

till he reached a small farmhouse. He knocked at the door, and a woman

came out.

"Mother," he said, "can you put me up for a couple of days? I am a

stranger here, and all the villages are full of soldiers."

The woman looked at him doubtfully.

"What are you doing here?" she asked at last. "This ain't a time for

strangers; besides a young fellow like you ought to be ashamed to show

yourself when you ought to be over there with Lee. My boys are both

there and my husband. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, a

strong-looking young fellow like you, to be riding about instead of

fighting the Yankees. Go along! you will get no shelter here. I would

scorn to have such as you inside my doors."

"Perhaps I have been fighting there," Vincent said significantly. "But

one can't be always fighting, and there are other things to do

sometimes. For instance, to find out what the Yankees are doing and what

are their plans."

"Is that so?" the woman asked doubtfully.

"That is so," he answered earnestly. "I am an officer in Wade Hampton's

cavalry, and, now Sheridan's troopers have cut off all communication, I

have come out to find for General Lee where the Yankees are building

their batteries before Petersburg."

"In that case you are welcome," the woman said. "Come straight in. I

will lead your horse out and fasten him up in the bush, and give him a

feed there. It will never do to put him in the stable; the Yankees come

in and out and they'd take him off sharp enough if their eyes fell on

him. I think you will be safe enough even if they do come. They will

take you for a son of mine, and if they ask any questions I will answer

them sharp enough."

"I wonder they have left you a feed of corn," Vincent said, when the

woman returned after taking away his horse.

"It's no thanks to them," she answered; "they have cleared out

everything that they could lay their hands on. But I have been expecting

it for months, and, as I have had nothing to do since my man and boys

went away, I have been digging a great pit in the wood over there, and

have buried most all my corn, and have salted my pigs down and buried

them in barrels; so they didn't find much. They took the old horse and

two cows; but I hope the old horse will fall down the first time they

uses him, and the cow meat will choke them as eats it. Now, is there

anything as I can do to help you?"

"I want a basket with some eggs and chickens or vegetables to take into

their camp to sell, but I am afraid I have not much chance of getting

them."

"I can help you there too," the woman said. "I turned all my chickens

into the wood the day I heard the Yankees had landed. They have got

rather wild like; but I go out and give them some corn every evening. I

expect if we look about we shall find some nests; indeed I know there

are one or two of them sitting. So if you will come out with me we can

soon knock down five or six of the creatures, and maybe get a score or

two of eggs. As for vegetables, a horde of locusts couldn't have

stripped the country cleaner than they have done."

They went out into the wood. Six hens were soon killed, and hunting

about they discovered several nests and gathered about three dozen eggs.

Vincent aided in plucking the chickens and they then returned to the

house.

"You had best take a bite before you go," she said. "It's noon now, and

you said you started at daybreak. Always get a meal when you can, say

I."

She produced a loaf and some bacon from a little cupboard hidden by her

bed, and Vincent, who, now he thought of it, was feeling hungry, made a

hearty meal.

"I will pay you for these chickens and eggs at once," he said. "There is

no saying whether I shall come back again."

"I will not say no to your paying for the chickens and eggs," she said,

"because money is scarce enough, and I may have long to wait before my

man and the boys come back; but as to lodging and food I would not touch

a cent. You are welcome to all I have when it's for the good cause."

Vincent started with the basket on his arm, and after walking three

miles came upon the Federal camps.

Some of the regiments were already under canvas, others were still

bivouacked in the open air, as the store-ships carrying the heavy

baggage had not yet arrived. The generals and their staffs had taken up

their quarters in the villages. Vincent had received accurate

instructions from his hostess as to the position of the various

villages, and avoided them carefully, for he did not want to sell out

his stock immediately. He had indeed stowed two of the fowls away in his

pocket so that in case any one insisted upon buying up all his stock he

could place these in his basket and still push on.

He avoided the camps as much as he could. He could see the smoke rising

in front of him, and the roar of guns was now close at hand. He saw on

his right an elevated piece of ground, from which a good view could be

obtained of the fortifications upon which the Federals were working. A

camp had been pitched there, and a large tent near the summit showed

that some officer of superior rank had his quarters there. He made a

detour so as to come up at the back of the hill and when he reached the

top he stood looking down upon the line of works.

They were nearly half a mile distant. The intervening ground had already

been stripped of its hedges, and the trees cut down to form gabions,

fascines, and platforms for the cannon. Thousands of men were at work;

but in some parts they were clustered much more thickly than in others,

and Vincent had no difficulty in determining where the principal

batteries were in course of construction along this portion of the

position. He was still gazing intently when two horsemen rode up from

behind.

"Hallo you, sir! What are you looking at?" one of them asked sharply.

"What are you spying about here?"

Vincent turned slowly round with a silly smile on his lips.

"I am spying all them chaps at work," he said. "It reminds me for all

the world of an ant-hill. Never did see so many chaps before. What be

they a-doing? Digging a big drain or making a roadway, I guess."

"Who are you, sir?" the officer asked angrily.

"Seth Jones I be, and mother's sent me to sell some fowls and eggs. Do

you want to buy any? Fine birds they be."

"Why, Sheridan," laughed the other officer, "this is a feather out of

your cap. I thought your fellows had cleared out every hen-roost within

twenty miles of Petersburg already."

"I fancy they have emptied most of them," the general said grimly.

"Where do you come from, lad?"

"I comes from over there," Vincent said, jerking his thumb back. "I

lives there with mother. Father and the other boys they have gone

fighting Yanks; but they wouldn't take me with them 'cause I ain't sharp

in my wits, though I tells them I could shoot a Yank as well as they

could if they showed me."

"And who do you suppose all those men are?" General Sheridan asked,

pointing toward the trenches.

"I dunno," Vincent replied. "I guess they be niggers. There be too many

of them for whites; besides whites ain't such fools to work like that.

Doesn't ye want any fowl?" and he drew back the cloth and showed the

contents of the basket.

"Take them as a matter of curiosity, general," the other officer

laughed. "It will be downright novelty to you to buy chickens."

"What do you want for them, boy?"

"Mother said as I wasn't to take less nor a dollar apiece."

"Greenbacks, I suppose?" the officer asked.

"I suppose so. She didn't say nothing about it; but I has not seen aught

but greenbacks for a long time since."

"Come along, then," the officer said; "we will take them."

They rode up to the large tent, and the officers alighted, and gave

their horses to two of the soldiers.

"Give your basket to this soldier."

"I want the basket back again. Mother would whop me if I came back

without the basket again."

"All right," the officer said; "you shall have it back in a minute."

Vincent stood looking anxiously after the orderly.

"Do you think that boy is as foolish as he seems?" General Sheridan

asked his companion. "He admits that he comes of a rebel family."

"I don't think he would have admitted that if he hadn't been a fool. I

fancy he is a half-witted chap. They never would have left a fellow of

his age behind."

"No, I think it's safe," Sheridan said; "but one can't be too particular

just at present. See, the trees in front hide our work altogether from

the rebels, and it would be a serious thing if they were to find out

what we are doing."

"That boy could not tell them much even if he got there," the other

said; "and from this distance it would need a sharp eye and some

military knowledge to make out anything of what is going on. Where does

your mother live, boy?"

"I ain't going to tell you," Vincent said doggedly. "Mother said I wasn't

to tell no one where I lived, else the Yankee thieves would be a-coming

down and stealing the rest of our chickens."

The officers laughed.

"Well, go along, boy; and I should advise you not to say anything about

Yankee thieves another time, for likely enough you will get a broken

head for your pains."

Vincent went off grumbling, and with a slow and stumbling step made his

way over the brow of the hill and down through the camps behind. Here he

sold his last two fowls and his eggs, and then walked briskly on until

he reached the cottage from which he had started.

"I am glad to see you back," the woman said as he entered. "How have you

got on?"

"Capitally," he said. "I pretended to be half an idiot, and so got

safely out, though I fell into Sheridan's hands. He suspected me at

first, but at last he thought I was what I looked--a fool. He wanted to

know where you lived, but I wouldn't tell him. I told him you told me

not to tell any one, 'cause if I did the Yankee thieves would be

clearing out the rest of the chickens."

"Did you tell him that, now?" the woman said in delight; "he must have

thought you was a fool. Well, it's a good thing the Yanks should hear

the truth sometimes. Well, have you done now?"

"No, I have only seen one side of their works yet; I must try round the

other flank to-morrow. I wish I could get something to sell that

wouldn't get bought up by the first people I came to, something I could

peddle among the soldiers."

"What sort of thing?"

"Something in the way of drinks, I should say," Vincent said. "I saw a

woman going among the camps. She had two tin cans and a little mug. I

think she had lemonade or something of that sort."

"It wouldn't be lemonade," the woman said "I haven't seen a lemon for

the last two years; but they do get some oranges from Florida. Maybe it

was that, or perhaps it was spirits and water."

"Perhaps it was," Vincent agreed; "though I don't think they would let

any one sell spirits in the camp."

"I can't get you any lemons or oranges neither," the woman said; "but I

might make you a drink out of molasses and herbs, with some spirits in

it. I have got a keg of old rye buried away ever since my man went off,

six months ago; I am out of molasses, but I dare say I can borrow some

from a neighbor, and as for herbs they are about the only thing the

Yankees haven't stole. I think I could fix you up something that would

do. As long as it has got spirits in it, it don't much matter what you

put in besides, only it wouldn't do to take spirits up alone. You can

call it plantation drink, and I don't suppose any one would ask too

closely what it's made of."

"Thank you, that will do capitally."

The next morning Vincent again set out, turning his steps this time

toward the right flank of the Federal position. He had in the course of

the evening made a sketch of the ground he had seen, marking in all the

principal batteries, with notes as to the number of guns for which they

seemed to be intended.

"Look here," he said to the woman before leaving. "I may not be as lucky

to-day as I was yesterday. If I do not come back to-night, can you find

any one you can trust to take this piece of paper round to Richmond? Of

course he would have to make his way first up to Burksville junction,

and then take train to Richmond. When he gets there he must go down to

Petersburg, and ask for General Lee. I have written a line to go with

it, saying what I have done this for, and asking the general to give the

bearer a hundred dollars."

"I will take it myself," the woman said; "not for the sake of the

hundred dollars, though I ain't saying as it wouldn't please the old man

when he comes back to find I had a hundred dollars stored away; but for

the cause. My men are all doing their duty, and I will do mine. So trust

me, and if you don't come back by daybreak to-morrow morning, I will

start right away with these letters. I will go out at once and hide them

somewhere in case the Yanks should come and make a search. If you are

caught they might, like enough, trace you here, and then they would

search the place all over and maybe set it alight. If you ain't here by

nightfall I shall sleep out in the wood, so if they come they won't find

me here. If anything detains you, and you ain't back till after dark,

you will find me somewhere near the tree where your horse is tied up."

Provided with a large can full of a liquor that the woman compounded,

and which Vincent, on tasting, found to be by no means bad, he started

from the cottage. Again he made his way safely through the camps, and

without hindrance lounged up to a spot where a large number of men

belonging to one of the negro regiments were at work.

"Plantation liquor?" he said, again assuming a stupid air, to a black

sergeant who was with them. "First-rate stuff; and only fifteen cents a

glass."

"What plantation liquor like?" the negro asked. "Me not know him."

"First-rate stuff," Vincent repeated. "Mother makes it of spirit and

molasses and all sorts. Fifteen cents a glass."

"Well, I will take a glass," the sergeant said. "Mighty hot work dis in

de sun; but don't you say nuffin about the spirit. Ef dey ask you, just

you say molasses and all sorts, dat's quite enough. De white officer

won't let spirits be sold in de camp.

"Dat bery good stuff," he said, smacking his lips as he handed back the

little tin measure. "You sell him all in no time." Several of the

negroes now came round, and Vincent disposed of a considerable quantity

of his plantation liquor. Then he turned to go away, for he did not want

to empty his can at one place. He had not gone many paces when a party

of three or four officers came along.

"Hallo, you sir, what the deuce are you doing here?" one asked angrily.

"Don't you know nobody is allowed to pass through the lines?"

"I didn't see no lines. What sort of lines are they? No one told me

nothing about lines. My mother sent me out to sell plantation liquor,

fifteen cents a glass."

"What's it like?" one of the officers said laughing. "Spirits, I will

bet a dollar, in some shape or other. Pour me out a glass. I will try

it, anyhow."

Vincent filled the little tin mug, and handed it to the officer. As he

lifted his face to do so there was a sudden exclamation.

"Vincent Wingfield!" and another officer drawing his sword attacked him

furiously, shouting, "A spy! Seize him! A Confederate spy!"

Vincent recognized with astonishment in the Federal officer rushing at

him with uplifted sword his old antagonist, Jackson. Almost

instinctively he whirled the can, which was still half full of liquor,

round his head and dashed it full in the face of his antagonist, who was

knocked off his feet by the blow. With a yell of rage he started up

again and rushed at Vincent. The latter snatched up a shovel that was

lying close by and stood his ground. The officers were so surprised at

the suddenness of the incident and the overthrow of their companion, and

for the moment so amused at the latter's appearance, covered as he was

from head to foot with the sticky liquor and bleeding from a cut

inflicted by the edge of the can, that they were incapable of

interference.

Blinded with rage, and with the liquid streaming into his eyes, Jackson

rushed at Vincent. The latter caught the blow aimed at him on the edge

of the shovel, and then swinging his weapon round smote his antagonist

with all his strength, the edge of the shovel falling fairly upon his

head. Without a cry the traitor fell dead in his tracks. The other

officers now drew their swords and rushed forward. Vincent, seeing the

futility of resistance, threw down his shovel. He was instantly seized.

"Halloo there!" the senior officer called to the men, who had stopped in

their work and were gazing at the sudden fray that had arisen, "a

sergeant and four men." Four of the negro soldiers and a sergeant at

once stepped forward. "Take this man and conduct him to the village. Put

him in a room, and stay there with him. Do you, sergeant, station

yourself at the door, so that I shall know where to find you. Put on

your uniforms and take your guns." The men put on their coats, which

they had removed while at work, shouldered their muskets, and took their

places, two on each side of the prisoner. The officers then turned to

examine their prostrate comrade.

"It's all over with him," one said, stooping down; "the shovel has cut

his skull nearly in half. Well, I fancy he was a bad lot. I don't

believe in Southerners who come over to fight in our ranks; besides he

was at one time in the rebel army."

"Yes, he was taken prisoner," another said. "Then his father, who had to

bolt from the South, because, he said, of his Northern sympathies, but

likely enough for something else, came round, made interest somehow and

got his son released, and then some one else got him a commission with

us. He always said he had been obliged to fight on the other side, but

that he had always been heart and soul for the North; anyhow, he was

always blackguarding his old friends. I always doubted the fellow. Well,

there's an end of him; and anyhow he has done useful service at last by

recognizing this spy. Fine-looking young fellow that. He called him

Vincent Wingfield. I seem to remember the name; perhaps I have read it

in some of the rebel newspapers we got hold of; likely enough some one

will know it. Well, I suppose we had better have Jackson carried into

camp."

Four more of the negroes were called out, and these carried the body

into the camp of his regiment. An officer was also sent from the working

party to report the capture of a spy to his colonel.

"I will report it to the general," the latter said; "he rode along here

about a quarter of an hour ago, and may not be back again for some

hours. As we have got the spy fast it cannot make any difference."

As he was marched back to the village Vincent felt that there was no

hope for him whatever. He had been denounced as a spy, and although the

lips that had denounced him had been silenced forever, the mischief had

been done. He could give no satisfactory account of himself. He thought

for a moment of declaring that a mistake had been made, but he felt that

no denial would counterbalance the effect of Jackson's words. The fury,

too, with which the latter had attacked him would show plainly enough

that his assailant was absolutely certain as to his identity, and even

that there had been a personal feud between them. Then he thought that

if he said that he was the son of the woman in the line she would hear

him out in the assertion. But it was not likely that this would be

accepted as against Jackson's testimony; besides, inquiry among her

neighbors would certainly lead to the discovery that she was speaking an

untruth, and might even involve her in his fate as his abettor. But most

of all he decided against this course because it would involve the

telling of a lie.

Vincent considered that while in disguise, and doing important service

for his country, he was justified in using deceit; but merely for the

purpose of saving his own life, and that perhaps uselessly, he would not

lie. His fate, of course, was certain. He was a spy, and would be shot

for it. Vincent had so often been in the battlefield, so often under a

fire from which it seemed that no one could come alive, that the thought

that death was at hand had not for him the terrors that possess those

differently circumstanced. He was going to die for the Confederacy as

tens of thousands of brave men had died before, and he rejoiced over the

precaution he had taken as to the transmission of his discoveries on the

previous day, and felt sure that General Lee would do full justice to

his memory, and announce that he had died in doing noble service to the

country.

He sighed as he thought of his mother and sisters; but Rose had been

married in the spring, and Annie was engaged to an officer in General

Beauregard's staff. Then he thought of Lucy away in Georgia and for the

first time his lip quivered and his cheek paled.

The negro guards, who had been enlisted but a few weeks, were wholly

ignorant of their duties, and having once conveyed their prisoner into

the room, evidently considered that all further necessity for military

strictness was at an end. They had been ordered to stay in the room with

the prisoner, but no instructions had been given as to their conduct

there. They accordingly placed their muskets in one corner of the room,

and proceeded to chatter and laugh without further regarding him.

Under other circumstances this carelessness would have inspired Vincent

with the thought of escape, but he knew that it was out of the question

here. There were Federal camps all round and a shout from the negroes

would send a hundred men in instant pursuit of him. There was nothing

for him to do but to wait for the end, and that end would assuredly come

in the morning. From time to time the door opened, and the negro

sergeant looked in. Apparently his ideas on the subject of discipline

were no stricter than those of his men, for he made no remark as to

their carelessness. Presently, when he looked in, the four soldiers were

standing at the window watching a regiment passing by on its way to take

its share of the work in the trenches. Vincent, who was sitting at a

table, happened to look up, and was astonished at seeing the sergeant

first put his finger on his lips, then take off his cap, put one hand on

his heart, and gesticulate with the other.

Vincent gazed at him in blank surprise, then he started and almost

sprang to his feet, for in the Yankee sergeant he recognized Tony

Morris; but the uplifted hand of the negro warned him of the necessity

of silence. The negro nodded several times, again put his hand on his

heart, and then disappeared. A thrill of hope stirred every vein in

Vincent's body. He felt his cheeks flush and had difficulty in

maintaining his passive attitude. He was not, then, utterly deserted; he

had a friend who would, he was sure, do all in his power to aid him.

It was extraordinary indeed that it should be Tony who was now his

jailer; and yet, when he thought it over, it was not difficult to

understand. It was natural enough that he should have enlisted when the

black regiments were raised. He had doubtless heard his name shouted out

by Jackson, and had, as Vincent now remembered, stepped forward as a

sort of volunteer when the officer called for a sergeant and four men.

Yes, Tony would doubtless do all in his power to save him. Whether it

would be possible that he could do so was doubtful; but at least there

was a hope, and with it the feeling of quiet resignation with which

Vincent had faced what appeared to be inevitable at once disappeared,

and was succeeded by a restless longing for action. His brain was busy

at once in calculating the chances of his being ordered for instant

execution or of the sentence being postponed till the following morning,

and, in the latter case, with the question of what guard would be

probably placed over him, and how Tony would set about the attempt to

aid him to escape.

Had the general been in camp when he was brought in he would probably

have been shot at sunset, but if he did not return until the afternoon

he would most likely order the sentence to be carried out at daybreak.

In any case, as he was an officer, some time might be granted to him to

prepare for death. Then there was the question whether he would be

handed over to a white regiment for safekeeping or left in the hands of

the black regiment that had captured him. No doubt after the sentence

was passed the white officers of that regiment would see that a much

stricter watch than that now put over him was set.

It was not probable that he would still be in charge of Tony, for as the

latter would be on duty all day he would doubtless be relieved. In that

case how would he manage to approach him, and what means would he use to

direct the attention of the sentries in another direction? He thought

over the plans that he himself would adopt were he in Tony's place. The

first thing would be, of course, to make the sentries drunk if possible.

This should not be a difficult task with men whose notions of discipline

were so lax as those of the negroes; but it would be no easy matter for

Tony to obtain spirits, for these were strictly prohibited in the

Federal camp. Perhaps he might help Tony in this way. He fortunately had

a small notebook with a pencil in his pocket, and as his guards were

still at the window he wrote as follows:

"I am captured by the Yankees. So far as I can see, my only chance of

escape is to make the sentries drunk. The bearer is absolutely to be

trusted. Give him his canteen full of spirits, and tell him what I have

written here."

He tore this page out, folded it up, and directed it to Mrs. Grossmith,

Worley Farm, near Union. Presently Tony looked in again and Vincent held

up the note. The sergeant stepped quickly forward and took it, and then

said sharply to the men:

"Now den, dis not keeping guard. Suppose door open and dis fellow run

away. What dey say to you? Two of you keep your eye on dis man. Suppose

Captain Pearce come in and find you all staring out window. He kick up

nice bobbery."

Thus admonished as to their duty, two of the negroes took up their

muskets and stood with their backs to the door, with their eyes fixed on

the prisoner with such earnestness that Vincent could not suppress a

smile. The negroes grinned responsively.

"Dis bad affair, young sah," one said; "bery bad affair. Ob course we

soldiers ob de Union, and got to fight if dey tell us; but no like dis

job ob keeping guard like dis."

"It can't be helped," Vincent said; "and of course you must do your

duty. I am not going to jump up the chimney or fly through the window,

and as there are four of you, to say nothing of the sergeant outside,

you needn't be afraid of my trying to escape."

"No sah, dat not possible nohow; we know dat bery well. Dat's why we no

trouble to look after you. But as de sargent say watch, ob course we

must watch. We bery pleased to see you kill dat white officer. Dat

officer bery hard man and all de men hate him, and when you knock him

down we should like to hab given cheer. We all sorry for you; still you

see, sah, we must keep watch. If you were to get away, dar no saying

what dey do to us."

"That's all right," Vincent said; "I don't blame you at all. As you say,

that was a very bad fellow. I had quarreled with him before, because he

treated his slaves so badly."