CHAPTER VIII
TWO WEARY WANDERERS
"Poor boy," muttered Watson. "He is done out." He saw that George'scollapse was due to a fainting spell, which in itself was nothingdangerous. But when he heard the distant baying of the dog, and heard,too, the voices of men--no doubt some of the armed Southerners from thepursuing train--he saw the peril that encompassed both himself and theboy. Here they were almost on top of a hill, near the enemy, and with nomeans of escape should they be unfortunate enough to be seen by theSoutherners or tracked by the hound. If George could be gotten at once tothe other side of the hill he would be screened from view--otherwise heand Watson would soon----But the soldier did not stop to think what mighthappen. He jumped quickly to his feet, seized the unconscious George, andran with him, as one might have run with some helpless infant, to the topof the hill, and then down on the other side. Waggie came barking afterthem; he seemed to ask why it was that his master had gone to sleep inthis sudden fashion. Watson paused for a few seconds at the bottom of thehill, and placed his burden on the wet grass. There was as yet no sign ofreturning life. Once more came that uncanny bay. The man again took Georgein his arms.
"We can't stay here," he said. He himself was ready to drop from thefatigue and excitement of the day, but hope of escape gave him strength,and he ran on through an open field until he reached some bottom-landcovered by a few unhealthy-looking pine-trees. Here he paused, pantingalmost as hard as the poor vanished "General" had done in the last stagesof its journey. He next deposited his charge on the sodden earth. Theywere both still in imminent danger of pursuit, but for the time being theywere screened from view.
Watson bent tenderly over the boy, whilst Waggie pulled at his sleeve ashe had been accustomed to do far away at home when he wanted to wake uphis master. George finally opened his eyes and looked around him, firstdreamily, then with a startled air.
"It's all right, my lad," whispered Watson cheerily. "You only faintedaway, just for variety, but now you are chipper enough again."
George stretched his arms, raised himself to a sitting posture, and thensank back wearily on the ground.
"I'm so tired," he said. "Can't I go to sleep?" He was utterly weary; hecared not if a whole army of men and dogs was after him; his one idea wasrest--rest.
"This won't do," said Watson firmly. "We can't stay here." He producedfrom his pocket a little flask, poured some of the contents down the boy'sthroat, and then took a liberal drink himself. George began to revive, ashe asked how he had been brought to his present resting-place.
"In my arms," exclaimed Watson. "But I can't keep that sort of thing upforever. We must get away from here. Every moment is precious."
As if to emphasize the truth of this warning, the baying of the dog andthe cries of men began to sound nearer. Watson sprang to his feet. Theincrease of the danger gave him new nerve; he no longer looked the tired,haggard man of five minutes ago.
"We can't stay here," he said, calmly but impressively; "it would becertain capture!"
George was up in an instant. The draught from the flask had invested himwith new vigor.
"Where shall we go?" he asked. "I'm all right again."
"To the river," answered Watson. He pointed eagerly to the right of thepines, where they could see, in the darkening light of the afternoon, aswollen stream rushing madly past. It might originally have been a smallriver, but now, owing to the spring rains and freshets, it lookedturbulent and dangerous. It was difficult to cross, yet for that veryreason it would make a barrier between pursued and pursuers. Should theformer try the experiment?
"Can you swim?" asked Watson.
"Yes."
"Then we'll risk it. After all, the water's safer for us than the land."
Out through the pines they ran until they were at the water's edge. Thesight was not encouraging. The river foamed like an angry ocean, and astrong current was sweeping down to the northward.
The soldier looked at the boy in kindly anxiety. "The water is a littletreacherous, George," he said. "Do you think you're strong enough toventure across?"
"Of course I am!" answered George, proudly. He felt more like himself now;he even betrayed a mild indignation at the doubts of his friend.
"Well," began Watson, "we had--but listen! By Jove, those rascals havediscovered us! They're making this way!"
It was true; the barking of the dog and the sound of many voices camenearer and nearer. Waggie began to growl fiercely, quite as if he werelarge enough to try a bout with a whole Confederate regiment.
"Take off your shoes, George," cried Watson. "Your coat and vest, too."
Both the fugitives divested themselves of boots, coats and vests; theirhats they had already lost in their flight from "The General." In theirtrousers pockets they stuffed their watches and some Confederate money.
A sudden thought crossed George's mind. It was a painful thought.
"What's to become of Waggie?" he asked. "I can't leave him here." He wouldas soon have left a dear relative stranded on the bank of the river.
"I'm afraid you'll have to leave him," said Watson.
"I can't," replied George. There was a second's pause--but it seemed likethe suspense of an hour. Then the lad had a lucky inspiration. He leaneddown and drew from a side pocket of his discarded coat a roll of strongcord which had been used when he climbed the telegraph poles. Pulling aknife from a pocket in his trousers he cut a piece of the cord about twoyards in length, tied one end around his waist and attached the other endto Waggie's collar. The next instant he had plunged into the icy water,dragging the dog in after him. Watson followed, and struck out into thetorrent with the vigor of an athlete.
George found at once that his work meant something more than keepinghimself afloat. The current was rapid, and it required all his power tokeep from being carried down the river like a helpless log. Waggie wassputtering and pawing the water in his master's wake.
"Keep going," shouted Watson. "This current's no joke!" Even he was havingno child's play.
Just then George had his mouth full of water; he could only go on battlingmanfully. But he began to feel a great weakness. Was he about to faintagain? He dared not think of it. There was a loosening of the cord aroundhis waist. He looked to his left and there was Waggie floating down thestream like a tiny piece of wood. His head had slipped from his collar.
Watson tried to grab the dog as he floated by, but it was too late. Hemight as well have tried to change the tide.
"Go on, George, go on!" he urged, breathlessly. The boy struggled onward,but he had already overtaxed his strength. He became dizzy; his arms andlegs refused to work.
"What's the matter?" sputtered his companion, who was now alongside ofhim.
"Go on; don't mind me," said George, in a choking voice.
"Put your hand on my belt," sternly commanded Watson. The young swimmerobeyed, scarcely knowing what he did. Watson kept on like a giant fish,sometimes in danger of being swept away, and sometimes drawing a few feetnearer to the opposite bank.
* * * * *
The next thing that George knew was when he found himself lying on theriver's edge. Watson was peering at him anxiously.
"That's right; open your eyes," he said. "We had a narrow escape, butwe're over the river at last. I just got you over in time, for when weneared shore you let go of me, and I had to pull you in by the hair ofyour head."
"How can I ever thank you," said George, feebly but gratefully.
"By not trying," answered Watson. "Come, there's not a second to lose.Don't you hear our enemies?"
There was no doubt as to the answer to that question. Across the riversounded the baying and the harsh human voices. Almost before Georgerealized what had happened Watson had pulled him a dozen yards away to aspot behind a large boulder.
"Keep on your back!" he ordered. "The men are on the other bank."
None too soon had he executed this manoeuvre. He and George could hear,above the noise o
f the rushing stream, the tones of their pursuers. Theyhad just reached the river, and must be searching for the two Northerners.More than once the hound gave a loud whine, as if he were baffled ordisappointed.
"They can't be here," came a voice from across the river. "We had bettergo back; they may be down the railroad track."
"Perhaps they swam across the stream," urged some one else.
"That would be certain death!" answered the first voice.
There was a whining from the dog, as if he had discovered a scent. Then asimultaneous cry from several sturdy lungs. "Look at these coats andboots!" "They did try to cross, after all." "Well, they never got over inthis current!" "They must have been carried down the Chickamauga and beendrowned!" Such were the exclamations which were wafted to the ears of thetwo fugitives behind the rock.
None too Soon Had He Executed this Manoeuvre]
"The Chickamauga," said Watson, under his breath. "So that's the name ofthe river, eh?"
There was evidently some heated discussion going on among the unseenpursuers. At length one of them cried: "Well, comrades, as there's not oneof us who wants to swim over the river in its present state, and as thefools may even be drowned by this time, I move we go home. The wholecountryside will be on the lookout for the rest of the engine thieves byto-morrow--and they won't escape us before then."
"Nonsense," interrupted a voice, "don't you know night's just the timewhich they will take for escape?"
"Are you ready, then, to swim across the Chickamauga?"
"No."
"Then go home, and don't talk nonsense! To-morrow, when the river is lessangry, we will be up by dawn--and then for a good hunt!"
Apparently the advice of the last speaker was considered wise, for the menleft the river bank. At last their voices could be no longer heard in thedistance. The shades of twilight began to fall, and the rain ceased. ThenWatson and his companion crawled cautiously from behind the boulder. Theywere two as dilapidated creatures as ever drew breath under a southernsky. With soaking shirts and trousers, and without coats, vests, or shoes,they looked the picture of destitution. And their feelings! They werehungry, dispirited, exhausted. All the pleasure seemed to have gone out oflife.
"We can't stay in this charming spot all night," said Watson,sarcastically.
"I suppose a rock is as good as anything else we can find," answered theboy gloomily. "Poor Waggie! Why did I try to drag him across the river?"
"Poor little midget," said Watson. "I'll never forget the appealing lookin his eyes as he went sailing past me."
"Do you hear that?" cried George.
"Hear what? Some one after us again?"
"No; it's a dog barking!"
"Why, it sounds like Waggie, but it can't be he. He's gone to anotherworld."
"No, he hasn't," answered George. He forgot his weakness, and started torun down the bank, in the direction whence the sound proceeded. Watsonremained behind; he could not believe that it was the dog.
In the course of several minutes George came running back. He was holdingin his hands a little animal that resembled a drowned rat. It wasWaggie--very wet, very bedraggled, but still alive.
"Well, if that isn't a miracle!" cried Watson. He stroked the drippingback of the rescued dog, whereupon Waggie looked up at him with a gratefulgleam in his eyes.
"I found him just below here, lying on a bit of rock out in the water afew feet away from the bank," enthusiastically explained George. "He musthave been hurled there, by the current."
Watson laughed.
"Well, Waggie," he said, "we make three wet looking tramps, don't we? AndI guess you are just as hungry as the rest."
Waggie wagged his tail with great violence.
"Think of a warm, comfortable bed," observed the boy, with a sort of grimhumor; "and a nice supper beforehand of meat--and eggs----"
"And hot coffee--and biscuits--and a pipe of tobacco for me, after thesupper," went on Watson. He turned from the river and peered into therapidly increasing gloom. About a mile inland, almost directly in front ofhim, there shone a cheerful light.
George, who also saw the gleam, rubbed his hands across his empty stomach,in a comical fashion.
"There must be supper there," he said, pointing to the house.
"But we don't dare eat it," replied his friend. "The people within fiftymiles of here will be on the lookout for any of Andrews' party--and themere appearance of us will be enough to arouse suspicion--and yet----"
Watson hesitated; he was in a quandary. He was not a bit frightened, buthe felt that the chances of escape for George and himself were at theratio of one to a thousand. He knew actually nothing of the geography ofthe surrounding country, and he felt that as soon as morning arrived theneighborhood would be searched far and wide. Had he been alone he mighthave tried to walk throughout the night until he had placed fifteen ortwenty miles between himself and his pursuers. But when he thought ofGeorge's condition he realized that it would be a physical impossibilityto drag the tired lad very far.
Finally Watson started away towards the distant light.
"Stay here till I get back," he said to George; "I'm going to explore."
In less than an hour he had returned to the river's bank.
"We're in luck," he said joyously. "I stole across to where that light is,and found it came from a little stone house. I crept into the garden on myhands and knees--there was no dog there, thank heaven--and managed to geta glimpse into the parlor through a half-closed blind. There sat asweet-faced, white-haired old gentleman, evidently a minister of thegospel, reading a chapter from the scriptures to an elderly lady and twogirls--his wife and children I suppose. He can't have heard anything aboutour business yet--for I heard him ask one of the girls, after he stoppedreading, what all the blowing of locomotive whistles meant thisafternoon--and she didn't know. So we can drop in on them to-night, askfor supper and a bed, and be off at daybreak to-morrow before the oldfellow has gotten wind of anything."
Soon they were off, Watson, George and Waggie, and covered the fieldsleading to the house in unusually quick time for such tired wanderers.When they reached the gate of the little garden in front of the placeGeorge asked: "What story are we to tell?"
"The usual yarn, I suppose," answered Watson. "Fleming County,Kentucky--anxious to join the Confederate forces--_et cetera_. Bah! Iloathe all this subterfuge and deceit. I wish I were back fighting theenemy in the open day!"
They walked boldly up to the door of the house and knocked. The oldgentleman whom Watson had seen soon stood before them. The lamp which heheld above him shone upon a face full of benignity and peacefulness. Hisfeatures were handsome; his eyes twinkled genially, as if he loved all hisfellow-men.
Watson told his Kentucky story, and asked food and lodgings for George andhimself until the early morning.
"Come in," said the old man, simply but cordially, "any friend of theSouth is a friend of mine."
The minister (for he proved to be a country preacher who rode from churchto church "on circuit"), ushered the two Northerners and the dog into hiscozy sitting-room and introduced them to his wife and two daughters. Thewife seemed as kindly as her husband; the daughters were pretty girls justgrowing into womanhood.
"Here, children," said the old man, "get these poor fellows some supper.They're on a journey to Atlanta, all the way from Kentucky, to enlist. AndI'll see if I can't rake you up a couple of coats and some old shoes."
He disappeared up-stairs, and soon returned with two half-worn coats andtwo pairs of old shoes, which he insisted upon presenting to thefugitives.
"They belong to my son, who has gone to the war," he said, "but he'd beglad to have such patriots as you use them. How did you both get so bareof clothes?"
"We had to swim across a stream, and leave some of our things behind,"explained Watson. He spoke but the simple truth. He was glad that he did,for he hated to deceive a man who stood gazing upon him with such gentle,unsuspecting eyes.
It was not long before Wat
son and George had gone into the kitchen, wherethey found a table laden with a profusion of plain but welcome food.Waggie, who had been given some milk, was lying fast asleep by thehearth.
George looked about him, when he had finished his supper, and askedhimself why he could not have a week of such quiet, peaceful life as this?Yet he knew that he was, figuratively, on the brink of a precipice. At anymoment he might be shown in his true light. But how much better he feltsince he had eaten. He was comfortable and drowsy. The minister and hisfamily, who had been bustling around attending to the wants of theirguests, began to grow dim in his weary eyes. Watson, who was sittingopposite to him, looked blurred, indistinct. He was vaguely conscious thatthe old gentleman was saying: "These are times that try our souls." Thenthe boy sank back in his chair, sound asleep. He began to dream. He was onthe cowcatcher of an engine. Andrews was tearing along in front on ahorse, beckoning to him to come on. The engine sped on faster and faster,but it could not catch up to the horseman. At last Andrews and the horsefaded away altogether; and the boy was swimming across the ChickamaugaRiver. He heard a great shout from the opposite bank--and awoke.
Watson had risen from the table; the pipe of tobacco which the ministerhad given him as a sort of dessert was lying broken on the hearth. Therewas a despairing look on his face. It was the look that one might expectto see in a hunted animal at bay. Near him stood the old man, who seemedto be the incarnation of mournful perplexity, his wife, who was no lessdisturbed, and the two daughters. One of the latter, a girl with dark hairand snapping black eyes, was regarding Watson with an expression of anger.On the table was an opened letter.
"I am in your power," Watson was saying to the minister.
What had been happening during the half hour which George had devoted to anap?
"Poor, dear boy, he's dropped off to sleep," murmured the minister's wife,when she saw George sink back in his chair. She went into the sitting-roomand returned with a cushion which she proceeded to place under his head."He is much too young to go to the war," she said, turning towardsWatson.
"There was no keeping him from going South," answered his companion. "Hewould go." Which was quite true.
The minister handed a pipe filled with Virginia tobacco to Watson, andlighted one for himself.
"It's my only vice," he laughed pleasantly.
"I can well believe you," rejoined the Northerner, as he gratefullyglanced at the spiritual countenance of his host. "Why should this oldgentleman and I be enemies?" he thought. "I wish the war was over, andthat North and South were once more firm friends." He proceeded to lighthis pipe.
They began to talk agreeably, and the minister told several quaint storiesof plantation life, while they smoked on, and the women cleared off thefood from the table.
At last there came a knocking at the front door. The host left thekitchen, went into the hallway, and opened the door. He had a brief parleywith some one; then the door closed, and he reentered the room. Watsonthought he could distinguish the sound of a horse's hoofs as an unseenperson rode away.
"Who's coming to see you this kind of night?" asked the wife. It was anatural question. It had once more begun to rain; there were flashes oflightning and occasional rumbles of thunder.
"A note of some kind from Farmer Jason," explained the clergyman. "I hopehis daughter is not sick again."
"Perhaps the horse has the colic," suggested one of the girls, who hadgentle blue eyes like her father's, "and he wants some of your 'EquinePills.'"
"Who brought the letter?" enquired the wife.
"Jason's hired man--he said he hadn't time to wait--had to be off withanother letter to Farmer Lovejoy--said this letter would explaineverything."
"Then why don't you open it, pa, instead of standing there looking at theoutside; you act as if you were afraid of it," spoke up the dark-eyedgirl, who was evidently a damsel of some spirit.
"Here, you may read it yourself, Cynthia," said her father, quite meekly,as if he had committed some grave offense. He handed the envelope to thedark-eyed girl. She tore it open, and glanced over the single sheet ofpaper inside. Then she gave a sharp cry of surprise, and darted a quick,penetrating glance at Watson. He felt uneasy, although he could notexplain why he did.
"What's the matter?" asked the minister. "Anything wrong at the Jasons'?"
"Anything wrong at the Jasons'," Miss Cynthia repeated, contemptuously."No; there's something wrong, but it isn't over at Jasons'. Listen tothis!" She held out the paper at arm's length, as if she feared it, andread these lines:
"Pastor Buckley,
"Dear Sir:
"This is to notify you as how I just have had news that a party of Yankee spies is at large, right in our neighborhood. They stole a train to-day at Big Shanty, but they were obleeged to jump off only a few miles from here. So you must keep on the lookout--they are around--leastwise a boy and grown man have been seen, although most of the others seem to have gotten away. One of my sons--Esau--caught sight of this man and boy on the edge of the river late this afternoon. He says the boy had a dog.
"Yours, "Charles Jason."
After Miss Cynthia finished the reading of this letter there was a silencein the room almost tragic in its intensity. Watson sprang to his feet, ashe threw his pipe on the hearth. Waggie woke up with a whine. The ReverendMr. Buckley looked at Watson, and then at the sleeping boy in a dazedway--not angrily, but simply like one who is grievously disappointed. So,too, did Mrs. Buckley and her blue-eyed daughter.
Finally Miss Cynthia broke the silence.
"So you are Northern spies, are you?" she hissed. "And you come heretelling us a story about your being so fond of the South that you musttravel all the way from Kentucky to fight for her." She threw the letteron the supper-table, while her eyes flashed.
Watson saw that the time of concealment had passed. His identity wasapparent; he was in the very centre of the enemy's country; his life hungin the balance. He could not even defend himself save by his hands, forthe pistol which he carried in his hip-pocket had been renderedtemporarily useless by his passage across the river. Even if he hadpossessed a whole brace of pistols, he would not have harmed one hair ofthis kindly minister's head.
"I _am_ a Northerner," said Watson, "and I _am_ one of the men who stole atrain at Big Shanty this morning. We got within a few miles ofChattanooga, and then had to abandon our engine, because we were trapped.We tried to burn bridges, but we failed. We did no more than anySoutherners would have done in the North under the same circumstances."
It was at this point that George awoke. He saw at once that something waswrong but he prudently held his tongue, and listened.
"You are a spy," reiterated Miss Cynthia, "and you know what thepunishment for that must be--North or South!"
"Of course I know the punishment," said Watson, with deliberation. "Ascaffold--and a piece of rope."
The minister shuddered. "They wouldn't hang the boy, would they?" askedhis wife anxiously.
Mr. Buckley was about to answer, when Miss Cynthia suddenly cried,"Listen!"
Her sharp ears had detected some noise outside the house. She left theroom, ran to the front door, and was back again in a minute.
"Some of the neighbors are out with dogs and lanterns, looking, I'm sure,for the spies," she announced excitedly, "and they are coming up thelane!"
The first impulse of Watson was to seize George, and run from the house.But he realized, the next instant, how useless this would be; he couldeven picture the boy being shot down by an overwhelming force ofpursuers.
"They are coming this way," said Mr. Buckley, almost mournfully, as thesound of voices could now be plainly heard from the cozy kitchen.
"We are in your hands," said Watson, calmly. He turned to the minister.
"You are fighting against my country, which I love more dearly than lifeitself," answered Mr. Buckley. "I can have no sympathy for you!" His
facewas very white; there was a troubled look in his kindly eyes.
"But they will be hung, father!" cried the blue-eyed daughter.
"I'm ashamed of you, Rachel," said Miss Cynthia. Mrs. Buckley saidnothing. She seemed to be struggling with a hundred conflicting emotions.Waggie ran to her, as if he considered her a friend, and put his forepawson her dress.
"Are you going to give us up?" asked Watson.
"I am a loyal Southerner," returned the minister, very slowly, "and I knowwhat my duty is. Why should I shield you?"
Watson turned to George.
"It was bound to come," he said. "It might as well be to-night asto-morrow, or the next day." The pursuers were almost at the door.
"All right," said George, pluckily.
"Father," said Miss Cynthia, "the men are at the door! Shall I let themin?"
Mrs. Buckley turned away her head, for there were tears in her eyes.
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