Raiding with Morgan

by Byron A. Dunn

  CHAPTER XXI.

  THE ESCAPE.

  The day was a long and weary one to Calhoun. Between the joy of knowing hewas to be free and his misery over the thought that he must part withJoyce, his soul was alternately swept with conflicting emotions. Then hehad seen so little of her during the day; she seemed more distant than shedid before she declared her love. How he longed to take her in his arms,to have her head rest on his breast once more! But she had said thatalthough it was the first it was to be the last time. What did she mean?Ah! it must be that he could never embrace her again, never touch her lipsagain, until her father had consented to their marriage. When the war wasover he would wring that consent from him.

  The thought brought contentment. Yes, it was better that they should part.Then the news of the terrible battle of Chickamauga had just come, and ithad fired his very soul. The South had won a great victory. Surely thiswas the beginning of the end. Independence was near, the war would soon beat an end, and he longed to be in at the finish. The excitement of war wasonce more running riot through his veins.

  He little thought of the sacrifice Joyce was making, of the fierceconflicts she was having with her conscience. She knew that she was doingwrong, that she was proving a traitor to the flag she loved, that she wasaiding and abetting the enemy; but it was one, only one man, and she lovedhim so. Surely this one man, sick and wounded, could do no harm. It wascruel to shut him up in prison. Thus she reasoned to silence conscience,but if her reasons had been ten times as weak, love would have won.

  All through the day she was making preparations for Calhoun's departure.Fortunately the young man who had been engaged to nurse Calhoun during thenight had been taken sick a couple of days before, and as Calhoun restedwell, another had not been engaged. Thus one of the greatest obstacles tothe carrying out of Joyce's plans was out of the way. She could easilymanage Miss Goodsen. Joyce's only confidant was the faithful Abe, whoobeyed her without question. In his eyes Missy Joyce could do nothingwrong. He had been drilled by Joyce until he knew just what to do. He wasto go home, but as soon as it was dark, he was to return, being carefulnot to be seen. After he was sure the household was asleep he was toharness a span of horses, being careful to make no noise, and have acarriage waiting in a grove a short distance back of the house. Here hewas to wait for further orders from Joyce. Being well acquainted with theplace, and Joyce promising to see that the barn and the carriage-housewere left unlocked, he would have no trouble in carrying out hisinstructions.

  Night came, and Joyce was in a fever of excitement. Would anything happento prevent her carrying out her plans? If she had known that Andrew Harmonhad hired a spy to watch the house she would have been in despair. But thespy was to watch the window of Calhoun's room, and was concealed in acorn-field opposite the house. If he had watched the back instead of thefront of the house, he would have seen some strange doings.

  Margaret Goodsen was told that as Calhoun was so well, she could lie downin an adjoining room. If he needed anything, he could ring a little bellwhich stood on a table by his side. The nurse gladly availed herself ofthe opportunity to sleep. When the nurse retired Joyce came into the room,and speaking so that she could hear her, said, "Good night, LieutenantPennington; I hope you will rest well." Then she whispered, "Here is theFederal uniform. Have you strength to put it on?"

  "Yes, but oh, Joyce--"

  She made a swift gesture and pointed to the door of the nurse's room.

  "Here is some money," she continued, in the same low whisper. "Now, don'trefuse it; you will need it."

  "I had plenty of money in a belt around me when I was wounded," whisperedCalhoun.

  "The belt, oh, I forgot! The Doctor gave it to me for safe keeping."Noiselessly she moved to the bureau, opened a drawer, and returned withthe belt.

  "Joyce, I shall not need your money now, but I thank you for the offer."

  "It was nothing. Be sure and be ready," and she glided from the room.

  The minutes were like hours to Calhoun. At one time he had made up hismind not to accept his proffered liberty, as it might bring serioustrouble on Joyce; but he concluded that he must accept.

  As for Joyce, she went to her room and threw herself down on a lounge. Herheart was beating tumultuously; every little noise startled her like thereport of a gun. She waited in fear and apprehension. At length the clockstruck eleven. "They must be all asleep by this time," she thought. Shearose and softly went downstairs, carrying blankets and pillows. Shestopped and listened as she stepped out of doors. There was no moon, itwas slightly cloudy, and darkness was over everything. Without hesitatingshe made her way through the back yard and the barn lot to the grove,where she had told Abe to be in waiting. She found that the faithfulfellow had everything in readiness.

  "Abe, I want you to come with me now and get the sick soldier. Drivethrough the lane until you reach the road; then drive straight to yourhouse. The road is not much frequented, and you will not be apt to meetany one at this time of night. If you do, say nothing. Leave the soldierwhen you get home, drive straight back the way you came. Turn the horsesinto the pasture, put the harness and carriage where you found them. Becareful and make no noise. When you have done this go home again and besure you get there before daylight. It's a hard night's work I have put onyou, Abe, but I will pay you well for it. Now, take off your boots andcome with me."

  The obedient fellow did as he was bid, and followed Joyce into the houseand to Calhoun's room.

  "Take him to the carriage," whispered Joyce.

  The stalwart Abe took Calhoun in his arms as if he had been a child, andcarried him to the carriage.

  "Now, Abe, remember and do just as I told you," said Joyce.

  "Yes, Missy, I 'member ebberyting."

  She went to the side of the carriage, arranged the pillows and comfortsaround Calhoun, and then gave him her hand. "Good-bye," she whispered;"may God keep you safe."

  The hand was cold as death, and Calhoun felt that she was tremblingviolently.

  "Joyce! Joyce! is this to be our leave-taking?"

  "Yes," she whispered.

  "Are you not coming to see me where I am going?"

  "No, I dare not; we must not see each other again until--until the war isover."

  "Without a kiss, Joyce. Joyce, I--"

  "Hush! you have no right to ask for one, I much less right to give it.Come when the war is over, and then"--Her voice broke, and she turned andfled into the darkness.

  How Joyce got back into the house she never knew. She fell on her bedhalf-unconscious. The strain upon her had been terrible, and the effectmight have been serious if tears had not come to her relief. After aviolent paroxysm of sobbing, she grew calmer, and tired nature asserteditself, and she fell asleep.

  It was yet early morning when she was aroused by a cry from Miss Goodsen,and that lady came rushing into her room, wringing her hands and crying,"He is gone! He is gone!"

  "Who is gone?" asked Joyce, springing up as if in amazement.

  Miss Goodsen, in her excitement did not notice that Joyce was fullydressed. "The wounded Rebel, Lieutenant Pennington," she fairly shrieked."Oh! what shall I do? What shall I do?" and she wrung her hands in herdistress.

  Joyce ran to Calhoun's room; sure enough it was empty. "Stop your noise,"she said, sharply, to Miss Goodsen. "If any one is to blame, I am. Theywill do nothing with you. It may be he became delirious during the nightand has wandered off. We must have the house and premises searched."

  The noise had aroused the whole household. The utmost excitementprevailed. Miss Crawford was frantic. She was sure they would all be sentto prison, and she upbraided Joyce for not getting another male nurse towatch him during the night. The house and the premises were thoroughlysearched, but nothing was found of the missing man. The neighborhood wasaroused and a thorough search of the surrounding country began.

  Joyce took to her room with a raging headache. The afternoon brought acouple of depu
ty marshals from Columbus. They had come to convey Calhounto prison, and were astonished when told that the prisoner had escaped.Miss Goodsen was closely questioned. She had looked in once during thenight. The Lieutenant was awake, but said he was comfortable and wantednothing. She then went to sleep and did not awake until morning. She foundJoyce in her room, who was overcome when told that her patient was gone.She had not heard the slightest sound during the night.

  Doctor Hopkins was summoned. The old Doctor was thunderstruck when heheard the news. He could scarcely believe it. To add to the mystery,Calhoun's Confederate uniform was found. Apparently he had gone away withonly his night clothes on. Doctor Hopkins at once gave it as his opinionthat Calhoun had been seized with a sudden delirium and had stolen out ofthe house and wandered away; no doubt the body would be found somewhere.His professional services were needed in the care of Joyce, for she seemedto be completely prostrated, and had a high fever.

  "Poor girl," said the Doctor, "the excitement has been too much for her."If he suspected anything he kept his secret well.

  The spy employed by Andrew Harmon reported that he had not seen or heardanything suspicious during the night, so that gentleman concluded to saynothing, as he did not wish it to be known that he had had the housesecretly watched.

  Mr. Crawford returned the day after the escape. He was greatly exercisedover what had happened, and blamed every one that Calhoun had been kept solong as he had. Poor Joyce came in for her share, but she wisely held herpeace. The country was scoured for miles around, but nothing was seen orheard of the escaped prisoner, and at last the excitement died out.

  Joyce did not lack news from Calhoun. The faithful Abe kept her fullyinformed. Joyce told him that both of them would go to prison if it wasknown what they had done, and he kept the secret well. He reported thatCalhoun was gaining rapidly, and would soon be able to go his way. "Hewant to see yo' awful bad befo' he goes," said Abe.

  But Joyce resolutely refused. It would not do either of them any good. Oneday the negro brought her a letter. It was from Calhoun, telling her thatwhen she received it he would be gone. He thought it cruel that she hadnot come to see him just once. He closed as follows:

  "Joyce, I feel that my life is yours, for you saved it. Not only that, butto you I now owe my liberty, and I realize the struggle you have had to doas you have done. But be of good cheer. When the war is over the thunderof the last cannon will hardly have died away before I shall be at yourside. Till then adieu."

  That letter was very precious to Joyce. Before the war was over it wasnearly worn out by being read and reread.

  Shortly after Mr. Crawford's return he was asked by Andrew Harmon forpermission to pay his addresses to his daughter. Harmon hoped that if hehad her father's permission to pay his addresses to her, Joyce's coldnessmight disappear.

  Mr. Crawford did not like the man, but he was rich and had a certainamount of political influence. Mr. Crawford was thinking of being acandidate for Congress at the approaching election, and he did not wish tooffend Harmon, but he secretly hoped that Joyce would refuse him; in thishe was not disappointed. She was indignant that her father had listened toHarmon, even to the extent that he had. "Why, father, I have heard youcall him cowardly and dishonest," she exclaimed, "and to think that youtold him you would leave it entirely to me."

  "I did not wish to offend him," meekly replied Mr. Crawford, "and I hadconfidence in your judgment. I was almost certain you would refuse him."

  "Will you always have such confidence in my judgment?" asked Joyce,quickly.

  "What do you mean?" asked her father.

  "Suppose I should wish to marry one of whom you did not approve?"

  "That is another proposition," said Mr. Crawford. "You might have been sofoolish as to fall in love with that Morgan Rebel and horse-thief you tookcare of so long. If so, I had rather see you dead than married to him."

  Poor Joyce! Did her father suspect anything? She caught her breath, andcame near falling. Quickly recovering herself, she answered. "At least hewas a brave man. But everybody says he is dead, and mortals do not wedghosts."

  "It is to be sincerely hoped he is dead," replied Mr. Crawford, for he hadnoticed his daughter's confusion, and an uneasiness took possession ofhim. But much to Joyce's relief he did not question her further.

  Andrew Harmon was beside himself with rage when told by Mr. Crawford that,while his daughter was sensible of the great honor he would bestow uponher, she was still very young, and had no idea of marrying any one atpresent.

  Harmon determined to have revenge on Joyce, and began slyly to circulatereports that Joyce Crawford, if she chose, could tell a great deal aboutthe escape of the Rebel officer. In fact, half of his sickness wasshammed.

  These rumors came to the ears of Mark Crawford. He had been promoted to acolonelcy for gallantry at Chickamauga. During the winter, while the armylay still around Chattanooga, he had come home on furlough. While at homehe sought out Harmon and gave him as fine a thrashing as a man everreceived, warning him if he ever heard of him connecting his sister withthe escape of Calhoun again he would break every bone in his body. Theonly revenge Harmon durst take was to defeat Mr. Crawford in hisaspirations for a nomination for Congress.