The Second G.A. Henty

by G. A. Henty

  “Thank you greatly, doctor. I will accept your offer as frankly as it is made. I had intended telegraphing for money as soon as I was among our own people, but there would be delay in receiving it, and it will be much more pleasant to push on at once.”

  “By the way, you cannot cross at Florence, for I hear that Hood has fallen back across the river, the forces advancing against him from this side being too strong to be resisted. But I think that this is no disadvantage to you, for it would have been far more difficult to pass the Federals and get to Florence than to make for some point on the river as far as possible from the contending armies.”

  “We talked that over the last time you were here, doctor, and you know we agreed it was better to run the risk of falling into the hands of the Yankee troops than into those of one of those partisan bands whose exploits are always performed at a distance from the army. However, if Hood has retreated across the Tennessee there is an end of that plan, and we must take some other route. Which do you advise?”

  “The Yankees will be strong all round the great bend of the river to the west of Florence and along the line to the east, which would, of course, be your direct way. The passage, however, is your real difficulty, and I should say that instead of going in that direction you had better bear nearly due south. There is a road from Mount Pleasant that strikes into the main road from Columbia up to Camden. You can cross the river at that point without any question or suspicion, as you would be merely traveling to the west of the State. Once across you could work directly south, crossing into the State of Mississippi, and from there take train through Alabama to Georgia.

  “It seems a roundabout way, but I think you would find it far the safest, for there are no armies operating upon that line. The population, at any rate as you get south, are for us, and there are, so far as I have heard, very few of these bushwhacking bands about either on one side or the other. The difficult part of the journey is that up to Camden, but as you will be going away from the seat of war instead of toward it there will be little risk of being questioned.”

  “I had thought of buying a horse and cart,” Vincent said. “Jogging along a road like that we should attract no attention. I gave up the idea because our funds were not sufficient, but, thanks to your kindness, we might manage now to pick up something of the sort.”

  The doctor was silent for a minute.

  “If you will send Dan over to me tomorrow afternoon I will see what can be done,” he said. “It would certainly be the safest plan by far; but I must think it over. You will not leave before that, will you?”

  “Certainly not, doctor. In any case we should have stayed another day to get a few more things for our journey.”

  The next afternoon Dan went over to Mount Pleasant. He was away two hours longer than they had expected, and they began to feel quite uneasy about him, when the sound of wheels was heard, and Dan appeared coming along the road driving a cart. Vincent gave a shout of satisfaction, and Lucy and the negress ran out from the house in delight.

  “Here am de cart. Me had to go to five miles from de town to get him. Dat what took me so long. Here am a letter, sah, from the doctor. First-rate man dat. Good man all ober.”

  The letter was as follows:

  “My Dear Mr. Wingfield: I did not see how you would be able to buy a cart, and I was sure that you could not obtain one with the funds in your possession. As from what you have said I knew that you would not in the least mind the expense, I have taken the matter upon myself, and have bought from your landlady a cart and horse, which will, I think, suit you well. I have paid for them a hundred and fifty dollars, which you can remit me with the hundred I handed you yesterday. Sincerely trusting that you may succeed in carrying out your plans in safety, and with kind regards to yourself and Miss Kingston,

  “I remain, yours truly,

  “James Spencer.”

  “That is a noble fellow,” Vincent said, “and I trust, for his sake as well as our own, that we shall get safely through. Now, Lucy, I think you had better go into the town the first thing and buy some clothes of good homely fashion. What with the water and the bushes your dress is grievously dilapidated, to say the least of it. Dan can go with you and buy a suit for me—those fitted for a young farmer. We shall look like a young farmer and his sister jogging comfortably along to market; we can stop and buy a stock of goods at some farm on the way.”

  “That will be capital,” the girl said. “I have been greatly ashamed of my old dress, but knowing we were running so short, and that every dollar was of consequence, I made the best of it; now that we are in funds we can afford to be respectable.”

  Lucy started early the next morning for the town, and the shopping was satisfactorily accomplished. They returned by eleven o’clock. The new purchases were at once donned, and half an hour later they set off in the cart, Vincent sitting on the side driving, Lucy in the corner facing him on a basket turned topsy-turvy, Dan and Chloe on a thick bag of rushes in the bottom of the cart.

  CHAPTER XIV

  ACROSS THE BORDER

  Dan on his return with the cart had brought back a message from its late owner to say that if she could in any way be of use to them she should be glad to aid them. Her farm lay on the road they were now following, and they determined therefore to stop there. As the cart drew up at the door the woman came out.

  “Glad to see you,” she said; “come right in. It’s strange now you should have been lodging in my house for more than six weeks and I should never have set eyes on you before. The doctor talked to me a heap about you, but I didn’t look to see quite such a young couple.”

  Lucy colored hotly and was about to explain that they did not stand in the supposed relationship to each other, but Vincent slightly shook his head. It was not worth while to undeceive the woman, and although they had agreed to pass as brother and sister Vincent was determined not to tell an untruth about it unless deceit was absolutely necessary for their safety.

  “And you want to get out of the way without questions being asked, I understand?” the woman went on. “There are many such about at present. I don’t want to ask no questions; the war has brought trouble enough on me. Now is there anything I can do? If so, say it right out.”

  “Yes, there is something you can do for us. We want to fill up our cart with the sort of stuff you take to market—apples and pumpkins, and things of that sort. If we had gone to buy them anywhere else there might have been questions asked. From what the doctor said you can let us have some.”

  “I can do that. The storeroom’s chuck full; and it was only a few days ago I said to David it was time we set about getting them off. I will fill your cart, sir; and not overcharge you neither. It will save us the trouble of taking it over to Columbia or Camden, for there’s plenty of garden truck round Mount Pleasant, and one cannot get enough to pay for the trouble of taking them there.”

  The cart was soon filled with apples, pumpkins, and other vegetables, and the price put upon them was very moderate.

  “What ought we to ask for these?” Vincent soon inquired. “One does not want to be extra cheap or dear.”

  The woman informed them of the prices they might expect to get for the produce; and they at once started amid many warm good wishes from her.

  Before leaving the farm the woman had given them a letter to her sister who lived a mile from Camden.

  “It’s always awkward stopping at a strange place,” she said, “and farmers don’t often put up at hotels when they drive in with garden truck to a town, though they may do so sometimes; besides it’s always nice being with friends. I will write a line to Jane and tell her you have been my tenants at Woodford and where you are going, and ask her to take you in for the night and give you a note in the morning to any one she or her husband may know a good bit along that road.”

  When they reached the house it was dark, but directly Vincent showed the note the farmer and his wife heartily bade them come in.

  “Your boy can put up t
he horse at the stable, and you are heartily welcome. But the house is pretty full, and we can’t make you as comfortable as we should wish at night; but still we will do our best.”

  Vincent and Lucy were soon seated by the fire. Their hostess bustled about preparing supper for them, and the children, of whom the house seemed full, stared shyly at the newcomers. As soon as the meal was over, Chloe’s wants were attended to, and a lunch of bread and bacon taken out by the farmer to Dan in the stables. The children were then packed off to bed, and the farmer and his wife joined Vincent and Lucy by the fire.

  “As to sleeping,” the woman said, “John and I have been talking it over, and the best way we can see is that you should sleep with me, ma’am, and we will make up a bed on the floor here for my husband and yours.”

  “Thank you—that will do very nicely; though I don’t like interfering with your arrangements.”

  “Not at all, ma’am, not at all, it makes a nice change having some one come in, especially of late, when there is no more pleasure in going about in this country, and people don’t go out after dark more than they can help. Ah! it’s a bad time. My sister says you are going west, but I see you have got your cart full of garden truck. How you have raised it so soon I don’t know; for Liza wrote to me two months since as she hadn’t been able to sell her place, and it was just a wilderness. Are you going to get rid of it at Camden tomorrow?”

  Vincent had already been assured as to the politics of his present host and hostess, and he therefore did not hesitate to say:

  “The fact is, madam, we are anxious to get along without being questioned by any Yankee troops we may fall in with; and we have bought the things you see in the cart from your sister, as, going along with a cart full, any one we met would take us for farmers living close by on their road to the next market-town.”

  “Oh, oh! that’s it!” the farmer said significantly. “Want to get through the lines, eh?”

  Vincent nodded.

  “Didn’t I think so!” the farmer said, rubbing his hands. “I thought directly my eyes hit upon you that you did not look the cut of a granger. Been fighting—eh? and they are after you?”

  “I don’t think they are after me here,” Vincent said. “But I have seen a good deal of fighting with Jackson and Stuart; and I am just getting over a collar-bone which was smashed by a Yankee bullet.”

  “You don’t say!” the farmer exclaimed. “Well, I should have gone out myself if it hadn’t been for Jane and the children. But there are such a lot of them that I could not bring myself to run the chance of leaving them all on her hands. Still, I am with them heart and soul.”

  “Your wife’s sister told me that you were on the right side,” Vincent said, “and that I could trust you altogether.”

  “Now, if you tell me which road you want to go, I don’t mind if I get on my horse tomorrow and ride with you a stage, and see you put for the night. I know a heap of people, and I am sure to be acquainted with some one whichever road you may go. We are pretty near all the right side about here, though, as you get further on, there are lots of Northern men. Now, what are your ideas as to the roads?”

  Vincent told him the route he intended to take.

  “You ought to get through there right enough,” the farmer said. “There are some Yankee troops moving about to the west of the river, but not many of them; and even if you fell in with them, with your cargo of stuff they would not suspect you. Anyhow, I expect we can get you passed down so as always to be among friends. So you fought under Jackson and Stuart, did you? Ah, they have done well in Virginia! I only wish we had such men here. What made you take those two darkies along with you? I should have thought you would have got along better by yourself.”

  “We couldn’t very well leave them,” Vincent said; “the boy has been with me all through the wars, and is as true as steel. Old Chloe was Lucy’s nurse, and would have broken her heart had she been left behind.”

  “They are faithful creatures when they are well treated. Mighty few of them have run away all this time from their masters, though in the parts the Yankees hold there is nothing to prevent their bolting if they have a mind to it. I haven’t got no niggers myself. I tried them, but they want more looking after than they are worth; and I can make a shift with my boys to help me, and hiring a hand in busy times to work the farm. Now, sir, what do you think of the look-out?”

  The subject of the war fairly started, his host talked until midnight, long before which hour Lucy and the farmer’s wife had gone off to bed.

  “We will start as soon as it is light,” the farmer said, as he and Vincent stretched themselves upon the heap of straw covered with blankets that was to serve as their bed, Chloe having hours before gone up to share the bed of the negro girl who assisted the farmer’s wife in her management of the house and children.

  “It’s best to get through Camden before people are about. There are Yankee soldiers at the bridge, but it will be all right you driving in, however early, to sell your stuff. Going out you ain’t likely to meet with Yankees; but as it would look queer, you taking your garden truck out of the town, it’s just as well to be on the road before people are about. Once you get five or six miles the other side you might be going to the next place to sell your stuff.”

  “That is just what I have been thinking,” Vincent said, “and I agree with you the earlier we get through Camden the better.”

  Accordingly as soon as daylight appeared the horse was put in the cart, the farmer mounting his own animal, and with a hearty good-by from his wife the party started away. The Yankee sentinels at each end of the bridge were passed without questions, for early as it was the carts were coming in with farm produce. As yet the streets of the town were almost deserted, and the farmer, who before starting had tossed a tarpaulin into the back of the cart, said:

  “Now, pull that over all that stuff, and then any one that meets us will think that you are taking out bacon and groceries and such like for some store way off.”

  This suggestion was carried out, and Camden was soon left behind. A few carts were met as they drove along. The farmer knew some of the drivers and pulled up to say a few words to them. After a twenty-mile drive they stopped at another farm, where their friend’s introduction ensured them as cordial a welcome as that upon the preceding evening. So step by step they journeyed on, escorted in almost every case by their host of the night before and meeting with no interruption. Once they passed a strong body of Federal cavalry, but these supposing that the party belonged to the neighborhood asked no questions; and at last, after eight days’ traveling, they passed two posts which marked the boundary between Tennessee and Alabama.

  For the last two days they had been beyond the point to which the Federal troops had penetrated. They now felt that all risk was at an end. Another day’s journey brought them to a railway station, and they learned that the trains were running as usual, although somewhat irregular as to the hours at which they came along or as to the time they took upon their journey. The contents of the cart had been left at the farm at which they stopped the night before, and Vincent had now no difficulty in disposing of the horse and cart, as he did not stand out for price, but took the first offer made. Two hours later a train came along, and the party were soon on their way to the east. After many hours’ traveling they reached Rome, in Georgia, and then proceeded by the southern line a few miles to Macon, at which place they alighted and hired a conveyance to take them to Antioch, near which place Lucy’s relatives resided.

  The latter part of the journey by rail had been a silent one. Lucy felt none of the pleasure that she had expected at finding herself safely through her dangers and upon the point of joining relations who would be delighted to see her, and she sat looking blankly out of the window at the surrounding country. At last Vincent, who had been half an hour without speaking, said:

  “Are you sorry our journey is just over, Lucy?”

  The girl’s lip quivered, but she did not speak for a moment.
“Of course it is unpleasant saying good-by when people have been together for some time,” she said with an effort.

  “I hope it will not be good-by for long,” he said. “I shall be back here as soon as this horrible war is over.”

  “What for?” the girl asked, looking round in surprise. “You live a long way from here, and you told me you knew nobody in these parts.”

  “I know you,” Vincent said, “and that is quite enough. Do you not know that I love you?”

  The girl gave a start of surprise, her cheek flushed, but her eyes did not drop as she looked frankly at him.

  “No, Vin,” she said after a pause, “I never once thought you loved me, never once. You have not been a bit like what I thought people were when they felt like that.”

  “I hope not, Lucy. I was your protector then, that is to say when you were not mine. Your position has been trying enough, and I should have been a blackguard if I had made it more uncomfortable than it was by showing you that I cared for you. I have tried my best to be what people thought me—your brother; but now that you are just home and among your own people, I think I may speak and tell you how I feel toward you and how I have loved you since the moment I first saw you. And you, Lucy, do you think you could care for me?”

  “Not more than I do now, Vin. I love you with all my heart. I have been trying so hard to believe that I didn’t, because I thought you did not care for me that way.”

  For some minutes no further word was spoken. Vincent was the first to speak:

  “It is horrid to have to sit here in this stiff, unnatural way, Lucy, when one is inclined to do something outrageous from sheer happiness. These long, open cars, where people can see from end to end what every one is doing, are hateful inventions. It is perfectly absurd, when one finds one’s self the happiest fellow living, that one is obliged to look as demure and solemn as if one was in church.”