The Second G.A. Henty

by G. A. Henty

  “I’se tired too, sah; but I feel I could go on walking all night if I was to see Dinah in de morning.”

  “Well, I couldn’t, Tony; not to see any one. I might be willing enough, but my legs wouldn’t take me.”

  They ate a hearty meal, and almost as soon as they had finished Vincent stood up again.

  “Well, Tony, I can feel for your impatience, and so we will struggle on. I have just been thinking that when I last left my mother a week since she said she was thinking of going out to the Orangery for a month before the leaves fell, so it is probable that she may be there now. It is only about the same distance as it is to Richmond, so we will go straight there. I shall lose a little time, of course; but I can be driven over to Richmond, so it won’t be too much. Besides, I can put on a pair of slippers. That will be a comfort, for my feet feel as if they were in vises. A cup of tea won’t be a bad thing, too.”

  During their walk through the wood Vincent had related the circumstances of the carrying away of Dinah and of her rescue. When he had finished Tony had said:

  “Well, Massa Wingfield, I don’t know what to say to you. I tought I owed you enuff before, but it war nothing to dis. Just to tink dat you should take all dat pains to fetch Dinah back for me. I dunno how it came to you to do it. It seems to me like as if you been sent special from heben to do dis poor nigger good. Words ain’t no good, sah; but if I could give my life away a hundred times for you I would do it.”

  It took them nearly three hours’ walking before they came in sight of the Orangery.

  “There are lights in the windows,” Vincent said. “Thank goodness they are there.”

  Vincent limped slowly along until he reached the house.

  “You stay out here, Tony. I will send Dinah out to you directly. It will be better for her to meet you here alone.”

  Vincent walked straight into the drawing-room, where his mother and Annie were sitting.

  “Why, Vincent!” Mrs. Wingfield exclaimed, starting up, “what has happened to you? What are you dressed up like that for? Is anything the matter?”

  “Nothing is the matter, mother, except that I am as tired as a dog. Yes, my dress is not quite fit for a drawing-room,” he laughed, looking down at the rough trousers splashed with mud to the waist, and his flannel shirt, for they had not waited to pick up their coats as they left the boat; “but nothing is the matter, I can assure you. I will tell you about it directly, but first please send for Dinah here.”

  Mrs. Wingfield rang the bell on the table beside her.

  “Tell Dinah I want to speak to her at once,” she said to the girl that answered it. Dinah appeared in a minute.

  “Dinah,” Vincent said, “has your boy gone to bed?”

  “Yes, sah; been gone an hour ago.”

  “Well, just go to him, and put a shawl round him, and go out through the front door. There is some one standing there you will be glad to see.”

  Dinah stood with open eyes, then her hands began to tremble.

  “Is it Tony, sah; for de Lord’s sake, is it Tony?”

  Vincent nodded, and with a little scream of joy she turned and ran straight to the front door. She could not wait now even to fetch her boy, and in another moment she was clasped in her husband’s arms.

  “Now, Vincent, tell us all about it,” his mother said. “Don’t you see we are dying of curiosity?”

  “And I am dying of fatigue,” Vincent said; “which is a much more painful sort of death, and I can think of nothing else until I have got these boots off. Annie, do run and tell them to bring me a pair of slippers and a cup of tea, and I shall want the buggy at the door in half an hour.”

  “You are not going away again tonight, Vincent, surely?” his mother said anxiously. “You do look completely exhausted.”

  “I am exhausted, mother. I have walked seven or eight-and-forty miles, and this cavalry work spoils one for walking altogether.”

  “Walked forty-eight miles, Vincent! What on earth have you done that for?”

  “Not from choice, I can assure you, mother; but you know the old saying, ‘Needs must when the devil drives,’ and in the present case you must read ‘Yankee’ instead of ‘the gentleman in black.’

  “But has Petersburg fallen?” Mrs. Wingfield asked in alarm.

  “No; Petersburg is safe, and is likely to continue so. But you must really be patient, mother, until I have had some tea, then you can hear the story in full.”

  When the servant came in with the tea Vincent told her that she was to tell Dinah, whom she would find on the veranda, to bring her husband into the kitchen, and to give him everything he wanted. Then, as soon as he had finished tea, he told his mother and sister the adventures he had gone through. Both were crying when he had finished.

  “I am proud of you, Vincent,” his mother said. “It is hard on us that you should run such risks; still I do not blame you, my boy, for if I had ten sons I would give them all for my country.”

  Vincent had but just finished his story when the servant came in and said that the buggy was at the door.

  “I will go in my slippers, mother, but I will run up and change my other things. It’s lucky I have got a spare suit here. Any of our fellows who happened to be going down tonight in the train would think that I was mad were I to go like this.”

  It was one o’clock in the morning when Vincent reached Petersburg. He went straight to his quarters, as it would be no use waking General Lee at that hour. A light was burning in his room, and Dan was asleep at the table with his head on his arms. He leaped up with a cry of joy as his master entered.

  “Well, Dan, here I am safe again,” Vincent said cheerily. “I hope you had not begun to give me up.”

  “I began to be terribly frightened, sir—terribly frightened. I went dis afternoon and asked Captain Burley if he had any news ob you. He said ‘No;’ and asked me ef I knew where you were. I said ‘No, sah;’ that I knew nuffin about it except that you had gone on some dangerous job. He said he hoped that you would be back soon; and certainly, as far as dey had heard, nuffin had happened to you. Still I was bery anxious, and tought I would sit up till de last train came in from Richmond. Den I tink I dropped off to sleep.”

  “I think you did, Dan. Well, I am too tired to tell you anything about it now, but I have one piece of news for you; Tony has come back to his wife.”

  “Dat’s good news, sah; bery good news. I had begun to be afraid dat Tony had been shot or hung or someting. I know Dinah hab been fretting about him though she never said much, but when I am at home she allus asks me all sorts of questions ’bout him. She bery glad woman now.”

  The next morning Vincent went to General Lee’s quarters.

  “I am heartily glad to see you back,” the general said warmly as he entered. “I have blamed myself for letting you go. Well, what success have you had?”

  “Here is a rough plan of the works, general. I have not had time to do it out fairly, but it shows the positions of all their principal batteries, with a rough estimate as to the number of guns that each is intended to carry.”

  “Excellent!” the general said, glancing over the plan. “This will give us exactly the information we want. We must set to with our counter-works at once. The country is indeed indebted to you, sir. So you managed to cheat the Yankees altogether?”

  “I should have cheated them, sir; but unfortunately I came across an old acquaintance who denounced me, and I had a narrow escape of being shot.”

  “Well, Captain Wingfield, I must see about this business, and give orders at once. Will you come and breakfast with me at half-past eight? Then you can give me an account of your adventures.”

  Vincent returned to his quarters, and spent the next two hours in making a detailed drawing of the enemy’s positions and batteries, and then at half-past eight walked over to General Lee’s quarters. The general returned in a few minutes with General Wade Hampton and several other officers, and they at once sat down to breakfast. As the meal was proceedi
ng an orderly entered with a telegram for the general. General Lee glanced through it.

  “This, gentlemen, is from the minister of war. I acquainted him by telegraph this morning that Captain Wingfield, who had volunteered for the dangerous service, had just returned from the Federal lines with a plan of the positions and strength of all the works that they are erecting. I said that I trusted that such distinguished service as he had rendered would be at once rewarded with promotion, and the minister telegraphs to me now that he has this morning signed this young officer’s commission as major. I heartily congratulate you, sir, on your well-earned step. And now, as I see you have finished your breakfast, perhaps, you will give us an account of your proceedings.”

  Vincent gave a detailed account of his adventures, which were heard with surprise and interest.

  “That was a narrow escape, indeed,” the general said, as he finished. “It was a marvelous thing your lighting upon this negro, whom you say you had once had an opportunity of serving, just at that moment; and although you do not tell us what was the nature of the service you had rendered him, it must have been a very considerable service or he would never have risked his life in that way to save yours. When these negroes do feel attachment for their masters there are no more faithful and devoted fellows. Well, in your case certainly a good action has met with its reward; if it had not been for him there could be no question that your doom was sealed. It is a strange thing too your meeting that traitor. I remember reading about that escape of yours from the Yankee prison. He must have been an ungrateful villain, after your taking him with you.”

  “He was a bad fellow altogether, I am afraid,” Vincent said; “and the quarrel between us was a long-standing one.”

  “Whatever your quarrel was,” the general said hotly, “a man who would betray even an enemy to death in that way is a villain. However, he has gone to his account, and the country can forgive his treachery to her, as I have no doubt you have already done his conduct toward yourself.”

  A short time afterward Vincent had leave for a week, as things were quiet at Petersburg.

  “Mother,” he said on the morning after he got home, “I fear that there is no doubt whatever now how this struggle will end. I think we might keep Grant at bay here, but Sherman is too strong for us down in Georgia. We are already cut off from most of the Southern States, and in time Sherman will sweep round here, and then it will be all over. You see it yourself, don’t you, mother?”

  “Yes, I am afraid it cannot continue much longer, Vincent. Well, of course, we shall fight to the end.”

  “I am not talking of giving up, mother; I am looking forward to the future. The first step will be that all the slaves will be freed. Now, it seems to me that however attached they may be to their masters and mistresses they will lose their heads over this, flock into the towns, and nearly starve there; or else take up little patches of land and cultivate them, and live from hand to mouth, which will be ruin to the present owners as well as to them. Anyhow for a time all will be confusion and disorder. Now, my idea is this, if you give all your slaves their freedom at once, offer them patches of land for their own cultivation and employ them at wages, you will find that a great many of them will stop with you. There is nowhere for them to go at present and nothing to excite them, so before the general crash comes they will have settled down quietly to work here in their new positions, and will not be likely to go away.”

  “It is a serious step to take, Vincent,” Mrs. Wingfield said, after thinking the matter over in silence for some time. “You do not think there is any probability of the ultimate success of our cause?”

  “None, mother; I do not think there is even a possibility. One by one the Southern States have been wrested from the Confederacy. Sherman’s march will completely isolate us. We have put our last available man in the field, and tremendous as are the losses of the enemy they are able to fill up the gaps as fast as they are made. No, mother, do not let us deceive ourselves on that head. The end must come, and that before long. The slaves will unquestionably be freed, and the only question for us is how to soften the blow. There is no doubt that our slaves, both at the Orangery and at the other plantations, are contented and happy; but you know how fickle and easily led the negroes are, and in the excitement of finding them selves free and able to go where they please, you may be sure that the greater number will wander away. My proposal is, that we should at once mark out a plot of land for each family and tell them that as long as they stay here it is theirs rent-free; they will be paid for their work upon the estate, three, four, or five days a week, as they can spare time from their own plots. In this way they will be settled down, and have crops upon their plots of land, before the whole black population is upset by the sudden abolition of slavery.”

  “But supposing they won’t work at all, even for wages, Vincent?”

  “I should not give them the option, mother; it will be a condition of their having their plots of land free that they shall work at least three days a week for wages.”

  “I will think over what you say, Vincent, and tell you my decision in the morning. I certainly think your plan is a good one.”

  The next morning Mrs. Wingfield told Vincent that she had decided to adopt his plan. He at once held a long consultation with the overseer, and decided which fields should be set aside for the allotments, choosing land close to the negroes’ quarters and suitable for the raising of vegetables for sale in the town.

  In the afternoon Mrs. Wingfield went down with him. The bell was rung and the whole of the slaves assembled. Vincent then made them a speech. He began by reminding them of the kind treatment they had always received, and of the good feeling that had existed between the owners of the Orangery and their slaves. He praised them for their good conduct since the beginning of the troubles, and said that his mother and himself had agreed that they would now take steps to reward them, and to strengthen the tie between them. They would all be granted their freedom at once, and a large plot of land would be given to each man, as much as he and his family could cultivate with an average of two days a week steady labor.

  Those who liked would, of course, be at liberty to leave; but he hoped that none of them would avail themselves of this freedom, for nowhere would they do so well as by accepting the offer he made them. All who accepted the offer of a plot of land rent-free must understand that it was granted them upon the condition that they would labor upon the estate for at least three days a week, receiving a rate of pay similar to that earned by other freed negroes. Of course they would be at liberty to work four or five days a week if they chose; but at least they must work three days and any one failing to do this would forfeit his plot of land. “Three days’ work,” he said, “will be sufficient to provide all necessaries for yourselves and families and the produce of your land you can sell, and will so be able to lay by an ample sum to keep yourselves in old age. I have already plotted out the land and you shall cast lots for choice of the plots. There will be a little delay before all your papers of freedom can be made out, but the arrangement will begin from today, and henceforth you will be paid for all labor done on the estate.”

  Scarcely a word was spoken when Vincent concluded. The news was too surprising to the negroes for them to be able to understand it all at once. Dan and Tony, to whom Vincent had already explained the matter, went among them, and they gradually took in the whole of Vincent’s meaning. A few received the news with great joy, but many others were depressed rather than rejoiced at the responsibilities of their new positions. Hitherto they had been clothed and fed, the doctor attended them in sickness, their master would care for them in old age. They had been literally without a care for the morrow, and the thought that in future they would have to think of all these things for themselves almost frightened them. Several of the older men went up to Mrs. Wingfield and positively declined to accept their freedom. They were quite contented and happy, and wanted nothing more. They had worked on the plantation since they had b
een children, and freedom offered them no temptations whatever.

  “What had we better do, Vincent?” Mrs. Wingfield asked.

  “I think, mother, it will be best to tell them that all who wish can remain upon the old footing, but that their papers will be made out and if at any time they wish to have their freedom they will only have to say so. No doubt they will soon become accustomed to the idea, and seeing how comfortable the others are with their pay and the produce of their gardens they will soon fall in with the rest. Of course it will decrease the income from the estate, but not so much as you would think. They will be paid for their labor, but we shall have neither to feed nor clothe them; and I think we shall get better labor than we do now, for the knowledge that those who do not work steadily will lose their plots of land, and have to go out in the world to work, their places being filled by others, will keep them steady.”

  “It’s an experiment, Vincent, and we shall see how it works.”

  “It’s an experiment I have often thought I should like to make, mother, and now you see it is almost forced upon us. Tomorrow I will ride over to the other plantations and make the same arrangements.”

  During the month of August many battles took place round Petersburg. On the 12th the Federals attacked, but were repulsed with heavy loss, and 2,500 prisoners were taken. On the 21st the Confederates attacked, and obtained a certain amount of success, killing, wounding, and capturing 2,400 men. Petersburg was shelled day and night, and almost continuous fighting went on. Nevertheless, up to the middle of October the positions of the armies remained unaltered. On the 27th of that month the Federals made another general attack, but were repulsed with a loss of 1,500 men. During the next three months there was little fighting, the Confederates having now so strengthened their lines by incessant toil that even General Grant, reckless of the lives of his troops as he was, hesitated to renew the assault.

  But in the South General Sherman was carrying all before him. Generals Hood and Johnston, who commanded the Confederate armies there, had fought several desperate battles, but the forces opposed to them were too strong to be driven back. They had marched through Georgia to Atlanta and captured that important town on the 1st of September, and obtained command of the network of railways, and thus cut off a large portion of the Confederacy from Richmond. Then Sherman marched south, wasting the country through which he marched, and capturing Savannah on the 21st of September.