They had advanced but a short distance from the main street, when they heard the clatter of horses' hoofs.

"That's bad," said Captain de Banyan, as he stopped to ascertain in what direction the horsemen were going.

"What's bad?" demanded Somers.

"My absence has been discovered, I am afraid. The provost-marshal has a section of cavalry to run down Union prisoners who may escape. I think they are after me; at any rate, we must be very careful where we go."

A few moments later, a small party of horsemen dashed down the street by which the captain was conducting his retreat. It would prove fatal to their hopes, if they were seen; and Captain de Banyan entered the yard of a house, followed by his companion. There was a stable on the premises; and, without a special invitation from the owner, they entered, making their way to the hay-loft, which seemed to be the most promising place of concealment. A horse in the stall below whinnied when they reached the second floor, expecting, no doubt, his morning rations of hay.

Unfortunately for the fugitives, still more unfortunately perhaps for the horse, there was very little hay in the loft; so that a secure hiding-place was not readily found. But, as it was no part of the captain's intention to remain long in this loft, they seated themselves on a grain chest, to wait till the troopers should pass the house.

"What time is it, captain?" asked Somers.

"About four in the morning. We are rather late. It will be daylight in about an hour."

"Where have you been since we parted?"

"Since we parted, my boy? We didn't part. You did all the parting, Somers," replied De Banyan in a reproachful tone.

"I know I did; but, after what I had heard, you need scarcely wonder. You acknowledged that you had been a rebel officer, and a member of the Third Tennessee regiment."

"I grant it; but I thought enough else was said to enable you to understand my position."

"Well, I had some hopes that you were all right; but I could not banish my fears. How could I know that you had not been sent over on the other side for the same purpose that we crossed the James?"

"You might have known it, my dear fellow. They don't usually send men over on such business whose loyalty is doubtful. You heard the captain say that I had been suspected."

"I did; but I could not fully understand your position."

"And so you gave me the slip? Well, Somers, I forgive you."

"I am sure, if I had not been in doubt in regard to what you were, I would not have left you, even if I had been certain of hanging with you."

"I know you wouldn't, my boy. I confess there were a great many dark things against me; but I assure you I am a loyal and true man. I have suffered more for the Union than you have; for I was born in the sunny South, and all my friends and neighbors went with the rebels. I had no alternative but to go into the army, where my experience in the Crimea, in Italy, and in Mexico, made me an officer. I escaped as soon as I could, and enrolled myself on the right side."

Somers grasped the hand of his brave and devoted companion, which he pressed with a warmth that indicated his feelings more eloquently than words could have done. He was entirely satisfied with the explanation, because it was fully sustained by the conduct of the captain, and by the words of the rebel cavalry officer who had claimed his acquaintance. He was even disposed to believe that De Banyan had been a soldier in the European wars and in Mexico; which was a degree of credulity hardly to be expected of a sensible young man.

"You will forgive me for my unjust suspicions, captain? I assure you it went against my grain to believe that you were a rebel."

"You had good reason for it. I was more afraid of you, when I confessed my sins to the rebel officer, than I was of him. We are friends again, Somers; that's all I want."

"You have proved yourself my friend by this last act; and I should have needed no further explanation to convince me that you were a loyal man."

"I am all that, my dear boy."

"Where have you been since I parted from you?"

"I got up to Petersburg in the afternoon. I was put in that hole where I found you at first; but, when the provost-marshal learned my story, he sent for me, and I was conducted to his office. Just as I came out of the depot, you went in. He wanted to question me, he said. Well, I happened to know him, though he did not know me. I knew his weak point; and, in a word, I bamboozled him. I assured him I was an officer in the Third Tennessee, and that, on further inquiry, he would find I was all right; that I had rendered greater service to my country by going over to the Yankees than I could possibly have done by remaining with my regiment; which, you are willing to believe, was strictly true.

"I asked the privilege of putting on my uniform again, which he granted; and, with the gold in my pocket, I purchased a full fit-out of the quartermaster. The provost-marshal told me that I must report at Richmond, which I promised to do; and, my dear boy, I hope I shall be able to do so at no distant day, though it doesn't look much like it just now. He gave me an apartment next to his office, for the night; where, of course, he expected to find me in the morning. In the night, I got up, and went into his office to transact a little business on my own account.

"After I saw you at the depot, my dear fellow, I couldn't forget your sad look. You seemed to be as hopeless as a stray chicken in the wet grass, and I was trying to think what I could do for you. I couldn't have gone back to Harrison's Landing without you; it would have broken my heart. And what could I have said to the general, when he asked for you? How could I have made my peace with the officers of the regiment, if I had gone back without you?"

"It was very kind of you, after the shabby manner in which I had treated you," added Somers.

"That was the very reason why I was bound to help you out of the scrape, if I could. I wanted to set myself right with you. I wanted to convince you I wasn't the man you took me to be."

"You have convinced me in the fullest manner; and I owe you a debt of gratitude which I shall never be able to pay."

"Steady, my boy; we are not out of the scrape."

"No matter whether we get out of the scrape or not, my feelings towards you will be just the same."

"Thank you, Somers; I am satisfied."

"But where did you get the pass you gave the corporal of the guard at the depot?" asked Somers.

"I found the provost-marshal's signature on certain papers, one of which I filled out to suit myself. But there was a sentinel at the door of the office, put there, I suppose, for my benefit; though I was sorry to trouble the poor fellow to stand there on my account. My friend, the provost, had done this little act in the most delicate way in the world. He did not tell me that I was under guard; but I happened to find out before I put my foot in the trap.

"In a word, not wishing to disturb the sentinel, I took the liberty of leaving by the way of the window of my chamber, instead of the door. Luckily there was a one-story shop next to the office; and with the aid of a blanket from my bed, I dropped down upon it, without disturbing the meditations of the sentinel or the slumbers of the provost. I got into the street, and went to the depot. There I told the corporal of the guard a very interesting story about the prisoner who had been brought up in the afternoon, meaning myself; and that the man I wanted was needed immediately as a witness. You know the rest, my dear fellow; and here we are."

"And here we are likely to remain, I'm afraid," added Somers.

"Not a bit of it. I haven't exhausted half my expedients yet. On the night before the attack on the Redan, at Sebastopol, I went all over that city, and spent the evening at the house of one of the most distinguished citizens—a gentleman who had a government contract for rations. Of course, he didn't know me."

"Hush! There is some one coming into the stable below," said Somers, as he heard a door opened on the floor below.

It was impossible to move then without making noise enough to excite the attention of the person who had entered; for the stable was old and rickety, and the boards creaked at every step they took. The fugitives listened with breathless interest to the movements of the unwelcome visitor. The horse whinnied again; and the person entered the stall, and spoke to him. The sound of his voice filled the occupants of the loft with consternation; for evidently the speaker was not a negro servant, as they had hoped and expected to find him, but a white man, and one who used the English language well.

"Come, Jenny, there's a job on hand for us; and you must postpone your breakfast till we catch the Yankee prisoners," said the person, who, the fugitives were now satisfied, was an officer of the cavalry service.

While De Banyan was telling his story, they had heard some noise at the house; and they now concluded that the party which had ridden up the street had come to call this officer for duty. They hoped that nothing would require him to pay a visit to the loft, and that, like a good officer, he would be as expeditious as possible in his preparations.

"You are my prisoner, if he comes up-stairs," whispered De Banyan.

Somers pressed the hand of his companion to assure him that he understood his plan; and they held their breath, in the intense anxiety of the moment, for further developments. The present seemed to be the turning point in the career of the adventurers; and, if they could once escape from the horns of this dilemma, skill and prudence would conduct them in safety to the Union lines.

The officer below, after he had politely informed "Jenny" of the early movement, seemed to be in no hurry to get into the saddle. He went out at the door of the stable, and all was silent again, except the voice of Jenny, who seemed to be protesting against any movement before she had received her customary feed of corn.

"Peters!" shouted the officer from the door, "hurry up! The Yankees will get to the James River before you get the saddle on my horse. Where have you been?"

"I was looking for my boots."

"An orderly ought to wear his boots to bed with him, if he can't put them where he can find them," replied the officer, as the heavy step of another man was heard in the stable below.

"What news did you hear?" asked the officer, as the orderly led the horse from the stall.

"The sergeant said some officer that had been took as a deserter done runned away," replied Peters, as the fugitives heard the rattle of the saddle-gear.

"Hurry up, then!"

"He done took a Yankee prisoner from the depot with him," added Peters, who, if he had not been called an orderly, the listeners would have taken for a negro.

"You may take a peck of corn in a bag for Jenny, Peters. We may have a long ride of it," added the officer, as he left the stable.

A peck of corn! De Banyan and Somers were sitting on the grain chest! It was impossible to avoid discovery; and De Banyan threw off his cloak, ready for the emergency.

"Somers, my boy, we must change our tactics. They have heard the whole story, and we can't blind them. We must make the best of it. Have you a pistol?" whispered the captain.

"No; all I had was taken from me," replied Somers.

"I have only one. No matter; it would never do to fire up here," added De Banyan, as he picked up a short pitch-fork which lay near him.

"Are you going to kill him?" asked Somers.

"It's life or death for you and me! We can't stop for trifles," answered the captain in hurried tones, but still in a whisper.

They listened for a moment longer to the quick movements of Peters in the stable below. It was evident that Jenny was duly caparisoned for service; and then another horse was led out, which belonged to the orderly. He was prepared for service in less time than Jenny had required; and, a moment later, the step of Peters was heard on the stairs. With the bag in his hand, he was coming up for the corn, as he had been ordered by the officer. He did not see the fugitives till he had reached the last step; when, as he was on the point of opening his mouth to speak, De Banyan leveled a blow at his head with the handle of the pitch-fork, which felled him to the floor.

He sank down upon the stairs stunned or dead; and the captain, as though he had carefully matured his plan beforehand, dragged the body to one corner of the loft, where he covered it with hay.

"Not a word, Somers," said he in an excited whisper, as he crouched down behind the grain chest.

"Are you going to stay here?" demanded Somers, astonished at this singular disposition of the forces.

"Hush—the officer is close by."

With beating heart, Somers waited for the further action of his resolute companion. It was the most critical period of his life, it seemed to him, especially as he did not fully comprehend the purpose of De Banyan. Only a moment elapsed, but it was long enough to be a week, before the owner of Jenny returned to the stable.

"Peters! What are you about?" shouted he angrily. "I shall never get off at this rate. Peters!"

Peters was not in condition to answer the summons at that moment. Somers hoped he was not dead; but he might as well have been dead, so far as speaking was concerned.

"Peters!" shouted the officer again, with a string of Southern Confederacy oaths; "where are you? What are you about?"

Of course, the orderly could not answer; and his silence only added to the rage of his master, who continued to swear in a manner which must have disgusted the gentle Jenny, and the other respectable horse standing on the stable-floor.

The officer rushed out of the stable, and the heaviness of his step indicated the state of his mind. He had gone to look for Peters; but, as Peters was not outside, he must be inside; and the officer entered again. He now walked towards the stairs leading to the loft.

"Peters!" he continued to roar as he rushed up the stairs. "Peters! this is your last day's service with me!"

But the poor orderly was unable to remove the stain which rested upon his fidelity. He still held his peace; still silently submitted to the unjust imputations on his character. The officer landed in the loft just as Captain de Banyan rose to receive him.

"Who are you?" demanded he, as the stout form of the captain confronted him.

"Your most obedient servant to command," replied De Banyan.

"You are a Confederate officer?"

"I seem to be; but I am not. Be that as it may, your presence is dangerous to my health and comfort."

"I see: you are the deserter."

"I am; but the future lies between you and me."

"Then we will let the future speak for itself," answered the officer, drawing a pistol from his belt. "Surrender, or you are a dead man!"

"I must positively decline the honor," replied De Banyan, as he swung the pitch-fork over his head, and attempted to strike him down.

He failed; and the officer fired, but without effect. At that moment, Somers stepped forward with a billet of wood he found on the floor. At the same time, De Banyan raised the pistol; but the rebel fired a second time before he could discharge it. Somers instantly dropped his stick, and his left arm fell to his side; the ball had passed through it. De Banyan fired; the officer sank down, not killed, but badly wounded.



CHAPTER XXVIII

DR. SCOVILLE'S PATIENT

The ball from De Banyan's pistol had passed through the right side of the officer; and he sank upon the floor, the blood flowing copiously from the wound. These proceedings were so irregular, that Somers could not reconcile himself to them. He was wounded himself; but, when the officer fell, he was full of sympathy for him. It was evident that the sufferer would bleed to death in a short time, if left to himself without any attention; and Somers could not endure the thought of letting even an enemy die in this forsaken condition.

"Come, my boy; we have no time to lose. It's daylight now, and we ought to be five miles from the city before this time," said De Banyan, as he moved towards the stairs. "Take the man's pistol and ammunition, and come along as fast as you can."

"Will you leave this gentleman in this condition?" asked Somers, gazing with pitying tenderness at the pale face of the fallen officer.

"Leave him? Of course; we can't take him with us."

"But he will bleed to death if we leave him here."

"Let him bleed to death; I can't help that. Many a better man than he has bled to death since this war began. Come along, Somers! What is the matter with your arm?" demanded he, when he saw that it hung useless at his side.

"I was hit."

"Hit! We are lost, then!"

"No, we are not lost, either. I am not killed," replied Somers, whose arm was still numb from the effect of the shot.

"That's a misfortune. I am afraid it will spoil everything. Can you sit on a horse?"

"Of course I can. But I can't bear to let this man die here alone. He is a brave fellow, and deserves a better fate."

"Come along, Somers! You are an odd stick, when you are wounded, to trouble yourself about your enemies. Let me see your arm."

The captain examined the wounded member, which was now bleeding very freely. He tied a handkerchief around the arm, and did the best which the circumstances would admit for his friend. He then led the way down-stairs, where the horses were impatiently waiting for their riders. Jenny was a noble mare, and the orderly's horse was an excellent animal. De Banyan, knowing how much might depend upon the endurance of the horses in the flight before them, filled the bag with corn in the loft, after he had helped Somers to mount the horse of Peters, which appeared to be the steadier beast of the two.

The noise of the affray in the loft had probably been heard by some of the occupants of the house; and, just as the fugitives had mounted the horses, a black woman from the dwelling approached the stable. She gazed with astonishment and alarm at the riders, and seemed to be satisfied that all was not right.

"Your master is up in the loft," said Somers, as they rode by her. "He is hurt, and wants attention."

"Now whip up, Somers. We must make quick time; for we shall have the whole city after us in ten minutes," said De Banyan, as he urged Jenny to the top of her speed.

The spirited animal seemed as willing to exert herself for the enemies as the friends of the Southern Confederacy; thus proving that she was a neutral horse, or cherished Union sentiments. But the other horse could not keep pace with her, and De Banyan was compelled to restrain her speed. The fugitives had scarcely appeared in the street before a hue and cry was raised; for the place had been thoroughly aroused by the clamor which the troopers had created. Still, there was nothing in sight which promised to offer any serious resistance to their progress.

A few moments brought them to the outskirts of the town; though in what direction, or to what point, the road they had taken would lead them, neither De Banyan nor Somers had the most remote idea. To go in the wrong direction was equivalent to plunging into certain ruin; to go in any direction was hardly less perilous; for the rebel cavalry was out upon every road, intent upon capturing the deserter and the Yankee. As they emerged from the more thickly settled parts of the city, they discovered a negro approaching them.

"Where does this road lead to?" demanded De Banyan, reining in his fiery steed.

"Prince George's Court House, massa," replied the man. "Wha' for you gwine down dar?"

De Banyan was not disposed to answer any unnecessary questions, and again spurred on his horse.

"See here, massa!" shouted the negro.

"What do you want?" asked De Banyan impatiently; for, being a Southerner himself, he had no particular respect for the negro race.

"Don't go down dar, massa."

"Why not?"

"Git cotched if you do, massa," said the man with an expressive grin. "De sodgers on de horses is down dar arter you."

"How do you know they are after us, you black rascal?"

"Kase dey ax dis chile if he see two men, one ob 'em dressed like de 'federate ossifer, and de odder a Yank. Dis nigger didn't see no sich pussons den; but, golly, sees um now fur sartin. You done git cotched as shore as you was born, massa, if you go down dar."

"Where shall we go, then?"

"Dunno, massa; but you mustn't be seen gwine down dar."

"How many soldiers did you meet?"

"Four, sar."

"This won't do, Somers. How is your arm?"

"It begins to ache. We may as well go forward as back," said Somers, who was now suffering severely from his wound, which had not been improved by the hard gallop of the horse he rode.

"Who lives in that house?" demanded De Banyan of the negro, pointing to a splendid dwelling a short distance ahead.

"Dr. Scoville, massa."

"Doctor?" replied the captain, glancing at Somers.

"Yes, sar; Dr. Scoville. Dat's a mighty fine mar you rides, massa. I reckon dat's Captain Sheffield's mar."

"Very likely."

"Don't mind me, massa; dis chile's a Union man for shore," grinned the negro.

"All the negroes are Union men," replied Somers faintly.

"Dat's so, massa!"

"What's Dr. Scoville?" asked De Banyan hopefully.

"Secesh, massa—drefful secesh. He done been in de army fur a surgeon."

"He is a dangerous man, then."

"Dar, massa, dar!" shouted the negro suddenly, as he pointed down the road over which the fugitives had just come. "Dey's some more arter you."

De Banyan started his horse again, followed by Somers; but it was evident from the appearance of the latter that the chase was nearly finished for him. He was beginning to feel very faint from the loss of blood, while the pain of his wounded arm was almost unsupportable. The gait of the horse seemed to wrench the bones asunder, and cause the shattered parts to grate against each other.

"Hurry up, Somers, my dear boy," said his companion, as he glanced back at the pale face of his friend.

"I am afraid I can't go much farther, De Banyan," replied Somers. "I am very faint. I feel sick."

"Cheer up, and make one effort more. The rebels are upon us!"

"I cannot. I shall fall from the horse, I am afraid."

"Don't do that."

"I won't if I can help it; but the motion of the horse almost kills me. Leave me, De Banyan; save yourself if you can."

"Leave you? I haven't the remotest idea of doing anything of the sort."

"Better go on, and save yourself. It is all up with me."

"A mother would sooner leave her baby than I would leave you," replied De Banyan in tones as tender as a woman's. "I'll never leave you, Somers. If you go to Richmond, I shall go with you."

"You cannot do me any good. Save yourself before it is too late."

"Not I."

"I beg you——"

"Cease your blarney, my dear boy! We are one flesh; and we will hang together to the end of life, or at the end of it, as the case may be. Here, Somers, stick to your horse a moment more, and we will call and see the doctor."

"Dr. Scoville!" exclaimed Somers, alarmed at the idea.

"Very likely he is a good surgeon. You are on the sick-list now; mind what I say, and do just what I tell you."

De Banyan, without stating what he intended to do, dashed up the roadway leading to Dr. Scoville's house. It was evident that he was about to resort to some desperate expedient to retrieve the shattered fortunes of his party; but he kept his own counsel; and Somers yielded himself to the master will of his companion like a child, as indeed he was in his exhausted and suffering condition. The roadway led to the rear of the house where the stable was located; and De Banyan reined up his foaming steed as soon as he reached the corner of the building.

"Keep still a moment, Somers, and I'll have you taken care of," said De Banyan, as he rode back to a point where he could see the road without being seen.

It was evident that they had been observed by the party of horsemen which had just come out of the city; and he wished to ascertain whether they had seen him turn in at the doctor's premises. The pursuers (for every mounted man was a pursuer on that eventful morning) were riding in every direction in search of the fugitives. He hoped they would pass by, satisfied that any person who should boldly call upon Dr. Scoville must be a rebel.

He was disappointed. When the party reached the road, they reined up their horses; and De Banyan, without losing a moment, dismounted, fastened Jenny to a post in the yard, and ran down to intercept the troopers. The captain walked with the quick, sharp, consequential tramp of a military commander; and, when the soldiers saw him, they involuntarily saluted him.

"What are you doing up here?" he demanded in tones of authority.

"We are looking for the prisoners that runned away," replied a corporal.

"Well, do you expect to find them in the dwelling-house of Dr. Scoville? Ride down the road as fast as you can, and turn to the first left. If you meet the major, report Captain Sheffield badly wounded—shot by one of the prisoners."

"Then the prisoners have gone down this way?"

"Certainly they have. Off with you as fast as you can!"

The corporal saluted, wheeled his horse, and dashed off, followed by the rest of the party. De Banyan wiped away the cold sweat from his brow, and returned to his suffering companion. He helped him to dismount and seated him on a block while he secured the horse. By this time, a couple of negro women came out of the house. They were the early risers of the family, and at once manifested the most abundant sympathy for the sufferer. The doors of the house were thrown wide open to him; and Captain de Banyan, supporting Somers, followed the servants into the sitting-room, where the patient was laid upon the sofa in a fainting condition.

"Now call your master," said De Banyan, with as much assurance as though he had been the lord of the manor.

"Yes, massa," replied one of the women as she hastened to obey the order.

"How do you feel, my dear boy?" said De Banyan, bending over his charge.

But Somers was past answering. He had fainted from loss of blood and the agony of his wound. The resolute captain did not wait for Dr. Scoville in this emergency; but, taking a bottle of cologne from the mantel, he applied himself with skill and vigor to the restoration of his patient. While he was thus engaged, the doctor made his appearance. He was a man of fifty, of forbidding aspect and rough exterior.

"Who are you, sir?" demanded he in brusk tones, placing himself in front of the captain, and without bestowing more than a glance at the patient on the sofa.

"Captain Sheffield," replied De Banyan as sharply as the question had been put.

"Are you, indeed? Then you have altered a great deal since I saw you yesterday," added Dr. Scoville, with an expression of malignant triumph on his face.

This reply was a damper on any little scheme which the over-confident De Banyan had proposed to carry out; but the captain was a profound student in the mysteries of human nature, and at once correctly read the character of the gentleman who stood before him.

"You didn't see me yesterday, and you know you didn't," he replied in tones hardly less savage than those of his involuntary host.

"That's very true; I did not," said the doctor.

"This point settled, I'll thank you to turn to the next one, which is the patient before you."

"You are a plain-spoken man," added Dr. Scoville, still gazing intently into the face of the captain; who, however, returned the look as resolutely and as earnestly as it was given.

"I am; I don't waste words when my friend is dying, for aught I know. Will you attend to this man?"

"Who is he?"

"He is a man shot through the arm, and needing instant surgical attendance," answered De Banyan impatiently. "It isn't necessary to know any more before you examine him."

"Good!" exclaimed the doctor with a smile such as that in which a hyena might be supposed to indulge when pleased, if hyenas ever are pleased.

He turned to Somers, and proceeded to examine into his condition. The coat of the patient was removed from his insensible form, and he was carefully disposed on the sofa, according to the directions of the doctor; the captain and the negro women assisting in the work. Though the surgeon was as rough as a bear in his tone and manner, he was as tender as a loving mother in his treatment of the sufferer, and handled him as carefully as though he had been a new-born babe. The blood was stanched, and the wound dressed as skilfully as human hands and human knowledge could perform the operation.

"What do you think of him?" asked De Banyan, full of anxiety for his suffering companion.

"He won't die just yet; but he may lose his arm."

"Good heavens! do you think so?" exclaimed the captain.

"No; I don't think so."

"What did you say so for, then?"

"I didn't say so."

"Didn't you say he would lose his arm?" demanded De Banyan savagely.

"I didn't say so."

"What did you say, then?"

"I said he might lose his arm. You may lose your arm; but I think you are more likely to lose your head. Who is this young man?"

"He is a friend of mine; and, as I find it necessary to be entirely candid with an old fellow like you, I shall answer no questions in regard to him at present."

"Indeed!"

"Not a question, Dr. Scoville. I intend to have him stay at your house till he is able to join his regiment; and I intend to stay with him."

"You do me unmerited honor by making my humble house your home," said the doctor satirically.

"I think you are worthy of the honor, Dr. Scoville. As your humble house, I think it is very well got up, creditable to your taste, and altogether a fine place."

"Thank you," growled the host. "I suppose you have no objection to my informing the Confederate States military officers in the city of your presence here?"

"Not the slightest," answered De Banyan promptly. "I propose to inform them myself in due time."

"What did you say your name was?"

"Captain Sheffield."

"Of Petersburg?"

"No, sir."

"Not of Petersburg?"

"No, sir; of Nashville, Tennessee, which I can further inform you is the capital of the State. I have the honor to be a captain in the Third Tennessee. I served in Mexico, in the Crimea, and in Italy. I was present at four battles in the Crimea, seven in Italy, five in Mexico; I have been engaged in nine battles of the present war, and have been wounded six times."

"Were you ever killed?"

"Never was so unfortunate. Can I furnish you with any further information?"

"No more at present," replied the doctor, compressing his lips, apparently to keep from laughing, but really because he could not think of anything sharp enough to dash so ready a talker. "If you do me the honor to remain here a week, I shall have better opportunities of hearing your marvelous experience, Captain Sheffield. Ah, what have we here?" continued he as three horsemen galloped up the roadway.

A violent knocking was presently heard at the side door of the house, and Dr. Scoville hastened to learn the errand of the excited visitors.



CHAPTER XXIX

DE BANYAN AT WORK

"How do you feel, my dear boy?" asked Captain de Banyan as soon as the doctor had left the room.

Somers, by the skilful applications of the physician, had been restored to consciousness, and had listened with astonishment, not unmingled with alarm, to the last part of the conversation between his friend and their host.

"I feel a little better, captain; at any rate, I am more comfortable," replied Somers.

"I am glad to hear it. I have been terribly worried about you."

"I think I shall do well enough. But what shall I say for myself?"

"Say nothing, Somers—not a word. Don't commit yourself to anything."

"What have you told him?"

"Nothing; and I don't intend to tell him anything. He is a jolly old fellow, who thinks he is very eccentric, and takes pride in being considered so. When I was in the Crimea——"

"Never mind the Crimea now," interrupted Somers with a languid smile.

"I was only going to say that I understand the old doctor first-rate, and can manage him as easily as I could an old plow-horse. Keep still, Somers; don't let on, under any circumstances. Leave me to do all the talking."

"But the cavalry are after us now."

"Never mind; the doctor will take care of them."

"They will recognize our horses, if they don't know us."

"No matter if they do."

Somers thought it was matter; and he could not see for the life of him how De Banyan was to get out of such a scrape as this; for it was an infinitely worse one than his own experience on the Williamsburg road. He could only hope for the best, expecting nothing but disaster.

"Good! Bully for the doctor!" exclaimed De Banyan as the sounds of an excited controversy at the side door reached the ears of the patient and his friend. "He is doing just what I expected him to do."

"Pray, what did you expect him to do?" asked Somers, who could not see what a rebel surgeon could be expected to do under the circumstances, besides delivering them up to the military authorities.

"I expect him to protect us to the utmost of his ability; and, in my opinion, he has quite as much influence as any other man in Petersburg. When you see a man like Dr. Scoville, you may depend upon it he is a power in the community where he lives. He knows it as well as any other person. Let the doctor alone, and he will manage the matter as skilfully as he dressed your wounded arm."

Whatever confidence Captain de Banyan had in the will and the ability of Dr. Scoville to protect them, he was curious to hear what the soldiers and what the doctor had to say. He was not quite willing to be seen by the rebel soldiers; so he passed quickly into the entry, and took a position where he could hear without being observed.

"Do you know who I am, you villain?" demanded the doctor, in tones so full of rage, that the troopers ought to have been annihilated, though it appears that they were not.

"I don't care who you are; I want the men that came here an hour ago," replied one of the troopers.

"If Jeff Davis himself came for them, he couldn't have them!" roared Dr. Scoville.

"I tell you, sir, one of them is a deserter, and the other is a Yankee."

"I don't care what they are. Report my answer to the provost-marshal; tell him Dr. Scoville will be responsible for the safety of the men."

"I won't report any such answer to him."

"If a man of you attempts to enter my house, I'll shoot him!" replied the doctor, taking a rifle from a nail in the entry.

"Very well, sir; if you can shoot any better than we can, you may begin," said the soldier. "But, as sure as you fire, you are a dead man."

"And those of you whom I don't shoot will be hung as soon as you report the death of Dr. Scoville at headquarters."

Whatever the soldiers thought, they were not willing to assume the responsibility of shooting a man like the doctor, whose splendid mansion was a guaranty of his wealth and high standing, and whose strong words assured them that he was a man of influence. Even the possibility of being hanged in such a cause was not agreeable to contemplate; and the doctor carried the day against his assailants.

"I don't want to shoot you, Dr. Scoville; but I shall put a guard over your house, and wait for further orders," said the soldier, who appeared to be a sergeant.

"Do anything you please; but don't you enter my house. Every man, woman and child here is under my protection," replied the doctor, as he restored the rifle to its original position; and the troopers retired from the door.

Captain de Banyan withdrew from the hall, and joined Somers in the sitting-room, where he was immediately followed by the doctor. The situation did not look very hopeful, even to a man of such desperate fortunes as the bold Tennessean. The house was surrounded by rebel soldiers, and a report of the case would probably be made to the provost-marshal; therefore it was not at all likely that the doughty doctor could long remain contumacious.

"So, my mysterious friend, you are a Confederate deserter, are you?" said the doctor, as he placed himself in front of the captain, thrust his hands deep down into the pockets of his pants, and stared at his guest with all the vigor of an active and piercing eye.

"You say that I am; but I adhere to my original resolution, to say nothing at present," replied De Banyan, returning the gaze of the doctor as earnestly as it was given.

"If you were Abe Lincoln himself, you are safe in my house," said the doctor after a long pause. "But I wish you to understand clearly and precisely what I mean. I am not the man to shield a deserter or a Yankee from the penalty due to his crimes. You came into my house with a wounded man. I am an Arab on the subject of hospitality. Whoever comes into my house is my guest; and I never betrayed a man who trusted in me."

"Thank you, doctor."

"You needn't thank me, for I despise you from the deepest depths of my heart; and in due time you will fall into the hands of the military authorities, but not in my house."

"Thank you, Dr. Scoville. I appreciate your hospitality, and despise you as much as you do me," answered De Banyan.

"Despise me! How dare you——"

"Oh! I dare do anything; and I beg leave to inform you that neither myself nor my friend will fall into the hands of the soldiers, either in your house or outside of it. You can set your mind entirely at ease on that subject."

"I am tempted for once to violate even my own law of hospitality."

"As you please, doctor; that matter is for you to consider, not for me. But I beg you to understand precisely what I say. I am very thankful to you for your kindness; and I assure you that whatever you do and say, I shall remember your hospitality with the most grateful emotions. I speak for myself and for my friend."

Dr. Scoville seemed to be very much perplexed, as the captain evidently intended he should be; and, turning abruptly from the deserter, he paced the room, rapidly and in silence, for several minutes. De Banyan sat down by the side of Somers, and said a great many comforting things to him, which, in his weak and suffering condition, were as grateful as a woman's smile at the couch of pain.

Breakfast was ready, and with the utmost politeness the doctor conducted his guest to the table, while one of the black women was ordered to supply the wants of the patient on the sofa. During the meal, not a word was said about the war, or the peculiar circumstances under which the patient and his friend had come to the house. The captain discoursed about the wars in other lands, and it is more than probable that he exercised the credulity of the doctor to the utmost. Both the host and the guest were affable to the last degree; for the choleric physician was conscious that he had more than a match in the other.

After breakfast, Somers was conducted to the guest-chamber on the second floor of the mansion. He was as tenderly cared for by the doctor and the servants as though he had been an honored friend, instead of a hunted enemy. In the course of the forenoon, Dr. Scoville received a visit from the provost-marshal, attended by half a company of cavalry. Of course, the captain was exceedingly curious to know the result of this interview, which was conducted in the most courteous manner; and he was so impolite as to play the part of a listener. The officer was informed that Captain Sheffield had been dangerously wounded by the fugitives; but the eccentric physician positively refused to have his guests taken from his house, assuring the provost-marshal that he would be responsible for their safe-keeping, and offered to board a dozen men who should be employed in guarding them. The officer protested in gentlemanly terms against such a course; but it was evident that the doctor was the greatest man in Petersburg, and must have his own way.

The result of the conference was, that the provost-marshal yielded the point, and a sentinel was placed at the door of Somers's chamber, to which the captain had retreated. The officer visited the room, and fully identified his prisoner, between whom and himself a sharp conversation ensued, much to the amusement of the doctor. The captain was assured that in due time, he should swing, which pleasant information he received with becoming good nature, promising to be present when the exciting event should take place. The provost-marshal retired, satisfied with the precautions he had taken.

For the following three days, the sentinel at the door, with a loaded musket in his hand, kept guard over his prisoners. Somers had improved rapidly, though by the advice of his managing friend, he pretended to be much worse than he really was. Dr. Scoville, though he still kept his word and maintained his position with regard to the prisoners, continually "thorned" the captain with a prospect of the gallows, which he declared was his certain doom. De Banyan still preserved his equanimity, and still declared that he should never be hanged.

"What do you intend to do?" asked Somers on the third day of his confinement, after the doctor had taunted his guest with more than usual severity.

"I haven't the least idea, my dear boy," replied the captain with a grim smile. "So far, I have no plans. When you are able to move, Somers, we will see what can be done."

"I can move now; you need not delay a single hour on my account. I am all right but my arm."

De Banyan was by no means as cheerful as he appeared to be. He was troubled, and paced the room with uneasy tread; but, the moment the doctor entered the room, he was as gay as a Broadway beau. Somers had vainly attempted to persuade him to make his own escape, and leave him to his fate; but the brave fellow steadily refused to desert him under any circumstances that could possibly present themselves.

The captain was remarkably still for him, after Somers had convinced him that he was able to move. He paced the room as before; but his eyes were glancing uneasily at the floor, the ceiling, and the walls of the apartment. The work had commenced in his mind; and Somers watched his movements with interest, yet without hope. On one side of the fire-place in the room there was a door, which was locked, but which evidently opened into a closet.

Before this door, De Banyan suddenly came to a dead halt. He examined it with the utmost care; and then with a fork from the breakfast things which had not been removed, he commenced operations upon the lock. One of the prongs of the fork was broken off between two bricks in the fire-place, and the other bent; so that the instrument formed a very good pick-lock. The door was opened without the expenditure of much time or patience; and the captain proceeded to explore the interior of the closet, after instructing his fellow-prisoner to give him timely warning of any movement on the part of the sentinel.

Somers did not see the captain again for half an hour, but when he came out he looked as though he had endured the tortures of a month of suspense; but, with a ghastly smile, he told his companion that the hour for action had come.

"What do you mean, captain?" demanded Somers.

"Let us use haste; we shall have more time to talk to-morrow, when we get back to the camp on the other side of the James River. Are you very sure that you can stand the fatigue of a long walk?"

"I know I can."

"Then come with me; but a particle of noise will be fatal to us."

De Banyan led the way to the closet; but, before he entered himself, he tied together the two sheets of the bed, and made one end fast to one of the bed-posts, near a window at the end of the house, which he opened without noise. Dropping the sheet out, he retreated to the closet, and with the pick-lock secured the door. They were in darkness now, and seating themselves on the floor, with palpitating hearts they waited the issue. For more than an hour they waited the expected alarm. They could occasionally hear a movement on the part of the sentinel in the entry; but he probably thought it was foolish to be very vigilant over a man so sick as Somers. But the demonstration came at last; and the prisoners, sweltering in the confined air of the closet, listened with breathless interest to the shouts of the soldiers outside, and to the rapid steps of those within the mansion.

The doctor and the sentinel entered the chamber so lately occupied by the prisoners. The former swore in no measured terms at the faithlessness of the sentry at the door, and at the stupidity of those who guarded the house outside. But they seemed to have no doubt as to the manner of the escape.

There was the open window, and the rope made of the bed-linen, which De Banyan had pulled with his hands till it had the appearance of having sustained a great weight. Dr. Scoville did not even try the door of the closet; and the anxious listeners soon had the pleasure of hearing the sounds of horses' hoofs, as the cavalry rode off to engage in the search for the fugitives.

Everything about the house soon subsided into the most profound quiet, and it was evident that the doctor and all the soldiers were engaged in the search. After this solemn stillness had continued for a time, they heard the voices of the servants in the chamber. They talked about the escape, and all of them expressed a hope that "poor young massa would get out ob de way." Here was an opportunity for an alliance, offensive and defensive, which the prudent captain could not reject. Carefully opening the door, he presented himself to the astonished negroes. With considerable difficulty, he hushed their noisy exclamations, and opened the case so eloquently, that all three of them readily promised to help the fugitives in making their escape. They grinned with delight when they comprehended the trick by which the doctor and the soldiers had been put on the wrong scent.

With their assistance, the fugitives left the house, and made their way to the stable, where Alick, the man who had waited upon them in the room, raised a plank in the floor, and introduced them to secure but not very comfortable quarters under the building. There was no cellar under the stable, and the space which they occupied was not more than two feet in height; but what it lacked in this direction, it made up in length and width.

When the fugitives were fairly installed in their new hiding-place, Alick sat down on the floor, and told them all he knew about the events which had transpired since their absence had been discovered. He brought them an abundant supply of food and drink, and promised to provide them with horses as soon as it was dark. It was nearly night before the doctor returned; and while attending to his horse, Alick asked him some questions about the chase. He was not very communicative, for, of course, the pursuit had been unsuccessful; but the ingenious black wormed some facts out of him in regard to the events of the day, which enabled him to be of great assistance to the fugitives.

The doctor had hardly gone into the house before Alick commenced his preparations for departure; and three horses instead of two were in readiness when Somers and the captain emerged from their covert. Alick was to be one of the party; and by the fields in the rear of the house they commenced their perilous journey.



CHAPTER XXX

ANOTHER COMMISSION

The horses which De Banyan and Somers rode were those taken from the stable of Captain Sheffield, which had not yet been removed from Dr. Scoville's stable; while that on which Alick was mounted was one of the best of his master's stock. The party proceeded through the fields for a short distance till they came to a cross-road, when they put their horses to the top of their speed. The guide was familiar with all the roads in the vicinity. The information which he had obtained from the doctor was exceedingly valuable; for it assured the fugitives in what direction the search for them had been pushed.

Dr. Scoville believed that the prisoners were concealed in the vicinity of the city, and that at night they would attempt to make their way in the direction of City Point; and he assured Alick that they would certainly be caught before morning, for the country in that region was strongly picketed by cavalry. It is more than probable they would have been taken if the doctor had not been so obliging as to inform Alick of these facts. The faithful black, who had served his master, man and boy, for forty years, was entitled to this consideration. Of course, he could not have believed that Alick would be so ungrateful and ungenerous as to run away from him; but it is a fact which speaks well for the negro race, that so many have preferred liberty with toil and hardship to slavery with ease and plenty.

Somers had over-estimated his power of endurance; and a hard gallop of five miles was about the extent of his capacity. The rude jolting of his arm made it extremely painful, while his system, reduced by the fever attending the wound, was incapable of supporting such a heavy draft upon his strength. He bore up against the pain and faintness which beset him as long as he could; but at last, to the oft-repeated inquiries of Captain de Banyan in regard to his condition, he was compelled to answer in the most discouraging terms.

"We must stop and rest," said the captain. "We have about fifteen miles more to go; and you mustn't break down yet, Somers."

"Here, massa, take some of this," said Alick, as he reined in his horse.

"What is it?" asked Somers faintly.

"Brandy."

"I can't drink brandy."

"It will do you good, my dear boy. There is strength in brandy—only as medicine. Don't be stubborn, Somers."

"Good brandy, massa," added Alick. "I brought it along on purpose for you. I was mighty feared you wouldn't be able to stand the ride."

"I am willing to take it if it will do me any good," said Somers. "I am about used up."

The sufferer drank two or three swallows of the fiery liquid from the bottle after he had dismounted. The potion gave him an artificial life, which enabled him to ride five miles farther, though at a much slower pace than before. The roads seemed to be entirely deserted, and the party felt satisfied that they had passed out of the reach of a successful pursuit. Another dose of brandy gave Somers strength enough to accomplish fifteen miles of the journey; but at this point he was absolutely unable to sit on his horse. With the assistance of De Banyan, he got off and lay for two hours on the ground, where his devoted companions made him a bed of their coats. Alick produced some bacon and crackers, which he had brought for an emergency, of which Somers partook in small quantities. Pressed by his fellow-fugitives, he again drank some brandy; and while his head was flying round like a top, his friends placed him on the horse again.

In the overpowering weakness and suffering of the hour, Somers had begged his companions to leave him to his fate; but De Banyan declared that he would be hanged a dozen times before he would do so mean and wicked an act. With the fumes of the brandy darting in every direction through his brain, which seemed to be about fifty feet above his shoulders, he spurred on his horse. The liquor had inspired him to a kind of desperation. He hardly knew what he was about, and even forgot the pain of his wounded arm.

"Halt!" shouted De Banyan, as the party dashed over a rude bridge extending across a broad creek. "Halt, Somers!"

But Somers heeded not the word, and still spurred on, till the captain, who rode the fastest animal, could overtake him. He succeeded in stopping the furious rider, and in making him understand that they had reached the end of their journey in this direction. They returned to the bridge, where the sharp eye of the captain had discerned a boat moored to a tree, a short distance below the road. Somers, still stupefied by the effects of the brandy, tamely submitted to whatever disposition his companions chose to make of him. Taking off their coats, they made for him a bed in the bottom of the boat, which was a large yawl, evidently used for conveying merchandise to some point farther up the creek. The horses were turned loose, and the captain and Alick took the oars.

After pulling for half an hour, they were rewarded by a view of the broad river which to them was like the Land of Promise; and moored in the middle there was a steamer, which in those waters could belong to no other party than the United States Government. They rowed out to this vessel, and hailed her. Of course they were cordially welcomed after a satisfactory explanation had been given.

"Glory hallelujah! How do you feel, Somers?" said Captain de Banyan, after he had insured a proper reception on board of the steamer.

"Badly, very badly," replied Somers faintly.

"Well, cheer up, my boy! We have got home again."

"Home!" said Somers, raising himself partially up at the sound of that magical word.

The captain and Alick lifted him tenderly, and assisted him up the accommodation-ladder of the steamer. The vessel was a gunboat bound up the river, and was waiting for the daylight. Somers was taken to the ward-room, where the surgeon dressed his arm, and prescribed for his bodily ailments. Alick was duly installed as his nurse, though Captain de Banyan performed the greater part of his duty. But the consciousness that he was again beneath the old flag did more for the patient than even the assiduous care of his devoted friends.

After leaving Petersburg the fugitives had pursued a nearly easterly course till they arrived at the bridge over Chipoak Creek, where they had abandoned their horses, and taken the boat. Alick had chosen this direction to avoid the pickets which were on the lookout for them in the vicinity of the City Point Railroad. His calculations had been well made, and he was rewarded for his zeal and skill by the priceless boon of freedom, which he preferred even to the life of comfort and ease he had enjoyed beneath the roof of his kind but eccentric master.

How Dr. Scoville ever made his peace with the provost-marshal of Petersburg we are not informed; but we will venture to say that his whims were not respected after the events we have narrated. He was a wilful man; but his guests were very sorry to be compelled to make him such an ungenerous return for his noble hospitality. When the war is ended, and he is enabled fully to understand the meaning of treason to our beneficent Government, no doubt he will be very thankful that his prisoner guests escaped as they did.

At nine o'clock on the following morning, the gunboat dropped her anchor off Harrison's Landing. Somers, who had slept for several hours, was more comfortable, though he was still in a deplorable condition. With the kindly assistance of his friends, he was landed at the pier, and conveyed in an ambulance to the headquarters of the division. Leaning on the arm of De Banyan, he entered the tent of the general.

"Captain Somers!" exclaimed the general. "I had given you up for lost. Why, you have grown ten years older in five days!"

"I have the honor to make my report, general," said Somers with a faint smile.

"Your report? Good! After losing you, I did not dare to send another officer upon such a perilous errand. But, Captain Somers, you are all used up," added the general, with a glance filled with sympathy—a look which Somers regarded as an adequate reward for all he had suffered; for to have that man feel an interest in him was better in his estimation than the plaudits of the multitude. "What is the matter with your arm?"

"I was shot at Petersburg," replied Somers.

"Well, well, captain, you must go to the hospital: and Captain—what's-his-name——"

"Captain de Banyan, at your service," promptly responded Somers's faithful friend.

"Captain de Banyan shall report for you, and tell me all about this scrape," added the general. "Get into your carriage, Captain Somers, and go to the hospital. I will call and see you to-day or to-morrow."

"Thank you, general."

Captain de Banyan assisted him into the ambulance; and, when he had placed him in the care of the surgeon, he returned to headquarters to tell the marvelous story of their capture by the rebels, and their escape from Petersburg. It is quite likely that he did not add his experience in Tennessee; but when the general called on Somers at the hospital the next morning, the latter supplied all that had been withheld. The general had a higher regard for the captain's patriotism than ever before, for he had voluntarily renounced the ranks of the rebellion, and placed himself on the side of his country. There was nothing against him; on the contrary, his conduct had been in the highest degree praiseworthy. But Captain de Banyan was sensitive on this point; and the general readily promised to conceal what the brave fellow regarded as a stain upon his character.

Captain Somers did not improve so rapidly as his friends desired. The surgeon declared that his night ride from Petersburg, in his feeble condition, had done him more injury than a year's hard service; and after he had been in the hospital ten days, it was deemed advisable to give him a furlough, and send him home, especially as the division was then under orders to march to Yorktown. The gallant young hero regretted the necessity of leaving the regiment just as he had been promoted; but he was in no condition to endure the long and weary march. He was able to walk about a little; and on the day before the sailing of the transport by which he was to proceed to Washington, he received another visit from the general.

After a few kind inquiries in regard to the invalid's condition, the general took from his pocket one of those great official envelopes which so often carry joy to the heart of the gallant officer. Somers was amazed. It could not be possible that his own promotion was indicated by this document. It was not three weeks since his commission as captain had reached him; but then Senator Guilford was a great man, and wielded a tremendous influence, both at Washington, and with the military authorities of his native State.

Recalling his former declaration to Captain de Banyan, he was fully resolved to decline any further promotion, at least until he had done something which entitled him to this distinction. The general held up the formidable packet, while Somers's pale face was suffused with blushes.

"I have brought you a major's commission, Somers; and I know it will give you joy."

"Really, sir; ah! general, I don't think——"

"Don't you?" laughed the general.

"I don't deserve it, general; and you will pardon me if I say I cannot accept it. I am very grateful to you; but——"

"Oh, it isn't for you!" roared the general as he handed him the official paper.

"Major de Banyan!" exclaimed Captain Somers as he read the superscription with a thrill of delight. "It is indeed a joy to me. I am ten times as happy as I should have been if my own name had been coupled with that title. I am ever so much obliged to you."

"Senator Guilford again! By the way, Captain Somers, you must call on him when you get to Washington."

"I shall certainly do so. But I know my friend could not have been promoted without the good word which you have spoken for him."

"Well, it is all right, captain. Major de Banyan is a brave fellow. He has done you a good turn; and I waylaid this document so as to afford you the pleasure of being the first to address him by his new title."

"Thank you, general."

"And, captain, if you could prevail on the major to be a little more reasonable in some of the lies he tells, his reputation for veracity would be improved."

"I will endeavor to do so."

The general bade the invalid a hearty and even affectionate adieu; and they did not meet again till they grasped hands on the bloody field of Antietam, where Somers acted in a new sphere of duty. No sooner had the general departed, than Somers, inspired to new vigor by the joyful event which had just transpired, hastened to the camp of the regiment.

"Ah, Somers; my dear boy! how are you now?" said his friend as he seized his hand.

"Better, I thank you, Major de Banyan."

"Come, now, Somers, that is cruel! A friend of mine, just before the battle of Solferino——"

"Confound the battle of Solferino, Major de Banyan!"

"I was about to say that a friend of mine, just before the battle of Solferino, made fun of my aspirations, just as you do now——"

"I don't do anything of the sort. Here's the official document. If I read right, it says Major de Banyan."

"Somers," said the captain, winking very rapidly to dissipate some evidences of weakness which were struggling for existence in his eyes—"Somers, you have done this."

"I did write to Senator Guilford about you before we went over the river; and now I thank God with all my soul that I did so."

"Somers, you are one of the best of friends!" exclaimed the major as he stood with the unopened document in his hand.

"And so are you. Without you, I should have been in a rebel prison or under the sod at this time."

"God bless you, Somers!" ejaculated De Banyan, as with trembling hand he opened the envelope, and took therefrom his major's commission. "I have loved you just like a younger brother; not selfishly, my dear boy, but with my whole heart. You haven't disappointed me, only once, when——"

"Don't mention it. I thought you were a rebel then, but I repented."

"I don't blame you. Now, Somers, you are going home. May God bless you and keep you! I shall be as sad as a maiden who has lost her lover, while you are gone."

"I shall not be absent long. We shall be together again in a few weeks."

"I hope so. I have no home now. It has been desolated by treason. I heard since I came over that my wife was dead. I had a son, a boy of fifteen; I know not where he is. Well, well; I will not groan or complain. I will do my duty to my country, and that shall cheer my heart;" and with an effort of his powerful will, he banished the sad reflections from his mind, and smiled as though earth had no sorrows. "After the battle of Magenta, I had the blues, and——"

"One word, De Banyan. Were you at the battle of Magenta?" said Somers solemnly.

The major looked on the ground, at the commission he had just received, and then into the sympathizing face of his friend.

"To tell the truth, Somers, I was not; but I fought in every battle in Mexico, from Vera Cruz up to the capital."

Somers improved this opportunity to repeat the injunction of the general.

"Now promise me, major, that you will never say Magenta or anything of the sort again as long as you live," added Somers.

"That would be a rash promise. I have got a bad habit, and I will try to cure myself of it. On my soul I will, my dear boy!"

In the course of the conversation the major, who was now in a truth-telling mood, informed Somers that he had, after his escape from the rebel army, enlisted in the regular army, where he had been made a sergeant, and, through the influence of a Massachusetts officer, had been commissioned as a captain. His gallantry had won a swift reward.

On the following day they parted on board the transport in the river; and in that sad hour the friendship which, though brief in duration, had been fruitful enough for a lifetime, was pledged for the future. They parted, De Banyan to mingle in the terrible scenes in which the regiment was engaged before the close of the month, and Somers to bask in the smiles of the loved ones at home. Alick, who had been regularly installed as the captain's servant, went with him.



CHAPTER XXXI

WASHINGTON, BOSTON AND PINCHBROOK

Though the session of Congress had closed a month before, Captain Somers was gratified to learn on his arrival that Senator Guilford and his family were still in Washington, the distinguished gentleman having been detained by important public business. As soon as he could make himself presentable, he hastened to pay his respects to the Senator, and thank him for his kindness. He was not at home. Emma received him with a warm blush of pleasure on her fair cheeks. She had entirely recovered from the effects of the accident; and her tribute of gratitude was so eloquently poured forth, that the gallant young captain, who had hardly seen a young lady before for two months, could not exactly tell whether he stood on his head or his heels; for praise from those beautiful lips produced a sensation of giddiness in the region of the brain.

Young men will be silly in spite of all we dignified old fogies can say to convince them of the folly of being carried away by the witching arts of pretty, graceful little creatures like Emma Guilford. Perhaps the remembrance of the scene on the railroad was some excuse for him; and it is entirely unnecessary to apologize for anything a beautiful girl may do, especially if she be the daughter of a Senator. The young lady said a great many pretty things, and the young gentleman a great many smart ones, before she discovered that the captain was wounded in the arm, though she had already remarked upon his pale face and rather attenuated form.

He told her when and where he was wounded; and of course she wanted to know all about his adventures in Secessia. He was as willing as Othello to speak

"Of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents, by flood and field; Of hairbreadth scapes i' the imminent deadly breach; Of being taken by the insolent foe."

All this to hear did Emma Guilford seriously incline. But he had hardly commenced the story before the Senator himself entered the room.

"Ah! Captain Somers, I am delighted to see you!" said he with enthusiasm, as he extended his hand, which our hero as warmly grasped.

"Thank you, sir. I have called to express my obligations to you for all your kindness to me and to my friend. Major de Banyan wished to be kindly remembered to you."

"I am happy to hear from the major; and as for the rest, I feel that I have not yet begun to discharge my obligation to you. Why didn't you write to me before?"

"I did not wish to burden you with any remembrance of such a humble individual as myself."

"You are too modest by half, Captain Somers. I should not have known anything about you if it hadn't been for General—— Well, no matter who," laughed the Senator.

"Now, papa, you have cut short the most interesting story that ever was told!" interposed Emma.

"The captain must begin again, then. Of course, you will make my house your home while in the city."

"Thank you, sir. I left my servant at the hotel"

Senator Guilford insisted on sending for the servant and the baggage; and, in half an hour, Alick was present to confirm the wonderful tale which Somers told of his captivity in Petersburg, to which Emma and her father listened with the most intense interest.

Very much to his surprise, Captain Somers found himself quite a lion in Washington. He was introduced to Senators and Representatives; and on the following evening actually took the President of the United States by the hand, just as though he had been one of the patriarchs of Pinchbrook.

In spite of all these brilliant surroundings, Somers was anxious to get home. He was too feeble to endure the excitement of the capital; and on the third day after his arrival, he started for home. When he reached Boston, by an unfortunate chance it was two hours before a train would start for Pinchbrook. As he had spent two days with a Senator in Washington, and shaken hands with the President, he deemed himself qualified to call at No. — Rutland Street, where the carriage soon set him down.

Lilian Ashford was at home; and Captain Somers, who had faced a whole rebel brigade, trembled and blushed in the presence of the maiden like the veriest coward in the world. But it was some satisfaction to know that the other party was similarly affected. The young hero could not exactly explain how he felt. It was a different sensation from that which had come over him in the presence of Emma Guilford. He experienced a feeling of awe before her, but he could talk as fast as ever; while to Lilian he stammered, couldn't remember anything, and made woful confusion in his words and in his ideas.

When the ice was broken, he succeeded in telling her something about his adventures in Virginia, and roused a very strong desire in her mind to see the wonderful Major de Banyan. But his brief hour expired all too soon; it faded in a moment, and seemed like a tale that was told.

"I wore your socks at the battles of Savage's Station, Glendale and White Oak Swamp, Miss Ashford," said he; "and I shall keep them for future service of the same kind. If I am killed in battle, I shall be found with those socks on my feet."

"Oh, I hope you won't be killed!" exclaimed she with a shudder.

"Well, I hope not; but, as soon as I am able, I shall return to my duty."

"What a brave fellow you are! I shouldn't think you would dare to stand up before the cannons, and the muskets, and the bayonets."

"When I feel like running away, I always think of my socks," said Somers.

But the carriage had come for him, and Alick stood at the door waiting for his appearance. He took the little soft white hand in his own, and readily promised, when she invited him, to call again soon and see her grandmother, who was out of town that day. Of course, Somers was deeply interested in that venerable lady, and actually looked forward with intense pleasure to the anticipated visit.

He was driven to the railroad station, and reached Pinchbrook at "high twelve," when the Pinchbrookers were just going to their dinners. Captain Barney, as usual, was at the depot, and gave him a seaman's welcome home. He insisted upon being driven to the cottage before dinner; and the old shipmaster, finding that Captain Somers carried too many guns for him, gracefully yielded the point.

"Bless my stars, if there ain't Thomas!" cried Mrs. Somers as she jumped up from the dinner-table, and actually upset the teapot in the operation.

"How do you do, mother? How do you do, father?" exclaimed the young captain as he shook hands with his father and Gran'ther Green, kissed his mother, and hugged his sister.

"How pale you look, Thomas!" said his mother. "I declare, you are as thin as a hatchet! How is your arm?"

"Better, mother; I shall be as good as new in a few days."

"You look pale; but your face is as nateral as life," said Gran'ther Green. "I don't know what we shall do with two cap'ns in the family."

"I think we can manage that, gran'ther," replied Somers, as he took the place at the table which had been prepared for him.

* * * * *

We drop the curtain upon the scenes which followed; for our patient reader can better imagine than we can describe them. Our hero was once more within the hallowed precincts of home; all its sacred joys flowed in upon his soul; and he thanked the good Father who had conducted him through so many perils, and restored him to the hearts of the loved ones who yearned for him in his absence. They were as grateful for his return as he was—grateful that God had restored him at all; but doubly so that he had come with his soul unstained by the vices of the camp and the wickedness of the great world.

The health of Captain Somers did not permit his return to the army to participate in those great battles before Washington in which his regiment was reduced to a mere skeleton of its former self. But, while the country was breathing slowly and fearfully before the terrors of Lee's invasion of Maryland, there came to Pinchbrook a letter from the gallant general of division—now in command of a corps d'armee—under whom he had before served, containing an appointment on his staff. Though still but partially restored to health, he hastened to accept his new position, and started at once for the scene of strife.

His suffering country needed him; and he could not satisfy his sense of duty, even with the reasonable excuse of a shattered physical frame. He went, and his record was always honorable and noble in success and in misfortune.

THE END



* * * * * *



A. L. BURT'S CATALOGUE OF BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE BY POPULAR WRITERS, 52-58 DUANE STREET, NEW YORK

BOOKS FOR BOYS.

Joe's Luck: A Boy's Adventures in California. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

The story is chock fall of stirring incidents, while the amusing situations are furnished by Joshua Bickford, from Pumpkin Hollow, and the fellow who modestly styles himself the "Rip-tail Roarer, from Pike Co., Missouri." Mr. Alger never writes a poor book, and "Joe's Luck" is certainly one of his best.

Tom the Bootblack; or, The Road to Success. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

A bright, enterprising lad was Tom the Bootblack. He was not at all ashamed of his humble calling, though always on the lookout to better himself. The lad started for Cincinnati to look up his heritage. Mr. Grey, the uncle, did not hesitate to employ a ruffian to kill the lad. The plan failed, and Gilbert Grey, once Tom the bootblack, came into a comfortable fortune. This is one of Mr. Alger's best stories.

Dan the Newsboy. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

Dan Mordaunt and his mother live in a poor tenement, and the lad is pluckily trying to make ends meet by selling papers in the streets of New York. A little heiress of six years is confided to the care of the Mordaunts. The child is kidnapped and Dan tracks the child to the house where she is hidden, and rescues her. The wealthy aunt of the little heiress is so delighted with Dan's courage and many good qualities that she adopts him as her heir.

Tony the Hero: A Brave Boy's Adventure with a Tramp. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

Tony, a sturdy bright-eyed boy of fourteen, is under the control of Rudolph Rugg, a thorough rascal. After much abuse Tony runs away and gets a Job as stable boy in a country hotel. Tony is heir to a large estate. Rudolph for a consideration hunts up Tony and throws him down a deep well. Of course Tony escapes from the fate provided for him, and by a brave act, a rich friend secures his rights and Tony is prosperous. A very entertaining book.

The Errand Boy; or, How Phil Brent Won Success. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo, cloth illustrated, price $1.00.

The career of "The Errand Boy" embraces the city adventures of a smart country lad. Philip was brought up by a kind-hearted innkeeper named Brent. The death of Mrs. Brent paved the way for the hero's subsequent troubles. A retired merchant in New York secures him the situation of errand boy, and thereafter stands as his friend.

Tom Temple's Career. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

Tom Temple is a bright, self-reliant lad. He leaves Plympton village to seek work in New York, whence he undertakes an important mission to California. Some of his adventures in the far west are so startling that the reader will scarcely close the book until the last page shall have been reached. The tale is written in Mr. Alger's most fascinating style.

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publisher, A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York.



BOOKS FOR BOYS.

Frank Fowler, the Cash Boy. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

Frank Fowler, a poor boy, bravely determines to make a living for himself and his foster-sister Grace. Going to New York he obtains a situation as cash boy in a dry goods store. He renders a service to a wealthy old gentleman who takes a fancy to the lad, and thereafter helps the lad to gain success and fortune.

Tom Thatcher's Fortune. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

Tom Thatcher is a brave, ambitious, unselfish boy. He supports his mother and sister on meagre wages earned as a shoe-pegger in John Simpson's factory. Tom is discharged from the factory and starts overland for California. He meets with many adventures. The story is told in a way which has made Mr. Alger's name a household word in so many homes.

The Train Boy. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

Paul Palmer was a wide-awake boy of sixteen who supported his mother and sister by selling books and papers on the Chicago and Milwaukee Railroad. He detects a young man in the act of picking the pocket of a young lady. In a railway accident many passengers are killed, but Paul is fortunate enough to assist a Chicago merchant, who out of gratitude takes him into his employ. Paul succeeds with tact and judgment and is well started on the road to business prominence.

Mark Mason's Victory. The Trials and Triumphs of a Telegraph Boy. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

Mark Mason, the telegraph boy, was a sturdy, honest lad, who pluckily won his way to success by his honest manly efforts under many difficulties. This story will please the very large class of boys who regard Mr. Alger as a favorite author.

A Debt of Honor. The Story of Gerald Lane's Success in the Far West. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

The story of Gerald Lane and the account of the many trials and disappointments which he passed through before he attained success, will interest all boys who have read the previous stories of this delightful author.

Ben Bruce. Scenes in the Life of a Bowery Newsboy. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

Ben Bruce was a brave, manly, generous boy. The story of his efforts, and many seeming failures and disappointments, and his final success, are most interesting to all readers. The tale is written in Mr. Alger's most fascinating style.

The Castaways; or, On the Florida Reefs. By James Otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

This tale smacks of the salt sea. From the moment that the Sea Queen leaves lower New York bay till the breeze leaves her becalmed off the coast of Florida, one can almost hear the whistle of the wind through her rigging, the creak of her straining cordage as she heels to the leeward. The adventures of Ben Clark, the hero of the story and Jake the cook, cannot fail to charm the reader. As a writer for young people Mr. Otis is a prime favorite.

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publisher, A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York.



BOOKS FOR BOYS.

Wrecked on Spider Island; or, How Ned Rogers Found the Treasure. By James Otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

Ned Rogers, a "down-east" plucky lad ships as cabin boy to earn a livelihood. Ned is marooned on Spider Island, and while there discovers a wreck submerged in the sand, and finds a considerable amount of treasure. The capture of the treasure and the incidents of the voyage serve to make as entertaining a story of sea-life as the most captious boy could desire.

The Search for the Silver City: A Tale of Adventure in Yucatan. By James Otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

Two lads, Teddy Wright and Neal Emery, embark on the steam yacht Day Dream for a cruise to the tropics. The yacht is destroyed by fire, and then the boat is cast upon the coast of Yucatan. They hear of the wonderful Silver City, of the Chan Santa Cruz Indians, and with the help of a faithful Indian ally carry off a number of the golden images from the temples. Pursued with relentless vigor at last their escape is effected in an astonishing manner. The story is so full of exciting incidents that the reader is quite carried away with the novelty and realism of the narrative.

A Runaway Brig; or, An Accidental Cruise. By James Otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

This is a sea tale, and the reader can look out upon the wide shimmering sea as it flashes back the sunlight, and imagine himself afloat with Harry Vandyne, Walter Morse, Jim Libby and that old shell-back, Bob Brace, on the brig Bonita. The boys discover a mysterious document which enables them to find a buried treasure. They are stranded on an island and at last are rescued with the treasure. The boys are sure to be fascinated with this entertaining story.

The Treasure Finders: A Boy's Adventures in Nicaragua. By James Otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.

Roy and Dean Coloney, with their guide Tongla, leave their father's indigo plantation to visit the wonderful ruins of an ancient city. The boys eagerly explore the temples of an extinct race and discover three golden images cunningly hidden away. They escape with the greatest difficulty. Eventually they reach safety with their golden prizes. We doubt if there ever was written a more entertaining story than "The Treasure Finders."

Jack, the Hunchback. A Story of the Coast of Maine, By James Otis. Price $1.00.

This is the story of a little hunchback who lived on Cape Elizabeth, on the coast of Maine. His trials and successes are most interesting. From first to last nothing stays the interest of the narrative. It bears us along as on a stream whose current varies in direction, but never loses its force.

With Washington at Monmouth: A Story of Three Philadelphia Boys. By James Otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $1.50.

Three Philadelphia lads assist the American spies and make regular and frequent visits to Valley Forge in the Winter while the British occupied the city. The story abounds with pictures of Colonial life skillfully drawn, and the glimpses of Washington's soldiers which are given shown that the work has not been hastily done, or without considerable study. The story is wholesome and patriotic in tone, as are all of Mr. Otis' works.

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publisher, A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York.



BOOKS FOR BOYS.

With Lafayette at Yorktown: A Story of How Two Boys Joined the Continental Army. By James Otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $1.50.

Two lads from Portmouth, N. H., attempt to enlist in the Colonial Army, and are given employment as spies. There is no lack of exciting incidents which the youthful reader craves, but it is healthful excitement brimming with facts which every boy should be familiar with, and while the reader is following the adventures of Ben Jaffrays and Ned Allen he is acquiring a fund of historical lore which will remain in his memory long after that which he has memorized from textbooks has been forgotten.

At the Siege of Havana. Being the Experiences of Three Boys Serving under Israel Putnam in 1762. By James Otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $1.50.

"At the Siege of Havana" deals with that portion of the island's history when the English king captured the capital, thanks to the assistance given by the troops from New England, led in part by Col. Israel Putnam.

The principal characters are Darius Lunt, the lad who, represented as telling the story, and his comrades, Robert Clement and Nicholas Vallet. Colonel Putnam also figures to considerable extent, necessarily, in the tale, and the whole forms one of the most readable stories founded on historical facts.

The Defense of Fort Henry. A Story of Wheeling Creek in 1777. By James Otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $1.50.

Nowhere in the history of our country can be found more heroic or thrilling incidents than in the story of those brave men and women who founded the settlement of Wheeling in the Colony of Virginia. The recital of what Elizabeth Zane did is in itself as heroic a story as can be imagined. The wondrous bravery displayed by Major McCulloch and his gallant comrades, the sufferings of the colonists and their sacrifice of blood and life, stir the blood of old as well as young readers.

The Capture of the Laughing Mary. A Story of Three New York Boys in 1776. By James Otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, price $1.50.

"During the British occupancy of New York, at the outbreak of the Revolution, a Yankee lad hears of the plot to take General Washington's person, and calls in two companions to assist the patriot cause. They do some astonishing things, and, incidentally, lay the way for an American navy later, by the exploit which gives its name to the work. Mr. Otis' books are too well known to require any particular commendation to the young."—Evening Post.

With Warren at Bunker Hill. A Story of the Siege of Boston. By James Otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $1.50.

"This is a tale of the siege of Boston, which opens on the day after the doings at Lexington and Concord, with a description of home life in Boston, introduces the reader to the British camp at Charlestown, shows Gen. Warren at home, describes what a boy thought of the battle of Bunker Hill, and closes with the raising of the siege. The three heroes, George Wentworth, Ben Scarlett and an old ropemaker, incur the enmity of a young Tory, who causes them many adventures the boys will like to read." —Detroit Free Press.

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publisher, A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York.

THE END