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With Lee in Virginia: A Story of the American Civil War

by G. A. Henty · English · Gutenberg #19154 · 688,461 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: With Lee in Virginia: A Story of the American Civil War

Author: G. A. Henty


        
Release date: September 1, 2006 [eBook #19154]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/19154

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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Paul Ereaut and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net





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WITH LEE IN VIRGINIA

_A STORY OF THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR_

BY

G. A. HENTY

AUTHOR OF "WITH CLIVE IN INDIA," "WITH WOLFE IN CANADA," "BY ENGLAND'S
AID," "IN THE REIGN OF TERROR," "THE DRAGON AND THE RAVEN"


NEW YORK
HURST AND COMPANY
PUBLISHERS




PREFACE.


My Dear Lads:

The Great War between the Northern and Southern States of America
possesses a peculiar interest to us, not only because it was a struggle
between two sections of a people akin to us in race and language, but
because of the heroic courage with which the weaker party, with ill-fed,
ill-clad, ill-equipped regiments, for four years sustained the contest
with an adversary not only possessed of immense numerical superiority,
but having the command of the sea, and being able to draw its arms and
munitions of war from all the manufactories of Europe. Authorities still
differ as to the rights of the case. The Confederates firmly believed
that the States, having voluntarily united, retained the right of
withdrawing from the Union when they considered it for their advantage
to do so. The Northerners took the opposite point of view, and an appeal
to arms became inevitable. During the first two years of the war the
struggle was conducted without inflicting unnecessary hardship upon the
general population. But later on the character of the war changed, and
the Federal armies carried widespread destruction wherever they marched.
Upon the other hand, the moment the struggle was over the conduct of the
conquerors was marked by a clemency and generosity altogether unexampled
in history, a complete amnesty being granted, and none, whether soldiers
or civilians, being made to suffer for their share in the rebellion. The
credit of this magnanimous conduct was to a great extent due to Generals
Grant and Sherman, the former of whom took upon himself the
responsibility of granting terms which, although they were finally
ratified by his government, were at the time received with anger and
indignation in the North. It was impossible, in the course of a single
volume, to give even a sketch of the numerous and complicated operations
of the war, and I have therefore confined myself to the central point of
the great struggle--the attempts of the Northern armies to force their
way to Richmond, the capital of Virginia and the heart of the
Confederacy. Even in recounting the leading events in these campaigns, I
have burdened my story with as few details as possible, it being my
object now, as always, to amuse, as well as to give instruction in the
facts of history.

Yours sincerely,

G. A. Henty.




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER

    I. A Virginia Plantation,

   II. Buying a Slave,

  III. Aiding a Runaway,

   IV. Safely Back,

    V. Secession,

   VI. Bull Run,

  VII. The "Merrimac" and the "Monitor,"

 VIII. McClellan's Advance,

   IX. A Prisoner,

    X. The Escape,

   XI. Fugitives,

  XII. The Bushwhackers,

 XIII. Laid Up,

  XIV. Across the Border,

   XV. Fredericksburg,

  XVI. The Search for Dinah,

 XVII. Chancellorsville,

XVIII. A Perilous Undertaking,

  XIX. Free!

   XX. The End of the Struggle,




WITH LEE IN VIRGINIA.




CHAPTER I.

A VIRGINIA PLANTATION.


"I won't have it, Pearson; so it's no use your talking. If I had my way
you shouldn't touch any of the field hands. And when I get my way--that
won't be so very long--I will take very good care you shan't. But you
shan't hit Dan."

"He is not one of the regular house hands," was the reply; "and I shall
appeal to Mrs. Wingfield as to whether I am to be interfered with in the
discharge of my duties."

"You may appeal to my mother if you like, but I don't think that you
will get much by it. You are too fond of that whip, Pearson. It never
was heard on the estate during my father's time, and it shan't be again
when it comes to be mine, I can tell you. Come along, Dan; I want you at
the stables."

Vincent Wingfield turned on his heel, and followed by Dan, a negro lad
of some eighteen years old, he walked toward the house, leaving Jonas
Pearson, the overseer of the Orangery Estate, looking after him with an
evil expression of face.

Vincent Wingfield was the son of an English officer, who, making a tour
in the States, had fallen in love with and won the hand of Winifred
Cornish, a Virginia heiress, and one of the belles of Richmond. After
the marriage he had taken her to visit his family in England; but she
had not been there many weeks before the news arrived of the sudden
death of her father. A month later she and her husband returned to
Virginia, as her presence was required there in reference to business
matters connected with the estate, of which she was now the mistress.

The Orangery, so called from a large conservatory built by Mrs.
Wingfield's grandfather, was the family seat, and the broad lands around
it were tilled by upward of two hundred slaves. There were in addition
three other properties lying in different parts of the State. Here
Vincent, with two sisters, one older and one younger than himself, had
been born. When he was eight years old Major and Mrs. Wingfield had gone
over with their children to England, and had left Vincent there for four
years at school, his holidays being spent at the house of his father's
brother, a country gentleman in Sussex. Then he had been sent for
unexpectedly; his father saying that his health was not good, and that
he should like his son to be with him. A year later his father died.

Vincent was now nearly sixteen years old, and would upon coming of age
assume the reins of power at the Orangery, of which his mother, however,
would be the actual mistress as long as she lived. The four years
Vincent had passed in the English school had done much to render the
institution of slavery repugnant to him, and his father had had many
serious talks with him during the last year of his life, and had shown
him that there was a good deal to be said upon both sides of the
subject.

"There are good plantations and bad plantations, Vincent; and there are
many more good ones than bad ones. There are brutes to be found
everywhere. There are bad masters in the Southern States just as there
are bad landlords in every European country. But even from self-interest
alone, a planter has greater reason for caring for the health and
comfort of his slaves than an English farmer has in caring for the
comfort of his laborers. Slaves are valuable property, and if they are
over-worked or badly cared for they decrease in value. Whereas if the
laborer falls sick or is unable to do his work the farmer has simply to
hire another hand. It is as much the interest of a planter to keep his
slaves in good health and spirits as it is for a farmer to feed and
attend to his horses properly.

"Of the two, I consider that the slave with a fairly kind master is to
the full as happy as the ordinary English laborer. He certainly does not
work so hard, if he is ill he is carefully attended to, he is well fed,
he has no cares or anxieties whatever, and when old and past work he has
no fear of the workhouse staring him in the face. At the same time I am
quite ready to grant that there are horrible abuses possible under the
laws connected with slavery.

"The selling of slaves, that is to say, the breaking up of families and
selling them separately, is horrible and abominable. If an estate were
sold together with all the slaves upon it, there would be no more
hardship in the matter than there is when an estate changes hands in
England, and the laborers upon it work for the new master instead of the
old. Were I to liberate all the slaves on this estate to-morrow and to
send them North, I do not think that they would be in any way benefited
by the change. They would still have to work for their living as they do
now, and being naturally indolent and shiftless would probably fare much
worse. But against the selling of families separately and the use of the
lash I set my face strongly.

"At the same time, my boy, whatever your sentiments may be on this
subject, you must keep your mouth closed as to them. Owing to the
attempts of Northern Abolitionists, who have come down here stirring up
the slaves to discontent, it is not advisable, indeed it is absolutely
dangerous, to speak against slavery in the Southern States. The
institution is here, and we must make the best we can of it. People here
are very sore at the foul slanders that have been published by Northern
writers. There have been many atrocities perpetrated undoubtedly, by
brutes who would have been brutes wherever they had been born; but to
collect a series of such atrocities, to string them together into a
story, and to hold them up, as Mrs. Beecher Stowe has, as a picture of
slave life in the Southern States, is as gross a libel as if anyone were
to make a collection of all the wife-beatings and assaults of drunken
English ruffians, and to publish them as a picture of the average life
of English people.

"Such libels as these have done more to embitter the two sections of
America against each other than anything else. Therefore, Vincent, my
advice to you is, be always kind to your slaves--not over-indulgent,
because they are very like children and indulgence spoils them--but be
at the same time firm and kind to them, and with other people avoid
entering into any discussions or expressing any opinion with regard to
slavery. You can do no good, and you can do much harm. Take things as
you find them and make the best of them. I trust that the time may come
when slavery will be abolished; but I hope, for the sake of the slaves
themselves, that when this is done it will be done gradually and
thoughtfully, for otherwise it would inflict terrible hardship and
suffering upon them as well as upon their masters."

There were many such conversations between father and son, for feeling
on the subject ran very high in the Southern States, and the former felt
that it was of the utmost importance to his son that he should avoid
taking any strong line in the matter. Among the old families of Virginia
there was indeed far less feeling on this subject than in some of the
other States. Knowing the good feeling that almost universally existed
between themselves and their slaves, the gentry of Virginia regarded
with contempt the calumnies of which they were the subject. Secure in
the affection of their slaves, an affection which was afterward
abundantly proved during the course of the war, they scarcely saw the
ugly side of the question. The worst masters were the smallest ones; the
man who owned six slaves was far more apt to extort the utmost possible
work from them than the planter who owned three or four hundred. And
the worst masters of all, were those who, having made a little money in
trade or speculation in the towns, purchased a dozen slaves, a small
piece of land, and tried to set up as gentry.

In Virginia the life of the large planters was almost a patriarchal one;
the indoor slaves were treated with extreme indulgence, and were
permitted a far higher degree of freedom of remark and familiarity than
is the case with servants in an English household. They had been the
nurses or companions of the owners when children, had grown up with
them, and regarded themselves, and were regarded by them, as almost part
of the family. There was, of course, less connection between the
planters and their field hands; but these also had for the most part
been born on the estate, had as children been taught to look up to their
white masters and mistresses, and to receive many little kindnesses at
their hands.

They had been cared for in sickness, and knew that they would be
provided for in old age. Each had his little allotment, and could raise
fruit, vegetables, and fowls, for his own use or for sale, in his
leisure time. The fear of loss of employment, or the pressure of want,
ever present to our English laborers, had never fallen upon them. The
climate was a lovely one, and their work far less severe than that of
men forced to toil in cold and wet, winter and summer. The institution
of slavery assuredly was capable of terrible abuses, and was marked in
many instances by abominable cruelty and oppression; but taken all in
all, the negroes on a well-ordered estate, under kind masters, were
probably a happier class of people than the laborers upon any estate in
Europe.

Jonas Pearson had been overseer in the time of Major Wingfield, but his
authority had at that time been comparatively small, for the major
himself personally supervised the whole working of the estate, and was
greatly liked by the slaves, whose chief affections were, however,
naturally bestowed upon their mistress, who had from childhood been
brought up in their midst. Major Wingfield had not liked his overseer,
but he had never any ground to justify him making a change. Jonas, who
was a Northern man, was always active and energetic; all Major
Wingfield's orders were strictly and punctually carried out, and
although he disliked the man, his employer acknowledged him to be an
excellent servant.

After the major's death, Jonas Pearson had naturally obtained greatly
increased power and authority. Mrs. Wingfield had great confidence in
him, his accounts were always clear and precise, and although the
profits of the estate were not quite so large as they had been in her
husband's lifetime, this was always satisfactorily explained by a fall
in prices, or by a part of the crops being affected by the weather. She
flattered herself that she herself managed the estate, and at times rode
over it, made suggestions, and issued orders, but this was only in fits
and starts; and although Jonas came up two or three times a week to the
house nominally to receive her orders, he managed her so adroitly, that
while she believed that everything was done by her directions, she in
reality only followed out the suggestions which, in the first place,
came from him.

She was aware, however, that there was less content and happiness on the
estate than there had been in the old times. Complaints had reached her
from time to time of overwork and harsh treatment. But upon inquiring
into these matters, Jonas had always such plausible reasons to give that
she was convinced he was in the right, and that the fault was among the
slaves themselves, who tried to take advantage of the fact that they had
no longer a master's eye upon them, and accordingly tried to shirk work,
and to throw discredit upon the man who looked after the interests of
their mistress; and so gradually Mrs. Wingfield left the management of
her affairs more and more in the hands of Jonas, and relied more
implicitly upon him.

The overseer spared no pains to gain the good will of Vincent. When the
latter declared that the horse he rode had not sufficient life and
spirit for him, Jonas had set inquiries on foot, and had selected for
him a horse which, for speed and bottom, had no superior in the State.
One of Mrs. Wingfield's acquaintances, however, upon hearing that she
had purchased the animal, told her that it was notorious for its vicious
temper, and she spoke angrily to Jonas on the subject in the presence of
Vincent. The overseer excused himself by saying that he had certainly
heard that the horse was high spirited and needed a good rider, and that
he should not have thought of selecting it had he not known that Mr.
Vincent was a first-class rider, and would not care to have a horse that
any child could manage.

The praise was not undeserved. The gentlemen of Virginia were celebrated
as good riders; and Major Wingfield, himself a cavalry man, had been
anxious that Vincent should maintain the credit of his English blood,
and had placed him on a pony as soon as he was able to sit on one. A
pony had been kept for his use during his holidays at his uncle's in
England, and upon his return Vincent had, except during the hours he
spent with his father, almost lived on horseback, either riding about
the estate, or paying visits to the houses of other planters.

For an hour or more everyday he exercised his father's horses in a
paddock near the house, the major being wheeled down in an easy-chair
and superintending his riding. As these horses had little to do and were
full of spirit, Vincent's powers were often taxed to the utmost, and he
had many falls; but the soil was light, and he had learned the knack of
falling easily, and from constant practice was able at the age of
fourteen to stick on firmly even without a saddle, and was absolutely
fearless as to any animal he mounted.

In the two years which had followed he had kept up his riding. Every
morning after breakfast he rode to Richmond, six miles distant, put up
his horse at some stable there, and spent three hours at school; the
rest of the day was his own, and he would often ride off with some of
his schoolfellows who had also come in from a distance, and not return
home till late in the evening. Vincent took after his English father
rather than his Virginia mother, both in appearance and character, and
was likely to become as tall and brawny a man as the former had been
when he first won the love of the Virginia heiress.

He was full of life and energy, and in this respect offered a strong
contrast to most of his schoolfellows of the same age. For although
splendid riders and keen sportsmen, the planters of Virginia were in
other respects inclined to indolence; the result partly of the climate,
partly of their being waited upon from childhood by attendants ready to
carry out every wish. He had his father's cheerful disposition and good
temper, together with the decisive manner so frequently acquired by a
service in the army, and at the same time he had something of the warmth
and enthusiasm of the Virginia character.

Good rider as he was, he was somewhat surprised at the horse the
overseer had selected for him. It was certainly a splendid animal, with
great bone and power; but there was no mistaking the expression of its
turned-back eye, and the ears that lay almost flat on the head when
anyone approached him.

"It is a splendid animal, no doubt, Jonas," he said the first time he
inspected it; "but he certainly looks as if he had a beast of a temper.
I fear what was told my mother about him is no exaggeration; for Mr.
Markham told me to-day, when I rode down there with his son, and said we
had bought Wildfire, that a friend of his had had him once, and only
kept him for a week, for he was the most vicious brute he ever saw."

"I am sorry I have bought him now, sir," Jonas said. "Of course I should
not have done so if I had heard these things before; but I was told he
was one of the finest horses in the country, only a little tricky, and
as his price was so reasonable I thought it a great bargain. But I see
now I was wrong, and that it wouldn't be right for you to mount him; so
I think we had best send him in on Saturday to the market and let it go
for what it will fetch. You see, sir, if you had been three or four
years older it would have been different; but naturally at your age you
don't like to ride such a horse as that."

"I shan't give up without a trial," Vincent said shortly. "It is about
the finest horse I ever saw; and if it hadn't been for its temper, it
would have been cheap at five times the sum you gave for it. I have
ridden a good many bad-tempered horses for my friends during the last
year, and the worst of them couldn't get me off."

"Well, sir, of course you will do as you please," Jonas said; "but
please to remember if any harm comes of it, that I strongly advised you
not to have anything to do with it, and I did my best to dissuade you
from trying."

Vincent nodded carelessly, and then turned to the black groom.

"Jake, get out that cavalry saddle of my father's, with the high cantle
and pommel, and the rolls for the knees. It's like an armchair, and if
one can't stick on on that, one deserves to be thrown."

While the groom was putting on the saddle, Vincent stood patting the
horse's head and talking to it, and then taking its rein led it down
into the inclosure.

"No, I don't want the whip," he said, as Jake offered him one. "I have
got the spurs, and likely enough the horse's temper may have been
spoiled by knocking it about with a whip; but we will try what kindness
will do with it first."

"Me no like his look, Massa Vincent; he debble of a hoss dat."

"I don't think he has a nice temper, Jake; but people learn to control
their temper, and I don't see why horses shouldn't. At any rate we will
have a try at it. He looks as if he appreciates being patted and spoken
to already. Of course if you treat a horse like a savage he will become
savage. Now, stand out of the way."

Gathering the reins together, and placing one hand upon the pommel,
Vincent sprang into the saddle without touching the stirrups; then he
sat for a minute or two patting the horse's neck. Wildfire, apparently
disgusted at having allowed himself to be mounted so suddenly, lashed
out viciously two or three times, and then refused to move. For half an
hour Vincent tried the effect of patient coaxing, but in vain.

"Well, if you won't do it by fair means you must by foul," Vincent said
at last, and sharply pricked him with his spurs.

Wildfire sprang into the air, and then began a desperate series of
efforts to rid himself of his rider, rearing and kicking in such quick
succession that he seemed half the time in the air. Finding after a
while that his efforts were unavailing, he subsided at last into sulky
immovability. Again Vincent tried coaxing and patting, but as no success
attended these efforts, he again applied the spur sharply. This time the
horse responded by springing forward like an arrow from a bow, dashed at
the top of his speed across the inclosure, cleared the high fence
without an effort, and then set off across the country.

He had attempted to take the bit in his teeth, but with a sharp jerk as
he drove the spurs in, Vincent had defeated his intention. He now did
not attempt to check or guide him, but keeping a light hand on the reins
let him go his own course. Vincent knew that so long as the horse was
going full speed it could attempt no trick to unseat him, and he
therefore sat easily in his saddle.

For six miles Wildfire continued his course, clearing every obstacle
without abatement to his speed, and delighting his rider with his power
and jumping qualities. Occasionally, only when the course he was taking
would have led him to obstacles impossible for the best jumper to
surmount, Vincent attempted to put the slightest pressure upon one rein
or the other, so as to direct it to an easier point.

At the end of six miles the horse's speed began slightly to abate, and
Vincent, abstaining from the use of his spurs, pressed it with his knees
and spoke to it cheerfully, urging it forward. He now from time to time
bent forward and patted it, and for another six miles kept it going at a
speed almost as great as that at which it had started. Then he allowed
it gradually to slacken its pace, until at last first the gallop and
then the trot ceased, and it broke into a walk.

"You have had a fine gallop, old fellow," Vincent said, patting it; "and
so have I. There's been nothing for you to lose your temper about, and
the next road we come upon we will turn your face homeward. Half a dozen
lessons like this, and then, no doubt, we shall be good friends."

The journey home was performed at a walk, Vincent talking the greater
part of the time to the horse. It took a good deal more than six lessons
before Wildfire would start without a preliminary struggle with his
master, but in the end kindness and patience conquered. Vincent often
visited the horse in the stables, and, taking with him an apple or some
pieces of sugar, spent some time there talking to and petting it. He
never carried a whip, and never used the spurs except in forcing it to
make its first start.

Had the horse been naturally ill-tempered Vincent would probably have
failed, but, as he happened afterward to learn, its first owner had been
a hot-tempered and passionate young planter, who, instead of being
patient with it, had beat it about the head, and so rendered it restive
and bad-tempered. Had Vincent not laid aside his whip before mounting it
for the first time, he probably would never have effected a cure. It was
the fact that the animal had no longer fear of his old enemy the whip,
as much as the general course of kindness and good treatment, that had
effected the change in his behavior.

It was just when Vincent had established a good understanding between
himself and Wildfire that he had the altercation with the overseer, whom
he found about to flog the young negro Dan. Pearson had sent the lad
half an hour before on a message to some slaves at work at the other end
of the estate, and had found him sitting on the ground watching a tree
in which he had discovered a 'possum. That Dan deserved punishment was
undoubted. He had at present no regular employment upon the estate.
Jake, his father, was head of the stables, and Dan had made himself
useful in odd jobs about the horses, and expected to become one of the
regular stable hands. The overseer was of opinion that there were
already more negroes in the stable than could find employment, and had
urged upon Mrs. Wingfield that one of the hands there and the boy Dan
should be sent out to the fields. She, however, refused.

"I know you are quite right, Jonas, in what you say. But there were
always four hands in the stable in my father's time, and there always
have been up to now; and though I know they have an easy time of it, I
certainly should not like to send any of them out into the fields. As to
Dan, we will think about it. When his father was about his age he used
to lead my pony when I first took to riding, and when there is a vacancy
Dan must come into the stable. I could not think of sending him out as a
field hand; in the first place for his father's sake, but still more for
that of Vincent. Dan used to be told off to see that Vincent did not get
into mischief when he was a little boy, and he has run his messages and
been his special boy since he came back. Vincent wanted to have him as
his regular house servant; but it would have broken old Sam's heart if,
after being my father's boy and my husband's, another had taken his
place as Vincent's."

And so Dan had remained in the stable, but regarding Vincent as his
special master, carrying messages for him to his friends, or doing any
odd jobs he might require, and spending no small portion of his time in
sleep. Thus he was an object of special dislike to the overseer; in the
first place because he had not succeeded in having his way with regard
to him, and in the second because he was a useless hand, and the
overseer loved to get as much work as possible out of everyone on the
estate. The message had been a somewhat important one, as he wanted the
slaves for some work that was urgently required; and he lost his temper,
or he would not have done an act which would certainly bring him into
collision with Vincent.

He was well aware that the lad did not really like him, and that his
efforts to gain his good will had failed, and he had foreseen that
sooner or later there would be a struggle for power between them.
However, he relied upon his influence with Mrs. Wingfield, and upon the
fact that she was the life owner of the Orangery, and believed that he
would be able to maintain his position even when Vincent came of age.
Vincent on his side objected to the overseer's treatment of the hands of
which he heard a good deal from Dan, and had already remonstrated with
his mother on the subject.

He, however, gained nothing by this. Mrs. Wingfield had replied that he
was too young to interfere in such matters, that his English ideas would
not do in Virginia, and that naturally the slaves were set against the
overseer; and that now Pearson had no longer a master to support him, he
was obliged to be more severe than before to enforce obedience. At the
same time it vexed her at heart that there should be any severity on the
Orangery Estate, where the best relations had always prevailed between
the masters and slaves and she had herself spoken to Jonas on the
subject.

He had given her the same answer that she had given her son: "The slaves
will work for a master, Mrs. Wingfield, in a way they will not for a
stranger. They set themselves against me, and if I were not severe with
them I should get no work at all out of them. Of course, if you wish it,
they can do as they like; but in that case they must have another
overseer. I cannot see a fine estate going to ruin. I believe myself
some of these Abolition fellows have been getting among them and doing
mischief, and that there is a bad spirit growing up among them. I can
assure you that I am as lenient with them as it is possible to be. But
if they won't work I must make them, so long as I stay here."

And so the overseer had had his way. She knew that the man was a good
servant, and that the estate was kept in excellent order. After all, the
severities of which she had heard complaints were by no means excessive,
and it was not to be expected that a Northern overseer could rule
entirely by kindness, as the owner of an estate could do. A change would
be most inconvenient to her, and she would have difficulty in suiting
herself so well another time. Besides, the man had been with her sixteen
years, and was, as she believed, devoted to her interests. Therefore she
turned a deaf ear to Vincent's remonstrances.

She had always been somewhat opposed to his being left in England at
school, urging that he would learn ideas there that would clash with
those of the people among whom his life was to be spent; and she still
considered that her views had been justified by the result.

The overseer was the first to give his version of the story about Dan's
conduct; for on going to the house Vincent found his sisters, Rosa and
Annie, in the garden, having just returned from a two days' visit to
some friends in Richmond, and stayed chatting with them and listening to
their news for an hour, and in the meantime Jonas had gone in and seen
Mrs. Wingfield and told his story.

"I think, Mrs. Wingfield," he said when he had finished, "that it will
be better for me to leave you. It is quite evident that I can have no
authority over the hands if your son is to interfere when I am about to
punish a slave for an act of gross disobedience and neglect. I found
that all the tobacco required turning, and now it will not be done this
afternoon, owing to my orders not being carried out, and the tobacco
will not improbably be injured in quality. My position is difficult
enough as it is; but if the slaves see that instead of being supported I
am thwarted by your son, my authority is gone altogether. No overseer
can carry on his work properly under such circumstances."

"I will see to the matter, Jonas," Mrs. Wingfield said decidedly. "Be
assured that you have my entire support, and I will see that my son does
not again interfere."

When, therefore, Vincent entered the house and began his complaint, he
found himself cut short.

"I have heard the story already, Vincent. Dan acted in gross
disobedience, and thoroughly deserved the punishment Jonas was about to
give him. The work of the estate cannot be carried on if such conduct is
to be tolerated; and once for all, I will permit no interference on your
part with Jonas. If you have any complaints to make, come to me and make
them; but you are not to interfere in any way with the overseer. As for
Dan, I have directed Jonas that the next time he gives cause for
complaint he is to go into the fields."

Vincent stood silent for a minute, then he said quietly:

"Very well, mother. Of course you can do as you like; but at any rate I
will not keep my mouth shut when I see that fellow ill-treating the
slaves. Such things were never done in my father's time, and I won't see
them done now. You said the other day you would get me a nomination to
West Point as soon as I was sixteen. I should be glad if you would do
so. By the time I have gone through the school, you will perhaps see
that I have been right about Jonas."

So saying, he turned and left the room and again joined his sisters in
the drawing room.

"I have just told mother that I will go to West Point, girls," he said.
"Father said more than once that he thought it was the best education I
could get in America."

"But I thought you had made up your mind that you would rather stop at
home, Vincent?"

"So I had, and so I would have done, but mother and I differ in
opinion. That fellow Jonas was going to flog Dan, and I stopped him this
morning, and mother takes his part against me. You know, I don't like
the way he goes on with the slaves. They are not half so merry and happy
as they used to be, and I don't like it. We shall have one of them
running away next, and that will be a nice thing on what used to be
considered one of the happiest plantations in Virginia. I can't make
mother out; I should have thought that she would have been the last
person in the world to have allowed the slaves to be harshly treated."

"I am sure we don't like Jonas any more than you do, Vincent; but you
see mamma has to depend upon him so much. No, I don't think she can like
it; but you can't have everything you like in a man, and I know she
thinks he is a very good overseer. I suppose she could get another?"

Vincent said he thought that there could not be much difficulty about
getting an overseer.

"There might be a difficulty in getting one she could rely on so
thoroughly," Rosa said. "You see a great deal must be left to him. Jonas
has been here a good many years now, and she has learned to trust him.
It would be a long time before she had the same confidence in a
stranger; and you may be sure that he would have his faults, though,
perhaps, not the same as those of Jonas. I think you don't make
allowance enough for mamma, Vincent. I quite agree with you as to Jonas,
and I don't think mamma can like his harshness to the slaves any more
than you do; but everyone says what a difficulty it is to get a really
trustworthy and capable overseer, and, of course, it is all the harder
when there is no master to look after him."

"Well, in a few years I shall be able to look after an overseer,"
Vincent said.

"You might do so, of course, Vincent, if you liked; but unless you
change a good deal, I don't think your supervision would amount to very
much. When you are not at school you are always on horseback and away,
and we see little enough of you, and I do not think you are likely for a
long time yet to give up most of your time to looking after the estate."

"Perhaps you are right," Vincent said, after thinking for a minute; "but
I think I could settle down, too, and give most of my time to the
estate, if I was responsible for it. I dare say mother is in a
difficulty over it, and I should not have spoken as I did; I will go in
and tell her so."

Vincent found his mother sitting as he had left her. Although she had
sided with Jonas, it was against her will; for it was grievous to her to
hear complaints of the treatment of the slaves at the Orangery. Still,
as Rosa had said, she felt every confidence in her overseer, and
believed that he was an excellent servant. She was conscious that she
herself knew nothing of business, and that she must therefore give her
entire confidence to her manager. She greatly disliked the strictness of
Jonas, but if, as he said, the slaves would not obey him without this
strictness, he must do as he thought best.

"I think I spoke too hastily, mother," Vincent said as he entered; "and
I am sure that you would not wish the slaves to be ill-treated more than
I should. I dare say Jonas means for the best."

"I feel sure that he does, Vincent. A man in his position cannot make
himself obeyed like a master. I wish it could be otherwise, and I will
speak to him on the subject; but it will not do to interfere with him
too much. A good overseer is not easy to get, and the slaves are always
ready to take advantage of leniency. An easy master makes bad work, but
an easy overseer would mean ruin to an estate. I am convinced that Jonas
has our interests at heart, and I will tell him that I particularly wish
that he will devise some other sort of punishment, such as depriving men
who won't work of some of their privileges, instead of using the lash."

"Thank you, mother. At any rate, he might be told that the lash is never
to be used without first appealing to you."

"I will see about it, Vincent, and talk it over with him." And with that
Vincent was satisfied.




CHAPTER II.

BUYING A SLAVE.


Mrs. Wingfield did talk the matter over with the overseer, and things
went on in consequence more smoothly. Vincent, however, adhered to his
wish, and it was arranged that as soon as he could get a nomination he
should go to West Point, which is to the American army what Sandhurst
and Woolwich are to England. Before that could be done, however, a great
political agitation sprang up. The slave States were greatly excited
over the prospect of a Republican president being chosen, for the
Republicans were to a great extent identified with the abolition
movement; and public feeling, which had for some time run high, became
intensified as the time approached for the election of a new president,
and threats that if the Democrats were beaten and a Republican elected
the slave States would secede from the Union, were freely indulged in.

In Virginia, which was one of the most northern of the slave States,
opinion was somewhat divided, there being a strong minority against any
extreme measures being taken. Among Vincent's friends, however, who were
for the most part the sons of planters, the Democratic feeling was very
strongly in the ascendant and their sympathies were wholly with the
Southern States. That these had a right to secede was assumed by them as
being unquestionable.

But, in point of fact, there was a great deal to be said on both sides.
The States which first entered the Union in 1776 considered themselves
to be separate and sovereign States, each possessing power and authority
to manage its own affairs, and forming only a federation in order to
construct a central power, and so to operate with more effect against
the mother country. Two years later the Constitution of the United
States was framed, each State giving up a certain portion of its
authority, reserving its own self-government and whatever rights were
not specifically resigned.

No mention was made in the Constitution of the right of a State to
secede from the Union, and while those who insisted that each State had
a right to secede if it chose to do so declared that this right was
reserved, their opponents affirmed that such a case could never have
been contemplated. Thus the question of absolute right had never been
settled, and it became purely one of force.

Early in November, 1860, it became known that the election of Mr.
Lincoln, the Republican candidate, was assured, and on the 9th of that
month the representatives of South Carolina met at Charleston, and
unanimously authorized the holding of a State convention to meet on the
third week in December. The announcement caused great excitement, for it
was considered certain that the convention would pass a vote of
secession, and thus bring the debated question to an issue. Although
opinion in Virginia was less unanimous than in the more southern States,
it was generally thought that she would imitate the example of South
Carolina.

On the day following the receipt of the news, Vincent, who had ridden
over to the plantations of several of his friends to talk the matter
over, was returning homeward, when he heard the sound of heavy blows
with a whip, and loud curses, and a moment later a shrill scream in a
woman's voice rose in the air.

Vincent checked his horse mechanically with an exclamation of anger. He
knew but too well what was going on beyond the screen of shrubs that
grew on the other side of the fence bordering the road. For a moment he
hesitated, and then muttering, "What's the use!" was about to touch the
horse with the whip and gallop on, when the shriek again rose louder and
more agonizing than before. With a cry of rage Vincent leaped from his
horse, threw the reins over the top of the fence, climbed over it in a
moment, and burst his way through the shrubbery.

Close by, a negro was being held by four others, two having hold of each
wrist and holding his arms extended to full length, while a white lad,
some two years Vincent's senior, was showering blows with a heavy whip
upon him. The slave's back was already covered with weals, and the blood
was flowing from several places. A few yards distant a black girl, with
a baby in her arms, was kneeling on the ground screaming for mercy for
the slave. Just as Vincent burst through the bushes, the young fellow,
irritated at her cries, turned round and delivered a tremendous blow
with the whip on her bare shoulders.

This time no cry came from her lips, but the slave, who had stood
immovable while the punishment was being inflicted upon himself, made a
desperate effort to break from the men who held him. He was
unsuccessful, but before the whip could again fall on the woman's
shoulders, Vincent sprang forward, and seizing it, wrested it from the
hands of the striker. With an oath of fury and surprise at this sudden
interruption, the young fellow turned upon Vincent.

"You are a coward and a blackguard, Andrew Jackson!" Vincent exclaimed,
white with anger. "You are a disgrace to Virginia, you ruffian!"

Without a word the young planter, mad with rage at this interference,
rushed at Vincent; but the latter had learned the use of his fists at
his English school, and riding exercises had strengthened his muscles,
and as his opponent rushed at him, he met him with a blow from the
shoulder which sent him staggering back with the blood streaming from
his lips. He again rushed forward, and heavy blows were exchanged; then
they closed and grappled. For a minute they swayed to and fro; but
although much taller, the young planter was no stronger than Vincent,
and at last they came to the ground with a crash, Vincent uppermost,
Jackson's head as he fell coming with such force against a low stump
that he lay insensible.

The contest had been so sudden and furious that none had attempted to
interfere. Indeed the negroes were so astonished that they had not moved
from the moment when Vincent made his appearance upon the scene. The lad
rose to his feet.

"You had better carry him up to the house and throw water on him," he
said to the negroes, and then turned away. As he did so, the slave who
had been flogged broke from the others, who had, indeed, loosened their
hold, and ran up to Vincent, threw himself on his knees, and taking the
lad's hand pressed it to his lips.

"I am afraid I haven't done you much good," Vincent said. "You will be
none the better off for my interference; but I couldn't help it." So
saying he made his way through the shrubbery, cleared the fence,
mounted, and rode homeward.

"I have been a fool," he said to himself as he rode along. "It will be
all the worse for that poor beggar afterward; still I could not help it.
I wonder will there be any row about it. I don't much expect there will,
the Jacksons don't stand well now, and this would not do them any good
with the people round; besides I don't think Jackson would like to go
into court to complain of being thrashed by a fellow a head shorter than
himself. It's blackguards like him who give the Abolitionists a right to
hold up the slave-owners as being tyrants and brutes."

The Jacksons were newcomers in Virginia. Six years before, the estate,
of which the Cedars, as their place was called, formed a part, was put up
for sale. It was a very large one, and having been divided into several
portions to suit buyers, the Cedars had been purchased by Jackson, who,
having been very successful as a storekeeper at Charleston, had decided
upon giving up the business and leaving South Carolina, and settling
down as a landowner in some other State. His antecedents, however, were
soon known at Richmond, and the old Virginian families turned a cold
shoulder to the newcomer.

Had he been a man of pleasant manners, he would gradually have made his
way; but he was evidently not a gentleman. The habits of trade stuck to
him, and in a very short time there were rumors that the slaves, whom he
had bought with the property, found him a harsh and cruel master. This
in itself would have been sufficient to bring him into disrepute in
Virginia, where as a rule the slaves were treated with great kindness,
and, indeed, considered their position to be infinitely superior to that
of the poorer class of whites. Andrew Jackson had been for a few months
at school with Vincent; he was unpopular there, and from the rumors
current as to the treatment of the slaves on the estate was known by the
nickname of the "slave-driver."

Had Vincent been the son of a white trader, or a small cultivator, he
knew well enough that his position would be a very serious one, and that
he would have had to ride to the border of the State with all speed. He
would have been denounced at once as an Abolitionist, and would have
been accused of stirring up the slaves to rebellion against their
masters; a crime of the most serious kind in the Southern States. But
placed as he was, as the heir of a great estate worked by slaves, such a
cry could hardly be raised against him. He might doubtless be fined and
admonished for interfering between a master and his slave; but the
sympathy of the better classes in Virginia would be entirely with him.
Vincent, therefore, was but little concerned for himself; but he doubted
greatly whether his interference had not done much more harm than good
to the slave and his wife, for upon them Andrew Jackson would vent his
fury. He rode direct to the stables instead of alighting as usual at the
door. Dan, who had been sitting in the veranda waiting for him, ran down
to the stables as he saw him coming.

"Give the horse to one of the others, Dan, I want to speak to you. Dan,"
he went on when he had walked with him a short distance from the
stables, "I suppose you know some of the hands on Jackson's plantation."

Dan grinned, for although there was not supposed to be any communication
between the slaves on the different estates, it was notorious that at
night they were in the habit of slipping out of their huts and visiting
each other.

"I know some ob dem, Marse Vincent. What you want ob dem? Bery bad
master, Marse Jackson. Wust master hereabout."

Vincent related what had happened, to Dan's intense delight.

"Now, Dan," he went on, "I am afraid that after my interference they
will treat that poor fellow and his wife worse than before. I want you
to find out for me what is going on at Jackson's. I do not know that I
can do anything, however badly they treat them; but I have been thinking
that if they ill-treat them very grossly, I will get together a party of
fifteen or twenty of my friends, and we will go in a body to Jackson's
and warn him that, if he behaves with cruelty to his slaves, we will
make it so hot for him that he will have to leave the State. I don't say
that we could do anything; but as we should represent most of the large
estates round here, I don't think old Jackson and his son would like
being sent to coventry. The feeling is very strong at present against
ill-treatment of the slaves. If these troubles lead to war, almost all
of us will go into the army, and we do not like the thought of the
possibility of troubles among the hands when the whites are all away."

"I will find out all about it for you to-night, sah. I don't suspect dat
dey will do nuffin to-day. Andrew Jackson too sick after dat knock
against de tump. He keep quiet a day or two."

"Well, Dan, you go over to-night and find out all about it. I expect I
had better have left things alone, but now I have interfered I shall go
on with it."

Mrs. Wingfield was much displeased when Vincent told her at dinner of
his incident at Jackson's plantation, and even his sisters were shocked
at the interference between a master and his slave.

"You will get yourself into serious trouble with these fanciful notions
of yours," Mrs. Wingfield said angrily. "You know as well as I do how
easy it is to get up a cry against anyone as an Abolitionist, and how
difficult to disprove the accusation; and just at present, when the
passions of every man in the South are inflamed to the utmost, such an
accusation will be most serious. In the present instance there does not
seem that there is a shadow of excuse for your conduct. You simply heard
cries of a slave being flogged. You deliberately leave the road and
enter these people's plantation, and interfere without, so far as I can
see, the least reason for doing so. You did not inquire what the man's
offense was; and he may, for aught you know, have half murdered his
master. You simply see a slave being flogged, and you assault his owner.
If the Jacksons lay complaints against you, it is quite probable that
you may have to leave the State. What on earth can have influenced you
to act in such a mad-brained way?"

"I did not interfere to prevent his flogging the slave, mother, but to
prevent his flogging the slave's wife, which was pure wanton brutality.
It is not a question of slavery one way or the other. Anyone has a right
to interfere to put a stop to brutality. If I saw a man brutally
treating a horse or a dog, I should certainly do so; and if it is right
to interfere to save a dumb animal from brutal ill-treatment, surely it
must be justifiable to save a woman in the same case. I am not an
Abolitionist. That is to say, I consider that slaves on a properly
managed estate, like ours for instance, are just as well off as are the
laborers on an estate in Europe; but I should certainly like to see laws
passed to protect them from ill-treatment. Why, in England there are
laws against cruelty to animals; and a man who brutally flogged a dog or
a horse would get a month's imprisonment with hard labor. I consider it
a disgrace to us that a man here may ill-treat a human being worse than
he might in England a dumb animal."

"You know, Vincent," his mother said more quietly, "that I object as
much as you do to the ill-treatment of the slaves, and that the slaves
here, as on all well-conducted plantations in Virginia, are well
treated; but this is not a time for bringing in laws or carrying out
reforms. It is bad enough to have scores of Northerners doing their best
to stir up mischief between masters and slaves, without a Southern
gentleman mixing himself up in the matter. We have got to stand together
as one people and to protect our State rights from interference."

"I am just as much in favor of State rights as anyone else, mother; and
if, as seems likely, the present quarrel is to be fought out, I hope I
shall do my best for Virginia as well as other fellows of my own age.
But just as I protest against any interference by the Northerners with
our laws, I say that we ought to amend our laws so as not to give them
the shadow of an excuse for interference. It is brutes like the Jacksons
who afford the materials for libels like 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' upon us as
a people; and I can't say that I am a bit sorry for having given that
young Jackson what he deserved."

"Well, I hope there will be no trouble come of it," Mrs. Wingfield said.
"I shouldn't think the Jacksons would like the exposure of their doings,
which would be caused by bringing the matter into court; but if they do,
you may be quite sure that a jury in Richmond at the present time would
find against you."

"I don't suppose that they will do anything, mother. But if they must,
they must; and I don't suppose anything serious will come of it,
anyway."

The next morning Vincent went down early to the stables. As he
approached them Dan came out to meet him.

"Well, Dan, what's your news?"

"Bery great bobbery ober at Jackson's last night, Massa Vincent. Fust of
all I crept round to de huts ob de field hands. Dey all knew nuffin
about it; but one of dem he goes off and gets to hab a talk with a gal
employed in de house who was in de habit of slipping out to see him. She
say when de young un war carried in de old man go on furious; he bring
suit against you, he hab you punished berry much--no saying what he not
going to do. After a time de young un come round, he listen to what the
old man say for some time; den he answer: 'No use going on like dat. Set
all de county families against us if we have suit. As to dat infernal
young villain, me pay him out some other way.' Den de old man say he cut
de flesh off de bones ob dat nigger; but de young one say: 'Mustn't do
dat. You sure to hear about it, and make great bobbery. Find some oder
way to punish him.' Den dey talk together for some time, but girl not
hear any more."

"Well, then, there will be no suit anyhow," Vincent said. "As to paying
me out some other way, I will look after myself, Dan. I believe that
fellow Jackson is capable of anything, and I will be on the lookout for
him."

"Be sure you do, Massa Vincent. You ride about a great deal, dat fellow
bery like take a shot at you from behind tree. Don't you go near dat
plantation, or sure enuff trouble come."

"I will look out, Dan. There is one thing, I always ride fast; and it
wants a very good shot to hit one at a gallop. I don't think they will
try that; for if he missed, as he would be almost sure to do, it would
be a good deal worse for him than this affair would have been had he
brought it into court. You keep your ears open, Dan, and find out how
they are thinking of punishing that poor follow for my interference on
his behalf."

After breakfast a negro arrived with a note for Mrs. Wingfield from Mr.
Jackson, complaining of the unwarrantable and illegal interference by
her son on behalf of a slave who was being very properly punished for
gross misconduct; and of the personal assault upon his son. The writer
said that he was most reluctant to take legal proceedings against a
member of so highly respected a family, but that it was impossible that
he could submit to such an outrage as this.

Although Mrs. Wingfield had expressed her disapproval of Vincent's
conduct on the evening before, there was no trace of that feeling in her
reply to this letter. She wrote in the third person, coldly
acknowledging the receipt of Mr. Jackson's letter, and saying that she
had heard from her son of his interference to put a stop to one of those
brutal scenes which brought discredit upon the Southern States, and that
she considered he had most rightly punished Mr. Jackson, Jr., for his
inhuman and revolting conduct; that she was perfectly aware the
interference had been technically illegal, but that her son was fully
prepared to defend his conduct if called upon to do so in the courts,
and to pay any fine that might be inflicted for his suffering himself to
be carried away by his righteous indignation. She ended by saying that
as Mr. Jackson was a stranger in Virginia, he was perhaps not aware that
the public sentiment of that State was altogether opposed to such acts
of brutality as that of which his son had been guilty.

"What have you been doing to that fellow Andrew Jackson?" one of
Vincent's friends, a young fellow two years older than himself, said to
him a few days later. "There were a lot of us talking over things
yesterday, in Richmond, and he came up and joined in. Something was said
about Abolitionists, and he said that he should like to see every
Abolitionist in the State strung up to a tree. He is always pretty
violent, as you know; but on the present occasion he went further than
usual, and then went on to say that the worst and most dangerous
Abolitionists were not Northern men, but Southerners, who were traitors
to their State. He said: 'For example, there is that young Wingfield. He
has been to England, and has come back with his head filled with
Abolitionist notions;' and that such opinions at the present time were a
danger to the State.

"Two or three of us took the matter up, as you might guess, and told him
he had better mind what he was saying or it would be the worse for him.
Harry Furniss went so far as to tell him that he was a liar, and that if
he didn't like that he could have satisfaction in the usual way. Master
Jackson didn't like it, but muttered something and slunk off. What's the
matter between you?"

"I should not have said anything about it," Vincent replied, "if Jackson
had chosen to hold his tongue; but as he chooses to go about attacking
me, there is no reason why I should keep the matter secret." And he then
related what had taken place.

The young Virginian gave a low whistle.

"I don't say I blame you, Wingfield; but I tell you, you might have got
yourself into an awful mess if the Jacksons had chosen to take it up.
You know how hot the feeling is at present, and it is a serious matter
at any time to interfere between a master and his slaves in the Southern
States. Of course among us our feelings would be all against Jackson;
but among the poorer class of whites, who have been tremendously excited
by the speeches, both in the North and here, the cry of Abolitionist at
the present moment is like a red rag to a bull. However, I understand
now the fellow's enmity to you.

"None of us ever liked him when he was at school with us. He is an
evil-tempered brute, and I am afraid you may have some trouble with him.
If he goes about talking as he did to us, he would soon get up a feeling
against you. Of course it would be nonsense to openly accuse a member of
an old Virginian family of being an Abolitionist; but it would be easy
enough to set a pack of the rough classes of the town against you, and
you might get badly mauled if they caught you alone. The fellow is
evidently a coward, or he would have taken up what Furniss said; but a
coward who is revengeful is a good deal more dangerous than an open foe.
However, I will talk it over with some of the others, and we will see if
we can't stop Andrew Jackson's mouth."

The result of this was that the next day half a dozen of Vincent's
friends wrote a joint letter to Andrew Jackson, saying that they
regarded his statements respecting Vincent as false and calumnious, and
that if he repeated them they would jointly and severally hold him
responsible; and that if, as a result of such accusations, any harm
happened to Vincent, they should know where to look for the originator
of the mischief, and punish him accordingly.

"You should be more careful, Andrew," his father said, as, white with
fury, he showed him his letter. "It was you who were preaching prudence
the other day and warning me against taking steps that would set all the
county families against us; and now, you see, you have been letting your
tongue run, and have drawn this upon yourself. Keep quiet for the
present, my son; all sorts of things may occur before long, and you will
get your chance. Let this matter sleep for the present."

A day or two later when Vincent went down to the stables he saw that Dan
had something to tell him and soon found out that he wished to speak to
him alone.

"What is your news, Dan?"

"I heard last night, Marse Vincent, dat old man Jackson is going to sell
Dinah; dat de wife ob de man dey flogged."

"They are going to sell her!" Vincent repeated indignantly. "What are
they going to do that for?"

"To punish Tony, sah. Dar am no law against dar selling her. I hear dat
dey are going to sell two oder boys, so dat it cannot be said dat dey do
it on purpose to spite Tony. I reckon, sah, dey calculate dat when dey
sell his wife Tony get mad and run away, and den when dey catch him
again dey flog him pretty near to death. Folk always do dat with runaway
slaves; no one can say nuffin agin dem for dat."

"It's an infamous shame that it should be lawful to separate man and
wife," Vincent said. "However, we will see what we can do. You manage to
pass the word to Tony to keep up his spirits, and not let them drive him
to do anything rash. Tell him I will see that his wife does not get
into bad hands, I suppose they will sell the baby too?"

"Yes. Marse Vincent. Natural the baby will go wid de modder."

Vincent watched the list of advertisements of slaves to be sold, and a
day or two later saw a notice to the effect that Dinah Moore, age
twenty-two, with a male baby at her breast, would be sold on the
following Saturday. He mounted his horse and rode into Richmond. He had
not liked to speak to his mother on the subject, for she had not told
him of the letter she had written to Jackson; and he thought that she
might disapprove of any interference in the matter, consequently he went
down to Mr. Renfrew, the family solicitor.

"Mr. Renfrew," he said, "I want some money; can you lend it me?"

"You want money," the solicitor said in surprise. "What on earth do you
want money for? and if you want it why don't you ask your mother for it?
How much do you want?"

"I don't know exactly. About eight hundred dollars, I should think;
though it may be a thousand. I want to buy a slave."

"You want to buy a slave!" repeated Mr. Renfrew. "What on earth do you
want to buy a slave for? You have more than you want now at the
Orangery."

"It's a slave that man Jackson is going to sell next Saturday, on
purpose to spite the poor creature's husband and drive him to
desperation," and Vincent then repeated the whole story of the
circumstances that had led up to the sale.

"It is very abominable on the part of these Jacksons," Mr. Renfrew said,
"but your interference was most imprudent, my young friend; and as you
see, it has done harm rather than good. If you are so quixotic as to
become the champion of every ill-treated slave in the State, your work
is pretty well cut out for you."

"I know that, sir," Vincent replied, smiling, "and I can assure you I
did not intend to enter upon any such crusade; but, you see, I have
wrongly or rightly mixed myself up in this, and I want to repair the
mischief which, as you say, I have caused. The only way I can see is to
buy this negress and her baby."

"But I do not see that you will carry out your object if you do,
Vincent. She will be separated just as much from her husband if you buy
her as if anyone else does. He is at one plantation and she is at
another, and were they ten miles apart or a hundred, they are equally
separated."

"I quite see that, Mr. Renfrew; but, at least she will be kindly
treated, and his mind will be at rest on that score. Perhaps some day or
other the Jacksons may put him up for sale, and then I can buy him, and
they will be reunited. At any rate, the first step is to buy her. Can
you let me have the money? My mother makes me a very good allowance."

"And I suppose you spend it," the lawyer interrupted.

"Well, yes, I generally spend it; but then, you see, when I come of age
I come in for the outlying estates."

"And if you die before, or get shot, or any other accident befalls you,"
Mr. Renfrew said, "they go to your sisters. However, one must risk
something for a client, so I will lend you the money. I had better put
somebody up to bid for you, for after what has happened the Jacksons
would probably not let her go if they knew that you were going to be the
purchaser."

"Thank you very much," Vincent said warmly; "it will be a great weight
off my mind," and with a light heart he rode back to the Orangery.

Vincent said nothing during the next two days to any of his friends as
to the course the Jacksons were taking in selling Tony's wife; for he
thought that if the news got about, some one of his friends who had
heard the circumstances might go down to the auction and make such a
demonstration that Jackson would be obliged to withdraw Dinah from the
sale, in which case he could no doubt dispose of her privately. On the
Saturday he mounted his horse and rode into Richmond, telling Dan to
meet him there. At the hour the sale was announced he went to the yard
where it was to take place.

This was a somewhat quiet and secluded place; for although the sale of
slaves was permitted by law in Virginia, at any rate these auctions were
conducted quietly and with as little publicity as possible. For although
the better classes still regarded slavery as a necessary institution,
they were conscious that these sales, involving as they did the
separation of families, were indefensible, and the more thoughtful would
gladly have seen them abolished, and a law passed forbidding the sale of
negroes save as part and parcel of the estate upon which they worked, an
exception only being made in the case of gross misconduct. Many of the
slave-owners, indeed, forbade all flogging upon their estates, and
punished refractory slaves, in the first place, by the cutting off of
the privileges they enjoyed in the way of holidays, and if this did not
answer, threatened to sell them--a threat which was, in the vast
majority of cases, quite sufficient to insure good behavior; for the
slaves were well aware of the difference between life in the
well-managed establishments in Virginia and that in some of the other
Southern States. Handing his horse to Dan, Vincent joined a knot of four
or five of his acquaintances who had strolled in from mere curiosity.

There were some thirty or forty men in the yard, a few of whom had come
in for the purpose of buying; but the great majority had only attended
for the sake of passing an idle hour. Slaves had fallen in value; for
although all in the South professed their confidence that the law would
never attempt by force of arms to prevent their secession, it was felt
that slave property would in future be more precarious, for the North
would not improbably repeal the laws for the arrest of fugitive slaves,
and consequently all runaways who succeeded in crossing the border would
be lost to their masters.

Upon the other side of the yard Vincent saw Andrew Jackson talking to
two or three men who were strangers to him, and who, he guessed, were
buyers from some of the more southern States. There were in all twelve
lots to be disposed of. Of these two or three were hands who were no
longer fit for field work, and who were bought at very low prices by men
who owned but a few acres of land, and who could utilize them for odd
jobs requiring but little strength. Then there was a stir of attention.
Dinah Moore took her stand upon the platform, with her baby in her arms.
The message which Dan had conveyed from Vincent to her husband had given
her some hope, and though she looked scared and frightened as she
clasped her babe to her breast, she was not filled with such utter
despair as would otherwise have been the case.

The auctioneer stated the advantages of the lot in the same business
like tone as if he had been selling a horse.

"Lot 6. Negro wench, Dinah; age twenty-two; with male child. Strong and
well made, as you see, gentlemen; fit for field work, or could be made a
useful hand about the house; said to be handy and good-tempered. Now
gentlemen, what shall we say for this desirable lot?"

One of the men standing by Andrew Jackson bid a hundred dollars. The bid
was raised to a hundred and fifty by a rough-looking fellow standing in
front of the platform. For some time the bidding was confined to these
two, and it rose until it reached seven hundred and fifty, at which
point the man near the platform retired, and there was a pause.

Vincent felt uncomfortable. He had already been round to Mr. Renfrew,
who had told him that he had deputed an agent to buy; and until the man
near the platform stopped he had supposed that he was the solicitor's
agent.

"Now, gentlemen," the auctioneer said, "surely you are not going to let
this desirable piece of property go for seven fifty? She would be cheap
at double the price. I have sold worse articles for three thousand."

"I will go another twenty-five dollars," a tall man in homespun and a
planter's broad straw hat said quietly.

The contest now recommenced, and by bids of twenty-five dollars at a
time the amount was raised to twelve hundred and fifty dollars.

"That's enough for me," the man standing by Andrew Jackson said; "he may
have her at twelve fifty, and dear enough, too, as times go."

"Will anyone else make an offer?" the auctioneer asked. There was no
response, and the hammer fell.

"What name?"

"Nathaniel Forster," the tall man said; and advancing to the table he
counted out a roll of notes and gave them to the auctioneer, who handed
to him a formal note certifying to his having legally purchased Dinah
Moore and her infant, late the property of Andrew Jackson, Esquire, of
the Cedars, State of Virginia.

The purchaser had evidently made up his mind beforehand to secure the
lot, for he handed a parcel he had been holding to Dinah, and said
briefly, "Slip those things on, my lass."

The poor girl, who had before been simply attired in the scantiest of
petticoats, retired to a corner of the yard, and speedily came forward
again dressed in a neat cotton gown. There were several joking remarks
made by the bystanders, but Dinah's new master took no notice of them,
but with a motion of his hand to her to follow him, walked out of the
yard.

A minute later Vincent followed, and although he had no doubt that the
man was the agent Mr. Renfrew had employed, he did not feel thoroughly
satisfied until he saw them enter the lawyer's office. He quickly
followed. They had just entered the private room of Mr. Renfrew.

"That's right, Wingfield," the lawyer said. "You see we have settled the
business satisfactorily, and I think you have got a fairly cheap
bargain. Just wait a minute and we will complete the transaction."

Dinah gave a start as Vincent entered, but with the habitual
self-repression of a slave, she stood quietly in the corner to which she
had withdrawn at the other end of the room.

The lawyer was busy drawing up a document, and, touching a bell, ordered
a clerk to go across to Mr. Rawlins, justice of the peace, and ask him
to step across the road.

In a minute Mr. Rawlins entered.

"I want you to witness a deed of sale of a slave," Mr. Renfrew said.
"Here are the particulars: 'Nathaniel Forster sells to Vincent Wingfield
his slave, Dinah Moore and her male infant, for the sum of fourteen
hundred dollars.' These are the parties. Forster, sign this receipt."

The man did so. The justice put his signature as witness to the
transaction, dropped into his pocket the fee of five dollars that the
lawyer handed to him, and without a word strolled out again.

"There, Dinah," Mr. Renfrew said, "Mr. Wingfield is now your master."

The girl ran forward, fell on her knees before Vincent, seized his hand
and kissed it, sobbing out her thanks as she did so.

"There, that will do, Dinah," the lawyer said, seeing that Vincent was
confused by her greeting. "I think you are a lucky girl, and have made a
good exchange for the Orangery instead of the Cedars. I don't suppose
you will find Mr. Wingfield a very hard master. What he is going to do
with you I am sure I don't know."

Vincent now went to the door and called in Dan and told him to take
Dinah to the Orangery, then mounting his horse he rode off home to
prepare his mother for the reception of his new purchase.




CHAPTER III.

AIDING A RUNAWAY.


"Well, you are an extraordinary boy, Vincent," Mrs. Wingfield said as
her son told her the story, while his sister burst into fits of laughter
at the idea of Vincent owning a female slave with a baby. "Why did you
not tell me that you wanted the money, instead of going to Mr. Renfrew?
I shall tell him I am very angry with him for letting you have it for
such a purpose."

"I was not sure whether you would let me have it, mother; and if you had
refused, and I had got it afterward from Mr. Renfrew, I should not have
liked to bring her home here."

"That would have been fun," Annie said. "Fancy Vincent's troubles with a
female slave on his hands and nowhere to put her. What would you have
done, Vincent?"

"I suppose I could have got a home for her somewhere," Vincent said
quietly. "I don't think there would have been any difficulty about that.
Still I am glad I didn't have to do so, and one slave more or less can
make no difference here."

"Not at all," Mrs. Wingfield said; "I dare say Chloe will find something
for her to do in the way of washing, and such other light work that she
is fit for about the house. It is not that, but it is years since a
slave was brought into the Orangery; never since I can remember. We
raise more than we want ourselves; and when I see all those children
about, I wonder sometimes what on earth we are to find for them all to
do. Still, it was a scandalous thing of that man Jackson selling the
girl to punish her husband; and, as you say, it was your foolish
interference in the matter that brought it about, so I do not know that
I can blame you for doing what you can to set the matter straight.
Still, except that the knowledge that she is here, and will be well
treated, will be a comfort to the man, I do not see that he will be much
better off, unless, indeed, the Jacksons should try to sell him also, in
which case I suppose you will want to buy him."

"I am afraid they won't do that, mother. Still, somehow or other, in
time they may come together again."

"I don't see how they can, Vincent. However, we need not think of that
now. At any rate I hope there will be no further opportunity for your
mixing yourself up in this business. You have made two bitter enemies
now, and although I do not see that such people as these can do you any
harm, it is always well not to make enemies, especially in times like
these when no one can foresee exactly what may occur."

And so Dinah Moore became an inmate of the Orangery; and though the
girls had laughed at their brother, they were very kind to her when she
arrived with Dan, and made much of her and of her baby. The same night
Dan went over to the Cedars, and managed to have an interview with Tony,
and to tell him that his wife had been bought by Vincent. The joy of the
negro was extreme. The previous message had raised his hopes that
Vincent would succeed in getting her bought by someone who would be kind
to her, but he knew well that she might nevertheless fall to the lot of
some higher bidder and be taken hundreds of miles away, and that he
might never again get news of her whereabouts. He had then suffered
terrible anxiety all day, and the relief of learning that Vincent
himself had bought her, and that she was now installed as a house
servant at the Orangery, but a few miles away, was quite overpowering,
and for some minutes he could only gasp out his joy and thankfulness. He
could hope now that when better times came he might be able to steal
away some night and meet her, and that some day or other, though how he
could not see, they might be reunited. The Jacksons remained in
ignorance that their former slave was located so near to them.

It was for this reason that Mr. Renfrew had instructed his agent to buy
her in his own name instead of that of Vincent; and the Jacksons, having
no idea of the transfer that had subsequently taken place, took no
further interest in the matter, believing that they had achieved their
object of torturing Tony, and avenging upon him the humiliation that
Andrew had suffered at Vincent's hands. Had they questioned their
slaves, and had these answered them truly, they would have discovered
the facts. For although Tony himself said no word to anyone of what he
had learned from Dan, the fact that Dinah was at the Orangery was
speedily known among the slaves; for the doings at one plantation were
soon conveyed to the negroes on the others by the occasional visits
which they paid at night to each other's quarters, or to some common
rendezvous far removed from interruption.

Occasionally Tony and Dinah met. Dan would come up late in the evening
to the house, and a nod to Dinah would be sufficient to send her flying
down the garden to a clump of shrubs, where he would be waiting for her.
At these stolen meetings they were perfectly happy; for Tony said no
word to her of the misery of his life--how he was always put to the
hardest work and beaten on the smallest pretext, how in fact his life
was made so unendurable that the idea of running away and taking to the
swamps was constantly present to him.

As to making his way north, it did not enter his mind as possible.
Slaves did, indeed, at times succeed in traveling through the Northern
States and making their way to Canada, but this was only possible by
means of the organization known as the underground railway, an
association consisting of a number of good people who devoted themselves
to the purpose, giving shelter to fugitive slaves during the day, and
then passing them on to the next refuge during the night. For in the
Northern States as well as the Southern any negro unprovided with papers
showing that he was a free man was liable to be arrested and sent back
to the South a prisoner, large rewards being given to those who arrested
them.

As he was returning from one of these interviews with his wife, Tony was
detected by the overseer, who was strolling about around the slaves'
quarters, and was next morning flogged until he became insensible. So
terrible was the punishment that for some days he was unable to walk. As
soon as he could get about he was again set to work, but the following
morning he was found to be missing. Andrew Jackson at once rode into
Richmond, and in half an hour placards and handbills were printed
offering a reward for his capture. These were not only circulated in the
neighborhood, but were sent off to all the towns and villages through
which Tony might be expected to pass in the endeavor to make his way
north. Vincent soon learned from Dan what had taken place.

"You have no idea, I suppose, Dan, as to which way he is likely to go?"

Dan shook his head.

"Me suppose, massa, dat most likely he gone and hidden in de great woods
by the James River. Bery difficult to find him dere."

"Difficult to find him, no doubt," Vincent agreed. "But he could not
stop there long--he would find nothing to eat in the woods; and though
he might perhaps support himself for a time on corn or roots from the
clearings scattered about through the James Peninsula, he must sooner or
later be caught."

"Dar are runaways in de woods now, Marse Vincent," Dan said; "some ob
dem hab been dar for months."

"But how do they live, Dan?"

"Well, sar, you see dey hab friends on de plantations; and sometimes at
night one of de slaves will steal away wid a basket ob yams and corn
cakes and oder things and put dem down in a certain place in de forest,
and next morning, sure enough, dey will be gone. Dangerous work, dat,
massa; because if dey caught with food, it know for sure dat dey carry
it to runaway, and den you know dey pretty well flog the life out of
dem."

"Yes, I know, Dan; it is a very serious matter hiding a runaway slave,
and even a white man would be very heavily punished, and perhaps
lynched, if caught in the act. Well, make what inquiries you can among
the slaves, and find out if you can whether any of those Jacksons have
an idea which way Tony has gone. But do not go yourself on to Jackson's
place; if you were caught there now it would be an awkward matter for
both of us."

"I will find out, Marse Vincent; but I don't s'pose Tony said a word to
any of the others. He know well enough dat de Jacksons question
eberyone pretty sharp, and perhaps flog dem all round to find out if dey
know anything. He keep it to himself about going away, for suah."

The Jacksons kept up a vigorous hunt after their slave, and day after
day parties of men ranged through the woods, but without discovering any
traces of him. Bloodhounds were employed the first day, but before these
could be fetched from Richmond the scent had grown cold; for Tony had
gone off as soon as the slaves had been shut up for the night, and had
directly he left the hut wrapped leaves round his feet, therefore the
hounds when they arrived from Richmond were unable to take up the scent.

A week after Tony's escape Vincent returned late one evening from a
visit to some friends. Dan, as he took his horse, whispered to him:
"Stop a little on your way to house, Marse Vincent; me hab someting to
tell you."

"What is it, Dan?" Vincent asked as the lad, after putting up his horse
in the stable, came running up to him.

"Me have seen Tony, sah. He in de shrubs ober dar. He want to see Dinah,
but me no take message till me tell you about him. He half starved, sah;
me give him some yams."

"That's right, Dan."

"He pretty nigh desperate, sah; he say dey hunt him like wild beast."

"I will see him, Dan. If I can help him in any way I will do so.
Unfortunately I do not know any of the people who help to get slaves
away, so I can give him no advice as to the best way to proceed. Still I
might talk it over with him. When I have joined him, do you go up to the
house and tell Chloe from me to give you a pile of corn cakes--it's no
use giving him flour, for he would be afraid to light a fire to cook it.
Tell her to give you, too, any cold meat there may be in the house.
Don't tell Dinah her husband is here till we have talked the matter
over."

Dan led Vincent up to a clump of bushes.

"It am all right, Tony," he said; "here is Massa Vincent come to see
you."

The bushes parted and Tony came out into the full moonlight. He looked
haggard and worn; his clothes were torn into strips by the bushes.

"My poor fellow," Vincent said kindly, "I am sorry to see you in such a
state."

A great sob broke from the black.

"De Lord bless you, sah, for your goodness and for saving Dinah from de
hands of dose debils! Now she safe wid you and de child, Tony no care
bery much what come to him--de sooner he dead de better. He wish dat one
day when dey flog him dey had kill him altogether; den all de trouble at
an end. Dey hunt him ebery day with dogs and guns, and soon they catch
him. No can go on much longer like dis. To-day me nearly gib myself up.
Den me thought me like to see Dinah once more to say good-by, so make
great effort and ran a bit furder."

"I have been thinking whether it would be possible to plan some way for
your escape, Tony."

The negro shook his head.

"Dar never escape, sah, but to get to Canada; dat too far, anyway. Not
possible to walk all dat way and get food by the road. Suah to be
caught."

"No, I do not think it will be possible to escape that way, Tony. The
only possible plan would be to get you on board some ship going to
England."

"Ships not dare take negro on board," Tony said. "Me heard dat said many
times--dat against de law."

"Yes, I know it's against the law," Vincent said, "and it's against the
law my talking to you here, Tony; but you see it's done. The difficulty
is how to do it. All vessels are searched before they start, and an
officer goes down with them past Fortress Monroe to see that they take
no one on board. Still it is possible. Of course there is risk in the
matter; but there is risk in everything. I will think it over. Do not
lose heart. Dan will be back directly with enough food to last you for
some days. If I were you I would take refuge this time in White Oak
Swamp. It is much nearer, and I hear it has already been searched from
end to end, so they are not likely to try again; and if you hear them
you can, if you are pressed, cross the Chickahominy and make down
through the woods. Do you come again on Saturday evening--that will give
me four days to see what I can do. I may not succeed, you know; for the
penalty is so severe against taking negroes on board that I may not be
able to find anyone willing to risk it. But it is worth trying."

"De Lord bless you, sah!" Tony said. "I will do juss what you tell me;
but don't you run no risks for me, my life aint worth dat."

"I will take care, Tony. And now here comes Dan with the provisions."

"Can I see Dinah, sah?" Tony pleaded.

"I think you had better not," Vincent replied. "You see the Jacksons
might at any moment learn that she is here, and then she might be
questioned whether she had seen you since your escape; and it would be
much better for her to be able to deny having done so. But you shall see
her next time you come, whether I am able to make any arrangements for
your escape or not. I will let her know to-morrow morning that I have
seen you, and that you are safe at present."

The next morning Vincent rode over to City Point, where ships with a
large draught of water generally brought up, either transferring their
goods into smaller craft to be sent up by river to Richmond, or to be
carried on by rail through the town of Petersburg. Leaving his horse at
a house near the river, he crossed the James in a boat to City Point.
There were several vessels lying here, and for some hours he hung about
the wharf watching the process of discharging. By the end of that time
he had obtained a view of all the captains, and had watched them as they
gave their orders, and had at last come to the conclusion as to which
would be the most likely to suit his purpose. Having made up his mind,
he waited until the one he had fixed upon came ashore. He was a man of
some five and thirty years old, with a pleasant face and good-natured
smile. He first went into some offices on the wharf, and half an hour
later came out and walked toward the railway station. Vincent at once
followed him, and as he overtook him said:

"I want very much to speak to you, sir, if you could spare me a minute
or two."

"Certainly," the sailor said, with some surprise. "The train for
Petersburg does not go for another half hour. What can I do for you?"

"My name is Vincent Wingfield. My father was an English officer, and my
mother is the owner of some large estates near Richmond. I am most
anxious to get a person in whom I am interested on board ship, and I do
not know how to set about it."

"There's no difficulty about that," the captain said, smiling; "you have
only to go to an office and pay for his passage to where he wants to
go."

"I can't do that," Vincent replied; "for unfortunately it is against the
law for any captain to take him."

"You mean he is a negro?" the captain asked, stopping short in his walk
and looking sharply at Vincent.

"Yes, that is what I mean," Vincent said. "He is a negro who has been
brutally ill-treated and has run away from his master, and I would
willingly give a hundred pounds to get him safely away."

"This is a very serious business in which you are meddling, young sir,"
the sailor said. "Putting aside the consequences to yourself, you are
asking me to break the law and to run the risk of the confiscation of my
ship. Even if I were willing to do what you propose, it would be
impossible, for the ship will be searched from end to end before the
hatches are closed, and an official will be on board until we discharge
the pilot after getting well beyond the mouth of the river."

"Yes, I know that," Vincent replied; "but my plan was to take a boat
and go out beyond the sight of land, and then to put him on board after
you have got well away."

"That might be managed, certainly," the captain said. "It would be
contrary to my duty to do anything that would risk the property of my
employers; but if when I am out at sea a boat came alongside, and a
passenger came on board, it would be another matter. I suppose, young
gentleman, that you would not interfere in such a business, and run the
risk that you certainly would run if detected, unless you were certain
that this was a deserving case, and that the man has committed no sort
of crime; for I would not receive on board my ship a fugitive from
justice, whether he was black or white."

"It is indeed a deserving case," Vincent said earnestly. "The poor
fellow has the misfortune of belonging to one of the worst masters in
the State. He has been cruelly flogged on many occasions, and was
finally driven to run away by their selling his wife and child."

"The brutes!" the sailor said. "How you people can allow such a thing to
be done is a mystery to me. Well, lad, under those circumstances I will
agree to do what you ask me, and if your boat comes alongside when I am
so far away from land that it cannot be seen, I will take the man to
England."

"Thank you very much indeed," Vincent said; "you will be doing a good
action. Upon what day do you sail?"

"I shall drop down on Monday into Hampton Roads, and shall get up sail
at daylight next morning. I shall pass Fortress Monroe at about seven in
the morning, and shall sail straight out."

"And how shall I know your ship?" Vincent asked. "There may be others
starting just about the same time."

The sailor thought for a moment. "When I am four or five miles out I
will hoist my owner's flag at the fore-masthead. It is a red flag with a
white ball, so you will be able to make it out a considerable distance
away. You must not be less than ten or twelve miles out, for the pilot
often does not leave the ship till she is some miles past Fortress
Monroe, and the official will not leave the ship till he does. I will
keep a sharp lookout for you, but I cannot lose any time in waiting. If
you do not come alongside I shall suppose that you have met with some
interruption to your plans."

"Thank you very much, sir. Unless something goes wrong I shall be
alongside on Tuesday."

"That's settled," the captain said, "and I must be off, or else I shall
lose my train. By the way, when you come alongside do not make any sign
that you have met me before. It is just as well that none of my crew
should know that it is a planned thing, for if we ever happen to put in
here again they might blab about it, and it is just as well not to give
them the chance. Good-by, my lad; I hope that all will go well. But, you
know, you are doing a very risky thing; for the assisting a runaway
slave to escape is about as serious an offense as you can commit in
these parts. You might shoot half a dozen men and get off scot free, but
if you were caught aiding a runaway to escape, there is no saying what
might come of it."

After taking leave of the captain, Vincent recrossed the river and rode
home. He had friends whose fathers' estates bordered some on the James
and others on the York River, and all of these had pleasure boats. It
was obviously better to go down the York River, and thence round to the
mouth of the James at Fortress Monroe, as the traffic on the York was
comparatively small, and it was improbable that he would be noticed
either going down or returning. He had at first thought of hiring a
fishing boat from some of the free negroes who made their living on the
river. But he finally decided against this; for the fact of the boat
being absent so long would attract its owner's attention, and in case
any suspicion arose that the fugitive had escaped by water, the hiring
of a boat by one who had already befriended the slave and its absence
for so long a time, would be almost certain to cause suspicion to be
directed toward him. He therefore decided upon borrowing a boat from a
friend, and next morning rode to the plantation of the father of Harry
Furniss, this being in a convenient position on the Pamunky, one of the
branches of the York River.

"Are you using that sailboat of yours at present, Harry? Because, if
not, I wish you would let me have the use of it for a week or so."

"With pleasure, Vincent; and my fishing lines and nets as well, if you
like. We very seldom use the boat. Do you mean to keep it here or move
it higher up the river, where it would be more handy for you, perhaps?"

"I think I would rather leave it here, Furniss. A mile or two extra to
ride makes no difference. I suppose it's in the water?"

"Yes; at the foot of the boathouse stairs. There is a padlock and chain.
I will give you the key, so you can go off whenever you like without
bothering to come up to the house. If you just call in at the stable as
you ride by, one of the boys will go down with you and take your horse,
and put him up till you come back again."

"That will do capitally," Vincent replied. "It is some time since I was
on the water, and I seem to have a fancy for a change at present. One is
sick of riding into Richmond and hearing nothing but politics talked of.
Don't be alarmed if you hear at any time that the boat has not come back
at night, for if tide and wind are unfavorable at any time, I might stop
at Cumberland for the night."

"I have often had to do that," Furniss said. "Besides, if you took it
away for a week I don't suppose anyone would notice it; for no one goes
down to the boathouse unless to get the boat ready for a trip."

The next day Vincent rode over to his friend's plantation, sending Dan
off an hour beforehand to bale out the boat and get the masts and sails
into her from the boathouse. The greater part of the next two days was
spent on the water, sometimes sailing, sometimes fishing. The evening
of the second of these days was that upon which Vincent had arranged to
meet Tony again, and an hour after dark he went down through the garden
to the stable; for that was the time the fugitive was to meet him, for
he could not leave his place of concealment until night fell. After
looking at the horses, and giving some instructions to the negroes in
charge, he returned to the shrubbery, and, sending Dan up to summon
Dinah, he went to the bushes where he had before met Tony. The negro
came out as he approached.

"How are you, Tony?"

"Much better dan I was, massa. I have not been disturbed since I saw
you, and, thanks to dat and to de good food and to massa's kind words,
I'm stronger and better now, and ready to do whatever massa think best."

"Well, Tony, I am glad to say that I think I have arranged a plan by
which you will be got safely out of the country. Of course, it may fail;
but there is every hope of success. I have arranged for a boat, and
shall take you down the river, and put you on board a ship bound for
England."

The black clapped his hands in delight at the news.

"When you get there you will take another ship out to Canada, and as
soon as I learn from you that you are there, and what is your address, I
will give Dinah her papers of freedom and send her on to you."

"Oh! massa, it is too much," Tony said, with the tears running down his
cheeks; "too much joy altogeder."

"Well, I hope it will all come right, Tony. Dinah will be here in a
minute or two. Do not keep her long, for I do not wish her absence from
the house to be observed just now. Now, listen to my instructions. Do
you know the plantation of Mr. Furniss, on the Pamunky, near Coal
Harbor?"

"No, sir; but me can find out."

"No, you can't; because you can't see anyone or ask questions. Very
well, then, you must be here again to-morrow night at the same hour. Dan
will meet you here, and act as your guide. He will presently bring you
provisions for to-morrow. Be sure you be careful, Tony, and get back to
your hiding place as soon as you can, and lie very quiet to-morrow until
it is time to start. It would be terrible if you were to be caught now,
just as we have arranged for you to get away."

On the following afternoon Vincent told his mother that he was going
over that evening to his friend Furniss, as an early start was to be
made next morning; they intended to go down the river as far as
Yorktown, if not further; that he certainly should not be back for two
days, and probably might be even longer.

"This new boating freak of yours, Vincent, seems to occupy all your
thoughts. I wonder how long it will last."

"I don't suppose it will last much longer, mother," Vincent said, with a
laugh. "Anyhow, it will make a jolly change for a week. One has got so
sick of hearing nothing talked about but secession, that a week without
hearing the word mentioned will do one lots of good, and I am sure I
felt that if one had much more of it, one would be almost driven to take
up the Northern side, just for the sake of a change."

"We should all disown you, Vin," Annie said, laughing; "we should have
nothing to say to you, and you would be cut by all your friends."

"Well, you see, a week's sailing and fishing will save me from all that,
Annie; and I shall be able to begin again with a fresh stock of
patience."

"I believe you are only half in earnest in the cause, Vincent," his
mother said gravely.

"I am not, indeed, mother. I quite agree with what you and everyone say
as to the rights of the State of Virginia, and if the North should
really try to force us and the other Southern States to remain with
them, I shall be just as ready to do everything I can as anyone else;
but I can't see the good of always talking about it, and I think it's
very wrong to ill-treat and abuse those who think the other way. In
England in the Civil War the people of the towns almost all thought one
way, and almost all those of the counties the other, and even now
opinions differ almost as widely as to which was right. I hate to hear
people always laying down the law as if there could not possibly be two
sides to the case, and as if everyone who differed from them must be a
rascal and a traitor. Almost all the fellows I know say that if it comes
to fighting they shall go into the State army, and I should be quite
willing, if they would really take fellows of my age for soldiers, to
enlist too; but that is no reason why one should not get sick of hearing
nothing but one subject talked of for weeks."

It was nearly dark when Vincent started for his walk of ten miles; for
he had decided not to take his horse with him, as he had no means of
sending it back, and its stay for three days in his friend's stables
would attract attention to the fact of his long absence.

After about three hours' walking he reached the boathouse, having seen
no one as he passed through the plantation. He took the oars and sails
from the boathouse and placed them in the boat, and then sat down in the
stern to await the coming of the negroes. In an hour they arrived; Tony
carrying a bundle of clothes that Dan had by Vincent's orders bought for
him in Richmond, while Dan carried a large basket of provisions. Vincent
gave an exclamation of thankfulness as he saw the two figures appear,
for the day having been Sunday, he knew that a good many men would be
likely to join the search parties in hopes of having a share in the
reward offered for Tony's capture, and he had felt very anxious all day.

"You sit in the bottom of the boat, Tony, and do you steer, Dan. You
make such a splashing with your oar that we should be heard a mile away.
Keep us close in shore in the shadow of the trees; the less we are
noticed the better at this time of night."

Taking the sculls, Vincent rowed quietly away. He had often been out on
boating excursions with his friends, and had learned to row fairly.
During the last two days he had diligently instructed Dan, and after
two long days' work the young negro had got over the first difficulties,
but he was still clumsy and awkward. Vincent did not exert himself. He
knew he had a long night's row before him, and he paddled quietly along
with the stream. The boat was a good-sized one, and when not under sail
was generally rowed by two strong negroes accustomed to the work.

Sometimes for half an hour at a time Vincent ceased rowing, and let the
boat drift along quietly. There was no hurry, for he had a day and two
nights to get down to the mouth of the river, a distance of some seventy
miles, and out to sea, far enough to intercept the vessel. At four
o'clock they arrived at Cumberland, where the Pamunky and Mattapony
Rivers unite and form the York River. Here they were in tidal waters;
and as the tide, though not strong, was flowing up, Vincent tied the
boat to the branch of a tree, and lay down in the bottom for an hour's
sleep, telling Dan to wake him when the tide turned, or if he heard any
noise. Day had broken when the boat drifted round, and Dan aroused him.

The boat was rowed off to the middle of the river, as there could be no
longer any attempt at concealment. Dan now took the bow oar, and they
rowed until a light breeze sprang up. Vincent then put up the mast, and,
having hoisted the sail, took his place at the helm, while Dan went
forward into the bow. They passed several fishing boats, and the smoke
was seen curling up from the huts in the clearings scattered here and
there along the shore. The sun had now risen, and its heat was pleasant
after the damp night air.

Although the breeze was light, the boat made fair way with the tide, and
when the ebb ceased, at about ten o'clock, the mouth of the river was
but a few miles away. The mast was lowered and the sails stowed. The
boat was then rowed into a little creek and tied up to the bushes. The
basket of provisions was opened, and a hearty meal enjoyed, Tony being
now permitted for the first time to sit up in the boat. After the meal
Vincent and Dan lay down for a long sleep, while Tony, who had slept
some hours during the night, kept watch.

At four in the afternoon the tide again slackened, and as soon as it had
fairly turned they pushed out from the creek and again set sail. In
three hours they were at the mouth of the river. A short distance out
they saw several fishing boats, and dropping anchor a short distance
away from these, they lowered their sail, and taking the fishing lines
from the locker of the boat, set to to fish. As soon as it was quite
dark the anchor was hauled up, and Vincent and Dan took the oars, the
wind having now completely dropped. For some time they rowed steadily,
keeping the land in sight on their right hand.

Tony was most anxious to help, but as he had never had an oar in his
hand in his life, Vincent thought that he would do more harm than good.
It was, he knew, some ten miles from the mouth of the York River to
Fortress Monroe, at the entrance to Hampton Roads, and after rowing for
three hours he thought that he could not be far from that point, and
therefore turned the boat's head toward the sea. They rowed until they
could no longer make out the land astern, and then laying on their oars
waited till the morning, Vincent sitting in the stern and often nodding
off to sleep, while the two negroes kept up a constant conversation in
the bow.

As soon as it was daylight the oars were again got out. They could
clearly make out the outline of the coast, and saw the break in the
shore that marked the entrance to Hampton Roads. There was a light
breeze now, but Vincent would not hoist the sail lest it might attract
the attention of someone on shore. He did not think the boat itself
could be seen, as they were some eight or nine miles from the land. They
rowed for a quarter of an hour, when Vincent saw the white sails of a
ship coming out from the entrance.

The breeze was so light that she would, he thought, be nearly three
hours before she reached the spot where they were now, and whether she
headed to the right or left of it he would have plenty of time to cut
her off. For another two hours he and Dan rowed steadily. The wind had
freshened a good deal, and the ship was now coming up fast to them. Two
others had come out after her, but were some miles astern. They had
already made out that the ship was flying a flag at her masthead, and
although they had not been able to distinguish its colors, Vincent felt
sure that it was the right ship; for he felt certain that the captain
would get up sail as soon as possible, so as to come up with them before
any other vessels came out. They had somewhat altered their course, to
put themselves in line with the vessel. When she was within a distance
of about a mile and a half Vincent was able to make out the flag, and
knew that it was the right one.

"There's the ship, Tony," he said; "it is all right, and in a few
minutes you will be on your way to England."

Tony had already changed his tattered garments for the suit of sailor's
clothes that Dan had bought for him. Vincent had given him full
instructions as to the course he was to pursue. The ship was bound for
Liverpool; on his arrival there he was at once to go round the docks and
take a passage in the steerage of the next steamer going to Canada.

"The fare will be about five pounds," he said. "When you get to Canada
you will land at Quebec, and you had better go on by rail to Montreal,
where you will, I think, find it easier to get work than at Quebec. As
soon as you get a place you are likely to stop in, get somebody to write
for you to me, giving me your address. Here are a hundred dollars, which
will be sufficient to pay your expenses to Montreal and leave you about
fifty dollars to keep you till you can get something to do."




CHAPTER IV.

SAFELY BACK.


When the ship came within a few hundred yards, Vincent stood up and
waved his cap, and a minute later the ship was brought up into the wind
and her sails thrown aback. The captain appeared at the side and shouted
to the boat, now but fifty yards away.

"What do you want, there?"

"I have a passenger for England," Vincent replied. "Will you take him?"

"Come alongside," the captain said. "Why didn't he come on board before
I started?"

The boat was rowed alongside, and Vincent climbed on board. The captain
greeted him as a stranger and led the way to his cabin.

"You have managed that well," he said, when they were alone, "and I am
heartily glad that you have succeeded. I made you out two hours ago. We
will stop here another two or three minutes, so that the men may think
you are bargaining for a passage for the negro, and then the sooner he
is on board and you are on your way back the better, for the wind is
rising, and I fancy it is going to blow a good deal harder before
night."

"And won't you let me pay for the man's passage, captain? It is only
fair, anyhow, that I should pay for what he will eat."

"Oh, nonsense!" the captain replied. "He will make himself useful, and
pay for his keep. I am only too glad to get the poor fellow off. Now, we
will have a glass of wine together and then say good-by."

Two minutes later they returned to the deck. Vincent went to the side.

"Jump on board, Tony. I have arranged for your passage." The negro
climbed up the side.

"Good-by, captain, and thank you heartily. Good-by, Tony."

The negro could not speak, but seized the hand Vincent held out to him
and pressed it to his lips. Vincent dropped lightly into his boat and
pushed off from the side of the vessel. As he did so he heard orders
shouted, the yards swung round, and the vessel almost at once began to
move through the water.

"Now, Dan, up with the mast and sail again; but let me put two reefs in
first, the wind is getting up."

In five minutes the sail was hoisted, and with Vincent at the helm and
Dan sitting up to windward, was dashing through the water. Although
Vincent understood the management of a sailing-boat on the calm waters
of the rivers, this was his first experience of sea-sailing; and
although the waves were still but small, he felt somewhat nervous as the
boat dashed through them, sending up at times a sheet of spray from her
bows. But he soon got over this sensation, and enjoyed the lively motion
and fresh wind. The higher points of the land were still visible; but
even had they not been so it would have mattered little, as he had taken
the precaution to bring with him a small pocket-compass. The wind was
from the southwest, and he was therefore able, with the sheet hauled in,
to make for a point where he judged the mouth of the York River lay.

"Golly, massa! how de boat do jump up and down."

"She is lively, Dan, and it would be just as well if we had some ballast
on board; however, she has a good beam and walks along splendidly. If
the wind keeps as it is, we shall be back at the mouth of the York in
three or four hours. You may as well open that basket again and hand me
that cold chicken and a piece of bread; cut the meat off the bones and
put it on the bread, for I have only one hand disengaged, and hand me
that bottle of cold tea. That's right. Now you had better take something
yourself. You must be hungry. We forgot all about the basket in our
interest in the ship."

Dan shook his head.

"A little while ago, massa, me seem bery hungry, now me doesn't feel
hungry at all."

"That's bad, Dan. I am afraid you are going to be seasick."

"Me no feel seasick, massa; only me don't feel hungry."

But in a few minutes Dan was forced to confess that he did feel ill, and
a few moments afterward was groaning in the agonies of seasickness.

"Never mind, Dan," Vincent said cheerfully. "You will be better after
this."

"Me not seasick, massa; de sea have nuffin to do with it. It's de boat
dat will jump up and down instead of going quiet."

"It's all the same thing, Dan; and I hope she won't jump about more
before we get into the river."

But in another half hour Vincent had to bring the boat's head up to the
wind, lower the lug, and tie down the last reef.

"There she goes easier now, Dan," he said, as the boat resumed her
course; but Dan, who was leaning helplessly over the side of the boat,
could see no difference.

Vincent, however, felt that under close sail the boat was doing better,
and rising more easily on the waves which were now higher and farther
apart than before. In another hour the whole of the shore-line was
visible; but the wind had risen so much that, even under her reduced
sail, the boat had as much as she could carry, and often heeled over
until her gunwale was nearly under water. Another hour and the shore was
but some four miles away, but Vincent felt he could no longer hold on.

In the hands of an experienced sailor, who would have humored the boat
and eased her up a little to meet the seas, the entrance to the York
River could no doubt have been reached with safety; but Vincent was
ignorant of the art of sailing a boat in the sea, and she was shipping
water heavily. Dan had for some time been baling, having only undertaken
the work in obedience to Vincent's angry orders, being too ill to care
much what became of them.

"Now, Dan, I am going to bring her head up to the wind, so get ready to
throw off that halyard and gather in the sail as it comes down. That's
right, man, now down with the mast."

Vincent had read that the best plan, when caught in an open boat in a
gale, was to tie the oars and mast, if she had one, together, and to
throw them overboard with the head rope tied to them, as by this means
the boat would ride head to sea. The oars, sculls, mast, and sail were
firmly tied together and launched overboard, the rope being first taken
off the anchor and tied round the middle of the clump of spars.

Vincent carefully payed out the rope till some fifteen yards were over,
then he fastened it to the ring of the head rope, and had the
satisfaction of finding that the boat rode easily to the floating
anchor, rising lightly over the waves, and not shipping a drop of water.
He then took the baler and got rid of the water that had found its way
on board, Dan, after getting down the sail, having collapsed utterly.

"Now, Dan, sit up; there, man, the motion is much easier now, and we are
taking no water on board. I will give you a glass of rum, that will put
new strength into you. It's lucky we put it in the basket in case of
emergency."

The negro, whose teeth were chattering from cold, fright, and
exhaustion, eagerly drank off the spirit. Vincent, who was wet to the
skin with the spray, took a little himself, and then settled himself as
comfortably as he could on the floorboards in the stern of the boat, and
quietly thought out the position. The wind was still rising, and a thick
haze obscured the land. He had no doubt that by night it would be
blowing a gale; but the boat rode so easily and lightly that he believed
she would get through it.

They might, it was true, be blown many miles off the shore, and not be
able to get back for some time, for the gale might last two or three
days. The basket of provisions was, however, a large one. Dan had
received orders to bring plenty and had obeyed them literally, and
Vincent saw that the supply of food, if carefully husbanded, would last
without difficulty for a week. The supply of liquid was less
satisfactory. There was a bottle of rum, and a two-gallon jar, nearly
half empty, of water. The cold tea was finished.

"That would be a poor supply for a week for two of us," Vincent
muttered, as he removed the contents of the basket and stored them
carefully in the locker; "however, if it's going to be a gale there is
sure to be some rain with it, so I think we shall manage very well."

By night it was blowing real heavily, but although the waves were high
the boat shipped but little water. Dan had fallen off to sleep, and
Vincent had been glad to wrap himself in the thick coat he had brought
with him as a protection against the heavy dews when sleeping on the
river. At times sharp rain squalls burst upon them, and Vincent had no
difficulty in filling up the water-bottle again with the baler.

The water was rather brackish, but not sufficiently so to be of
consequence. All night the boat was tossed heavily on the waves. Vincent
dozed off at times, rousing himself occasionally and baling out the
water, which came in the shape of spray and rain. The prospect in the
morning was not cheering. Gray clouds covered the sky and seemed to come
down almost on to the water, the angry sea was crested with white heads,
and it seemed to Vincent wonderful that the boat should live in such a
sea.

"Now, Dan, wake yourself up and get some breakfast," Vincent said,
stirring up the negro with his foot.

"Oh, Lor!" Dan groaned, raising himself into a sitting position from the
bottom of the boat, "dis am awful; we neber see the shore no more,
massa."

"Nonsense, man," Vincent said cheerily; "we are getting on capitally."

"It hab been an awful night, sah."

"An awful night! You lazy rascal, you slept like a pig all night, while
I have been baling the boat and looking out for you. It is your turn
now, I can tell you. Well, do you feel ready for your breakfast?"

Dan, after a moment's consideration, declared that he was. The feeling
of seasickness had passed off, and except that he was wet through and
miserable, he felt himself again, and could have eaten four times the
allowance of food that Vincent handed him. A pannikin of rum and water
did much to restore his life and vitality, and he was soon, with the
light-heartedness of his race, laughing and chatting cheerfully.

"How long dis go on, you tink, sah?"

"Not long, I hope, Dan. I was afraid last night it was going to be a big
gale, but I do not think it is blowing so hard now as it was in the
night."

"Where have we got to now, sah?"

"I don't exactly know, Dan; but I do not suppose that we are very many
miles away from shore. The mast and oars prevent our drifting fast, and
I don't think we are further off now than we were when we left that ship
yesterday. But even if we were four or five times as far as that, we
should not take very long in sailing back again when the wind drops; and
as we have got enough to eat for a week we need not be uncomfortable
about that."

"Not much food for a week, Massa Vincent."

"Not a great deal, Dan; but quite enough to keep us going. You can make
up for lost time when you get to shore again."

In a few hours it was certain that the wind was going down. By midday
the clouds began to break up, and an hour later the sun was shining
brightly. The wind was still blowing strongly, but the sea had a very
different appearance in the bright light of the sun to that which it had
borne under the canopy of dark gray clouds. Standing up in the boat two
hours later, Vincent could see no signs of land.

"How shall we find our way back, Marse Vincent?"

"We have got a compass; besides, we should manage very well even if we
had not. Look at the sun, Dan. There it is right ahead of us. So, you
know that's the west--that's the way we have to go."

"That very useful ob de sun, sah; but suppose we not live in de west de
sun not point de way den."

"Oh, yes, he would, just the same, Dan. We should know whether to go
away from him, or to keep him on the right hand or on the left."

This was beyond Dan. "And I s'pose the moon will show de way at night,
massa?"

"The moon would show the way if she were up, but she is not always up;
but I have got a compass here, and so whether we have the sun or the
moon, or neither of them, I can find my way back to land."

Dan had never seen a compass, and for an hour amused himself turning it
round and round and trying to get it to point in some other direction
than the north.

"Now, Dan," Vincent said at last, "give me that compass, and get out the
food. We will have a better meal than we did this morning, for now that
the wind is going down there's no chance of food running short. When we
have had dinner we will get up the sail again. The sea is not so rough
as it was, and it is certainly not so high as it was before we lowered
the sail yesterday."

"De waves bery big, massa."

"They are big, Dan; but they are not so angry. The heads are not
breaking over as they did last night, and the boat will go better over
these long waves than she did through the choppy sea at the beginning of
the gale."

Accordingly the bundle of spars was pulled up alongside and lifted. The
mast was set up and the sail hoisted. Dan in a few minutes forgot his
fears and lost even his sense of uneasiness as he found the boat mounted
wave after wave without shipping water. Several times, indeed, a shower
of spray flew high up in the air, but the gusts no longer buried her so
that the water came over the gunwale, and it was a long time before
there was any occasion to use the baler. As the sun set it could be seen
that there was a dark line between it and the water.

"There is the land, Dan; and I do not suppose it is more than twenty
miles away, for most of the coast lies low."

"But how we find de York River, massa? Will de compass tell you dat?"

"No, Dan. I don't know whether we have drifted north or south of it. At
ordinary times the current runs up the coast, but the wind this morning
was blowing from the north of west, and may have been doing so all
through the night for anything I know. Well, the great thing is to make
land. We are almost sure to come across some fishing boats, but, if not,
we must run ashore and find a house."

They continued sailing until Vincent's watch told him it was twelve
o'clock, by which time the coast was quite close. The wind now almost
dropped, and, lowering their sail, they rowed in until, on lowering the
anchor, they found that it touched the ground. Then they lay down and
slept till morning. Dan was the first to waken.

"Dar are some houses dere close down by the shore, sah, and some men
getting out a boat."

"That's all right, Dan," Vincent said, as he roused himself and looked
over. "We shall learn soon where we are."

In a quarter of an hour the fishing boat put off, and the lads at once
rowed to it.

"How far are we from the mouth of the York River?" Vincent asked the two
negroes on board.

"About twenty miles, sah. Where you come from?"

"We were off the mouth of the river, and were blown off in the gale."

"You tink yourself bery lucky you get back," one of them said. "Bery
foolish to go out like dat when not know how to get back."

"Well, we have managed to get back now, you see, and none the worse for
it. Now, Dan, up with the sail again."

There was a light wind offshore, and all the reefs being shaken out the
boat ran along fast.

"I should think we are going about five miles an hour, Dan. We ought to
be off the mouth of the river in four hours. We must look out sharp or
else we shall pass it, for many of these islets look just like the mouth
of the river. However, we are pretty sure to pass several fishing boats
on our way, and we shall be able to inquire from them."

There was no need, however, to do this. It was just four hours from the
time of starting when they saw some eight or ten fishing boats ahead of
them.

"I expect that that is the entrance to the river. When we get half a
mile further we shall see it open."

On approaching the fishing boats they recognized at once the appearance
of the shore, as they had noticed it when fishing there before, and were
soon in the entrance to the river.

"It will be high tide in about two hours," Vincent said, "according to
the time it was the other day. I am afraid when it turns we shall have
to get down our sails; there will be no beating against both wind and
tide. Then we must get out oars and row. There is very little tide close
in by the bank, and every little gain will be a help. We have been out
four days. It is Thursday now, and they will be beginning to get very
anxious at home, so we must do our best to get back."

Keeping close under the bank, they rowed steadily, making on an average
about two miles an hour. After five hours' rowing they tied up to the
bank, had a meal, and rested until tide turned; then they again hoisted
their sail and proceeded on their way. Tide carried them just up to the
junction of the two rivers, and landing at Cumberland they procured beds
and slept till morning.

Another long day's work took them up to the plantation of Mr. Furniss,
and fastening up the boat, and carrying the sails and oars on shore,
they started on their walk home.

"Why, Vincent, where have you been all this time?" Mrs. Wingfield said
as her son entered. "You said you might be away a couple of nights, and
we expected you back on Wednesday at the latest, and now it is Friday
evening."

"Well, mother, we have had great fun. We went sailing about right down
to the mouth of the York River. I did not calculate that it would take
me more than twice as long to get back as to get down; but as the wind
blew right down the river it was precious slow work, and we had to row
all the way. However, it has been a jolly trip, and I feel a lot better
for it."

"You don't look any better for it," Annie said. "The skin is all off
your face, and you are as red as fire. Your clothes look shrunk as well
as horribly dirty. You are quite an object, Vincent."

"We got caught in a heavy gale," Vincent said, "and got a thorough
ducking. As to my face, a day or two will set it all to rights again;
and so they will my hands, I hope, for I have got nicely blistered
tugging at those oars. And now, mother, I want some supper, for I am as
hungry as a hunter. I told Dan to go into the kitchen and get a good
square meal."

The next morning, just after breakfast, there was the sound of horses'
hoofs outside the house, and, looking out, Vincent saw Mr. Jackson, with
a man he knew to be the sheriff, and four or five others. A minute later
one of the servants came in, and said that the sheriff wished to speak
to Mrs. Wingfield.

"I will go out to him," Mrs. Wingfield replied. Vincent followed her to
the door.

"Mrs. Wingfield," the sheriff said, "I am the holder of a warrant to
search your slave-huts and grounds for a runaway negro named Anthony
Moore, the property of Mr. Jackson here."

"Do you suppose, sir," Mrs. Wingfield asked angrily, "that I am the sort
of person to give shelter to runaway slaves?"

"No, madam, certainly not," the sheriff replied; "no one would suppose
for a moment that Mrs. Wingfield of the Orangery would have anything to
do with a runaway, but Mr. Jackson here learned only yesterday that the
wife of this slave was here and everyone knows that where the wife is
the husband is not likely to be far off."

"I suppose, sir," Mrs. Wingfield said coldly, "that there was no
necessity for me to acquaint Mr. Jackson formally with the fact that I
had purchased through my agent the woman he sold to separate her from
her husband."

"By no means, madam, by no means; though, had we known it before, it
might have been some aid to us in our search. Have we your permission to
see this woman and to question her?"

"Certainly not," Mrs. Wingfield said; "but if you have any question to
ask I will ask her and give you her answer."

"We want to know whether she has seen her husband since the day of his
flight from the plantation."

"I shall certainly not ask her that question, Mr. Sheriff. I have no
doubt that, as the place from which he has escaped is only a few miles
from here, he did come to see his wife. It would have been very strange
if he did not. I hope that by this time the man is hundreds of miles
away. He was brutally treated by a brutal master, who, I believe,
deliberately set to work to make him run away, so that he could hunt him
down and punish him. I presume, sir, you do not wish to search this
house, and you do not suppose that the man is hidden here. As to the
slave-huts and the plantation, you can, of course, search them
thoroughly; but as it is now more than a fortnight since the man
escaped, it is not likely you will find him hiding within a few miles of
his master's plantation."

So saying, she went into the house and shut the door behind her.

Mr. Jackson ground his teeth with rage, but the sheriff rode off toward
the slave-huts without a word. The position of Mrs. Wingfield of the
Orangery, connected as she was with half the old families of Virginia,
and herself a large slave-owner, was beyond suspicion, and no one would
venture to suggest that such a lady could have the smallest sympathy for
a runaway slave.

"She was down upon you pretty hot, Mr. Jackson," the sheriff said as
they rode off. "You don't seem to be in her good books." Jackson
muttered an imprecation.

"It is certainly odd," the sheriff went on, "after what you were telling
me about her son pitching into Andrew over flogging this very slave,
that she should go and buy his wife. Still, that's a very different
thing from hiding a runaway. I dare say that, as she says, the fellow
came here to see his wife when he first ran away; but I don't think you
will find him anywhere about here now. It's pretty certain from what we
hear that he hasn't made for the North, and where the fellow can be
hiding I can't think. Still the woods about this country are mighty big,
and the fellow can go out on the farms and pick corn and keep himself
going for a long time. But he's sure to be brought up, sooner or later."

A thorough search was made of the slave-huts, and the slaves were
closely questioned, but all denied any knowledge of the runaway. Dan
escaped questioning, as he had taken up Vincent's horse to the house in
readiness for him to start as soon as he had finished breakfast.

All day the searchers rode about the plantation, examining every clump
of bushes, and assuring themselves that none of them had been used as a
place of refuge for the runaway.

"It's no good, Mr. Jackson," the sheriff said at last. "The man may have
been here; he aint here now. The only place we haven't searched is the
house, and you may be quite sure the slaves dare not conceal him there.
Too many would get to know it. No, sir, he's made a bolt of it, and you
will have to wait now till he is caught by chance, or shot by some
farmer or other in the act of stealing."

"I would lay a thousand dollars," Andrew Jackson exclaimed
passionately, "that young Wingfield knows something about his
whereabouts, and has lent him a hand!"

"Well, I should advise you to keep your mouth shut about it till you get
some positive proof," the sheriff said dryly. "I tell you it's no joke
to accuse a member of a family like the Wingfields of helping runaway
slaves to escape."

"I will bide my time," the planter said. "You said that some day you
would lay hands on Tony, dead or alive. You see if some day I don't lay
hands on young Wingfield."

"Well, it seems, Mr. Jackson," the sheriff remarked with a sneer, for he
was out of temper at the ill success of the day's work, "that he has
already laid hands on your son. It seems to me quite as likely that he
will lay hands on you as you on him."

Two days afterward, as Vincent was riding through the streets of
Richmond he saw to his surprise Andrew Jackson in close conversation
with Jonas Pearson.

"I wonder what those two fellows are talking about!" he said to himself.
"I expect Jackson is trying to pump Pearson as to the doings at the
Orangery. I don't like that fellow, and never shall, and he's just the
sort of man to do one a bad turn if he had the chance. However, as I
have never spoken to him about that affair from beginning to end, I
don't see that he can do any mischief if he wants to."

Andrew Jackson, however, had obtained information which he considered
valuable. He learned that Vincent had been away in a boat for five days,
and that his mother had been very uneasy about him. He also learned that
the boat was one belonging to Mr. Furniss, and that it was only quite
lately that Vincent had taken to going out sailing.

After considerable trouble he succeeded in getting at one of the slaves
upon Mr. Furniss' plantation. But he could only learn from him that
Vincent had been unaccompanied, when he went out in the boat, either by
young Furniss or by any of the plantation hands; that he had taken with
him only his own slave, and had come and gone as he chose, taking out
and fastening up the boat himself, so that no one could say when he had
gone out, except that his horse was put up at the stables. The slave
said that certainly the horse had only stood there on two or three
occasions, and then only for a few hours, and that unless Mr. Wingfield
had walked over he could never have had the boat out all night, as the
horse certainly had not stood all night in the stables.

Andrew Jackson talked the matter over with his son, and both agreed that
Vincent's conduct was suspicious. His own people said he had been away
for five days in the boat. The people at Furniss' knew nothing about
this, and therefore there must be some mystery about it, and they
doubted not that that mystery was connected with the runaway slave, and
they guessed that he had either taken Tony and landed him near the mouth
of the York River on the northern shore, or that he had put him on board
a ship. They agreed, however, that whatever their suspicions, they had
not sufficient grounds for openly accusing Vincent of aiding their
runaway.




CHAPTER V.

SECESSION.


While Vincent had been occupied with the affairs of Tony and his wife,
public events had moved forward rapidly. The South Carolina Convention
met in the third week in December, and on the 20th of that month the
Ordinance of Secession was passed. On the 10th of January, three days
after Vincent returned home from his expedition, Florida followed the
example of South Carolina and seceded. Alabama and Mississippi passed
the Ordinance of Secession on the following day; Georgia on the 18th,
Louisiana on the 23d, and Texas on the 1st of February.

In all these States the Ordinance of Secession was received with great
rejoicings: bonfires were lit, the towns illuminated, and the militia
paraded the streets, and in many cases the Federal arsenals were seized
and the Federal forts occupied by the State troops. In the meantime the
Northern slave States--Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky,
and Missouri--remained irresolute. The general feeling was strongly in
favor of their Southern brethren; but they were anxious for peace, and
for a compromise being arrived at. Whether the North would agree to
admit the constitutional right of secession, or whether it would use
force to compel the seceding States to remain in the Union, was still
uncertain; but the idea of a civil war was so terrible a one that the
general belief was that some arrangement to allow the States to go their
own way would probably be arrived at.

For the time the idea of Vincent going to West Point was abandoned.
Among his acquaintances were several young men who were already at West
Point, and very few of these returned to the academy. The feeling there
was very strongly on the side of secession. A great majority of the
students came from the Southern States, as, while the sons of the
Northern men went principally into trade and commerce, the Southern
planters sent their sons into the army, and a great proportion of the
officers of the army and navy were Southerners.

As the professors at West Point were all military men, the feeling among
them, as well as among the students, was in favor of State rights; they
considering that, according to the Constitution, their allegiance was
due first to the States of which they were natives, and in the second
place to the Union. Thus, then, many of the professors who were natives
of the seven States which had seceded resigned their appointments, and
returned home to occupy themselves in drilling the militia and the
levies, who were at once called to arms.

Still all hoped that peace would be preserved, until on the 11th of
April General Beauregard, who commanded the troops of South Carolina,
summoned Major Anderson, who was in command of the Federal troops in
Fort Sumter, to surrender, and on his refusal opened fire upon the fort
on the following day.

On the 13th the barracks of the fort being set on fire, Major Anderson,
seeing the hopelessness of a prolonged resistance, surrendered. The
effect of the news throughout the United States was tremendous, and Mr.
Lincoln at once called out 75,000 men of the militia of the various
States to put down the rebellion--the border States being ordered to
send their proportion. This brought matters to a climax. Virginia, North
Carolina, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Missouri all refused to furnish
contingents to act against the Southern States; and Virginia and North
Carolina a few days later passed Ordinances of Secession and joined the
Southern States. Missouri, Maryland, and Delaware were divided in their
counsels.

The struggle that was about to commence was an uneven one. The white
population of the Seceding States was about 8,000,000; while that of the
Northern States was 19,614,885. The North possessed an immense
advantage, inasmuch as they retained the whole of the Federal navy, and
were thereby enabled at once to cut off all communication between the
Southern States and Europe, while they themselves could draw unlimited
supplies of munitions of war of all kinds from across the Atlantic.

Although the people of Virginia had hoped to the last that some peaceful
arrangement might be effected, the Act of Secession was received with
enthusiasm. The demand of Mr. Lincoln that they should furnish troops to
crush their Southern brethren excited the livliest indignation, and
Virginia felt that there was no course open to her now but to throw in
her lot with the other slave States. Her militia was at once called out,
and volunteers called for to form a provisional army to protect the
State from invasion by the North.

The appeal was answered with enthusiasm; men of all ages took up arms;
the wealthy raised regiments at their own expense, generally handing
over the commands to experienced army officers, and themselves taking
their places in the ranks; thousands of lads of from fifteen to sixteen
years of age enrolled themselves, and men who had never done a day's
work in their lives prepared to suffer all the hardships of the campaign
as private soldiers.

Mrs. Wingfield was an enthusiastic supporter of State rights; and when
Vincent told her that numbers of his friends were going to enroll
themselves as soon as the lists were opened, she offered no objection to
his doing the same.

"Of course you are very young, Vincent; but no one thinks there will be
any serious fighting. Now that Virginia and the other four States have
cast in their lot with the seven that have seceded, the North can never
hope to force the solid South back into the Union. Still it is right you
should join. I certainly should not like an old Virginian family like
ours to be unrepresented; but I should prefer your joining one of the
mounted corps.

"In the first place, it will be much less fatiguing than carrying a
heavy rifle and knapsack; and in the second place, the cavalry will for
the most part be gentlemen. I was speaking only yesterday, when I went
into Richmond, to Mr. Ashley, who is raising a corps. He is one of the
best riders in the country, and a splendid specimen of a Virginian
gentleman. He tells me that he has already received a large number of
applications from young volunteers, and that he thinks he shall be able
without any difficulty to get as many as he wants. I said that I had a
son who would probably enroll himself, and that I should like to have
him in his corps.

"He said that he would be glad to put down your name, and that he had
had many applications from lads no older than yourself. He considered
that for cavalry work, scouting, and that sort of thing age mattered
little, and that a lad who was at once a light weight, a good rider,
and a good shot was of as much good as a man."

"Thank you, mother. I will ride into Richmond to-morrow morning and see
Ashley. I have often met him and should like to serve under him very
much. I should certainly prefer being in the cavalry to the infantry."

Rosie and Annie, who were of course enthusiastic for the South, were
almost as pleased as was Vincent when they heard that their mother had
consented to his enrolling himself. So many of the girls of their
acquaintance had brothers or cousins who were joining the army, that
they would have felt it as something of a slur upon the family name had
Vincent remained behind.

On the following morning Vincent rode over and saw Mr. Ashley, who had
just received his commission as major. He was cordially received.

"Mrs. Wingfield was speaking to me about you, and I shall be glad to
have you with me--the more so as you are a capital rider and a good
shot. I shall have a good many in my ranks no older than you are. Did I
not hear a few months since that you bought Wildfire? I thought, when I
heard it, that you would be lucky if you did not get your neck broken in
the course of a week. Peters, who owns the next estate to mine, had the
horse for about three weeks, and was glad enough to get rid of it for
half what he had given for it. He told me that the horse was the most
savage brute he ever saw. I suppose you didn't keep it many days?"

"I have got it still, and mean to ride it with you. The horse is not
really savage. It was hot-tempered, and had, I think, been badly treated
by its first owner. It only wanted kindness and a little patience; and
as soon as it found that it could not get rid of me, and that I had no
intention of ill-treating it, it settled down quietly, after running
away a few times and giving me some little trouble at starting. And now
I would not change it for any horse in the State."

"You must be a first-rate rider," Major Ashley said, "to be able to tame
Wildfire. I never saw the horse, for I was away when Peters had her;
but from his description it was a perfect savage."

"Are we allowed to bring a servant with us?" Vincent asked.

"Yes, if you like. I know that a good many are going to do so, but you
must not make up your mind that you will get much benefit from one. We
shall move rapidly, and each man must shift for himself, but at the same
time we shall of course often be stationary; and then servants will be
useful. At any rate I can see no objection to men having them. We must
be prepared to rough it to any extent when it is necessary, but I see no
reason why at other times a man should not make himself comfortable. I
expect the order to-morrow or next day to begin formally to enroll
volunteers. As I have now put down your name there will be no occasion
for you to come in then. You will receive a communication telling you
when to report yourself.

"I shall not trouble much about uniform at first. High boots and
breeches, a thick felt hat that will turn the edge of a sword, and a
loose coat-jacket of dark-gray cloth. Here is the name of the tailor who
has got the pattern, and will make them. So I should advise you to go to
him at once, for he will be so busy soon that there is no saying when
the whole troop will get their uniforms."

Upon his return home Vincent related to his mother and sisters the
conversation that he had had with Major Ashley.

"Certainly you had better take a servant with you," his mother said. "I
suppose, when you are riding about you will have to cook your dinner and
do everything for yourself; but when you are in a town you should have
these things done for you. Who would you like to take?"

"I should like to take Dan, mother, if you have no objection. He is very
strong and active, and I think would generally be able to keep up with
us; besides, I know he would always stick to me."

"You shall have him certainly, Vincent; I will make him over formally to
you."

"Thank you, mother," Vincent said joyfully; for he had often wished that
Dan belonged to him, as he would then be able to prevent any
interference with him by the overseer or anyone else, and could, if he
liked, give him his freedom--although this would, he knew, be of very
doubtful advantage to the lad as long as he remained in the South.

The next morning the necessary papers were drawn up, and the ownership
of Dan was formally transferred to Vincent. Dan was wild with delight
when he heard that Vincent was now his master, and that he was to
accompany him to the war. It had been known two days before that Vincent
was going, and it seemed quite shocking to the negroes that the young
master should go as a private soldier, and have to do everything for
himself--"just," as they said, "like de poor white trash"; for the
slaves were proud to belong to an old family, and looked down with
almost contempt upon the poorer class of whites, regarding their own
position as infinitely superior.

Four days later Vincent received an official letter saying that the
corps would be mustered in two days' time. The next day was spent in a
long round of farewell visits, and then Vincent mounted Wildfire, and,
with Dan trotting behind, rode off from the Orangery amidst a chorus of
blessings and good wishes from all the slaves who could on any pretext
get away from their duties, and who had assembled in front of the house
to see him start.

The place of meeting for the regiment was at Hanover Courthouse--a
station on the Richmond and Fredericksburg Railway, close to the Pamunky
River, about eighteen miles from the city.

The Orangery was a mile from the village of Gaines, which lay to the
northeast of Richmond, and was some twelve miles from Hanover
Courthouse.

A month was spent in drill, and at the end of that time the corps were
able to execute any simple maneuver. More than this Major Ashley did
not care about their learning. The work in which they were about to
engage was that of scouts rather than that of regular cavalry, and the
requirements were vigilance and attention to orders, good shooting, and
a quick eye. Off duty there was but little discipline. Almost the whole
of the men were in a good position in life, and many of them very
wealthy; and while strict discipline and obedience were expected while
on duty, at all other times something like equality existed between
officers and men, and all were free to live as they chose.

The rations served out were simple and often scanty, for at present the
various departments were not properly organized, and such numbers of men
were flocking to the standards that the authorities were at their wits'
end to provide them with even the simplest food. This mattered but
little, however, to the regiment, whose members were all ready and
willing to pay for everything they wanted, and the country people round
found a ready market for all their chickens, eggs, fruit, and vegetables
at Hanover Courthouse, for here there were also several infantry
regiments, and the normally quiet little village was a scene of bustle
and confusion.

The arms of the cavalry were of a very varied description. Not more than
a dozen had swords; the rest were armed with rifles or shot-guns, with
the barrels cut short to enable them to be carried as carbines. Many of
them were armed with revolvers and some carried pistols so antiquated
that they might have been used in the Revolutionary War. A certain
number of tents had been issued for the use of the corps. These,
however, were altogether insufficient for the numbers, and most of the
men preferred to sleep in shelters composed of canvas, carpets,
blankets, or any other material that came to hand, or in arbors
constructed of the boughs of trees, for it was now April and warm enough
to sleep in the open air.

In the third week in May the order came that the corps was to march at
once for Harper's Ferry--an important position at the point where the
Shenandoah River runs into the Potomac, at the mouth of the Shenandoah
Valley. The order was received with the greatest satisfaction. The
Federal forces were gathering rapidly upon the northern banks of the
Potomac, and it was believed that, while the main army would march down
from Washington through Manassas Junction direct upon Richmond, another
would enter by the Shenandoah Valley, and, crossing the Blue Ridge
Mountains, come down on the rear of the Confederate army, facing the
main force at Manassas. The cavalry marched by road, while the infantry
were dispatched by rail as far as Manassas Junction, whence they marched
to Harper's Ferry. The black servants accompanied the infantry.

The cavalry march was a pleasant one. At every village through which
they passed the people flocked out with offerings of milk and fruit. The
days were hot, but the mornings and evenings delightful; and as the
troops always halted in the shade of a wood for three or four hours in
the middle of the day, the marches, although long, were not fatiguing.
At Harper's Ferry General Johnston had just superseded Colonel Jackson
in command. The force there consisted of eleven battalions of infantry,
sixteen guns, and after Ashley's force arrived, three hundred cavalry.
Among the regiments there Vincent found many friends, and learned what
was going on.

He learned that Colonel Jackson had been keeping them hard at work. Some
of Vincent's friends had been at the Virginia Military Institute at
Lexington, where Jackson was professor of natural philosophy and
instructor of artillery.

"He was the greatest fun," one of the young men said; "the stiffest and
most awkward-looking fellow in the Institute. He used to walk about as
if he never saw anything or anybody. He was always known as Old Tom, and
nobody ever saw him laugh. He was awfully earnest in all he did, and
strict, I can tell you, about everything. There was no humbugging him.
The fellows liked him because he was really so earnest about
everything, and always just and fair. But he didn't look a bit like a
soldier except as to his stiffness, and when the fellows who had been at
Lexington heard that he was in command here they did not think he would
have made much hand at it; but I tell you, he did. You never saw such a
fellow to work.

"Everything had to be done, you know. There were the guns, but no horses
and no harness. The horses had to be got somehow, and the harness
manufactured out of ropes; and you can imagine the confusion of nine
battalions of infantry, all recruits, with no one to teach them except a
score or two of old army and militia officers. Old Tom has done wonders,
I can tell you. You see, he is so fearfully earnest himself everyone
else has got to be earnest. There has been no playing about anything,
but just fifteen hours' hard work a day. Fellows grumbled and growled
and said it was absurd, and threatened to do all sorts of things. You
see, they had all come out to fight, if necessary, but hadn't bargained
for such hard work as this.

"However, Jackson had his way, and I don't suppose anyone ever told him
the men thought they were too hard worked. He is not the sort of man one
would care about remonstrating with. I don't know yet whether he is as
good at fighting as he is at working and organizing; but I rather expect
a fellow who is so earnest about everything else is sure to be earnest
about fighting, and I fancy that, when he once gets into the thick of
it, he will go through with it. He had such a reputation as an oddity at
Lexington that there were a lot of remarks when he was made colonel and
sent here; but there is no doubt that he has proved himself the right
man so far, and although his men may grumble they believe in him.

"My regiment is in his brigade, and I will bet any money that we have
our share of fighting. What sort of man is Johnston? He is a fine
fellow--a soldier, heart and soul. You could tell him anywhere, and we
have a first-rate fellow in command of the cavalry--Colonel Stuart--a
splendid, dashing fellow, full of life and go. His fellows swear by him.
I quite envy you, for I expect you will astonish the Yankee horsemen.
They are no great riders up there, you know, and I reckon the first time
you meet them you will astonish them."

[Illustration: Map--GENL. LEE'S CAMPAIGNS IN VIRGINIA.]

Here he suddenly stopped, stood at attention, and saluted.

Vincent at once did the same, although, had he not been set the example
by his friend, he would never have thought of doing so to the figure who
had passed.

"Who is it?" he asked, as his companion resumed his easy attitude.

"Why, that's Old Tom."

"What! Colonel Jackson!" Vincent said in surprise, "Well, he is an
odd-looking fellow!"

The figure that had passed was that of a tall, gaunt man, leaning
awkwardly forward in his saddle. He wore an old gray coat, and there was
no sign of rank, nor particle of gold lace upon the uniform. He wore on
his head a faded cadet cap, with the rim coming down so far upon his
nose that he could only look sideways from under it. He seemed to pay
but little attention to what was going on around him, and did not enter
into conversation with any of the officers he met.

The brigade commanded by Jackson was the 1st of the Army of the
Shenandoah, and consisted of the 2d, 4th, 5th, and 27th Virginians, to
which was shortly added the 33d. They were composed of men of all ranks
and ages, among them being a great number of lads from fifteen and
upward; for every school had been deserted. Every boy capable of
carrying a musket had insisted upon joining, and among them were a whole
company of cadets from Lexington. The regiments selected their own
officers, and among these were many who were still lads. Many of the
regiments had no accouterments, and were without uniforms, and numbers
carried no better arms than a double-barreled shot-gun; but all were
animated with the same spirit of enthusiasm in their cause, and a
determination to die rather than to allow the invaders to pass on
through the fertile valleys of their native land.

Of all these valleys that of the Shenandoah was the richest and most
beautiful. It was called the Garden of Virginia; and all writers agreed
in their praises of the beauties of its fields and forests, mountains
and rivers, its delicious climate, and the general prosperity which
prevailed among its population.

It was a pleasant evening that Ashley's horse spent at Harper's Ferry on
the day they marched in. All had many friends among the other Virginia
regiments, and their campfires were the center toward which men trooped
by scores. The rest was pleasant after their hard marches; and, although
ready to do their own work when necessary, they appreciated the
advantage of having their servants again with them to groom their horses
and cook their food.

The negroes were not less glad at being again with their masters. Almost
all were men who had, like Dan, been brought up with their young owners,
and felt for them a strong personal attachment, and, if it had been
allowed, would gladly have followed them in the field of battle, and
fought by their side against the "Yankees." Their stay at Harper's Ferry
was to be a short one. Colonel Stuart, with his 200 horse, was scouting
along the whole bank of the Potomac, watching every movement of the
enemy, and Ashley's horse was to join them at once.

It was not difficult for even young soldiers to form an idea of the
general nature of the operations. They had to protect the Shenandoah
Valley, to guard the five great roads by which the enemy would advance
against Winchester, and not only save the loyal inhabitants and rich
resources of the valley from falling into the hands of the Federals, but
what was of even greater importance, to prevent the latter from marching
across the Blue Ridge Mountains, and falling upon the flank of the main
Confederate army at Manassas.

The position was a difficult one, for while "the grand army" was
assembling at Alexandria to advance against Manassas Junction, McClellan
was advancing from the northwest with 20,000 men, and Patterson from
Pennsylvania with 18,000.

In the morning, before parading his troop, 100 strong, Ashley called
them together and told them that, as they would now be constantly on the
move and scattered over a long line, it was impossible that they could
take their servants with them.

"I should never have allowed them to be brought," he said, "had I known
that we should be scouting over such an extensive country; at the same
time, if we can manage to take a few on it would certainly add to our
comfort. I propose that we choose ten by lot to go on with us. They must
be servants of the troop and not of individuals. We can scatter them in
pairs at five points, with instructions to forage as well as they can,
and to have things in readiness to cook for whoever may come in off duty
or may for the time be posted there. Henceforth every man must groom and
see to his own horse, but I see no reason, military or otherwise, why we
shouldn't get our food cooked for us; and it will be just as well, as
long as we can, to have a few bundles of straw for us to lie on instead
of sleeping on the ground.

"Another ten men we can also choose by lot to go to Winchester; which
is, I imagine, the point we shall move to if the enemy advance, as I
fancy they will, from the other side of the Shenandoah Valley. The rest
must be sent home."

Each man accordingly wrote his name on a piece of paper, and placed it
in a haversack. Ten were then drawn out; and their servants were to
accompany the troop at once. The servants of the next ten were to
proceed by train to Winchester, while the slaves of all whose names
remained in the bag were to be sent home at once, provided with passes
permitting them to travel. To Vincent's satisfaction his name was one of
the first ten drawn, and Dan was therefore to go forward. The greater
part of the men evaded the obligation to send their servants back to
Richmond by dispatching them to friends who had estates in the
Shenandoah Valley, with letters asking them to keep the men for them
until the troop happened to come into their neighborhood.

At six o'clock in the morning the troop mounted and rode to Bath, thirty
miles away. It was here that Stuart had his headquarters, whence he sent
out his patrols up and down the Potomac, between Harper's Ferry on the
east and Cumberland on the west. Stuart was away when they arrived, but
he rode in a few hours afterward.

"Ah, Ashley! I am glad you have arrived," he said as he rode up to the
troop, who had hastily mounted as he was seen approaching. "There is
plenty for you to do, I can tell you; and I only wish you had brought a
thousand men instead of a hundred. I am heartily glad to see you all,
gentlemen," he said to the troop. "I am afraid just at first that the
brightness of your gray jackets will put my men rather to shame; but we
shall soon get rid of that. But dismount your men, Ashley; there is
plenty for them and their horses to do without wasting time in parade
work. There is very little of that here, I can tell you. I have not seen
a score of my men together for the last month."

Vincent gazed with admiration at the young leader, whose name was soon
to be celebrated throughout America and Europe. The young Virginian--for
he was not yet twenty-eight years old--was the _beau ideal_ of a cavalry
officer. He was singularly handsome, and possessed great personal
strength and a constitution which enabled him to bear all hardships. He
possessed unfailing good spirits, and had a joke and laugh for all he
met; and while on the march, at the head of his regiment, he was always
ready to lift up his voice and lead the songs with which the men made
the woods resound.

He seemed to live in his saddle, and was present at all hours of the
night and day along the line he guarded, seeing that the men were
watchful and on the alert, instructing the outposts in their duty, and
infusing his own spirit and vigilance among them. He had been educated
at West Point, and had seen much service with the cavalry against the
Indians in the West. Such was the man who was to become the most famous
cavalry leader of his time. So far he had not come in contact with the
enemy, and his duties were confined to obtaining information regarding
their strength and intentions, to watching every road by which they
could advance, and to seeing that none passed North to carry information
to the enemy as to the Confederate strength and positions, for even in
the Shenandoah Valley there were some whose sympathies were with the
Federals.

These were principally Northern men settled as traders in the towns, and
it was important to prevent them from sending any news to the enemy. So
well did Stuart's cavalry perform this service, and so general was the
hostility of the population against the North, that throughout the whole
of the war in Virginia it was very seldom that the Northern generals
could obtain any trustworthy information as to the movements and
strength of the Confederates, while the latter were perfectly informed
of every detail connected with the intentions of the invaders.

The next morning Ashley's troop took up their share of the work at the
front. They were broken up into parties of ten, each of which was
stationed at a village near the river, five men being on duty night and
day. As it happened that none of the other men in his squad had a
servant at the front, Vincent was able without difficulty to have Dan
assigned to his party. A house in the village was placed at their
disposal, and here the five off duty slept and took their meals while
the others were in the saddle. Dan was quite in his element, and turned
out an excellent cook, and was soon a general favorite among the mess.




CHAPTER VI.

BULL RUN.


The next fortnight passed by without adventure. Hard as the work was,
Vincent enjoyed it thoroughly. When on duty by day he was constantly on
the move, riding through the forest, following country lanes,
questioning everyone he came across; and as the men always worked in
pairs, there was no feeling of loneliness. Sometimes Ashley would draw
together a score of troopers, and crossing the river in a ferry-boat,
would ride twenty miles north, and dashing into quiet villages, astonish
the inhabitants by the sight of the Confederate uniform. Then the
villagers would be questioned as to the news that had reached them of
the movements of the troops; the post-office would be seized and the
letters broken open; any useful information contained in them being
noted. But in general questions were readily answered; for a
considerable portion of the people of Maryland were strongly in favor of
the South, and were only prevented from joining it by the strong force
that held possession of Baltimore, and by the constant movement of
Federal armies through the State. Vincent was often employed in carrying
dispatches from Major Ashley to Stuart, being selected for that duty as
being the best mounted man in the troop. The direction was always a
vague one. "Take this letter to Colonel Stuart, wherever he may be," and
however early he started, Vincent thought himself fortunate if he
carried out his mission before sunset; for Stuart's front covered over
fifty miles of ground, and there was no saying where he might be.
Sometimes, after riding thirty or forty miles, and getting occasional
news that Stuart had passed through ahead of him, he would learn from
some outpost that the colonel had been there but ten minutes before, and
had ridden off before he came, and then Vincent had to turn his horse
and gallop back again, seldom succeeding in overtaking his active
commander until the latter had halted for his supper at one or other of
the villages where his men were stationed. Sometimes by good luck he
came upon him earlier, and then, after reading the dispatch, Stuart
would, if he were riding in the direction where Ashley's command lay,
bid him ride on with him, and would chat with him on terms of friendly
intimacy about people they both knew at Richmond, or as to the details
of his work, and sometimes they would sit down together under the shade
of some trees, take out the contents of their haversacks, and share
their dinners.

"This is the second time I have had the best of this," the colonel
laughed one day; "my beef is as hard as leather, and this cold chicken
of yours is as plump and tender as one could wish to eat."

"I have my own boy, colonel, who looks after the ten of us stationed at
Elmside, and I fancy that in the matter of cold rations he gives me an
undue preference. He always hands me my haversack when I mount with a
grin, and I quite understand that it is better I should ask no questions
as to its contents."

"You are a lucky fellow," Stuart said. "My own servant is a good man,
and would do anything for me; but my irregular hours are too much for
him. He never knows when to expect me; and as he often finds that when I
do return I have made a meal an hour before at one of the outposts, and
do not want the food he has for hours been carefully keeping hot for me,
it drives him almost to despair, and I have sometimes been obliged to
eat rather than disappoint him. But he certainly has not a genius for
cooking, and were it not that this riding gives one the appetite of a
hunter, I should often have a good deal of difficulty in devouring the
meal he puts into my haversack."

But the enemy were now really advancing, and on the 12th of June a
trooper rode in from the extreme left, and handed Vincent a dispatch
from Colonel Stuart.

"My orders were," he said, "that, if you were here, you were to carry
this on at all speed to General Johnston. If not, someone else was to
take it on."

"Any news?" Vincent asked, as, aided by Dan, he rapidly saddled
Wildfire.

"Yes," the soldier said; "2000 of the enemy have advanced up the western
side, and have occupied Romney, and they say all Patterson's force is on
the move."

"So much the better," Vincent replied, as he jumped into the saddle. "We
have been doing nothing long enough, and the sooner it comes the
better."

It was a fifty-mile ride; but it was done in five hours, and at the end
of that time Vincent dismounted in front of General Johnston's quarters.

"Is the general in?" he asked the sentry at the door.

"No, he is not in; but here he comes," the soldier replied, and two
minutes later the general, accompanied by three or four officers, rode
up.

Vincent saluted, and handed him the dispatch. The general opened it and
glanced at the contents.

"The storm is going to burst at last, gentlemen," he said to the
officers. "Stuart writes me that 2000 men, supposed to be the advance of
McClellan's army, are at Romney, and that he hears Patterson is also
advancing from Chambersburg on Williamsport. His dispatch is dated this
morning at nine o'clock. He writes from near Cumberland. No time has
been lost, for that is eighty miles away, and it is but five o'clock
now. How far have you brought this dispatch, sir?"

"I have brought it from Elmside, general; twenty miles on the other side
of Bath. A trooper brought it in just at midday, with orders for me to
carry it on at once."

"That is good work," the general said. "You have ridden over fifty miles
in five hours. You must be well mounted, sir."

"I do not think there is a better horse in the State," Vincent said,
patting Wildfire's neck.

The general called an orderly.

"Let this man picket his horse with those of the staff," he said, "and
see that it has forage at once. Take the man to the orderlies' quarters,
and see that he is well cared for."

Vincent saluted, and, leading Wildfire, followed the orderly. When he
had had a meal, he strolled out to see what was going on. Evidently some
movement was in contemplation. Officers were riding up or dashing off
from the general's headquarters. Two or three regiments were seen
marching down from the plateau on which they were encamped into the
town. Bells rang and drums beat, and presently long trains of railway
wagons, heavily laden, began to make their way across the bridge. Until
next morning the movement continued unceasingly; by that time all the
military stores and public property, together with as much private
property, belonging to inhabitants who had decided to forsake their
homes for a time rather than to remain there when the town was occupied
by the enemy, as could be carried on in the available wagons, had been
taken across the bridge. A party of engineers, who had been all night
hard at work, then set fire both to the railway bridge across the river
and the public buildings in the town. The main body of troops had moved
across in the evening. The rearguard passed when all was in readiness
for the destruction of the bridge.

General Johnston had been preparing for the movement for some time; he
had foreseen that the position must be evacuated as soon as the enemy
began to advance upon either of his flanks, and a considerable portion
of his baggage and military stores had some time previously been sent
into the interior of Virginia. The troops, formed up on the high grounds
south of the river, looked in silence at the dense volumes of smoke
rising. This was the reality of war. Hitherto their military work had
been no more than that to which many of them were accustomed when called
out with the militia of their State; but the scene of destruction on
which they now gazed brought home to them that the struggle was a
serious one--that it was war in its stern reality which had now begun.

The troops at once set off on their march, and at night bivouacked in
the woods around Charleston. The next day they pushed across the country
and took up a position covering Winchester; and then the enemy, finding
that Johnston's army was in front of them, ready to dispute their
advance, recrossed the river, and Johnston concentrated his force round
Winchester.

Vincent joined his corps on the same afternoon that the infantry marched
out from Harper's Ferry, the general sending him forward with dispatches
as soon as the troops had got into motion.

"You will find Colonel Stuart in front of the enemy; but more than that
I cannot tell you."

This was quite enough for Vincent, who found the cavalry scouting close
to Patterson's force, prepared to attack the enemy's cavalry, should it
advance to reconnoiter the country, and to blow up bridges across
streams, fell trees, and take every possible measure to delay the
advance of Patterson's army, in its attempt to push on toward Winchester
before the arrival of General Johnston's force upon the scene.

"I am glad to see you back, Wingfield," Major Ashley said, as he rode
up. "The colonel tells me that in the dispatch he got last night from
Johnston the general said that Stuart's information reached him in a
remarkably short time, having been carried with great speed by the
orderly in charge of the duty. We have scarcely been out of our saddles
since you left. However, I think we have been of use, for we have been
busy all round the enemy since we arrived here in the afternoon, and I
fancy he must think us a good deal stronger than we are. At any rate, he
has not pushed his cavalry forward at all; and, as you say Johnston will
be up to-morrow afternoon, Winchester is safe anyhow."

After the Federals had recrossed the river, and Johnston had taken up
his position round Winchester, the cavalry returned to their old work of
scouting along the Potomac.

On the 20th of June movements of considerable bodies of the enemy were
noticed; and Johnston at once dispatched Jackson with his brigade to
Martinsburg, with orders to send as much of the rolling-stock of the
railroad as could be removed to Winchester, to destroy the rest, and to
support Stuart's cavalry when they advanced. A number of locomotives
were sent to Winchester along the highroad, drawn by teams of horses.
Forty engines and three hundred cars were burned or destroyed, and
Jackson then advanced and took up his position on the road to
Williamsport, the cavalry camp being a little in advance of him. This
was pleasant for Vincent, as, when off duty, he spent his time with his
friends and schoolfellows in Jackson's brigade.

On the 2d of July the scouts rode into camp with the news that a strong
force was advancing from Williamsport. Jackson at once advanced with the
5th Virginia Infantry, numbering 380 men and one gun, while Stuart, with
100 cavalry, started to make a circuitous route, and harassed the flank
and rear of the enemy. There was no intention on the part of Jackson of
fighting a battle, his orders being merely to feel the enemy, whose
strength was far too great to be withstood, even had he brought his
whole brigade into action, for they numbered three brigades of infantry,
500 cavalry, and some artillery.

For some hours the little Confederate force skirmished so boldly that
they checked the advance of the enemy, whose general naturally supposed
that he had before him the advanced guard of a strong force, and
therefore moved forward with great caution. Then the Confederates, being
threatened on both flanks by the masses of the Federals, fell back in
good order. The loss was very trifling on either side, but the fact that
so small a force had for hours checked the advance of an army greatly
raised the spirits and confidence of the Confederates. Stuart's small
cavalry force, coming down upon the enemy's rear, captured a good many
prisoners--Colonel Stuart himself capturing forty-four infantry. Riding
some distance ahead of his troop to find out the position of the enemy,
he came upon a company of Federal infantry sitting down in a field,
having no idea whatever that any Confederate force was in the
neighborhood. Stuart did not hesitate a moment, but riding up to them
shouted the order, "Throw down your arms, or you are all dead men!"
Believing themselves surrounded, the Federals threw down their arms, and
when the Confederate cavalry came up were marched off as prisoners.

Jackson, on reaching his camp, struck his tents and sent them to the
rear, and formed up his whole brigade in order of battle. The Federals,
however, instead of attacking, continued their flank movement, and
Jackson fell back through Martinsburg and halted for the night a mile
beyond the town.

Next day he again retired, and was joined six miles further on by
Johnston's whole force. For four days the little army held its position,
prepared to give battle if the enemy advanced; but the Federals, though
greatly superior in numbers, remained immovable at Martinsburg, and
Johnston, to the great disgust of his troops, retired to Winchester. The
soldiers were longing to meet the invaders in battle, but their general
had to bear in mind that the force under his command might at any moment
be urgently required to join the main Confederate army and aid in
opposing the Northern advance upon Richmond.

Stuart's cavalry kept him constantly informed of the strength of the
enemy gathering in his front. Making circuits round Martinsburg, they
learned from the farmers what number of troops each day came along; and
while the Federals knew nothing of the force opposed to them, and
believed that it far outnumbered their own, General Johnston knew that
Patterson's force numbered about 22,000 men, while he himself had been
joined only by some 3000 men since he arrived at Winchester.

On the 18th of July a telegram from the government at Richmond announced
that the Federal grand army had driven in General Beauregard's pickets
at Manassas, and had begun to advance, and Johnston was directed, if
possible, to hasten to his assistance. A few earthworks had been thrown
up at Winchester, and some guns mounted upon them, and the town was left
under the protection of the local militia. Stuart's cavalry was posted
in a long line across the country to prevent any news of the movement
reaching the enemy. As soon as this was done the infantry, 8300 strong,
marched off. The troops were in high spirits now, for they knew that
their long period of inactivity was over, and that, although ignorant
when and where, they were on their march to meet the enemy.

They had no wagons or rations; the need for speed was too urgent even to
permit of food being cooked. Without a halt they pressed forward
steadily, and after two days' march, exhausted and half famished, they
reached the Manassas Gap Railroad. Here they were put into trains as
fast as these could be prepared, and by noon on the 20th joined
Beauregard at Manassas. The cavalry had performed their duty of
preventing the news of the movement from reaching the enemy until the
infantry were nearly a day's march away, and then Stuart reassembled his
men and followed Johnston. Thus the Confederate plans had been
completely successful. Over 30,000 of the enemy, instead of being in
line of battle with the main army, were detained before Winchester,
while the little Confederate force which had been facing them had
reached Beauregard in time to take part in the approaching struggle.

In the North no doubt as to the power of the grand army to make its way
to Richmond was entertained. The troops were armed with the best weapons
obtainable, the artillery was numerous and excellent, the army was well
fed, and so confident were the men of success that they regarded the
whole affair in the light of a great picnic. The grand army numbered
55,000 men, with nine regiments of cavalry and forty-nine rifle-guns. To
oppose these, the Confederate force, after the arrival of Johnston's
army, numbered 27,833 infantry, thirty-five smooth-bore guns, and 500
cavalry. Many of the infantry were armed only with shot-guns and old
fowling-pieces, and the guns were small and ill-supplied with
ammunition. There had been some sharp fighting on the 18th, and the
Federal advance across the river of Bull Run had been sharply repulsed,
therefore their generals determined, instead of making a direct attack
on the 31st against the Confederate position, to take a wide sweep
round, cross the river higher up, and falling upon the Confederate left
flank, to crumple it up.

All night the Federal troops had marched, and at daybreak on the 21st
nearly 40,000 men were in position on the left flank of the
Confederates. The latter were not taken by surprise when Stuart's
cavalry brought in news of the Federal movement, and General Beauregard,
instead of moving his troops toward the threatened point, sent orders to
General Longstreet on the right to cross the river as soon as the battle
began, and to fall upon the Federal flank and rear.

Had this movement been carried out, the destruction of the Federal army
would probably have been complete; but by one of those unfortunate
accidents which so frequently occur in war and upset the best laid
plans, the order in some way never came to hand, and when late in the
day the error was discovered, it was too late to remedy it.

At eight o'clock in the morning two of the Federal divisions reached the
river, and while one of them engaged the Confederate force stationed at
the bridge, another crossed the river at a ford. Colonel Evans, who
commanded the Confederate forces, which numbered but fifteen companies,
left 200 men to continue to hold the bridge, while with 800 he hurried
to oppose General Hunter's division, which had crossed at the ford.

This consisted of 16,000 infantry, with cavalry and artillery, and
another division of equal force had crossed at the Red House Ford,
higher up. To check so great a force with this handful of men seemed all
but impossible; but Colonel Evans determined to hold his ground to the
last, to enable his general to bring up re-enforcements. His force
consisted of men of South Carolina and Louisiana, and they contested
every foot of the ground.

The regiment which formed the advance of the Federals charged, supported
by an artillery fire, but was repulsed. As the heavy Federal line
advanced, however, the Confederates were slowly but steadily pressed
back, until General Bee, with four regiments and a battery of artillery,
came up to their assistance. The newcomers threw themselves into the
fight with great gallantry, and maintained their ground until almost
annihilated by the fire of the enemy, who outnumbered them by five to
one. As, fighting desperately, they fell back before Hunter's division,
the Federals, who had crossed at Red House Ford, suddenly poured down
and took them in flank.

Swept by a terrible musketry fire, these troops could no longer resist,
and in spite of the efforts of their general, who rode among them
imploring them to stand firm until aid arrived, they began to fall back.
Neither entreaties nor commands were of avail; the troops had done all
that they could, and broken and disheartened they retreated in great
confusion. But at this moment, when all seemed lost, a line of
glittering bayonets was seen coming over the hill behind, and the
general, riding off in haste toward them, found Jackson advancing with
the first brigade.

Unmoved by the rush of the fugitives of the brigades of Bee and Evans,
Jackson moved steadily forward, and so firm and resolute was their
demeanor that Bee rode after his men, and pointing with his sword to the
first brigade, shouted, "Look, there is Jackson standing like a stone
wall!" The general's words were repeated, and henceforth the brigade was
known as the Stonewall Brigade, and their general by the nickname of
Stonewall Jackson, by which he was ever afterward known. The greater
part of the fugitives rallied, and took up their position on the right
of Jackson, and the Federal forces, who were hurrying forward assured of
victory, found themselves confronted suddenly by 2600 bayonets. After a
moment's pause they pressed forward again, the artillery preparing a way
for them by a tremendous fire.

Jackson ordered his men to lie down until the enemy arrived within fifty
yards, and then to charge with the bayonet. Just at this moment Generals
Johnston and Beauregard arrived on the spot, and at once seeing the
desperate nature of the situation, and the whole Federal army pressing
forward against a single brigade, they did their best to prepare to meet
the storm. First they galloped up and down the disordered lines of Bee,
exhorting the men to stand firm; and seizing the colors of the 4th
Alabama, Johnston led them forward and formed them up under fire.

Beauregard hurried up some re-enforcements and formed them on the left
of Jackson, and thus 6500 infantry and artillery, and Stuart's two
troops of cavalry, stood face to face with more than 20,000 infantry and
seven troops of regular cavalry, behind whom, at the lower fords, were
35,000 men in reserve. While his men were lying down awaiting the
attack, Jackson rode backward and forward in front of them as calm and
as unconcerned to all appearance as if on the parade ground, and his
quiet bravery greatly nerved and encouraged the young troops.

All at once the tremendous artillery fire of the enemy ceased, and their
infantry came on in massive lines. The four Confederate guns poured in
their fire and then withdrew behind the infantry. When the line came
within fifty yards of him, Jackson gave the word, his men sprang to
their feet, poured in a heavy volley, and then charged. A wild yell rose
from both ranks as they closed, and then they were mingled in a
desperate conflict. For a time all was in wild confusion, but the ardor
and courage of Jackson's men prevailed, and they burst through the
center of the Federal line.

Immediately Jackson had charged, Beauregard sent forward the rest of the
troops, and for a time a tremendous struggle took place along the whole
line. Generals Bee and Barlow fell mortally wounded at the head of
their troops. General Hampton was wounded, and many of the colonels
fell. So numerous were the Federals, that although Jackson had pierced
their center, their masses drove back his flanks and threatened to
surround him. With voice and example he cheered on his men to hold their
ground, and the officers closed up their ranks as they were thinned by
the enemy's fire, and for an hour the struggle continued without marked
advantage on either side.

Jackson's calmness was unshaken even in the excitement of the fight. At
one time an officer rode up to him from another portion of the field and
exclaimed, "General, I think the day is going against us!" To which
Jackson replied in his usual curt manner, "If you think so, sir, you had
better not say anything about it."

The resolute stand of the Confederates enabled General Beauregard to
bring up fresh troops, and he at last gave the word to advance.

Jackson's brigade rushed forward on receiving the order, burst through
the Federals with whom they were engaged, and, supported by the
reserves, drove the enemy from the plateau. Then the Federals, though
vastly superior in force, brought up the reserves, and prepared to renew
the attack; but 1700 fresh men of the Army of the Shenandoah came upon
the field of battle, Smith and Early brought up their divisions from the
river, and the whole Southern line advanced at the charge, and drove the
enemy down the slopes and on toward the ford.

A panic seized them, and their regiments broke up and took to headlong
flight, which soon became an utter rout. Many of them continued their
flight for hours, and for a time the Federal army ceased to exist; and
had the Confederates advanced, as Jackson desired that they should do,
Washington would have fallen into their hands without a blow being
struck in its defense.

This, the first great battle of the war, is sometimes known as the
battle of Manassas, but more generally as Bull Run.

With the exception of one or two charges, the little body of Confederate
horse did not take any part in the battle of Bull Run. Had they been
aware of the utter stampede of the Northern troops, they could safely
have pressed forward in hot pursuit as far as Washington, but being
numerically so inferior to the Federal cavalry, and in ignorance that
the Northern infantry had become a mere panic-stricken mob, it would
have been imprudent in the extreme for such a handful of cavalry to
undertake the pursuit of an army.

Many of the Confederates were of opinion that this decisive victory
would be the end of the war, and that the North, seeing that the South
was able as well as willing to defend the position it had taken up,
would abandon the idea of coercing it into submission. This hope was
speedily dissipated. The North was indeed alike astonished and
disappointed at the defeat of their army by a greatly inferior force,
but instead of abandoning the struggle, they set to work to retrieve the
disaster, and to place in the field a force which would, they believed,
prove irresistible.

Vincent Wingfield saw but little of the battle at Bull Run. As they were
impatiently waiting the order to charge, while the desperate conflict
between Jackson's brigade and the enemy was at its fiercest, a shell
from one of the Federal batteries burst a few yards in front of the
troop, and one of the pieces, striking Vincent on the side, hurled him
insensible from his horse. He was at once lifted and carried by Dan and
some of the other men-servants, who had been told off for this duty, to
the rear, where the surgeons were busily engaged in dressing the wounds
of the men who straggled back from the front. While the conflict lasted
those unable to walk lay where they fell, for no provision had at
present been made for ambulance corps, and not a single man capable of
firing a musket could be spared from the ranks. The tears were flowing
copiously down Dan's cheeks as he stood by while the surgeons examined
Vincent's wound.

"Is he dead, sah?" he sobbed as they lifted him up from his stooping
position.

"Dead!" the surgeon repeated. "Can't you see he is breathing, and did
you not hear him groan when I examined his side? He is a long way from
being a dead man yet. Some of his ribs are broken, and he has had a very
nasty blow; but I do not think there is any cause for anxiety about him.
Pour a little wine down his throat, and sprinkle his face with water.
Raise his head and put a coat under it, and when he opens his eyes and
begins to recover, don't let him move. Then you can cut up the side of
his jacket and down the sleeve, so as to get it off that side
altogether. Cut his shirt open, and bathe the wound with some water and
bit of rag of any sort; it is not likely to bleed much. When it has
stopped bleeding put a pad of linen upon it, and keep it wet. When we
can spare time we will bandage it properly."

But it was not until late at night that the time could be spared for
attending to Vincent; for the surgeons were overwhelmed with work, and
the most serious cases were, as far as possible, first attended to. He
had soon recovered consciousness. At first he looked with a feeling of
bewilderment at Dan, who was copiously sprinkling his face with water,
sobbing loudly while he did so. As soon as the negro perceived that his
master had opened his eyes he gave a cry of delight.

"Thank de Lord, Marse Vincent! Dis child tought you dead and gone for
sure."

"What's the matter, Dan? What has happened?" Vincent said, trying to
move, and then stopping suddenly with a cry of pain.

"You knocked off your horse, sah, wid one of de shells of dem cussed
Yanks."

"Am I badly hurt, Dan?"

"Bery bad, sah; great piece of flesh pretty nigh as big as my hand come
out ob your side, and doctor says some ob de ribs broken. But de doctor
not seem to make much ob it; he hard sort ob man dat. Say you get all
right again. No time to tend to you now. Hurry away just as if you some
poor white trash instead of Massa Wingfield ob de Orangery."

Vincent smiled faintly.

"It doesn't make much difference what a man is in a surgeon's eyes, Dan.
The question is how badly he is hurt, and what can be done for him?
Well, thank God it's no worse. Wildfire was not hurt, I hope?"

"No, sah; he is standing tied up by dat tree. Now, sah, de doctor say me
cut your jacket off and bave de wound."

"All right, Dan; but be a little careful with the water, you seem to be
pretty near drowning me as it is. Just wipe my face and hair, and get
the handkerchief from the pocket of my jacket, and open the shirt collar
and put the handkerchief inside round my neck. Then see how the battle
is going on. The roar seems louder than ever."

Dan went forward to the crest of a slight rise of the ground whence he
could look down upon the field of battle, and made haste to return.

"Can't see bery well, sah; too much smoke. But dey in de same place
still."

"Look round, Dan, and see if there are any fresh troops coming up."

Dan again went to the rise of ground.

"Yes, sah; lot of men coming ober de hill behind."

"That's all right, Dan. Now you can see about this bathing my side."

As soon as the battle was over, Major Ashley rode up to where Vincent
and five or six of his comrades of the cavalry were lying wounded.

"How are you getting on, lads? Pretty well, I hope?" he asked as he
dismounted.

"First-rate, major," one of the men answered. "We all of us took a turn
as soon as we heard that the Yanks were whipped."

"Yes, we have thrashed them handsomely," the major said. "Ah, Wingfield!
I am glad to see you are alive. I thought, when you fell, it was all
over with you."

"I am not much hurt, sir," Vincent replied. "A flesh wound and some ribs
are broken, I hear; but they won't be long mending, I hope."

"It's a nasty wound to look at," the major said, as Dan lifted the pad
of wet linen. "But with youth and health you will soon get round it,
never fear."

"Ah, my poor lad! yours is a worse case," he said as he bent over a
young fellow who was lying a few paces from Vincent.

"It's all up with me, major," he replied faintly; "the doctor said he
could do nothing for me. But I don't mind, now we have beaten them. You
will send a line to the old people, major, won't you, and say I died
doing my duty? I've got two brothers, and I expect they will send one on
to take my place."

"I will write to them, my lad," the major said, "and tell them all about
you." He could give the lad no false hopes, for already a gray shade was
stealing over the white face, and the end was close at hand; in a few
minutes he ceased to breathe.

Late in the evening the surgeons, having attended to more urgent cases,
came round. Vincent's wound was now more carefully examined than before,
but the result was the same. Three of the ribs were badly fractured, but
there was no serious danger.

"You will want quiet and good nursing for some time," the principal
surgeon said. "There will be a train of wounded going off for Richmond
the first thing in the morning, and you shall go by it. You had better
get a door," he said to some of the troopers, who had come across from
the spot where the cavalry were bivouacked to see how their comrades
were getting on, "and carry him down and put him in the train. One has
just been sent off and another will be made up at once, so that the
wounded can be put in it as they are taken down. Now I will bandage the
wound, and it will not want any more attention until you get home."

A wad of lint was placed upon the wound and bandaged tightly round the
body.

"Remember you have got to lie perfectly quiet, and not attempt to move
till the bones have knit. I am afraid that they are badly fractured, and
will require some time to heal up again."

A door was fetched from an outhouse near, and Vincent and two of his
comrades, who were also ordered to be sent to the rear, were one by one
carried down to the nearest point on the railway, where a train stood
ready to receive them, and they were then laid on the seats.

All night the wounded kept arriving, and by morning the train was packed
as full as it would hold, and with two or three surgeons in charge
started for Richmond. Dan was permitted to accompany the train, at
Vincent's urgent request, in the character of doctor's assistant, and he
went about distributing water to the wounded, and assisting the surgeons
in moving such as required it.

It was night before the train reached Richmond. A number of people were
at the station to receive it; for as soon as the news of the battle had
been received, preparations had been made for the reception of the
wounded, several public buildings had been converted into hospitals, and
numbers of the citizens had come forward with offers to take one or more
of the wounded into their houses. The streets were crowded with people,
who were wild with joy at the news of the victory which, as they
believed, had secured the State from further fear of invasion. Numbers
of willing hands were in readiness to carry the wounded on stretchers to
the hospitals, where all the surgeons of the town were already waiting
to attend upon them.

Vincent, at his own request, was only laid upon a bed, as he said that
he would go home to be nursed the first thing in the morning. This being
the case, it was needless to put him to the pain and trouble of being
undressed. Dan had started, as soon as he saw his master carried into
the hospital, to take the news to the Orangery; being strictly charged
by Vincent to make light of his injury, and on no account whatever to
alarm them. He was to ask that the carriage should come to fetch him the
first thing in the morning.

It was just daybreak when Mrs. Wingfield drove up to the hospital. Dan
had been so severely cross-examined that he had been obliged to give an
accurate account of Vincent's injury. There was bustle and movement even
at that early hour, for another train of wounded had just arrived. As
she entered the hospital she gave an exclamation of pleasure, for at the
door were two gentlemen in conversation, one of whom was the doctor who
had long attended the family at the Orangery.

"I am glad you are here, Dr. Mapleston; for I want your opinion before I
move Vincent. Have you seen him?"

"No, Mrs. Wingfield; I did not know he was here. I have charge of one of
the wards, and have not had time to see who are in the others. I
sincerely hope Vincent is not seriously hurt."

"That's what I want to find out, doctor. His boy brought us news late
last night that he was here. He said the doctors considered that he was
not in any danger; but as he had three ribs broken, and a deep flesh
wound from the explosion of a shell, it seems to me that it must be
serious."

"I will go up and see him at once, Mrs. Wingfield, and find out from the
surgeon in charge of his ward exactly what is the matter with him." Dan
led the way to the bed upon which Vincent was lying. He was only dozing,
and opened his eyes as they came up.

"My poor boy!" Mrs. Wingfield said, struggling with her tears at the
sight of his pale face, "this is sad indeed."

"It is nothing very bad, mother," Vincent replied cheerfully; "nothing
at all to fret about. The wound is nothing to the injuries of most of
those here. I suppose, doctor, I can be moved at once?"

Dr. Mapleston felt his pulse.

"You are feverish, Vincent; but perhaps the best thing for you would be
to get you home while you can be moved. You will do far better there
than here. But I must speak to the surgeon in charge of you first, and
hear what he says."

"Yes, I think you can move him," the surgeon of the ward said. "He has
got a nasty wound, and the ticket with him said that three ribs were
badly fractured; but I made no examination, as he said he would be
fetched the first thing this morning. I only put on a fresh dressing and
bandaged it. The sooner you get him off the better, if he is to be
moved. Fever is setting in, and he will probably be wandering by this
evening. He will have a much better chance at home, with cool rooms and
quiet and careful nursing, than he can have here; though there would be
no lack of either comforts or nurses, for half the ladies in the town
have volunteered for the work, and we have offers of all the medical
comforts that could be required were the list of wounded ten times as
large as it is."

A stretcher was brought in, and Vincent was lifted as gently as possible
upon it. Then he was carried down stairs and the stretcher placed in the
carriage; which was a large open one, and afforded just sufficient
length for it. Mrs. Wingfield took her seat beside him, Dan mounted the
box beside the coachman.

"I will be out in an hour, Mrs. Wingfield," Dr. Mapleston said. "I have
got to go round the ward again, and will then drive out at once. Give
him lemonade and cooling drinks; don't let him talk. Cut his clothes off
him, and keep the room somewhat dark, but with a free current of air. I
will bring out some medicine with me."

The carriage drove slowly to avoid shaking, and when they approached the
house Mrs. Wingfield told Dan to jump down and come to the side of the
carriage. Then she told him to run on as fast as he could ahead, and to
tell her daughters not to meet them upon their arrival, and that all the
servants were to be kept out of the way, except three men to carry
Vincent upstairs. The lad was consequently got up to his room without
any excitement, and was soon lying on his bed with a sheet thrown
lightly over him.

"That is comfortable," he said, as his mother bathed his face and hands
and smoothed his hair. "Where are the girls, mother?"

"They will come in to see you now, Vincent; but you are to keep quite
quiet, you know, and not to talk." The girls stole in and said a few
words, and left him alone again with Mrs. Wingfield. He did not look to
them so ill as they had expected, for there was a flush of fever on his
cheeks. Dr. Mapleston arrived a little later, examined and redressed the
wound, and comforted Mrs. Wingfield with the assurance that there was
nothing in it likely to prove dangerous to life.

"Our trouble will be rather with the effect of the shock than with the
wound itself. He is very feverish now, and you must not be alarmed if by
this evening he is delirious. You will give him this cooling draught
every three hours; he can have anything in the way of cooling drinks he
likes. If he begins to wander, put cloths dipped in cold water and wrung
out on his head, and sponge his hands with water with a little Eau de
Cologne in it. If he seems very hot set one of the women to fan him, but
don't let her go on if it seems to worry him. I will come round again at
half-past nine this evening and will make arrangements to pass the night
here. We have telegrams saying that surgeons are coming from Charleston
and many other places, so I can very well be spared."

When the doctor returned in the evening, he found, as he had
anticipated, that Vincent was in a high state of fever. This continued
four or five days, and then gradually passed off; and he woke up one
morning perfectly conscious. His mother was sitting on a chair at the
bedside.

"What is the time, mother?" he asked. "Have I been asleep long?"

"Some time, dear," she answered gently; "but you must not talk. You are
to take this draught and go off to sleep again; when you wake you may
ask any questions you like." She lifted the lad's head, gave him the
draught and some cold tea, then darkened the room, and in a few minutes
he was asleep again.




CHAPTER VII.

THE "MERRIMAC" AND THE "MONITOR."


It was some weeks before Vincent was able to walk unaided. His
convalescence was somewhat slow, for the shock to the system had been a
severe one. The long railway journey had been injurious to him, for the
bandage had become somewhat loose and the

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