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Ui^ ' ti ii . . « .^. .*■ >.i n l M ii«iif ^- nr-mii r i II >r r »i 1 i Ni m i i ll M fill ^Hmnl k.'^^f:^l h^ f 1 ■'■*-^. ■»-<.«»•«- ^..J ••„,! yj ...J 3 ;.• ,^* ^...t 4-.,, .v i i i ^?| ail *rt«p-s4>*fc^ ^ '■••»»**M;Ki«rt?»' • -i^'^^ ' w-Mew^ ••-#'.— . t^ ■- •YV^r-'^ a^ ¥ iisM ,HO^;ii:a) .t.i .Y- xa a;uiinj£(ui*i->sf. ii^: «iK jn >.*' l i tl» » M MM»«lW».««WfB'.t»»A-WW ^ I WM II IW I «« « l '»t«iJ' (1^ ! ' 1 II' 'i nti^rwss^' I k 9A>a.iJiL.,Wa5. -■»—■< r-^ ■'—*»' Cnrioos Experience. /i Am/ BY Mark- Twain^ TOR ONTO : FEINTED AND PUBLISHED BY W. G. GIBSON, A Curious Experience. T HIS is the Story which the Major told me, as nearly as I can recall it: • In the winter of 1862 — 3, I was commandant of Fort Trumbull, at New London, Conn. May be our life there was not so brisk as life at "the front; " still it was brisk enough, in its way — one's brains didn't cake together there for want of something to keep them stirring. For one thing, all the Northern atmosphere at that time was thick with mysterious rumors — ^rumors to the effect that rebel spies were flitting everywhere, and getting ready to blow up our Northern forts, burn our hotels, send in- fected clothing into our towns, and all that sort of thing. You remember it. All that had a tendency to keep us awake, and knock the traditional duUness out of our garrison life. Besides, ours was a reur liting station — which is the same as saying we hadn't any ti ne to waste in dozing, or dreaming, or fooling around. Why, with all our watchfulness, fifty per cent, of a day's recruits would leak out of our hands and give us the slip the same night. The bounties were so prodigious that a recruit could pay a sentinel three or four hundred dollars to let him escape, and still have enough of his bounty- A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. ndoney left to constitute a fortune for a poor man. Yes, as I said before, our life was not drowsy. Weil, one day I was in my quarters alone, doing some writing, when a pale ragged lad of fourteen or fifteen entered, made a neat bow, and said: ' I believe recruits are received here ? " "Yes." "Will yon please enlist me, sir?" "Dear me, no! You are too young, my boy, and too small." A disappointed look came into his face, and quickly deepened into an expression of despondency. He turned slowly away, as if to go; hesitated, then faced me again, and said, in a tone which went to my heart : " I have no home, not a friend in the world. If you " could " only enlist me ! " But of course the thing was out of the question, and I said so as gently as I could. Then I told him to sit down by the stove and warm himself, and added : " You shall have something to eat presently. You are hungry ? " He did not answer ; he did not need to ; the gratitude in his big soft eyes was more eloquent than any words could have been. He sat down by the stove, and I went on writing. Occasionally I took a furtive glance at him. I noticed that his clothes and shoes, although soiled and damaged, were of good style and material. This fact was suggestive. To this I added the facts that his voice was low and musical ; his eyes deep and melan- choly; his carriage and address gentlemanly; evidently the poor chap was in trouble. As a result, I was in- terested. A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. • in- However, I became absorbed in my work, by and by, and forgot all about tlie boy. I dont know how long this lasted ; but, at length, I happened to look up. The boy's bacl^ was toward me, but his face was turned in such a way that I could see one of his cheeks — and down that cheek a rill of noiseless tears was flowing. •* God bless my soul!" I said to myself; '* I forgot the poor rat was starving." Then I made amends for my brutality by saying to him: "Come along, my lad: you shall dine with me ; I am alone to-day." He gave me another of those grateful looks, and a happy light broke in his face. At the table he stood with his hands on his chair-back until I was seated, then seated himself. I took up my knife and fork and — well, I simply held tliem, and kept still ; for the boy had inclined his head and was saying a silent grace. A thousand hallowed memories of home and my childhood poui'ed in upon me, ami I sighed to think how far I had drifted from religion and its balm for hurt minds, its comfort and solace and support. As our meal progressed, I observed that young Wick- low — Robert Wicklow was his full name — knew what to do with his napkin ; and — well, in a word, I observed he was a boy of good breeding; never mind the details. He had a simple frankness, too, which won upon me. We talked mainly about himself, and I had no difficulty in getting his history out of him. When he spoke of his having been born and. reared in Louisiana, I warmed to him decidedly, for I had spent some time down there. I knew all the " coast" region of the Mississippi, and loved it, and had not been long enough away from it e A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. for my interest in it to begin to pale. The very names that fell from his lips sounded good to me — so good that I steered the talk in directions that would bring them out. Baton Rouge, Plaquemine, Donaldsonville, Sixty- mile Point, Bonnet-Carre, the Stock-Landing, Garrollton, the^ Steam-ship Landing, the Steam-boat Landing, New Orleans, Tchoupitoulas street, the Esplanade, Bue des Bons Enfants, the St; Charles Hotel, the Tivoli Circle, the Shell Road, Lake Pontohartrain ; and it was parti- cularly delightful to me to hear once more of the "R. E. Lee," the "Natchez," the "Eclipse," the "General Quitman," the "Duncan F. Kenner," and other old familiar steam-boats. It was almost as good as being back there, these names so vividly reproduced in my mind the look of things they stood for. Briefly, this was little Wicklow's history : When the war broke out, he and his invalid aunt and his father were living near Baton Rouge, on a great rich plantation which had been in the family for fifty years. The father was a Union man. He was per- secuted in all sorts of ways, but clung to his principles. At last, one night, masked men burned his mansion down, and the family had to fly for their lives. They were hunted from place to place, and learned all there was to know about poverty, hunger, and distress. The invalid aunt found relifef at last: misery and exposure killed her; she. died in an open field, like a tramp, the rain beating upon her and the thunder booming over- head. Not long afterwards, the father was captured by an armed band ; and while the son begged and pleaded, the victim was strung up before his face. [At this point A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. 7 a baleful light shone in the youtirs eyes, and he said, with the manner of one who talks to himself : " If I oan^ not be enlisted) no matter — I shall find a way." J As soon as the father was pronounced dead, the son was told that if he was not out of that region within twenty- four hours, it would go hard with him. That night he crept to the river-side, and hid himself near a plantation landing. By and by the "Duncan F. Kenner" stopped there, and he swam out and concealed himself in the yawl that was dragging at her stern. Before daylight the boat reached the Stock Landing, and he slipped ashore. He walked the three miles that lay between that point and the house of an uncle of his in Good- Children street, in New Orleans, and then his troubles were over for the time being. But his uncle was a Union man, too, and before very long he concluded that he had better leave the South. So he and young Wick- low slipped out of the country on board a sailing vessel, and in due time reached New York. They put up at the Astor House. Young Wicklow had a good time of it for a while, strolling up and down Broadway, and observing the strange Northern sights ; but in the end a change came— and not for the better. The uncle had been cheerful at first, but now he began to look troubled and despondent ; moreover, he became moody and irritable ; talked of money giving out, and no way to get more— "not enough left for one, let alone two." Then, one morning, he was missing — did not come to breakfast. The boy inquired at the office, and was told that the uncle had paid his bill the night before and gone away — to Boston, the clerk believed, but was not certain. •i It' * ' ' ' 8 A CUBIOUS EXPERIENCE. The lad was alone and friendless. He did not know what to do, but concluded he had better try to follow and find his uncle. He went down to the steam-boat landing ; learned that the trifle of money in his pocket would not carry him to Boston ; however, it would carry him to New London; so he took passage for that port, resolving to trust to Providence to furnish him means to travel the rest of the way. He had now been wander- ing about the streets of New London three days and nights, gettinga bite and a nap here and there for charity's sake,, But he had given up at last; courage and hope were both gone. If he could enlist, nobody could be more thankful; if he could not get in as a soldier, couldn't he be a drummer-boy ? Ah, he would work so hard to please, and would be so grateful ! Well, there's the history of young Wicklow, just as he told it to me, barring details. I said : "My boy, you're among friends, now — don't you be troubled any more." How his eyes glistened ! I called in Sergeant John Rayburn — he was from Hartford ; lives in Hartford ^yet ; maybe you know him — and said ; " Rayburn, quarter this boy with the musicians. I am going to enroll him as a drummer boy, and I want you to look after him and see that he is well treatedt!', Well, of course, intercourse between the commandant of the post and the drummer-boy came to an end, now ; but the poor little friendless jhap lay heavy on my heart, just the same. I kept on the lookout, hoping to see him brighten up and begin to be cheery and gay ; but no, the days went by, and there was no change. He as- sociated with nobody ; he was always absent-minded, A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. 9 always thinking ; bis face was always sad. One morn- ing Rayburn asked leave to speak to me privately. Said he : "I hope I don't offend, sir, but the truth is, the musi- cians are in^such a sweat it seems as if somebody's got to speak." "Why, what is the trouble?" ' . ■ " It's the Wicklow boy, sir. The musicians are down on him to an extent you can't imagine." •* Well, go on, go on. What has he been doing ?" ** Prayin', sir." ♦'Praying!" " Yes, sir ; the musicians haven't any peace of their life for the boy's prayin'. First thing in the morning he's at it ; noons he's at it ; and nights — well, nights, he just lays on to 'em like all possessed ! Sleep ? bless you, tliey can't sleep ; he's got the floor, as the sayin' is, and then when he once gets his supplication-mill agoin' there just simply aint any let-up to him. He starts in with the band-master, and he prays for him ; next, he takes the head bugler, and he prays for him ; next, the bass drum, and he scoops him in ; and so on, right straight through the band, givin' them all a show, and takin' that amount of interest in it which would make you think he thought he waren't but a little while for this world, and believed he couldn't be happy in heaven with- out he had a brass band along, and wanted to pick 'em out for himself, so he could depend on 'em to do up the national tunes in a style saitin'-to the place. Well, sir, heavin' boots at him don't have no effect ; it's dark in there ; and, besides, he don't pray fair ; anyway, but 10 A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. kneels down behind the big drum ; so it don't make no difference if they rain boots at him, he don't give a dern — warbles right along, same as if it was applause. They sing out, * 0, dry up !' * Give us a rest !' ' Shoot him J* * Oh, take a walk !' and all sorts of such things. But what of it ! It don't phaze him. He don't mind it." After a pause : " Kind of a good little fool, too ; gits up- in the mornin' and carts all the stock of boots back, and sorts em out and sets each man's pair where they be- long. And they've been throwed at him so much now that he knews every boot in the band — can sort *em out with his eyes shut." After another pause — which I forbore to interrupt : " But the roughest thing about it is, that wh^n he's done pray in', — when he ever does get done, — he pipes up and begins to sing. Well, you know what a honey kind of a voice he's got when he talks ; you know how it would persuade a cast-iron dog to coDde down off a door- step and lick his hand. Now, if you'll take my word for it sir, it aint a circumstance to his singin' ! Flute music is harsh to that boy's singin'. Oh, he just gurgles it out so soft and sweet and low, there in the dark, that it makes- you think you are in heaven." ** What is there rough about that ? **Ah, that's just it, sir. You hear him sing Just as I am — poor, wretched, blind ' — just you hear him sing that, once, and see if you don't melt all up and the water come into your eyes ! I don't care what he sings, it goes plum straight home to you — A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE, 11 it goes f' ?ep down to where you live — and it fetches you every * ao ? Just you hear him sing : ' Child of sin and sorrow, filled with dismay. Wait not till to-morrow, yield thee to-day ; Grieve not that love Which from above' — and so on. It makes a hody feel like the wickedest, un- gratefulest hrute that walks. And when he sings them songs of his about home, and mother, and childhood and old memories, and things that's vanished, and old friends dead and gone, it fetches everything before your face that you've ever lost in all your life — and it's just beautiful, it's just divine to listen to, sir — but Lord, Lord, the heart-break ol it ! The band — well, they all cry — every rascal of them blubbers, and don't try to hide it, either; and first you know, that very gang that's been slammin' boots at that boy will skip out of their bunks all of a sudden, and rush over in the dark and hug him ! Yes, they do — and slobber all over him, and call him pet names, and beg him to forgive them. And just at that time, if a regiment was to offer to hurt a hair of that cub's head, they'd go for that regiment, if it was a whole army corps !" Another pause. "Is that all?" saidL •* Yes, sir." "Well, dear me, what is the complaint? What do they want done ?" " Done ? Why, bless you, sir, they want you to stop him from singin'." 12 A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. \ " What an idea ! You said his music was divine." " That's just it. " It's too divine. Mortal man can't stand it. It stirs a body up so ; it turns a body inside out ; it racks his feelin's all to rags ; it makes him feel bad and wicked, and not fit for any place but perdition. It keeps a body in such an everlastin' state of repentin' that nothin' don't taste good and there ain't no comfort in life. And then, the cryin', you see — every mornin' they're ashamed to look one another in the face." ** Well, this is an odd case and a singular complaint. So the J really want the singing stopped ?" " Yes, sir, that is the idea. They don't wish to ask too much ; they would like powerful well to have the prayin' shut down on, or leastways trimmed off around the edges ; but the main thing's the singin'. If they can only get the singin' choked off, they think they can stand the prayin', rough as it is to be bullyragged so much that way." • I tjld the sergeant I would take the matter under consideration. That night I crept into the musicians' quarters and listened. The sergeant had not overstated the case. I heard the praying voice pleading in the dark. I heard the execrations of the harassed men ; I heard the rain of boots whiz through the air, and bang and thump around the big drum. The thing touched me, but it amused me, too. By and by, after an im- pressive silence, came the singing. Lord, the pathos of it, the enchantment of it ! Nothing in the world was ever so sweet, so gracious, so tender, so holy, so moving. I made my stay very brief ; I was beginning to experi- ence emotions of a sort not proper to the commandant of a fortress. A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. 18 Next day I issued orders which stopped the praying and singing. Then followed three or four days which were so full of bounty-jumping excitements and irrita- tions that I never once thought of my drummer-boy. But now comes Sergeant Rayburn, one morning, and says: " That new boy acts mighty strange, sir." "How?" " Well, sir, he's all the time writing." ' «. ** Writing ? What does he write — letters ?" " I don't know, sir ; but whenever he's off duty he is poking and nosing around the fort, all by himself — blest if I think there's a hole or corner in it he hasn't been into — and every little while he outs with pencil and paper and scribbles something down." This gave me a most unpleasant sensation. I wanted to scoff at it, but it was not a time to scoff at anything that had the least suspicious tinge about it. Things were happening all around us, in the North, then, that warned us to be always on the alert, and always sus- pecting. I recalled to mind the suggestive fact that this boy was from the South, — the extreme South, Louisiana, — and the thought was not of a re-assuring n ^ture, under the circumstances. Nevertheless, it cost me a pang to give the order« which I now gave to Rayburn. I felt like a father who plots to expose his own child to shame and injury. I told Rayburn to keep quiet, bide his time, and get me some of those writings whenever he could manage it without the boy's finding it out. And I charged him not to do anything which might let the boy discover that he was being watched. I also ordered that ,. ^.„....j.a» . iMa» « »»w n»a«»*www>w-^ 14 A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. ml KM ;4 he allow the lad his usual liberties, but that he be fol- lowed at a distance when he went out into the town. During the next two days Rayburn reported to me several times. No success. The boy was still writing, but he always pocketed his paper with a careless air whenever Rayburn appeared in his vicinity. He had gone twice to an old deserted stable in the town, re - mained a minute or two, and come out again. One could not pooh-pooh these things — ^they had an evil look. I was obliged to confess to" myself that I was getting un- easy. I went into my private quarters and sent for my second in command — an officer of intelligence and judg- ment, son of General James Watson Webb. He was surprised and troubled. We had a long talk over the matter, and came to the conclusion that it would be worth while to institute a secret search. I determined to take charge of that myself. So I had myself called at two in the morning ; and pretty soon after, I was in the musicians' quarters, crawling along the floor on my stomach among the snorers. I reached my slumbering waifs bunk at last, without disturbing anybody, cap- tured his clothes and kit, and crawled stealthily back again. When I got to my own quarters, I found Webb there, waiting and eager to know the result. We made search immediately. The clothes were a disappoint- ment. In the pockets we found blank paper and a pen- cil ; nothing else, except a jackknife and such queer odds and ends and useless trifles as boys hoard and value. We turned to the kit hopefully. Nothing there but a rebuke for us ! A little Bible with this written on the I A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. 15 fly-leaf : " Stranger, be kind to my boy for his mother's sake." I looked at Webb — he dropped his eyes ; he looked at me — I dropped mine. Neither spoke. I put the book reverently back in its place. Presently Webb got up and went away, without remark. After a little I nerved my- self up to my unpalatable job, and took the plunder back to where it belonged, crawling on my stomach as before. It seemed the peculiarly appropriate attitude for the business I was in. I was most honestly glad when it was over and done with. About noon next day, Kayburn came, as usual, to re- port. I cut him short. I said : " Let this nonsense be dropped. We are making a bugaboo out of a poor little cub who has got no more harm in him than a hymn-book." The sergeant looked surprised, and said : "Well, you know it was your orders, sir, and I've got some of the writing." *' And what does it amount to ? How did you get it ?" *' I peeped through the key-hole, and see him writ- ing. So when I judged he was about done, T made a sort of a little cough, and I see him crumple it up and throw it in the lire, and look all around to see if anybody was coming. Then he settled back as comfortable and care- less as anything. Then I conies in, and passes the time of day pleasantly, and sends him of an errand. He never looked uneasy, but went right along. It was a coal fire and new-built ; the writing had gone over behind a chunk, out of sight ; but I got it out ; there it is ; it aint hardly scorched, you see." Iff k, " 16 A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. 1 glanced at the paper and took in a sentence or two. Then I dismissed the sergeant and told him to send Webb to me. Here is the paper in full : " Fort Trumbull, the 8th. '* Colonel : I wns miHtaken as to the calibre of the three guns I ended my list with. They are IS-pounders ; all the rest of the armament is as I stated. The garrison remains as before reported , except that the two light infantry companies that were to be de- tached for service at the front are to stay here for the present — can't find out for how long, just now, but will soon. We are satisfied that, all things considered, matters had better be post- poned un " There it broke off — there is where Rayburn coughed and interrupted the writer. All my affection for the boy, all my respect for him and charity for his forlorn con- dition, withered in a moment under the blight of this re- velation of cold-blooded baseness. But never mind about that. Here was business — business that required profound and immediate attention, too. Webb and I turned the subject over and over, and examined it all around. Webb said •* " What a pity he was interupted ! Something is going to be postponed until — when ? And what is the some- thing ? Possibly he would have mentioned it, the pious little reptile !" *' Yes," I said, " we have missed a trick. And who is * we,' in the letter ? Is it conspirators inside the fort or ouside ?" That ** we " was uncomfortably suggestive. However, it was not worth while to be guessing around that, so we proceeded to matters more practical. In the first place, I ^ A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. 17 we decided to double the Rentries and keep the strictest possible watch. Next, we thought of calling Wicklow in and making him divulge everything ; but that did not seem wisest until other methods should fail. We must have some more of the writings ; so we began to plan to that end. And now we had an idea ; Wicklow never went to the post-office — perhaps the deserted stable was his post-office. We sent for my confidential clerk — a young German named Sterne, who was a sort of natural detective — and told him all about the case, and ordered him to go to work on it. Within the hour we got word that Wicklow was writing again. Shortly afterward, word came that he had asked leave to go out into the town. He was detained awhile, and meantime, Sterne hurried off and concealed himself in the stable. By and by he baw Wicklow saunter in, look aVjout him, then hide something under some rubbish in a corner, and take leisurely leave again. Sterne pounced upon the hidden article — a letter — and brought it to us. It had no su- perscription and no signature. It repeated what we had already read, and then went on to say : "We think it best to postpone till the two companies are gone, I mean the four inside think so ; have not communicated w:th the others — afraid of attracting attention. I say four because we have lost two ; they had hardly enlisted and got insi^ there, who will {»ive you detailed instructiouM Pus < d same as last time, onlv reversed — put first syllable last and lant i^yllabl«> first. Rkmkmbi. XXX,X. Do not forget. Be of good heart ; before t'i» next sun ri s you will be heroes ; your fame will be permanent ; you wili have added a deathless page to history. ^, aen." " Thunder and Mars," said WeWb, " but we are get- ting into mighty hot quarters, as I look at it !" I said there was no question but that things were be ginning to wear a most serious aspect. Said I : " A desperate enterprise is on foot, that is plain enough. To-night is the time set for it —that, also, in plain. The exact nature of the enterpris — I mean the manner of it — is hidden away under those Mind bunches of Ms and Fa — but the end and aim, I judg( . is the sur- prise and capture of the post. We must mo e quick and sharp now. I think nothing can be gained b> continuing our clandestine policy as regards Wicklovv. We must know, and as soon as possible, too, where ' 166 ' is lo- cated, so that we can make a descent upon the gang there at 2 a.m.; and, doubtless, the quickest way to get that information will be to force it out of that 1 ^oy. But first of all, and before we make any important move, I must lay the facts before the War Department, and ask for y denary powers." The despatch was prepared in cipher to go over the wires ; I read it, approved it, and sent it along. We presently finished discussing the letter which was undeft consideration, and then opened the one which had r ■A 'ii ■ ) lit I ( I A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE, been snatched from the lame gentleman. It contained nothing but a couple of perfectly blank sheets of note, paper ! It was a chilly check to our hot eagerness and exj^ectancy. We felt as blank as the paper, for a mo- ment, and twice as foolish. But it was for a moment only ; for, of course, we immediately afterward thought of" sympathetic ink." We held the paper close to the fire, and watched for the characters to come out, under the influence of the heat; but nothing appeared but some faint tracings, which we could make nothing of. We then called in the surgeon, and sent him off with orders to apply every test he w.is acquainted with till he got the right one, and report the contents of the letter to me the instant he brought them to the surface. This check was a confounded annoyance, and we naturally chafed under the delay ; for we had fully expected to get out of that letter some of the most important secrets of the plot. Now appeared Sergeant Bay burn, and drew from his pocket a piece of twine string about a foot long, with three knots tied in it, and held it up. "I got it out of a gun on the water-front," said he. *' I took the tompions out of all the guns and examined close ; this string was the only thing that was in any gun." So this bit of string was Wicklow's " sign " to signify that the Master's commands had not miscarried. I ordered that every sentinel who had served near that gun during the past twenty-four hours be put in confinement at once and separately, and not allowed to communicate with any one without my privity and consent. A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE, 23 A telegram now came from the Secretary of War. It read as follows : " Suspend /mftms coypMs. Put town under martial law. Make necessary arrests. Act with vigor and i^romptness. Keep the Department informed." We were now in a shape to go to work. I sent out and had the lame gentleman quietly arrested and as quickly brought into the fort ; I placed him under guard and forhade speech to him or from him. He was in- clined to bluster at first, but he soon dropped that. Next came word that Wicklow had been seen to give something to a couple of our new recruits ; and that, as soon as his back was turned, these had been seized and confined. Upon each was found a small bit of paper, bearing these words and signs in pencil : Eagle's Third Flight. REMEMBER XXXX. 166 In accordance with instructions, I telegraphed to the Department, in cipher, the progress made, and also de- scribed the above ticket. We seemed to be in a strong enough position now to venture to throw ofif the mask as regarded Wicklow ; so I sent for him. I also sent for and received back the letter written in sympathetic ink, the surgeon accompanying it with the information that ff ii:i;^i ■ d i B ■ t4 A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. thus far it had resisted his tests, but that there were others he could apply when I should be ready for him to do so. Presently Wicklow entered. He had a soiuowhat worn and anxious look, but he was composed and easy, and if he suspected anything it did not appear in his face or manner. I allowed him to stand there a moment or two, then I said, pleasantly : " My boy, why do you go to that old stable so much?" He answered, with simple demeanor and without em- barrassment: "Well, I hardly know, sir ; there isn't any particular reason, except that I like to be alone, and I amuse my- self there." " You amuse yourself there, do you ?" ' " Yes, sir," he replied, as innocently and simply as before. " Is that all you do there ?" '* Yes, sir," he said, looking up with child-like wonder- ment in his big soft eyes. *' You are sure ?" " Yes, sir, sure," After a pause, I said : " Wicklow, why do you write so much ?" " I ? I do not write much, sir." ♦'You don't?" " No, sir. Oh, if you mean scribbling, I do scribble some, for amusement." " What do you do with your scribblings ?" " Nothing, sir — throw them away." ** Never send them to anybody ?" f»t A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. 15 " No, sir." I suddenly thrust before him the letter to the "Colonel" He started slightly, but immediately composed himself. A slight tinge spread itself over his cheek. *' How came you to send this piece of scribbling then?" . " I nev-never meant any harm, sir." " Never meant any harm ! You betray the armament and condition of the post, and mean no harm by it ?" He hung his head and was silent. " Come, speak up, and stop lying. Whom was this letter intended for ?" He showed signs of distress, now ; but quickly collected himself, and replied, in a tone of deep earnestness : " I will tell you the truth, sir — the whole truth. The letter was never intended for anybody at all. I wrote it only to amuse myself. I see the error and foolishness of it, now — but it is the only offense, sir, upon my honor.'' "Ah, I am glad of that. It is dangerous to be writ- ing such letters. I hope you are sure this is the only one you wrote ?" " Yes, sir, perfectly sure." His hardihood was stupefying. He told that lie with as sincere a countenance as any creature ever wore. I waited a moment to soothe down my rising temper, and then said : " Wicklow, jog your memory, now, and see if you can help me with two or three little matters wliich I wisli to enquire about." fit A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. t!' ( ;..- ;i 14 ** I will do my very best, Hir." " Then, to begin with — who is ' the Master ' ?" It betrayed him into darting a startled glance at our faces — but that was all. He was serene again in a mo- ment, and tranquilly answered : " I do not know, sir." ' '* You do not know ?" > " I do not know." " You are sure you do not know ?" He tried hard to keep his eyes on mine, but the strain was too great : his chin sunk slowly toward his breast and hd was silent ; he stood there nervously fumbling with a button, an object to command one's pity, in spite of his base acts. Presentlv I broke the stillness with the question : , " Who are the ' Holy Alliance '?" ' ' His body shook visibly, and he made a slight random gesture with his hands, which to me was like the appeal of a despairing creature for compassion. But he made no sound. He continued to stand with his face bent to- ward the ground. As w'e sat gazing at him, waiting for him to speak, we saw the big tears begin to roll down his cheeks. But he remained silent. After a little, I said: " You must answer me, my boy — and you must tell me the truth. Who are the Holy Alliance ?" He wept on in silence. Presently I said, somewhat sharply ; " Answer that question !" He struggled to get command of his voice ; and then, M A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. 27 looking up appealingly, forced the words out between his sobs : ** Oh, have pity on me, sir. I cannot answer it, for I do not know." ^'What!" ** Indeed, sir, I am telling the truth. I never have heard of the Holy Alliance till this moment. On my honor, sir, this is so.*' •' Good heavens ! Look at this second letter of yours ; there, do you see those words, ' Holy Alliance!' What do you say now ?" He gazed up into my face with the hurt look of one upon whom a great wrong has been wrought, then said, feelingly : ** This is some cruel joke, sir . and how could they play it upon me, who have tried all I could to do right, and have never done harm to anybody ? Some one has counterfeited my hand ; I never wrote a line of this ; I have never seen this letter before !" " Oh, you unspeakable liar ! Here, what do you say to this?" — and I snatched the sympathetic-ink letter from my pocket and thrust it before his eyes. His face turned white ! — as white as a dead person's. He wavered slightly in his tracks, and put his hand against the wall to steady himself. After a moment he asked, in so faint a voice that it was hardly audible : "Have you — read it?" Our faces must have answered the truth before my lips could get out the false " yes," for I distinctly saw the courage come back into that boy's eyes. I waited for 98 A CUBIOUS EXPERIENCE. I' t '• J 'H him to say something, but he kept silent. So at last I said: " Well, what have you to say as to the revelations in this letter ?" . , ./ He answered with perfect composure: \ • *• Nothing, except that they are entirely harmless and innocent; they can hurt nobody." I was in something of a corner now, as I couldn't disprove his assertion. I did not exactly know how to proceed. However, an idea came to my relief, and I said : " You are sure you know nothing about the Master and the Holy Alliance, and did not write the letter which you say is a forgery ?" , ** Yes, sir — sure. ' I slowly drew out the knotted twine string and held it up without speaking. He gazed at it indifferently, then looked at mo inquiringly. My patience was sorely taxed. However, I kept my temper down, and said, in my usual voice : " Wicklow, do you see this?" "Yes, sir." ''Whatisit?" '* It seems to be a piece of string." " Seems? It is a piece of string. Do you recognize it?" ', •* No, sir," he replied, as calmly as the words could be uttered. His coolness was perfectly wonderful ! I paused now for several seconds, in order that the silence might add A CURIOUS iiXPERIENCE. 29 impressiveness to what I was about to say ; then I rose and laid my hand on his shoulder, and said gravely : " It will do you no good, poor boy, none in the world . This sign to the * Master,' this knotted string, found in one of the guns on the water-front " "Found in the gun! Oh, no, no, no, do not say in the gun, but in a crack in tho totnpion! — it must have been in the crack ! " and down he went on his knees and clasped his hands and lifted up a face that was pitiful to see, so ashy it was, and so wild with terror. " No, it was in the gun." " Oh, something has gone wrong! My God, I am lost !" and he sprung up and darted this way and that, dodging the hands that were put out to catch him, and doing his best to escape from the place. But of course escape was impossible. Then he flung himself on his knees again, crying with all his might, and clasped me around the legs; and so he clung to me and begged and pleaded, saying, " Oh, have pity on me! Oh, be merci- ful to me ! Do not betray me ; they would not spare my life a moment! Protect me, save me. I will confess everjihing ! " It took us some time to quiet him down and modify his fright, and get him into something like a rt\tional frame of mind. Then I began to question him, he answering humbly, with downcast eyes, and from time to time swabbing away his constantly flowing tears. " So you are at heart a rebel ? " " Yes, sir." "And a spy?" 80 A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. I'; 'rt ' I '*Yes, sir." •* And have been acting under distinct orders from outside?" . . " Yes, sir." "Willingly?" "Yes, sir." " Gladly, perhaps ? " *• Ye8> sir ; it would do no good to deny it. The South is my country ; my heart is Southern, and it is all in her cause." " Then the tale you told me of your wrongs and the persecution of your family was made up for the occa- sion ? " " They — they told me to say it, sir." " And you would betray and destroy those who pitied and sheltered you. Do you comprehend how base you are, you poor misguided thing? " He replied with sobs only. "Well, let that pass. To business. Who is the ' Colonel,' and where is he ? " He began to cry hard, and tried to beg off from answering. He said he would be killed if he told. I threatened to put him in the dark cell and lock him up if he did not come out with the information. At the same time I promised to protect him from all harm if he made a clean breast. For all answer, he closed his mouth firmly and put on a stubborn air wliich I could not bring him out of. At last I started with him ; but a single glance into the dark cell converted him. He A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. SI broke into a passion of weeping and supplicating, and declared he would tell everything. So I brought him back, and he named the ** Colonel," and described him particularly. Said he would be found at the principal hotel in the town, in citizen's dress. I had to threaten him again before he would de- scribe and name the ** Master." Said the Master would be found at No. 15 Bond street, New York, passing under the name of R. F. GaylorJ. I telegraphed name and description to the chief of police of the metropolis, and asked that Gaylord be arrested and held till I could send for him. " Now," said I, " it seems that there are several of the conspirators 'outside ' — presumably in New London. Name and describe them." He named and described three men and two women — all stopping at the principal hotel. I sent out quietly, and had them and the ** Colonel " arrested and confined in the fort. '* Next, I want to know all about your three fellow- conspirators who are here in the fort." He was about to dodge me with a falsehood, 1 thought; but I produced the mysterious bits of paper which had been found on two of them, and this had a salutary effect upon him. I said we had possession of two of the men, but he must point out the third. This frightened him badly, and he cried out : " Oh, please don't make me — he would kill me on the spot!" I said that that was all nonsense ; I would have some- n A CUllIOUS EXPERIENCE. body near by to protect him, and, besides, the men Hhould be assembled without arms. I ordered all the raw recruits to bo mustered, and then the poor trembl- ing little wretch went out and stepped alonj^ down the line, trying to look as indifferent as possible. Penally he spoke a single word to one of the men, and before he had gone live steps the man was under arrest. As soon as Wicklow was with us again, I had those three men brought in. 1 made one of them stand for- ward, and said : " Now, Wicklow, mind, not a shade's divergence from the exact truth. Who is this man, and what do you know about him?" Being " in for it," he cast consequences aside^ fastened his eyes on the man's face, and spoke straight along without hesitation — to the following effect. '* His real name is George Bristow. He is from New Orleans; was second mate of the coas*^^- packet "Capitol," two years ago ; is a desperate character, and has served two terms for manslaughter — one for killing a deck-hand named Hyde with a capstan-bar, and one for killing a roustabout for refusing to heave the lead — which is no part of a roustabout's business. He is a spy. and was sent here by the Colonel, to act in that capacity. He was third mate of the *' St. Nicholas," when she blew up in the neighborhood of Memphis, in '58, and came near being lynched for robbing the dead and wounded while they were being taken ashore in an empty wood-boat." And so forth and so on — he gave the man's biography in full. When he had finished, I said to the man : A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. 38 " what have you to say to this ? " '* Barring your presence, sir, it is the infernalest lie that ever was spoke ! " I sent him back into confinement, and called the others forward in tarn. Same reHult. The boy gave a detailed history of each, without hesitating for a word or a fact; but all I could get out of either rancal was the indignant assertion that it was ail a lie. They would confess nothing. I returned them to captivity, and brought out the rest of my prisoners, one by one. Wicklow told all about them — what towns in the South they came from, and every detail of their connection with the conspiracy. But they all denied his facts, and not one of then confessed a thing. The men raged, the women cried. According to their stories, they were all innocent people from out West, and loved the Union above all things in in this world. I locked the gang up, in disgust, and fell to catechising Wicklow once more. " Where is No. 16«, and who is B. B. ? " But there he was determined to draw the line. Neither coaxing nor threats had any effect upon him. Time was flying — it was necessary to institute sharp measures. So I tied him up a-tiptoe by the thumbs. As the pain . increased, it wrung screams from him which were al- most more than I could bear. But I held my ground, and pretty soon he shrieked out : '•Oh, please let me down, I will tell ! " ** No, — ^you'll tell before I let you down." Every instant was agony to him, now, so out it eamt : S4 A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. I ! " No. 166, Eagle Hotel ! "—naming a wretched tHvern down by the water, a resort of common laborers, *long- ghoremen, and lesH reputable folk. So I released him, and then demanded to know the object of the conspiracy. " To take the fort to-night," said he, doggedly, and sobbing. " Have I got all the chiefs of the conspiracy?" " No. Yov've got all except those that are to meet at 166." " What does ' Remember XXXX' mean?" No reply. " What is the pass word to No. 166?" No reply. •' What do those bunches of letters mean— 'FFFFF' and ' MMMM ? " Answer ! or you will catch it again.'* •' 1 never will answer ! 1 will die first. Now do what you please." "Think what you are saying, Wicklow. Is it final?*' He answered steadily, and without a quiver in his voice : " It is final. And as sure as I love my wronged coun- try and hate everything this Northern sun shines on, I will die before I will reveal those things." I triced him up by the thumbs again. When the agony was full upon him, it was heart-breaking to hear the poor thing's shrieks — but we got nothing else out of him. To every question he screamed the same reply " I can die, and I will die; but I will never tell." us. A CURIOUS EXrKI{IEN( / "WelJ, wo hnA io f»Ivo it up. We wevv copvinccd that hf ccrtaiiil} woiiM die ratlier tliaii eonfVsH. So v»# took him down and imprisoned him, under lifrict ^uard. Then, lor Rome hours, we huHied ourHelveH with send, ing telej^iams to the War Department, and with nuiking preparatiouB for a descent upon No. IfiO. It was Btirrinp; times, that hlack and hitter niplit. Things had leaked out, and the whole garrison was on the alert. The sentinels were trehled, and nobody could move, outside or in, without being brought to a stand with a musket leveled at his head. However Webl) and I were less concerned now than we had pre- viously been, because of the fact that the conspiracy must necessarily be in a pretty crippled condition, since so many of its principals were in our clutches. I determined to l)e at No. !(>(> in good season, capture and gag h.H., and be on hand for the rest when they arrived. At about a ([uarter past one in the morning, I crept out of the fortress with half a dozen stalwart and gamy U.S. regulars at my heels — and the boy Wicklow, with his hands tied behind him. T told him we were going to !()(>, and that if I found he had lied again and was misleading us, he would have to show us the right place or suffer the consequences. We approached the tavern stealthily and reconnoi- tered. A light was burning in the small bar-room, the rest of the house was dark. I tried the front door ; it yielded, and we softly entered, closing the door behind U8. Then we removed our shoes, and I led the way to the bar-room. The German landlord sat there, asleep in A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE I- It ■■!' .1 his chair. 1 woke him gently, and told him to take off his boots and precede us ; warning him at the same time to utter no sound. He obeyed without a murmur, but evidently he was badly frightened. I ordered him to lead the way to 166. We ascended two or three flights o* stairs as softly as a file of cats ; and then having arrived near the farther end of a long hall, we came to a door through the glazed transom of which we could discern the glow of a dim light from within. The landlord felt for me in the dark and whispered me that that was 166. I tried the door — it was locked on the inside. I whis- pered an order to one of my biggest soldiers ; we set our ample shoulders to the door and with one heave we burst it from its hinges. I caught a half glimpse of a ligure in a bed — saw its head dart toward the candle ; out went the light, and we were in pitch darkness. With one big bound I lit on that bed and pinned its occupant down with my knees. My prisoner struggled fiercely, but I got a grip on his throat with my left hand, and that was a good assistance to my knees in holding him down. Then I snatched out my revolver, cocked it, and laid the cold barrel warningly against his cheek. '' Now, somebody strike a light !' said I. I've got him safe." It was done. The flame of the match burst up. I looked at my captive, and, by George, it was a young woman ! I let go and got off the bed, feeling pretty sheepish. Everybody stared stupidly at his neighbor. Nobody had any wit or sense left, so sudden and overwhelming had been the tiurprise. The young woman began to cry, and 4 A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. 87 covered her face with the sheet. The landlord said, meekly : " My daughter, she lias been doing something that is not right, * nicht wahr ?'" *' Your daughter? Is she your daughter ?" " Oh, yes, she is my daughter. She is just to-night come home from Cincinnati a little hit sick." "Confound it, that hoy has lied attain. This is not the right 166 ; this not B. B. Now, Wicklow, you will find the correct 166 for us, or — hello ! where is that hoy ?" Gone, as sure as guns ! and what is more, we failed to find a trnce of him. Here was an awkward predicament. I cursed my stupidity in not tying him to ope of the men ; but it was no use to bother about that now. What should I do under the present circumstances? — that was the question. That girl might be B. B. after all. I did not believe it, but still it would not answer to take unbeliet for proof. So I finally put my men in a vacant room across the hall from 166, and told them to capture any- body and everybody that approached the girl's room, and to keep the landlord with them, and under strict watch, until further orders. Then I hurried back to the fort to see if all was right there yet. Yes, all was right. And all remained right. I staid up all night to make sure of that. Nothing happened* I was unspeakably glad to see the dawn come again, and be able to telegraph the Department that the Stars and Stripes still floated over Fort Trumbull. An immense pressure was lifted from my breast. Still I did not relax vigilance, of course, nor effort either j the 88 A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. case was too grave for that. I had up ray prisoners, one by one, and harried tliem by the hour, trying to get them to confess, but it was a failure. They only gnashed their teeth and tore their hair, and revealed nothing. About noon came tidings of my missing boy. He had been seen on the road tramping westward, some eight miles out, at six in the morning. I started a cavalry lieutenant and a private on his track at once. They came in sight of him twenty miles out. He had climbed a fence and was wearily dragging himself across a slushy field toward a large old-fashioned mansion in the edge of a village. They rode through a bit of woods, made a de- i-our, and closed up on the house from the opposite side ; then dismounted and skurried into the kitciien. Nobody there. They slipped into the next room, which was also unoccupied ; the door from that room into the front or sitting room was open. They were about to step through it when they heard a low voice; it was somebody pray- ing. So they halted reverently, and the lieutenant put his head in and saw an old man and an old woman kneling in a corner of that sitting-room. It was the old man that was praying, -and just as he was finishing his prayer, the Wicklow boy opened the front door and stepped in. Both of those people sprang at him, smother- ing him with embraces, shouting: "Our boy! our darling! God be praised. The lost is found! He that was dead is alive again!" Well, sir, what do you think ! That young imp was born and reared on that homestead, and had never been five miles away from it in all his life, till the fortnight )ne lem leir A CUR OUS EXPERIENCE. before he loafed into my quarters and gulled me with that maudlin yarn of his! It's as true as gospel. That old man was his father — a learned old retired clergyman ; and that old lady was his mother. Let me throw in a word or two of explanation con- cerning that boy and his performances. It turned out that he was a ravenous devourer of Dime Novels and Sensational Story Papers — therefore, dark mysterioug and gaudy heroisms. were just in his line. Then he had read newspaper reports of the stealthy goings and com- ings of rebel spies in our midst, and of their lurid pur- poses and their two or three starthng achievements, till his imagination was all aflame on that subject. His constant comrade for some months had been a Yankee youth of much tongue and lively fancy, who had served for a couple of years as ** mud clerk " (that is, subordi- nate purser) on certain of the packet-boats plying be tween New Orleans and points two or three hundred miles up the Mississippi — hence his easy faculty in hand- ling the names and other details pertaining to that region. Now I had spent two or three months in tha'' part of the country before the war; and Iknewjusx enough about it to be easily taken in by that boy, where- as a born Louisianian would probably have caught him tripping before he had talked fifteen minutes. Ir'. ;r t I 1' 4* A CUBIOUS EXPERIENCE. Do you know the reason he said he would rather di« than explain certain of his treasonable enigmas ? Sim- ply because he couldn't explain them ! — they bad no meaning; he had fired them out of his imagination without forethought or after-thought ; and so, upon sud- den call, he wasn't able to invent an explanation of them. For instance, he couldn't reveal what was hid- den in the " sympathetic ink " letter, for the ample reason that there wasn't anything hidden in it ; it was blank paper only. He hadn't put anything into a gun, and had never intended to — for his letters were all written to imaginaiy poisons, when he hid one in the stable, he always removed the one he had put there the day before ; so he was not acquainted with that knotted string, since he was seeing it for the first time when I showed it to him ; but as soon as I had let him find out where it came from, he straightway adopted it, in his romantic fashion, and got some fine effects out of it. He invented Mr. " Gaylord; " there wasn't any 15 Bond street just then — it had been pulled down three months before. He invented the " Colonel," he invented the glib histories of those unfortunates whom I captured and confronted with him, he invented " B. B.," he invented No. 166, one may say, for he didn't know there was such a number in the Eagle Hotel until we went there. He stood there ready to invent anyboby or anything die A CUBIOUS EXPEBIBNOB. il whenever it was wanted. If I called for ''outside" spies, he promptly described strangers whom he had seen at the hotel, and whose names he had happened to hear. Ah, he lived in a gorgeous, mysterious, romantic world during those few stirring days, and 1 think it was real to him, and that he enjoyed it clear down to the bottom of his heart. But he made trouble enough for us — and just no end of humiliation. You see, on account of him we had fifteen or twenty people under arrest and confinement in the fort, with sentinels before their door. A lot of the captives were soldiers and such, and to them I didn't have to apologize ; but the rest were first-class citizens, from all over the country , and no amount of apologies were sufficient to satisfy them. They just fumed and raged and made no end of trouble ! And those two ladies — one was an Ohio Congressman's wife, the other a western bishop's sister — well, the scorn, and ridicule, and angry tears they poured out on me made up a keep- sake that was likely to make me remember th' m for a considerable time — and I shall. That old lame gentle* man with the goggles was a college president from Phil- adelphia, who had come up to attend his nephew's funeral. He had never seen young Wicklow before, of course. W» 11, he not only missed the funeral, and got jailed as a rebel spy, but Wicklow had stood up there in \ i2 A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. my quarters and coldly described him as a counterfeiter, nigger-trader, horse-thief, and fire-bug from the most notorious rascal-nest in Galveston ; and this was a thing which that poor old gentleman couldn't seem to get over at all. And the War Department ! But, my soul, let's draw the curtain over that part ! Note. — I showed my manuscript to the Major, and he said ; " Your unfamiliarity with military matters has betrayed you in- to some little mistakes. Still, they are picturesque ones — let them go ; military men will smile at them, the rest wont detect them. You have got the main facts of the history right, and have set them down just about as they occurred." M. T. )St m it's id ; in- -let tect aud THE P lunders OF A Bashful MAN! n By the Author of A BAD BOY'S DIARY »» The above most amusing book is now issued IN CHEAP FOllM, and will undoubtedly have a rapid and extensive sale. How the reading of it affected ONE 70U1T3 LAD7. Author of "Ba8q uii Man," Mabysville, Mo., July 22, 1881. Dear Friend,— Haviug read your story of the " Bashfui, Man," and seeing the Invitation at the close of the same, aud after studying the matter over for % short time, I came to the couchision that I was thevery girl for you ; myself being of good family and an ex^i rt in cooking and everything pertaining to house-work. I am not an old maid or anything of that sort, but am just in tho ^riine of life— wy oext birthday will be nmteeeu ; I am of medium height, and, if I do say it myself, good lookittg. Now, wanting to get a good husband, and thinking you w()ui■♦ THS TORONTO NEWS COMPANY, Publisher's Aqcnts* IToxoxxto axid. l:Tlagraxa Feills, a" ni>re lY,